It's been a year. 365 days. Matt's uncle
said it best. It's been the longest, shortest year of my life. I remember every
painful detail. I can still feel the fear. I can smell the hospital and I can
hear the noises. I can see myself and our families sitting in a dark waiting
room for over 14 hours while Matt was having surgery. I can hear the phone ring
when the nurses called from the OR to give us an update. I can see the look in
his doctor's eyes telling us to prepare ourselves and that it would take a miracle
to heal Matt. I remember the hours I spent with Matt touching him and talking
to him. Begging him to stay. I remember every moment of hope believing he would
be alright. I remember the horrible conversations with his doctor when we
realized he wouldn't. I remember leaving the hospital without Matt. And I
remember standing in the shower at my mom and dad's letting the water wash over
me and praying it was all a dream.
I can feel the endless hugs of love and
compassion while feeling completely empty and hollow inside. I can see the buzz
of visitors at my mom and dad's to offer a brief distraction. And then the pit
in my stomach when the house grew empty and dark at the end of each day. I can
feel my anxiety and feet shaking every night as I laid on my parent's couch. I
can feel the rain falling on me, the wind across my face, and the mud on my
pants when I sat with Matt on Halloween while I screamed and cried.
I hit rock bottom and it wasn't the day
Matt passed. It was about 2 weeks later. I reached my lowest point. I was
pregnant, heartbroken, and hurting in every imaginable way. I couldn't do
anything. I couldn't get off the couch to care for Olivia. I had such
horrendous anxiety that I had diarrhea and was vomiting. My skin was pale and
the circles under my eyes were dark.
I didn't want to live. I laid in my mom
and dad's bed at one point thinking about killing myself. I knew it wasn't an
option. I knew I'd never go through with it. But I also knew I
didn't want to live when life was so horrible. And then I'd hear Olivia. Or I'd
feel Rylan move in my belly. Or I would imagine our families being faced with
more heart-wrenching anguish. I knew my only choice was to dig myself out of
the deepest, darkest valley that I would ever be in. I knew I had to find a way
to fight against what this world has put me through.
For the last couple weeks, I've felt as
if I am reliving last year. A text from my friend, Noelle, recently said,
"this week and this month and this season are re-opening some of the
toughest wounds you've been trying to heal." I went to my mom and dad's
recently and the wet leaves on the ground felt familiar. I went in their room
and despite having slept there for 10 months, it felt as painful as the day we
got ready for Matt's memorial service. The tears that never stopped flowing,
the sick feeling in my stomach, it all felt like it did a year ago. I've
wondered if I made any progress. I questioned whether or not I had the strength
to feel the pain again. But then I remembered the days after losing Matt. I
remembered that hopeless feeling and wondered how I would ever function again.
And somehow, someway, I did. I managed to ride with my grief following parallel
beside me. I learned that there are times of sweet and happy moments and in an
instant the tears can come.
My anger has surfaced again. Anger at
God. I see the reminders on Facebook everyday of what happened a year ago. I
see how many times my updates were shared. Meaning thousands were praying
and believing Matt would be alright. Did God not hear us? And if He did, why didn't Matt survive? I don't think I'll
ever make sense of it.
One year. I didn't think I'd make it
here. It's a hard day to face. But I've had to find a way to get through today.
A year ago the life I knew ended. But that doesn't mean I stop living. Matt wouldn't
want that for me. He would want me to face this new life. It's scary,
unfamiliar, and so hard. There's days when all I can do is lay on my bed and
think about the nightmare I'm living. And then there are moments of hope. There
are days that show me that I choose how to live my life.
In the last year I've learned so much
about grief, love, and what rock bottom means. I've recently read this
quote:
The breaking of you will be the making
of you. A new you. A stronger you. -Lysa Terkeurst
If I had the choice, it wouldn't be to
rebuild myself. I was happy before. Really, really happy. I've been given life
I wasn't expecting. I can't bring Matt back-I wish I could. With his passing, I
have been broken. And not just once. Many, many times. I know piece by piece, my heart is being
put back together despite the gaping hole that will forever remain. My choice
now is what type of person I want to be. What my new life looks like and how I
want to use this loss in a positive way. I won't let this turn me bitter and cold.
I won't let Matt's kids live without
knowing their dad. Despite how painful it is for me, I will talk about him and
look at his pictures and watch his videos. I will take them places he loved. I will make
sure Olivia and Rylan know where he came from through his family and his
friends. I will let them see me cry so they know sadness doesn't mean
weakness.
Even though today and the past week have
pushed me down, I know I'll get back up. Because I know riding out the lows is my only
option.
