Sometimes You Just Need to Get Away

We recently we away to Arizona with family. How could this not recharge the heart??

I have come to understand that I will live with the grief of losing Matt for the remainder of my life. I know there will be times when I am coasting through life and managing the pain well. And then there will be times when my heart physically feels heavy. Despite knowing this, when the lows hit, I am caught off guard. Thrown down despite my best efforts to work through this tragedy.

I remember shortly after Matt passed and the inability to even get out of bed or off the couch. I remember how simply standing felt impossible. I am thankful that I was able to live with my mom and dad because I don't know how I would have been able to care for Olivia had it not been for us all being together. As time went on, I was able to work with my therapist on tools for digging out of this hole. I was able to see that even the littlest things are huge milestones when trudging through grief. I would applaud myself at the end of the day regardless of what I accomplished. Even if was just moving from bed to the couch, I still did something.

Throughout the course of the last three years, I can be proud of how I haven't let Matt's passing have control over my life. I have recognized the sadness when it's there and I have been joyous without feeling guilty.

But the thing about grief is that it's sneaky. Just when I feel like I know what to expect, something happens, or maybe nothing triggers it at all, and I am knocked backward. I am taken back to that place I was 3 years ago when I can't even imagine lifting my head off my pillow. A couple weeks ago I was in that place. I was in a place that I wouldn't wish on anyone. I woke up wondering how I was going to get through the day. The tears streamed down my face for days. I would look in the mirror and barely recognize myself. The dark circles under my eyes from not sleeping, the swollen eyelids from not being able to stop the tears, dirty hair, the same pajamas worn for days at a time. Grief isn't just an emotion. It can show itself physically as well.

I forced myself to go to the gym knowing the physical release was so beneficial for my mental health. I forced myself to take Olivia to swim lessons and took us to family gatherings. All the while, I felt overwhelmed with the grief that was building inside me. This time around, my grief was centered around being lonely. I have a tremendous support system. I have friends and family that I talk to daily. People in my life, that despite a shower and makeup, can see past it and truly recognize how I am breaking. The ones who know exactly what to say. The ones who know when words aren't enough. The ones who cry when I cry and hurt because I hurt. I am incredibly thankful for them. But even with this love and support around me, I long for the companionship I once had. I can do life alone. I can take care of my kids, my house, and my life without a person. The relationship shared with your significant other is unique and unlike any other relationship. The loneliness from not having that has consumed me and left me feeling overtaken with grief. It triggered my anger that Matt is gone. It triggered reliving those days in the hospital and memories of watching Matt die.

During this time, I had therapy-thank God for therapy! I don't know where I would be in life without it. I sat during my last session and sobbed. She listened intently, as she always does. Towards the end of my time with her, we started talking about vacationing with Matt's family. His aunt and uncle have a vacation home in Arizona and have invited us year after year to come to visit. I have wanted to go but just haven't been ready. During therapy, I was urged to book the trip with the Larimore's and go. Get away. Refocus. Have a distraction. With just 3 days before everyone was already planning on going, I decided to book us and join.

For most people, vacationing to a warm destination in December seems like a no-brainer. But for me, there are so many variables and reasons not to go. Ever since losing Matt, I have struggled with being around his family. It isn't at all because I don't want to. In fact, the opposite is true. I love being around his family (and friends) because I feel him with them. Having known them for 16+ years, they have become my family as well. But again, grief is complicated. Matt's family and friends bring me joy but also pain. I become more aware of his absence when we are all together. We create memories with each other but these memories will never include Matt. It doesn't matter what I am doing with them; watching a movie, attending a sporting event, or taking the kids to visit Santa. Whenever I am with them, I find myself looking around for Matt and realizing he will never be with us. His absence is strong and my heart is heavy.

Over the last three years, I have had to ease myself back into family functions that include Matt's family. It took me a long time to even go to Matt's childhood home after he passed because it was so painful to be there without him. Vacationing seemed like it would never happen. And yet just last week, going away seemed like the very thing I needed the most. I am so glad we went. So proud I took the step to try it. We had so much fun together. We played outside, did some fishing, went to the zoo, even participated in a boat parade! The kids were so well behaved and wonderful to be around. And I believe the entire family came home with a lighter heart because of our time together.

Coming back home and trying to get back in the swing of a routine is always rough. Any vacation that I've taken since Matt's passing leads to anxiety when I know I have to come home. I can feel the anxiety rising the closer I get to being back in my own space. This comes from knowing that my reality is still waiting for me when I get home. It comes from the loneliness waiting for me when I get home and don't have him here to talk to about the trip. It comes from knowing that eventually the distraction from the trip is going to fade and I will be back to where I was before I left.

Despite these feelings, I am really glad we went. I was indeed able to refocus and dig out of a really dark place that I was in prior to leaving. The heaviness is still weighing on me but the intensity is less. The depression, the grief, and the sadness are all still strong but I am able to navigate it better than I was prior to going to Arizona.

Night rides on Kevin & Jennie's boat

Boat rides and naps

Kevin & Jennie's community park held a Christmas event. They even brought snow! We got to visit Frosty, go on a train ride, and decorate Christmas cookies! 

Visiting the Phoenix Zoo

Out to dinner with the family.

We all wore ugly sweaters for the boat parade we were in. A highlight of the trip was throwing candy to the people on shore. So much laughter! 

Olivia loved fishing with Papa Larry. She always squirmed and squealed about holding the fish but eventually did it. 

Olivia's New Curiosity

This year's anniversary felt so much different. Seeing an idea come to life was truly impactful. We, as a family, are always trying to make sure Matt's memory and legacy live on. And because of the #toastMattLarimore idea, we all felt like that happened. Over the course of the day, I received countless texts, videos, pictures, and messages from friends and family. Even people that Matt didn't know personally, participated. It was incredible. Each message brought a smile to my face. Every time I was able to see the impact that my sweet husband made, my heart was touched. It felt good to feel connected to everyone. It felt special to know that we aren't alone in our grief. October 15th is such a hard day. But this year it was different. There was a sense of connection because of everyone who took part in toasting Matt. Thank you.

I have been struggling with how I want to write my blog. I feel like this is such a cathartic way for me to process my grief. But I also wonder about the frequency of it. I am debating on writing monthly, every other month, every 6 months, or once a year. I feel like after 3 years I am still learning and evolving in my grief.

I have seen a shift in Olivia and until yesterday when I had therapy, I didn't realize what that shift was. I talked about how lately she is very jealous of Rylan. Anything he has, she wants. She doesn't like messes at the house and she is constantly arguing with Rylan. We talked about how these are signs of boredom in Olivia and how she is searching for new relationships of her own. I found this perspective to be incredibly helpful as I have been desperately trying to navigate motherhood and the challenges it brings. That is what I love about attending therapy. We cover everything from grief to parenting and beyond. Every time I leave, I realize I have learned something new.

Olivia has also shown new curiosity about Matt. Having just celebrated Halloween, she saw tombstones everywhere. She is a smart kid and made the connection with tombstones on TV and real tombstones that she sees at the cemetery. The tombstones on TV are often associated with zombies or mummies coming out of the ground. So when we would drive through the cemetery and she would ask me about them, I wasn't sure how to explain it to her. Olivia has also been very curious about what happened to Matt. Since his passing, I have never explained to her that "Daddy died." I have said things to her like..."He's in Heaven with Jesus." Even as a family, when we talk about Matt, we say he "passed away" or "we lost him." I have noticed lately that these explanations aren't sufficient anymore for Olivia. She wants to know specifics. She wants to know what happened to him.

Two nights ago Olivia experienced grief for the first time. She was upstairs playing and came downstairs and sat on the couch. As she sat there, I noticed she was sobbing. I calmed her down enough to ask her what happened. She finally explained to me that she was upstairs and was looking at all the pictures of Daddy (I have a large collage of pictures in my office-many which include Matt). She kept crying and telling me "I miss Daddy. When is he coming back? Can we visit him in Heaven?" She told me that "Jesus can bring him back" and then looked right at me and said, "what happened to Daddy?" I cried with her as I tried to explain that his heart got sick and stopped working. I waited for her to ask more questions but she never did. She just kept crying. Just kept missing him.

It was the first time I have seen her grieve in this way. I was thankful to have therapy the next day to try and navigate this new curiosity in her. I don't want to hide facts from her but I also don't want to give her too much information since she's not even 5 yet. I want her to get age-appropriate information. My therapist explained to me that although it will be painful, I need to start preparing Olivia with the tools and dialogue about what happened to her dad. She emphasized the importance of this since Olivia will be going to kindergarten in the fall. She said kids are going to (innocently) ask about her dad. If she doesn't have the tools, the story, the dialogue to explain confidently about Matt, it could hurt her more. We talked about how it feels like as an adult to be caught off guard. How we can feel anxious and out of control. And the same can happen to children.

Once again, I am amazed by grief. Prior to losing Matt, I didn't realize that grief is a lifelong jurney. I didn't know that there would always be new stuff to learn about how to deal with such a significant loss like losing my spouse. Even after 3 years, I am still presented with new challenges and obstacles. I am, once again, thankful for therapy. I am grateful that I have people in my life that I can openly communicate with in a transparent and healthy way. 

Three Years

Three years ago marks the worst day of my life. And I can say for certain that it wasn’t just one day that was terrible. It was days leading up to today. It is days that have followed. That’s the thing about loss. It’s not just one moment that sucks. It’s many. And now, more than ever, I see that. 

We recently took another devastating blow. Matt’s cousin, Joe, was recently killed in a motorcycle accident. He was 33. The same age as Matt when he passed. This family is facing another death at such an unexpected time. These people, the ones I love so much, are broken in a new way. But also in a way that’s so familiar.

Why Matt? Why Joe? Why October? Why 33? Why? Why? Why? We will never have these answers. We may never find peace. And right now, I’m not looking for any of that. Right now, I’m sitting in the pain. I, along with so many, are feeling the wounds ripped open. Wounds we thought we would only experience once. 

On Saturday we gathered to celebrate Joe’s life. I stood against a wall next to my parents much like I did when Matt’s service was over. Familiar faces hugged me and cried with me. Each person showing pain in their faces despite trying so hard to be strong. Broken again. 

Today my words escape me. Today the pain is familiar. Today the pain is new. Today, each time I look at the clock, I think back to exactly where I was 3 years ago. I can feel the ache, the emptiness, with the same intensity as I did three years ago. 

Terrible Twos & Facing October

Summer ended without warning. I woke up one day and it was gone. The stores are full of everything pumpkin and the leaves have started to change. I'm not ready. I am not ready to face fall.

In the past, the fall used to be my most favorite season. I loved that it meant slowing down a little, staying home more, and eating soup. I love soup. But obviously, now fall holds an entirely different perspective. Over the last (almost) three years, I have tried really hard to change my outlook on October. But despite my best efforts, I can't do it. I try so hard to be strong and cope and deal with the grief that runs throughout my life. It's frustrating to find myself feeling weak, crying almost daily, and reflecting on the worst season of my life. A season that has turned into three years of hardships and heartache.

This last week has been incredibly exhausting. I hate complaining about my kids. It's been 6 years since my first miscarriage. I remember it vividly. I remember the months and months leading up to finally getting pregnant. The struggles, the tears, the negative tests. And then it finally happened. And then we lost the baby. During that time, I told myself over and over to remember how badly I want to be a mom. I told myself that someday I would be a mom. I know there are many people who struggle with their own fight of getting pregnant or having a family. I know there are many people who have lost their own children. I know there are many people who would give anything to be expericing the "terrible twos." I am cautious to express how hard this has been but I also think it is vital because of the uniqueness that comes from my situation as a widow. A very young widow.

Rylan has been an absolute terror lately. He wakes up whining and doesn't stop until he's asleep. Everything I ask of him gets a "NO!" shouted back at me. Everything is an arugement. Everything requires my patience and guidance and discipline. Rylan naturally has a very grating cry. Even as a baby, the sound of his cry has worn on me. And lately, it is all I hear from him. It's exhausting.

I have faced a lot of really, really hard moments over the last 35 months. Watching Matt pass, picking out his casket, burying him, and giving birth to Rylan without Matt beside me come to mind as some of the hardest moments of my life. But single parenting, as a widow, is by far the hardest, constant, thing I have ever done.

I have always had really wonderful support from mine and Matt's parents. I have found it incredibly beneficial to attend therapy regularly. And I have friends who love me. I have a village. But despite the size and support of this village, I am still, ultimately, doing this alone. The parenting falls soley on me. I can't expect anyone but me, their mom, to raise them and discipline them. I can't expect anyone but me to make sure their behavior is in check. And of course they are well-behaved for everyone except me. That's how most kids are.

This last week I have literally felt trapped in my own home. Trapped with my kids and no escape. I think of when I was growing up and when my mom would reach her limit with us kids. She was able to leave. She was able to say to my dad that she needed to go on a drive or take a walk. She was able to hide upstairs in their bathroom with a glass of wine in the tub. And my dad would make sure we didn't bother her. My mom could decompress, refocus, and chill out.

I have had countless offers from friends and family saying they will watch my kids anytime I need them. They have told me they would be happy to take my kids off my hands so I can go to the store alone or get a massage. And beleive me, I appreciate the offers so much. The problem is scheduling. The problem is thinking ahead. It's the moments that I need a break the most, the situations I need someone the most, and I don't have him. I don't have Matt. I don't have him walking through the door in the evenings and knowing I can leave the house and just breathe.

This week has tested me. This week has worn me down.

We are just a month away from the 3 year anniversary of Matt's passing. I thought time passing would make things easier. But it doesn't. Time doesn't heal. Time changes. The heaviness in my chest is the same today as it's been over the last 35 months. I don't miss Matt any less. I don't think of him less often. I still wish every single day that my life was different.

I am constantly trying to find ways to honor and remember Matt. I have expressed the importance of this before. I especially want Olivia and Rylan to know and remember their dad. But I also believe that Matt is worth that. He's worth us crying, he's worth us mentioning his name, he's worth us raising a glass and toasting him. This year, I want to try and bring that to a bigger place. I want all of us, the people impacted by Matt's passing, to remember Matt. I want us to think of him on October 15th. I want us to raise a glass, alcoholic or not, and honor him. Matt's time of death was 5:50 AM on October 15, 2015. My idea is this: wherever you are, whatever you're doing, at 5:50 PM on October 15th, raise a glass to Matt. If you can, take a picture and send it to myself, my family, or Matt's family. We want to feel the love, the support, and know that we are together, we are connected, because of this incredible person.

"Grief is not an event. It is a permanent alteration."

Just when grief feels manageable, the rug is pulled from beneath my feet. It leaves me face down and startled that I'm back in a low. That's the thing about grief. It's unpredictable. Right when it starts to have a rhythm, suddenly it doesn't anymore. Suddenly I'm drowning, gasping for air. Wondering how I will ever surface again.

I've had a lot of lows lately. And this time, I find that I am internalizing them rather than reaching out to my family or friends. Until now...the 15th...when I force myself to sit, reflect, and write.

Back on the 25th, Rylan had surgery for urethral meatal stenosis. When I first spoke with his pediatrician about the situation, he was confident that Rylan would need surgery. Right away I had anxieties. Any surgery involving your children, big or small, is stressful. This was no exception. The day prior, I got a call from Mary Bridge with the check-in instructions, where to go, and day-of plan. I was told to check in at the main entrance of Tacoma General, the hospital where Matt passed away. I asked the woman on the phone if there was another entrance I could use or another way to check Rylan in for surgery. I briefly explained the situation but unfortunately, there was nothing she could recommend to make it any easier. I was forced to face the fear.

Prior to surgery. Such a good boy! 

Waking up afterwards. Sleepy and snuggly. 

Arrival wasn't as difficult as I expected. The triggers showed up later when Rylan was wheeled back to the operating room and the nurses told my mom and me where we could wait. We got off the elevator on the 6th floor and made our way to the surgery waiting room. I froze. My mind was racing. Is it the same waiting room? The same one we waited in for 14 hours while Matt had open heart surgery? The same phone that rang with updates from the operating room? The same waiting room that was full of family and friends for 4 days while we prayed, cried, supported, and hoped for Matt's life? The same waiting room? Was it? I couldn't figure it out. Surely it wouldn't be the same. We were at the children's hospital. I tried to articulate to my mom what I was questioning. Thankfully she already knew and guided me to a table to sit and wait. My legs trembled with anxiety, I cried, and I thought I was going to vomit. Once the fog settled a bit, I came to realize it was the same waiting room. The same, dreaded, horrible place. I tried not to look around. I tried to not remember. But it was impossible not to. Triggers. Intense and impossible to avoid.

Olivia and Rylan picked the colors of their balloons. 

The 29th we celebrated Matt's 36th birthday. The week leading up to his birthday I try really hard to focus on the beauty of Matt's life instead of the ache that comes with his passing. Most of the time, this approach is successful. I find joy in remembering the hilarious stories that come from knowing Matt. But it's also impossible to pretend that the grief isn't there. At 4.5, Olivia loves birthdays. All week we talked about Daddy's birthday, the dessert, the balloons, and the swimming. She was so excited when she woke up on his birthday. It pains me when she asks, "Is Daddy actually going to be there?" or "What about a present for Daddy?" She hasn't grasped yet what happened to Matt. She knows he's in Heaven. She knows he's with Jesus. But until she starts asking me for more, I keep her knowledge simple. She has the rest of her life to grieve. We celebrated with Matt at the cemetery. We wrote on balloons like we've done in the past and sent them to him. Prior to everyone getting to the cemetery, I sat with Matt and cried. I looked at the dates on his grave marker, as I have so many times, still in shock and disbelief. Following the cemetery, we spent the day at Matt's childhood home. We swam, we had a BBQ, and we gathered together as family. I know Matt celebrated most of his birthdays the same way. Swimming with his friends and family on the beautiful July day.

The next morning I was at the gym and the reality of Matt's birthday sunk in. It was during warmup that I started thinking about the day prior and what it was. I started thinking about how we had a good day. How we celebrated Matt, we sang to him, we toasted him. But then I found myself angry and sad. I hate that we have to celebrate Matt without him here. I hate the fact that we have to spend the morning at the cemetery or that we aren't creating new memories with him here. I fought back tears, ran to the bathroom a couple of times, and tried to escape the thoughts that were in my head.

Of course, it isn't just two days over the last month that has been making me feel low. Grief runs parallel with life. Forever it will be right beside me. Even during the times when life is flowing nicely, grief is still right there. My lows are from the reminders that are everywhere. The stores are already selling stuff for fall. A huge reminder that another anniversary is almost here. Fall means so much navigating and processing. The lows come from the trials and stress of parenting. It's the added weight of single parenting. It's the constant demand of being "on" at all times. It's the loneliness that sits on my chest every single evening. It's the pressure of feeling like I'm not doing enough. There are so many layers and elements to my feelings lately. Some I can't even process yet. 

I try and face the lows with how Matt would. I try and think about what our conversations would sound like. How would he encourage me? What would he tell me to take off my plate to make my life easier? I also think about what he would tell me now as he sees me navigate life without him. If he had a chance to talk to me now, what would he tell me? Would he say he's proud of how I make it through each day? Even the days that are really hard, would he think I've done a good job? 

"Grief is not an event. It is a permanent alteration." 

Facing The Hospital

This last month took me to a place that I wasn't expecting. I was faced with a situation that I wasn't prepared for. A tough situation that I had to navigate without preparation or processing.

The night of June 21st was a ladies night that has been in the works for quite some time. The kids, my mom, myself, and Matt's mom headed to a friend's house for dinner and a 4th of July craft. After being there for a while, I noticed my mom talking on her phone. She was shaking, panicked, asking the person on the other end, "where are they taking him?" I didn't know what was going on but I knew we had to leave. I started grabbing the kids, as many of our belongings, and told Val we needed to go. When my mom got off the phone, she filled us in that my dad had gone to get Pho for dinner and "passed out." He was being taken to the ER by ambulance.

The short drive to the hospital is a blur. I tried talking myself through what I was about to experience. I wanted to be there with my mom, for my mom. But I haven't been in this sort of situation since Matt was there. Since losing him, I have only gone to the hospital to give birth to Rylan. And preparing for his birth took hours and hours of therapy to work through the stress and anxiety of being in a hospital. As I drove, I kept telling myself that this wasn't about me. This wasn't Matt again. This was about supporting my parents. Val and my mom both kept telling me I didn't have to go. I worked out the logistics of the kids with Val as we drove. She dropped my mom and me off in front of the ER...just as my mom had done when I got the call about Matt.

I walked into the emergency room on trembling legs with a nauseous stomach. My mom held onto me, both of us frightened. It was too much the same. My mom went to the desk and said we were there for my dad. They told us he hadn't arrived yet but they would let us know when he was there and in a room. At that moment, my body felt completely uncontrollable. I was sobbing, shaking, and having flashbacks of that horrible day with Matt. My mom told me to go outside until my dad got there. I paced the front sidewalk countless times. I called Alyssa, Matt's cousin, and told her over and over, "I don't think I can do this. I don't think I can be here."

The moment finally came for us to go see my dad. We walked through the double doors and my mom was walking beside me, holding me. I can't remember what she was saying but I kept telling her, "it's ok...his room was to the right. It was room 9. We aren't going that way." All of a sudden, we ended up walking right past Matt's room. My mom had to push me along as I was unable to control my thoughts or feelings while I relived some of the worst moments of my life. We got to my dad's room, the paramedics, doctors, nurses all surrounding him. It was like seeing Matt there all over again. I retraced my steps, my movements, without even trying. Everything was the same. From how and where I put my purse down. To the paramedics talking closely and quietly to us.

I called my brother and sister and filled them in on what we knew. It wasn't much but I knew what I was seeing wasn't normal. My dad wasn't right. Dazed, confused, lethargic, and no short-term memory. When he was asked what month it was, after much thought and deliberation, he said guess December. We speculated a stroke. We were fearful of long-term damage. Before long, my entire family was together. We talked with the doctors about any changes in the last few days that could have led us to this point with my dad.

If you don't know this about my dad, he lives with chronic back pain. Because of this, he has a spinal stimulator and an intrathecal pump. After much thinking and discussing, we discovered that the new amount of medication in my dad's pump was actually too much leading to symptoms of overdose. He stayed overnight and was discharged the next afternoon. We took him to see his pain management doctor to have his medication adjusted.

Thankfully my dad is alright. Thankfully the overdose was a simple fix. Thankfully I live close to Matt's parents so they could step in and help with Olivia and Rylan. So much to be thankful for. I am able to look back at that experience with gratitude. I knew at some point I would end up in the emergency room for one reason or another. I knew at some point I would have to relive my experience with Matt. I knew this would test me and push me and break me. Not just me, but my entire family. We all felt the memories and trauma of our own experiences from losing Matt. I am proud of myself for facing such a hard situation. I could have chosen to go home and wait for updates from my mom. But I knew, deep down, I could handle it. Therapy has shaped me and strengthened me. I have talked about my fears related to the hospital so many times. I used the tools taught to me in therapy to help me. I did it. We did it.

I am beyond proud of how we all came together to love and support each other. We, as a family, have grown closer and stronger because of Matt. We have become closer to Matt's parents because of his passing. We have come closer to our village of friends who step in to check on us and help with anything we might need. Thankful, proud, grateful. Relieved.

(Thank you, Laura, for your help with Winnie!)

The Heaviness of Father's Day

Last month was Mother’s Day and the excitement of going to Ellen. This month it’s the anticipation and dread of Father’s Day. 

Ellen was amazing. The trip to California filled my heart and checked items off my bucket list. I can’t remember the last time I felt excitement like I did when I SAT IN ELLEN’S CHAIR! I kept joking all day that seeing a taping of an Ellen show was better than the birth of my children. It was such a truly, wonderful day. 

This week has been brutal. So many tears. I am fatigued with grief. I feel broken more intensely than I have in the weeks prior. What I have learned through two and a half years of therapy is that I have to be intentional with my thoughts. I have to think about why I feel. What are the underlying issues of my sadness? It is easy to become overwhelmed with all the reasons I am sad and broken. Sometimes that list is endless. But the tool of being intentional helps me narrow down the specifics for right now.

I have learned something new about my grief and how I feel about Matt’s passing. Every holiday is difficult. Some more so than others. There are a few during the year that I want to come and go as quickly as possible. The anniversary of Matt’s passing, our wedding anniversary, and, I have learned recently, that Father’s Day is at the top of that list. I grieve for my kids as well as myself. The added emotion I feel for them makes this weekend particularly difficult. 

I also ache for what Matt’s dad must be feeling this weekend. I cry whenever I think of what his pain must be. As the time moves forward, I find that I am more clearheaded. With the grief fog lifting a little, comes a clearer understanding of all the ways I am grieving. And this year, I not only feel for Matt’s dad, I feel for my children and myself in a new way. 

Monday, in particular, was a really awful day. I spent the entire day in tears. The stress of this coming weekend overwhelmed me. I was leaving swimming lessons with Olivia and saw my friend, Christie. She knew right when she saw me that something was on my mind. She asked what was going on and as I said “Father’s Day,” the tears started coming and didn’t stop until I went to bed that night. When we were getting in the car, Olivia asked me why I was crying. Through my sobs, I told her that I really missed her daddy. She then asked me, “Mom, is Daddy coming back?” I could barely contain myself as I tried to explain to her that he couldn’t. That he won’t be coming back.

Throughout this week I have thought so much about Father’s Day. How my kids have not yet started to process their grief or that their dad isn’t with us. My heart shatters knowing that they will someday feel pain because of this. I am angry that Olivia even has to ask if her daddy is coming back. I am angry that when she sees a cemetery, she asks if that’s where daddy is at. Four-year-olds shouldn’t know what a cemetery is. They shouldn’t relate their dad to any cemetery that they see throughout their car window. Father’s Day makes me really angry because of what it does, and doesn’t, signify for my children. Olivia only had 21 months with her dad. Rylan never even met him. 

The thing about Matt, the thing that makes me sad for him, is that he loved being a dad. His world came into focus when Olivia was born. He lit up because of the joy she brought his heart. Without a doubt, I know Rylan would have only added to that happiness. Rylan would have given Matt have more grey hair and (maybe) a few wrinkles. Olivia’s constant questions and singing would have made Matt crazy and impatient. But he would love sharing stories of her with whoever would listen. Matt should have been here last week seeing Olivia in her first dance recital. Beaming with pride. He should be a part of Rylan’s obsession with tractors and dirt. These precious children should have a dad instead of just a mom. A mom desperately trying to fill the void in their hearts that will never be full. 

I go into this weekend full of dread and desperate for Monday to be here. I want it to be over. I don't want to "celebrate" Father's Day at a cemetery with tears on my cheeks and an ache in my heart. I don't want my dad to carry the burden of seeing his daughter so broken. I don't want Larry to put on a smile and pretend he is alright. And I don't want my children to have to grieve their dad. 

Feeling blah...but going to ELLEN!

For the last few weeks I have found myself irritable. Impatient. Blah. I couldn't figure out what exactly it was stemming from. I am really mindful with my emotions and what is causing them. Especially when they are negative feelings. I went to therapy last week and started explaining this and my therapist pointed out a few reasons behind my mood.

The weather changing and bringing us closer to summer is such a good feeling. But I forgot how seasons changing leaves me feeling sad and grief-stricken. The change in weather, change in months, and holidays reminds me of time passing without Matt. It signifies more time that he is missing. More memories that he isn't part of.

Mother's Day is a hard. Much like all the other holidays. Matt made both myself and Val a mom. I love that we share this bond. I also know how very much I love my kids and I can only imagine what it must feel like for Val to celebrate Mother's Day. Full of joy for the years spent raising Matt and Justin. Pride for the men they have become. And equally heartbroken that one of her children isn't here to celebrate her.

I am especially thankful for Matt's cousin, Alyssa, this month. One of my dreams has been to attend a taping of the Ellen show. I love what Ellen is about. Despite what we believe, what negative stuff is going on in the world, or where we are from, there is always room for laughter, dancing, and kindness. I have recorded her show for years. In fact, watching her show was one of the therapies that got me through some of the darkest days after Matt passed. Unbeknownst to me, for roughly 6 months, Alyssa had been trying to get tickets to Ellen's show. And recently, she told me she got four! Tomorrow morning, Alyssa, her mom, Val, and myself are going to California for a girl's weekend. We attend the taping on Thursday and I am more than thrilled!

This trip is coming at such a perfect time. It has pushed myself and Val through Mother's Day and given us both something to look forward to. As much as I don't like being away from my kids, I always come home with more love and appreciation for them. Plus, my dream becoming a reality has me giddy with excitement!!

Taking Steps

As I write, I am sitting on an airplane headed to Disneyland. Yes, I did just go with Olivia. But this trip is adults only with my mom, aunt, and cousin. I am eternally grateful for these women. That they recognize the importance of having rest. They see the need for me to be away from my kids and rest and relax. I am also incredibly grateful for the community I have at home taking care of my babies. Specifically Matt’s parents, Val and Larry. Without them, I don’t know that I would be comfortable leaving. 

Mom guilt is a serious thing and it weighs heavy on me while I’m away. Especially going to Disneyland of all places. But I know this time away will make me appreciate and love my kids more than I already do. And lately, I have been feeling the need for a break. My kids haven’t necessarily been behaving badly. They are my heart. My life. But it does get tiring. Really, really tiring. I haven’t even taken off yet and I already miss them.

I have mentioned before the reasons for writing my blog. It’s cathartic and therapeutic for me. It forces me to be intentional with my thoughts during the month and truly focus on ways I am struggling, growing, hurting, and healing. Some months I find myself celebrating victories. Other months I find myself wallowing in more pain than I can even articulate. I would say this last month has been a big mixture of both.

When I moved into our house, everything got put in a place. Now that I have been settled in the house for over a year now, I am finding that stuff isn’t organized to my liking. The towels may be in the linen closet but they aren’t in an order the way I prefer. The games and craft items are upstairs where I want, but not at all organized. Slowly but surely I am finding time to really put things away the way I want. Most recently, my coat closet. This was a catchall for all things coats, vacuums, and random items. Also in this closet was a box of Matt’s coats that was appropriately labeled “Matt’s hall coats.” When I was cleaning things out, I decided that this box would be a good baby step. 

I have not yet touched any of Matt’s items. I still have everything that ever belonged to him. All shirts, pants, socks, and even underwear. Nothing has been gone through. If you don’t know this about Matt, he had a lot of stuff. He, surprisingly, liked shopping. He would buy a sweatshirt and like it so much and later go back and buy it in two or three different colors. The task of going through Matt’s possessions is not only hard emotionally, it is also very overwhelming. How in the world will I ever decide what to do with all of it? The coats were no exception. In this box were roughly 18 coats. Some are still packed away in other boxes. Those 18 didn’t include coats he wore for snowmobiling or hunting. They didn’t include suit coats. 

Opening this box of coats was painful. I looked at all of them carefully. I went through all the pockets to see if he left anything in them. I laughed when I didn’t find anything. How was there not one receipt or wrapper in any of the pockets? I also laughed at the similarities between so many of the coats. I could hear our (loving) disagreements when we would be shopping. “Matt, don’t you have a coat just like that at home?” “Well, this one has a hood” or “this one is grey.” Laying them all out just made me smile because of the way his thought process was when buying all these coats. The heartbreaking part of it all was how much life was left in the coats. I cried thinking how similar this is to Matt himself. So new. So much life left. Hardly worn. 

What I decided to do with Matt’s coats was see if his best friend, Eli, wanted to go through them. I was hopeful that he would say yes because I wanted to see them worn more. I wasn’t sure if this would be a painful or comforting piece of Matt to have. I took the box to Eli’s and left them on his porch. When I drove home, I sobbed the entire way. I never dreamed that letting go of coats would be so painful. I just kept thinking “this isn’t right. This isn’t something that I should have to do.” Eli appreciated being thought of and found use for some of Matt’s coats which has made my heart really happy. 

As a freelance sign language interpreter, one of the many things I’ve always loved about my job is the flexibility. I love that I can pick and choose when and where I want to work. But work isn’t something I have done since September 2015. Prior to Matt’s passing, I worked on occasion. Matt was always very encouraging of the career I chose. He always praised me and said how cool my job is. He also saw how becoming a mom fulfilled me and how it’s what I was born to do. Matt never pressured me to work but encouraged me to keep up on my career because he could tell I love it so much. When Matt was in the hospital, I was fearful of how being a stay-at-home mom would change. I thought losing him would mean working full time and putting my kids in daycare. I wasn’t sure how I would juggle it all while working. What a blessing to find out that I didn’t have to work. Because in all honesty, going back to work caused me a lot of anxiety. 

I take my job really seriously. I want to be seen as a professional and remain composed in all situations. Freelancing also means that my job changes every time I go to work. I could be working in a school setting one day and the next be in a medical setting. I also feared being asked by clients or people at my appointment about my personal life. These conversations happen all the time. And if tears come, I am not afraid of them. I had anxiety wondering how I would compose myself if the tears came while working. This long break from work also had me concerned that I would forget my second language. I haven’t attended workshops or been involved with the Deaf community in a very long time. I didn’t want to show up to a job and find myself struggling to interpret well. 

The agency I work for is owned by someone very dear to my heart. Kari hired me right out of college. She has always kept me as busy as I wanted to be and always gave me the confidence to do jobs that I was unsure of. She appreciated me. She saw the value of family and made sure that I knew it was important to always keep family first. Kari has been in my life for a long time. Behind me and supporting me through so much. When Matt passed it was no surprise that she told me not to worry about work until I was ready.  

Kari recently emailed me about a job and wanted to know if I would accept it. When I say “job”, I mean a short appointment with a far drive. This appointment was with a client whom I have known for many years. Someone who has followed my journey, supported, and prayed for me through everything. Someone whom I am comfortable with even if I were to happen to break down in tears. So, I took the job. This was such a huge step for me in my grieving process. It was ripping the band-aid off my biggest anxiety wound. I was incredibly proud of myself for taking this step. And I was extremely grateful to Kari and the client for their patience for me to get to this point. 

I think the importance of both these milestones is taking time for reflecting on sadness. While going through Matt's coats and driving to work, I kept reminding myself "it is ok to be sad." It is such a simple reminder that life is sad sometimes. And allowing myself to feel those emotions is vital to healing. I can be really sad that Matt isn't here to share my victory of taking a job. And I can be really sad that I have to go through his possessions. Allowing the tears allows my heart to heal. My heart will never, ever be the same as it used to be. My heart will get put back together with a hole in it. Taking steps by taking jobs and going through Matt's stuff will only help me heal in a new way. 

Sometimes I don't want to think...

I woke up really irritable today. I feel crabby and agitated. And I know exactly why. It's the 15th. By now, I should have spent time reflecting and processing so that I can blog what I have experienced this last month. But I haven't yet. I knew in order to write today that I would have to dig into my feelings and emotions. I've grieved Matt. Ask my dad. He saw me in a meltdown on Monday because of it. But I haven't sat and processed much and frankly, I just didn't want to. I have 5 different blogs started right now. Each one containing only a paragraph or two. None of them feel right yet to post. So today, I will see what comes out in words. While this process never ends, while it's a daily and exhausting road, sometimes I don't know what to say. Sometimes my thoughts are so heavy and consuming that I find it difficult to actually articulate what I am feeling. And that's how it is today.

We are on "Survivor Benefits" because of Matt. I hate that label. Yuck. But because of these benefits, I am able to stay home with Olivia and Rylan. Something I am incredibly grateful to Matt for. I recently got a letter from social security that was really vague but that stated I needed to come into the office before March 21st. Today was probably a bad day to choose since it's the 15th and my emotions are heightened. But we went. Between meals, swimming lessons, ballet, my workouts, therapy, etc, it's a challenge to find the "perfect" time to devote to social security. My kids still nap. Naps are precious in my house. I need them to nap as much as they need to nap. This morning Olivia had ballet so we went straight afterward. Close to two and a half hours later, we were done. And for what? For the agent to tell me that Rylan needed his own savings account. Really?!? They called us in for that?? A letter wouldn't have been sufficient? The lobby was packed full of crabby people. No one wanted to be there, especially on a beautifully sunny day. Not an empty chair either. Which meant the 3 of us sat on the floor. Also, there were signs everywhere say "No food or beverages. Not even water." It felt like some sort of torture facility. Depriving us of even the most basic needs like water. Add in a 4-year-old and (almost) 2 year old...ugh.

The point to all this is that even after 29 months, dealing with his passing is still a daily task. Not only does it require emotional sorting, it requires my time and effort. I had no idea that death meant so much work. That sounds really bitter. I am thankful for our Survivor Benefits. And really, social security could have made this whole thing so much easier for me. Regardless, it was still something I had to do because of losing Matt. But the list doesn't end yet. There are always things to do. I am constantly jumping through hoops. Whether its health insurance, finances, the IRS, his personal possessions, or events/situations I am faced with, there are always emotions and things to do to prepare for.

The next few weeks bring a lot of celebrations which also brings a lot of sadness. We celebrate a lot of family birthdays this month: Matt's dad, his brother, Rylan, and mine. Rylan will be two. April brings Matt and my anniversary. A day that fills me with dread. I know I haven't devoted enough time to process what is ahead. I know I need to sit and actually think about it and let myself be sad. But for now, I am going to escape my reality, shake off the terrible time at Social Security, and watch Ellen while the kids are sleeping.

New Accomplishments, New Pride

Matt loved Super Bowl Sunday. It was a holiday for him. The food, drinks, gathering with friends and family, and of course, football. This year, I wasn't vested in the teams playing. I didn't care. So instead of having a party and making Matt's favorite foods, I decided not to do anything. I laid low. I relaxed. I felt good about my decision. Until bedtime. I crawled into bed and decided to watch the new episode of This Is Us. If you don't watch, you should. If you do, you can likely understand how trigger-filled that show is for me. During this particular episode, there were times I felt like I was watching myself on screen. I kept having to pause the TV and catch my breath as I was crying so hard. I also realized that by not doing anything was my way of avoiding a difficult day. I have never used avoidance as a way to try and cope the loss of Matt. I know how unsuccessful and damaging it is to try and avoid the grief that comes with his passing. As I laid in bed on Super Bowl Sunday, my emotions came pouring out of me. I realized, once again, how it is better to face my emotions than run from them. I realized how I should have handled the day. I saw that recognizing Matt in some way, could have made my evening just a little bit easier.

The sadness I experienced that night was so overwhelming. It was Super Bowl Sunday and I had done nothing about it. I didn't even have the chance to visit Matt. I felt I failed him. I sobbed during This Is Us as I watched similarities of my life unfold on TV. In that moment, sadness wasn't something I tried to avoid or pretend wasn't there. I knew it was necessary to cry and grieve. I knew that it was warranted and Matt deserved it.

This last month meant a long-anticipated trip to Disneyland with Olivia. I had been planning this surprise trip since well before Christmas. She had no idea we were going until we got to the airport. Spending time with just Olivia was amazing. We had the best time I could have imagined. I often forget just how little Olivia really is. Seeing her around Rylan all the time, I see an older child. But seeing her in Disneyland I saw her in a different light. I feel closer to and more in love with Olivia than ever before. I have a new appreciation for her and the way her mind works, how she loves, what she enjoys, and what makes her crabby. Being alone with her gave me the opportunity to learn so much about her that can easily get lost in the mundaneness of the day-to-day.

I knew Disneyland would also bring an ache to my heart. New experiences with Matt and my kids are really hard. They are hard because he should always be part of them. He should be part of the text messages, phone calls, planning, and excitement. Also, my most recent memory of Disneyland is from 2013 when I went with Matt. We had just had two miscarriages and my doctor wanted us to wait a few months before trying again. Matt and I wanted to go somewhere that would forever change when we had children. So we picked Disneyland. We had such an amazing time together. It was so fun going as grown adults and without children. Naturally, taking Olivia reminded me a lot of my time there with Matt. I wish so badly Matt and I could have taken Olivia to Disneyland together and seen her excitement together.

I decided to spend time on our trip and really be proud of myself. If anyone had asked me in the last year or two if I would ever take Olivia to Disneyland alone I would have said: "absolutely not." Why? Many reasons. Traveling alone. Reminders of Matt. Anxiety in new places. Cost. Leaving Rylan. The list goes on. I came home from our trip with a new sense of pride for myself. I don't acknowledge my accomplishments very often. I don't say that I am proud of myself. I don't want to come across as boastful or full of myself. But I am learning that part of really loving myself means taking the time to recognize the steps I am making towards a good life for the kids and myself.

My therapy sessions lately have been similarly themed as we talk about my accomplishments. My therapist has recently said how she wishes she could have recorded me when I first started seeing her. She sees a major transformation in my perspective, my accomplishments, and my process of grief. She takes the time to make sure I know that she is proud of me. We talk about how this doesn't mean that my grieving is complete. Or that life is suddenly easier. There is no end to processing something like the loss of Matt. What I have learned from her is that if I am mindful of what days are ahead and how it might make me feel, I can cope and handle my grief better. That also means being ok with the overwhelming sadness and crying. Tears bring healing. Crying is good. Just when I think I have a grasp on grief, something comes along to remind me that this process is never over. This hole in my heart will never fully repair. And Matt's absence will always be felt.

Olivia Turns 4

As I begin to write, it is January 8th and not even 6:00 AM. I shouldn’t be up yet I have been awake since 2:15 this morning. My brain just won’t let me go back to sleep. I finally gave in, got some coffee, and am sitting in bed watching Ellen. Writing is such a release for me. It helps me get some of what’s on my mind, out into words, allowing a release of sorts. This often leads to some mental space allowing me to sleep better. 

I can’t help but spend time thinking about Olivia. January 9th was her birthday. When the New Year rolls in, I find myself ready to get my house back in order and reorganized. My internal “nesting” kicks into high gear. I start cleaning, purging, organizing, and planning. I have lists galore of the things I want to get done for her birthday party. 

If you don’t know this about me, I am a planner. I am a do-er. I am Type A personality and hate when I don’t accomplish things I am supposed to do or things I want to do. This trait was highly beneficial for me when Matt passed. On one hand, I isolated myself and shut myself off from the world. I struggled with going out in public and doing anything I used to do. But I also had my long lists of things that needed to be done and places that needed to be called. 

I remember one of my first meetings with my financial adviser after losing Matt. Jeff sat with me in my mom and dad’s kitchen and had a list of people he wanted me to call before our next meeting. Calls like to Matt’s HR department, the garbage company, the credit union where Matt’s Jeep was financed, etc. Our next meeting wasn’t scheduled for weeks but by the next morning, I had checked everything off my list. Jeff laughed when I emailed him with the information I had gathered. At our next meeting, he handed me a binder to keep important documents in. He gave it to all his clients but he said I am the only one who had it color-coordinated, 3-hole punched, labeled, and brought it with to every appointment. 

Planning Olivia’s birthday party is so fun for me. I enjoy searching Pinterest for ideas on the theme she chooses. This girl loves tigers so when she said “Mom, I want a tiger party,” I quickly started brainstorming ways to turn our house into a jungle. I enjoy the busyness that planning events provide. It is a welcomed distraction to keep my mind off the bigger issues that are constantly circling in my head. 

Olivia’s and Rylan’s birthdays weigh heavy on my heart. Despite my best efforts to plan the perfect days for them, I can’t ignore the huge piece missing. I have said before, and I will say it again, Olivia and Rylan are my heart and my joy. I was born to be a mom and I love motherhood. I do. It is tiring, hard, draining, messy, and wonderful. What makes my motherhood even better is that Olivia and Rylan are Matt’s babies. He chose me to raise his kids. He saw in me the ability to be a good mom and entrusted me with a huge and very important task. Obviously, we didn’t know his life would end so suddenly. But I am thankful every day to Matt for making me a mom.

With this thankfulness, there’s also pain. I am a mom because of Matt. I think about the moments when I shared the news with Matt that we were pregnant. Four different times we were elated. Twice we were heartbroken when we miscarried. I think of when Matt first heard their heartbeats or saw Olivia on the ultrasound for the first time. I think about when he first felt her kick and how he was sure it was me just messing with him. I remember him recording me in the middle of the night when I was really pregnant because my snoring was keeping him awake. And then I think about my labor and delivery. Our moments together during that life-changing event were so beautiful. It hadn’t even been 24 hours since Olivia was born when I looked at Matt and said to him, “I want to do that again.” He thought I was absolutely nuts. But my heart was bursting with love for this little girl, for Matt as my husband, for Matt as a dad, and for the journey we had been on to become parents. 

Matt was only with Olivia for 21 months of her life. I strongly believe that he will remain an important role in her life. I believe she will have a connection and relationship with Matt because of the diligent effort I make to ensure she knows him. But that connection and relationship also come from Matt. He adored being a dad. Every so often, Olivia will bring up a memory of Matt that surprises me and catches me off guard. If she’s eating something new or sweet, she will say “Mom, Daddy liked this. Mom, did Daddy like gumballs? Gumballs were Daddy’s faaaavvvorite.” Did he like gumballs? Maybe at some point but I wouldn’t add them to his list of favorites. I just love that she connects things she loves, to her Daddy. I love that she has genuine real memories of him. I love that she talks about him and remembers him. 

Olivia and I were recently driving home one night. She said to me “Mom, I want a Daddy. I have a Daddy. Daddy is in Heaven. Everyone else has a Daddy. I want a Daddy.” Despite my best efforts, I still wonder if I failed her. I wonder if my response was enough. I wonder if telling her that Daddy is always with her and that he can hear her and she can talk to her is sufficient. Of course it’s not. This little girl should have a Daddy here. Not in Heaven. Not visiting him at a cemetery. He should be here to celebrate her and her birthday and all the changes life brought her this last year. 

Olivia’s birthday and the day of her party were just as they should be for a four-year-old. We ate donuts and “Old MacDonalds” and opened presents. We had dance parties and Olivia told everyone that would listen that she is now FOUR! We went to visit Matt on her birthday. We toasted her dad and acknowledged him in our celebrations. I decorated our house all week leading up to her party and did my best to make sure Olivia felt incredibly special. 

Like any other event I have in our home, there is always a letdown when everyone leaves for the night. The house quickly becomes quiet and dark and reality sets in that Matt wasn’t part of another very important day. It happens every time. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, family gatherings, and birthdays. Everyone leaves and suddenly I am left feeling nauseous and consumed with the heaviness of my grief. The part that still surprises me, and probably always will, is how heavy the grief still feels. I feel like I prep myself for these big days. I do everything I can. I talk to Matt, I attend therapy, I reach out to those I'm closest with, but inevitably, there is still a huge letdown. There is still a major feeling of loss and sadness. 

I have celebrated more of Olivia's without Matt than I have with him. I never thought about that until right now. Matt was only alive to celebrate ONE birthday with our sweet girl. ONE. A shift I have seen though is my ability to hold things together. I am able to get through most situations without being caught off guard by my grief. I have come to expect that the night will bring my pain. These milestones and parties are also a beautiful reminder of those in our corner. It shows me how blessed we are by the ones who walk through life with me. My children are loved by so many. I am thankful for outreach from those who thought of her and wished her a happy birthday. Each acknowledgment of her day makes me thankful with Matt that we have such loving and supportive people in our lives.

Olivia's birthday interview

Party favors for Olivia's friends

Decorated all week long

Tiger paw cupcakes

Decorated and ready for her party

Included her favorite snacks

Olivia's "boyfriend"

Joey, Christie, & Stella. Thankful for this friendship.

Joey, Christie, & Stella. Thankful for this friendship.

Auntie Well and Uncle Andy

GG & Papa Cot

GG & Papa Cot

Grandma Val & Papa Larry

Olivia & Sienna

Olivia & Sienna

This sums up the three of us so well. Olivia thinking she's being sweet when really bugging Rylan, Rylan wanting to move, and me just wanting to capture the sweet moments. 

Uncle Josh, Kash, & Auntie Katie

Uncle Josh, Kash, & Auntie Katie

Tuckered out after a full, fun, and busy day

We realized after she had fallen asleep that Grandma and Papa Mark didn't get their picture with her so we improvised.