Trauma

Trauma: a deeply distressing or distubring experience.

I have always heard about trauma. I have always labeled losing Matt as traumatic. But this is the first year where I have truly felt that trauma.

It has been 1461 days without Matt. Part of me expected that after this much time, I would know what to expect or how to brace myself for the impact of today. Turns out I was wrong.

The start of my trauma begins on October 11th when Matt first went to the hospital. Over the course of the 4 days that follow, I find myself reliving all the events and details of what it was like to lose him. Some of this is very intentional. And the other part isn't.

The intentional part is rereading my Facebook posts from this time 4 years ago. I read all the posts, I read the comments, I relive the prayers and feel the hope. And then I let myself feel the anger that comes with grief. I get mad that God didn't hear our prayers. I get mad that Matt wasn't saved. The reason I do this is because I want to remember all of Matt. I believe he is worth remembering the good and the bad. I think it is important to sit in anger and sadness and confusion because these emotions are all very much a part of the process of grief. Supressing those feelings wouldn't be healthy. Pretending I'm at peace or have understanding with all of this would be a lie.

The unintentioal part of reliving losing Matt is the part that makes me emotinal and anxious. I can't control the thoughts I have. I can't sit in my feelings and then shut them off when it's too hard. It's unknowingly checking the clock and having the thought "4 years ago right now..." and then reliving what was happening. It's hearing the conversations between the doctors and nurses, it's hearing our cries, it's smelling the smells. And then I am exhausted. Absolutely worn out before it is even time to walk Olivia to school in the morning.

On the 12th this year, I had to run to the mall to exchange my phone and get the kids some new pajamas. Very minor errands. Yet I found myself with extreme anxiouness in my chest. I had to practice breathing techniques that my therapist taught me. Then on the 14th, I needed to have a leak repaired in my tire and grab a couple things at Costco. When the tire guy told me it would take 3 hours to fix my tire, I lost it. I couldn't even comprehend going in and shopping for groceries. I had to go home, make lunch, and nap because my emotional tank was completely empty.

And this morning, as I have for the last 4 years, my internal clock woke me just minutes before Matt's offical time of passing. 5:55 AM.

I have spoken openly about the importance of therapy. I believe it is a vital and that everyone could benefit from it. Over the last few days, I see even more why therapy is instrumental in how I cope with losing Matt. I am able to seperate and compartmentalize. I am able to be intentional. I am able to breathe. If I didn't have these tools, I would crumble even more from the trauma of losing Matt.

Trauma is sneaky. Trauma is hard. Trauma effects us even when we aren't aware as to why.

Not Enough of Me

We are one month away from the 4 year anniversary of Matt's passing. I can feel it coming. The weather has changed, football season started, and Olivia is in kindergarten! One of the many things that frustrates me about grief is how much of my time is spent being mindful. I am constantly assessing my feelings and situations and asking myself "do I feel this way because of my grief or would I feel this way even if Matt were alive?"

Yesterday morning I was trying to get ready to go to the gym. As I was changing and brushing my teeth, Rylan was eating breakfast and Olivia was getting dressed. Within a 10-minute time span, I must've heard "mom" 1,000 times. Ok, that's an exaggeration but it was a lot. Rylan ran into the bathroom needing to poop and help wiping his butt, Olivia was in the other bathroom and had clogged the toilet, and I ran room to room partially dressed and praying no one rang the doorbell. My frustration quickly rose because there simply wasn't enough of me to go around. I don't have a spouse here to divide and conquer. I don't have the option to say "I'm leaving for the gym." Every minute away from my kids requires preplanning and arranging in order to make it happen. I kept thinking to myself how Saturdays with Matt around wouldn't be like this. I would be able to ask for help or even just leave if I needed a break.

These are times when I am trying so hard to not feel sorry for myself. I practice the tools I've acquired through therapy and I see the blessings in my life. But man, single parenting mixed with the grief of my husband is exhausting.

I never processed the selling of our house in Graham. It is the one area of losing Matt that I don't want to face. I can't stomach knowing someone else is living in our home, enjoying our deck, and creating memories in a place I cherish. But I also remind myself how often Matt and I talked about moving. About how the commute was wearing on him and how even if he were alive, we likely wouldn't be living there anymore. Since Olivia has started kindergarten, I am more at peace with where we live than ever before. I love that we can walk to school. I am grateful each day for the time outside. I also love the friendships we are growing with our neighbors across the street. God knew what He was doing when placing our families in this neighborhood.

I have tried for the last four years to make fall my favorite season again. But try as I might, this time of year just triggers so many painful memories. I think of all my "lasts" with Matt...our last family vacation, our last Seahawks game together, the last walk we took, the last date we went on. In years past, I loved pulling out my fall decorations. But now, I know opening my boxes also means opening my heart to pain. The day before Matt went to the hospital, I got our house ready for fall. Each pumpkin in that box now reminds me of that day. A totally normal Saturday with no inclination that a day later my life would drastically change forever. And even though I have accumulated new stuff, it still brings pain.

After 4 years without him, I should know what to expect during this next month. I should be aware of what will trigger me or what will be difficult. But the thing with grief is that it is so unexpected. It comes out of nowhere and so suddenly. It comes when I'm least expecting it and without warning. The only thing I can be sure of is that I need to allow myself extra time for sleep, I need to be more patient with myself and with my kids, and I need to allow myself to feel all of it.

Kindergarten

Summer seems to be fading too quickly. I can feel fall approaching. And I'm not ready.

Fall this year holds a new milestone. Olivia starts kindergarten. In just 25 days, she will no longer be under my roof and in my care for the majority of her day. She is ready. Olivia will often tell me she is going to miss me. But I know she is ready for the social and academic parts that school will bring.

Part of me is really excited about this next chapter of our lives. As a second child, Rylan hasn't had one-on-one or individual time with me. It has always been the three of us. I am excited to spend alone time with him. But I know I will miss listening to Olivia boss him around. I just won't miss their fighting.

Olivia never did preschool or pre-kindergarten. She has been home with me since she was born. I've never hired a babysitter. The only people to have ever cared for my kids have been family. Or people I'm close enough to consider my family. Olivia also still takes a nap every day! Kindergarten is a full day, 5 days a week.

While I realize kindergarten is going to be a big adjustment to our schedules, I also worry about the emotional adjustments. I worry and wonder if I have done enough to prepare Olivia for what her peers or teachers may ask her. Will a child innocently ask about her dad? What will her response be? Will she become all the more aware that her family dynamic is different? Does she have the tools and vocabulary to communicate her situation? Will she want to talk about it or will she keep it to herself?

There have been many milestones to navigate since losing Matt. But I feel as though sending our daughter to kindergarten is a milestone that I know will be difficult. I love having my kids around. It is hard and tiring but they are my world. Sending Olivia off to school, allowing her care to be in someone else's hands, and not having Matt beside me through this journey is overwhelming.

Time goes too quickly. These precious babies are growing too fast. Each phase has its challenges that I can't wait to see behind me. But each phase helps me grow to love them even more.

I Hurt

I don’t know why I feel like this. I don’t understand why the heaviness in my chest is there. All I know is that I’m exhausted. 

After Matt passed, my anxiety was so high. My leg was constantly shaking in attempts to somehow calm my nerves. I slept but I was always tired. I was on edge but I understood why. In the last 45 months, I’ve worked hard at obtaining tools to overcome this anxiety and feel as though I’ve done well at it. There have been times when that panic/anxiety has surfaced again but it is usually short lived and usually accompanied by a trigger. This time, I have no explanation. 

For the last couple of weeks, I have been experiencing a feeling heaviness in my chest. I can feel my heart beating. So rapidly at times that I have considered going to the emergency room just to make sure there isn’t physically wrong with me. Other times it feels as though someone is sitting on my chest. And other times it feels as though I am drowning. 

I know Matt’s birthday is on the horizon. I know Olivia starts kindergarten soon. I know that having Rylan get sick, weighs down. But this is so different and so separate from anything I can see coming down the line. This I can’t articulate. All that comes out when I try is that I miss Matt so much. I feel the most intense loneliness that I could ever imagine. Loneliness so hard to explain. Loneliness that I wouldn’t want anyone to be able to understand. 

There have been days when I feel like I am turning a corner and that the weight I am feeling will be behind me. And then out of nowhere, I can feel it again. What frustrates me is that I don’t understand why. I feel like I have a really good grasp on my emotions and why I have them. I am usually good at articulating my feelings, good or bad, and can explain why I feel certain ways. But this stress and anxiety that I have been experiencing have me so off balance. And grasping to understand it makes me angry. I am so mad that Matt is gone.

I don’t want to socialize. Going to the store or out in public makes me so anxious-much like I felt right after losing Matt. There have been days where even taking a shower has taken so much effort. I feel impatient, teary, and defeated. But despite how I have felt lately, I know what I need to do. I continue to work out because I know how important it is to exercise my body and my mind. I need to be present and involved with my kids even though they wear me down. I need to stay busy. But most importantly, I need to give myself a lot of grace. “Grief is chronic” and it will never go away. I will live with this pain in my heart forever. Some days living will feel possible and sometimes surviving will feel impossible.  

When Matt Guides Me

It brings my heart joy when I see Matt guiding me. I strongly believe his presence is part of my life. I have seen it time and time again since losing him. Sometimes it comes when I am looking for it. And other times it catches me off guard.

I haven't worn my wedding ring since January 2017. I remember the internal struggle I made with it. Wondering when I would know it was the right time to put it away. When New Year's Eve rolled around, I made the personal decision to start 2017 with new goals, new perspective, and without wearing my ring. It has been in my closet ever since.

Since taking it off, I have wondered what to do with it. Do I keep it as is in hopes to pass it down to Olivia? Do I wear it on my right hand? Do I take it apart and make something new out of it? I have gone back and forth with so many different options but none felt right. Recently, my mom and I were at our friend's work in a jewelry store. My mom was having some sizing done and Betty asked about my ring. It isn't the first time it has been talked about. She gave me some ideas on what I can do with it and then she said "why not put the diamond in a necklace? At least then it will be closer to your heart."

I slept on this idea for a few nights. I looked at ideas online for what I would want. I finally came to terms with changing my ring into a necklace. The morning I was taking it to Betty, I realized it was the 10 year anniversary of when Matt proposed. I couldn't believe it had been 10 years. I remember the day so vividly. I was so caught off guard. I was so surprised. I was so happy. I have studied my ring countless times since Matt gave it to me. I have caught myself staring at it over and over again. Each time I looked at it, I would be in awe of the stone and how stunning it is. And I would feel so blessed that Matt picked me as his wife. I can't help but feel like Matt was guiding me that day. Somehow telling me that now is the time to change my ring into something different and wear it in a new way.

I got a picture of it from Betty yesterday and immediately got tears in my eyes. It turned out beautifully. I haven't decided what I will do with my setting or the diamonds that remain. But I love that my stone will be around my neck and near my heart. I can't wait to have it. I can't wait to see it in person.

Matt, thank you for the gift of timing. Thank you for showing me and pushing me to do things that I never thought I would be able to do.

And Betty, I am so glad you were part of making this change with me.

Maui-June 4, 2009

It's A Season

It's too bad there isn't a limit for how much bad stuff can happen to one person or one family. I want so terribly to say "THIS ISN'T FAIR!" while I stomp my feet in anger. I want to yell at God for giving us too much to handle. Isn't there a quote like that? That God won't give us more than we can handle? I think that was made up by someone who didn't quite get it. Because I know for a fact that over the last 3 1/2 years, I have most certainly been dealt more than I can handle. The truth is, God helps us handle what we have been given.

I've said this before that I will never make sense of why Matt passed at 33 years old. Why his cousin, Joe, died tragically at 33 due to a motorcycle accident. I won't be able to wrap my head around why his uncle has spent 18 days in the hospital from a terrible car accident. And why this family keeps getting dealt so much. These are answers I will never have.

The thing I have learned about life is the same cliche stuff we have all heard time and time again. "Life can change in an instant." "Live each day like it's your last." But grasping a statement like this and fully embodying the meaning is so challenging to do. Even as I held Matt as he took his final breath, it is still hard to truly understand just how quickly life can change. And yet, I live it everyday. It is such an odd juggling act.

The last month has been intense. I haven't felt this type of stress since losing Matt. Even then, it was entirely different. People poured into me simply because I had nothing to give. My goal was surviving. Now, 3 1/2 years later, I find myself pouring into everyone else. I find myself spread thin. I find myelf helping and supporting and loving and healing because of what I am giving to others. And even though I am worn out in so many ways, I am also grateful for the chance to be able to give to others even in a small way. I wholeheartedly believe that there is healing in helping. I believe when you can give to others, you are also giving to yourself.

Matt's uncle was recently in a terrible car accident. Not only is Doug Matt's uncle, his daughter (Alyssa) happens to be one of my truest and best friends. This car accident has brought our family to the forefront of yet another tragedy. And we very recently lost Matt's cousin, Joe, in a motorcycle accident. Yet, here we are.

Then there is my dad. The hardest working man I know. The person who doesn't sit still because he is constantly doing and working. But also the person with the most physical pain I have ever known. This destroys me. Recently, my dad had surgery for a torn rotator cuff. A surgery that will lead to relief but for now, is grueling as he recovers. 6 weeks in a sling, no driving, no sleeping. He can't get comfortable. He can't find peace. Which means my mom can't either.

Everyone has their threshold of what their limit is for stress and exhaustion. It looks different for each individual. Taking on too much will simply make things worse. For me, making sure I go to the gym and to therapy are vital for my mental health. I have to have an outlet for the weight of the world that I am carrying right now. I have to find a way to release my pain of losing Matt while still raising two kids alone, caring for my dad, helping with Alyssa's family when it's possible, and also taking care of me.

I know this is a season. I pray a few weeks from now that life will look and feel a lot different. And I pray it is change that is positive. Right now, what hurts me the most is seeing the ones I love more than anything in pain. I hate watching my family suffer in different ways and not being able to take that away for them. It crushes me to not have answers or remedies for making their stresses and worries go away.


GoFundMe-Doug Ferry

Do Not Judge My Grief

I am going to start this post in a very direct manner…

Grief never ends. 

For anyone who believes otherwise, I hope you are never directly impacted by loss in a way that forces you to learn that the hard way. I hope that somehow, this simple sentence resonates with you and is enough to change your mind. 

I also want to start off by saying how I always approach my blogs with a large number of us in mind. I think of our families, our friends, and those impacted by Matt’s passing. I acknowledge that this grief is not just my own and Matt’s life is far-reaching. Today, that still holds true. 

I haven’t forgotten the details. Matt’s family, my family haven’t forgotten the details. I am confident that his friends haven’t forgotten the details. But just in case the details need reminding…here it is in short. Matt was 33 year when he passed away from an aortic valve problem that showed up unexpectedly and suddenly. He left behind so much. A wife. A wife that was 16 weeks pregnant with their second child. A daughter that wasn’t even 2 yet. He left behind parents who were more friends than parental. A brother, his lifelong friend. Aunts, uncles, cousins. All of his grandparents. Countless friends. A dog. Hobbies. A flourishing career. 

We remember the details of getting phone calls that Matt was in the hospital, we remember conversations with the doctors, the sleepless nights, the long hours wondering what the day would bring. We remember who told us that Matt’s survival depended on a miracle. And we remember exactly where we were when we found out he was gone. For some of us, we will never forget watching him pass. We remember wondering how we would ever stop crying. Ever. 

Those memories don’t stop on October 15, 2015. There are thousands of painful memories since that day. Many that will spiral us into an anxiety attack and put us right back to rock bottom.

I could go on and on. The point is, he passed much too soon. Too sudden. And trying to absorb the facts in just one sitting is nearly impossible. It takes years, no, it takes a lifetime, to ever grasp the reality of this situation. And even then, until the day I die, I will never make sense of this. I will never say I understand it. 

The reason I find this vital to remember is because nothing about losing Matt is normal. I feel as though there is judgment in the way I grieve. I feel as some believe I should “be over it” by now. I feel like people believe I am stuck because I choose to visit him and honor him. I talk about him. I remember him. I don’t cry every single day like I used to but my heart still breaks. I can do things today that I never thought I would be able to do again. Like, get out of bed. I am stronger today because I have had to be. I am finding happiness again. Joy again. The thing about grief that needs to be remembered is that joy, happiness, sadness, honoring, grieving, respecting, can all be done simultaneously. I can be sitting at home sobbing about how broken I am that Matt isn’t here with me while also looking at my beautiful children and being happy that this is my life. It is an exhausting struggle. I am emotionally exhausted all the time because of the constant internal struggle with all these emotions.

I have said this before. If you haven’t seen Coco, I urge you to. It’s a beautiful movie about the importance of talking about our loved ones who have gone before us. The message is about how if we talk about them, pay tribute to them, and remember them, that their memory lives on. That is enough reason right there for me to grieve the way I do. If for no other reason, so his children have a chance to know their dad. To give them the opportunity to know him. So they can see the love between their mom and dad even though it looks different than so many families. 

Grief is individual and it’s personal. For me, visiting Matt at the cemetery brings comfort. For others, it is much too hard to face. But just because it’s a certain way for me, doesn’t mean that others have to follow suit. It means they grieve Matt the way they see fit. My beliefs on where Matt is and how he interacts with my life here on Earth are in place for very specific reasons. Not everyone will agree on that. The biggest being that they provide me comfort.

Regardless of what anyone chooses to believe or how they choose to judge me or my family, I can say with confidence that we are handling this in a healthy way. I work tirelessly to make sure I am strong and whole as I can be given this situation. I have religiously attended therapy since 3 weeks after Matt passed away. In over 3 years, my therapist has never once told me that I stuck. In fact, at this point, most of our sessions include discussion about proud she is of me with how I have handled such tragedy. Almost every time I see her, she comments about how much I have overcome-not just losing Matt. There is so much more. I can say with confidence that our families are closer because we all have the same foundation and the same goals in mind. I can say with confidence that we are dealing with this in a healthy way because we are dealing with it. We have acknowledged from very early on that losing Matt, the impact of this loss, will be carried with us for the rest of our lives. 

I have been open, honest, transparent, and vulnerable about what it is like to be widowed at 29 years old. I have done this as a therapy for myself, for my kids, as a way to honor Matt, and in hope that it will maybe help someone else who is struggling with darkness in their life. I feel like I have done this in a real way without standing on a soapbox and without preaching at anyone. This is the only time I can remember feeling a fiery passion, even anger, about what is I am writing. 

Do not judge my grief. 

New Seasons

Spring is literally just around the corner. I think there are many that can relate to being ready for warmer weather and longer days. The feelings that come with the new season aren't unfamiliar. The excitement along with the ache in my stomach. It isn't new and yet it still catches me off guard.

The first day of spring also marks Rylan's birthday. He turns 3 next week. I look back and I am baffled that he has been in my life for three years. He is learning to ride a trike, just started swimming lessons, and will soon start t-ball. His birthday, specifically, is a big trigger for me. Olivia's is as well but Matt was there for her birth. Rylan doesn't have memories with Matt. The older he gets, the more I am desperate for Matt to be a part of his life. I can't be both a mom and a dad. Naturally, knowing they only have me, it doesn't feel like enough. I over-exhaust myself trying to be everything for Olivia and Rylan. And I still feel as though I fall short.

Today I started the process of registering Olivia for kindergarten. I cannot believe that come September, we will start a new chapter which involves pickups and drop-offs, making school lunches and going on field trips. She is so ready. I am not. I am excited for her in this new adventure. Olivia and I talk about school quite often. I recently noticed that I have to balance how I talk about it with her. My initial response is to tell her how I am going to miss her and how I don't want her to grow up and go to school. Matt would be my balance by telling Olivia how much fun she is going to have. How she is going to meet so many new friends and how great it is going to be. He would level out my emotions by reassuring Olivia and reminding us both that she is going to do great. Without him here, I find that I have to keep my emotions hidden at times so I don't place fear around the topic of school. I am sure she will do great, meet lots of friends, and have so much fun. Matt would be right by telling her those things. But it is also incredibly bittersweet to see my kids grow and gain independence away from me. It is painful to see her change and grow without Matt beside me to see it as well.

This month I turn 33. Matt was 33 when he passed away. I don't want to have a birthday this year. I don't want to acknowledge my age. I don't want to outlive Matt. I think about how young he was. How he had so many dreams and goals. I think of my own aspirations and how I have a "lifetime ahead of me" to accomplish them. But do I? Do any of us? It's a dark place to allow my thoughts to go. But this birthday, this year ahead is a trigger because of the number tied to it.

There is a lot going on in my life. The kids entering new milestones, my birthday coming up, grieving Matt, and dealing with what life keeps throwing my way. It is hard to juggle it all. It is hard to see the people I love the most in pain. I hurt with our families and my friends as they grieve over loved ones, physically hurt, or emotionally struggle with their own issues. I know we all experience the lows of life. We all end up in dark places and wonder when the light will shine again. We will grow in these painful moments. We will pull together and love with more intention and purpose. We will push ahead to see the new season even though it hurts us.

Faith & Perspective

Over the last 3 years, I’ve been told countless times that I’m strong. This is a huge compliment. But what choice do I really have? 

I remember being faced with my choice about three weeks after Matt passed. I laid in my parents’ bed, pregnant with a baby, and could hear Olivia downstairs playing. I didn’t want to live. But I also knew I couldn’t die. It wouldn’t be fair to my children to quit on them. It wouldn’t be fair to our families or our friends to force them to face more tragedy. My only choice was to live. 

Throughout the last 40 months, I’ve gained a lot of knowledge. I think what I’ve learned the most boils down to two things: faith and perspective. Along with being told I’m strong, I’ve also been told that I often see the positive. I would say this is challenging, and sometimes it is, but I would also say that there is something positive in every situation. 

My friend Jeff recently sparked something for me. Growing up in a Christian home, I’ve heard time and time again the Bible verse about a mustard seed. It’s Matthew 17:20 “...I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed...nothing will be impossible for you.” Jeff wrote about this verse in a post as he finds himself facing a lot right now. As I read his post, I realized that while I do have faith, it has certainly been tested since losing Matt. Doesn’t the Bible teach us that God performs miracles? So why didn’t He? Why didn’t He heal Matt? Doesn’t the Bible also teach us that God is the ultimate healer? Why didn’t He heal Matt? Why did He let me become widowed at 29? Not only widowed but widowed with two babies? 

Some questions I will never have the answers to. These questions anger me. They harden me. They turn me bitter. But that’s where faith comes in. I can question God. I can be really, really angry at Him. He can handle that. But I can also trust that this life isn’t impossible. I can trust, even just the tiniest amount, that God will care for Olivia, Rylan, and me. Not only will He care for me, but He will also bless me in ways I may not see if Matt were still alive. Does this mean I’m at peace with Matt’s passing? Absolutely not. It simply means I can experience all these feelings at once. It also means that because of this faith, I won’t become harsh or hard or bitter. My faith gives me the perspective to always find the positive. 

One of my favorite tools that my therapist gave me is finding the gains within my loss. I’ve written about this before but I find it so beneficial for all of us. We’ve all experienced loss before. Death. Illness. Divorce. Being fired from a job. Getting in a car accident. Losing friendships. The list is endless. At the onset of our loss, it’s easy to become consumed with all the ways we are negatively impacted. And for a while, that is ok. It’s even necessary. But as time goes on, as the dust settles, we can choose a new perspective and ask ourselves “what have I gained from this loss?” 

I ask myself this question all the time. I lost something huge when Matt passed. I didn’t just lose my husband. I lost my entire life as I had planned. I lost everything I ever knew. I can look back over the last 3 years and see how I have literally had to rebuild my life. And in many ways, I’m still working on it. But I can also see a lot of gains...meaning blessings. 

I can't say I am knowledgeable when it comes to God. I don't have a lot of scripture memorized and I would likely be lousy in an argument if asked for facts to prove that God is real. But I think that is why faith is so amazing. We don't need to be skilled at reciting passages from the Bible. We just need the tiniest bit of faith in God...in a power greater than ourselves...and nothing will be impossible. We will find the strength we never knew we had when life gets unbearably difficult. And from that strength, we will slowly see all the ways we are blessed despite the losses we endure. 

Secret Life of Dad

The New Year

I can't believe Olivia turned five last week! I've written about Olivia's and Rylan's birthdays before and how they are big days that trigger me. Days I wouldn't have unless it was for Matt. But along with the sadness comes a tremendous amount of gratitude for the blessings they each are. Every moment of every day I wish Matt was here. I wish he could be part of the chaos and the mess. I wish he could be part of the laughter and the joy.

The beginning of a new year is when I like to really focus on my goals. I evaluate the year that just ended and think about what I want to change and what I want to keep the same. The beginning of a new year also marks time, which reminds me how long I've been doing life without Matt. The juggle of multiple emotions in any situation is tough and exhausting.

I think mental rest is so important. I also think it is something that most of us aren't very good about doing. I know I have many ways in which I can improve at this. Many of us have hundreds of things running through our head on any given day. Constant to-do lists, people to respond to, relationships that need work, projects that need to get done, kids to take care of, family members that are sick or hurting...the lists are endless. We get to the end of our day and we just crash. It is exhausting.

For many of us, there is also the complexity that grief adds. Grief isn't just limited to one day. Or even a short amount of time in our life. Grief follows alongside us every moment that we breathe. Why? Because the love we have for the person that has passed is always part of us as well.

As I try to do everything life requires of me, I am often baffled as to why I'm so tired. Sometimes I stop and think, "what did I do today to warrant this exhaustion?" And then I think about the night before and how many times I was woken up by a kid. How I finally got back to sleep and then the kids wake up for the day. The meals that needed to be made, the grocery shopping, going to the gym, laundry, cleaning, entertaining my kids, refereeing them, scheduling birthday parties, etc, etc. Sleep. Wake. Repeat. Over and over. And then there are times when I stop and it hits me like a ton of bricks. Matt. Isn't. Here.

Some of my goals for 2019 are being more comfortable with saying no to what doesn't fill my soul, yes to what does, asking for help, and investing in people who invest in us. I have ways to implement my goals but it boils down to being organized with my thoughts and with my time. I want to look back at every year and be proud of how I pushed through and kept promises to myself. I want to take individual time for myself, for my kids, for my friends, and for my family.