He Should Be Here

This summer has been busy already. Vegas, Chicago, family coming to visit, birthdays, ball games, the list goes on. It's all been so fun. And it's all brought pain.

Vacations are always fun. It's a chance to escape reality, see new things, and make memories. I'd been planning my trip to Vegas with Matt's cousin, Alyssa, for over 5 months. We talked everyday about it. What we would do, what we would wear, and how much fun we were going to have. And we had a blast. However, the morning we were leaving, I ached with grief. This is a feeling I've had in the past when coming home from vacations. The planning is over, the anticipation gone, the excitement left only in our memories, and time to return to normal life. I missed my kids so much. I was ready to actually sleep. But I also wanted to go home to Matt and tell him all about our amazing time. I wanted to sit on the couch with him, show him pictures, and share with him that hilarity of our stories. 

Nine days in Chicago was fulfilling and exhausting at the same time. Traveling with kids is a lot of work. I keep Olivia and Rylan on a pretty regimented schedule. Vacation means that schedule is gone, sleep is minimal, and patience is thin. Both kids did great. I was proud of how they handled everything. But so often, I often felt like I needed extra arms. I'm always grateful for my parents and all they do to help with them. And during our trip, daily, my extended family saw where help was needed and stepped in to provide.

I think I will go the rest of my life doing things like vacations and baseball games and think to myself "Matt should be here." He should have been part of our 4th of July. He should have been at Wrigley watching the Cubs. He should have been swimming every morning with Olivia, Rylan, and me. He would have loved seeing Olivia become braver by the day as she loved jumping into the pool. There are so many memories with Matt that I cherish. There's 15 years of history that I am thankful for. But there's also so much heartache in the things Matt should be a part of. The song "You Should Be Here" by Cole Swindell comes to mind so often. Matt should be here today as Olivia plays in her first tball game. He should be here when Rylan has learned to climb on the kitchen counter. He should be here for his mom's birthday. There is something everyday that makes me think Matt should be here. 

There is also the constant battle with "why Matt?" I struggle with being able to find peace with such a huge question. I will never have the answer as to why Matt was taken from us at such a young age in such an abrupt and tragic way. In just a few days, Matt would have been 35 years old. We will celebrate his birthday much like we did last year. Leading up to his birthday was so overwhelming for myself and our families. We were so afraid of the pain that would come with his day. But we were pleasantly surprised by how things went. Not only did I get keys for my new house that day, a physical sign that Matt was coming with me on a new journey, but our moods were light. Of course there was the constant ache that followed us. That never leaves. But Matt's birthday was truly a celebration. We gathered and laughed and remembered the beautiful life he had. We didn't focus on his passing or the tragedy that goes along with it. We chose not to. And this year will be the same. 

"You Should Be Here"-Cole Swindell

Inability to Dream

One of the harshest realities I've had lately is that I don't have the ability to dream. It's been 20 months since my wonderful husband passed. And in many ways, he's still that. My husband. He's where my dreams are. 

With this realization, I've also taken a look at all the ways in which I'm still very much tied to Matt. There's a long, long list of ways I still hold onto him. I wear his ring around my neck. I wear my wedding ring. I wear one of his tshirts every night to bed. His phone numbers are still listed as my favorites in my phone. During football season I drink out of his Seahawks mug on game days just like he would do. If you come to my house, you'll always find Rainier and Total Domination beer in my fridge-his favorites. He had a bell on his motorcycle that I gave him for one of our anniversaries and it now hangs in my car. Our picture is on my nightstand. And at night, while I sleep, i hold one of his favorite sweatshirts like a security blanket. There's tangible and visual evidence all over that Matt is still very much part of my life. This isn't something I want to change. I want my kids, our families, our friends, and myself to never let go of him. 

It's amazing to me how after 20 months, the newness hasn't gone away. When I visited Matt today, I cried remembering that day. I cried remembering the feeling of leaving the hospital. It was sunny. It shouldn't have been sunny. The weather didn't match my mood. 

When I talk about my future, I have hope. I have hope because I know I will continue to be blessed as I have been. I haven't just blessed since losing Matt, but all throughout my life. I see the ways in which I'm fortunate. At the same time, when I talk about my future, it's very hard to imagine or dream. What I mean by this is that everything I've ever dreamed of includes Matt. When I think about what life will look like in 15 years, I picture Matt next to me as we watch Olivia graduate from high school. When I think about Olivia and Rylan's weddings, I picture Matt and I dancing together and talking about how proud we are of them. When I imagine meeting our grandkids and growing old, Matt is beside me for all of it. But even the minor details of my life, Matt is still at the forefront of my mind. I recently registered Olivia for tball. As I did, I thought "what would Matt want?" Every detail of my life still includes him in it. 

I recently talked about this with my therapist. I get concerned that I'm becoming stuck or facing this in an unhealthy way. The thing about grief is there is no timeline. There isn't a book of steps saying that in order to get through this I have to follow certain rules. That's the thing about losing someone...the hurt and the loss never goes away. There isn't an expected timeline for when I have to go through all Matt's stuff or start dreaming of a life without him. Only time can make that happen. And while 20 months may seem like a long time, it really isn't. 

New Grief

I wouldn't be a mom without Matt. Mother's Day this year left a bitter taste in my mouth. I didn't want to celebrate. Didn't want to face the day. It's a day that Matt would've made sure was special for me. He wouldn't have let me cook or clean or do anything that I normally do. He would have made his mom feel special too. And he would have made sure we both know how much he appreciates us both.

I felt anger yesterday. Anger that as a mom, I have to experience life without my husband and the father of my children. But I also felt anger for Matt’s mom that I haven’t experienced. I drove to the cemetery to visit Matt yesterday and I as I pulled in, there was a physical ache in my heart. I know how I feel with this void. And I know how I feel about my two babies. What I won’t pretend to understand is what Val (and Larry) must be feeling. They had 33 years with him. 33 Mother’s Days. And while Val will always be Matt’s mom, and while we celebrate her motherhood to both Matt and Justin, having him gone must be excruciating and painful.

Lately I've been spending time grieving our house that I sold in Graham. When Matt passed, I knew right away I couldn't live there without him. I knew being 20 minutes from family would leave me lonely and isolated. I knew it would never feel right to be in that house without him there. I don’t regret selling the house or moving back to Puyallup. I love it here. I love our house and I love the location. But I do ­­miss so much about our house in Graham. I miss the neighborhood and the neighbors, I miss that it was ours, I miss a thousand different things. But lately, as summer is coming, I miss our yard. We had an acre of land, a pond with such amazing wildlife, we had an unobstructed view of Mt. Rainier, and we were slowly making our yard our dream. Matt worked incredibly hard to make it beautiful. He put in a fire pit area that we loved. Mowed it every weekend. He fertilized, watered religiously in the summer, and suffered through his allergies to make sure it was impeccable. 

Fire pit area

The hardest part of selling was leaving behind unfinished dreams. When Matt and I bought our house, he knew right away what he wanted to do in our yard. We talked about “the deck” from day one. And the summer before he passed, that dream started to take shape. I had to leave it unfinished when I moved. I think of what it would be like to have the deck and the yard now. I know the yard would be too much to manage, a huge deciding factor when I contemplated moving. I wish I could have seen it finished. I wish I could have completed our visions.

Our "deck" before

After-we didn't finish the railing we wanted or the stone and fireplace. 

I am constantly amazed at grief. Just when I think I have faced all there is to face, something new surfaces and I am brought back to the beginning and figuring out ways to process the loss of Matt. I had to see my OBGYN recently for a physical. Dr. Majors is a man I trust and admire for many reasons. He has certainly seen me through a lot over the last 7 years. I thought the appointment would be simple without triggers but I quickly discovered how wrong I was. I went into the office and soon realized that the reasons I had seen Dr. Majors before were because of Matt and because of our desires to have a family. I cried when his nurse asked me how I was. And I didn't stop crying until I pulled out of the parking lot. Being there also made me realize how much my heart longs for more children. I didn't get to decide whether or not Matt and I had more babies. It was just taken from me. Along with so much more. I struggled with these same feelings as I packed up baby items to give to Matt's cousin. I want her to have these things that I have found so helpful and useful with my kids. But it also hurts knowing that my baby days are behind me. 

I've talked about the waves, the highs, the lows, that come with grief. Some days it is easier to manage. Other days it feels as heavy as the day Matt passed. But all days have a way of showing me how blessed I am. Mother's Day was no exception. Being with the incredible women in my life and thanking Matt for making me a mom. 

18 months, Easter, and Traveling

18 months is such a huge anniversary for some reason. I've felt this feeling before. Disbelief, shock, and denial that Matt is really gone. And then another 6 months passed and I'm still feeling the same way.

This last month has made me realize, again, how many great people I have in my life. When Matt first passed, there was an outpouring of love and support. People came from near and far to be there for myself and our families. It was humbling. And as time has passed, I still feel that same love and support. Our wedding anniversary was one of those days. I dreaded opening my eyes that morning. I can still remember waking up on our wedding day 7 years ago. Living at home still, having a sleepover with my best friends, and waking up knowing I was finally marrying Matt. This year the feelings were obviously incredibly different. My heart was heavy. I decided to keep my normal Monday schedule and go to the gym where I was surprised right away by thoughtfulness from some friends from my MOPS group. Girls at the gym that I don't know well, went out of their comfort zones to acknowledge my pain but let me know they think of me and support me. And as the day continued on, I was showered with gifts and messages of love. These gestures from my friends and family showed me that Matt is not forgotten. It showed me that people recognize that grief never goes away. It meant so much to be thought of by so many.

One thing I've learned this last month is just how much this has affected my body. I've struggled with losing the baby weight since having Rylan. And while many people tell me I look great, I'm not where I want to be. I have goals and they aren't being reached no matter what I do. It's been frustrating. I decided to see a new doctor. In short, she confirmed that stress and hormones are playing a huge role in my inability to lose this weight. It was eye opening to talk to her. I've said before that losing Matt has impacted every area of my life. But what shocked me the most is when my doctor checked how my eyes dilate and looked inside my ears. She could tell by the flicker in my eyes and the color inside my ears that I have a lot of stress. I sat in the exam room sobbing. While I feel like I manage my stress well, my body is still fighting hard to get through this. My blood pressure when I was sitting vs standing was another indicator that I'm stressed. My body is in defense mode. Wondering when the next attack will come. At Matt's graveside service, Pastor talked about giving ourselves grace during this process. Once again, I was reminded of this message. My body is a work in progress and it deserves grace. It's been through a lot in the last 18 months.

I don't feel like I have anything profound to write about this month. Nothing has been weighing on me more than normal. I guess that's a good thing. Grief is like that. It has highs, lows, and is sometimes flat. And lately it's been flat. I leave for New York this coming week with my mom and aunt to go visit my cousin, Meg. I am so excited for a change of scenery. I look forward to having adult time with these wonderful women. There is also an element of fear and anxiety with leaving my kids as I travel across the country. Matt's parents will be with them and I know they will have a fun, and exhausting, time. I know my fears and anxieties would be the same even if Matt was here. Figuring out what are normal feelings compared to feelings that are specific to losing Matt is a constant battle. 

Another holiday is on the horizon. Another gathering of family that Matt won't be a part of. We push through, keeping the traditions and celebrate with aching hearts. Matt loved his time with family. I know he would love Easter this year. Olivia and Rylan are at an age where we can start doing things that impact their memories of these occasions. Olivia is running around the house right now with a little basket talking about the Easter bunny. We will color eggs tonight, go to church tomorrow, look for eggs, and be in the presence of those we love the most. And once again, there will be a void in our hearts and at our table because Matt isn't here to share it with us.

Happy 1st Birthday, Rylan Matthew

A year ago I woke up knowing I was having a baby. I knew I would walk into the hospital and be induced and have Rylan. His birth wasn't anything like Olivia's. And it didn't go how I thought it would. Although I was induced and had my water broke, Rylan came in his own way. 20 minutes, 2 pushes, and no time for drugs. He came out a funky shade of blue. He was whisked away from me as quickly as he was born. It was stressful and confusing. And the four days following were just as terrifying. Those days in the NICU were all too similar to the days I spent with Matt in the hospital. Sleepless nights full of fear and worry.

I look back at the last year and I can't believe Rylan is one. I can't believe I've done it. When Matt passed I didn't think I could do it. I didn't know how I'd raise two kids, especially a newborn, without help from Matt. 

Rylan is the sweetest baby I've ever seen. I often say he is Matt's personality in a little baby. He's silly. He's patient. He's quiet. But then he has a glimmer of "something" in his eye that makes me wonder what he's scheming. 

It's hard to imagine the days before having Rylan. It's hard to picture life without him in it. Part of me feels like he's always been in my world. And then the other part feels like he was born just yesterday. Either way, my heart aches that Matt isn't here for this. He's here, but not how either of us wanted. I can't believe Rylan and Matt never met. I can't believe Matt hasn't witnessed that deep, hearty laugh or the amount of food Rylan can eat. 

The one year milestone is so hard on me. I remember when Olivia turned one and I cried everyday for a week. I couldn't believe that my baby was becoming a toddler. And while these emotions are the same with Rylan, there is even more sadness behind this milestone. 

I don't know what my future holds. I've given up trying to predict what God has in store. And because of this uncertainty, it's sad to think that Rylan might be my last baby. Matt and I were undecided about wanting 2, 3, or 4 kids. He wanted 2, I wanted 4, and I always thought we would meet in the middle and have 3. Without Matt here, I can't have that conversation or plan for more babies. Rylan's birthday means he will stop nursing soon. He will start walking. He will begin to feed himself. He will develop independence and preferences. And while all of these are amazing transitions for parents to witness their children master, it's equally sad to think this is the last time I'll see it. 

When Matt first passed I was bitter about my pregnancy. I had terrible thoughts about this unborn baby I was carrying. I kept saying I wished I had miscarried instead of losing Matt. I quickly realized that it wasn't an "either-or." It wasn't like I had to pick Matt or the baby. Thankfully as my belly grew, my love for Rylan did too. I can't explain the joy he brings to my life. I can't imagine not having him here. Matt left me with a tremendous blessing. A gift. His babies. And they are the sweetest, most wonderful little children. 

On Saturday we celebrated Rylan's birthday. It was "flannel up for some fun, Rylan is ONE!" Matt wore plaid almost daily. He had more flannel than a lumberjack. The theme seemed like an appropriate way to incorporate Matt into Rylan's birthday. As our friends and family arrived, I quickly saw how everyone took this theme to heart as almost everyone was wearing plaid. It was amazing. I wanted Rylan's birthday to incorporate and include Matt and it was awesome to see our friends and family do the same as they all showed up wearing plaid. 

Rylan's adorable cupcakes from Wanna Cupcake

Val made these cute little goodie snack bags

Samantha made this cute sign for Rylan's party

Waiting for the birthday boy to wake up

Allison's adorable appetizer

He LOVED his cupcake

Auntie Well and Uncle Andy

Uncle Josh, Kash, and Auntie Katie

Uncle Eli, Auntie Michelle, Isaac, Addy, and Ayla 

Papa Mark and Grandma Patty

Uncle Mike, Aunt Kim, and Robert

Papa Larry and Grandma Val 

Aunt Toni and Uncle Gary

Uncle Kevin and Aunt Jennie

Great Grandma Sandy and Aunt Jennie

Great Grandpa Cot and Grandma Joann

Aunt Allison and Uncle Justin 

Kylee and Aunt Steph

The Littlest Larimores & Loneliness

Lately I have been experiencing loneliness like I have never felt before. The last 17 months have provided so many distractions that I haven't had time to focus on the fact that I am lonely. I have moved in with my mom and dad, helped plan and arrange Matt's memorial service and burial, sold two houses, bought a house, moved again, had a baby, attended countless meetings with attorneys, I've enrolled Olivia in swimming lessons and gymnastics, I have exercised, I have unpacked and decorated our house, and the list goes on and on. Now that we have settled into a groove, I find that my heart aches for my companion in a way that I haven't missed him before.

This feeling of loneliness isn't like a breakup or Matt being away on business. It isn't like I am away on vacation and he's at home. It's a feeling that almost seems tangible. Almost like I can touch it. I can't call him up when the solitude is too heavy. I can't send him a text and let him know I am thinking of him. I can simply write on his Facebook page and feel as though it somehow reaches him. I can visit him at his grave and talk to him out loud like he's next to me.

I know I have friends and family around to help me when I feel alone. I know they would drop everything and come sit with me in the evenings. And I appreciate them so much for always being willing to help in any way that they can. But the loneliness has been following me wherever I go. I miss my "good morning sunshine" texts that Matt would always send, I miss the check-ins throughout the day to see how Olivia and I were doing, I miss him asking me to iron his pants or inquiring about what was for dinner. I miss having my person that I knew I could turn to no matter what it was I wanted to talk about. And I miss having someone to parent and raise Olivia and Rylan with.

With these deep and dark feelings of being alone, I have realized a lot. I embrace all the emotions, highs, and lows that come with losing Matt. I don't run away from them and I don't pretend they aren't there. I know that riding out these lows will eventually push me towards better days. I know I have to feel lonely. And it isn't a bad thing. I can learn who I really am and what I really want while using this time to self-reflect and make myself better. I have learned I can be independent and alone, I can feel lonely, I can be sad, and that it will all make me better for my future. I would bring Matt back in an instant if I could. But over the last 17 months I have changed my view on having someone in my life. I have learned that I am much more capable than I ever gave myself credit for. And having someone isn't a necessity but an added bonus. Matt was my added bonus. He was a HUGE and wonderful added bonus. And to say I miss him doesn't even come close to touching how much my heart longs for him to be here.

I know Matt is with me wherever I go and I know he has been showing me his presence more lately since I have been feeling this way. We celebrated family birthdays at his childhood home last weekend. After dinner, gifts, and dessert, his family and I went downstairs to Matt's old room. His mom converted the bedroom into a playroom for the kids. We sat on the floor and watched Olivia and Rylan play and I could feel Matt. It was such an overwhelmingly sad and wonderful feeling. I could see him smiling with us. I could feel his happiness as we played with the kids. I know, without a doubt, that Matt was there with us that night. I know he made sure I could feel him there.

Last night was another time when I knew Matt was showing me that he is still with me. When we were building our house in Graham, we would frequently drive out to the neighborhood and see the progress. We were there one warm, almost-spring evening and the frogs were croaking so loudly. We stopped and talked to our soon-to-be new neighbors, Amy and Karl. We looked at our future home and commented about how loud the frogs were. Living with our house backing up to a pond, we heard those frogs every spring and summer while living there. They were tiny little frogs. In the summer, when Matt would mow our lawn, he would watch them scurry away as he approached with the mower. Sometimes they ended up in our house, they were often hanging out on the front door, and in the evenings they lulled us to sleep. When I moved from Graham to Puyallup, I knew I was leaving behind a lot, including those frogs. This is my first spring in the new house. When I got home last night and was getting the kids out of the car, I heard frogs. Olivia took notice too and asked where they were. I told her it was her daddy and told her that he loved the frogs at our old house.

I have also taken the last few weeks to really reflect and appreciate my kids. Olivia had a sleepover at Grandma Val and Papa Larry's recently and I really missed her. With just Rylan and me in the house, it was so quiet. Almost too quiet. I have realized that they are both such a tremendous blessing in my life. With the quiet came the feelings of loneliness and darkness that are depressing. Olivia talks a LOT, but I know this constant chatter is there to help distract me from the sadness that is always in my heart. They keep me busy and distracted in a positive way. They make me laugh, and cry, but ultimately bring me so much joy. Olivia recently told me that she wanted to go in the clouds with her daddy and that her daddy is her boyfriend. The simplistic mind that a three year old has teaches me so much. I don't need to figure out all the perfect ways to explain to her that her daddy is gone. I don't need to stress about her future and how this will impact her life. For now, her daddy being her boyfriend makes her happy.

Still Married

Widowed at 29. How? Why?

It's something that baffles me. Something I've yet to come to terms with. Widowed. Aren't widows twice my age? Surely I don't have enough wrinkles or grey hair to match my label.

The truth is, in my heart I'm not widowed. The truth is, when I talk about Matt he's still my husband. I don't refer to him as my "late" husband. I still consult him and converse with him. I wear my wedding ring. Most of the time it's like he's still here. I watch our TV shows and I feel like if I look over on the couch, I can expect to see him sitting beside me. My heart hasn't matched the rest of the process. In this way, I am very much feel stuck.

Lately I've wondered how I un-marry Matt. I don't think it's healthy to go the rest of my life married to him when he's not here. It's not what he would want for me. It's not what I want to show my kids. But I also want to honor him, love him, and remember him. Being married to him is what I know. It's what I had planned for my life. I planned on being with Matt forever. Never did I think I'd start completely over. I have said this before, but every aspect of my life has been changed. Holding onto what I know, who I know, feels so completely right. But it's something I can't do forever.

I recently went to visit my family in Leavenworth. Packing for the cold weather and snow meant having to figure out where things ended up when we moved from Graham. Where were my snow gloves? I knew where they were in the old house. In the spare room, in a bag with Matt's hats, gloves, and snow goggles. That meant the bag was now mixed in with all Matt's stuff that's been put under the stairs in my garage. I needed the gloves for the trip. So I began unburying everything. I found the bag. All the way in the back. The very last item that I could reach. As I moved the boxes out of the way, I realized these boxes hold everything I have left of Matt. I realized in those boxes were the simple items that shouldn't have significance. Like his socks and underwear. And now, they're everything. As I put the boxes back, I sat on the step in my garage and cried. I wondered how I ever open those boxes. How do I ever get to a point where I can decide what to do with his stuff? How do I let go of the stuff? The stuff that's Matt.

I let myself have that moment and then told myself it didn't need to be done that day. Or even this month. There's no time limit on when I go through it. There's no requirement for when I have to take my ring off or get rid of his undershirts.

Recognizing I have a long road ahead of me is part of the process. When I see what lies ahead for me, I feel like I'll never get there.  I had to pick out a place for Olivia to attend preschool without the input from her dad. I recently filled out the paperwork to enroll her. I had to check the box labeled "widowed" and not list Matt as her father. That same night, countless friends were posting pictures of their daughters going to the Daddy-Daughter Dance. Both dressed up, their little girls with bouquets of flowers in their hands, and their dads smiling with pride. As I "liked" so many of these pictures, my heart hurt each time I saw one. Olivia will never have that with her dad. How will she process it? How will she feel when she takes her Papa or her Uncle instead?

When the calendar flipped to February, my grief seemed to plummet to a new low. Grief is like that. Some days are manageable and other days it's starting all over again. So when February came, I suddenly saw what lies ahead in the next several weeks. Super Bowl came-one of Matt's favorite days, Valentine's Day happened, Rylan turning one, my birthday, our anniversary, and the majority of his immediate family all celebrate birthdays. February also feels like we inch our way out of winter and closer to spring. It means watching for new blooms on trees and spending time outdoors. But for me, new months and new seasons don't signify what they used to. Instead, now they signify more time passing since Matt was here. 

This process is interesting. Right when I feel like I am settling into a groove and life is somewhat manageable, I am faced with new obstacles and emotions. Right when I think I am getting the hang of single parenting, being alone, and missing Matt, I realize what is still left to process. I expect this to be the case for the remainder of my life. Riding out the highs and preparing for the lows. Triggers will always be in my face. But as time goes on I will be stronger and more capable of handling the valleys.