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. 

Single Parenting and Self-Care

I don't know about anyone else, but it seems like there is always a letdown after the holidays. There's a tiring amount of effort that goes into making things just right. Add in being a single parent and the list is even longer. But then there's the complicated part of dealing with grief. I know the big holidays are the hardest. I know I have to mentally prepare for some really emotionally exhausting days. What I'm learning though, is the days leading up and the days following are the worst. Christmas came and it was fun. Olivia loved all there was to love. But gearing up for Christmas was painful. And the few days after were as well. 

I've noticed that when big events are coming, I tend to busy myself with more than necessary tasks. This allows me to avoid the pain that comes from missing Matt. It also keeps me focused on the jobs in front of me instead of reaching out for my friends and family when I need them most. 

Olivia turned 3 recently. Three. Her birthday is a difficult day without Matt. The days that are "just ours" leave me feeling lonely. The only reason Olivia is here is because of the love that Matt and I shared. I can hear Matt laughing with her. The older she gets and the more personality she develops, I can just imagine their relationship. He would find her hilarious and so entertaining. 

This is something that's difficult to write about. I don't like how vulnerable it makes me feel to all those who read this. But, I believe in honesty and transparency. Which includes the ugly parts of grief. But if I'm honest, isn't it all pretty ugly? I try not to complain about being a single parent. I never want to be the type of mom who speaks negatively of her children. Olivia and Rylan are my everything. And after 9.5 months of infertility and two miscarriages, I realize how precious they are. I realize how miraculous they are. That they are here and healthy. But...parenting is so hard. Parenting alone is even harder. Olivia sleeps in my bed. It's a battle I'm choosing not to fight right now. I don't have the energy to force her to stay in her room. Part of me secretly loves it. I love hearing her say "Mom, I like you," as she drifts off to sleep. But her sleeping with me means I have no time alone. It means there's no staying up after the kids are in bed and catching up on The Bachelor, reading, or taking a bubble bath. And then there's the 1800 times a day where I hear "look mom!" or "Mom, I need something" (my LEAST favorite sentence in the toddler language). There's the constant battle of trying to get her to eat anything other than fish crackers and fruit snacks, always telling her to keep her feet off of Rylan, and the following behind her cleaning up toys. And that's just one kid! Rylan is busy. Always underfoot and pulling on my legs. He thinks he's always hungry which means I have to be prepared for feedings or have snacks at all times. He manages to get his hands in the dog water in record timing. And he ends up with dust bunnies in his mouth that show up from out of nowhere. 

Parenting is tiring. It's all very normal. I know I'm not alone when I say I'm exhausted. I know so many other moms (and dads) can relate. But I also know if Matt were here, I'd get a break. At 6:00 every evening, he would walk through the door and I could turn my mom-radar down a notch. I could take my glass of wine and go take a shower in peace. We had a routine. Every Saturday Matt would sleep in and I'd get up with Olivia and every Sunday it was my turn to sleep in. Most of the time I would be awake. It was just nice knowing I didn't have to get up right away. Even now, as I am upstairs on the computer, Olivia is continually going up and down the stairs. The battle between wanting to see what Mom is doing and wanting to bug her brother. But this means that she needs help opening and closing the baby gate so Rylan can't try and climb the stairs. She stands at the gate SCREAMING "HELP" and waiting for me to come unlock it. I can't sit at the computer for more than 10 minutes and focus on the bills that need to be paid or write my blog without getting interrupted at least 20 times (sounds normal, huh parents?)

Part of grief means re-learning everything I once knew. Self-care didn't used to be so difficult. The self-care I instilled when Matt was alive looks much different without him here and especially with two kids. As parents, as individuals, it's vital to make time for ourselves. We have to have time for reflection, rest, enjoyment, and chores. It's something I'm really, really terrible at. Lately I can feel the weight of parenting alone. And I realize that I have to find a consistent way to care for me. Because the better I care for myself, the better I can care for others-especially my kids. It falls on me to ask for it. 

Many people have offered to take the kids so I can have time alone. I think since losing Matt, I have learned that I don't need help...at least I didn't think I did. Inner voice tells me "I am capable of carrying the weight alone." Which is true. I can do it alone. But should I? Is that that healthiest thing for myself and for my kids? I do need help. I do need a village. I do need time for just me. My dad asks me on a consistent basis when he can take the kids. I always shrug him off and tell him I don't need it. The self-care falls on me. I have to learn to swallow my pride and ask for help. I don't need to feel ashamed that I need a break. If I was working a corporate job, wouldn't I get my state-required breaks and a lunch hour? It seems only natural that a stay-at-home parent needs some time alone too. 

Part of this means carving out time for grieving. It's easy to get busy with the day-to-day tasks and push grief aside. Without time to think about what happened, what life is like now, or how much I miss Matt, I put myself at risk for losing it. I notice a pattern. When I don't make time for grieving properly, I'm worn out and agitated. I'm emotionally drained which doesn't blend well with physical exhaustion. 

I have to find a way to sit and process my loss. And I have to find a way to care for me. 

**Just a note: I don't like writing about being a single parent because I realize that there are many situations where single parenting, co-parenting, even married parenting, moms and dads can be worn out, exhausted, and not have time for self-care. I know there are many out there that can relate to this without having lost their spouse. I never thought this would be where I am. It is something I never saw modeled (mine and Matt's parents are both still married). Single parenting isn't something I ever thought I would have to do. So when I write about it, it is because I am having to learn how to do it. I am having to learn about single parenting and grieve at the same time. 

Hurting During Holidays

I always post on the 15th and yet, here I am, palm to the forehead, realizing it's the 17th and the blog I have been working on, sits in the "drafts" without having been posted. When I started feeling badly for being late on the post, I immediately had to start giving myself grace. This last week has been crazier than normal. There has been so much stress in my life. All of which brings me back to grieving Matt. So it isn't like I haven't thought about him. In fact, it is the complete opposite. 

Last month I reflected on the hope in my heart. This month I feel the hurt. Being in the thick of the holidays makes missing Matt more painful. Especially while seeing the sights through the eyes of our kids. 

Olivia is loving the Christmas season. We've driven around our neighborhood countless times and looked at the same houses over and over again. Every time she sees a house with lights, she excitedly screams, "look!!" I drive slowly while she admires the lights, the big candy canes, and talks about Santa. She's at the age where the magic beams from her little body. She understands Christmas more this year. She is excited to have a birthday party for Jesus. And loved meeting Santa at the North Pole. We've talked so much about Christmas and I have seen the excitement build each day. 

Visiting the North Pole

Bundled up and ready for snow

Making a gingerbread house

This time last year I was over 6 months pregnant with Rylan. I did my best to make Christmas memorable for Olivia, myself, and our families. But it was so hard. I recently asked Val, Matt's mom, how she was feeling about the holidays. Like me, she responded "better." It's still hard. And we still miss him. But last year was so daunting. 

Every holiday and milestone, I try and incorporate Matt into the day. I try and make an extra effort to bring his personality into it. Part of it is for my own comfort. Wanting to feel his presence as much as possible. Part of it is so Rylan and Olivia are aware that Matt is always in our hearts. And a huge part of it is because I wish he was here. This holiday season has been challenging because I've been faced with many physical reminders that he isn't here. Last year, all my decorations remained boxed up at home. Living with my parents meant not buying or decorating my own tree. It meant not putting out Christmas decorations and hanging Matt's stocking. I knew this year would be hard as I pulled out the boxes of our decorations. And each item I held in my hands also held a bittersweet memory. Especially the ornaments we collected together over the years at the various places we visited. The ornaments that marked our engagement, wedding, first house, and pets. The ornaments signify memories. Memories are all I have left. 

Everyday that gets closer to Christmas gets harder and harder. I went and visited Matt yesterday. I go every week but this week was particularly difficult. It's so cold right now and the frigid wind feels like a physical reminder of how deeply the pain in my heart is. I pulled up at the cemetery and was happy to see that Matt is visited. There were ornaments in the tree by him, fresh (fake) flowers in the vase, his Seahawks flag, and the other items that are there year round. Last year Olivia and I bought a Santa and snowman yard stake for Matt. I brought them back yesterday and had to put them in the frozen ground.

Within the last few weeks, I've weaned completely off my antidepressant and anxiety medications. I've been asked how I knew I was ready to be off of them and I think there's a lot involved. But a huge contributing factor is all that I've learned in therapy. Let me emphasize that my medication was vital during this last year. I think about the early days after losing Matt and how low things got. But as time has gone on, I've felt less and less like myself and I knew the medication was part of that reasoning. Since being off of them, I FEEL again. Before being on them, I'd cry at a song, a sappy commercial, or laugh so hard that tears would stream down my face. The medication made me flat and often emotionless. I was still sad, still grieving. But the emotions didn't come and go as naturally as I was used to. It feels like I'm living again, not just surviving.

Being off these meds also means I have to be really careful of triggers. I have to be cautious of music I listen to, shows on TV, environments, and my thoughts. It's a lot more work guarding myself from panic attacks. When I was decorating our tree, I opened the box that held all our ornaments, I knew what was inside, and had to shut it and leave it for another day. Just seeing the box of memories made me cry. I knew that if tried to decorate the tree, I'd never stop crying. So, I waited a couple of days and did it after I mentally prepared myself for the difficult task. I think if I was still on my medication, I would have decorated the tree with pain in my heart but without emoting my feelings. 

The days and weeks ahead are going to be painful. I am going to push myself into new situations that I know will be difficult without Matt. Tonight, I am going to his cousin's wedding. The first wedding with his family since he's passed. I am going to start traditions with our kids that he should be part of. I am going to watch our daughter on Christmas morning as she sees that Santa has come to visit. We will attend all the holiday events and continue with our family traditions while missing Matt. Life doesn't stop. Grief doesn't stop. 

I heard this song last year around this time. It speaks perfectly to the experience of missing Matt during the holidays. I ache while trying to be strong.  
Different Kind of Christmas

Suffering With Hope

My friend Alise recently recommended a podcast to me. I listened to it yesterday and was amazed at how applicable it was to my life. It was an interview with a young woman who saw so much tragedy in her lifetime. Some of which included infertility, miscarriage, and losing her husband at a young age. But the part that struck me the most was the sound of hope she had in her voice. She knew that just because she had faced horrible times, it didn't mean she had met her quota and would never suffer again. But it also meant that she could still have hope.

During this last month I have, again, learned so much in therapy. One of the biggest happened when I sat down at therapy one morning and couldn't stop crying. "I just don't feel like myself," I said. My therapist quickly started asking me questions. Are you helpless, hopeless, do you ignore your baby when he's crying in the other room, do you think about killing yourself, do you get out of bed, do you do your laundry and go grocery shopping? She knew the answers to all the questions. But hearing me answer them aloud told us both something. I am not depressed. Since losing Matt I have been treated for depression when really I need to be working on tools on how to cope with anxiety. Am I sad? Absolutely. Are there days when I spent the majority of the time crying? For sure. But I am not depressed. I have hope for my future. I have laughter and bright moments. I deal with a great amount of anxiety but I am learning how to control it from spiraling out of control. Coming to this realization has lifted a small weight I was carrying. I think the medication I have been on was necessary to keep me level while pregnant with Rylan. But knowing I am in control, that the medication isn't needed, makes me feel so much more capable. 

During periods of isolation, I have wondered how I will ever put myself out in the world again. With family, friends, and even relationships. I have hated hearing "oh, I hate telling you about my problems because you have it so much worse than I do." The reality is that we all carry struggles. We all have problems. Losing my husband is horrible and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. But so is infertility. So are drugs. So are troubled relationships with your family or your spouse. Maybe your struggle is that your child has special needs. Or maybe you're carrying the financial load for your family. The point is, I know I am unique being widowed at 29. But I can empathize knowing that everyone I talk to has something they carry too. 

Next week is Thanksgiving. I have thought so much about Matt the last few days knowing the holidays are fast approaching. Matt's favorite day at work was the Turkey Fry. Everyone brings food and they deep-fry turkeys in the parking lot. He loved the traditions, the food, and the time spent with family. This year the fog has lifted a little and I hope I can keep the old traditions while making new ones. I hope that I can share with Olivia and Rylan about their daddy more clearly and feel his presence as we reflect on all that we are thankful for. 

I am certainly suffering but I also have so much hope. A year ago, I couldn't have said that. 

It's Been A Year

It's been a year. 365 days. Matt's uncle said it best. It's been the longest, shortest year of my life. I remember every painful detail. I can still feel the fear. I can smell the hospital and I can hear the noises. I can see myself and our families sitting in a dark waiting room for over 14 hours while Matt was having surgery. I can hear the phone ring when the nurses called from the OR to give us an update. I can see the look in his doctor's eyes telling us to prepare ourselves and that it would take a miracle to heal Matt. I remember the hours I spent with Matt touching him and talking to him. Begging him to stay. I remember every moment of hope believing he would be alright. I remember the horrible conversations with his doctor when we realized he wouldn't. I remember leaving the hospital without Matt. And I remember standing in the shower at my mom and dad's letting the water wash over me and praying it was all a dream. 

I can feel the endless hugs of love and compassion while feeling completely empty and hollow inside. I can see the buzz of visitors at my mom and dad's to offer a brief distraction. And then the pit in my stomach when the house grew empty and dark at the end of each day. I can feel my anxiety and feet shaking every night as I laid on my parent's couch. I can feel the rain falling on me, the wind across my face, and the mud on my pants when I sat with Matt on Halloween while I screamed and cried. 

I hit rock bottom and it wasn't the day Matt passed. It was about 2 weeks later. I reached my lowest point. I was pregnant, heartbroken, and hurting in every imaginable way. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't get off the couch to care for Olivia. I had such horrendous anxiety that I had diarrhea and was vomiting. My skin was pale and the circles under my eyes were dark. 

I didn't want to live. I laid in my mom and dad's bed at one point thinking about killing myself. I knew it wasn't an option. I knew I'd never go through with it. But I also knew I didn't want to live when life was so horrible. And then I'd hear Olivia. Or I'd feel Rylan move in my belly. Or I would imagine our families being faced with more heart-wrenching anguish. I knew my only choice was to dig myself out of the deepest, darkest valley that I would ever be in. I knew I had to find a way to fight against what this world has put me through. 

For the last couple weeks, I've felt as if I am reliving last year. A text from my friend, Noelle, recently said, "this week and this month and this season are re-opening some of the toughest wounds you've been trying to heal." I went to my mom and dad's recently and the wet leaves on the ground felt familiar. I went in their room and despite having slept there for 10 months, it felt as painful as the day we got ready for Matt's memorial service. The tears that never stopped flowing, the sick feeling in my stomach, it all felt like it did a year ago. I've wondered if I made any progress. I questioned whether or not I had the strength to feel the pain again. But then I remembered the days after losing Matt. I remembered that hopeless feeling and wondered how I would ever function again. And somehow, someway, I did. I managed to ride with my grief following parallel beside me. I learned that there are times of sweet and happy moments and in an instant the tears can come. 

My anger has surfaced again. Anger at God. I see the reminders on Facebook everyday of what happened a year ago. I see how many  times my updates were shared. Meaning thousands were praying and believing Matt would be alright. Did God not hear us? And if He did, why didn't Matt survive? I don't think I'll ever make sense of it. 

One year. I didn't think I'd make it here. It's a hard day to face. But I've had to find a way to get through today. A year ago the life I knew ended. But that doesn't mean I stop living. Matt wouldn't want that for me. He would want me to face this new life. It's scary, unfamiliar, and so hard. There's days when all I can do is lay on my bed and think about the nightmare I'm living. And then there are moments of hope. There are days that show me that I choose how to live my life. 

In the last year I've learned so much about grief, love, and what rock bottom means. I've recently read this quote: 

The breaking of you will be the making of you. A new you. A stronger you. -Lysa Terkeurst

If I had the choice, it wouldn't be to rebuild myself. I was happy before. Really, really happy. I've been given life I wasn't expecting. I can't bring Matt back-I wish I could. With his passing, I have been broken. And not just once. Many, many times. I know piece by piece, my heart is being put back together despite the gaping hole that will forever remain. My choice now is what type of person I want to be. What my new life looks like and how I want to use this loss in a positive way. I won't let this turn me bitter and cold. 

I won't let Matt's kids live without knowing their dad. Despite how painful it is for me, I will talk about him and look at his pictures and watch his videos. I will take them places he loved. I will make sure Olivia and Rylan know where he came from through his family and his friends. I will let them see me cry so they know sadness doesn't mean weakness. 

Even though today and the past week have pushed me down, I know I'll get back up. Because I know riding out the lows is my only option. 

Fall Is Here

Fall is here. I woke up one day and summer had ended. I drove to therapy and saw the leaves have changed colors. The sun still shines but there is a crispness in the air. It happened overnight. 

I used to love fall. I looked forward to it every year. After a busy summer and constantly on the go, fall usually meant some peace and solitude. It meant snuggling up with Matt watching football, it meant weekend walks in the rain with coffee, comfort food, and listening to the rain at night. I loved that it meant our family had to slow down a little bit. I mentioned before how losing Matt has meant losing every part of my life that I once knew. Even seasons changing brings new heartache. Finding enjoyment in my favorite season is gone now. Fall now brings me pain. It brings the beginning of another year without Matt. It means seeing reminders on my Facebook of the days and weeks following Matt's passing and feeling it all over again. 

I wish I could hide. I wish I could take the kids somewhere and escape what's coming. Unfortunately, the anniversary of Matt's passing isn't the only day that will bring sadness. It's the days leading up to it and the memories in the hospital. It's the days following and remembering the moments at my mom and dad's, wearing Matt's clothes for days, the inability to function yet somehow still planning his Memorial Service and writing his obituary. It's remembering the day of his service and the celebration we had. It's the following day when we had to bury him in the pouring down rain. It's not just one day. 

My depression has been low lately. I know what's coming. I see the reminders everywhere. As recently as yesterday, I experienced another panic attack. This hasn't happened in a very long time. But with my depression feeling heavy, my anxieties are higher. I had a dentist appointment and had to have two fillings replaced. While there, I was informed of a new type of bite block they would be using. It enables your mouth to stay open and also suctions at the same time. Great theory. However, when they started up the suction, the sound instantly brought me back to sitting in CVICU with Matt. It reminded me so much of the sound of his respirator. I started crying. Unable to talk, feeling trapped in the dentist chair, I laid there and cried. Doctor finished with half of his work, took everything out of my mouth, and let me explain that I wasn't crying because of anything he was doing. I had to tell him about Matt and why the sound was a trigger. We took a moment to regroup, and then he proceeded to finish the work. I thought after taking a breather I would feel better, but the moment the machine started again, the flashbacks came with it. I was having physical signs of anxiety; shaking, sweating, blurred vision. I tried taking my mind elsewhere but it always went right back to Matt. 

I think it's important to be able to recognize the lows. Over the last 11 months, I'm learning that grief is lifelong. And with that comes phases of lows. Usually, after a period of feeling really, really down, the light will shine a little bit again. I know that over the next month I can expect to feel down. I know I'll feel like I'm drowning beneath the waves of sadness and grief. But I also know it won't last forever. I know that today feels really heavy but tomorrow might feel a little less burdensome. 

Finding Strength

Every month at the gym there is a large chalkboard with a goal it. This month it is about strength. I like this goal because it has given me a chance to reflect on all the reasons I am strong. Countless people have told me they believe I am strong but seeing it for myself is something I am striving to see.

The chalkboard at Vie

During the last 10 months, I have been consumed with grief. I have thought about it and lived it each and every second since losing Matt. I have talked openly and honestly about what it feels like and how it impacts every moment of my days. I have talked about how painful it is to live without my best friend. And I have tried to look at my life and what I have gained from such a tragic loss.

I think this last month has given me the opportunity to sit back and realize all I have accomplished and all the reasons I can say I am proud of myself. It is hard for most of us to be complimentary of ourselves. I know for me, I am often picking myself apart. Looking at my flaws and failures instead of all that I should be proud of.

One of the tools my therapist has asked me to implement into my life is writing down my successes each and everyday. This isn't something I have stuck to daily but it is something I try and do often. She suggests doing this so that a year from now, maybe even a week from now, I can look back and see how I didn't just stay stuck in my grief. She wants me to realize all the ways I have made steps forward in life. She wants me to see that I am doing this and that I am capable. Sometimes my successes are simple. Maybe all I did in a day was feed my kids or get out of bed. Sometimes my successes are huge like facing Matt's birthday or moving into my new house. Regardless of how big or small, they should be noted and celebrated.

I think July and August have been some of the busiest and most accomplished months I have had since losing Matt. July and August have required strength from deep within. Strength I didn't think I had. At the beginning of the month, there was the 4th of July. A holiday that for the last 14 years has been spent with Matt's family. We changed our plans this year and spent it together, but at a different location-my mom and dad's. Then came a trip to Chicago and Iowa City. My first time traveling with both kids (which I couldn't have done without the help from my mom, aunt, and uncle). This likely wasn't a vacation that Matt would have been able to attend because of work. But it did hold a lot of hard moments-moments that I know he would have loved. A Cubs game at Wrigley Field, a wedding, and time spent with family that I haven't seen in a long time.

July also meant celebrating Matt's birthday. I was dreading his birthday. Part of our plans was having a birthday party at the cemetery. As I drove there, I told my parents I didn't want to do it. I envisioned it going similarly to how some of our visits had before. Trying our best to put on a brave face while laughing through tears. But on Matt's birthday, we celebrated him. We sat in the grass, drinking his favorite beers, laughed, cried a little, and felt him through the warm sunshine. Afterwards, we had dinner with the rest of the Larimore family, we swam in Matt's childhood pool, and we sang Happy Birthday to him. When the night was finally over, I was able to sit back and be really proud of how the day went. We wanted his day to be about the life he lived. The laughter he shared with all of us. And the celebration he was having in Heaven.

Olivia, Rylan, Matt, and me. Drinking his one of favorite beers.

Matt's birthday also happened to bring me a gift. I got the keys to our new house. While I didn't actually move in on his birthday, the significance of getting the keys was huge. We spent an entire Saturday moving everything out of storage and into my house. And while it was a huge mess, and actually still is, I'm just so happy that everything is accessible and not stacked and shoved into storage units. The process of unpacking has been tiring and fulfilling all at once. I have had to look at Matt's things again. I have boxes and bags of his clothes that I can't touch yet. I have pictures hidden away because I am not ready to look at them. And my entire upstairs is a huge disaster because I can't sort through the baskets that hold everything from Matt's high school papers to his memorial service. But I go to bed every night feeling accomplished. I am creating a home for our babies. Rylan's room has order, Olivia's room is painted, I have reupholstered an ottoman (while putting a staple into the palm of my hand), I have hung things on the walls, put in dimmer switches, and have even cooked! I have gotten up in the night with the kids and fallen back to sleep without having a panic attack from being alone. I am learning I can be independent and that being alone, and being lonely, isn't always a bad thing.

Getting keys!

A little overwhelmed with the mess

So thankful the help from my family

My kitchen-my favorite place in the house

Most recently, I have been a bridesmaid in my best friend's wedding. When Ryan proposed to Brittney, it was shortly after Matt had passed. Her emotions were mixed. As my best friend, she was concerned with my feelings but also so happy for this next phase in her life. I was thrilled for her. And honored to stand beside her as her bridesmaid. But I also knew that her wedding would be a challenge for me. I knew that it was a day Matt would have loved to be a part of. During the ceremony, the officiant talked about my friendship with Brittney and how we are more than just friends. He talked about how Ryan knew he wanted to propose to Brittney and that when the tragedy of losing Matt happened, he knew he couldn't wait any longer. Life is short. Moments are precious. And sometimes waiting can't happen anymore.

When I got home from Brittney and Ryan's wedding, the weight of missing Matt was strong. But I was also extremely proud of myself for how I handled the day. I laughed, danced, cried, and had a wonderful time celebrating their new life together. I was overcome with happiness for them. And I was incredibly touched that they included Matt in their special moment. 

Marissa, me, Brittney, Liz

My stunning best friend

Brittney, you are good for my soul

When Matt was passing, I laid with my face on his. I cried over him for many hours. I made promises to him that I will keep forever. But I also asked that he leave me with some of his strength. He is one of the strongest people I have ever known and I knew I would need his help making it without him here. I am thankful for this month's goal at the gym. It has really helped me focus on my successes. So when Vie asks "what makes you feel strong?" I won't answer with "pull-ups or cleans." I will answer with-LIFE. Life makes me feel strong. Because it is hard. And sometimes it REALLY sucks. But deep within is a drive that is bigger than I ever knew I had.