Beauty From Ashes

I've worked hard. Like, really hard. I can say that with confidence because of the place I am sitting today.

It's Sunday at 1:53 PM. There's a large pile of laundry that needs to be folded, there are dishes all over the counter, and I'm still in my pajamas. And get this. I haven't even brushed my teeth today. I am enjoying a margarita while I listen to Keith Urban with a dog snuggled beside me and my 6 year old that just came in and said "Mom, I just want to hug you."

I mean, why would I complain? It's idilic. But for me, I see so much growth. To the point where I need to make note of this moment and this feeling. There was a time in my life when my loneliness was all-consuming. All I thought about was the huge missing piece of my life. And it's gone. Of course I can attribute this to Luke. But there is so much more to it than just having Luke. 

You see, my loneliness wasn't just about losing Matt and not having anyone. My loneliness was so much about me, too. I didn't fully love myself. I couldn't find contentment in anything, with anyone, or anywhere because I was so broken. I hated how my life unfolded. Losing your husband at such a young age, having a toddler, and being pregnant? But not just losing Matt impacted me. It was discovery that hurt me time and time again. Discovery of finding my tribe and what that means-both beautiful and painful. It was discovery of my lack of boundaries which lead to overextending myself. Discovery that I simply didn't care for me. 

As much as it looked like I was caring for myself, I really wasn't. I have been religious about the gym. I eat well. I sleep. I journal, walk, attend therapy. All tools I have obtained over the years to get me here. But if I'm honest, I was giving so much of myself that I lost me. I lost my own importance. 

2020 was a hard year. For many of us. For me, it meant I had to finally hit rock bottom. Hard. I had physically never felt better. I was embarking on a new chapter at a Vie-a place so special to me. I had a boyfriend. My kids were happy. Life seemed good. Then COVID hit. And things started shutting down. And then, the relationship I thought was good, ended abruptly. It was the absolute darkest time of my life. Did the break up cause it? No. Did the breakup trigger so much more? YES. 

When Matt passed, I was 16 weeks pregnant with Rylan. I was wrecked. Completely devastated. But no matter where my grief took me, I couldn't fully hit rock bottom because of the life I carried and the life I had to care for (Olivia). Fast forward to 2020 when I find myself blindsided and heartbroken, the world was shut down, I had no where to go, nothing to do. I wasn't carrying life. And my kids were at the ages where they didn't need me with the same type of dependency. So I crashed hard. To the point where I was close to being admitted to a psych hospital. My parents and Matt's parents were lost. My siblings, frustrated and angry. They were hurting too. They didn't know what to do. But, my neighbors somehow saw signs. Maybe they were more obvious than I realize. But without being able to interact with each other, they knew I wasn't ok. They stepped in in the most gentle and careful way. They added perspective and compassion that none of us had anymore. They got me help. They saved me.

The help given to me from that point on has shown me a depth of grief that I really never understood. At the time of my episode, Matt had been gone for 5+ years. I thought I had my grief sorted out and understood. But the truth is, grief and trauma runs so deep. A trigger truly is a trigger. It's unseen until you're smacked right in the face with it.

Do I still miss Matt? Without a doubt. We are inching our way to our 12th wedding anniversary while I plan a wedding with Luke. How emotionally confusing, right? Do I still cry at random because he's gone? Yep. But there's beauty too. For example, St. Patrick's day we had my parents, Luke's dad, and Matt's parents over for dinner. After the house grew quiet, all I could reflect on was how proud Matt would be. He would beam over the fact that his favorite people are finding love, new memories, and happiness while we all carry the heaviness of missing him.

Today isn't about that terribly low place. The place that was terrifying for many of us. Today I feel calm even though everything isn't in perfect order. Today I feel grateful that I never quit. Today I see much more clearly. One of the biggest blessings was realizing what that breakup and rock bottom taught me. That breakup taught me to love and value myself. It equipped me in new ways to eventually be the best partner for Luke. It prepared me to be a stepmom. It healed me in new ways that Olivia and Rylan need. I don't believe everything happens for a reason. Tragic loss is just that-tragic. But I do believe we are given the choice on how we face those unforeseen moments. And I'm grateful that I can look back and be proud of where I'm at today. 

It's not over. Darkness will come again. But I with certainty I see that beauty comes from ashes.

The Anniversary

I have talked with quite a few people lately that have felt heavy, drained, worn down, etc. A lot say they can't understand why. They are sleeping well, the sunshine feels great, and they feel healthy. They say they are looking forward to spring coming, warmer days, more chances to be outdoors. But they can't make sense of the feeling of being bogged down. I have seen this touched on in a few different places but I wanted to take the opportunity to write about it in a longer fashion. 

A year ago each and every one of us had our lives changed. Whether we began working remotely, suddenly had our kids home full time, or simply had to wear a mask everywhere we went, every single person was affected by COVID-19. Some of us lost jobs and some of us lost loved ones. But we all lost the sense of normalcy that we once knew.

I am familiar with anniversaries of this sort. I know how it feels when October rolls around and I am sluggish and drained no matter what I do. Even after 5 years of experiencing Matt's passing anniversary, I am always caught off guard by how my body physically reacts to time. We don't often associate loss and change as manifesting itself in a physical way but it absolutely does. I noticed that a lot of us started feeling this way when March was suddenly on our calendars. A year ago at this time, there was so much fear and uncertainty. Talk of our lives changing forever was everywhere we went. It consumed us. And then it happened. Our world got shut down to give us the opportunity to "flatten the curve" for a couple weeks. Weeks turned to months, months turned into a year. Where have we gotten in a year? What has changed?

The point of my writing isn't to highlight all that has evolved in research related to COVID-19. I'm not here to talk numbers or tell you which rules to follow. The point of my writing is to simply share a reminder that anniversaries can be hard. Whether we have thought much about it or not, our minds and bodies remember. The type of life-altering change that we all went through a year ago can weigh us down. I don't have the knowledge behind why this happens. What I do have is the (unfortunate) experience with grief anniversaries and how hard they can be. I am using my own experience and my own knowledge to label this March as a grief anniversary. I think it is safe to say that a lot of us are navigating grief related to the pandemic we are currently living in. We are grieving life as we once knew it. Maybe we are looking ahead and not feeling hopeful. Maybe we are still living in fear. Or maybe we haven't given it any thought and are simply trying to figure out why we don't feel ourselves. 

I think it is important to remind ourselves, and each other, about grace. Many of us are struggling emotionally right now. Many of us are shouldering burdens that don't only include this pandemic. It is important to be mindful for each other but also for ourselves. Take breaks where you can. Maybe that means the load of laundry needing to get folded gets put on hold so you can take a nap or read a book. Maybe it means lifting lighter at the gym or slowing your pace. Maybe it means saying no to commitments and saying yes to yourself. 

What I have learned through losing Matt and the life I once had planned for myself is that change is really hard. Whether things change in a positive way or a negative, it is often hard to navigate. We feel like our feet aren't on solid ground. And it is times like this when others need our patience, grace, and understanding. It is times like this when we need to allow that for ourselves. We need to remind ourselves that it is ok to not be ok. It is ok to go to bed early and turn off the news. It is ok to slow down and rest. It is ok struggle.

We are all in this change together. We are all adjusting and adapting. We are all looking at the calendar with some sort of shock and disbelief that a year has passed since the first word of COVID-19 hit our ears. Be patient. Be mindful. Be kind. To each other and to yourself.

5 Years

Sometimes I feel like I have written all there is to write. And then I realize I am wrong. 

The last blog update I wrote was last year in October. A full year has gone by since I have written. I was curious to see how my process of grief would go if I didn't have an intentional place to put my writing.  I journal very regularly but my writing looks and sounds different when I know no one will read it. During a recent therapy appointment, I realized I am doing myself a disservice by not writing. I am making my head more of a mess than it already is. 

When I started this blog it was a way for me to connect with my friends and family to share with them the process of my grief, to thank them for their love and support, and to give insight into what it is like to be widowed at 29. Over the years I have written about a myriad of topics about widowhood and being a single mom. I always posted my blog on the 15th of each month because Matt passed on October 15th. Approaching each month, knowing I wanted to share on my blog, knowing I wanted to write, lead to me processing in a different way than I have this past year. Writing more or less forced me to look at my grief through a different lens. And I think that lens has brought a lot of insight and healing. 

Without using this outlet for my grief, I have noticed a difference in my mental health, my physical health, and my emotional health. I am more scattered, more tired, more unclear on my feelings. Because of the negative impact that not writing has had on me, I decided it was time again. So here I am. Writing again. Not sure the frequency. Not sure what these posts will look like or entail. But I don't believe I have written my last word. I believe I have more to say.

It has been 5 years without Matt. And much like the anniversaries prior, I am drained. I find myself crying often. I look at the clock and relive where I was at that moment 5 years ago today. The grief is still there. It has shifted. But I don't hurt any less.

Since I haven't written monthly, there is a full year of catching up to do. I don't know that now is the time to try to condense it into writing but I do feel like now is a good time for some reflection. In some ways, I thought my life would look a lot different after 5 years without Matt. I thought I had dug from the very bottom and only had one way to go. Up. I never dreamed I would go back down. Never thought I would hit rock bottom again. That I would rebuild again. But I did. I hurt in new ways. A culmination of life threw me down to a place where I was gasping for breath and struggling to live. I tore open old wounds, discovered new ones, and was faced with hurt and trials that I thought I had overcome.

During that episode, I was put in contact with a new therapist. I have been seeing the same one for 5 years now. She has done a lot of work with me and helped me tremendously. I still see her and utilize her tools. My new therapist works a lot with trauma and crisis. He has a different perspective and outlook on things (partly due to his gender). And he has helped me a lot in a very short time. 

With the combination of two therapists, being put back on antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds, and being really mindful at all times, I am finally starting to feel better. Never in my life had I felt depression so dark and anxiety so high. After Matt passed I thought I hit rock bottom. I thought I knew what that felt like. But I had even farther to go. I realized that I didn't hit rock bottom then because I simply couldn't. We had to plan Matt's memorial services, write the obituary, I had probate, houses to sell, a house to build, have a baby, and somehow do it all while grieving the loss of my husband. Finally, after 4 1/2 years, I collapsed. In the midst of a pandemic, with nowhere to go, no outlets, no people to see, I felt as though nothing could pull me out of bed. Except my kids. And even caring for Olivia and Rylan was so overwhelming and daunting. I couldn't do it. I needed help. 

When life got messy, as it did for many of us in 2020, when my floor fell from beneath me, I slipped into the darkest place I've ever known. My kids are old enough to be taken care of by anyone. They aren't in diapers, nursing, or in my belly. Which meant my body could fully crash as well. I didn't have to eat like I did before to nourish a growing baby. I could eat garbage, drink too much, not exercise, and sleep all day because my body wasn't for anyone except me. 

The thing I learned during this rapid spiral is how rapidly I can overcome it as well. Don't get me wrong, I am still struggling every day with some deep voids and heavy hurt. I still grieve. But I have a foundation of tools acquired from years of therapy that helped get me back on track. I also have the ability to separate the loss of Matt from other pain that life causes. A few years ago, all pain was mixed with the grief of losing Matt. Separating it at times is incredibly important. 

Throughout this process of rebuilding myself, again, I have also seen the work I had left behind that needed to get done. I hadn't touched any of Matt's things in 5 years. My house had wedding pictures on the walls, I slept in his t-shirts, and I held onto every physical part of him that I could. I wasn't wrong in any of this. There is no timeline. There is no right or wrong way to do this. But for me, I knew I had to make physical space and give myself permission to grieve differently. 

I slowly started going through Matt's stuff. First, it was the stuff under the counter in the bathroom...his toothbrush, comb, beard oil, deodorant, etc. Then it was going through boxes and boxes of notes and cards. I didn't get rid of everything. There are pieces of history between us that I never want to forget or get rid of. Like a loving note he left me one day that simply said, "You smell." Haha. But I did go through a lot of boxes. I got rid of kitchen utensils that didn't work but that I was holding onto because "it was Matt's" or our bedsheets that wore so thin after 10 years of sleeping on them. I got new ones but couldn't throw away the ripped ones because "Matt slept on them next to me."

It didn't take me long to realize that the things left are going to wear out, they will break, they will get lost, they will stop working. Every physical item I have left will dissolve with time. But the memories will last forever. That isn't to say that all loss and grief mean you have to go through the physical stuff left behind. But for me, that process was very important. 

I am a creature of habit. Since losing Matt I have learned that change is uncomfortable. I have learned healing hurts. I have also learned that in order to not let grief, trauma, and crisis define me that I have to do the work. For me to progress forward with grief being part of me, I had to go through his stuff. I had to touch it all. I had to remember the memories that certain shirts held. I had to smell the familiarity. And I had to let it go. 

But letting go of Matt's items doesn't mean I am letting go of him. As I watched his stuff leave my house, I certainly felt sadness and grief. But I also felt healing and lightness. In no way did letting go of his stuff change how I feel about Matt being gone. It gave me more mental and emotional space to grieve him differently. It gave me space to allow for new healing. It gave me new opportunities.

I have said before, and I will say it again, I will never, ever stop loving and grieving Matt. I will never stop missing him for myself, for our families, our friends, and especially for our children. 

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.