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.  

When Matt Guides Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maui-June 4, 2009

It's A Season

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


GoFundMe-Doug Ferry

Do Not Judge My Grief

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

Grief never ends. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do not judge my grief. 

New Seasons

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

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

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

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

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

Faith & Perspective

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Secret Life of Dad

The New Year

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sometimes You Just Need to Get Away

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Night rides on Kevin & Jennie's boat

Boat rides and naps

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

Visiting the Phoenix Zoo

Out to dinner with the family.

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

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

Olivia's New Curiosity

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three Years

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

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

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

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

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

Terrible Twos & Facing October

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prior to surgery. Such a good boy! 

Waking up afterwards. Sleepy and snuggly. 

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

Olivia and Rylan picked the colors of their balloons. 

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

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

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

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

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