Happy 1st Birthday, Rylan Matthew

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rylan's adorable cupcakes from Wanna Cupcake

Val made these cute little goodie snack bags

Samantha made this cute sign for Rylan's party

Waiting for the birthday boy to wake up

Allison's adorable appetizer

He LOVED his cupcake

Auntie Well and Uncle Andy

Uncle Josh, Kash, and Auntie Katie

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

Papa Mark and Grandma Patty

Uncle Mike, Aunt Kim, and Robert

Papa Larry and Grandma Val 

Aunt Toni and Uncle Gary

Uncle Kevin and Aunt Jennie

Great Grandma Sandy and Aunt Jennie

Great Grandpa Cot and Grandma Joann

Aunt Allison and Uncle Justin 

Kylee and Aunt Steph

The Littlest Larimores & Loneliness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still Married

Widowed at 29. How? Why?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Single Parenting and Self-Care

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hurting During Holidays

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

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

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

Visiting the North Pole

Bundled up and ready for snow

Making a gingerbread house

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suffering With Hope

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

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

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

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

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

It's Been A Year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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