New Grief

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

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

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

Fire pit area

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

Our "deck" before

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

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

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

18 months, Easter, and Traveling

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

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

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

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

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

Happy 1st Birthday, Rylan Matthew

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rylan's adorable cupcakes from Wanna Cupcake

Val made these cute little goodie snack bags

Samantha made this cute sign for Rylan's party

Waiting for the birthday boy to wake up

Allison's adorable appetizer

He LOVED his cupcake

Auntie Well and Uncle Andy

Uncle Josh, Kash, and Auntie Katie

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

Papa Mark and Grandma Patty

Uncle Mike, Aunt Kim, and Robert

Papa Larry and Grandma Val 

Aunt Toni and Uncle Gary

Uncle Kevin and Aunt Jennie

Great Grandma Sandy and Aunt Jennie

Great Grandpa Cot and Grandma Joann

Aunt Allison and Uncle Justin 

Kylee and Aunt Steph

The Littlest Larimores & Loneliness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still Married

Widowed at 29. How? Why?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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