Have the Tough Conversations

I've touched on this subject a little bit before. But with the dust being settled and probate being over, I think it is important to write again about the importance of a plan and having tough conversations.

At the time of Matt's passing, I was 29 and he was 33. We never talked about things like a will or life insurance. I remember standing in Matt's hospital room and thinking to myself that I will never be able to figure it all out. I didn't think I would be able to navigate all the decisions and stress that comes with adulthood and raising a family. I never had to. I went from living with my mom and dad to being married to Matt. He paid the bills, did our taxes, made sure our health insurance policies were current, invested in stocks, and set up retirement funds. He never kept me in the dark but I also didn't focus on these topics because I didn't have to. With his passing, I quickly started learning so much about so many areas that I never thought I would.

One of these unfamiliar territories was probate. If you don't know, as I didn't, probate is the process of making sure a person's estate is given to the appropriate beneficiaries. This is the case when there isn't a will or if beneficiaries aren't assigned. (That's my basic understanding of it anyway). When Matt passed, I wasn't immediately entitled to everything "we" owned because the reality of it was that we weren't on everything together. I had to hire a probate attorney to sort through Matt's estate: our rental house, different accounts, stocks, bank accounts, etc. I had to attend meetings with my attorney and try and give them information that I just didn't have. I started this process and was told it would take 3-4 months to complete it. I was told it would cost a certain amount. In actuality, it took nearly 18 months and over double the estimated cost to get everything in order. Because of Olivia and Rylan, a guardian ad litem had to be involved to make sure that their deserved portions were accounted for and given to them in a way that met requirements.

I also had to decide how Matt would be buried and what type of service we would have for him. This was a team effort as Matt's family and I navigated some really tough decisions. I remember the funeral home asking me if I knew what Matt's wishes were. And I didn't. We never talked about cremation versus burial. We never talked about our preference of cemeteries or songs we would want played at our memorial service. Why would we?

Matt and I didn't have a will or supplemental life insurance. I wasn't assigned as his beneficiary on everything. Why would he think he should call his HR department and make sure things were as they should be? Of course he didn't give much thought to the importance of life insurance. Of course we didn't talk about how we wanted to be buried. These conversations are hard to even imagine. But they are even harder to live.

I have learned so much that I never thought I would need to. I'm certainly not an expert but I have had to navigate through some really hard topics and unfamiliar territories. All of this meant added stress. It meant phone calls and meetings that I had to stumble through because most of the time I didn't know what I was talking about. Grieving the loss of Matt is hard enough but adding in the stress from unfamiliarity, finances, and health care was incredibly daunting. Getting everything settled took so much time, money, and organization.

I know this sounds like a topic written for people of my age and maybe younger. But I can't tell you how many people I have talked to who are twice my age, even older, and still haven't had these discussions. My parents had "Will" written on their white board in their kitchen for longer than I can even believe. It was their reminder to finalize their will. That reminder stayed there so long that it wasn't even looked at anymore. When we lost Matt, it was the push they needed to get their will finalized. It was the push they needed to get life insurance.

Losing Matt has opened doors to conversations that families don't want to have. It has allowed us to talk about what we want when we pass. It has allowed us to talk about life support, organ donations, and memorial services. The easy thing to do is not have these conversations. But the stress that comes from losing someone who doesn't have everything planned, is unimaginable. I don't fault Matt at all for not having these things together. Like I said, why would he? He would've been in the same boat as me had I been the one to pass. We, as a team, as husband and wife, didn't have a grasp on the importance of what would happen should one of us pass. Unfortunately, it has meant me having to figure it all out.

My urge, my plea, is to have these tough conversations. Even if you're not married or in a relationship, do it for your loved ones that would have to piece everything together should something terrible happen. Life is fleeting. At some point, we will all need a plan. Do it now. Have a plan. Tell someone where your plan is. Even if its simply scribbled down on a napkin, make it clear what your wishes are. Get the supplemental life insurance. Assign beneficiaries. Get a will. It might mean an added bill each month to pay for life insurance and it might mean paying a few hundred dollars for a will, but the importance of these are priceless.

Two Years

17,520 hours. 730 days. 24 months. 2 years. It seems like an eternity. It feels like just yesterday. October is so daunting. It brings an ache to my chest that is heavier than normal. It reminds me of all my "lasts" with Matt. The last time we watched football, ate together, talked, kissed, touched...October reminds me of all that is missing. It is full of triggers and brings emotions to the surface that I so desperately try and manage the rest of the year.

For me, the pain really surfaces again starting on October 11th. That marks the day of when life as I knew it began to unravel. It was an ordinary, sunny, Sunday. A morning spent at home watching the Seahawks game. The last game we would watch together. It amazes me how life can be turned upside down without any signs or any warnings.

I think for many, this year is so much harder than last year. The shock of Matt's passing has subsided slightly, leaving us with a clearer picture of what life looks now. This leaves us with the unwanted opportunity to really miss Matt. To really grieve him. But isn't that what he deserves? Doesn't he deserve to be missed, talked about, cried over? He was an incredible person. So why wouldn't we feel like our hearts have been ripped in half? Why wouldn't we want to continue talking about him?

Since the 11th, I’ve been reliving the nightmare in my head. Every time I look at the clock I picture where I was two years ago. What I was doing. What I was hearing. I try and not let my mind go there. I try and stay positive and think about Matt’s life and how beautiful it was. But my brain knows I have to to go there. My brain knows that healing comes from tears.

My mom and I went to the grocery store the other day to get some stuff for today. We will gather with family and send balloons with messages to Matt. Afterwards, we will be together, remembering Matt and what today signifies, while eating some of his favorite foods. I was checking out at the store and thought how it must look like we were going to have a fun time this weekend. We had balloons, flowers, beer, and lots of stuff to make food Matt enjoyed. At that moment, our cashier asked “do you have any fun plans for the weekend?” After my mom explained what we were doing, and why, he had tears in his eyes. His response was so genuine. He didn’t try and sugarcoat anything. And just kept saying “that just sucks.”

I’ve heard often since Matt’s passing that “time heals all wounds” or “it gets better with time.” People desperately trying to find the right words and offer comfort. While I appreciate their attempts so very much, I don’t believe these statements. I’m not any less sad today than I was two years ago. I certainly don’t miss Matt any less. In fact, the opposite is true. I miss him more. 

It seems as though there’s nothing profound on my heart today. I find that I don’t have the words or the message or the ability to articulate how I feel today. All I know is today is hard. Today is heavy. Today I’m sad and broken and missing Matt in a new way. I’m missing him in a familiar way.

Two years. The blink of an eye. An eternity. Much too long.

Anxiety

Anxiety isn't something I experienced much of prior to losing Matt. Since his passing, I've learned how debilitating it can be. It can feel as though you're suffocating. 

I've mentioned some of my struggles with anxiety in prior blog posts. My anxiety came right away when we were in the hospital with Matt. Since I was pregnant, it was important to keep my stress and anxiety low. Seems like an impossible task but my doctor quickly prescribed medication to help my anxiety and help me sleep. I'm thankful for those meds because even when I was on them, my anxiety was incredibly high. Anxiety attacks are horrible and sometimes embarrassing. They are also very scary. I remember one night, being in the middle of an anxiety attack, and my dad wanting to call 911 because I could not breathe. I remember night after night sitting on the couch with my foot jiggling away. I was completely unaware of it happening until my mom or dad would mention it. 

As I became stronger, I realized that my medication wasn't needed anymore. The tools I've learned in therapy are absolutely the reason I was able to wean from my meds. Without therapy, I think I'd still be on them. But this doesn't mean I don't still suffer from anxiety. 

Every single time I leave my house, I'm anxious. I never know where triggers lie. I never know when I might melt into a puddle of tears. I've been at the store numerous times and had to leave because of a song that comes on that reminds me of Matt. I've been at the gym and sobbed beneath my hat because of a song that starts playing. It's not just music. It's can be a smell or how the weather is. It can be an event I'm going to alone or someone innocently asking me what my husband does. It can be trying my best to avoid triggers but somehow, something still affects me. 

I recently went out with my best friend, Brittney, and her husband, Ryan. We decided to grab a drink at Farrelli's. I almost told them that I wanted to pick a different place but knew if I had a break down that they would understand. Farrelli's is full of memories related to Matt. I threw a surprise party for his 30th birthday there. We went to dinner with his mom's family the day after finding out I was pregnant with Olivia. I remember this because only his mom and dad knew our news. And I remember sitting there with them thinking how no one knew I was carrying a baby. It was also where I met Matt and his best friend, Eli, the day before Thanksgiving when Olivia was just a baby. They grabbed a bite, some beer, took Olivia, and I went next door and had a manicure and pedicure in peace. 

These are all very random memories, and may seem insignificant, but they are the ones I hold onto that keep Matt alive in my heart. 

When I sat down with Brittney and Ryan at Farrelli's, "A Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong started playing. This song is significant because it reminds me of Val and her relationship with Matt and Justin. It's the song she danced to with both of them and their weddings. Every time I hear it, I think of them. So when it started playing, I knew it was somehow Matt telling me to be ok in that moment with my friends. It made me smile. It was also profound moment because it ended up being one of the only songs played in the restaurant that night since the Cougar football game was on.

There are also really obvious situations that I can’t put myself in. My dad recently had a total knee replacement. In the past, I’ve been at every doctor appointment and surgery he’s ever had. When his knee replacement was scheduled, I had every intention of going with my mom to keep her company and be there with them. As the day approached, my anxiety rose higher and higher. The thought of spending time in a hospital, in a waiting room, and being in a recovery room was too much. There was also the thought of having to use the soap there and having it smell like the soap from our time spent with Matt. The soap stands out in my memory. Constantly washing my hands every time I went into Matt’s room. Hoping that by doing my small part of keeping away germs and possible infection that it would somehow save him.

Not being able to go with my mom and dad for surgery was so hard on me. Throughout surgery, my mom kept my siblings and myself informed in a group text. Even living through it via text was hard! I know I made the right decision by not going with them. But it also stirred up so much anger. Anger that I couldn’t be part of it. Anger how every aspect of my life is impacted by Matt’s passing.

We are just weeks away from the two year anniversary of Matt’s passing. I hate the word anniversary in this context. Isn’t an anniversary something worth celebrating? It could be easy to argue that it is a celebration that he is Home with Jesus. But it’s not. He should be here with us. I know the change of seasons means a new wave of pain. I know the next few weeks are going to be incredibly hard. I know as we approach that day I will feel pain and sadness that is new and also very familiar. There will be daily reminders of what we faced two years ago. With the shock subsiding a little, it is easier to see that this is life now. And with that realization comes a lot of new pain.

Matt As A Dad

I ache for my children. I hurt that they will never know their dad the way they should. I am incredibly sad to think of all the memories, milestones, and day to days that Matt isn't a part of. Missing Matt as a dad is another component of grief that is hard to delve into.

When Matt passed, Olivia was 21 months old. During that time, I saw him change. I remember telling Matt I was pregnant. It was after 9 months of trying, two miscarriages, two D&Cs, and so many tears. When I finally got a positive pregnancy test, we both breathed a small sigh of relief but still knew we were on a road with a lot of caution signs before we could fully relax. The minute I told Matt I was pregnant with our third pregnancy, I saw him change in a different way. 

Matt always worked hard. He was committed to his career and was incredibly successful. Knowing he had a baby coming into our home changed his focus. And although he rarely talked about work, I could feel the change. The entire time I was pregnant, Matt was in tune with all that was about to change. Some of those changes made him squirm while others he was thrilled for. He heard from his best friend, Eli, the joys and the horrors of parenting. More often than not, Matt was so excited about starting a family. 

I remember Matt during labor and delivery. He was calm. He was patient. He was encouraging and kind. Which shouldn't be any surprise since that's how he approached so much of his life. I remember he kept asking if I was ok. And finally, I calmly said to him, "Matt, I'm in labor. I'm ok but stop asking me that." The second Matt laid eyes on Olivia his life changed forever. He looked at me in a new way from then on. He adored her. He instantly fell completely in love with her. 

Matt was a really good dad. I'll be honest, I was a little nervous about whether or not Matt would have that natural instinct to be a dad. But 9 times out of 10, he did. 

One of my favorite memories of Matt as a dad was when we were going to spend the day at his mom and dad's beach house. He wanted to know how he could help and I asked if he could pack up some food for Olivia. I suggested he make half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Later that day, we were at the beach and I was getting out Olivia's lunch. When I pulled her sandwich out of the fridge, I saw that he had made half of a sandwich as I suggested but he didn't cut the piece of bread in half and piece it together. Instead, Matt spread peanut butter and jelly on a whole piece of bread and stuck it open-faced in a Ziplock bag. I laughed so hard when finding his attempts. I loved knowing I could tease him about it and it wouldn't hurt his feelings or make him feel inadequate. He kept saying "you told me to make half a sandwich so I did." Which, he was right. He had made half. 

Another time Matt had me cracking up was when we went to Point Defiance for a walk and took Maci to the dog park. When we were unloading the car, I asked him if Olivia needed her diaper changed. He stuck a couple fingers in her diaper "to check" and quickly realized that his hand was covered in poop. I laughed as I tried to help him clean up his hand and explain there are better ways to check if a diaper is dirty.

All in all, Matt was a really great dad. He saw when I needed a break. He knew how to make Olivia laugh. He danced with her often and always pointed out the moon. I never felt like I was parenting alone. We were a team before we had kids and an even stronger team after. 

I wanted kids for a really long time and our road to have them wasn't the easiest. I say this because I never want to complain about being a mom.. I know how many people struggle and are never successful. I know there are many people who never get to experience parenthood or who have great loss and heartache because of kids. But it's also easy to see just how hard raising kids really is. I think the phase I'm in with Olivia and Rylan is particularly hard. The other day I had just enough time to clean the kitchen and put away toys while they napped. My hope was to have the floors picked up so I could run the vacuum when they woke up. Instead, they woke up while I was still putting away laundry. And by the time I was done, I came to realize all the work had been undone and I couldn't vacuum until things were picked up again. It's a constant song of "Mom, watch" (Olivia) and "ooook!" (look-Rylan)... It's the never ending request for snacks and the feeling of always standing in the kitchen. It's the constant diapers that need changing and the bottoms that need wiping-both seem to happen at the same time. I try and tell myself that someday I'll miss this phase. Someday I'll wish they were this young...but right now, it's incredibly hard. 

I hear quite often, "I don't know how you do it." I take this as a compliment because I hope it appears as though I've got it together. The reality is, I have no other choice. I have no time to think about all that's involved with raising Olivia and Rylan by myself. It's certainly exhausting and incredibly hard. But it's also rewarding and fun. Being a mom is what I was born to do. They need me as much as I need them. I want them to look back someday and be proud that I'm their mom.. I want them to tell me someday that they know Matt would be pleased at the job I've done. I want them to know their dad because of how readily and how often we talk about him. And I want them to confidently feel the love he has for both of them. 

I've officially been a single parent longer than I parented with Matt. This milestone is hard for me. I didn't have Matt here long as a dad. But the time that I did have him, I immediately saw how amazing he was at it. Part of me doesn't know any different. I still confide in Matt with all my parenting decisions. I talked to him about where and when to send Olivia for preschool. I have sat in Rylan's room late in the night, rocking him to sleep, and asking Matt to please help Rylan calm down so we can go to bed. I  have gone weekly to the cemetery and shared stories with Matt about the kids and cried to him when it has been overwhelming. But I have also never been a co-parent with both kids. Matt never met Rylan. A reality that feels like a punch to the stomach every time I think about it. Much of me knows that I've done this on my own. But I long for Matt to walk through the door and say "go take a shower. I'll finish feeding them dinner." Or, "go have an evening with your friends. I'll get the kids to bed." Looking through pictures to add to this blog is therapeutic and painful at the same time. I have so many pictures of Matt and Olivia. But those memories abruptly end. I have tons of pictures but they will never be enough. 

Matt and Olivia's first moments together

Matt and Olivia's first moments together

I love how they looked at each other

We often took evening walks down at the Orting Trail

Matt's 32nd birthday lunch at Amici's in Graham

Matt's 33rd birthday

At Dallas and Jennifer's wedding

At Justin and Allison's wedding

Watching football

Matt showed Olivia her chandelier every night before bedtime.
When we moved, I made sure to bring it with us.

Matt's dream Jeep.

He Should Be Here

This summer has been busy already. Vegas, Chicago, family coming to visit, birthdays, ball games, the list goes on. It's all been so fun. And it's all brought pain.

Vacations are always fun. It's a chance to escape reality, see new things, and make memories. I'd been planning my trip to Vegas with Matt's cousin, Alyssa, for over 5 months. We talked everyday about it. What we would do, what we would wear, and how much fun we were going to have. And we had a blast. However, the morning we were leaving, I ached with grief. This is a feeling I've had in the past when coming home from vacations. The planning is over, the anticipation gone, the excitement left only in our memories, and time to return to normal life. I missed my kids so much. I was ready to actually sleep. But I also wanted to go home to Matt and tell him all about our amazing time. I wanted to sit on the couch with him, show him pictures, and share with him that hilarity of our stories. 

Nine days in Chicago was fulfilling and exhausting at the same time. Traveling with kids is a lot of work. I keep Olivia and Rylan on a pretty regimented schedule. Vacation means that schedule is gone, sleep is minimal, and patience is thin. Both kids did great. I was proud of how they handled everything. But so often, I often felt like I needed extra arms. I'm always grateful for my parents and all they do to help with them. And during our trip, daily, my extended family saw where help was needed and stepped in to provide.

I think I will go the rest of my life doing things like vacations and baseball games and think to myself "Matt should be here." He should have been part of our 4th of July. He should have been at Wrigley watching the Cubs. He should have been swimming every morning with Olivia, Rylan, and me. He would have loved seeing Olivia become braver by the day as she loved jumping into the pool. There are so many memories with Matt that I cherish. There's 15 years of history that I am thankful for. But there's also so much heartache in the things Matt should be a part of. The song "You Should Be Here" by Cole Swindell comes to mind so often. Matt should be here today as Olivia plays in her first tball game. He should be here when Rylan has learned to climb on the kitchen counter. He should be here for his mom's birthday. There is something everyday that makes me think Matt should be here. 

There is also the constant battle with "why Matt?" I struggle with being able to find peace with such a huge question. I will never have the answer as to why Matt was taken from us at such a young age in such an abrupt and tragic way. In just a few days, Matt would have been 35 years old. We will celebrate his birthday much like we did last year. Leading up to his birthday was so overwhelming for myself and our families. We were so afraid of the pain that would come with his day. But we were pleasantly surprised by how things went. Not only did I get keys for my new house that day, a physical sign that Matt was coming with me on a new journey, but our moods were light. Of course there was the constant ache that followed us. That never leaves. But Matt's birthday was truly a celebration. We gathered and laughed and remembered the beautiful life he had. We didn't focus on his passing or the tragedy that goes along with it. We chose not to. And this year will be the same. 

"You Should Be Here"-Cole Swindell

Inability to Dream

One of the harshest realities I've had lately is that I don't have the ability to dream. It's been 20 months since my wonderful husband passed. And in many ways, he's still that. My husband. He's where my dreams are. 

With this realization, I've also taken a look at all the ways in which I'm still very much tied to Matt. There's a long, long list of ways I still hold onto him. I wear his ring around my neck. I wear my wedding ring. I wear one of his tshirts every night to bed. His phone numbers are still listed as my favorites in my phone. During football season I drink out of his Seahawks mug on game days just like he would do. If you come to my house, you'll always find Rainier and Total Domination beer in my fridge-his favorites. He had a bell on his motorcycle that I gave him for one of our anniversaries and it now hangs in my car. Our picture is on my nightstand. And at night, while I sleep, i hold one of his favorite sweatshirts like a security blanket. There's tangible and visual evidence all over that Matt is still very much part of my life. This isn't something I want to change. I want my kids, our families, our friends, and myself to never let go of him. 

It's amazing to me how after 20 months, the newness hasn't gone away. When I visited Matt today, I cried remembering that day. I cried remembering the feeling of leaving the hospital. It was sunny. It shouldn't have been sunny. The weather didn't match my mood. 

When I talk about my future, I have hope. I have hope because I know I will continue to be blessed as I have been. I haven't just blessed since losing Matt, but all throughout my life. I see the ways in which I'm fortunate. At the same time, when I talk about my future, it's very hard to imagine or dream. What I mean by this is that everything I've ever dreamed of includes Matt. When I think about what life will look like in 15 years, I picture Matt next to me as we watch Olivia graduate from high school. When I think about Olivia and Rylan's weddings, I picture Matt and I dancing together and talking about how proud we are of them. When I imagine meeting our grandkids and growing old, Matt is beside me for all of it. But even the minor details of my life, Matt is still at the forefront of my mind. I recently registered Olivia for tball. As I did, I thought "what would Matt want?" Every detail of my life still includes him in it. 

I recently talked about this with my therapist. I get concerned that I'm becoming stuck or facing this in an unhealthy way. The thing about grief is there is no timeline. There isn't a book of steps saying that in order to get through this I have to follow certain rules. That's the thing about losing someone...the hurt and the loss never goes away. There isn't an expected timeline for when I have to go through all Matt's stuff or start dreaming of a life without him. Only time can make that happen. And while 20 months may seem like a long time, it really isn't. 

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.