Do Not Judge My Grief

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

Grief never ends. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do not judge my grief. 

New Seasons

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

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

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

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

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

Faith & Perspective

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Secret Life of Dad

The New Year

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sometimes You Just Need to Get Away

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Night rides on Kevin & Jennie's boat

Boat rides and naps

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

Visiting the Phoenix Zoo

Out to dinner with the family.

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

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

Olivia's New Curiosity

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three Years

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

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

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

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

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