masterpiece in the making

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As I was contemplating what to write tonight, I was reading through some old posts of mine. Wow. It's amazing how I've suppressed some of those things, cause when I read it over again, the pain of loss becomes so real and close.

What I've noticed is that I have regularly referred to a mosaic as a metaphor for my grief. I don't remember exactly what attached me to that imagery, but it fit so well that I held on to it. I always thought I'd write a song about it: a beautiful, priceless piece that one day shatters on the floor into a million pieces. Rendered useless and no longer valuable. Until someone picks up the pieces of broken glass and uses it to put together a beautiful mosaic, creating a new masterpiece. Perhaps not what the glass was intended for, and certainly not without pain, but beauty was still created. Someday, perhaps it would make a great song.

That's how I've felt along the way. All those broken pieces of my life I had no idea what to do with, they seemed useless to me without Jeremy walking beside me. I felt so lost, so hopeless. But when I look back and read all those devastating blog posts, and feels the tears rushing back to me, I realized that each one was marking another broken piece that was being put into place for another masterpiece. I had no idea what was being created, and I still don't, but I am able now to look back and see that something beautiful can still be created with all the broken pieces of me.

I am nowhere near done picking up all the broken pieces off the floor. But, each breath I take without Jeremy reminds me that I have a lot of work left to do to make him proud. A lot of lessons still to learn. A lot of sharp pieces of glass that still need to be smoothed and put into its place. But I not even close to done. I am a masterpiece in the making.

Don't forget.....

So are you.

Brace yourself.

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I always find a way to prepare myself for grief when I know it's coming. Holidays, birthdays, significant milestones or memories...like I can brace myself knowing that grief will feel heavier during those times. And sometimes the brace is what makes it a little more bearable.

But it's when grief hits me outta nowhere that I find myself whirling without a clue. Tonight as I sit in the pews at church, it occurred to me that the last full day of Jeremy's life I spent in that auditorium with him. This was not a new thought, but I hadn't thought it in awhile and it suddenly felt new. Fresh. Raw. The last evening I shared with my husband was in that room. It instantly made it harder to breathe. And how could I forget that I was also 6 months pregnant....

was that really me?

did this happen to someone else?

Sometimes in those moments, it feels like a lifetime ago....maybe even someone else's lifetime ago. Not mine. Surely I can't be still standing here after having gone through all that. It's almost like I imagined it all.

Then I look down and see my 5 year old who looks exactly like his daddy with his hand in mine, and peaking out from behind is my tattoo that is a constant reminder that this IS real. I didn't imagine it. And sometimes I can pretend long enough to feel normal again, but then I remember where I've come from.

And those out of nowhere grief are the hardest to swallow. I have no time to brace myself. No time to put on my brave face or choke down the tears. I've got a good game face, but not good enough to catch every unforeseen grief moment that crosses my path. And that's ok. I can still smile knowing that I am living out my life soaking up the moments I have left and trying to make Jer proud. And those moments I can't brace myself for remind me that I am human. That I loved and felt loved. And it reminds me that the love and loss I experienced was worthy of a deep and heavy grief.

It's ok if you can't always brace yourself for grief. Sometimes the best thing you can do is allow yourself those moments, experience them to fullest and give them due time. It's at the end of the moments you realize you're still standing.

Everywhere

You have been everywhere lately. 

You know, I was dreaming about you almost every night for several weeks until Jim died. Now, I don't see you in my dreams anymore. I'm trying to make sense of what that's about. But now, you seem close in my every day things, more so than usual.

Maybe it's the sentimental time of year, maybe it's all coincidence, but I know better. I started playing "Song Pop" on my iPhone for Zada (she wanted to compete with me) - and it reminds me so much that you used to try to do that to me: play a few second clip of a song and I'd have to guess it. You were always so good at it, so I didn't want to play. And every time I answer one right that I knew you'd be proud of (you having been much more musically cultured than me), there's a split second I find myself wanting to show you and see that approval on your face. 

I finally cleaned out the utility room before our Christmas party last week. Going through your stuff is always challenging and emotional. I realize every time how much of my life is still very saturated with your influence and presence. 

I randomly found myself watching old videos of Faith and Caleb on the computer. Oh, how I ache to see you alive and moving - I always feel a deep yearn to reach out and touch you, just to make sure you were real. 

Yesterday, out of nowhere, I heard your voice singing South Park's Big Gay Al's "I'm super." I laughed remembering and realized it was one of those things I hadn't thought about maybe since you died. Steve had never heard it before, so of course, I had to look it up and play it for him. And I laughed more thinking about you singing it. And more importantly, the facial expressions that came along with it. 

Speaking of things I haven't done since you died, we drove down Mound yesterday past the park you used to play softball at. All of a sudden, I looked up and noticed where we were and felt a tiny panic set in because I hadn't grieved this spot yet. I instantly knew where we were and had to tell Steve why it was significant. I feel the need to share all our significant places to anyone that will listen. I need someone else to know how important these places are, and I never want to forget why. 

Carter and I spent the day shopping together earlier last week. I love spending one-on-one time with him, but the whole day I kept wondering what he would be like if you were still here. Would his personality be different because of your influence? Would he have picked up more of your mannerisms instead of mine? I know he's just the way he should be, but maybe that's what hurt about it. I wish just once, I could've seen you interact with him. 

I have shed countless tears for the senseless tragedy that occurred last week in Connecticut. Aside from the fact that it is inconceivable that someone could harm children like that, and aside from my momma heart feeling ten times more protective of our own precious children, I also shed tears of knowledge. The knowledge of intense grief. Of loss. Of those families losing hope, losing faith, losing memories and plans, futures and pasts. The ache to be with their loved ones and the hole that will never fill for those families. It's a pain I would never wish on anyone.

I can't believe this will be my 3rd Christmas without you. It doesn't seem possible. And yet our last Christmas together feels like an eternity ago. Faith and Caleb were so little. I'm so looking forward to Christmas this year, and celebrating it with people I love and new traditions and new family. But there's always a special place in my heart that holds on to the innocence of our Christmas' together. My sweet memories of life before grief. 

Thank you for staying close to me. I miss you more than I know how to describe. I felt the need to write it out and remember, and to tell you that I love you. Always and forever, I love you.




***Please don't forget that for the month of December, all proceeds from this blog will be donated to Amy Lewis, who lost her husband Jim suddenly just a couple of weeks ago, and has no life insurance. Each page impression makes a small amount, but if we all keep clicking, it will hopefully add up to something big. You can also donate more safely and securely at the top left corner of the page! THANKS***

death colored glasses

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I found an old post I wrote on my personal blog that has given me a lot of new meaning...

12.31.2010

Everything is different now.

Everything I do now has a different meaning, a different pain attached to it. Every movie I see and song I hear has a different meaning now - and they all seem aimed at making me miserable and reminding me of what I've lost. Every smile and laugh is masking hurt and despair. Every thought I have has attached to it a dreadful afterthought. Everywhere I go I am marked with a Scarlet letter, only it's a giant W on my forehead for everyone to pity.

Looking at the world through death-colored glasses makes everything dark and gray. It takes so much more effort to see anything, to want to see anything. It makes it hard to find joy in the little things. Instead it makes me want to wallow in my own self-pity. The only problem is, the world won't stop for me to wallow. No matter how much I've begged it to.

I hate this. I deserve a moment to stop and process. A moment to figure things out. Shouldn't everyone know what an incredible man the world has lost? Shouldn't everyone stop what they're doing? Nope. The world keeps moving without me.

I've survived my first Christmas without Jeremy, somehow, without my consent. Even saying that makes his death seem so distant when it was still just weeks ago. I'm not ready to jump all these hurdles so soon. Or at all, really.  I didn't really face it until today how much I am dreading New Years. I knew it would be tough, but I was trying to face Christmas first. Now, I am getting sick to my stomach thinking about it. Facing a year Jeremy will never see, never be a part of, absolutely kills me. The first year memories will be made without him, the year his son will be born without ever meeting him...

The year I am forced to wear these damned glasses everywhere I go.

I'm dreading every second.

As I am quickly approaching the two year mark next week, I found myself reading this a few times, feeling the pain of these words. Obviously, my glasses have turned a rosier shade since then. It's not nearly as raw, however, it's interesting to me how true this post still is. Death has saturated every piece of my life. It's evident in the decisions I make, the traditions I keep, the way I carry myself. 

Only, I don't dread these glasses anymore. In fact, I wear them proudly. These death colored glasses give me a unique perspective that most people will never get to have. They show the true colors of life, they help me see my priorities, and they constantly remind me not to let what I've lost be in vain. Some things are darker, yes...but others things I see more vibrantly and clear. The misery I found in songs and pictures are now tearful smiles, thankful to have the memories at all. I still mask a lot behind a smile, but the smile becomes more genuine every day.

Once you see the world through death colored glasses, you can't go back. And that's ok because there's strength and peace and yes, even joy beyond the horizon. And you get to keep the glasses as a reminder that you loved and were loved and that life can be rosy again.

Grief and Injustice

Today should be my 9^th wedding anniversary with Jeremy.

Instead of spending that day in memory of him, I have to sort through issues concerning someone who has hurt a lot of other people in their path with their selfishness and manipulation. While I didn’t actually have a ‘to-do’ list for today, I can tell you this wasn’t on it.

But what I’ve noticed about grief and injustice is that they elevate each other, and can sometimes come together is a not-so-pretty package. This injustice I have to deal with is magnified because life doesn’t get put on hold for my grief. Not only is this unjust, but it’s injustice on a day that I should get to take a break?!? How dare life work that way. Life keeps pushing forward even though Jeremy should be here. I held my breath when Jeremy died and waited for the rest of the world to do the same. But it didn’t. I was devastated.

And because I was in grief, everything felt unjust: The way Jeremy died, the timing of his death, the situation I was left in, other families getting to enjoy each other while I had to suffer, fathers getting to hold their babies, old people holding hands – when would the injustice end? Every corner I turned, someone had something that I lost.

If Jeremy taught me anything in 7 ½ years of marriage, it was to love fiercely. The world doesn’t revolve around me or my needs and I should cherish every blessing I have the opportunity to be a part of. Even when the world is unjust and people get by with things they shouldn’t, or when people get to celebrate 9 years of marriage with their spouses when I never will with Jeremy – that doesn’t mean the world will stop. And it doesn’t mean I can’t be thankful I got to have at least that many years with an incredible man.

In the meantime, I will take the time I need to take today to think about Jeremy (not that I haven’t been every day anyway) and what my life with him meant to me. No amount of injustice can take that away. I will grieve, I will remember, I will be thankful, I will cherish those around me that I love, and I will pray for justice.

Happy Anniversary, my love.

I miss you dearly.

Q &A: Part 6 - Relationship Questions

Here's our Part 6 of the Q&A series for you - only one more to go! Good thing we've been traveling a ton and have had a ton of time in the car to get all these questions answered, otherwise, it would have taken us months to get through it all. Tonight's questions are relationship questions.

1. Could you talk a little about the progression of your relationship, as it moved quickly?

Vee: Well, I feel like we’ve covered some of this in other areas, but I’ll touch on it again. I realize that for a lot of people – myself included had I not been the one experiencing it – think that things between Steve and me happened quickly. And it did. But what you also have to take into account is that we weren’t looking to “date” – we both had families, lives in the work, and responsibilities to take care of. We lived in different states and weren’t about to put ourselves or our family through a long distance relationship going back and forth if it wasn’t worth it. And we made sure we discussed all the hard issues very early on, no pretenses. What also needs to be taken into account is that we knew of each other first. We weren’t close friends, but had hung out enough for me to know what kind of guy Steve was, what kind of dad he was, and the integrity he showed in the midst of his divorce – it didn’t just come from him telling me, I got to see it. We weren’t strangers, and our closest friends trusted him and loved him, so I knew I could too.

What I find so funny is that Jeremy and I had a pretty quick relationship as well. We dated for about 5 months before we got engaged, and got married 4 months later! Only 3 months longer than I was with Steve before we got married. What can I say?! When I know, I know!

Steve: As Vee stated, we weren’t strangers prior to our relationship. We had know each other for a couple of years, hung out on several occasions, and knew each other’s back story. I had seen the kind of relationship that Jeremy and Veronica had, I knew that she was a great wife. I had seen the kind of relationship that Vee had with her kids and knew that she was a great mom. I had seen the kind of relationship she had with God despite losing Jeremy and could tell she was a woman who followed after God’s heart. The real part that was unknown was whether or not we could be more than just good friends.

The first night that we talked on the phone, we both laid it out really simply and really clearly that neither of us wanted to date just for fun. As Vee shared, there was too much at risk for both of us. Because of our past circumstances and histories, we cut through a lot of the formalities of dating in a few hours and got to the meat and bones of a relationship. Truthfully, I knew I wanted to marry Vee within probably a week of us talking…let’s be honest, what’s not to love about her? While it may seem fast for some, I feel like it was all in God’s timing. As Vee and I talk about it, even today, we can’t imagine it being any different than it was – we feel like it was exactly the way God worked it and we have a lot of peace about that.

2. Do you ever feel like there is a third person in your relationship (or maybe 4, I don't know Steve's situation)?



Vee: While I take pieces of my life with Jeremy with me (how could I not?) I feel like my relationship with Steve is one in its own. It’s complicated of course, because I am completely in love with two people and the way that plays out can be confusing. But what’s incredible about how God gives us the capacity to love is that neither outweighs or negates the other. Jeremy and Steve are two different men – they have some things in common, but my relationship with each of them is different. There are things Steve and I handle differently than Jeremy and I would have – and that’s ok. Because what I know is that I love and trust Steve and together even if our strategies are different, the goal is the same.

Steve’s ex wife holds no influence in our relationship, other than in the insecurities that have been left behind in Steve and his self-image, and really that just makes me strive to show him what a good and healthy relationship looks like. We handle minor issues regarding Zada and Reagan, but she’s not an entity in our relationship.

Steve: This is an interesting question and one that I’ve seen talked a lot about in various blogs and writings for widows and widowers who are remarrying. There’s a stance for some that says when you marry a widow(er), you should be prepared for a marriage of 3, while others state that the widow(er) should completely leave behind their past relationship to move forward with a new one. While I can’t speak for anybody else, I am uncomfortable with both of those. No doubt Jeremy and Veronica’s relationship changed them both and despite Jeremy’s death, it doesn’t change Vee’s feeling for him. It’s an ongoing part of the story. But my marriage to Vee is ours. We talk about Jeremy, Vee shares memories, but this in no way implies that there are 3 people here. The same is true for my ex-wife. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t shaped by my relationship with her. From time to time, she is a topic of conversation (though not spoken of as fondly as Jeremy) but in no way is she a part of our marriage. Vee and I have our own way of communicating, our own way of raising our children, our own way of loving each other that is unique to us.

3. Do you think it's wise to make plans for the big "what if" my spouse dies or is that morbid? If so, what kinds of plans do you wish you had made with Jeremy or are you now making with Steve? 


Vee: Of course I think it’s wise to make plans for if your spouse dies. It might be difficult, but the truth is, one of you is going to die first. If and when it happens, you’ll be sorry you didn’t do more. Have life insurance. Have a will. It just makes things go smoother. Not easier, nothing makes it easier, but it will be one less thing you have to worry about. My other suggestion would be to take the time to write a letter to each other only to open if your spouse dies before you. I had done it for Jeremy as a wedding gift, and I would have given anything to have one from him. Just to have his words to hold onto would have been so special. Cheesy, maybe – but trust me, it would be invaluable.

Steve and I haven’t put anything in place yet, but it is a topic of conversation because we want to do that soon – establishing a will, writing letters to each other, talking about what each of us would want for funerals, burials, etc. – so that we know. But Steve isn’t allowed to die first – we made a deal. ;)

Steve: I think its super important to talk about those issues long ahead of time. I worked with many couples who had never discussed issues of where they wanted to be buried, what kind of funeral service they wanted to have, never wrote out a will, or even talked about what would happen if one of them passed away, and yet one of them was facing just a few weeks left to live because of a terminal illness. Trying to make those decisions while in the throws of grief is needless pain when you have the opportunity to discuss if beforehand. Vee and I have had several conversations about our own deaths, funeral wishes, burial wishes, and what we would like to happen with our children if either one of us dies first. While these talks aren’t easy, I feel like it’s given us some peace about what the other person wants. I know that this is especially a hard topic for Vee, because this is one of her greatest fears, but it’s also a reality and something we have to face: one of us will die before the other.

4. My 27 year old husband died suddenly from heart disease (that we didn't know he had) 2 1/2 months ago. I am now dealing with the fear of those close to me just dropping dead. Did you deal with this fear? If so, are you still dealing with it?

Vee: I did have this fear, especially at the beginning. Saying goodbye to people was very difficult. But I suffer from this in another form: If I am trying to get a hold of someone and can’t and have no idea where they are, I have major anxiety attacks. This has happened 3 times now with Steve, and I had no idea how severe it was. But every time, I have flashbacks of texting Jeremy and not hearing back from him, then my mind races to every horrible scenario that could possibly have happened, and my heart races and I hold back tears. Last week, I went to a movie with some friends and never heard back from Steve. I called, no answer. I knew he should have been home with all the kids, but I couldn’t stay – I had to rush home to make sure he was okay because I was starting to panic and didn’t want anyone to notice. He was sleeping, of course, but it took over an hour for me to calm down from the idea of losing Steve. I couldn’t even talk about it with him, even knowing I was being ridiculous, without tears. The fear of losing other people I love haunts me often. Steve takes every precaution to make sure he takes his phone with him and gets back to me when he can. The only way I deal with it really is knowing that fear can’t keep me from loving people with all I have – it’s better to love and lose than never to love at all. I am living proof.

Steve: Your fear and reaction to that fear are a normal response to anyone who’s gone through a tragic or traumatic experience. Vee and I have talked about this as she shared some of the fears that she’s had when she hasn’t been able to get a hold of me. These times are called ‘triggers’ and they trigger an emotional response from a previous event. Some counselors or psychologists refer to this as post traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. This is fairly normal for most people who have gone through something traumatic and no reason for alarm, unless it something that’s preventing you from your daily life. The main thing you can do to help work through those anxious moments is to be able to talk them out with someone you trust over time. Vee and I have been able to share her feelings and thoughts she had when she wasn’t able to get a hold of me. It doesn’t mean that the next time she’s unable to get a hold of me she won’t still feel anxiety or fear, but it allows me to do everything I can to help prevent those moments. It allows her to confront some of those fears with somebody she knows loves and supports her.

5. How do you and Steve handle holidays you shared with Jeremy (your anniversary with Jeremy, Jeremy's birthday)? 


Vee: Steve is so loving and gracious in these areas. He’s very good about allowing me celebrate Jeremy, and even joining me in honoring him, and letting me grieve when I need to. He makes himself available to me to talk with or cry on if that’s what I need, and also gives me space to grieve privately if that’s what I need. For Jeremy’s birthday, we host a birthday party and bring all of Jeremy’s favorite foods and Steve is committed to helping me continue that tradition, not just for me, but for our children as well. Since my anniversary is coming up on the 19^th of this month (this Thursday), Steve has already asked me what I would like to do on this day and how I would feel most comfortable spending my time. He’s very thoughtful in these areas. Actually, he’s pretty thoughtful in most areas. J

Steve: In a previous question, Vee was asked if I allowed her to grieve Jeremy or to celebrate or remember those special occasions. For me, there’s a difference between ‘allowing’ and ‘supporting’. She doesn’t have to have my permission to grieve Jeremy – that’s natural and expected. While I hurt to watch her grieve, I’m honored to be able to support her as she grieves and to grieve along side of her. It’s nothing she does on her own. While her intensity is greater than mine, because she was married to Jeremy, I share in her grief and I support her fully. I try to look for opportunities to allow her to express her grief and although not always easy for me, give her the space she needs when she wants to grieve privately.

6. How did you ease into being intimate (emotionally, physically etc) with a new partner? Did you find it was really difficult initially?

I have only been with one man and that is my husband - how did you adjust sharing yourself emotionally, mentally and physically with Steve. Was it a hard adjustment?

Talking about intimacy in the widow world can be very taboo.  No one wants to talk about it; therefore it can be very difficult thing to deal with. Not just the loneliness that comes along with losing a partner, but also the ache for intimacy that’s included. Add that to pregnancy hormones, and I can say the first 3 months after Jeremy’s death were very difficult for me, and I was only able to share that with a few people!

Steve and I had a much better transition than I thought, but I attribute that to the fact that Steve is very patient and loving, and I trust him with my heart. If we hadn’t been emotionally or mentally in line, then the physical stuff probably wouldn’t have been either. That’s not to say it is always easy. Steve was lucky enough to have to deal with an emotional bride a few times on our honeymoon, poor guy. Not because our relationship isn’t beautiful or wonderful (which it is!) but because I am still grieving, and needed to grieve that part of my life with Jeremy. But I think intimacy is a part of relationship that reflects all the other pieces. Steve has been very careful with my heart and we have a great relationship mentally and emotionally – therefore, our physical relationship is pretty awesome as well.

Steve: Intimacy was honestly a big deal for both Vee and I, but for very different reasons. For me, I had been really hurt in the past and wanted to make sure that I wasn’t going to get hurt like that again in the future. Vee understood my insecurities and knew the vulnerability I felt in intimacy and was really patient with me as well. Because of what I went through, which was honestly one of my biggest fears, our emotional connection and spiritual connection laid an amazing foundation for our physical connection. From time to time I still have those insecurities about intimacy, but since Vee is such an amazing wife she’s been very healing for me.

The last section of questions will be miscellaneous ones along with any new ones that have come up since we started. Thank you all for allowing us to share pieces of our story with you!

Do Something

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For a long time now, I've felt God calling me to do something with my story, and with Jeremy's legacy. To somehow help others through what I have been through. However, I had no idea where to start. And more importantly, and most selfishly, I didn't want to. I wasn't ready to let God use me because I was too angry that it had to be at the expense of such a great loss. I wasn't ok with me or my children suffering such heartache in order for other people to benefit or learn something.

I can honestly say that I still sometimes struggle with this battle. But the pull I've felt on my heart to help, to follow the calling I feel like I've been given, has been outweighing my selfishness. The stirring that I have felt has started to bubble over and I've finally felt ready to take a step forward.

Last week, a dear friend and her sister stop by our garage sale to see me. Her sister had just lost her husband weeks before. He died suddenly of a heart condition as well, leaving behind two children and a very distraught wife who wanted to come talk to me. As she hugged me and sobbed on my shoulder, my mind raced searching for something to say - just one thing that someone had told me when Jeremy died that helped in some way that I could offer back. I realized, though, that nothing I could say would make her feel any better. Death sucks, and grieving can never ease with words. Only time. I don't know that she was looking for words of wisdom (and if she was, she definitely wasn't gonna find any from me), but just to be in the presence of someone who 'got it'. Someone who survived. My heart ached for her as I recalled those first few weeks and months after Jeremy died. I still relive those moments every once in awhile like it's still happening. The confusion, the injustice, the anger, the desperation, the defeat...the heartache. I don't know if I helped her in any way, but she's been in my prayers and on my heart ever since.

I realized that even though I'm ill equipped to really move forward, God has really been using my story to help without my knowledge or even my consent for quite sometime now. He let me kick and scream and throw fits (and still does) while continuing to bring beauty from the ashes.

I want people to know that grieving is a dark and terrible part of life that never leaves.
I also want people to know that there is hope and healing.
I want to do more.
Steve and I have been praying that God work through our redemption and relationship to bring a unique perspective to others and somehow use that to help, and bring hope.

I am excited to announce that Steve and I have been asked to host a workshop in San Diego, CA for Camp Widow - a weekend long gathering of widowed people from across the country. Ironically, the workshop is titled "Mad at God: A conversation." Uh, yeah - I have some experience in that department, I'm not ashamed to admit it! I am anxious, excited, nervous, and overall humbled for the opportunity to help in some way.

I can't wait to meet some of the inspirational people that have been integral in my own grief journey. I'm thankful to have Steve by my side to share this passion with me. I hope this is just the beginning of many other opportunities to finally step forward and feel like I'm making Jeremy proud.

What would you like to know?

You may not all realize this, but I've censored a lot of my life over the last twenty months. Sure, I've had soul bearing moments and gut-wretching realizations through my own writing, but I've always weighed a lot of what I've had on my heart. Some words too dangerous to mention, some too angry, some too personal - but never at the sacrifice of my own truth. Maybe watered down a little sometimes, but real. And the moment I realized that this blog wasn't just for me anymore, I was much more aware of how to real but also meaningful with whatever I said.

I say all that to say the same has also been true for my relationship with Steve. I realize that my blog is more focused on my grief - which is ongoing and still relevant - but I know there are a lot of people reading, in the same situation in life, or just curious about a lot of different things. And I recognize that at such a big transition in our lives, we would love to opportunity to share our story, our love, and what God has been doing in our lives in a way we haven't before.

SO....Steve and I would both like to open this blog up for questions, directed for either one of us. Honest questions, tough questions, questions about our family, our unique relationship, and/or questions about grief - I know there are a lot of them out there. The only questions I will not answer are distasteful ones that are meant to bash either of us. And we all learned a few weeks ago how my amazing husband will handle anything like that :)

If there's anything you'd like to know - here's your chance.

Ask away.

Would you?

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Between the business of getting our house in order and having 5 children, it hasn't left a whole lot of in-between time for Steve and me. We steal moments throughout the day but our one-on-one time is really just before bed or in the car. Luckily, we drive a lot, so we get the chance to connect. Some of my favorite memories of Jeremy are from our long car rides: dreaming together, laughing, learning about each other....those moments are so special to me. I try to soak them up with Steve too. Sometimes we read together, sometimes we dream together about what our future will look like, what our hopes are for our children, where we want to be, etc.

We love to play 'what if' or 'would you rather' or make up random questions like 'what would you do if you won the lottery?' just to pass the time and for fun. So, it was no surprise at first when Steve randomly and innocently asked me "If you could know how and when you were going to die, would you?"


Without hesitation, I answered with a hearty YES.

But maybe I answered too quickly.

This is a loaded question for me. As a widow, my perspective of life and death has drastically changed. I no longer fear death, and I still long for Jeremy and ache for the day when I'll get to see him again. Not only that, but I long for a place void of hurt and pain, loss and death.

The months after Jeremy died, I remember wishing I could know when I would die, so I could know how long I had to bear through life and to give me something to look forward to. But, as every widow will come to hate and embrace at the same time, life goes on. You're still standing and breathing, and you're not mad about it anymore. Still, I wouldn't mind knowing when I will die: to prepare myself and the people I love, and to give a goodbye that I was robbed of with Jeremy.

I told Steve that the only thing that would make me regret finding out was if I learned my death would be slow and painful. But then again, how many people get to do this when they find out they have a terminal disease that they know will take them slowly? Would it change my every day life? Would I live differently? I'd like to think I try to live every day to the fullest, but even I would have to admit that it might change things. And maybe the point is to live life in a way that you wouldn't have to give a goodbye if you didn't have the chance to; that the people you love already know what you would say.

All week, this question has been stuck with me. Would I find out? I am one of those people that does not like to be left out of things...I don't like not knowing, no matter how hard the truth is. There was NO WAY I was going to wait to find out the sex of my children when they were born if I could find out and prepare sooner. That's just how I am. And even though sometimes I regret this piece of my personality, I don't have the ability to not want to know.

What I determined is that I'm glad that I can't know, and that it's not my decision to find out or not. Even though I answered quickly with seemingly convicted assurance, the more I think about this question, the less sure I am about my answer.

What about you? I anxious to know, especially in this arena of widows/widowers - if you could know how and when you were going to die, would you?

The language of grief

Me and my new husband, Steve :)

Ever since Jeremy's death, I've noticed how much more careful I am with my words.

The months after he died, I couldn't muster up the energy to write anything with feeling (unless it was deep and utter sadness). Even my texts were void of expression. I remember posting something about not wanting to misguide people into believing I was better than I was. No exclamation marks. No smiley faces. When good things happened, and a lot did, I expressed my gratitude but never joy. Never happiness.

All my widowed friends understand what I mean. Everyone giving you the head tilt and asking how you are....I could no longer give a general "good" - I was far from good. I shrugged my shoulders and said 'ok' or more commonly 'I'm still here.' To me, that was the worst I could possibly be.

I have since continually felt like I couldn't really breathe in pure joy ever again. Sure, good things happen and I smile easier and I can say I'm good again most of the time....but every good thing in my life stems from one horrible worst-moment-of-my-life event.

Yesterday, I came home from a 9 day honeymoon in Jamaica. It was fabulous. Beautiful weather, beautiful scenery, beautiful company. It was a trip I will remember for the rest of my life. In fact, because of grief, I take moments in so much deeper than I used to, writing things down, taking more pictures...I just know how priceless life is now. And even though the trip was wonderful, I still grieved. One night, I grieved heavily and it came at me without warning. The truth is, I can only enjoy this amazing trip with Steve because Jeremy isn't here anymore. I can't think about the depths of that for too long or it'll drive me insane, but every once in awhile, the heaviness of it sits on my chest and threatens to suffocate me. You can only imagine the type of man it takes to sit beside his wife who's shaking and sobbing uncontrollably while grieving her dead husband.

Steve and I talked in depth about the trip and our favorite pieces and how much we enjoyed it, but I expressed how awkward it is to feel like grief has stripped away innocence from me. I will never again use the phrase "best day of my life" or "the happiest I've ever been" or "worst day of my life" without feeling like I would betray my life and love with Jeremy. Even though these phrases can be over dramatized or loose within context, I'm very careful to use other language.

The smilies and exclamation marks have long been back in my texts and writing. When people ask me how I'm doing or how my trip was, I can say without lying, "great." I don't know if the day will ever come, though, where I won't use a different language than everyone else when I carefully compare and contrast life. I call it the language of grief.

I guess that makes me bilingual.