Ready. For now.

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After hitting the 3 year mark on Saturday, I feel like a heavy weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Grief never really leaves, but I think the experience alone in a new place, along with the fear that I might have the baby before I got to properly grieve and get through the week left me scared and hurting in new and different ways. But, like always - and sometimes without my consent - I survived.

I watched most of my friends and family grieve from afar, over facebook. I watched some people forget. I watched my kids write sweet notes and hand prints on lanterns and their faces lit up when we let them off in the sky. I watched the clock, remembering every moment of the day 3 years before. I watched my phone, looking for the names of people I care about to pop up. Some did, some didn't. And I watched for signs that somehow, somewhere, someone made a mistake and after three years, this wasn't still real.

Now, I feel ready to go back to facing the life that Jeremy wanted for me. I know I'll have plenty more days like last week, when the weight of everything seems too much, but for now, I have some clarity. I have contentment. I have the desire to make him proud and love the way he taught me how. I feel this urgency to not waste the short life I had with him and to continue to love and appreciate what I have now. I was gifted with another reminder of how short life is....and to see that as a 'gift' is no small feat. I can feel a piece of Jeremy's heart beating through mine and through the hearts of the 3 little miracles we created together. And I see more pieces in his sweet family that means the world to me. I will hold on to those pieces and take them with me along the way.

I'm ready. For now. Ready to face another day, ready to live, laugh, and love. And most importantly, right now....I'm ready to have this baby!

When words are not enough

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This Saturday marks 3 years since Jeremy took his last breath.

How can that possibly be?

Every year, I am in awe of how crazy it seems that so much time has passed, and yet how far away it seems when so much life has been lived in between. I have truly experienced more in the past 3 years than most people do in a lifetime. Since Jer died, I've bought 2 houses, purchased a new vehicle, traveled all over the country, lost and gained friends, dated and remarried, blended a large family, moved out of state, had a baby without his daddy, and am preparing to have another child with another man. Surely these things couldn't possibly describe MY life...

And yet, no matter how much life has been lived since I've seen Jeremy, the weight of the hole he has left in my life is still so evident, and still a very painful reality I face daily. The last several weeks have been especially hard for me. Part of it is because I now grieve so far away from his family and friends, far away from the life I shared with him, and far away from where I can feel his presence. I feel so far removed. I ache to hold on to pieces of him during this season. Part of it also is from the fact that the closer I get to delivering, the more terrified I feel. Pregnancy hormones alone could do me in, but the sleepless nights remembering a piece of my grief that I never thought I'd have to face again is sometimes too much. My anxiety level is high, to say the least.

I was texting with a friend this weekend just about how crazy it is that it's already been 3 years. And I realized how much I ached just to talk to someone about it. To let it out. To have someone actually ask me. She had no idea how much that filled my heart up. I confessed that it's been hard to feel like I have no outlet lately. She asked me if writing was no longer an outlet. I had to think about that for a minute....

Writing has always been my way of expressing emotion. Words are my ally and my weapon of choice. They help me sort through my own head when things don't make sense. And being able to write about my grief journey has brought me more healing than I could have ever imagined. But I found myself at a crossroads of guilt. Guilt for feeling like I couldn't talk about the depths of my pain without somehow sounding ungrateful for the life I have now and the blessings that come with it. And guilt for being too grateful for the life I have now and feeling like people think it means I'm just ok and don't need to talk about Jeremy anymore. I also just don't like feeling like I'm seeking out attention. Writing makes people think they know me and therefore the personal connections are lacking because they think they know where I'm at. They can watch from a distance.

The truth is that words sometimes are not enough. Most of the time, I really don't have much NEW to say. I've run out of ways to express how much I miss Jeremy, how much my heart longs for him, how hard it is to watch my kids grow up without knowing him.......it really never changes, just evolves. I want to scream from the top of my lungs just how much grief sucks still sometimes. I want the world to know what an incredible husband I have now, and that how deeply I cherish him has no impact on the amount of grief I have and will continue to carry through the rest of this life. I wish I could find the right words....words that connect with everyone. But, I can't reach everyone. All I can do is write what I know, what I am living.

I keep going back to an analogy I heard shortly after Jeremy died, I think in a book I read somewhere. It painted a picture of train tracks, one track representing grief and one representing joy: both running side by side on the same path. They both exist together.

This week, I don't have the right words. Just a jumbled mess of emotions that seem to represent my heart these days. My words are not enough. But just remembering to put one foot in front of the other is sometimes all I need to do.

Clean cut grief

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November 9th came and went.
2 years lived without Jeremy passed, just like that.

Like every other milestone date, the week leading up to it was much harder than the actual day. We honored Jeremy by getting together with friends at his memorial stone at the college for dinner and then went to see Skyfall, which coincidentally (or notsomuch) opened on the 9th. Jeremy loved the James Bond series, as do I, and we had talked about anticipating this movie when the last one came out. I knew that if he were still here, we would have gone together opening night. It felt fitting to go, and was a great way to honor him.

Except, I woke up the next day and felt bad again. Aggravated is more accurate. Irritated at myself cause I expected to feel better, not worse. Then, annoyed with the world (and myself again) for assuming I should feel better now that I've gotten through an anniversary of my husband's death. One day is fine for grieving and remembering, but the next day life must go on.

I couldn't let go. Grief isn't clean cut, it doesn't follow my schedule. Jeremy had felt so close to me the past couple of weeks because my heart had been in sync with the last moments I shared with him - I couldn't just wake up the next day and forget.

I happened to get to spend the day with Jeremy's mom and sisters, which was just what my heart needed. But, I simultaneously felt myself hurting again for all the things Jeremy was missing out on with his family - things we had prayed for, and so many changes happening. He wouldn't have missed it for the world. And yet, just another reminder that he's not here and life continues to move forward. As it should, even when you don't really want it to.

I settled in to the fact that I'm ok with not being ok sometimes. I'm thankful for an incredible husband who gives me space for grief when I need it and wraps me with understanding and presence when I need it, and never makes me feel bad for grieving. I've wanted to blog so many different times this week, and I honestly just haven't had the time...but grief has been close to me. And that's ok.

So, I start a third year beginning without Jeremy here to see it. I still can't bring myself to honestly believe he's gone sometimes, but the trail he left behind is too big to ignore. So I follow, and pray that this year will continue to bring hope and healing.

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.

Death week

I am in the midst of one of the toughest grieving weeks of the year for me. Last week it began with my wedding anniversary with Jeremy. Then, Friday I received the news that my Grandma Wanda passed away due to some complications after a surgery. Devastating. Today (Wednesday) is her birthday, and also the death anniversary of my brother, Brian. This week my mom will have her birthday as well. Needless to say, it's been a rough week.

One of my favorite memories of my Grandma Wanda took place while preparing for my brother's graduation party. Jeremy and I were down in the basement with Brian, putting together a decorated box to collect all the cards for the day. Upstairs, my other very rude Grandmother started bickering about how I wasn't helping and how ungrateful I must be while my parents would be paying for our wedding (Jeremy and I were engaged). These accusations were of course ungrounded and false, but she just likes to have something to complain about. My 4-foot-something spitfire Grandma Wanda starts yelling from the basement sticking up for me and telling her to shut her mouth. And then began to tell Jeremy how much she liked him and not to worry about haters.

I share this story because it hit me suddenly yesterday while I was sharing it with Steve that 3 out of 4 people involved in that memory are dead.
Not here anymore.
How is that possible?!

It was too much for me to understand. It's just not right. And to top it all off, it's all flooding me in the same week, at the same time. Three precious lives that have meant so much to me in different ways no longer exist. Yesterday, I'm pretty sure I cried at the drop of a hat - all of it was weighing on me.

Today I had made plans to stay distracted. But what was really pulling on my heart was to face grief. I needed to spend the day with my parents and grieve this horrible day last year when I felt my brother die in my hands. I wanted them to know how much Brian was and is loved. I want them to know I'm still here, still hurting with them, still healing. So we cancelled our plans and headed to my hometown to my brother's grave. What a sight it was to see today:

So many people had already been there today. Notes, pictures, flowers, plants, keepsakes - everyone leaving pieces behind. We added to the bunch with letters from the kids, flowers and balloons.
It felt right to be there.

Inevitably, when I face grief, it all gets mixed together - I grieved for Brian, Jeremy, and Grandma Wanda today.
It was heavy, but necessary.

You'd think the more people you lose close to you, the better you'd get at figuring this stuff out. Turns out it doesn't work that way. It just sucks every time.

I'll be glad when the week is over.

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.

stricken

I haven't decided yet if it's a good thing or a bad thing, but I survived today. It was a heavy weighted day, your absence followed me everywhere. But I spend a lot of time and energy trying to outrun grief and acting 'normal' and today I decided I needed to face it. I made a date with grief and I just wanted the chance to be with you, think about you, talk to you, cry out for you, and love you. That's what I did. I spent most of the day on the couch just feeling sorry for myself and soaking in the weight of the hole you left in my heart. I haven't felt this stricken in months.


What I will say is that so many people pulled me up today in love. I got so many texts, FB messages and postings, phone calls...two flower deliveries and even a slurpee delivery. Even though it doesn't take away the pain, I can't describe the gratitude I have knowing people have not forgotten you. Or us. 

Even the kids were thoughtful today. We talked about it a little last night, but today I asked them to let me lay down for a bit and Faith took it upon herself to try and clean for me. She asked Caleb to put his toys away and swept the floor...she told me that even though Daddy isn't here, they can still help. Seriously? I couldn't ask for anything more. The house may have been a mess afterward, but the thoughtfulness filled my heart. They drew pictures for you today, and told Carter silly stories about you. Caleb slept with a play phone tonight and said he was gonna call you and tell you that all of us miss you very much and he wishes your heart was still working.

I miss you more than I ever thought possible. My only peace came from knowing you don't have to live this hell I'm in.
I love you more than anything baby.

Happy Anniversary

There just aren't words to describe how broken hearted I feel tonight. I've been sobbing basically since Sarah left my house tonight, I can't get a grip. I don't know why this day feels so much more heavy than others, but I'm in agony. 


Today we should be celebrating 8 years of marriage. And what hurts is knowing others will and I'll think "I never made it that far." I've been crying out to you all night, I hope you hear me. I'm so afraid that maybe I didn't show you how much I loved you enough, that maybe you didn't understand the depth of it, or that maybe I've inflated it in my head since you died and somehow sainted our imperfect relationship. But I found a card in my box of our stuff (I've been avoiding it a lot but I wanted to spend time with it and you tonight) that I wrote in 2006:


"Jeremy, In my whole life, I never knew it was possible to love someone so much. My heart feels so full just to think about you and all that you are to me. I wish there were words to describe it. You are truly the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I don't know what I did to deserve you. I am still madly in love with you - I knew the first time I kissed you that I had to have you in my life. I thank God every morning that I get to wake up next to you, that I get to grow old with you, and now, that I get to start a family with you. Thank you for all that you are to me, Love. I can't breathe without you."


I'm so glad I told you. I hope you remembered. I didn't make it up, I still feel this way. Only, I lied. I can breathe without you. I never would have believed it and I'm pretty pissed about it, but it turns out, I'm still breathing. It does hurt, though. Especially today. 

I wish it were possible to sleep through tomorrow. I'm completely dumbfounded at my reality today, sometimes it knocks my feet out from under me. I can't believe you're gone. I love you more today than ever before, and that actually really sucks. 


I could bet money that tonight we'd be laying on the couch together watching Friends, and you'd wait til just after midnight to tell me Happy Anniversary. What I wouldn't give to be back in our crappy little house, too broke to do anything special, run-of-the-mill life that I used to complain about but loved whole heartedly. 


This sucks more than I could ever imagine, but I wouldn't trade the last eight years for anything. Everything that I am today is because you loved me. 8 or 80 years, it's the strongest force I've ever witnessed. Thank you for your love. 


I love you with all that I am and everything I have. 
Happy Anniversary, baby.

The Story of Us

Yesterday marked 7 years of marriage with the hubs! It seems crazy that 7 years have gone by!

When you celebrate an anniversary, do you find yourself going over the play-by-play of that day? I did it a lot yesterday. Things like "7 years ago at this hour, I was getting my hair done" etc. For some reason, it seemed to be going through my brain a lot more than usual. Perhaps because I discovered I remember very little about my wedding day.

I remember being all dressed up and ready to go, and waiting at the top of the hill, soaking all of it in, trying to savor the day before it passed too quickly.

I remember my heart racing when I started walking down the isle.

I remember 'checking out' my new husband all day, cause he looked so handsome in his tux!

I remember getting a few silent moments together walking while taking pictures.

I remember being anxious to leave to the hotel.


I don't remember many people, conversations exchanged, or even the speeches given. I've yet to see my wedding video, so the only recollection I have are these memories. I don't even remember a word spoken during the ceremony. What I remember are the swell of emotions I felt. I remember trying to remember. So I would never forget how incredibly lucky I am to have found a man that completes me. Through many ups and downs, those wedding day memories never let me forget how much I love this man.

To the Love of my Life

7 years ago today, I had a conversation with this really cute guy that happened to be one of my best friends, about our futures and where we were headed (at the time, we were both headed down dead end roads). And that's the day I realized I wanted my future to involve him...

6 years ago today, I married that man. No greater blessing has fallen on me. Through ups and downs, struggles and triumphs, this wonderful man has been my best friend, my rock, my shoulder, my protection, and my love. It's funny to think even though neither of us would imagine being where we are at this point in our lives (so many goals we missed, financial struggles, etc.) and yet, I wouldn't trade any of the last 6 years. While some doors were closed, much better ones were opened. I truly believe that 'sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together' (Thank you, Marilyn Monroe)

I've said it before, but God sent an angel to me in a dark time in my life when I needed it the most, and I've had the privilege of becoming his wife. He's saved my life in so many more ways than even he realizes, and I'm so honored to be by his side.

I love you baby, with all that I am. Happy Anniversary!