From Riches to Rags, and the Glory I Found There

A couple hours after John died, I started having panic attacks. Full-blown, hyperventilating, crippling, panic attacks. Every single one of them were brought on by the same thought "I don't want to do this". I would look at whoever was next to me, widen my eyes in panic, and say "I don't want to do this" and then BAM, I could no longer breath.  I cycled through reasons I refused to accept it. He couldn't be dead, we had just talked on the phone. There had to be some mistake. I never actually saw his body at the accident site, maybe they were wrong. Maybe they confused his body with someone else's. Any minute he could walk through our front door. Any second I would feel his arms around me...hear his voice comforting me...any moment. I refused to accept it. And my body and mind paid the price over and over again. Debilitating panic and all breath stolen from my lungs.  In the 4 months since his death I have learned a few things about what I will refuse

  It is crazy to me that we never really got a family photo. Not one where we were all alive and thriving. Every single one of our family photos represent brokenness and loss. For years John and I took Kimber's picture with us on photoshoots, always wanting to acknowledge our son, despite his absence.  Now...now it seems so strange that we aren't collectively keeping his memory alive. Now I carry the burden of two legacies all alone.  A month ago I decided that I wanted one last family photo. One last moment of honoring legacies as I continue to pick up the pieces of this broken life and walk forward.  It felt like goodbye, one last time. One last representation for the family we were...the one we aren't any longer. Thank you John.  Thank you for so many wonderful years of adventure. Thank you for choosing to love me, and for continuing to choose to love me for over 14 years. Thank you for the life of our son, for his red hair, and his handsome face. Thank you for building

Every morning I make myself a cup of coffee (why yes, I do put whipped cream on it #TreatYoSelf), gather my things, sit down at my kitchen table, and assess myself.  How am I doing? Am I processing my emotions? Is today going to be a hard day? Do I need to journal? Do I need to blog? Do I need to read? Should I text someone for extra prayer? If today is lacking, is there something I can do to change that?   Grief is a constant ebb and flow. What I need or want is consistently shifting and changing. I can't expect peace from yesterday to translate into peace for today.  So I assess, and adjust, and pray for the patience to continue both of those things because they seem to become more complicated as time goes on.  Grief holds no easy answers, as much as we might wish it too.  I find myself constantly assessing John's possessions and presence in my home. Am I ready for this picture to come down? Which ones do I want to stay up for the long-term? Am I ready for this item to be pac

How am I? Do I hate motorcycles? Do I regret ever agreeing to let him get one? Do I wish I had made a different choice that morning? Do I want to avoid the topic? Am I broken? Is it worse than when Kimber died? Do I think I'll ever want to get married again? Who am I now?  Do you know what I appreciate? People who ask questions. I never mind them. I have always been committed to being an open book to the world around me. I believe that genuineness and grace in response to any question can only harbor more grace and understanding. Being open with the world requires you to also be open to the world's responses, be they grace-filled or awkwardly intrusive.  How could I possibly come on here day after day and share what I'm going through, asking for prayers and understanding, and then reject those who wish to invest in my life and ask questions? Its a two-way street my friends, and its always open.  Welcome to my journey, it's open, it's raw, it's inspired, and it m