From Riches to Rags, and the Glory I Found There

  "Do the right way, not the easy way." I whisper this to myself over and over throughout the days lately.  When I am tired and want to do things the fast way. When I don't want to stop and take the time to teach my daughter "why" instead of snapping that she should just listen to me because I'm the mom and she's the kid. When I am faced with the very hard things and have to make a decision. My husband used to say these words to me. When he wanted the better, more expensive thing that would do the job better or last longer. When it took him twice as long to complete a task then if he had done it the easier way. When I just wanted to rush through the hard things... There are a million things that I wish I could just rush through as a widow... I wish that grief and suffering came with a checklist that provided me with a path through it all.  Because I was so very determined that I could handle the grief...that I could make myself feel safe...that I didn

  Here I sit, all alone in my darkened house, having lived through my 34th birthday.  I did it, I turned the age that John was never able to turn...and I survived the grief that accompanies that deep knowledge...what an incredible privilege. I have always loved that my birthday was surrounded by Thanksgiving. It's a privilege to have my life so connected to the act of giving thanks. To the gathering of family and friends. To the pick-up football games. To all the Thanksgiving traditions.  I never knew what journeys God would bring about in my life in regards to thankfulness. I was given so many wondrous years of joy and hope and life...before sorrow and grief and suffering took such a strong hold. I have often felt like Job, with suffering upon suffering lavished upon my life. And I have sat in the ashes and grieved the deepest of losses...more than once. And I have been asked to still love...called upon to dig deeper...ushered to give just a little more...time and time again. I

It is incredible when you look back at the days that have shaped your life. Marriages, births, and deaths have shaped so many lives in more ways than one. But life is also shaped in the mundane days. The days that you don't even remember...but the days that you lived. Today I am 33 years, 11 months, and 19 days old... Tomorrow I will have lived more days than my husband did... John was 33 years, 11 months, and 19 days old when he died.  It seems like such a long period of time. So many days and so many years that added up into such a wonderful life. One that I got to be a part of for 12 years, 11 months, and 9 days as his wife. John died 11 days before his 34th birthday and 22 days before our 13th wedding anniversary. Sometimes it feels extra cruel that we were so close to those special days but we just missed them. But, even if we had had those extra days, I would have wanted just a few more...any more. I always told John that I had to be the one to die first, because I never want

I wasn't prepared for the death of my son...but I was far less prepared for the death of my husband. And, to be honest, I fell apart.  I was lost and lonely and so very broken. I couldn't hold myself  together and I allowed every broken part of myself to fall away. I gave myself permission to be broken, to be lost, to sit in the ashes, and to just grieve the greatest loss of my life.  But I only allowed myself a certain amount of time. I didn't want to wallow. I didn't want drown in my grief. I didn't want to be that broken for longer than absolutely necessary.  I fell apart...and then I told myself that I couldn't be apart any longer.  So I made very intentional efforts to heal and to process and to grieve productively. Is that even a real thing? I don't know, but convinced myself that it was, and I proceeded as such.  I'm not gonna say that those things didn't help. Because they did...so very much. I'm a firm believer that we develop the cultur

  I remember waking up in the middle of the night and noticing that John wasn’t in bed with me. I went looking for him and found him in the kitchen. I went to hug him but he brushed me off and stepped away. I asked him to come to bed with me but he shook his head and said he didn’t want to be with me anymore. When I asked why, he spent several minutes explaining all the ways that I had failed at showing him love. I was selfish, and self-centered. I was dramatic and overbearing. I didn’t give space for him to be who he wanted. He did not love me anymore because I did not love him enough.  I stared at him and begged him to give me another chance, just one more chance. I had never realized how horrible of a wife I’d been, but I could change. But he refused to give me another chance. He said he’d found someone else, someone who loved him well, and he had decided to love her instead.  And then I woke up.  Nightmares have been plaguing me lately. At first they were somewhat infrequent and th

  I’ve gotten a few tattoos since John died. It’s been very therapeutic and healing every time I’ve gone in with a vision and come out with a permanent scar on my body that represents an aspect of my life and my healing.  But today…today I made some mistakes. And now those mistakes are represented on my body in a very permanent way.  Hard things have been building in my life for weeks. I’ve consistently struggled with deep and heavy emotions, sometimes feeling like they come out of nowhere. Small things have felt too heavy. Minor inconveniences have felt unconquerable. And yet, somehow I was able to truck along. I took care of things, I handled things, I was brave and strong and all the things I needed to be.  Until I wasn’t.  I got an okay tattoo from a man who was rude and arrogant and hurtful from the very start of our session together. There were ways I could have corrected the situation but, honestly, I was incapable of even processing through the kind of emotional pain his treatm

  Once upon a time I dreamed of a love that would last a lifetime and of children that would fill my home. I was so young and so  naive. I was filled with the kind of hope that brokenness hadn't invaded yet. And I loved every part of the journey that was unfolding before me...once upon a time. Once upon a time, my heart broke. I couldn't conceive a child with my husband and, year after year, hope turned to fear and I forgot what it felt like to not have doubts. I was on the cusp of something great and yet I had no idea...once upon a time. Once upon a time my dream came to life. I felt my son move and grow inside me. I dreamed and loved with a man whose legacy breathed through me. A little redheaded boy who loved the sound of engines revving and midnight snacks....once upon a time. Once upon a time half of my world died. A little boy, who never took a breath, somehow stole ours away. Deep grief was tattooed on our souls and the burden of suffering became our companion...once upo

  I have a deep heart check every single time I pass a motorcycle on the road. I stop whatever I'm saying or thinking and I take a moment to acknowledge the rider. I watch them. I look at their bike. I catalogue their protective gear (or lack thereof). I take a moment to take it all in and I make sure that I really see them. And then I pray the same prayer for each and every one of the riders I see. "God, please let them make it home ." Because one day, a driver didn't see my rider...and he didn't make it home .  None of them will ever know, the prayers said on their behalf, in memory of the greatest tragedy of my life. But I will always remember the day that my husband stopped living, and I continued on in his absence. And I would never wish that on anyone. So every time...I pray that they make it home . I remember walking through the halls of my very empty home and wondering where the spirit of life had disappeared to. How could these walls no longer host the w

My daughter went to bed the evening before her birthday and I sat in my living room and thought about our life together. This was our very first birthday together, and the big 13th birthday for her!   What kind of birthday mom was I going to be? What kind did I want to be?  If I had any real sense about me I would have been more prepared. I certainly didn't plan well considering it's summer and my girl is around me 24/7. It's not easy to pop into a store and purchase decorations. I sat there and realized that I hadn't planned anything out besides her gifts. And I just wasn't sure what I was supposed to do. My siblings' kids all wake up to balloons and decorations in celebration of their birthdays. I always thought that I would be the same way, but there I sat, without having purchased a single decoration in preparation for my kid's big day. Would she be disappointed when she woke up? Would she wish I had made it a bigger deal? Would she feel how truly ex

  I've wondered how long it might be until family photos finally feel like there isn't someone missing...  It's been almost 9 years since my son passed away...and I still feel his absence in every family photo. Every time someone mentions the "whole" family...my heart still knows he's missing from me.  I've wondered if it will ever feel normal that John no longer exists in these precious memory keepers? I've discovered that 9 years isn't enough time for absence to be normalized. Maybe 10 years is the magic number? Maybe 15? Someone please tell it that it's better by year 20... Anybody...? Please? My brother got married this past weekend and it was such a beautiful and wonderful wedding. I was so thankful for the opportunity to watch them vow to spend their lives together. But half of my little family was missing...and I felt their absence deeply.  I'm sorry that I am the reason our family will never be "whole". I'm sorry that

  I usually hate the phrase "learning to love myself". In general, out in the world, it seems to mean that you're asking for a pass to act however you want. Because you have to "love yourself". No thanks, I hate that aspect of it. But I have been confronted with that phrase SO many times during my healing journey. Because I became someone I never thought that I would have the be. My entire worldly identity was rewritten in one moment and, if I being honest...I wasn't happy with who I became. Mainly because loving the new me felt like a betrayal of the old me. Confusing, huh? It's just such a paradox...and it felt infinitely confusing and complicated at every turn. I had to be brave and move forward... I had to be strong and remember... I had to carry legacies and let go of the past... No one could tell me how exactly to go about it, and honestly, I felt so very different than the widows who'd walked this path before me. I felt misunderstood and broke

  I discovered something about myself recently... I discovered that I'm actually terrified of making new friends.  I've never actually been that great at making new friends, in general, if I'm being honest. It's always been a joke between one of my best friends and myself, she makes the new friends and I just ride the coattails of her bravery.  But, before John died, I had actually started making very intentional efforts towards making and cultivating new friendships. I was doing it, making new friends, talking to strangers at parks, inviting them to play groups. Me! I was doing that. Then John died. And I forgot that I even knew how to make new friends. Because I shut myself up in my own little world and I stopped cultivating anything new. I couldn't bare it, you know, building something new. Because it took all of my efforts to keep my world alive, I couldn't introduce something new to the chaos that was my world for a time.  Sometime after life had settle bac

  I never realized how highly I thought of myself before John died. How secure I was in who I was. Being happily married for so long and having healthy relationships with God, my family, and my friends made me feel like I was something truly special. John told me often how beautiful and attractive he found me. But who I was, at my core, that's what was really special...when you got me to open up, when you allowed me to shine, when you just gave me a chance. Living in a world without John has been an eye opening experience. Being on my own in every aspect of life is something I was never prepared for. There are just so many people I meet in so many different scenarios and sometimes it all feels so overwhelming. What if they don't give me a chance? What if I don't actually shine anymore? What if trauma has dulled me? What if grief has changed me to my very core? More and more I am learning how I am different now. I used to live life without walls and used to love so deeply an

  If you know me well you know that physical touch is most definitely NOT my "love language". It never has been.  I appreciate a short and sweet hug as a greeting or farewell to someone I rarely see...key word: rarely . I hug people because I know it is what they need from me. I can appreciate that physical touch is the love language of so many others. I can appreciate the fact that the family culture that some people have involves consistent hugging. And I am so very willing to provide people with that form of connection. I think that it is a naive to believe that we should only expect people to reach out to us in our specific love language without putting emphasis on reaching out to others in the ways that they are naturally inclined to receive love in. It is also naive to not accept love when it is given in someone else's love language...to them that means something very significant. They are loving you in the way they wish to be loved. It's a treasure. And so I n

  Today I stood alone in my empty home and I allowed the silence to surround me. I stood in the empty halls of the house that I forced to become a home after my home died and I let the silence speak to me. All the while begging it to be gentle... Please don't ask more of me than I can give. Please do not remind me to be strong.  Please do not force me to be brave. Sometimes I feel like I am one breath away from giving up. One breath away from being asked to take on too much. One breath away from failing at everything that this life has demanded of me. I was never afraid of being alone before John died. I knew that, no matter what happened in our world, we would always have each other. Unfortunately, that sacred unity was destroyed on a small, two lane back road in Virginia...and the security I believed I had in life was destroyed along with it.  Guys, I'm not really all that brave. I'm terrified. I'm terrified so much the time.  I'm scared that I'm just going to