From Riches to Rags, and the Glory I Found There

And just like that. I am back into the dating scene. It's been over 14 years since I went on a first date. Boy, things have certainly changed since then.  I know what you're thinking, and you're right, it hasn't been very long since John died. You're probably wondering all sorts of things: Is it too soon? What if this is a bad choice? What if someone hurts me? What if I'm just running from my grief? How do I know if I'm ready? Who could ever replace John?  Why would I want to do this all again? How can you share your concerns with me? This is hard, why do I have to do it now? I'll do my very best to be open and honest with you about these things. Because they matter, your concern and worry matters, your love for me, and John, matters.  So thank you. Thank you for wondering the hard questions, and thank you to the people who have posed these questions to me. I welcome questions in the space, it is always better to ask than to wonder.  Is it too soon? Is t...

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 f...

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 thi...

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...

I spent over 14 years cultivating a relationship with my husband and it took less than 5 seconds to decimate it completely. If I’ve learned anything in the 12 weeks since his death, it’s that that old habits die hard. Those habits strive to live in split seconds of the day. Split seconds where your mind reacts before thinking and you’re left a little broken, having to remind yourself that those habits can no longer exist in the life you now have. I notice every time that I slip and refer to John in the present tense, instead of the past tense. I inwardly cringe every time. I hate doing it in front of strangers, it makes me feel like I’m lying to them. John isn’t here anymore, he’s only in the past.  I try catching myself before I speak the words “we” or “us”, forcing myself to acknowledge that I am no longer a part of either. There are no more “Cunninghams” or “Mr. and Mrs.” or couple activities. There is just Katharine Cunningham…neither a wife nor really a mother. Both of those i...

I could never begin to pretend to understand the wonderful highs and devastating lows the last 9 months has brought to me. To have such joy and hope and then to have it ripped away in the most traumatic way possible has been life shattering.   Writing has been the way I process through my thoughts and emotions since I was about 12 years old. So many people talk about how they need to “sit down and have a good cry” but I never feel that, I feel the need to sit down and write it all out. Writing is the pressure release when my heart has just built up so much hurt, anxiety, or trauma. Every single time I have struggled with something in the last 20 years I have gone to my journal and written everything out. I don’t often write when things are going well and I’m content in life. It’s when life is hard that I find those blank pages calling to me.  It took me 10 days to start journaling again after John died. And I really only started again because my mom told me I should write i...