2/18/2020

I remember that day in pieces.

•Going to the police department to get the accident report.

•Stopping at Sprouts to grab his favorite oatmeal raisin cookies.

•Talking about paying for our nephew’s trip to DC.

Then everything shattered.

Him collapsing in the bathroom.

The ambulance.

Me frantically showing the EMT his pain meds, forgetting how to speak English or Spanish in those moments.

My neighbor bringing in the packages I’d left outside.

Calling my brother while he was in class.

Saying, “Sh*t, f**k!” over and over—then apologizing just as much while our pastor held me, saying it was okay.

And then that frozen moment.

The doctor and social worker walking into a room full of our family and friends to tell us the news.

🤬

Still the only word that fits.

I hate how that day ended for me.

But I love how it ended for him.

Let me explain—

The worst day of my life was the best day of his.

Because it was the day his life on earth ended.

The day he met Jesus face to face.

I hate thinking about the pain he went through in those final hours while he was fighting for his life.

It’s been 5 years. The pain isn’t as debilitating, but it’s still deep.

Deep. And very real.

Different, but still horrible.

Different, but still sucks.

My life has found a new way forward.

My sense of humor is darker now.

My patience for nonsense is shorter.

And my hope for reuniting with Jesus—and Wesley—is even greater.

Year 5 sucks differently than year 1. And I’m sure year 6 and year 50 will feel the same.

Austen got married!

The once-little boy with the shaggy haircut is now a grown man—and married.

Wow.

This was one of those moments in grief that truly hit hard. A reminder that life moves forward, even without him.

The wedding was so sweet. When Austen first told me they were planning it, he mentioned wanting something like mine and Wes’s—intimate and meaningful. He even proudly carried a picture of his dad in his pocket. I carried him on my necklace.

I feel incredibly blessed to still be a part of Austen’s life. It’s one of the ways we continue to honor Wes.

After his dance with his mom, Austen came over and pulled me onto the dance floor for a dance with him too. I’d been holding it together all day, but in that moment, I lost it.

I pray for Austen and Valen to have a long, prosperous life together, filled with love and many children who carry Wes’s legacy forward (though there’s no rush for that!).

Life is changing.

Life is moving forward, as it always does.

But gosh, I wish his dad were here.

“Woke up late today and I
still feel the sting of the pain, but I brushed my teeth anyway I got dressed through the mess and put a smile on my face I got a little bit stronger”…

What it’s been like the last 4 years. I’ve been making it through the mess, and I’ve been getting a little bit stronger every day.

Today marks 4 years.
Today sucks, but tomorrow I’ll wake up feeling a little bit stronger.

Had we had known 3 years ago today that all he had left was 17 days to live, how would we have lived?

Not much differently really.

Because of his leg injury, we were able to spend extra time in bed every morning.

We sat around and watched lots of Netflix, ate all of his favorite food, and took lots of little naps.

His last 17 days were special to me because we were able to just sit, eat, and be merry. I love that I was able to love on him a little extra for those last 17 days.

At Least

The thing I hear most often.

At least you’re young.

At least you can find love again.

At least you didn’t have any children.

At least you have family for support.

At least you know where he is.

AT LEAST!!!

The words aren’t helpful, supportive, aren’t healing, aren’t kind.

There is not at least in death.

Dear Men, I come with instructions now.

Haha!

I bought this book, How to Date a Widow 101, for a very special friend. 😇
(That’s all I’ll say for now).

I’m complicated enough as it is, then add Greta on top of that…

Yikes!

I learned so much @campwidow over the weekend, including navigating the whole complicated world of letting a boy in my life again. (So, please don’t die!)

I’m so glad I had the opportunity to go.

It feels good to know that I am, in fact, not crazy and I’m just grieving still (and forever).

Thank you Camp Widow @soaringspiritsint, until next year.

Which stage of grief does resentment fall under?

Every time I’m in my posh room, I’m a bit resentful that I just can’t do it full time since he died.

I miss it.

It was my passion.
I spent the majority of my days working in here.
Now there are times when I don’t step one foot in this room for days!

I’ve yet to find a balance between working two full-time jobs, running my business, working out, and having a social life.

I’ll find it, right?

The balance.

I mean other people do it.
It can’t be THAT hard.

Oh, and it’s a major, chaotic mess in here. Please don’t call the fire department, or wait, yeah, maybe you should call them, a fireman is all I need to make me feel better.
🧑🏼‍🚒🧑🏿‍🚒🧑🏽‍🚒

Two years ago today, what started out as a seemingly normal day ended as everything but…⁣
⁣
Two years ago today, he went HOME.⁣
⁣
I still hear the thump of his fall, the sound of his moan, the sound of him gasping for air, my screams at the 911 operator quite vividly. ⁣
“HURRY! 🤬🤬🤬”⁣
⁣
I still question why he didn’t tell me anything.⁣
⁣
I still question if they really did “everything they could”.⁣
⁣
I still question everything, though knowing there was absolutely nothing I (or anyone) could have done differently to change the circumstances.⁣
⁣
I still wish this wasn’t reality.⁣
⁣

When ‘they’ said the second year would be harder, I didn’t think it would happen to me. After all, I’ve been doing very well with Greta lately.

But then the anxiety came with a vengeance on Thanksgiving day and if this is just a taste of it, God help me!

The entire day (Thanksgiving), I was on this little weird grief cloud, some of you may know what that odd-feeling is like.

Like almost walking in a dream, knowing that I’ll wake up at some point to deal with the anxiety building up.

I’ve learned that this is a defense mechanism. Something my body does to protect itself from an anxiety attack.

Then I “woke up” just minutes before having to go to my parents.

I had to calm down before I ended up bringing Greta to my parents. I wasn’t going to be the party pooper.

I waited and calmed down. I went to dinner but I didn’t stay long, then I came back home to have a couple of drinks, plop myself on the couch, and do some online shopping.

Yep, sure enough, the second-year holiday was worse than the first.

And it sucks!

Up next…

Christmas

His Birthday

His Home-going.

I would like to be asleep for the next four months, please.

Miss you, Bubb!

Desperately.