Goodbye for now

Bayor Matthias Cunningham arrived safely on November 23, and he's pretty much awesome in every way possible.

Two writers stepping down in one week?!?

First it was Melinda. Now, it's my turn.

This is very bittersweet for me. I am so incredibly thankful for the platform that Michele has given me to open up my heart and share my journey. I have learned so much just from watching my life unfold in my own words and processing through it, as well as reading alongside the rest of you the posts from the other great writers here.

But the time has come for me to pass the torch. I feel like my heart has been in a good place for a long time now, but there's something that always pulls me back here. Like I needed permission to still grieve and love Jeremy even when other things are going on in life. You all let me do that without question, without judgement, and with complete understanding. I know that there is truly no amount of happiness, success, or good things that can take away the dull ache I have in my heart from the irreplaceable void that Jer left there. He is my love forever, he holds a piece of my heart, my life, my children, and even my future until the day I'm done here. I know now that no one can take that away from me.

My goal has always been to use this outlet to somehow touch other lives who are walking the same horrible path. I pray that I've done that, even just once. But I know that it's time to step aside and let you connect with another writer who might have more to give.  Between the day to day craziness of settling in to our new community after a huge move, trying to keep up with a new house, new jobs, 4 kids with daily homework, a toddler who is more like a tornado...oh, and did I mention I had a baby last week?!? Yea- it gets a little nuts around here. This space has always been an escape and a place for me to regroup and take the time to dig through my own emotions I don't always understand during the week or to work through my grief I sometimes push aside on a daily basis, but I've come to a point where other things need my focus.

So, I babble just to really say thank you. Thank you for being such an encouragement to me. Thank you for honoring my love by allowing me to share pieces of him with you. Thank you for sharing pieces of your loves with me as well in comments, emails, etc. This community really is a special one, and you haven't seen the last of me - I hope to continue to be a guest writer here when needed.

I know that you all will be just as encouraging to our new writer. Amanda will be taking over my day, but we will have a new Tuesday writer....let me introduce Kerryl McGlennon:

Ian and I met on 11 June 2009 after first contact on an on-line dating site and I knew he was going to be the man I would marry the moment I laid eyes on him. Four months later he came to my office, handed me a cactus, and asked me to marry him (he apparently didn’t see the florist over the road – but did find a cactus!). We married on 4 June 2011, celebrating with our 4 month old son, family and friends.

In February 2012 he had heart surgery for a wonky heart-beat, and he got hit with the rarest complication which showed up on March 17, his 46th birthday. After a roller-coaster three months of battling infection and complications on the complication, he passed away on 14 June, ten days after our first wedding anniversary. We managed to fit a lot into three short years.

I’m now raising our son, who is apparently just like his father was as a child in both looks and temperament, and trying to instil in him what was important to Ian (while sometimes being rather miffed Ian got out of dealing with toddler tantrums). And in part of the soul searching aftermath, at 38 I finally figured out what I want to be when I grow up, so am studying accounting part-time at university. Although I have to walk this road, I’m incredibly grateful that road is in the country I live in, and I’m walking it at this time in history.

Welcome to this incredible community, Kerryl. I'm sorry you have a reason to be a part of it, but we're so glad you're here.

(not so) Ordinary Life

My favorite picture of Jeremy with our precious first born

And so the countdown begins...

In 56 hours or less (not that I'm counting or anything), I will be holding a new little life in my arms. One small person I helped create. One tiny little reminder of what life is really all about.

My sweet little baby boy has no idea what his life represents already in this world. In a place that can be so cold, sometimes stabbing, unfair, and down right hopeless...my little miracle is a reminder that life can and will go on, and that it can and will be beautiful again.

This afternoon, I was watching my 7 year old concentrate so hard on her homework, trying to write sentences. As I watched her expressions, the curves of her face, the movements of her body, I was in awe of the fact that she used to be this 6 pound little miracle that introduced me to motherhood. I felt her daddy beam with pride at her inside me and I just couldn't stop taking her in. Memorizing all the pieces that are just her - how did she all of a sudden evolve into this beautiful young lady?! I had several of these moments today with all of my children. Maybe it's hormones, or maybe it's the clock ticking away reminding me that once again I will hold a new baby and blink an eye and he'll be 7 years old....but whatever it is, I'm trying to hold on to as many moments as I can.

I continue to be reminded of what bittersweet really means. The life of a widow seems to be plagued with this word. But maybe it's the bitter that makes us appreciate the sweet. And maybe we can only experience real bitterness because we've tasted sweet.

One of my favorite quotes is "time stands still best in moments that look suspiciously like ordinary life." This epitomizes my journey. The moments that I remember and hold most dear in life really aren't the grand ones (although those are great too) but they're the ones where life stands still for just a moment and I'm able to observe and appreciate what life still brings.

I honestly cannot wait to start memorizing all the details of my son's features, hold his tiny hand, and soak in every moment I can before they slip away.  I'm excited to watch my used-to-be-broken family put one more piece back together.

I'm ready to live out the rest of this not so ordinary life.

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!

Untouchable

The other day, my 2 1/2 year old found one of Jeremy's mementos - an autographed baseball still in the box. I had it in one of the boys top drawers to keep so that they might have it one day when they get older.

Naturally, he wanted to play with it. He took it out of the cardboard box, unwrapped the tissue paper around it, and started throwing it around the house. As soon as I realized what he was doing I gently put it away and told him he couldn't play with that particular ball because it was daddy's and it was special.

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Later that afternoon, when the rest of the kids came home from school, my 6 year old son found it (apparently I didn't do a good job of putting it away) and was playing with it in his room. A very devastated toddler came crying down the stairs yelling "Cayub can't pay wif da ball....it's daddy's!" I called Caleb down and explained to him that it was special not only because it was daddy's, but also because it was autographed and might be worth something one day and we needed to keep it nice. My two year old chimed in, eyes still brimming with offended tears "It's so so special...you can't touch it!" He continued to repeat that it was daddy's over and over.

It occurred to me that Carter was genuinely upset, and I wondered suddenly if I had put too much pressure on him to keep all things 'daddy' sacred. This little man, who never got to meet his daddy, has only connections with him through stories and pictures. It is my mission to make sure Carter grows up to know his daddy, even if he never got to meet him face to face. But I never realized that I could potentially "over-do it" in that everything daddy-related was sacred and untouchable. He seemed so upset by the thought of ruining something that was daddy's.

At the same time, my heart leaped to see how much he respected what was Jeremy's and understood, even at such a young age, that his daddy was something special. I want to make sure that Jer is remembered as something real, and not just an idea or something he has to walk on eggshells about. But how can you really do that with a child who has no tangible memories of his daddy, only the aftermath of everyone else's memories?

I don't know the right answer, but I am pretty sure there isn't one. Hopefully, the tender heart of my 2 year old will grow up knowing that someone very special loved him more than life before he even came into this world. The rest I'm just making up as I go along....kind of like parenting, in general. Now that I think of it, kind of like life.

26

This Saturday, I will be 26 weeks along. The last time I was 26 weeks pregnant (to the day), my husband dropped dead.

Oddly enough, for all the anxiety I had about becoming pregnant, it's been relatively normal and hasn't caused me too much grief. Until I hit the half way mark. Ever since, my brain audibly tells me with each passing Saturday, "only so many more weeks until you're 26 weeks." I am keenly aware that its coming up and I've sat awake a few times now with tears remembering.

Perhaps it will pass like my grief milestones did, where the anticipation is more painful than the day itself. Perhaps I will spend the entire day making sure Steve doesn't drop dead on me. Perhaps I will be a little neurotic and even just spend the day grieving an experience I never imagined I'd be going through again. Perhaps I can fill the day with enough distractions to help me forget. Ok, we all know that wont happen.

I fear that if this milestone can bring me this much anxiety, than the anticipation for birth may just send me over the edge. The two moments nothing in this world can reconcile with my heart: the day my love died and the day I had his baby without him.  Only love could have made me volunteer to face the potential for déjà vu.

It's a good thing love conquers death.

Thank you

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Today, I just wanted to say thanks.

Last week, I was hesitant to share my fears and also my joys of being pregnant and all that comes along with that when it's attached to grief. But I don't know why I was so reluctant, because I was overwhelmed with the support of so many.

So I needed to take the time and share my appreciation for this community on Widow's Voice. I'm so thankful that I have a space filled with people from all different stops on their grief journey, but who all come together to support, encourage, and bring hope to one another. Whether I'm struggling through my grief, or sharing the often guilty joys that come in the aftermath of loss, I know there is someone out there connecting. Someone who needs to hear what I have to say, or someone who brings me hope. That's the magic of this place.

Thank you for allowing me to continue to share my journey with you all. Good & bad, I have a place here. That really means something.

You guys rock.

Joy and sorrow

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Several weeks ago, Steve and I announced to the world that we were pregnant.

After we posted the adorable video we made with the kids (you can watch it HERE), I tried to write a post to talk about this sudden twist of events in our life. A baby was not in the original plan for us when we met, but we came to a place where we felt ready and desired to walk through the journey together as a couple and with our kids as a family. But the post sat on my heart for some time before I could get it right or feel good about it.

Here's the thing: I am thrilled. But in this space, I know I can be honest and say to my fellow widow(er)s that I am also terrified. I didn't know how to talk about both pieces without taking away from the other. Last week, I felt so encouraged after posting about my two worlds colliding, because the truth is, you guys just get it here. Joy and sorrow run side by side in life. And becoming a widow while pregnant sure made the scary factor of this pregnancy even greater.

It took me a long time to get to a place where I felt ready to face this journey again. I didn't think I would ever have to, so there were a lot of pieces I had not grieved before. Knowing that I am having a baby that isn't Jeremy's feels strange. Knowing I get to have a baby with Steve feels wonderful. Experiencing a lot of PTSD about losing Steve is something that he was willing to deal with during this pregnancy because it is truly my worst fear. But somehow preparing my heart for new life and the excitement that comes along with it has overshadowed so much of that.

I had someone on my blog accuse me of committing 'emotional adultery' against Steve because I was 'dwelling' on my life with Jeremy. I was even more shocked that she herself was a remarried widow. I understand that everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but how do you just 'forget' and move on from the most significant relationship you've ever had? How do you undo building a life and three children with someone? I'm sorry, but it's not possible for me. I carry Jeremy in my heart forever, and Steve knew that full well when he met me. He accepts that and loves me for that. That doesn't, however, mean that I dwell on it or even that we spend half of our marriage talking about the past. Steve is my present and the man I want to walk through the rest of this life with. My relationship and marriage with him is just as valuable as my marriage with Jeremy was - I wouldn't have married him otherwise. But I am and forever will be Jeremy's wife. I will always have his children, love his family, care about his friends, carry on his legacy. I am who I am because of the life I had with Jeremy and no amount of moving forward can erase that.

Phew. End soap box.

Thank you for giving me a safe place to express my joy and sorrow as it runs side by side. Truthfully, as scared as I am to walk this journey again, I am thankful for the opportunity to redeem my last experience and to celebrate the love I have found in Steve. I am ecstatic to bring another life into this world and watch our family come together even more.

But a few extra prayers and good wishes couldn't hurt ;)

Through Your Eyes

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Yesterday, my 6 year old turned into a 7 year old. Like any birthday, I can hardly believe it. But birthdays after loss can be so much more bittersweet. Bitter for the every moment that Jeremy is missing out on his daughter's life, and sweet that in spite of the great tragedy of losing her daddy, Faith is growing into a beautiful young girl. I'm so proud of who she is and the heart she carries with her.

While I am always proud of my children, I've also recently taken notice of what a spectacular thing it can be to stop and look at them through Jeremy's eyes. It's like I can see his smile and hear his voice in the same way I heard it for days on end after Faith was born saying "she's so beautiful." Or see him sit back in his chair with arms crossed in satisfaction at Caleb when he makes something amazing with his legos. I can almost hear his amusement when I get a belly laugh out of Carter. Somehow, my chest sticks out a little farther to take pride in them for the both of us.

I've often wondered what purpose Carter was to serve in my life, having never had the chance to meet his daddy face-to-face, and then had to come into the world with a mother who was broken hearted and didn't have a clue how to put one foot in front of the other. I often call him the boy who saved my life because he literally forced me keep going, not for myself but for him, because he depended on me for survival. But I questioned God's purpose in his birth so many times, because it was so painful to endure. Then, the other day when I was having a bad day, upset on the couch, he came and brought me a blanket and pillow and even brought me an ice pack (cause he thought I was hurt) and then laid with me and patted me with his tiny little hands chanting "it's ok mama"........this guy just turned two. What kind of 2 year old has the sense to take care of his mama like that? It's like he knows. He's my protector. And suddenly I got the sense that maybe he sees me through Jeremy's eyes sometimes too.

I know my children's futures have unending potential, but I think maybe part of their purpose in this world was to show me how to see more of the world through Jeremy's eyes and to recognize how Jeremy saw me. What a gift that truly is.

I continue to remind myself to stop and look at the world through his eyes, not only to keep him close to me but also to feel the passion for the things he loved....which just so happen to include the people I love. Sometimes, the change of perspective is all I need to remind me to keep going.

A birth day to remember

A very special Cars cake made for a very special birthday boy.

How can it be possible? This little man that changed everything is turned 2 on Friday.

Holy Moly.

In some ways, watching him grow is going by way too fast. Gone are the days of baby snuggles and gibberish....he is now a full-blown Cars lovin', running and jumping, never stops talking, knows what he wants, stubborn red-headed tempered, loving and laughing toddler.

In other ways, though, his birth could not seem further away to me. If my reference of time was based solely on that day, I would swear Carter was an adult. Perhaps because I have suppressed that day in my mind and my heart....sure it was a day of joy that Carter safely made it into the world in spite of tragedy going on around him, but it was also the second hardest day of my life next to losing his daddy. It's one of the few pieces of grief I haven't fully come to terms with and I have a hard time talking about. Ashamed that giving birth to this beautiful was a painful experience. Thinking about that day always leaves me in tears. 

Perhaps it also seems so long ago because so much has changed since then. So much life has been lived, so many milestones have been celebrated, created, and passed. And I have changed since then. I'm not the same person who birthed this beautiful boy two years ago. It's crazy to think that so much could change in such a short amount of time. Maybe that's why it doesn't feel like a short amount of time.

The only thing that gives me the ability to speak about the pain of Carter's birth is the knowledge that out of those ashes came the beauty that is my son. The child that forced me to keep going, robbed me of my selfishness, and brought to life another piece of Jeremy for me to hold on to. And the boy that saved my life. This little man is too full of life to keep me focused on the pain...he leads me forward and focused on living. Children have a funny way of doing that.

I would give anything to see Carter with his daddy, even just once. To see the look on Jeremy's face that I have burned into my heart....the look of falling into unconditional love with the life we created. I would do anything to give Carter an opportunity to know his daddy beyond the pictures and stories we tell him every day. I crave the sight of Jeremy on the ground playing Cars with Carter. I ache to see Carter give just one big sloppy, beautiful kiss to his daddy.

As much as it hurts to know I will never get to see these images in my life time, I also know that I do not want Carter's birthdays to be marked by tragedy. Today, I am reminding myself of how far we've come and how much love and happiness Carter has added to my life just by being in it. And I smile knowing Jeremy is watching, beaming with pride that his little man is happy and healthy, despite my shortcomings. And I look forward to seeing where the rest of his birthdays take us.

Happy Birthday, sweet baby boy. 

I love you always.

"Read, Daddy"

Jeremy in the sailor suit, and his other mini-me, Carter bearing the same sweet features.

Now the school is in full swing and we've kinda (and I use that term loosely) got a routine going, I've been able to spend a lot of one-on-one time with my man cub. I haven't had just one child with me in over 5 years! It's been nice to just play with him, talk to him, and watch him grow. His life thus far seems to have gone by in the blink of an eye and I know I was checked out for the first part of it. I feel like I've missed a lot.

Spending more time with him has made me face a lot of grief associated with his life, though. Watching him learn new things and knowing that Jeremy will never get to see him grow. The ache that comes with the understanding that Jeremy never got to hold his son. Thinking about the day he was born never ceases to make me emotional. Sometimes I think that day was harder in some ways than the day Jeremy died. We talk about 'daddy' all the time - he associates my necklace with Jer, the pics of him around the house, the tattoo on my arm, even the Toronto Maple Leafs logo he recognizes with his daddy. It's so incredibly bittersweet.

Last week, I sat down and showed Carter the video I have of Jeremy reading "Barnyard Dance" to Faith and Caleb. He was mesmerized. And I was full of tears and smiles. We went about our day and week until the other day, Carter was pointing to the table throwing a fit because I couldn't understand what he was wanting. When I finally figured out that he was pointing to my computer and saying "read Daddy, read Daddy" I burst into tears. 

He remembered.

Not only did he remember, he wanted more. More of his daddy. He wanted more of this presence he hears referred to all the time but hasn't met him or touched him yet. To hear his voice, see his face, and see him snuggle up against his big brother and sister made an impact on that little 19-month-old heart. He watched it again and again. 

For all the times I worry that Carter may not understand or I might share enough....I realize that Jeremy really is a presence in our hearts and in our lives. And he's in the heart and life of a little man cub who's never met him face to face, but who lives out his legacy as the spitting image of his daddy. 

What would you like to know?

Yesterday, I opened up my personal blog to questions from readers about my grief journey, my new relationship with Steve, and anything in between that maybe I hadn't addressed yet or before. I was overwhelmed with the response and questions that came from it, and am excited to get the opportunity to share our story and open our hearts in a world of grief that so few people at our age really understand.

I had never intended to do the same here, but I realize that this group of readers is different. We approach life with a different lens. I could tell the questions on my personal blog that came from other widows or those who had experienced grief before and were curious about how to handle different situations or aspects of grief. So, we wanted to extend the same opportunity here: for people to ask questions to Steve and me (we will both answer from our different perspectives) in maybe areas that aren't always touched on.

Obviously, I don't have the answers. Or any right ones. We all know that grief looks different for everyone, and I can't even say that I've got one single thing figured out. What I do know is that being a pregnant widow at 28, and getting remarried 18 months later is rare and raises a lot of questions for people - I get it. I would have some too. Steve and I both feel passionately about our calling to walk this journey of grief and help others along the way - him as a grief counselor, me as a young widow - to hopefully shed some light with our unique perspectives in areas that need it. And to bring hope. We're willing to be honest and transparent with our story and our grief if it means helping someone else on their own journey. That's what this blog is all about right? Helping each other? I'm thankful for the opportunity to do that in any way.

So, if you have any questions for Steve and I, ask away. We'll address them next Thursday here and try to answer. The only questions we won't answer are ones that are disrespectful, demeaning, or judgmental. But as I've already learned, those kinds of things only come from people who don't "get it" - and here, we're in good company.

What would you like to know?

Reunion

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Steve and I just finished reading this book called "Heaven is for Real" - it's a boy's account of his visit to Heaven and back while he almost died from appendicitis at age 3. Whatever your beliefs are about Heaven, it's definitely a great book that will give you a lot to think about.

I went through a phase in my grief where I longed for Heaven constantly. I longed to see Jeremy again with an ache that was so intense, I couldn't think about anything else. I remember writing multiple blog posts about Heaven - it was the first time in my life where I had actually spent any significant amount of time thinking about what Heaven would be like.

One thing that changed when Jer died was that I no longer feared death. No matter how excited I am about the future, no matter how many things left unfinished here, no matter how much my kids need me here...I know that I'm ready to go whenever. But the thing I feared for awhile was wether or not I would get my reunion with Jeremy in Heaven. I've dreamt about it and thought about it so frequently that the idea that I might not get my moment in Heaven with Jeremy was one that made me feel so sick.

As Steve and I were reading this book together, there's a chapter in which Colten (the little boy) asked his parents about his sister that died in his mommy's belly. It is a chilling account since Colten had never been told about the miscarriage his mother had, nor had his parents known the sex of the baby. But Colten tells them he saw her in Heaven and that she was waiting for them and couldn't wait to see them. I was reading the book out loud in the car, and I had to put it down because I couldn't hold my emotions in.

Even though the story was compelling, that's not what got me. It was the idea that Jeremy was waiting for me in Heaven, that his anticipation to see me was as strong as mine to see him. But not just him...my brother popped in my head and the thought of seeing him and giving him a hug also tugged at my heart in a heavy way.

It's weird that something that seems so hopeful and peaceful can be so emotional - that so much pain is tied in with it. But I know the emotion is really just the pain of having to wait. The pain of knowing I can't see them now. It was a painful yet peaceful thought. I'm not a cooky person and up until I experienced it, I would have never believed that Jeremy's presence would be so strong in my life after he died. But I've heard him, I felt him watch over me, I felt his blessing over my relationship with Steve - I feel him protecting me and loving me through my relationships. And in that moment, through the story of someone else, I felt his anticipation to my arrival.

I can't wait for our reunion.

I can't remember if I remember

 

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I had a horrifying experience this week:

I couldn't remember.

It started with a drive to meet my sister-in-law in Canada. The drive was a familiar one that I've taken with Jer hundreds of times through the years. Suddenly and unexpectedly, but like a familiar wave of grief, I was struck with tears realizing I would never take the drive again with him. Then I started to try and remember all the different drives I had taken with Jeremy over the years on that road. I remembered very little, which bothered me, but that wasn't the problem.

I then started trying to think about what it felt like to hold Jeremy's hand in the car like I had so many times before. But instead, all I could remember for that little while was holding my brother's hand in the hospital as he slipped away from us, and the second I noticed a change in his hands and knew that he was gone. And like the wave, I was covered in tears. Tears for my brother, who I've been missing so much the last few days (well, ever since I saw my nephew last weekend and his resemblence to my brother was so eery and heartbreaking for me) and tears for the fact that I couldn't get myself to remember was it was like to hold my husband's hand.

I started to go back to all those familiar moments that I think about often. Like the night before he died - him holding my hand on the way home, telling me how much he loved to hear me sing....I tried to remember past what I normally thought about, maybe some other details I missed before and I couldn't. Then I started to doubt the memory. It feels so distant - did that really happen? Do I actually remember it or is it just because I thought about it so many millions of times that it has become a habit instead of a memory? It was truly horrifying to feel like my memories were slipping further away from me just like Jeremy was.

Luckily, it was fleeting. Sometimes, all it takes is a picture of his jaw line or crooked smile to bring all those things back. Or a random hot day where the smell of sweat suddenly made me miss his salty kisses in the middle of the afternoon on a lunch break. Or sitting with Steve, playing with his ears, and remembering how different it felt to play with Jeremy's. I remember with such detail praying every day that I never forget.

But every once in awhile....I can't remember if I remember.
I hate those moments.

It could be worse

It could always be worse

...I could have lost my children, too.
...Jeremy could have suffered.
...he could have been much harder to find.
...he could have fallen farther from his stand and done more physical damage.
...he could have been doing something he did not enjoy when he died.
...the kids could have watched their daddy die.
...my friends could have abandoned me.
...Jer and I could have not had a great week together, and a great day together before he died.
...Jer could have died before we found out he was having a son, before he chose a name for him.
...he could have died before I knew I was pregnant.
...he could have died the day Carter was born.
...he could have been driving when his heart stopped and killed someone else.
...I could not have the best friends in the world.
...I could have been forced to go back to work right away.
...I could be forced into staying in our house, a house we were not safe in, that Jeremy hated.
...I could be feeling God's abandonment instead of His constant interceding.
...I could have not seen Jer all day that day. We could have had lunch separately.
...we could have been in a horrible marriage. I could have resentment.
...I could be angry with Jer for leaving.
...the kids could have forgotten their daddy, or stopped talking about him.
...the kids could be older and felt his death in a much more tangible way.
...the kids could be younger and not have any memories of their daddy.
...I could not have a relationship with his wonderful family.
...his family could have forgotten about me after the funeral.
...I could have a different church family. I could have been forgotten in the crowd.
...I could have already forgotten what he smelled like.
...the trauma could have severely affected Carter in the womb.
...Jer could have had skeletons in his closet.
...the kids could have not been able to see him all day that day.
...our last words exchanged could have been something other than "I love you."


I'm trying to write out some of these things to remind myself to be thankful, for I know deep down I am blessed.

The new girl in town

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Hi. I'm Veronica. I'm the new girl in town here on Widow's Voice. Like most of you, I'm not the least bit thrilled to fall in any category to allow me such a role on this blog, but nonetheless, I am looking forward to walking through my grief journey will a community of people who get it. Let me tell you a little about me.

This is what my sweet little family looked like before tragedy struck unexpectedly in the form of a heart attack that took my wonderful husband and best friend Jeremy on a November 9, 2010 when he was at the very young age of 31. In addition, I was 28 and 6 months pregnant with our third child.

Needless to say, the last 16 1/2 have been quite the roller coaster for me. My life has been completely flipped upside down. Since Jeremy died, I had his baby without him, bought a house, lost my brother unexpectedly, and purchased a new vehicle. Lots of big milestones that have taken place without the one I love. Speaking of the one I love, I would like to tell you a little bit about my awesome husband, Jeremy.

Jeremy was the head of grounds at Rochester College, but also worked for our church as the Worship Leader there. He was a hunter and fisher, and full blooded Canadian through and through. He was stubborn, hilarious, sweet, handsome, loyal, and an incredible daddy and husband. He was my rock, my shoulder to cry on, my best friend, my anchor, my north, and my sanity. I can't bear to write out more of the horrible day, but you can read about it here.

Fast forward 16 1/6 months. I have come a long way, but this journey of grief for me is far from over. I continue to stumble my way through picking up all the broken pieces that were left behind in the shadows of the greatest loss I could have ever imagined. But my kids are happy, healthy, and still grieving in their own way too. And I have this sweet little face that Jeremy gifted me:

There ya have it. This is me. This is my family. This is my loss, my tragedy, my love, my story.

It's nice to meet you all.