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!

When words are not enough

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This Saturday marks 3 years since Jeremy took his last breath.
How can that possibly be?

Every year, I am in awe of how crazy it seems that so much time has passed, and yet how far away it seems when so much life has been lived in between. I have truly experienced more in the past 3 years than most people do in a lifetime. Since Jer died, I've bought 2 houses, purchased a new vehicle, traveled all over the country, lost and gained friends, dated and remarried, blended a large family, moved out of state, had a baby without his daddy, and am preparing to have another child with another man. Surely these things couldn't possibly describe MY life...

And yet, no matter how much life has been lived since I've seen Jeremy, the weight of the hole he has left in my life is still so evident, and still a very painful reality I face daily. The last several weeks have been especially hard for me. Part of it is because I now grieve so far away from his family and friends, far away from the life I shared with him, and far away from where I can feel his presence. I feel so far removed. I ache to hold on to pieces of him during this season. Part of it also is from the fact that the closer I get to delivering, the more terrified I feel. Pregnancy hormones alone could do me in, but the sleepless nights remembering a piece of my grief that I never thought I'd have to face again is sometimes too much. My anxiety level is high, to say the least.

I was texting with a friend this weekend just about how crazy it is that it's already been 3 years. And I realized how much I ached just to talk to someone about it. To let it out. To have someone actually ask me. I confessed that it's been hard to feel like I have no outlet lately. She asked me if writing was no longer an outlet. I had to think about that for a minute....

Writing has always been my way of expressing emotion. Words are my ally and my weapon of choice. They help me sort through my own head when things don't make sense. And being able to write about my grief journey has brought me more healing than I could have ever imagined. But I found myself at a crossroads of guilt. Guilt for feeling like I couldn't talk about the depths of my pain without somehow sounding ungrateful for the life I have now and the blessings that come with it. And guilt for being too grateful for the life I have now and feeling like people think it means I'm just ok and don't need to talk about Jeremy anymore. I also just don't like feeling like I'm seeking out attention. Writing makes people think they know me and therefore the personal connections are lacking because they think they know where I'm at. They can watch from a distance.

The truth is that words sometimes are not enough. Most of the time, I really don't have much NEW to say. I've run out of ways to express how much I miss Jeremy, how much my heart longs for him, how hard it is to watch my kids grow up without knowing him.......it really never changes, just evolves. I want to scream from the top of my lungs just how much grief sucks still sometimes. I want the world to know what an incredible husband I have now, and that how deeply I cherish him has no impact on the amount of grief I have and will continue to carry through the rest of this life. I wish I could find the right words....words that connect with everyone. But like Janelle said, we can't reach everyone. All we can do is write what we know, what we are living.

I keep going back to an analogy I heard shortly after Jeremy died, I think in a book I read somewhere. It painted a picture of train tracks, one track representing grief and one representing joy: both running side by side on the same path. They both exist together.

This week, I don't have the right words. Just a jumbled mess of emotions that seem to represent my heart these days. My words are not enough. But just remembering to put one foot in front of the other is sometimes all I need to do.

The battle

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This weekend as we traveled to Indiana, Michigan, and back to West Virginia in 3 short days, we logged a lot of hours in the car. Sometimes I dread long trips because let's face it: we have 5 children packed into our vehicle like sardines, who we lovingly refer to as "the pee and flee gang" constantly asking us to stop, fighting over what movie to watch next, and just in general making our trips a little more, well....complicated. But most of the time, I enjoy the time just to sit and veg out for awhile, to listen to music, to read with my husband, and to dream, talk, listen, and grow with each other while the scenery passes by us.

As we made our way home starting at 9pm Sunday night, we had a nice silent car ride with our children sleeping almost the entire trip - which made for lots of great conversation to keep us both awake (ok, I may have dozed off for awhile...) But Steve asked me a question in the midst of our drive that really resonated with me.

"Do you ever feel like you battle wanting to live in the past versus living in the now?"

It resonated with me because I think every person reading this blog understands this battle. To be completely honest, YES. I do battle wanting to live in the past. Not because I am not thankful for my now or because I'm not looking forward to the future, but because my past is the only place that Jeremy lives. It's the only place I see him laugh, hear his voice, or watch him play with his children.

What I can say is that I've come a long way in this battle since the beginning. I used to ONLY want to live in the past. The present and the future meant nothing to me with him in it. Everything seemed meaningless without him next to me. And I still have those moments where I just wish I could go back for even a moment....just to see his face one more time.

But now, the battle is not about wanting to live in the past, but rather trying to figure out how to carry my past with me into my future. I still miss Jeremy every. single. day. Sometimes it still hurts so bad that the weight of it makes it hard to breathe. I want to be able to share with him life's ups and downs, to talk through things with him, to hear him laugh at the things only the two of us think is funny. I want to seek his advice, to share moments with him. But I also know that I love and appreciate my now and everything that comes with it - and most of it I would never have if he were still here. I try to never compare the past to now because it's apples and oranges - it gets me nowhere and it's comparing two different people.

Our now deserves just as much attention as our then. Both are precious in their own right, and we have to use what our then has shaped us to be to create a new and meaningful now.

I can't remember if I remember

I wrote this post on my personal blog back in April of 2012, but it was ringing in my ears this week, as I was trying to remember details and was getting frustrated about the pieces I couldn't recover. 

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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.

I promise

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"Don't be too late tonight, I really want to spend some time with you."

"I won't. It'll be an early hunt. I'll be back before the kids go to bed. I promise."

I promise. Right before we exchanged I love you's, this was one of the last things I heard Jeremy say to me. I've played it out so many times in my head, it gets very muddled now, and I don't even remember the exact words, but I promise always pulses through. Because when I hear it in my head, it can still make me hurt and even make me angry.

I hear people constantly throw around these two words. I even find myself doing it once in awhile when I'm not thinking. I heard my children promising all kinds of things to me and their siblings the other day, and it triggered my emotions. There have been other times in the past where I've heard 'I promise' and it triggered vicious tears.

I now have an aversion to the phrase 'I promise.' Not because I don't think people don't mean it, but because I've waited on a promise before and watched all my hopes and dreams come crashing down as that promise was broken. And it wasn't intentional, but broken nonetheless. I know at the heart, people want to be trusted and confirm that they'll follow through on something, but those words still sting in my heart.

He promised.

He made a promise he didn't know he couldn't keep.

Now, I can't trust a promise.

They say don't make promises you can't keep. But people think they're invincible. We here know differently and we take and make promises with a little more caution because we know a promise can be broken in the blink of an eye, with one phone call, with one breath.  Anytime I hear the phrase, it's like I can hear Jer's voice through it and the promise suddenly sinks into my gut.

So, I try to be careful about what I promise to people. Because I never want to leave those words unfinished on someone else's heart.

Same old grief.

I've been thinking about what to blog about for two days now. And I haven't been able to come with anything.

At least, not anything new.

The ironic thing is, grief has been so heavy for me this week. Yesterday morning in the middle of a random conversation with my two year old about daddy, I burst into tears, which turned in to full-out sobbing by the time I got home.

Later in the day, driving around, it happened again. Tears and a deep ache in my gut for Jeremy.

Earlier in the week, I couldn't stop hearing my friend's voice in my head saying "We found Jer. I think he's dead." It played over and over and wouldn't go away. Nothing can make my heart pound and tears burn quicker than thinking about that moment.

Today, my daughter wanted to bring in her scrapbook that we made together about her and her daddy into school for show and tell. I could hardly flip through the book without agony.

Grief has been everywhere. You think I'd have something new to say about it, but I felt uninspired.

The truth is, grief isn't always new. I don't always have epiphanies about grief or life or my journey. Sometimes, even when life is going along just fine, grief just stops you in your tracks without warning.

Even after all this time, my heart just sometimes hurts so much that it consumes me. Sometimes, I can't even explain it, other than my love for Jeremy never ends, therefore neither does my grief for him. The void is never filled and the pain never goes away.

Nothing new to report, just walking through each day, along side of all of you, with a insatiable ache that never really goes away. I can endure, and I do....but sometimes, just sometimes....grief is just the same old crappy companion who likes to remind me it's not going anywhere.

A picture is worth...

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...1000 words.

Or, so they say. Whoever 'they' is.

But, I think a picture is worth so much more than that.
A picture doesn't just convey an endless amount of words, but it can also capture an emotion that no words can describe.
It can preserve a memory that might otherwise have been forgotten.
It can make you laugh or cry just at the very sight of it.
And for us here, a picture is priceless - something that can't be duplicated or repeated.
It's tangible proof of the intangible.

This ironic thing happened when Jeremy died. I stopped taking pictures. Just when I lost everything most precious and was seeking whatever I could find in the few pictures I took....and always looking for more - for something I missed - I couldn't seem to take pictures for myself.
For one, I looked like hell and didn't want to be in any picture.
I didn't want to fake a smile.
I didn't want to pretend.
But it was also just too painful.
It hurt to capture my beautiful children's faces without their daddy there to ever see it.
It hurt to take pictures of friends continuing to live life seemingly unaffected by the world flipping upside down.
It hurt to see life moving forward and I wanted no part in it.

Eventually, my yearning to capture life's moments came back to me. After my brother died, I searched for as many pictures as I could find and felt so much heartache that I didn't have more of us together. The day of his funeral, after our family got together for the evening, I decided to take pictures with the people I loved. Now, whenever we all get together, I quickly stand next to each of them and snap a picture. I started to hurt when I had no pictures of my friends anymore and they were all taking pictures together without me. So now I try to make sure I take the pictures that I don't want to forget. I'm now the mom who is constantly stopping my kids for pictures....it's gotten to the point now where I hear "Mom, take a picture of me doing this!" on a regular basis. And I'm pretty sure at this point, I have more pictures of Steve and I together over the last 20 months together than I have of mine and Jer's 8 years together. Because I've learned the hard way how precious those can be.

I find myself often looking back at pictures...
My old profile pictures on Facebook.
The pictures on my iPhoto library.
My instagram photos.
The pictures tagged on Jeremy's wall.
It can be painful sometimes, but I am always drawn to recreate those moments in my heart and my mind.
To remember.
To somehow capture as many pieces as I can before it's too late.
Because someday, they might be all I have left.


"If you want to know what someone fears losing, watch what they photograph."

An unexpected surprise

My new morning view

We are settling into our new home here in West Virginia. It's a strange experience to live your entire life in one region and then move somewhere completely different in your thirties....but, I feel called here, and our family is loving it so far. And I've got lots to keep me busy!

One day last week, I decided to take a drive around and see the area a little bit more and try to figure out where things were and get acquainted with the place. I pulled up to the mall a few miles away and walked into one of the side entrances. As soon as I walked in, I had suddenly remembered being there before, almost 3 years ago, exactly two weeks after Jeremy had died....I came to lead worship in the area cause he and I were supposed to do it together and I decided to do it in his place and still go. With my sweet friends, we took an evening to walk around the mall and hang out. I was shocked that I even remembered that in the whirlwind of my aftermath and widow brain.

I continued walking through the mall and felt Jeremy's presence very strongly. I couldn't figure out why until I turned the corner into the food court. There, I saw him, sitting at one of the tables with Faith next to him as a baby......and it hit me.

I have been here before. With Jeremy.

My heart nearly leaped as it jumpstarted a memory I didn't even realize I had. What a beautiful surprise it was to remember coming here, 7 years ago, traveling with Jeremy to Ohio Valley University just up the road, and stopping here for lunch at the food court I now stood in. I remembered us driving across the street to pick up a stroller for Faith because we didn't realize how badly we would need one on the trip. That same stroller is sitting in my garage now three miles down the road.

It all came back to me and it was like Jer audibly whispered in my head "I'm here too." One of the hardest parts for me about moving was leaving Jeremy behind. You all here know what I mean. I talked about it a few weeks ago, but still struggled with picking up and moving somewhere Jer would never be a part of. Somewhere I thought I couldn't reach him. I fought tears for a few hours just thinking about how random, ironic, and special it was to know that I had shared a memory in a place I didn't even realize I had been before. Jeremy's presence was found hundreds of miles away from home.

This forgotten memory will now be one of my most cherished moments.

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.

Less than a decade, more than a lifetime.

July 19, 2003

It's always been a hard reality for me to swallow that I never got a full decade with Jeremy. Something about that round number made me feel even more like I got robbed.

I started dating Jeremy shortly after I turned 20. He died when I was 28 - I never got to celebrate turning 20 or 30 with him. Just inside a decade.

A few weeks ago, Jeremy and I would have been married 10 years. It kills me that I'll never celebrate that milestone with him. The funny thing is, I've never seen our wedding video. I've had the tape sitting in my purse for more than 2 years, waiting to remember to take it in to convert it to DVD. I finally remembered to drop it off awhile back.

On July 19th, our 10th anniversary, I received a call that my wedding video was finished.

I finally have the DVD to watch....the day of our wedding. And yet, I can't seem to bring myself to watch it yet. I've been waiting to watch this thing for 10 years, and used to complain to Jer all the time that we'd never seen it, and now that I have it - I can't do it. Something too final about it all now. Part of it may be that just hearing his voice generally makes me tear up instantly. Part of it is that I'm not ready to close yet another door. Part of it is fear that it won't be nearly as magical as I remember it....and I'd like to hold on to that magic.

I don't know when I'll get around to finally watching the video. Too much of me has to know that I won't be able to keep it at bay for too long. Too much of me aches to see his face in motion...and that look in his eye when he looks at me that can drop me to my knees - undeniable love. Too much of me wants to fill in the holes of my memory to renew that day in my heart once again to hold on to the preciousness of it. Too much of me wants the reminder that even though I never got a decade with Jeremy, I got more than a lifetime.

Home Sweet Home

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Well, things around here never seem to quite slow down. And lately, in particular, they've sped up into super speed! Steve accepted a new job position in Parkersburg, West Virginia. Oh, and we move next week! We are taking a ride on the crazy train and loving every minute of it. Well....almost every minute.

While I am thrilled for this new opportunity for our family and ready to start fresh together somewhere, I will be honest and say that initially, I was not ok with moving so far away. There are a lot of different things that factor into that, but one of the reasons is certainly because this place is home to me. I've lived in Michigan my entire life and this area in particular is where I went to college, it's where my children were born, it's where I've worked, it's where my friends are, it's where I discovered who I am.....it's where Jeremy is.

This is where he was and always will be. There will be no more moving for him. This place will always be associated with him. His memorial stone is here, his job and church is here, his friends are still here. And leaving this place sometimes feels a lot like leaving him.

I will say that I've been through enough transition over the past few years that I know this is not the case. I won't be leaving him behind. I will carry him with me wherever I go. It will be difficult to make new memories in a place where Jer will never step foot and to make new friends that will never know of my life "before" but I know I could never completely leave this place behind. I will be back often.

I have found so much peace about moving since that initial idea hit me...I don't know where it came from. I'd like to think some of it is Jeremy's blessing to keep moving forward with a life he always wanted for me. Either way, I am jumping into the great unknown leaving a piece of my heart here in this place, but looking forward to filling more spaces in my heart with new experiences and new people.

Dad vs. Daddy

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The other day, Steve overhead the very thing that most blended family parents hope they never hear from our 7 year old:

“I love my daddy, but I don’t like my dad.”

Ugh. I hate that it was him that overheard it, and not me. She was talking with her cousins, I don’t know what about, but I know how deep those words can cut. Now, I feel ok sharing this because I know that she doesn’t really feel that way. She and Steve have a great relationship and she is always writing him notes or making pictures for him, playing and teasing with him…and one of the last texts she sent to him from her ipod was “you’re a great dad.”

Nonetheless, it hurt my heart. When I addressed it with her, I know she felt terrible, and she did confess that she didn’t really mean that and there was nothing she was upset about….but it got me thinking that perhaps she’s got her daddy on a pedestal. In fact, I think most people do. That’s kind of what happens with the dead – we elevate them to an inflated ideal of who they are, and forget the flaws (as it should be).  So I felt the need to remind her that when her daddy was alive, he did all the same things her dad does (discipline when she’s not acting appropriate, or get frustrated when she misbehaves) not because either of them are mean, but because they love her and want to make sure she grows up to be the best girl she can be. I never want my daughter to see her daddy in a bad light, because he loved her with everything he had, but I also want to remind her once in awhile that he was human. She also needed the reminder that her dad loves her and would do absolutely anything for her. 

There will be days like these. There will be days when my daughter isn't fond of me, either. But a little perspective goes a long way, and I want to make sure she remembers her daddy that same way I do....the good AND the bad. Cause that's the man I loved and the man who loved her dearly.

Forget-me-never

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Last night, I was reading the wonderful article a lot of us have been passing around by the lovely Carole Brody Fleet called The Reality of Remarriage After Widowhood (no really, you should check it out) and loved the phrase she used with her title....Forget-me-never.

I won't try to recap what she so eloquently describes about life and love after losing a spouse. But it did make think about another related topic that seems to also need attention brought to it. It's not just the forgetting of the deceased spouse, but forgetting the widow.

One thing I've come to notice is once I got remarried, not only did people assume that I was free and clear of grief and must not think about Jeremy anymore, but also they I was no longer needing support, encouragement, or friendships for that matter. I watched a lot of relationships dissolve around me perhaps not on purpose, but probably under the assumption that I was now being taken care of. No one asks me about Jeremy anymore. No one calls to check in, offer their help, or invite me out. Most of the time, it's not necessary because I am aware that in some senses things have changed. But every once in awhile, the sting is pretty strong.

Maybe it's an egotistical desire. Never did I want all attention to be brought on me, and it happened in the worst way imaginable. But suddenly, when everyone forgot, I became mysteriously offended. At the heart of hearts, my truest desire is to know that people will never forget my Jer and to know that people understand I will never forget him. But somewhere in the back of my brain, there's a selfish little voice yelling, "Don't forget me either."

Carole said it best. Remarriage does not equal forgetting. In any sense of the word. Don't forget our loved ones.

And don't forget us either.

When the lines blur

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It started out innocently enough...

Just chatting away about nothing really, then it reminded of some memory. "Remember that time..." I said to Steve.

"Um, that wasn't me."

As soon as I realized that it wasn't a memory I shared with Steve, but a memory I had with Jeremy, I was immediately embarrassed, then angry with myself for not remembering something about Jeremy more clearly. How could I confuse that?

But it's happened several times. And not just with Steve. I remember it happening in different forms not that long after Jeremy died. Talking to friends about something that happened and not remembering whether or not Jer had been alive for it. Listening to a song on the radio and not being able to recall if it had been released after he died or before.

These blurred lines between before and after can be so disheartening. It made me feel like I was losing control, and more agonizing, losing pieces of Jeremy. How could the memories I put on such a pedestal be getting fuzzy? What does this mean for the future?

The only comfort I found in all that was also realizing that it was just a sign of life moving forward...and that I was allowing it to happen. I held on so tight for so long, but eventually when you let other things seep into your life, you have to loosen the grip. I don't mean forgetting or letting go, but allowing the things that are here and now to change and grow, and knowing that Jeremy is forever stuck in yesterday. No new memories will be made with him, only in ache for him. No new experiences will happen with him by my side, only made with others or by myself.

The idea that I've embraced this evolution somehow is oddly comforting. Like, I'm finally getting to where I feel like Jeremy would want me to be. I might think harder before I blurt out a memory to make sure I've got the details right, but I know Jeremy would be proud of me for letting normal life seep into my bones a little more each day.

If we only knew

Our baby boy, due November 30

I haven't really posted much about my pregnancy yet. Part of that has been because my life seems to be back-to-back craziness lately and I haven't found the time. The other part is that when I really sit down and think about what this pregnancy means in the realm of this community and the past that somehow effects every part of my future...it gives me anxiety. 

I have worked really hard to not think about my fears of losing Steve while pregnant. I've tried to be deliberate about keeping my mind on positive things. When I first found out, I couldn't sleep for a few days. It has subsided for the most part, but lately, I've found that the anxiety is creeping in again.

Each week I get closer to 26 weeks (which is the day that Jeremy died), I find myself gripping my chest, praying that God would spare me the pain of deja vu. I also remember a little more clearly details about my last few weeks of pregnancy with Jeremy alive the further I get along. Today, I've been thinking a lot about our last 4th of July together - watching the fireworks with his hand on my belly and smiling at the awestruck expressions of our children. Tonight, I can't help but think of the irony to be back in that place....but in a completely different way.

What it made me realize is that there's a reason we don't know our future ahead of time. If someone showed me the outline of life 5 years ago....I would have run screaming in the other direction. Yet here I stand, embracing experiences that hurt me in the past, learning to trust again, allowing wounds to re-open and heal properly. It's bittersweet, and yet I'm learning so much about myself as I go.

If I only knew....I probably wouldn't be where I am today.

I guess that's the point of trusting the journey.

Frozen

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Since he's been gone,
So much has changed.

Sometimes I can't believe how much he's missed, and how much has changed since he was here last. Our favorite artists have come out with multiple albums he's missed, his favorite sports teams writing more history, buildings he'll never see, restaurants he'll never try. I could go on and on to the point where it sickens me. Will there come a time where the world as Jeremy knew it won't exist anymore?

Perhaps.
But, there are some things that I cannot bring myself to change....or touch, or alter. Things are just his. It struck me last week that there are still quite a few things that haven't changed since he left.

The 4 digit code I create whenever I need one - it's still the one he created.
The tons of awful music on our itunes that I'll never listen to but can't seem to get rid of because he put it there.
The background picture on his old ipod that my son uses...I can't seem to change it because I know Jeremy set it.
His bible I still carry in my purse with a set list scribbled on a paper and used as a bookmark that I can't seem to move.
His way-past-its-prime old pillow that sits in my closet that clearly needs to be thrown away, but I can't move it.

There are just some things that I cannot bring myself to alter or change because it feels like I'm erasing the few tangible things left that Jeremy touched. It's always surreal to sit and look at his handwriting and know that at some point, he was here - living and breathing - and writing down those words. So insignificant and now suddenly one of the few things I have to hold on to, and it means everything to me.

Life will continue to change, no matter how I feel about it. It won't freeze to where Jeremy left it. But there are some pieces of him, frozen in time, that I hold on to for dear life in hopes that the world won't alter so much without him in it.

distraction

Just a FEW of my daily doses of chaos. <3

So, I totally dropped the ball last week.

I literally went through the whole day in chaos and finally when the kids were down and I had a second I realized that I was supposed to post here. Oops.

Life has been nothing short of crazy lately. We've done so much traveling, the kids had class parties, graduations, and we are now in the middle of a flourishing business of hand made pallet projects which we did not expect, but are loving and working on getting our online store up and running, we're preparing for multiple family company staying with us over the next couple of weeks, Steve is awaiting news about a potential job that he's excited about, it just so happened to be my son's birthday last week...the list goes on and on. On top of that, we should know tomorrow if we are having a boy or a girl! Eeek!

You'd think keeping busy in chaos would distract me from matters of the heart, and to some degree it does, but nothing can keep me from remembering what's important in life. Even on the days where I slip back into my old habits, at the end of the day I readjust because life has taught me not to waste time dwelling on things that aren't important. Stress, frustration, other people's stupidity, busy schedules....these things are inevitable. But thankfulness and perspective is a choice.

I saw a quote the other day that read "If you want to know where your heart is, look to where your mind goes when it wanders." This struck me as I realized no amount of business kept my mind from wondering...and this is where I know my heart is:

My heart is with my children.
It is with my marriage.
It is with my friends.
It is with the life growing inside me.
It is sometimes with my insecurities about myself.
It is often on a beach somewhere listening to ocean....

And my heart is definitely still, and always will be with Jeremy. No matter where life takes me, it never takes me far from him. The world can't take away what we shared together.