I have no title for this blog

A distraction. Today I need a distraction. I typically spend the last few days and today living what I lived 3 years ago. My mind takes me to places I wish never occurred and I'm consumed with dread. I feel a black shadow is placed over me and I carry the weight of death, loss and grief. This year is a little different. I am distracted with Jake and his medical needs. Of all days, his MRI was scheduled for today. I contemplated rescheduling it. But I knew it needed to be done and just getting it scheduled is a pain. I also knew it needed to be done before the next addition arrives. There, the second distraction. I've been contracting and in lots of pain. Thinking Trenton may arrive early, hoping it would  not be today. Distractions. Can be a blessing and a curse. All of a sudden June 5th is here. I'll be honest, I've avoided Facebook for the past several months. Deleted the app off my phone. It was doing more harm than good for me. I truly want to delete it altogether, but there is this string that keeps me attached. Knowing I have that access to my widowed community, Jakes KT community and photography. Knowing people can contact me directly if needed and makes me easier to find. I've used Facebook to share our story and open others eyes. I'll keep it. When I think about it, as much as Facebook can feel like a bad thing, it has been a blessing too. Will power is all I needed.  I have used incredible will power not to go on it tho unless need be. I have found that I have not missed it one bit.

So I'm sitting at Rady Children's  Hospital. Not the place I want to be spending today. If I had a choice, I'd be at the beach with my boys,  pizza for dinner, living. Living is what Steven would have wanted for us.  Instead, we are here. Travis and I had to hold Jake down while a mask was placed over his little face and he slumped into a deep sleep. I walk away from him with panic and fear, praying it all goes smoothly and I can hold him and take him home this afternoon, with the thought lingering in the back of my mind that things don't always go the way you want. All of a sudden, the deep dread, grief and cloak of sorrow are draped over me. The "what ifs " consume my mind. So I sit here and Travis asks me if I've looked at Facebook. No I say, why let one sad thing replace another because I can only imagine the posts I'll find about Steven and be reminded of what today really is. He says I should look. He says it's a good thing. So he leaves to get lunch and I log on to the Internet Facebook. Knowing I will see things about Steven, I find myself smiling. Laughing at a video Amanda posted of Steven using a hula hoop, the picture of Bryce and Steven making the same face, a picture of Steven kissing my brother bald head, memories that bring back such joy.  Thank you to everyone who is sharing Stevens life today. For today, I am grateful for Facebook. Today I am reminded of all of the people who loved Steven so much, who will share him with his boys and who will continue to love and live and carry on his memory.

I often avoid feeling the loss of Steven.  June 5th is not something I can avoid. I wished last night I could go to sleep and wake up Friday morning. Didn't happen. The pain is deeper than I've ever thought pain could be. I skim the surface of that pain daily. In the small reminders of what he is missing, in the reminders of what the boys are missing and in the reminders of what I miss about having him around. The surface pain is enough to remind me he's gone and enough to hurt. Feeling the entire pain is a place I cannot go.  I'm sure those that feel the loss of Steven or any loved one understand.

So I sit here, waiting for Jake to come out of his MRI, waiting to kiss his face and take him home.  Thank you to everyone who has loved, supported and continues to share Stevens life.

Best Mother's Day gift ever

Happy 6th Birthday to Bryce! I can't believe that 6 years ago today, on Mother's Day, I was made a Mommy.  He was the best Mother's Day gift ever. I was honored today to share this day with him, and like most moms would be, totally okay with making the day all about him. And we did!

We have a 6 year old. Its hard to believe Stevens almost been gone as long as Bryce had him in his life.  Steven would be so proud of him and also so incredibly challenged. He would probably be calling his mother apologizing for being such an ornery kid and giving her such a hard time though out most of his childhood. When Bryce threw the boulder-size rocks over the fence into the neighbors pool a few weeks ago while watching to see if anyone was around, I can't help but think this is his Dads mischievous nature. Bryce loves reading, baseball, legos and has enough energy to keep everyone in this house on their toes. He apparently knows everything, hmmm…sounds like someone else we know and never stops talking unless he has his headphones on rocking out to Kings of Leon, Gaslight Anthem or Bad Religion. (I know, not the best choice for a 6 year old but he rocks). I am grateful to still have so much of Steven left in my life with this ball of energy.

Each year these birthdays, holidays and milestones bring on a new realization for me. This year, I realized that Steven would not ever get the chance to share his experience of becoming a Dad to this kid. I can remember that day well, even after 28+ hours of labor. I remember when Bryce came into this world and the doctor said it was a boy. I remember saying, "I knew it!" and I remember seeing him and crying and the doctor telling me not to cry because it was making me move too much. After that moment, I passed out.  I was exhausted to say the least. After that were moments only shared between Steven and Bryce. Steven got to go off with him and hold him first. Steven walked out to tell all our waiting family, "It was a boy" (something we do have on video). But how he felt, those moments, are something he will never get to share with Bryce, and for that reason, I feel so sad and feel Bryce was so robbed. Of course I could tell him exactly how his Dad felt, but that will never compare to the way Steven would tell it.

Steven is not here to experience these milestones with Bryce. He will soon miss Jakes 4th Birthday. The realization in that is he has now missed 3 of Jakes birthdays. He was only here for one. One. Each year will be another moment gone, missed and a new realization of what he is missing. As heartbreaking as it is, we keep moving forward. We keep moving on. This was a choice I made from day one. Something I read on a widow blog right after Steven passed was a mother who said, "My kids already lost their dad, they couldn't lose their mom too." I have always kept this in my head. Although some days I am so ready to throw in the towel, like most moms I'm sure, I made the decision to keep moving forward.

What I do know for sure, we are beyond blessed to have Travis share these new milestones, birthdays and occasions with us. Travis has not just stepped in as the man figure in their lives. He has jumped, feet first, into helping me raise two boys that will be outstanding men some day. He has committed himself and his entire life to them without ever thinking twice. Its surreal that he is here and has never looked back. There were several moments today where I stopped and looked around. I watched Travis hug his boys, jump all over the trampoline park with them, chase them at the beach and drive us home safe at the end of a long day. He carried each sleeping boy upstairs and put them into their beds. I was grateful that I wasn't alone in this and beyond grateful that he loves those boys as if they were his own. As if he were there the day they were born.

A picture is worth 1,000 words

This is one of the first pictures I can remember taking after Steven died. July 2011. The boys and I had gone to Seattle to stay with Stevens mom and dad for a few weeks. Just to get away I guess. I honestly don't remember much from this trip. I vaguely remember watching the boys play in the grass. Jake was crawling still. He also took his first steps on this trip. Steven missed Jakes first steps. Thats hard to let sink in. I also remember the plane flight home. Both boys were crying, I was alone and knew I looked like a crappy single mom when all I wanted to do was tell everyone that my husband had just died so please don't judge me. No one knew. Not one person on the plane knew that my life had just been turned upside down. No one knew I was walking in and living in a fog. The thickest fog I had ever experienced. Makes you wonder what the person next to you is going though. Makes you feel bad for judging that lady in the store or the homeless guy on the street. You really don't know their story.

This picture tells so much. When I come across this picture, I literally feel like I fall into it. I fall into that stage of grief. I get it. That girl in the picture is just surviving. She is breathing and moving and being a mom because her body just does that. I remember feeling like I wasn't living. It wasn't possible. I smiled because that what you do. The pain behind those eyes is so deep and so unimaginable. So lost. Those first few months after Steven died were such a fog. I felt like a zombie.

Being in pictures would get easier as time moved forward. I needed to be in pictures because I needed to keep living. I needed to keep breathing. I needed to feel human and alive. Just that little piece of me.

Today, pictures are a huge part of our lives. With a husband who is passionate about photography, pictures are in so many aspects of our lives. Pictures tell so many stories. Looking back on all of our pictures, they begin to tell a story of a family, a Dad, a widow, a survivor, love again, and so much more. I remember being so glad I had so many pictures of Steven and the boys. When you think you don't want to be in a pictures because you are too big or too old or your hair doesn't look right, remember that the pictures will tell a story of that moment in time that you can never get back.

Here are just a few pictures that tell our story. All of these pictures are worth 1,000 words…

Bryce with his Dad Steven. Jake was in the hospital at Loma Linda. May 2010

Jake with his Dad Steven in Maui. April 2011. A trip I am beyond grateful for.

June 5, 2011

Our new life

Bryce age 3 and Jake age 1. We stayed at my parents a lot in 2011.

Camp Widow 2011

Jakes 1st hospital admittance after Steven passed. 

Lighting a candle for Steven as a victim of crime

Stevens Birthday we spent camping with family.

Fall 2011

Christmas 2011

On Bryces 3rd birthday, Steven was given the chance to travel for work across country and take a class.
I encouraged him to go, Bryce would have plenty more birthdays.
Never knowing that would be the last Steven would be around to see. 

Summer 2012

Blessed by this guy

Bryces 1st Sport. Soccer. Travis as the coach.

We become a family.
Married Travis July 2013

Summer 2013

Hospital trip October 2013

Late nights….

I can't seem to sleep tonight. At 25 weeks pregnant, its become a little harder to get comfortable at night. I hate saying that so early in my pregnancy, I know I have a long ways to go, but its true. So, I'm up and flipping around pages on the internet and started reading my old widowed blog. I have never gone back and read old posts, for obvious reasons. The fear of taking my mind right back to those awfully painful places. Which is what I did. As I read, I found I was so sad for that girl. I was so heartbroken for the me. The girl with the two babies attempting to make sense of a situation that made no sense. That girl that was hurting beyond belief and insanely lost.

Since losing Steven, I have had many friends send new widows in my direction. I am grateful they feel they can do that. I remember after Steven died, I spoke with a friend/family member who was widowed as well. It was the most comforting feeling to talk to someone who said, "I get it and you will be ok, because I am ok. It just takes time." There is something different in those words when it comes from someone who gets it, rather than your mom or friend who knows I will be okay one day, but still doesn't get it.
When I hear these new widows stories, my heart breaks for them. I know the journey they are about to embark on. I know the nights they will drink a glass of wine or take a sleeping pill just to go to bed without laying there waiting for their husband to come home. I know the letters they will get in the mail addressed to their husbands years down the road and the phone calls they will get asking for their husband by name, only having to say they died. I know the looks they are going to get when their kids are throwing a tantrum in the grocery store and you are about to break down too and you feel like all the eyes on you are because you look like a dumb single mom who got knocked up by some loser father who left, when thats not the case at all. (Don't judge people too harshly. You have no idea what their struggles are). I just know. I am glad that my name can be given to them so they know they are not alone. Whether they contact me or not, I just want them to know they are not alone.

Sometimes I don't feel qualified to be a widow anymore. I am remarried, I am happier than I ever thought possible, I am having a new baby. This is not something widows do. But I am, I am still a widow. Right before Travis and I were married last year, it suddenly came to mind that I wouldn't be a widow any more. I wouldn't have to mark the "widowed" box on paperwork. I could fill in Travis' name on the boys paperwork under father, which was something that took time to get used to. I felt like when I did that, it was just washing away Steven. I felt like I would dishonor him by not giving him some sort of acknowledgement to the boys name. Filling out paperwork also made me want the other person to know that the boys had a great dad but he died and thats tragic and he wasn't a deadbeat who left. Travis' response to my quizzical thought was that I was still a widow and will always be a widow. I am just a remarried widow. I was sad and relieved all at the same time.

As I read back through my old blog posts tonight, I felt the urge to rush upstairs and cuddle my boys. I am so grateful Steven left me these two vibrant and exciting kids. (I say that in the most sincere way possible. LOL.) They are fun and full of energy and although most days I spend yelling at them, I am so so so glad I have them. In the year after losing Steven, they were my huggers, my criers, my cuddles in bed and the reason I got up each morning. I also remember being glad that I had a 3 year old that could hold an adult conversation. Who could communicate all his needs and was insanely helpful. Bryce is and was an awesome kid. I don't know how I would have ever made it through those first few months without them. I am glad I had the ability to blog about it. Those 3 months after losing Steven are such a blur. I lived in such a fog. Reliving that fog is painful, but it is also so real.

Off to kiss my sleeping boys, and my sleeping husband. Whom I am beyond grateful for. He's for a later blog….which Im sure he would appreciate. xoxo

A grieving child = a grieving mom

You would think that after almost 3 years past losing Steven, a childs grief would be done. They're children, they're resilient, they take things better than adults and continue to move forward. Right? Wrong. Bryce will of course grieve in a much different way than Jake. Bryce has always been older for his age, he knows things all too well. Jake had just turned 1 when Steven died. He knows who Dad Steven is in pictures, but never asks any questions beyond that. Bryce on the other hand, is so much like Steven, we often remind him how much  like his Dad Steven he is. I think that as Jake gets older, we will see a lot of Steven in his as well.

The night Steven died, Bryce knew. He was asleep in the car with Jake when we made it to the hospital. I had jumped out of another car to get inside, only to find Steven was already gone. The boys I had left in the care of my Aunt Christie and family in another car. From what I know, they had remained asleep. After seeing Steven and being with him, I was told Bryce needed me. I walked out of the room and someone handed me Bryce and his blanket. He was hysterical. He was crying for his Daddy, he was grieving. As I walked around the ER with him, trying to console him and make sense of what was happening, I was looking around yelling at my family and asking them who had told Bryce Steven had died? I was furious! Who had told a 3 year old his Daddy was gone?! I can remember people looking at me with big eyes and my mom telling me that no one said anything. I will never doubt that Steven came to Bryce in his dreams as he slept in the car. I believe in the depths of my soul that he kissed him goodbye as he slept. Bryce was 3, he grieved.

I remember going to a seminar at Camp Widow in 2012. It was for widows with kids. The woman hosting the seminar had 3 kids with her late husband another son with her new husband. She made a point that really stuck with me. She said that children will grieve in different stages.
When Steven died, Bryce was so young that telling him Steven was in heaven with Jesus was like telling him Grandma lives in Washington with Papa G. The relevance of Heaven was not there. It was a place. He never asked to call him, like we often had while Steven was at work. He knew we couldn't do that and that was something I never had to explain to him. But he did make comments about wanting to go to Heaven. Imagine your three year old making statements like, "When I go to heaven, can I take my blanket? Can we go to heaven and see Daddy? I wish I were in heaven with Daddy." All comments you never expect to hear out of a 3 year olds mouth.

Bryce is almost 6. He is at a new stage of his grief. His comments are new and in a different form. Its a 5 year old attempting to make sense of death. The other day he asked me, "Mom, I think dad Steven sleeps in an ambulance in heaven." I asked, "Why would you think that?" Bryce said, "Because he had really big owies when he died and since he still is hurt he must sleep in one too." I tried to explain to him that Dad was not hurt any longer. In heaven there is no pain. You are healed. He then asked, "Then why can't Dad come back?" A completely honest question which completely broke my heart. His question made complete sense and I don't think he has ever asked why Steven couldn't back. Why can't he come back if he is better? Again, I had to explain that once you go to Heaven, you don't come back. Conversations I wouldn't wish upon any mother and conversations I never thought Id have with my child.

Bryce is at an age where therapy may benefit him. Before his questions were questions I could manage. At this new stage in his grief, they are becoming too much for me to even understand. So….here is a bit of a frustrated rant about our screwed up mental health care system in this country. I have no doubt why crazy people go into buildings with guns and do what they do. I am not saying this is where my frustration is heading, I am saying that the lack of services these people need to help them with their mental issue are near to none. I have been trying for the past 2 weeks to get Bryce into therapy. I know where I want to take him. I have been given 10+ phone numbers, each from the next person I am transferred to who is supposed to put me on the right track to getting me help, yet none of them have any idea how to help. I am told he needs a referral  from his doctor and then I am told he doesn't because therapy is a private matter. I am told that one insurance will cover it and then I am told there is a new program in place and I need to get a hold of them. I am then told that the program does not qualify him for mental health and I need to go through Medi-Cal (which is a screwed up system in itself). I am a mom on a mission, who will not give up until my son gets the help he needs, but the process of it is such a joke and beyond frustrating that when you mess with a pregnant woman, you are going to get your head bitten off a few times.  I have a grieving 6 year old who cannot get help.

I know the stages of grief for Bryce and Jake will be different as they grow older. Their grief will not go away. It will not go away just because they have a second Dad in their life, it will not go away as time moves on, it will always be there, in different forms in different stages of their understanding of the world around them. As for Jake, I think it will be something he deals with as he gets older. Understanding and realizing that he never knew his funny, smart, hyper and loving Dad.

Its not fair, but it is life. We will continue to deal with grief as it comes in its waves and its questions. Just know that children grieve. No matter how long it has been since they have lost their mom, Dad, sibling or grandparent, there are always questions. As their brain develops and beings to understand the world around them, their grief will come in new forms too. I am starting to see these new stages. Its easy to tuck away our grief and move forward with your day, but it comes up in waves and sneaks up like a cheeta on its prey. It comes out of dark places and having to deal with it has become part of our norm, yet I don't know think I will ever feel a sense of normalcy about it, because life is not supposed to be this way.

Denying Death

"We live in a death-denying culture." I heard this statement on a Showtime preview for a series called Time of Death. I cannot watch it. Not because I don't want to, I think if I could I would, but I do not have Showtime. It was just something I came across. The statement the woman made about our culture today could not be more true. I have found it such a relief when people talk about death. Death of a loved one, death of someone they knew of or their own eminent death. Having faced sudden death in our family more often than others, I wish it was talked about more. I don't want to talk about it to be a Debbie Downer, but I wish it were not such a scary topic. Because it is not, this is what creates the elephant in the room. This is what makes people uncomfortable or unable to make eye contact, the inability and fear to speak about death.

Birth is such a celebration. Of course! The discussion of a new life is filled with such excitement and anticipation, conversation and celebration. The discussion of death is so foreign and taboo. It's scary, yes. It's scary because it can happen at any time, it is out of our control. It's scary because of the unknown. We all have an idea of how we think it will be after this life. We have hope to see our loved ones again, but its also uncertain. Its scary.

Death is eminent. Death will happen to each of us, just as our birth did. I once asked Steven if he was afraid to die. (Completely random conversation) Death used to be my biggest fear. He said he was not afraid to die and I was so surprised by his answer. I asked him why? Why wasn't he afraid of the unknown? He said when it was his time to go it was his time to go. Why live in fear of that? He shrugged it off as if I had asked when he was going to eat a cheeseburger again. When it happens, it happens. I remembered this conversation of ours while I was at the hospital with him saying my goodbyes. I had laid my head on his chest staring up at him. I had stopped sobbing. I was in the room with him, he was already gone. I think a hospice person was in there, my brother came in and was sitting behind me with his arms around me. It was silent. I suddenly felt this crazy calm. My breathing had become more relaxed. Maybe this was when the state of shock had set in. The hospice person told me to listen to Steven. He was speaking to me, calming my soul. This was when I remembered this conversation we had had a few years back. It gave me comfort knowing he wasn't scared. He had come to terms with the fact that one day, it was going to be his time.

Death is not my biggest fear any longer. Like Steven said, when its time, its time. I now know I didn't fear it because of the unknown, I feared it because I felt like I had so much living to do still. I didn't want to leave this world that was so exciting to be a part of. Sometimes I wonder if this is why Steven crammed everything into every hour of every day. Sleep was a waste of time for Steven. He got just enough sleep, but never more than 6 hours. He was up moving the next morning. New project in mind, new hobby, new idea, dirt bikes, cars to fix, riding to do, school to attend, work, work work, phone conversations to have. He never slowed down. Maybe he just knew he wouldn't be here long. There was always such an urgency to do things NOW. Not later, NOW. Busy, moving, always on the go. Its easy to go back now and look at these things and wonder if the world works in weird way and this is why things happened this way or this is why he was this way. Im sure its just the human mind attempting to make sense of something so incredibly hard to understand. I believe death is almost too bog of a concept to wrap the human mind around, like birth. The fact that a baby can be created in 9 months is mind-blowing. Maybe if we talked about death more tho, it wouldn't so hard to try to understand.

Steven wasn't afraid. I am grateful we had that conversation. It was quick and short, but having remembered that conversation, gave me a little ease knowing he wasn't scared.

I wish death was something spoken of more often. I know it makes peoples stomaches turn, but maybe it wouldn't if you talked about it more? I would bet if it were talked about more, widows wouldn't feel so ousted and different. I remember those who came around after Steven died. Those who called, check on me, and made eye contact with me. I will forever be grateful to those few. Few. Some that I had lost contact with and suddenly were calling me daily. Taking me out, stopping by my house, listening to me and asking me quesitons. I also remember those who turned in the other direction in the grocery store because they didn't know what to say. I remember those that just completely avoided me. Next time you see a friend who has just lost a loved one, walk straight up them, hug them, tell them you have been thinking of them. Don't be scared of death. We have just faced it, were not scared any more.

Link to Showtime Preview
http://www.sho.com/sho/time-of-death/home

Out of my control

A few weeks ago, I was harshly reminded that things are out of my control. I hesitate writing about this. Sharing everything, nearly everything, can feel a bit invasive. Yet I know I am not the only one to have had a scare.

I have finally reached a point in this pregnancy where I feel I can function like a normal human being again. Nausea has subsided, somewhat, and my energy is slowly coming back. Realization that I am pregnant is setting in and soon we find out the gender very soon. 15 weeks and counting. I've made it past the worst part, for me at least. Then a stupid me moment. Thursday, while outside with the boys, I was walking into the house and the rug at the door slipped out right from under my foot. I went down on my butt and I went down hard. My shoulder hit the door way and my hands were full so my butt took the brunt of it all. Fantastic. I sat there a minute a little dazed and very sore. Knowing I would hurt over the next few days. I was very thankful though that the fall was on my butt and not my belly. Ok, I thought, I'll be very sore. I got up and went about my day.

The next day, I started to bleed. Not just spot. For those mommies who have been pregnant, you know thats not a good sign. I called my doctor, who would need to take a message and return my call, thanks Kaiser, and opted to go into the emergency room rather than wait. With Kaiser, I had been told my hospital options were only Inland Valley Hospital in Wildomar and Riverside Kaiser. Well Inland Valley is only 10 minutes up the freeway. Easy, right? Not so much. I have not been off that offramp or taken a glance at that hospital since Steven passed. Although in 2008 that hospital was a place of pure joy when Bryce was born, in 2011 it was where we lost Steven. So I assumed my only option was a drive to Riverside. (Yes, this is the great stuff that comes with the loss of a spouse. Things most people wouldn't have to think about, yet gives me anxiety through the roof!) Great. By chance, I decided to call Rancho Springs Medical Center in Murrieta and thank goodness they were also contracted with Kaiser. Travis left work, came home to get me, and we left. Thankfully, Josie was here visiting, which turned into babysitting and she was able to stay with the boys until my mom came over.

Travis and I drove to the hospital, continuing to tell ourselves it was nothing and we would be ok and the baby was ok. My head was reeling, thinking I can't manage another loss. Another loss? No, good things are supposed to be happening. Maybe if this is a loss again, its my excuse to have a complete emotional and mental breakdown. Maybe this is whats going to to do it. Could this be the last straw? I also knew deep down that if it were the worst case scenario, I WOULD be ok. I have to be ok. I don't have time to break down.

Long story short, it was all ok. The fall tore the placenta away from the wall a little, but not enough to cause concern. I was told to continue to watch myself, cramping, bleeding, etc. and sent home.

Seeing that little babies heartbeat was such a relief.  Travis was amazed during the entire ultrasound. I don't think I looked at the screen once, I think I watched him the entire time. He asked so many questions. He couldn't believe how active the baby was and that I couldn't feel it. He was in love. It was amazing. We tried to get the nurse to read the gender, but because it was not a medical emergency to do so, she couldn't tell us. We will continue to wait until I am 20 weeks along for that ultrasound.

A fall. Just a fall, on my bottom, could have changed our world.

Struggles we all face

After I wrote the previous blog, Travis and I were driving down to San Diego for an afternoon with the boys. We had a chance to talk about the blog, the idea behind it, and what was happening. I was overwhelmed with the response and completely flattered with the words of encouragement. I received several personal messages regarding my strength, grace and ability to live again. Its hard for me to accept compliments. (But don't get me wrong, it reminds me why I am sharing my story.) I don't see myself as anything less than a person trying to survive. Just like the rest of us. Yes, things have been thrown my way in life that are not so normal. Most of my friends will not face what I have had to face, but it doesn't mean they won't struggle. Others will and have faced struggles that I have never and will never face. What gets thrown our way in life makes up our journey.  Just because your struggle doesn't involve death of a loved one, it doesn't mean its not your struggle. It doesn't mean its not the hardest thing you have faced. To you, its a struggle and is hard and to me thats valid.

Truly, what it comes down to, is the idea that I believe anyone, ANYONE, in my position would be doing the same thing. I feel like when people imagine the thought of dealing with the death of their spouse or an ill child, your first thought is that you would not survive. I would have thought the same before having to actually deal with it. I really think you would surprise yourself though. As humans, we have this insane ability to adapt. I have adapted. I have adapted to not having Steven in my life. Does it mean I will ever be used to it? No. Does it mean I will ever accept it? Hell no. Death is something that can be far too difficult to wrap your brain around. I believe this is why it is such a taboo topic. But I have adapted. I have chosen to move forward. As hard as the concept is, I know you could too. I don't wish this on anyone, ever. Especially you. 

I have met a community of widows who have chosen to live just as I am. In fact, Travis and I had the honor to capture the wedding of a widowed friend of mine I met through an online community. Widows are living, breathing, surviving and moving forward. If I had been the one to go, I would have wanted the same for him. 

I have met a woman through my best friend who is going through the struggle of a life time. Her young son is fighting for his life, living with a terminal illness, while she fights an untreatable cancer right along side him. She has often posted updates about her and her son and I have followed their journey over the past year. I have followed it because it is a life I could not imagine living. It is a struggle. It is her struggle. While it is a struggle most of us won't face, it is one I cannot accept. I cannot begin to understand her struggle, as I am sure she cannot begin to understand mine. Her struggle has given me the ability to feel even more blessed than I already had. It has reminded me not to complain about the car line at Starbucks (which I totally did and then felt like an idiot), to not feel so annoyed when my kids are sword fighting with their forks at the kitchen table (currently happening) and to feel thankful for this moment.

Travis and my conversation came down to myself realizing that my story does the same for others.
I will continue to share and continue to give HOPE. 

Starting off the New Year right...

New Years Resolution #1- Blog

I started this new blog while Jake was in the hospital last October. I never shared it. I am always so hesitant about that. Sharing my life is something I don't think most would care to read. Its my life! Come on, often I'm not that amused by it, why would someone else be? Isn't my life just like yours? What I've found this past year, is actually it's not. We all have our own paths we have taken in life.  We all have a different story to share. So I can't help but wonder, why is mine any different than yours? Many of my friends from high school are married, kids, some divorced, working, raising babies and living life. Let me say, I know one other person, who like me, is widowed. So, that in itself is different. A different that no one understands or wants to understand, yet is intrigued to understand. I think the intriguing thing about that part of my life is what happens after your spouse dies? It's a place we never want our minds to go to. Why would we want to think about that? But I was forced to face it because my husband died. (Saying that still makes me sick). When you lose your spouse, you have a choice. Curl up and stop living, or live. There were many, many days I curled up, but in the end I chose to live. Some days I don't want to, but most days I do. Those days of not wanting to live are fewer and further apart as life goes on. This is for a later blog.

Why else is my life not so normal? This last year has been one of insane challenges with our son Jake. I have a son with a chronic illness. I have a son with a chronic illness. I have a son with a chronic illness. Yes, I just said that 3 times. It has taken me almost 4 years to accept this. Sometimes I still don't want to believe it. This last year, we spent our longest trip in the hospital, a full 2 weeks. The reason we got to leave was because this mama put her foot down and stated that we wanted to treat it all at home. I had an exhausted and very angry 3 year old who was very over each and every nurse and doctor and a mama who just wanted to be home. I have a son with a chronic illness. This means I constantly live on edge. Will he take a fall today and send us to the ER tonight? Will he have a bleed? Will he spike a fever? These questions and hundreds more are never far from the front of my brain.  Exhausting is to the say the least.

So, with these challenges, I have started two blogs, linked above. I have gotten thru these challenges by reading others blogs, I am hoping my blog will do the same. Give others HOPE. Also, it gives my kids something to read some day. It gives me something to read. I not only have widowed brain, which Im still not sure when it goes away, but I also have prego brain. Yes prego brain, for those of you that don't know. So, my brain lacks space to remember much. What I love about blogging is I can look back and say, oh yes! That happened.

So, read on, live on and love on. Life goes on. We must choose to live it. 2014 Resolution #1, complete. Now off to read a book….