Swimming to Shore

For a little bit there I could breathe again. I’ve spent the last year and a half kicking towards the surface, holding my breath and kicking like hell,  trying to break the surface to exhale and then take in the most wholesome, glorious breath. I finally breathed in life again and for the first time in a long time I felt normal again. I didn’t feel like the sad widow. I felt like the beautiful woman who was dating a guy who was crazy about her. I felt confident and more like myself than I have in a long time.

It’s exhausting to always be fighting to persevere, to keep juggling all the balls in the air, trying not to let any of them fall, trying to maintain this life as a strong woman when I really just want to fall into my man’s arms at night and let down my guard. For a little while I had that and I could breathe easy again. I guess I should be thankful for that. For the short break that I had, the life rope that was thrown my way. But right now as I look at my tear stained face in the mirror, my hair a mess and my lips stained with red wine, in my yoga pants and my workout shirt that says “enjoy every moment” I’m finding it hard to be thankful. I’m laughing at God’s sense of humor and the irony of my choice of clothing tonight. I didn’t expect a grief wave to hit me like this when I grabbed my night clothes from the edge of the bathtub where they had been laid the night before.

You know life is funny. You think you have it all and the rug gets ripped out from under you. You think you don’t deserve it and it’s given to you on a silver platter. You think you can’t survive and yet you keep on breathing. You think you’ll never love again and yet you do. You think nothing can hurt as bad as burying your loved one but then you’re left alone by choice and that hurts just as bad whether you want to admit it or not. I don’t know what the meaning or the message is, I’m still trying to figure that out. I wish I knew. I guess there are just some questions that can’t be answered this side of heaven.

I suppose I’ll keep on keepin on. I’ll keep writing letters to heaven and holding my breath for the next time I break the surface again. One of these days I’ll make it to the beach and then I’ll walk happily, the sun shining on my face again. One of these days I’ll breathe in the sweet smell of the sea salt air and the sunkissed flowers and look back at the vast ocean I swam across and be thankful for the journey. One of these days I’ll dance in the sun. One of these days. I’m holding my breathe and kicking like hell until then.

I'll Leave The Light On For You

Something has been weighing heavy on my mind today so, as usual, I turn to writing. I'm very purposeful in the way I live my life. I give a lot of thought to interactions, relationships, choices, decisions. I'm living with purpose and that purpose is to be a lighthouse. I rememeber feeling so peaceful the evening of January 6th. I got home from work and changed into sweats and could smell the beef stew that was in the crockpot. I was so happy to have the TV to myself and to be able to catch up on my shows without Mark stealing the remote. I remember feeling at peace and thinking "I could totally be by myself and be okay."  That must have been the Holy Spirit prepping me.

Fast forward to after the accident. I remember sitting on my couch that night, in shock, with my head in my hands just sobbing, the kind of cry that makes your heart literally ache and takes your breath away. But even in those darkest moments I felt the smallest sense of peace, like a mustard seed.  I remember feeling a tiny bit of peace, and hearing the Holy Spirit say, "Be a lighthouse."  That's it. That's when I made the choice. 

At 4:00 a.m. on January 7th, the morning after losing my sweet husband in a horrible car accident, I chose to walk by faith and to be a lighthouse: to be transparent and shine a light for those that come after me on this journey.  I chose to share the heartache and pain that comes with grief, but I chose to share the good too. The joy that comes on the other side when grief and God collide.

I made a promise to myself that I would follow where He leads and be the lighthouse that he wants me to be. I promised myself that I would not shut out people or experiences because of grief. I promised myself that I would say yes to life more than I would say no. I promised myself that I would take care of myself: mentally, physically, spiritually, and emotionally.  I promised myself that I would share my journey and my testimony with others because I want people to know that you can overcome the hardest things if you keep your eyes on God and just MOVE.  There were days when I didn't want to get out of bed, when I would just cry and pull the covers over my head. But then I would shout to my ceiling, "God move my feet!" and I would put them on the ground and stand up! And then I would do one thing: take a shower. And then the next thing: brush my teeth. Those were small victories during those initial days.

Eventually I was able to do more and more and I relied less on God to get me through each moment of my day.  I gradually felt his presence less and less. I know he's still there but he's like the father teaching his child how to ride a bike. At first I felt his hand on my back as he helped me stay upright, then I felt him close as he ran alongside me and hovered his hand over me to prevent me from falling. Now I'm pedaling on my own and he's that father walking not-too-far behind, watching me with a happy heart and a proud spirit, shouting instructions periodically to keep me on our path and keep me from harm.

So now I'm pedaling along and I've found some great people to ride the race with me. They make it more fun! I'm still on course, I'm still living my purpose and doing my best to honor God, honor Mark's memory, and minister to my family, especially my son. Some days I'm pedaling uphill amd I just want to cry and have someone rub my sore legs, but somedays I'm doing loopty-loos and figure eights on my bike. Overall I'm starting to enjoy the ride again!

So if you see me out there enjoying life and living in the moment, it's because I am. And I can. And I deserve it. When you've walked through the valley you deserve to dance on mountaintops. Rejoice! "There is a time to cry and a time to dance" and by golly I've cried A LOT these past 2 years. Some people don't understand. They think that I'm going out too much or trying to fill a void. It's not that. I'm just trying to keep myself balanced. We all know work can be stressful, raising a teenager (who loves you like crazy but still wants little to do with you because he's a 14 year old boy) is stressful, and managing a household, and car problems, and our entire life on my own is stressful. I have to make time for me to stay balanced. So I'm eating right, working out, and spending time with friends doing things that I enjoy. And THAT'S OKAY.

I won't put myself in a box or hide behind a facade to live in line with what others think I should be or behave the way they think I should. I'm not afraid to live my life and let my light shine. You only have one life to live until He calls you home so make it count. I'm making it count. You should too, regardless of what's happened to you. Just keep on moving. Forward motion. Just follow the light. You can get through your storm too. I'll leave the light on for you.
❤ you all. Goodnight.

Around the Corner

Some days I feel like it was only yesterday that I lost my sweet husband. Sometimes it's as fresh as if it just happened and it's all I can do to breathe and make it from moment to moment.

Then there are times it feels like it was so long ago and I can't remember day to day life with him still here. My life makes sense again so sometimes it feels like it was just a dream.

It was a dream. I had a dream of a love that most people long for, a dream that some are never lucky enough to find. I had that. And now my dream has gone back up to the clouds where dreams live.

If I think about it I can remember the curve of his beautiful lips, the smoothness of his fingernails, the dimple on his one cheek when he smiled. I can remember the way we played footsies in bed and the way he stroked my hair and neck each morning. I can remember the way he looked at me when I was getting ready, like I was the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on. I can remember his big laugh and the way his eyes squinted and he'd lose his breath when he laughed big.

I remember the way he studied me. I would catch him just watching me or snapping pictures of me like a weirdo. It was like he was taking it all in, every single moment. After he passed I found all the pictures and videos on his phone and tablet. I wished I had done the same because as time goes on the memories fade.

It's bittersweet and proof of God's grace that I'm back to normal again. It's terrifying to open myself up to the possibility of heartbreak again but if I don't I won't open myself up to the possibility of love and that's not something I'm willing to pass on. So I'm taking steps in faith, trusting that God is good.

I heard somewhere that fear is faith in the wrong thing. I don't want to have that kind of pessimistic faith. I want to have faith that my gift of discernment will lead me to let in the right people and that those that I let in have good intentions and will be good to be.

Someone recently told me I need to trust and jump in. When you dip your your toe in the pool it feels cold but once you jump in you realize it's actually warm. That's funny because that's actually something Mark told me when we started dating... "Maybe it's not too good to be true. Maybe the other shoe isn't going to drop. Maybe you need to let go and trust."

So I'm letting go. I'm trusting. Mark's D-Day is right around the corner but so is life and I'm jumping in.

We are celebrating life on his 1 year heavenly anniversary. We are celebrating his life and all he meant to us. We are celebrating the fact that he's home. We are celebrating the fact that Issac & I made it through it and are living abundantly. We are celebrating the life the lies right around the corner.