Life goes on...and so does grief

It is an uncomfortable truth: grief never truly ends. It is unpredictable and unexpected. On the days and anniversaries when I anticipate being overwhelmed with grief, it feels...not so bad. The truly difficult and overwhelming moments of grief hit me out of the blue; well, they seem out of the blue, but they truly aren't. Today would be one of those days.

This morning, I dropped my precious doggy off at the veterinarian for a teeth cleaning and exam. Buddy Lee is my first baby. He is 10 years old, and he has been with me all 10 of those years. I got super emotional dropping him off at the vet. This is not like me. Buddy Lee is in excellent health; he just has horrendous breath and wonky teeth. There is a slim-to-no chance that he won't wake up from his dental work. Nevertheless, I was emotional. 

Dropping Buddy Lee was the second part of what is going to be a crazy day for our family. There were kids to drop at school, doctor appointments to be had, kids will need to be picked up soon, we have to pick up the dog, and then Mr. M has his big 3rd grade concert tonight. Somewhere in there reading minutes will have to be completed and dinner made and eaten. Lectures need to be viewed, notes taken, and homework started. The busyness of the day parallels the busyness in my head as I attempt to process through the kaleidoscope of thoughts and feelings spinning in my brain.

The complexity of emotions humans beings can experience simultaneously often feels quite paradoxical. Great joy is often related to great pain. Happiness highlights the sadness. Life springs forth from death. Memories collide with reality. Honesty can make one feel guilty. Accomplishment triggers regret. It really becomes a conscious choice to live in tension with all these feelings. It took me a long time to realize that every single one of these emotions are real, valid, and acceptable. Despite the great pain I have experienced, its ok to feel great joy. Its a blessing to feel great joy. So many moments of happiness are lined with a fundamental sadness. The life I have today has sprung forth from the death of someone I loved deeply. The experience of losing Andrew has changed my entire life. Life continues to move forward, and grief is right in step with it. Grief never truly ends.

Friday, February 23rd would have been my 10th wedding anniversary. Ten years ago, Andrew and I stood in his mom's hospital room as my dad led us through our vows. Five times Andrew and I celebrated this day together. This year will be the fifth time I experience February 23rd without him. Ten years is such a monumental number. Andrew and I had planned to go on a cruise for our 10th anniversary. We went on a Caribbean cruise for our honeymoon and we wanted to do another one. By our estimation (best laid plans!) after ten years we would both be in places in our careers where the cost wouldn't be burdensome, our children would be old enough to stay with Grandma and Grandpa and not be a massive burden, and we would definitely need the one-on-one time for each other. Instead of being on a cruise right now, I took the dog Andrew and I got together to the vet. And I cried.

Being a widow is complex. I can't speak to other types of loss, but I imagine it is equally as complex. As a widow, I am the keeper of all the plans and dreams we had on that day 10 years ago. I'm the sole keeper of them all. I, alone, remember the dreams we had and the plans we made. I, alone, watch our children reach milestones and think about how much their father would have loved to see them. I, alone, bear the memory of happy and sad days. I, alone, grieve the passing of time, of each plan that passes its time frame incomplete. Most of the time, I grieve alone, because its how I feel most comfortable and requires less explanation. I grieve for a man who has been gone nearly as long as I had been with him. And yet, I am so happy, fulfilled, and content. Happy, fulfilled, content, and still experiencing grief.

If I were on the outside looking in at my life, grief would seem incongruous. Yes, I have remarried. S and I have been married for nearly 20 months. He is a wonderful, generous, kind, unique man. His heart for Jesus, for me and for Mr. M and Little Miss is amazing. In June 2023, S formally adopted Mr. M and Little Miss. People often tell him what an incredible thing it is that he adopted another man's children. His response is always the same: why wouldn't I adopt them? Why wouldn't I commit to them forever? S is their daddy on earth. Daddy Andrew will always be a part of our lives, but for this life that we are living today, they are his. To say the experience was a mix of emotions would be an understatement. I love S. I love him with all my heart. Yet, my relationship and marriage with S exists because Andrew died. The adoption of my children by this wonderful man is because their biological father is dead. Great joy mixed with great pain.

In April of 2023, our family gained another blessing: our little Honey was born. Yes, I know, I swore up and down I would never have another child as long as I lived. Thankfully God knows much better than I do. Having a baby at 41 is no joke. Being a new mother after 6 years is tough. Teething is still the work of the devil. But little Honey (not her real name, but that is what we called her in the womb) is, naturally, exactly what our family needs. She completes us. Her big brother and big sister adore her. The dogs tolerate her. I am home with her full-time while I do school, and that entire experience is an entire blog post on its own. Honey is truly the life that sprung forth from death. I remember what this stage was like with the older two (we affectionately call them the "bigs"), and those memories include Andrew. Experiencing parenthood again is one thing, experiencing parenthood with a different husband after having been widowed is entirely its own thing. Memories colliding with reality. 

And so, there is nothing left but to keep moving on through this day. Tears will come, I'm sure. Honey is trying to eat dog food right now...I probably should stop her. That's her new thing. Dog food. Don't ask me. I will continue with this life that I am so blessed to have. I will continue to praise God for every blessing he has given and taken away. I will feel every emotion I hate to feel. I will carry in my heart the plans and dreams of what was, and thank God I have an opportunity to make new ones. Grief never truly ends, but neither does the care and protection of my Heavenly Father. I still get asked how I am still standing after everything I have gone through, and my answer remains the same: I have a very strong and powerful God. A God who created joy and grief, who felt both together, and who carries me though my days when they collide.