Categories
Grief

Oct. 24th

It’s been a minute since I’ve written. I tend to write when I’m in “the feels”.

I write to clear my head and hope that maybe it resonates with others.

October 24, 2025 would have been our 26th wedding anniversary.

I’m not overcome by sadness because it would have been our anniversary.

It has been almost 5 years and I’m in a good place in my life right now.

But this date still has significance to me.

A few years ago, I would have received several calls, texts or maybe even visits from friends and family letting me know they were thinking of me.

But October 24, 2025, was just an ordinary day to almost everyone else in my life.

It’s like it was never an important day.

And that part made me sad.

I have moved forward in my life but I have NOT forgotten.

I carry with me a complicated pain, but I am lucky, and most days, I move about my daily life freely without sadness.

But, there are also days when the world feels so very heavy and I’m not really sure why I feel so sad.

It’s been almost 5 years… I should be okay right?

After 5 years, it’s not easy to share the pain of your loss with others because many don’t really understand that although I smile through most of my days, the loss still exists.

I have more “free” than “heavy” days but on October 24th, I felt heavy because I had a lifetime with Steve and somehow, it felt like that life was disappearing.

It is TOTALLY okay and healthy for me to move forward but it doesn’t feel right to forget.

When Steve first passed away, I just remember sitting back and watching the world move forward and wondering how almost everyone else’s life was completely unaffected by the loss of my husband.

It was surreal that I still had to figure out dinner and the laundry still needed to get done.

I wasn’t sure how anything would ever be okay again.

And yet, almost 5 years later things are pretty great.

But, October 24th is still an important date.

It’s the date I became a wife and I married the father of my children.

It was the beginning of one of the most important chapters of my life.

So, while I have moved forward and I am happy, I also need to honor our anniversary and acknowledge the loss.

That is complicated.

It is almost like a balancing act.

Make new memories but don’t forget the past.

Allow yourself to be happy but give yourself permission to grieve.

Yes, it’s been almost 5 years, but at times, it seems like only yesterday.

October 24th will never be just a date to me.

For those of you who travel this complicated journey of grief with me, I see you.

It is okay to move forward AND it is okay to not be okay…..

Categories
Grief

Scared

One of my best friend’s texted me this picture last night. When I opened it up, my heart sank and all I could think was “OMG! Where is this? Why are young men saluting “Heil Hitler”? What is going on in our world today?”

Is that what you saw when you look at this picture?

Truly, what you see is probably directly related to your religion, background and life experiences.

It’s kind of like one of those Social Media posts where everyone sees a different color and it becomes a whole discussion about how people see the same thing very differently.

EXCEPT… this is terrifying to me. This is the reality we, as a minority, are facing everyday right now.

Yesterday, I asked another friend if she knew about the little red headed babies in Israel. She did not know much about this story.

Her answer, in no way, is a criticism of her intelligence or who she is. Her answer, is based on the current situation in our country.

My social media is FLOODED with the story of the Bibas Family and how this sweet, innocent family was murdered in Gaza. The entire family was kidnapped by Palestinians civilians. NOT EVEN HAMAS!

Civilians KILLED this family as if it were sport.

Families with young children CHEERED as the bodies of these tiny, beautiful babies were handed over to authorities in a hostage trade off.

And here, in the United States, if you are not in the Jewish Community, you might know nothing about this tragedy.

I am scared.

I am watching as our leaders speak hate and promote and encourage the marginalization of those that are differnt.

I have worked in the same school district for 33 years. I am one of very few Jews that teach there.

The majority of my work friends are not Jewish and they do not know much about the Jewish faith.

It never mattered to me that most people at work know I’m Jewish but don’t know much about my faith.

Until now.
I am NOT afraid that my work family will hurt me.

I AM afraid that people in my immediate circle don’t know or understand what is going on in this world right now.

If you aren’t Jewish, an immigrant, disabled, transgender, gay or a different color, you might have no clue how frightened these populations are right now.

This isn’t about politics.

It’s about basic humanity and decency.

If you don’t know about The Bibas Family, please look it up.

If you haven’t seen what happened on a bridge in Cincinnati a few weeks ago, look it up.

If you weren’t offended by Elon Musk’s salute during one of his rallies, look up what that salute means to so many of us.

The United States is supposed to be the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Right now, it is NOT even close to being that for marginalized populations.

If you are lucky to not fall into, or love anyone in one of those populations, it is your to JOB educate yourself on the reality of what is going on right now.

Imagine living a life where you wonder if it came down to it, who would hide you in their home if needed?

THAT is how we feel right now.

Also…. that picture on the top. Completely innocent. My bestie was just sending it to me because I should have known some of the young men in the picture.

Not a Nazi picture at all…..

NOW do you get it?

Categories
Grief

Broken

“I met the most broken version of me, but also the strongest.”

I saw this quote on Facebook and it really got me thinking.

Not many people truly meet the most broken version of themselves.

You might have days of sadness but being truly broken is hard to even explain.

Most of us go about our daily lives complaining about things that have gone wrong and we don’t really appreciate what has gone right.

We might complain about the cold weather or the rain.

Or complain about our hair that is too frizzy or the wrong color.

Or perhaps the most common complaint is about how much weight we have gained and how hard it is to lose it.

But when you actually meet the most broken version of yourself it is truly terrifying.

You see your reflection in the mirror and you aren’t really sure who is staring back at you.

It no longer matters that you are carrying a few extra pounds or that your hair isn’t perfect.

You look in the mirror and feel completely defeated.

I was there in December 2020.

And I remained that broken version of myself for a very long time.

Unfortunately, this time of year brings me back to that place.

On December 11, 2020, Steve was intubated.

I can close my eyes and see myself crumbling onto my kitchen floor as the nurse called and told me that Steve was being put on a ventilator. I sat on my floor and listened to the nurses and doctors frantically putting Steve on a ventilator.

I felt completely helpless and afraid.

This was during Covid so I was still teaching virtually and we hadn’t seen Steve since December 2nd.

In between calls from the hospital, I would jump online and teach letters and sight words to kindergartners as I slowly faded into despair.

From December 11th through January 7th, Jared, Shelby and I would call the hospital and ask if they could put the phone up to Steve’s ear.

We would talk to him not knowing what he could or could not hear.

Each night, we would sing a prayer for healing in hopes that God would hear our prayers.

I even recorded the kids opening their Hanukkah presents so that we could show him their excitement when he returned home.

Except he never returned home.

And I met the most broken version of myself.

She was not pretty.

But, thank goodness, she was brave.

It took a lot of time to pull myself out of the darkness.

I clung onto family, friends, grief groups and therapists in hopes that I wouldn’t feel lost forever.

I slowly put my pieces back together and built a version of myself that had to be strong, brave and resilient.

It was truly the hardest thing I have ever had to do.

Some people are truly blessed and they will never meet the most broken versions of themselves.

If you are reading this, and you are one of those people, you are so very lucky.

Even though I have gone through this experience, I often need to remind myself not to get stuck in the minutiae of everyday life.

But writing helps me put some perspective back into my heart so thank you for allowing me to share my thoughts.

Try not to forget that a few extra pounds, unruly hair or a dreary day are not life altering.

And if you do have to meet the most broken version of yourself, remember you can rebuild.

It might take a little time, but be strong and brave.

You don’t have to stay broken forever.

Categories
Grief

Kasha

Tonight, I made Kasha and Bows for dinner.

Kind of an odd way to start a post but you will understand why in a moment.

Right now, I am fighting a cold. I wanted matzo ball soup but I didn’t really have the desire to leave the house and I’m too cheap to Grubhub or Door Dash a bowl of soup.

So… I made myself kasha and bows.

While I was making it, I was reminded of a time when I couldn’t take care of myself.

After Steve passed away, I couldn’t eat.

It wasn’t on purpose.

I wasn’t on a hunger strike or trying to hurt myself.

I just couldn’t eat.

Food was not a priority and when I tried to force myself to eat, I would gag.

So, I just didn’t eat… for weeks.

My family and friends tried so very hard to get me to eat and when I look back at it, I think I just needed some time to heal…. My insides were in utter turmoil.

My cousin Lenore and I have always had a love of kasha and bows. It was a special treat when my Grandma Thelma made us this traditional dish.

While I was struggling to come back to living, Lenore dropped off a batch of kasha and bows knowing that it was one of my favorite dishes.

I ate it. Not a lot. Just a little, but enough to bring me back to better times.

So, she made more….

And I ate that too…

Slowly, my appetite began to improve and I added other items to my diet

It’s a little embarrassing to admit I ate mostly kasha and Nothing Bundt Cake.. I was surviving off of kasha and cake!

But thanks to Lenore and to my love of carbs, I was eating!

So tonight, as I made myself kasha, I was reminded how far I have come.

It has been almost 4 years since Steve passed away and there are still times when I feel lonely and overwhelmed with all of the challenges we have had to overcome and all of the responsiblities I hold.

But while I sat and ate my kasha and bows, I reminded myself that although life is unpredictable and full of many challenges, I can do hard things.

Sometimes, we need other people to help us get back on track and that is okay.

When your life isn’t going as planned, don’t forget to look to the people surrounding you.

I am so grateful that I am now making my own kasha but I will never forget all of the help and support I got along the way.

Sometimes, all it takes is a bowl of kasha.

Categories
Grief

Lessons

I have learned a lot over the past few years. In fact, I feel as if my adulting quadrupled when Steve passed away.

Sounds silly since I’ve been an adult for…. well… a lot of years.

But losing someone very close to you, challenges everything you know.

Your belief system.

Your confidence.

Your ability to overcome obstacles.

I am a different person because of my loss.

And I have learned so many lessons over the past 3 years that I would like to share (because I’m a teacher and that’s what teachers do….)

“Everything happens for a reason”.

This is perhaps one of the most difficult beliefs people have and share.

If that is true, then Covid took Steve’s life “for a reason”.

And innocent children die everyday “for a reason”.

Homes and cities are destroyed “for a reason”.

While I do think I have changed and become a stronger and wiser person since we lost Steve, I don’t think he was taken “for a reason”.

I think that when bad things happen, we have to justify it in our hearts and minds so that saying comes into play.

People don’t want to believe that bad things happen with no justification, so we latch onto anything to make the pain feel a little bit better.

But saying “everything happens for a reason” to someone grappling with loss is not helpful.

In fact, it is extremely painful because the survivor is left trying to figure out how to create a better, more meaningful life because there has to be “a reason” they lost their loved one.

Therefore, here is Lesson 1: Everything does NOT happen “for a reason”.

Tragedies cannot be explained away with the thought that “everything happens for a reason” but we can use that belief to help us move forward.

We can do our best to live a meaningful and purposeful life in spite of devastating losses.

Lesson 2: People will surprise you.

As many of you know, when Steve passed away, I was really lost and afraid.

Family, friends and even strangers stepped in to take care of my family.

This, perhaps, was the most humbling part of my loss.

I received plants, cards, and anonymous gifts for months.

My meal train lasted until my sister told me I needed to pull it together and start feeding my own family.

I was astonished by how many people stepped in to help.

The biggest surprise were the people who I really didn’t know and yet, they provided meals and dropped them off at my doorstep!

That, to me, was such an amazing and selfless gift.

I have often heard that we do kind things because it fills our soul and feels good to us.

I think that is really true. Think of how good it feels when someone thanks you for doing something kind.

I know in my case, I enjoy the accolades when I do something kind.

With that being said, I have learned that doing something kind with no belief that you should receive something in return is probably the highest level of giving.

I strive to be one of those people.

To give with no belief that you should receive anything in return is such a wonderfully good deed.

In a smaller sense, it’s like the people in the Starbucks or Dunkin drive up window who pay for the person behind them.

Such a teeny, tiny, good deed and somehow you can easily make someone else’s day.

Don’t get me wrong, this does not minimize, in any way, all of the people who took care of me because they know and love me.

Those are truly my people.

That’s my village.

But I am talking about things that I have learned.

And I have learned that people who give without the caveat of getting something in return are my idols.

I challenge you to do something kind for a stranger today.

See how it feels in your soul. I bet it will warm your heart.

Lesson 3: It is sometimes good to be alone in your home with nothing to do but relax.

I am a people person and a doer.

It is extremely hard for me to sit still and relax.

Growing up, my family rarely sat home and “did nothing”.

I remember our grief groups would often start with meditation and I could never do it.

I have friends who love to sit home and relax all day and the thought of doing that gives me shivers up and down my spine!

But because of my loss, I have had more time alone in my house.

Alone time has given me the chance to explore new hobbies and art forms.

I am, by no means, an artist.

But, I have learned that I can follow the directions of a “teacher” on YouTube and I can create something beautiful.

I have learned that I enjoy beading and I can create bracelets that have meaning and help me be more mindful in my daily life.

I have always loved to write but I have never known WHAT to write but I have learned that I love to write about what I feel in my heart.

Lately, instead of running to get out of my house and “do”, I slow down and take out my drawing paper, my writing or my beads.

I know that meditating isn’t my thing but creating is.

When I am anxious or just when I have some time, I convince myself not to run out to Target to shop but rather to slow down and draw, bead or write.

This creative outlet fills my soul and calms my mind.

Don’t get me wrong, I still feel a little guilty after I “waste” an hour doodling or beading, but I am learning that doing these things helps me heal.

I’m learning it’s okay to slow down and fill my own bucket with some “me time”.

So Lesson 3 is slow down and figure out what fills your soul and calms your mind.

Try a new hobby and see where it takes you.

So, here are my lessons for now:

  • Everything doesn’t happen “for a reason” but I’m trying to make my life matter.
  • Be selflessly kind and giving.
  • Slow down and take time to figure out what fills your bucket.

I wrote this because it helps me clear my mind and fills my heart.

Hopefully, it makes sense to you and gives you a new perspective.

If not, it’s okay. I feel better just because I took the time to slow down and write.

Thanks for reading my writing and make today a great day!

    Categories
    Grief

    Just a car

    “It’s just a car”

    I’ve been repeating that to myself over and over again in an effort to calm my racing heart.

    I try to calm my inner voice with new hobbies like crocheting or zentangling..

    And it helps, until…. it doesn’t.

    Because while I can occupy my mind so that I feel a little calmer, I still need a new car.

    Now, you are probably wondering why I am getting all worked up about a car, so I suppose I need to back it up a bit…

    Shelby was 15 and on the verge of getting her driver’s license when Steve passed away.

    Keep in mind, it was at the height of Covid…

    I was already dealing with all of the responsibilities of home maintenance and figuring out how to care for 2 grief stricken children when I realized I had to add purchasing a car, DURING COVID, to my everexpanding job list.

    Not sure how many of you remember what happened to car sales during Covid, but as a reminder, it was a nightmare. There were no cars to be purchased. Manufacturers weren’t building cars and people weren’t selling their used cars. And if they were selling their cars, prices were astronomical.

    I was terrified. I had taken care of most of the household concerns and chores in the past, but buying a car, that is foreign to me.

    And let’s be honest, does ANYONE like to deal with buying a car?

    As often happened during this time, things just aligned and I was able to purchase my lifelong friend’s car for Shelby. It somehow worked out perfectly.

    It was a Christmas Miracle (in January)!

    Fastforward 3 years, and this 2009 Honda has seen better days. I have tried to keep it together as long as possible, but it has become pretty evident that it needs to be replaced. This time, it’s even more important to get her a reliable car because she has to get to and from college.

    I wish I could say I took on the task of purchasing a car with enthusiasm and confidence.

    But I didn’t.

    I cried.

    A lot…

    Like sobbed uncontrollably..

    Had a pretty substantial Marci Pity Party..

    I just wanted to have that same miracle happen again…

    Maybe someone would just knock on my door and say “I heard you need a car. Here is a reliable car at a reasonable price”?

    Unfortunately, that did not happen.

    I am embarrassed that I am so overwhelmed by this task. But at the same time, I am trying to cut myself some slack.

    It’s January.

    Steve passed away January 7th, 2021, and then my dad passed away January 13th 2021.

    So, January basically sucks.

    And I’m already walking on eggshells in my mind…

    Buying a car is literally the last thing I want to be doing.

    I need to remind myself that over the past 3 years, I have learned I can do almost anything!

    But…I know basically nothing about cars.

    I find that the hardest part of taking on a new responsibility is actually taking that first step.

    I tend to put new challenges on the backburner and then I lay awake at night worrying about how full my backburner is getting.

    I eventually realize I MUST take that first step.

    I have no one to do it for me.

    Taking that first step in accomplishing anything new is terrifying and it’s even more terrifying when you feel like you are doing it alone.

    Somehow, for me, the weight of decision making is so much heavier when you aren’t doing it with someone else. I’ve discovered that one of my concerns in decision making is that if something goes wrong, the onous is totally on me. No one to blame but myself!

    But as I’ve done in the past, I pulled up my big girl panties (after my Marci Pity Party) and I am figuring out what steps need to be taken so that Shelby has a reliable car.

    I have learned to ask for help when I need it and to turn to knowledgeable people for assistance.

    And I am doing that now.

    I have learned that when I get in a funk, I need to give myself a little time to grieve and then I can take baby steps to accomplish tasks.

    I need to remind myself how lucky I am to have resources and people to help me when I get tied up in my head.

    This path has not been an easy one.

    Those of you that have dealt with loss can understand that little things often become big things because our hearts are still a little broken.

    But, what we need to remember is that life is full of these challenging moments.

    While some may be thinking “That’s ridiculous. Needing a new car is not a challenging moment” others will understand that sometimes even figuring out how to fill your tires with air can become overwhelming.

    Here is my advice for what it’s worth:

    Give yourself a moment to be sad.

    Have a “me” Pity Party.

    Not a long one… just enough to get a few tears out or to eat a pint of ice cream or to crochet a little scarf.

    But then look around you and see what you need to do to take the first step towards solving your problem.

    Whether it be putting air in your tires, just leaving the house or buying a new car..

    Take baby steps.

    If necessary, look for people around you to hold your hand as you try to venture onto new paths.

    And always remember… you can do hard things. Just take baby steps.

    Categories
    Grief

    Pockets

    There is something that has become abundantly clear to me throughout my journey.

    People don’t get over grief.

    They don’t just overcome grief.

    They actually move forward with grief.

    It’s like we somehow carry this sadness in our pockets wherever we go.

    Sometimes it just sits quietly and we forget it’s even there.

    Other times, it might just poke at us giving us a gentle reminder that we are missing a part of our lives.

    And then there are the times that it jumps out of our pockets and screams on the top of its lungs to make sure we don’t forget about our loss.

    There have been a few things over the past few days that have made my grief jump out of its silence.

    Recently, I found out that a high school acquaintance had lost her battle with cancer. While we were not really friends, I followed her story on Caring Bridge and I somehow felt connected to her.

    When I read that she had passed away, my own personal grief poked out of my pocket.

    I could actually FEEL the pain of her family.

    It sounds selfish that I thought of my own loss when hearing about someone else’s loss but it wasn’t a “poor me” kind of feeling..

    I just had this ache in my heart knowing how deep in the trenches they were.

    I wanted to reach out and hug them and tell them that they would be okay.

    But her family doesn’t know me so it would be pretty weird and somewhat stalkish…

    So, I just tried to ignore the little poke from my pocket of grief.

    But a Netflix series I am watching wouldn’t allow my grief to be silent.

    One of the main characters in the show unexpectedly passed away. As I watched the funeral episode, I couldn’t believe how unrealistically they had portrayed grief.

    I was so angry about the way they had minimalized the pain involved in losing a spouse.

    I’m not sure why I was so vested in making sure the characters were acurately portrayed but I decided to punish myself by continuing to watch the next few episodes. Kind of a weird self sabotaging behavior to want to see the characters grief stricken.

    So, instead of just poking at me, my pocket of grief starting to scream at me.

    I felt sad but I couldn’t quite put my finger on exactly why my grief was making its presence be known.

    Until I looked at the date.

    Tomorrow will be December 1st.

    I took Steve to the Emergency Room for the first time on December 1st. While they didn’t admit him, it was the beginning of our battle.

    When I brought him back to the hospital on December 2nd, they admitted him and he never came home.

    This time, my pocket of grief screamed out at the top of its lungs.

    My heart was actually hurting.

    The date was a reminder of our loss and the battle we fought.

    It is a reminder that although I have moved forward, I still carry sadness with me.

    Although I try to silence the grief in my pocket, sometimes I just can’t do that.

    Sometimes, I just feel lost.

    And that is okay as long as I am able to continue to move forward in spite of the sadness I feel.

    I will always carry the grief in my pocket.

    I will feel it as it pokes me and I will listen to it when it screams out.

    But I will also recognize that I must move forward even though I have a pocket filled with grief.

    I hope everyone that has experienced loss takes a minute to listen to the grief in their pocket but doesn’t let that grief take over their journey.

    Keep it in your pocket.

    Acknowledge it when necessary.

    And move forward….

    Categories
    Grief

    Growth

    A week ago, I had to participate in an interview process for long term life insurance coverage.

    Too much adulting these days!

    Anyhow, it was a long call full of boring questions. But there was one question that really resonated with me.

    “What is your relationship status?”

    She gave me the usual options: married, single, divorced etc.

    I waited for “widow” but I never heard that option.

    I was confident and calm as I said, “I am a widow.”

    I heard her pause and think for a moment.

    I waited for the typical “I am sorry for your loss.” but she didn’t say anything at all.

    She just asked the next question.

    It was no big deal at all.

    It was just a relationship status to her.

    But it meant a ton to me and not for the reasons you would think it mattered.

    A year ago, answering “I am a widow” would have put me over the edge.

    A year ago, that question would have definitely made me cry and I probably would have had to call my sister to calm me down.

    But last week, it was just informational.

    It was just an answer to a question.

    It was just part of my story.

    Like when she asked where I lived or what I did for a living.

    It didn’t define me.

    That doesn’t mean that being a widow isn’t heartbreaking.

    It doesn’t mean that the last 2 years haven’t been difficult nor that life is full of rainbows and unicorns.

    It just means that I am living my life.

    Losing Steve is part of my story.

    An awful, heart wrenching, life changing part of my story.

    But it isn’t my whole story.

    Here is the real eye opener…

    Believe it or not, I think that throughout this journey, I may have become a better version of myself.

    I have truly grown as a person.

    I have never been a very adventurous person.

    I don’t like change and rarely take risks.

    But, when Steve passed away, I was forced to take on challenges and to face many of my fears.

    Before Steve passed away, I rarely did things independently. And when I say “did things”, I mean things like car maintenance, going on long road trips, home improvement or even meeting with repairmen or contractors.

    Over the last 2 years, I have faced these “challenges” with determination and a bit of trepidation.

    I have taken my children on long drives to visit my brother and colleges.- still don’t love it but I’m doing it!

    I have traveled out of the country with Shelby.-even had to get us passports!

    I have dealt with rodents in my home!-Not sure why they decided to come to live with me once Steve was gone but they arrived nonetheless.

    I have made home improvements that were ignored for many years.- I’ve discovered how to get things fix things that I didn’t even know were broken.

    I have gotten my oil changed and even gone to a car wash on my own.- Those pits in the oil change place terrify me and I have visions of driving off the tracks at a car wash! (I’ll be honest, I discovered the car wash at Woodman’s doesn’t have tracks so I go there…)

    I have come to terms with my shortcomings and I am working hard to become a better person.

    “Marci Time” is something I will always struggle with but I realize the world does not work on my time frame.

    Most importantly, I have a new sense of empathy that I believe one only gains through true loss.

    That’s not to say there aren’t wonderfully compassionate people in this world who haven’t experienced loss.

    I was a definitely an empathetic person before I lost Steve.

    But, I am so much more aware now.

    I KNOW what it feels like to have your world fall apart around you.

    But I also KNOW that I am now thriving, not merely surviving.

    I am hopeful that I am now a person that others find as a safe place to fall when needed and that I provide comfort and an open mind.

    Losing a loved one is awful.

    It is something that becomes part of your soul.

    It forces you to really face and address your fears.

    But losing a loved one doesn’t mean you can’t move on and still have an amazing life filled with new adventures, new relationships and life goals.

    At first, there may be guilt about moving on, but that guilt is all just part of the grieving process.

    You can keep old memories in your heart while still creating new memories.

    Moving on isn’t forgetting or dishonoring your loved one.

    Moving on can be viewed as a sign of strength and of becoming a stronger version of yourself.

    I hate that our lives took this awful turn but I also know that losing Steve doesn’t mean that the next chapter of my life should be full of sadness and regret.

    There will still be moments of great sadness.

    But hopefully, there will be more moments of growth and pure joy!

    Categories
    Grief

    Thank You

    Two years ago today, I got a phone call from the hospital letting me know that Steve’s kidneys were failing.

    The doctor asked for permission to start kidney dialysis.

    I was frightened, confused and yet hopeful all at the same time.

    They were offering me hope. I grabbed onto that hope with both hands.

    Everyone had told me that as long as Steve remained hemodynamically stable (a word I had NEVER known until he was hospitalized), he would be okay.

    Failing kidneys meant he was no longer hemodynamically stable.

    It was happening.

    His body was giving up.

    But if the doctors were willing to do kidney dialysis that meant he could fight it. Right?

    But only a few hours later, they called back and told us we needed to come to the hospital.

    He was not going to make it.

    When we got to the hospital, we sat with Steve, held his hands, hugged him, comforted him and cried.

    We weren’t sure if he could hear us but we NEEDED to believe that he knew we were there and that we loved him.

    I remember seeing a tear slide down his cheek….

    The nurse told me that they had put a bunch of stuff in his eyes but in my heart, that tear meant he could hear us.

    I remember watching his numbers go up and down.

    His heart was strong but his lungs had been destroyed by Covid.

    I don’t know how we did it. But my mother in law and sisters in law sat with him until he took his last breath.

    The nurse handed us a bag of his things, we checked all of the drawers and we walked out of the ICU.

    Defeated and heartbroken.

    After 37 days in the hospital, we lost Steve.

    Although it has been 2 years since that day, I can still feel it in my soul.

    I have learned so much about grief, about my children and about myself.

    Honestly, there are days when I don’t even think about what happened.

    And then, there are days when I can’t think of anything else.

    I am embarrassed to say I spent months not eating and lying in bed because I just couldn’t figure out how to get out of the hole I had fallen into.

    I couldn’t watch tv.

    I couldn’t eat.

    I couldn’t sleep.

    I couldn’t listen to music.

    I was barely existing.

    I was NOT a good role model for my children.

    My friends and family made sure that we were cared for until I could get back on my feet.

    Everyone was worried about me.

    I am so ashamed that I didn’t pull it together more quickly for Jared and Shelby.

    But, eventually, I did it.

    I got back on my feet.

    It wasn’t easy but I pulled myself together.

    And I am proud.

    I am not proud of ME.

    I am proud of my children and I am proud of my family and friends.

    I would never be where I am today without all of them.

    They are the true heroes in our story.

    Before Steve’s death, I didn’t realize how lucky I was to be surrounded by so many amazing people.

    So, on the 2nd anniversary of the day that changed our lives forever, I want to thank all of the people that picked me up when I was broken.

    Thank you for always checking on me.

    Thank you for helping me get back up when I fall down

    Thank you for showing up in ways I didn’t even know I needed.

    Thank you.

    Categories
    Grief

    2 Years Ago Today

    2 years ago today, Steve was spending his 3rd day in the hospital with Covid. It’s weird how what seemed to be a very scary but somewhat inconsequential moment in life, turned into a monumental event in our lives.

    2 years ago today, I had NO idea what the future held. We all had Covid and our village began to form as they banned together to care for us in one of our most fragile moments.

    2 years ago today, Steve was still texting me with work minutia: who I needed to call and which appointments I needed to change. He was having me contact his clients to assure them that although he was sick, their fish would still be cared for.

    2 years ago today, I wasn’t as frightened as I should have been. I was a different person. I didn’t realize how much my life would change within just a few days.

    2 years ago today, my life began to forever change.

    So, while everyone is getting ready for the holidays. I sit here and battle my demons.

    Don’t get me wrong, I do not spend my days crying. I am not stuck in a whirlwind of grief.

    But right now, I am sad.

    And that is okay because I know this will pass.

    I have learned that sometimes, you just have to sit with your grief.

    You have to give yourself a moment to cry and to really FEEL the gravity of what occurred.

    So, although it was 2 years ago today, right now, it feels like yesterday.

    The date December 2nd hangs over my head like a dark cloud.

    I am reminded that on December 2nd, 2 years ago, Steve was hospitalized and began his battle with Covid.

    I am reminded that my children lost their father and I lost my husband.

    I am reminded that sometimes, life really sucks.

    Our lives have gone on and we have a new sense of normal, but our lives didn’t follow the path that had been planned.

    Jared and Shelby have proven to be resilient, kind and wonderful humans.

    They both have hearts of gold and they understand the fragility of life a little too well.

    I know that our story has impacted many others but I can’t help but wonder why it had to be OUR story.

    I wonder what our lives would look like today if Steve never got Covid.

    Would we still be the same strong, compassionate fighters that we are?

    Would we still have the same understanding that life is too precious to waste?

    Would we still be sure to never leave the house without an I love you?

    Obviously, I will never know the answers to these questions.

    But, I HAVE learned several things over the past 2 years.

    I have learned that I am truly blessed with the most amazing friends and family.

    I have learned that life is unpredictable and you need to put on your seatbelt and get ready for a crazy ride.

    I have learned that things that seem super important are sometimes silly little details that should be forgotten.

    I have learned that Jared, Shelby and I are ridiculously strong.

    I have learned that it’s okay to spend some time crying but then, you have to wipe away your tears and take on life with a vengeance.

    So, I will spend a little time crying today, but then I will wipe away my tears and face the day.

    I know my tears are a sign of strength.

    It has been 2 years.

    I know I can do this.

    I know that while we have faced a great tragedy, we have a whole life ahead of us.

    And while there will be bumps in the road, it’s going to be great.