2015: The Year From Hell....

Catchy title, huh?  Unfortunately it's the truth.  But, from the ashes of Hell, I am ready to rise.

Stronger and Wiser.

Last year on this exact day, Tristan's birthday, I was sitting at home most of the day. Tristan had come by to get Conner and go to Mike's mom's house to play with Becky's boys.  I had found Mike's Marine Corps and high school rings; I gave Tristan first choice as a birthday present.  I hadn't any money to give him and I sure hadn't gone shopping for any gifts since we had lost Mike just two days earlier.  Tristan chose his dad's class ring.

For months I wore Mike's Marine Corps ring around my neck.  A few months ago I finally stopped wearing it and put it in the safe deposit box for Conner.

I sat at home most of the day last New Year's Eve; napping off and on when the Xanax would take effect.  I had a few visitors that day, but not many.  My house had been full of people for two days.

At one point I had someone drive me to Chris and Gayle's to see the boys and Becky.  I was so tired and weak that I couldn't drive myself and I honestly cannot remember who drove me.  Widow brain does that to you; it's just like Chemo brain.  They are both real and effects of trauma.

I only stayed a little while, returning home to an empty house.  I had Becky and her husband Bill drive me back from Chris' house.  I was exhausted.  I was full of dread at what would happen the next day.  The day we would put Mike in the ground.  New Year's Day, 2015.

The funeral is so clear to me. Every detail is relived on a daily basis.

Pulling into our church parking lot, with my dad driving the truck that my husband had picked out only two months before.  Dad had to open my door and help me inside.

I diverted my eyes to the ground as my church family filled the room, cooking and preparing things for the family that would soon fill the basement.

I shakily made my way to a chair and was soon surrounded by my family: Mom, Dad, Amy, Conner, and Tristan a little while later.  I could not eat, but someone made me take something to drink.  I requested orange juice.

I sat and drank only part of the cup of juice and shook the entire time.  I knew that my husband was upstairs in a wooden casket, surrounded by flowers.  I knew that his face would be covered so that I didn't have to see the injury to the side of his head.  Literally, as I write this, my stomach is churning at the memories.

Erik, who was not only the coroner and funeral director, but also was one of Mike's longtime friends, came downstairs to tell me that Mike was ready when I was.

I cried and asked, "Can you get his hand ready for me to hold like you did at the funeral home the other day?  I want to hold his hand again."

He replied, "Sure.  I'll come back down when we have him ready."

A few moments later, he returned, telling me Mike was ready whenever I was.  I looked around and everyone's eyes were on me.  Looks of pity and sadness covered their faces.  Wow.  The shaking has returned to my hands as I type.

I asked the boys if they wanted to go up with me and they neither one wanted to yet. Poor kids. I can't imagine what was going through their minds.

I can't remember who helped me up the stairs, but I think it was my sister and my dad.  I don't know. It seemed that the ascent took forever, and when I reached the top I stopped and gasped.  Pictures of my marriage to the love of my life adorned the foyer.  Pictures commemorating our life we had built for 13 years were carefully placed so that everyone who entered could see the happiness and love we shared.  Well that just sucks.  Now all that is gone to pot.  How ridiculous of a spectacle I must have been to everyone.  Barely able to walk on my own; crying until I hyperventilated at random; shaking like a leaf; having to be helped to the bathroom.  Ugh....it's all so terrible.

I cried for a few minutes at the top of the stairs and then finally made it up the final step.   The windows into the sanctuary were covered with white paper.  Erik stopped me before I entered and said, "Now, when I open the doors, you'll be able to see Mike. I have his face covered for you, but the casket is opened so you can hold his hand, ok?"

I took a few quick breaths and nodded my head in understanding.  Someone still had hold of both of my arms. Erik opened the doors.

I gasped and almost fell as I walked into the sanctuary, walking toward the love of my life, laying there cold and still.  Flowers surrounded his barn wood casket and a picture of him and the boys rested on top.  I cried the entire walk to the front and when I reached him, I grasped his hands, which held under them a couple of pictures.  They were pictures of him and the boys that I had chosen for him to take with him.  I placed a wedding photo under them, just barely able to do it from shaking so violently.  I leaned over him and laid my head on his chest.  I cried so hard.  My world had just come crashing down three days earlier and I was about to say my final goodbyes to my husband.

There is no preparing for this terrible day.  There is no amount of prayer that can take away the heavy load upon your heart and soul.  There is no amount of love and support from family and friends that can make it any easier.  There just isn't.  All the faith in the world...all the love you can imagine...cannot match the breaking point of losing a spouse so unexpectedly.

I stood on weak legs for a while and told my husband how much I love him; how sorry I was that this happened to him; how I was going to try my best to keep going and to be a good mom.  I told him I would love him forever and would always be his wife.

I was helped to the front pew, in backward steps, and Erik and our preacher, Johnny, closed the casket over my husband after his mom and sister said their goodbyes.  That would be the last time I would ever see him.  His rough calloused hands folded together on his stomach.  His flannel shirt, Carhartt jeans, and belt all neatly clothing his shell.  He was not there anymore.  He was gone.

Some days I regret not moving the sheet from his face.  I regret not seeing him one more time.  But I realize it wasn't him anyway.  And I did not want my last memory of Mike to be his head, swollen and bruised from the hit of the concrete truck mixer.  I wanted to remember the perfect, handsome face, with the goatee I loved so much.  With the scar above his eyebrow.  The dimple in his cheek that showed when he was really happy.

I sat for a while on the front pew and had Erik arrange three chairs at the front, facing the pews because I knew that I was not strong enough to do the normal standing by the casket.  I mean, my goodness, I could barely stand for one minute.  I knew I could not withstand the crowd that would soon file through.  Soon after the chairs were arranged, and the boys and all our immediate family was upstairs, Erik said, "If it's ok with you, can we start a little early?  There are lots of friends and family already outside ready to pay their respects."

I could have never prepared for the flood of people that would walk past me, kiss me, hug me, say their sorry's, for over two hours.  It warms my heart to this day to know the number of people who knew and loved my husband; who came because they knew and loved me and the boys.  Former students who I hadn't seen in years; perfect strangers to me, but acquaintances or friends of my husband; family from afar; and so many more.

In time we made it to the cemetery.  Marines folded his flag and presented it to me with apologies and gratitude for my husband's service.  Words were spoken from Ecclesiastes.  I waited for most people to leave, including both the boys, before I allowed Mike's best friend Ron and Erik to lower him into the cold, frozen ground.  Before they began lowering my husband, I went to him one more time.  I hugged the casket, again with help from my family to remain standing.  I leaned over the top portion of the casket and cried, making promises to do my best and saying how sorry I was that this happened to him.

Then I went back to my seat and watched through nonstop tears, catchy breaths, and shaking body as my husband made his final descent into the earth.

That is how I spent my New Year's last year.

I spent it in Hell.  My own personal Hell from which there was no escape.  I couldn't awaken, just realizing it was all a dream.  It was real.  It was terrible and tragic and shocking.  It lasted and lasted and lasted and still continues.

I have spent 365 sleepless nights in our king size bed, awakening to the reality of my life every morning.  I have spent 365 days reliving the nightmare that has been my life.  I have spent 365 days missing my husband.

But, today is New Year's Eve and tomorrow will start a fresh year.  Tomorrow will be a new beginning for so many people who make New Year's Resolutions.

Well, I have no resolutions. Tomorrow will not mark a new beginning for me.  My new beginning was thrown at me like a ton of bricks, one year ago.  I did not make a resolution to survive the death of my husband; I just did it.

I will not make any resolutions this year, as I don't really believe in them.  What's the point?   If you want to set a goal, it doesn't have to be done at New Year's.  It just needs to be done.  Period.

But, I will tell you what I will do in 2016.  I will rise from the ashes of this personal Hell and I will keep going.  I will just continue breathing and doing my best to survive the days, to survive the financial mess my husband left me with, to work hard at being a single parent to our son, to continue working to be the best principal I know how, to love my family as hard as they have loved me, to continue writing in hopes of encouraging other widows, and to hopefully begin healing.

So, no resolutions here, just a continuation of survival and working at what I have already been doing for the past year.

And I will also be grateful.  Grateful that by walking through Hell I have learned, grown, loved, and been loved.  I am grateful that I have made new, amazing friends, both at work and via the crappy club of Widowhood. I am grateful that I have survived without asking for anything from anyone. I am grateful that through this year, I have learned not to take any crap from anyone.  I am grateful that through this year I have not felt one ounce of guilt for anything that I have done to help my son and me survive.  I am grateful that my relationships with my family have only become stronger.  I am grateful for all of the offers from family and friends for numerous things, like coming to stay the night with us so we aren't alone, cleaning if I need it, cooking if I need it, etc...  Even if I haven't accepted many of the offers, I hope all of my family and friends know that each and every offer has been appreciated beyond measure.

I will also be grateful that God carried us through the first year.  Even though we haven't been to church in months, He has never forsaken us.  He has listened to our prayers every night and many times throughout the days.  He may have planned that my husband be taken away before I was ready, but He has still given me a healthy son.  He has let me continue being Conner's mom.  He has let me take on this new job as a high school principal, which has been a true blessing to both Conner and me.  He has made me strong.  He will bring us happiness again someday.

So, even though 2015 was pure Hell, and I have no resolutions for 2016, I will prosper in the New Year.  I mean, I've been to the bottomless pit...the only place to go now is up, right?

I wish you all happiness, health, and safety in the coming year.  I love you all and thank you so much for supporting my son and me through the past year of Hell.  We will rise.  We will continue surviving, growing, learning, laughing, loving, and living.  We will give back to those who need it.

I am still Mike's wife.  He is still my husband.  He is still Conner's and Tristan's dad.  He is still the love of my life. 

Much Love, Peace, Understanding, Happiness, and LIFE in the New Year.

#stillhis
Love,
Veronica