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

 

One Year...

This morning I wake for the 365th day as a widow. I have spent this past year feeling so sad and lonely and broken. I relive that terrible day every morning when I wake and every night when I close my eyes. 

I wrapped my arms around my husband for the very last time on December 29, 2014. I kissed him good morning and told him how much I loved him as I buried myself into the warmth of his flannel shirt. His arms were closed around me like they always were and he kissed me and told me he loved me back. 

We stood at the kitchen sink embraced for the very last time that morning. I felt the stubble of his whiskers and took in the scent of his skin for the last time. I heard his raspy voice that could calm me during any storm. For the last time I looked into his hazel eyes that melted me infinite times over our 13 years together. 

For the very first time tragedy shook my soul like it never had. It took a piece of my little boy's innocence and robbed him of a normal childhood. Tragedy robbed me of a chance at pure, untainted happiness and security. I will never get that chance again because my heart will never regain its full composure. 

As I fell to the gravel, in utter terror and disbelief, and screamed out, I hadn't the time to think of the most appropriate way to tell our son that his daddy was gone forever. I just more or less blurted out, "Conner, your dad is gone, bubba...he   had an accident at work and he's gone." 

I watched him fall to the gravel beside me with tears streaming down his innocent face. I helped him walk back to the house, where he had to stop and vomit outside our door. None of it seemed real to me then and it doesn't seem real to me now. 

It seems just like yesterday I reached across the bed and felt for his presence feeling the rise and fall of his chest. It seems like yesterday when I fell asleep to the music of his snoring. It seems like yesterday that I was laughing, living, and loving like I had nothing to lose. Then one day I lost my rock. I lost the desire to laugh...to live like I did before...and to love anyone besides him. 

But what now?

It has been one full year and I don't know what comes next. I wish it was some magically healing date, that once a widow reaches the one year mark, she is then set free from grief. I wish that the one year mark released all widows and fatherless children of all pain, loneliness, guilt, regret, fear, insecurity, shock, and disbelief. Maybe a sheild of armor that reads, "Wonder Widow: Warrior of Loss". 

But it doesn't. Instead that one year mark brings back the vivid details of the worst day of my life. It brings with it more fear to top off the already mountainous list of fears I have. The day brings guilt for being a non-present mom some days over this past year; many days I have spent just sitting in the recliner, not getting dressed and not being a good mom. The day brings regret of not going to surprise my husband with lunch that day; maybe I could have helped him if I'd been there when he fell. The day also brings insecurities; unsureness of my son's and my future. This day brings with it the pang of the shock and disbelief that still makes my breaths catch in my chest some days. 

And this day just adds the cherry on top of immeasurable pain and loneliness. Not just for me, but for every single person who knew and loved my husband. His mom will relive those horrible details just like me, but she will also go back to Mike's childhood and remember the tiny baby boy she held in her arms. Mike's sister and brother will relive childhood memories and will replay their own regrets and sorrows. 

My family will not only remember the loss of Mike, but they will also remember the loss of my happiness. They will remember the sight of my tear stained face, of the text or phone call to tell them, of the way I couldn't breathe for crying so hard, or how I could not walk through my own house alone those first days.

They will remember my little boy and his immense strength that first day and the days following. They will remember how he helped me calm down each time I broke. They will remember all the people who poured into our home and brought food, drinks, and anything else they thought would be helpful. They will remember Mike and all our Christmases, Thanksgivings, and birthdays. They will remember happier days. 

And the boys...what will they remember? I am sure it will be the same as everyone else; flashes of the day he left us and of the day we placed him in the ground. They will remember their favorite memories of playing in the floor with their daddy, of wrestling and special nights in the living room, of sitting in his office having talks for hours, of riding around on the farm and "helping" daddy all the way. They will remember warm chocolate milk in a sippy cup and picking up sticks to roast hot dogs in the field. They will remember playing catch in the yard and family vacations to Orlando, Branson, and our camping trips. 

But they will also think of what memories they won't be able to make. And that will be the most difficult. I pray God wraps the boys in His Graces today, tighter than He has ever wrapped them. I pray the boys find strength in each other and in me. 

And as for me, I will remember random little things like surprises of pizza and beer; post it notes trailing to the bedroom; flowers on my desk after our first date; opening our first Christmas gifts to each other while sitting on his bed; falling in love under the stars while we stopped in the middle of the field and just held hands in the old 'Yota. I will remember working with him on the farm; picking up walnuts with him and the boys around the machine shed; the summers we spent before we were married, me traveling around the state with him for work. I will remember our silly engagement story; the day we learned we were pregnant with Conner; the day we both cried when we learned we really were not pregnant with another child. I will remember the mischievous smile that crossed his face when I waited for him, all dressed up for date night; and the last date we had just weeks before he passed. I will remember the health scares we both had over the years and how neither of us budged because of them; how we were beside each other through our toughest struggles. 

My memories will come like the floodwaters that rush the creeks and rivers of Missouri today, of our farm. 

I will rely on my faith and on my family and friends, and on my widow sisters I have met along this journey. 

So again I ask, what now? I don't know. No one knows. But life will unfold just as God has planned it and one day I hope to genuinely smile and laugh and live and love without any pain attached. I hope to relive only happy memories and that visits to the cemetery become less agonizing. I hope our son grows into an amazing man. I hope my heart,and the hearts of everyone who knew and loved him, finds peace. 

I will always be your wife, Michael, and you will forever be my husband. We love and miss you more than words, baby. 

#stillhis

Love,

Veronica 

Merry Christmas, Conner...from Dad

I've written a few posts as I imagined Mike would have said. Those have received much attention because my family and friends who read them say they sounded exactly like Mike. I feel in my heart that if he could talk to our son today, this is what he would say. 

Hey bubba,

Merry Christmas! I'm so sorry I can't be there with you today. I know it's hard and I know it hurts, but you have so many people surrounding you who love you, bub. 

I watched you open your presents last night at Grandma Jackie's. That Furious 7 car looks pretty cool! I could see how fast it went all the way from up here! I saw how big you're getting too, and grown up. 

I can't believe how much you've grown in a year. It's crazy! I saw how grown up you where when your mom cried last night too, son. I'm sorry about that. I know momma is trying so hard to keep everything together, but she just couldn't quit thinking about all our Christmases we had and it was just too much for her. 

I know sometimes you worry that she'll never be ok again, that she'll never be really happy again. She will. In time. You just need to be patient with her, Con. Ok? For dad? She's got more on her plate than any woman should and I get mad at myself for leaving it all on her shoulders. 

I loved your mom so much when I was there. I would do anything to be able to take away her pain, to make things easier with money and the lawyers and all that junk. If I can tell you anything about all this mess bub, it's to learn from daddy's mistakes. No matter what you want out of life, you make darn sure your family will be taken care of if anything was to happen to you. You understand? Don't you ever forget that either. 

But hey, enough of all that sad stuff. Let me tell you about Christmas in Heaven! 

It is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, well besides you and your brother. The angels sing all the time and it is music like I've never heard. There is a huge tree in the middle of a golden street and it's all lit up with lights as bright as the stars! There are no presents of course, but there is just sunshine and warmth and all the happy memories of our favorite Christmases on Earth. 

I just can't even describe how much peace there is up here, son. I just smile all the time! I'm warm and covered in sunshine all day long. I'm so young and handsome, if I do say so myself. Hahaha.  I feel so good it's crazy! I'm just happy. 

One day you'll know how it feels up here. One day, a long time from now in your time, but it'll seem like a minute to me, you'll come and see Heaven too. You'll hear the angels singing, and feel the sunshine wash all over you. You'll skip around like a little boy. I think that's how I'll get to see you when you come. I think you'll be my little boy when you come and we won't ever even know we were apart. It'll be just like I went to work for a bit and came back home. 

But for now, you have to live. Live a life full of love, Conner. Don't hold anger inside, don't hold sadness over losing me at the top of your heart. Cover it with so much fun that it just kinda hides away in the back and doesn't get to control your life. I'm not saying it's gonna be gone forever; I'm just saying if you fill your heart with enough love and kindness and happiness, it'll only come out a little at a time and it'll be ok. 

You keep doing good in school and get that math grade up, boy. You know daddy wouldn't like that if I was there to tell you about it. So try hard, ok. Ask for help. Not just with math either, but with life. Don't be too proud that you don't ask for help like me. I should have. But just grow and learn and laugh and love and make memories that will keep you smiling for years to come. 

Hug your momma tight for me, son. Tell her I love her and miss her with all my might. And the same goes for you and your brother. You three were the best things to ever happen to me. I wish I had shown that more often by not working so much, but I can't take it back now. Just know I never once didn't love you more than anything in this world. 

So, Merry Christmas my boy. Have fun opening presents and remember I'm still right there with you buddy, in the stories you guys tell of me, in the candles you burn for me, and more importantly, in your heart forever. 

My gosh, I love you. 

Merry Christmas from Heaven, son. 

Love, 

Dad

Almost One Year...

I've no control over the tears that fall while I write today. I am in absolute denial today just like I have been every day for the past year that it's been almost one full year without you.

I thought that this vast emptiness inside the depths of my soul would be filled with new memories made with our son this year.  I thought that maybe I could genuinely smile and laugh and begin to live again. But it's not filled because each new memory made still has a tinge of sadness because you're not here. And my laughs and smiles have not been genuine, but have rather been forced and oftentimes faked. 

I'm still not angry with you, even though you broke your promises to love me forever and to grow old with me when you left. You promised to sit on our front porch and watch our grandkids play in the front yard one day.  You promised to want me forever; to kiss me every day and to hold me close when I needed you to.  I just wish I could have you back. I felt safe and loved and wanted and needed because of you. Now I feel scared and vulnerable and weak and lonely because of your absence. 

They say that time is supposed to heal everything but this first year has offered no healing. I am forever burdened with sounds and images of that day. It's like someone has taken a brand and permanently scarred them into my heart and mind. 

I mean every single detail of that day and the days between your leaving and your funeral, are ridiculously fresh in my mind. It's as though they happen all over again each new day and I'm so tired from them. I'm writing this at 3:00 a.m. I can never sleep without taking a sleep aide.  I dream of you and of December 29, 2014, and of January 1, 2015. Conner had it right last year when he said that December 29 when we lost you marked the worst day of his life, and that January 1 when we lowered you into the cold ground and said our final goodbyes marked the hardest.

I fear that I'll never learn to love again.  Part of me never wants to because it's almost as if I feel that by loving someone else I'll be cheating on you...on us.  I fear that I'll maybe start to like someone but will be too scared to really like him because he won't be you.  And no one but a widow understands this feeling.  I know of widows who have moved on to dating someone within just a few short months of her husband's passing, but I couldn't do that. It's not that I am judging those widows who do move on quickly, but that I'm judging myself and my own lack of strength.  It would be nice sometimes to laugh and flirt with someone, to go out to dinner and a movie, or to a ballgame.  But everything I did for 13 years surrounded you.  How am I supposed to do these things with someone new when I've done them all with you and am not ready to let you go?  It's so scary.

But dating again isn't as scary as raising our son alone.  I don't even care about the dating thing and if it ever shows up.  But raising our son well all by myself...well that keeps me awake some nights.  I always had you to fall back on, to bounce ideas off of, to be the final straw when Conner was acting up.  I would send him for a day on the farm with you and he would have so much fun and I would get a moment's peace...even though I missed him the entire day!  But, what if I screw up somehow? What if I haven't taken him to counseling enough? What if my punishments are too harsh?  What if they aren't harsh enough? What if I've coddled him too much since losing you?  What if I start dating someone again and Conner doesn't like him?  Ugh...there are too many "what ifs" in single parenting and they scare me to death!  I don't want to permanently screw up our kid.  But, I guess it will be what it will be and I will just keep trying to do my best. I pray to God to protect our boy and to keep him safe, healthy, and happy every day.  I pray strength over him so that he can grow into a fine young man who is kind, hard working, generous, loving, affectionate, passionate, smart, gentle, and humble.

I want to go lay beside you when the 29th gets here.  I know that day is going to be hard on Conner when he wakes, so I won't be able to, but I desperately want to.  I want to take a sleeping bag and a pillow and just lay beside you.  I don't want to talk to anyone; I don't want anyone to join me.  I want to just lay there and maybe fall asleep with my hand on your tombstone, so that it's almost as if I'm resting my hand on your chest like I used to.  I don't know if family will come over that day.  I don't know if they will all try to occupy our minds and fill our day with something "fun".  I don't want them to and it's nothing against them.  I don't want them to make me laugh or come over.  I love them each and every one with every depth of my heart, but I want to be alone more often now.  I don't want to rise from bed, or go outside other than to come lay beside you.  I don't want to get dressed, but want to go to you in my pajamas and sleeping bag and just rest next to you.  But I can't.  I can't leave Conner when the day arrives and be selfish and have my moment.  I can't because he suffers every time he sees me torn down.  And having to hold it all in is so difficult.

I often find myself calling my sister to have a break down.  I know it makes her worse because of my breakdowns, but I feel that I have no one else to call.  Many friends offer, yes, and that is amazing and wonderful, but I do not want to burden my friends with that.  I know it makes a heavy load for my sister to bear and she has carried it for the past year for me. She has sacrificed sleep and peace to listen to me sob endlessly into the phone.  You would be proud of her, babe.

Just last night I had to call and have a meltdown but she was sleeping, so I unloaded on Merlyn. Everyone in our family misses you.  Everyone.  You were such a strong spirit. You had such strong character and beliefs and even though you sometimes forced them onto people who didn't want to accept them willingly, lol..., no one can deny that you had purpose.  Every day you had purpose and even if we didn't always agree to your methods for reaching that purpose, we all revered you because of it.

Because of your purpose, drive, and work ethic, I decided to create a scholarship to honor you baby. I have been thinking about it for a while, and decided with the upcoming mark of one year without you, I would just dive in feet first.  I posted it in the newspaper; had your boss post with all MRWA communications; and had Amy share it on Facebook.  I opened an account at the bank for family and friends to donate to and created a scholarship application form to give to both of our county schools. I talked with your mom about helping select winners and I think she was very honored.  I hope to honor the scholarships for as long as I live and maybe Conner will take it over when I'm gone.  Or Reagan, or Alyssa...someone I hope will continue the tradition once we establish it.  I hope that you smiled when people read it in the paper today.  I hope you are proud of me for trying to keep your legacy alive.  

I just can't believe you're gone and it is so surreal for me to actually say out loud that I've been alone for a full year. The longest I had ever been alone before you left was between my divorce and our beginning. That was only a few short months. I haven't been held or kissed, or had someone whisper he loves me. I haven't been smuggled next to on the couch or flirted with. I haven't gotten silly, cute texts to keep me smiling through the whole day. I haven't been loved in return and that's so hard. I still love you. Every minute of the day and with every ounce of my being, I still love you. It's so weird to not have it returned to me. My gosh, I miss my husband.

I love you more than words and NFAxI...
#stillhis
Love,
Veronica 

Doing This Alone...

Sometimes I catch myself stopping in the middle of everyday tasks.  I stop and look around for a few seconds, shaking my head to awaken my thoughts to reality.  This is it.  I'm doing this all alone.  How weird is that?

I have never been one to want sympathy from anyone about anything.  Life is what it is and I can only be happy when I choose to be happy.  I have experienced so many things in life that have rocked my world, but losing Mike and realizing anew everyday that I am doing this alone has rocked me beyond any measure and I wonder if I'll ever get my bearings.  I need my husband to hold me and tell me it will all be ok.

There are so many new things I am facing since widowhood began and I feel like I'm facing them all alone.  I know that my family and friends are here to support me, but ultimately no one can do any of it for me.  I have to walk this journey alone.

I am dealing with financial issues all alone that never even crossed my mind in the beginning and they scare me to death.  I am afraid when it is all said and done, that I will have very little and will live paycheck to paycheck.  But at least I know that I do have a great job that I absolutely love and feel grateful beyond measure to God, my superintendent, my board, and my co-workers and staff.  I can tell you that they make the days of being alone so much better while I'm at work.  They support me and make me feel like I've always been there.  They make me feel like we are a true team and that this is exactly where I am supposed to be career wise.  This career move also helps me make it through the financial strain with a paycheck that I will never take for granted.  I pray thanks to God every night for bringing me to this job.

In all of the money issues I face, even if I end up walking away from my whole situation with only my son and my home, that will be more than enough.  The rest just will have to be what it will be. God knew what Mike and I wanted; He knows how Mike felt all these years about the farm and about our plans and goals together that no one else knew and I feel that He has brought me this far, and that he will not forsake us now.

I am also facing holidays alone, craving my husband just to talk to and to wake up next to. Thanksgiving was difficult enough, but I really dread Christmas.  Our tradition had always been to spend Christmas Eve with my side of the family.  We used to have breakfast at my dad's then join my mom in the evening for dinner and gifts.  Christmas morning we would awaken to share gifts with each other and then wait for Tristan to arrive so that we could share the morning with both boys.  We would sit beside each other on one side of the living room and the boys would sit beside each other on the other side.  I would video them opening their gifts, as they each took turns. Mike would always place his hand on my back or on my shoulders and would play with my hair.

After the boys opened their gifts, and we opened ours from them (which actually meant I bought Mike's from the boys and he bought mine from the boys), the day was spent relaxing and watching the boys playing with their new gifts.  Mike would check and feed cows and I would ride with him most years, but then he would mostly spend the day resting, watching TV, watching the boys play, and snuggling with me on the couch.  That evening we would go to Mike's mom's for our final Christmas dinner and would sit beside each other on the couch while we watched again.

I miss his hand on my back, playing with my hair.  I miss him sitting beside me, stealing a kiss every now and then.  I miss how relaxed he was during the day, not worrying about work.  I miss his laugh and his smile as he would ask the boys to show him their gifts.  He would say, "Oh cool!  What's that?  Let me see!"  It didn't matter that he already knew what the gifts were, he still acted so surprised and impressed with each one.

Now, I will sit alone on the couch.  I will watch my son open his gifts while it's just us.  I will not feel my husband's hand on my back; I will not hear his laugh or see his shining smile.  I will not get to snuggle beside him on the couch, or ride around checking and feeding the cows, sitting close beside him in the truck.  I will not get dressed up to try and look good for him, no matter where we go.  I will not get lost in his eyes just like I did every day for 13 years.  I will do it alone.  And it makes me sick to my stomach to know.

They say the first year is the hardest.  I sure hope whoever "they" are...are right.  I just don't know though how time will make his absence any less painful.  I don't know how my life will ever seem "real" without Mike.  I am trying my best to put one foot in front of the other and to keep my mind focused on making a better and easier life for my son and me, but some days just wear me out.

I will never stop loving you, Michael.  I will miss you at Christmas just like I miss you every day.
#stillhis
Love,
Veronica