A Letter to My Husband in Heaven...

Hi baby,

Wow.  You've been gone 2 years.  I literally woke up crying this morning.  I took two Xanax to sleep last night, hoping it would help with my mood upon waking, but it didn't.

How have you been gone two year babe?  How?  I mean, you were literally just here it feels like.  I can see your face.  I can hear your smile.  I just pressed play on the last voice recording I have of you on my cell phone.  It is of your outgoing message on your cell.  My gosh, I miss your voice.

Baby, I can't believe you're not here.  I can't believe this is my life and Conner's life and you are missing it.

Oh this child of ours....he's gonna give me so many grey hairs.  I NEED you here to help me with him.  I NEED you to help me get through the days.  I NEED your hand to hold and your lips to kiss. I NEED your voice to tell me it's going to be ok and that you love me.  I am so scared he's going to end up like you: dead before he should be.  I am so scared of all the accidents he has, and let me tell you about those.  I am definitely paying for your raising, baby.  Aye aye aye....  He thinks he knows it all!!!  Just like you! lol...  Seriously though, I can't tell him anything because he thinks he already knows it all and is not careful at all.  It reminds me of all the stupid accidents you had over the years, whether it was dropping a gate or a trailer on you somehow, stabbing yourself with a dirty terribly huge cattle needle while working cows, wrecking before we began because your sadness and guilt pushed you to drinking too much, and so much more.

I think about the last accident you had before you died, the one that ended you up in the ER at Mountain View with two broken fingers.  Conner and I were in the ER last week with his knife injury...stabbed himself with your knife while whittling a piece of wood...and we were in the exact same room as you were.  We of course cried as soon as we realized it.  I noticed it first and tried to just ignore it, but it took him a few minutes to realize it was your room and when he did, the poor nurse didn't know what to think.

I was so mad about that freaking concrete plant and that accident just confirmed my hate for it. I remember when you decided you wanted to buy it and you knew I was beyond mad.  You even asked me as we stood in the kitchen together with our cups of coffee, "if I buy this will you still be here?"  I told you maybe this one more time but you had to stop somewhere. You either had to give up the MRWA job and do concrete and dirt work plus manage a few wastewater plants, or you had to quit all of that and just go back to MRWA.  I told you that day something had to change or you were going to kill yourself.  It was too much.  I knew it. Everyone around us knew it.  But you didn't.  And so you died at that freaking plant two years ago today.

I almost surprised you with lunch that day.  Conner and I almost brought you food and thought about just spending the day at the plant watching you, helping you, playing in the gravel piles he loved to climb on.  I feel so guilty about not going.  I wish we had because maybe I would have seen you slip and could have helped you.  I'm so angry that you were alone. I should have been there.  Someone should have been there.

Or you shouldn't have gone.  I knew you didn't feel well that day, so why did you go??? Why didn't you stay home and rest?  I would have cooked for you and it would have been a great day to lay on the couch with our son and watch movies with him. Or to lay in the floor and play with his gazillion Matchbox cars that you two loved to crash into each other.  You should have stayed home that day.  I should have begged you.

My gosh I miss your arms wrapped around me.  I miss so much the way you used to come up behind me while I was standing at the mirror getting ready for work.  I miss the way you would rest your head on my left shoulder and we would look into each other's eyes via the mirror ahead.  You would say, "my gosh, you are beautiful baby, you make me wanna kck-kck."  That was your noise you'd make...lol...to mean you wanted me... totally inappropriate for my blog probably but I'm writing a letter to you so who cares.

I miss how proud you were to be seen with me and how proud you were of me.  You always told me that.  You told me that about taking pictures.  You told me that about teaching.  You told me that about singing...well only like twice because you usually got mad and said, "I don't know why you have to get on stage with those boys and shake your a** for everyone else."  Well ding-dong, in case you didn't know, I was doing that for YOU.  I wanted you to be proud of me.  I never wanted to disappoint you, in all our 13 years together, I never once wanted to disappoint you.

I miss the way you complimented every meal I cooked.  Your boy has taken after you on that.  It's so sweet.  He'll tell me, "oh this is good momma...dad sure would have liked this."  You used to tell me how good everything I cooked was.  Even the first time I actually cooked a full meal at my rental house when we were just freshly dating.  My stupid oven, do you remember it?  That ridiculous thing!  It didn't work right with the temperature setting on bake, so while I had it set at 350 degrees to bake the chicken parmesan, it actually was at like 500 degrees!  My alarm started going off and you walked in with me standing below the alarm, waving a towel to try to get it to shut up, crying like an idiot, and already apologizing profusely for disappointing you.  But remember what you did?  You smiled, opened a window and said, "babe...it'll be ok!  We can just scrape off the black stuff!"  I mean, that was love right there! lol...

I miss so much about you, babe.  And I miss so much about being happy.  And our home...it is beautiful and perfect and I've made the little adjustments to it you always wanted done but didn't want to spend the money to do.  But, even in all it's perfectness, it is so lonely.  It gets so silent.  I miss the thud of your steps that used to make me so mad.  You never could just walk somewhere.  It was like you were on "go" every step of every day... a man on a million missions.  It used to make me mad because you literally stomped through the house and would wake me up.  But, boy what I would give to hear your stomps again.

Michael, you gave me the best years of my life.  You gave me 13 years of fighting, loving, growing, learning, and creating a family.  I wouldn't trade one second of any of it, except the second you took your last breath.  I want to thank you baby for all that you gave me while you were here.  Our son is the most important thing.  So, I am trying to live.  I've been having better days lately. I've been feeling a positive change ahead.  I just know things are going to turn around for us.  Please don't think that means we won't miss you every step of the way because we will.  We always will.

We will celebrate your birthday every February.  I will tell you Happy Anniversary every August. We will visit you every December 29 for the rest of our lives.

But baby, I have to heal.  I have to step forward in life.  I actually feel you right now smiling and nodding yes to me.  I know you want me to, so I'm trying.  Michael, I want to fall in love again.  I want to be wanted and needed like I was with you.  I want to find happiness for our boy.  I want to find a man who loves me and Conner and who will spend time with him, teaching him things a man needs to teach a boy.  I want to find a Godly man, one who will go to church with us.  One who won't work himself to death, but won't just sit on the couch and do nothing either.  One who will love me enough to compliment me every day like you did.  One who will take the boy and me on adventures. One who will help me build a life again for us both.

Know that no matter if and when that happens, I will love you for the rest of my life.  It is going to take one heck of a strong man to deal with this.  To love a woman who loves him, but also loves you. Do you think that's possible?  Do you think it's possible for someone to accept and love me knowing that a piece of me will now, forever, and always times infinity belong to you?  I worry sometimes that it won't happen.  But Michael, I have so much love left inside me to give baby.  I want to love again. And I hope one day I will.

I hope that Heaven has a few dirt roads that you and your dad can drive down today.  I hope it has a field full of green grass and grazing cattle.  I hope that you are sitting in the sunshine today, laughing and smiling at all the memories we made and the love we shared.  You are missed here by so many.

I love you more than words can explain, Michael Richard Hollis.  Thanks for marrying me all those years ago and thanks for making me the happiest I've ever been at least for a while.  Conner, Tristan and I love you and miss you but hope nothing but pure happiness and bliss belong to you now.

Until we meet again my love, and prepare yourself for that day because I plan to come running as hard as I can, keep smiling...keep laughing...and we will keep living as best we can.

NFAxI...
#stillhis
Love,

Your Wife

Crying Into a Bowl of Cereal...at 1:30 am...

What the heck am I doing? How did my husband die on me?  I mean, legit HOW in the world is this my life?

I'm awake as I am most nights, and I'm hungry so I'm eating a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. And crying. I'm pathetic.

But then again, I'm not. I'm just so dang broken.

I mean, we had it all planned out. We were gonna grow old together on this friggin farm and watch our kids and grandkids while we sat on the front porch with our ice tea. We were gonna love each other with all our hearts and souls forEVER. And now I don't even want to be here some days. Some days it's just too painful and I think what the heck?!?! I need to throw a dart and get the heck outta dodge. But then I feel like I would be leaving him.

And here's what I really hate. My memory.

Widow Brain has wreaked havoc on my memory for some normal little day to day tasks that I just completely forget to do or forget when something is supposed to happen when literally I would just have talked about it. Like yesterday my girls' basketball team was playing in a tournament and I was talking with our assistant coach about if we won or lost, when we would play again. Not even an hour later, I had to text another coach to ask when. What the heck? So my memory screws with me and I can't remember stupid little things like that but you wanna know what I do remember?

I distinctly remember the way it felt in the pit of my stomach when I heard the coroner of the neighboring county tell me my husband was dead. I mean he told me over the F-ING phone! I remember shaking and not believing him so I told him, "ummm no, you're wrong. You are totally talking about the wrong person and nope it's not Mike. Thank you," and I hung up. Seriously. That's how my first conversation went with this man. And then the second time I dialed my husband's number, after a few minutes of not really registering but telling our 10 year old son to pray no matter what and rely on God no matter what, this man confirmed again that the love of my life was dead.

I remember falling to the gravel on my knees and the sharpness of the rocks that I didn't even feel until I stood after our son collapsed on the ground beside me. I remember telling him his dad was not coming home.

I remember all the people flooding our home and crying so much and being so drugged up on shock, grief, and Xanax that I literally could not walk to the bathroom by myself. I remember the smell of his coat and his wallet and his last set of work clothes that luckily I hadn't washed yet. I remember hyperventilating when my sister arrived after a 2-hour drive that should have taken 3 1/2. I remember making eye contact with her and not breathing. I remember her coming to me with a cold wet washcloth the hours and days ahead when I would have a complete meltdown. I remember the strange feeling that overtook me and the look I would give to her when it was about to hit.

I remember apologizing to people for these massive meltdowns. I don't know why I did, but I did. I remember thinking, "I hate that this is what my son is seeing but I literally cannot control it."

I just sure wish he was here and none of these memories existed. I wish I could sleep. I wish I could STOP reliving the day he died over and over and over. Or the day we buried him. It was so cold and I was dressed in the traditional black clothing: black sweater and dress pants, hair pulled back on a low pontytail, not one drop of makeup. And his brown, torn, stained, Carhartt coat that smelled of him.

Here is what I want to say to you, folks.

Love.
For the love of all things good, LOVE. Love hard and love as long as you can. Do not hesitate for one second to tell someone how you feel. Do not let fights last for days. Forgive each other. Swallow your pride and say you're sorry. Hold on to each other and hold on tight. End every phone call with an "I love you." If you aren't with anyone right now but you want to be, and he wants to be with you, then by golly GO FOR IT. Risk it. Try it. And if you fail, get back up and try again. But if you already have someone, cherish him. For the love of God, cherish him. Do those little things to spoil him. Make him where there is not ever one ounce of doubt in his mind how much you want him, need him, respect him, appreciate him, and love him.

Mike was sometimes a very hard man to love. He was rough around the edges and sometimes said or did things that hurt me deeply. But I was not going to give up on us. And the day he died, we were happier and more in love than ever.

So, I'm gonna go cry into my cereal a little more and take some Tylenol PM in hopes I drift to sleep soon and forget all the memories that won't let me go.

Much love to all of you. May God bring you peace in whatever area you may need it this Christmas Season and always. Pray for my son, our family and me as we approach two years. December 29 is our least favorite day of all.

#stillhis
Love,
Veronica

Unexplainable...

Dear Michael,

I miss you.

We participated in Thanksgiving this year as opposed to last year when we just had to avoid all things related to the Holiday. The entire time my mind was racing with thoughts of you. I forced myself to participate.

I prepared a good meal, all the while remembering all of the times you were here for dinner with the family. Conner even commented as he sat down with his plate, with tears welled up in his eyes, "Dad sure would like this food, mom." We just had a quiet moment looking at each other and nodding while everyone else was still filling their own plates.

I miss you.

My mom wanted a real tree for Christmas this year so we drove the farm, everyone loaded into your truck, and searched for the perfect tree. I drove in silence most of the way and cried. Mom sat beside me, patted  me on the leg and said, "I love you," over and over. I found no joy in what should have been a beautiful moment: Mom'a three grandchildren and her two daughters doing the old fashioned Christmas tree hunt. Instead though, I was sad.

I miss you.

I have found that I am SO much more quiet and drained than I ever have been before. I can't explain it to people. The only ones who understand are unfortunately the ones who are part of widowhood themselves. I can't explain the tug at my stomach that literally stays with me as I walk through every day, nauseated with nerves. I can't explain the switch that has been flipped that seriously requires each moment of laughter, each glimmer of a smile, to be forced. I have never had to FORCE myself to smile or laugh or enjoy life's most precious moments. But here I am, forcing just about everything.

I miss you.

I miss your laugh, your light. I miss your hands to hold and your broad shoulders to lean on. I miss your kisses and your compliments. I miss your presence in all things, whether it meant that your were physically home from work or just that I knew you would be coming home from work. The reality always existed that you WOULD be coming home. And now that reality is gone. And that is the most difficult thing to imagine or to try to explain.

Conner told me the other day, while he and I had a snuggle fest in his bed, "Mom, sometimes when I think about Dad, I have to look at a picture because I can't see his face perfect anymore." And he feels guilty about that. He feels guilty that his image of you is beginning to not be as clear as it was two years ago. And it's not that Conner has forgotten what you look like; it's just that enough time has passed that he is scared to death of forgetting what you look like. He's afraid of forgetting your voice. I cannot begin to explain to anyone how much this hurts and literally kills a piece of me.

I miss you... but HE misses you so much more because YOU are missing him growing up.

You are missing these mood swings that sometimes just about push me over the edge. Ugh...12 is SO HARD and I can't imagine what it's like without a dad. Our son literally has NO male influences in his life. Not ones that actually come around. I mean, so many of them SAY they will but then rarely, if ever, actually show up. I can't begin to fathom what goes through Conner's mind when he needs his dad. Anger, disappointment, sorrow, frustration, confusion, isolation, abandonment, fear....so on and so on.

Everyday I carry so much that it is weighing me down and robbing me of my soul's happiness. I am not happy. I am not ok. But I have to fake it every day just to get through. I have a job and bills and a son to raise. My own inner guilt and turmoil of knowing, KNOWING, that I have to move forward, that I cannot give up, that our son needs me more than ever, that I HAVE to be his everything, weighs more heavily on me with every passing day. I've heard so many times it makes me want to puke that "time heals all wounds." I call BS. No it doesn't. In my case, it often feels like time or making things worse for me. And it is unexplainable.

I wish you hadn't left us. I wish you had been happy with our 182 acre farm at Garwood and never brought us to this train wreck I'm in now, alone. I wish you had been happy with a "normal" job and paycheck and hadn't let your gazillion money ideas consume you and what time we should have had with you. I wish fall and winter were not such dreaded times for us now because they used to be our favorites. I wish you hadn't left me so much debt. I wish you hadn't gone to work that day, by that you had rested like I wanted you to. I wish so much, babe.

But more than anything, I wish our little boy's heart wasn't so broken and that mine would begin to heal. Because I have accepted reality, and it sucks, I now know that you're never coming back and that my life will never be the same. But it's so unexplainable to others how this makes us feel every moments of the day.

I miss you.
We miss you.

#stillhis
Love,
Your Wife

An Empty Chair...

Tomorrow for Thanksgiving families and friends will gather for a beautiful meal. Laughter will carry across the dinner rolls and the pie plates. Memories will be made and homes will be filled with love.

For many families during the holidays unfortunately, there will be an empty chair. An empty place setting at the table.

An empty chair sits at our table because Mike is not there. An empty chair means that we look around for him but he is nowhere to be found. 

All that remains is a void, a space where he should be. I'm trying to push this reality from my mind but after I loaded my vehicle down with holiday groceries earlier today, I had a full on breakdown the entire drive home. I haven't had a good "can't breathe, sob out loud, can't see the road" kind of cry in a while. And stupid pecan pie and cinnamon rolls did it.

The day my husband died I made cinnamon rolls. I literally have not been able to eat a cinnamon roll since that day. I had baked them and called Mike to tell him they were done. I asked if he wanted me to bring him some but he had already left the farm. Just a few hours later, when the cinnamon rolls had grown cold, the love of my life died, alone, at our concrete plant, and was found half hanging out of the concrete chute. His legs and hips were exposed but his front end was not visible, as it rested lifeless in the chute.

So cinnamon rolls, the kind from a can  that we can freshly bake on our own, are just one of my nemeses. And then there is pecan pie.

This Thanksgiving staple makes my chest tighten and my breaths become labored. Crazy, right? Mike loved pecan pie and one year it was my mom's duty to provide the sweets. Mike ate that pie and raved about how good it was, offering compliment after compliment to my mom. The evening continued and when he went back for another piece, he complimented again saying , "Good job on the pie, Jackie." To which mom replied, "oh, well I didn't make it...it's Marie Callendar."  Mike laughed so hard! He was like, I complimented her multiple times today and she never came clean until the very end and she literally just forgot she had actually bought it instead of made it!! For the Thanksgivings Mike was still alive after that, he teased my mom always with, "where's that famous pecan pie you make, Jackie?"

Goodness. So two foods that usually fill homes during Thanksgivig and Christmas are two that I just can no longer handle.

But the foods that cause me to go into near convulsive sobs don't hold a light to the empty chair. And it's not just the empty chair during the holidays but literally sometimes I catch myself while sitting in my recliner just looking over at my couch and it's just blank; there is no one there. 

Mike should be sitting right here... My husband, Conner's dad, Chris' son. But it remains empty.

And sure there could be someone in the chair to fill that space, but that chair might end up being empty for the rest of my life because I have set my standards high. Michael set them high, not only with what he did or said, but also with what he didn't do or say. So my standards, my expectations, my bare minimums that I will tolerate and fall in love with, are high. Not because I'm better than anyone by any stretch, but because I deserve good.

I deserve attention and affection. I had those with Michael and because of his attention and affection, I never doubted that my husband loved me in all my flaws.

I deserve honesty and openness. I THOUGHT I always had those with my husband; I have learned that I didn't. Not to the extent I should have. Otherwise, I would not be in probate court; life insurance policies would have all been correct; debt would not have been such an overwhelming surprise.

I deserve commitment and trust and loyalty.  Mike had his infidelities before me but I did not worry about his lack of commitment to me and to our son; however, as the years passed it seemed often that his commitment was directed more toward making money to pay for his business endeavors. And he didn't even know if either of his sons wanted a part of it all, but he committed his life to providing a dream for them and I'm angry about it because that's what killed him. He committed so hard to it that he got us both in so deep, he could never stop. Until it killed him.

I deserve laughter and compliments and love so deep. I deserve happiness and security and longevity. I deserve love unmatched.

That chair might be empty for the next 40 years, I don't know.  But I do know that for now, on the cusp of Thanksgiving and Christmas, and the two year mark, I will look at the empty chair and I will miss all of the good things about my husband that made me fall so hard in love with a dark-haired, dark complected, hard-working, generous man.

Please say a prayer for peaceful hearts and survival for all widows/widowers and their children and families.  Invite a widow to dinner! Open your home and heart to love and kindness and generosity and patience.

Grieving is a terribly difficult journey. Our empty chairs will always be a part of our lives, whether physically or metaphorically. Our loves are gone and we will miss them for the rest of our breaths.

May your home be filled with love and laughter, good food and good company, and may your chairs be filled with people you love.

God bless you all from The Hollis Family.
#stillhis
Love,
Veronica 

An Epic Fail...

WARNING--REALITY of widowhood post ahead. DO NOT comment statements of pity as that is NOT what I am looking for. I just need to vent and I think many people really have no idea the reality of solo life. Especially a young solo life.

Here I sit in my recliner, defeated and angry once again. I feel like I am DONE right now. D.O.N.E.

I am a mom.
My son is healthy and ornery and drives me insane but is my best blessing of all. I prayed for him. For years I prayed for the chance to be a mom. Yes, my son sometimes sends me into moments of near rage, but I would not be able to live one day without him.

I am a principal.
I have worked hard for my degrees and have had success in the education field. I have worked hard at any job I've held since I was 13 years old. I've always worked hard.

I am a widow.
A WIDOW. Wow. Not a role for which I bargained and often time I feel that I am an EPIC FAIL.

I did NOT pray for this title.
I did NOT work hard to earn it.

And I'm stuck with it!

Today I am drained. Physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually drained.

I started with an idea of what I was going to accomplish today, starting with building a dog kennel since our dog has begun wandering to the neighbors. I hate having to keep her tied so I decided she needs a pen.

Last weekend while Conner and I were riding around the farm, we stumbled upon a pile of things and found pieces for a chain link pen. What the heck?!?! I literally didn't even know we had one...or excuse me, that Michael had one. Angry at first that there was yet another thing I didn't know until after my husband died, I decided to push the anger at Michael to the side and put my newly found dog pen to good use. Not having to spend the money on a new pen was a relief.

I decided today that I would build it. I gathered, with Conner's help, the six pieces of chain link pen, fence posts to secure corners to, fence post driver which weighs a ton, wire to attach to fence posts, sledge hammer, regular hammer, and tin to cover a portion of the pen. A woman on a mission!

I loaded everything into the bed of the truck and began to unload at a spot in the yard where I could actually envision the pen and how well it would serve our dog Molly. I began working. Yep, I was gonna do it. It would be so cool to show people I did it myself.

I drove one fence post and began hammering the ends of the first piece of the chain link pen into the ground and things began to go wrong. And things continued to go wrong. I failed. I dropped everything and went to sit and cry.

I began messaging people asking for help. They all have lives and chores and jobs and families and no time for me and my ridiculous problems today. And I do not begrudge a single one of them for this!!! As a matter of fact, I am so incredibly happy that my friends have what I had almost two years ago.

My friends are such amazing people. They spend time with their children. They spend time with their spouses. They go to birthday parties and baby showers; they go watch movies together as a family; they are happily busy living their lives. Please know that I am so proud of each of you. You, the dear friends to whom I reached out today, are living the dream...my dream: a busy, happy, whole family. A husband, wife, and child(ten). I love you all...so I apologize for asking for help like I did today, but then declining invitations at other times.

I avoid birthday parties and baby showers. I am so sorry to all of you who have invited us over the past two years to your moments of celebration. But I just can't. I've tried, and I have found that I'm so focused on the absence of my husband and I look at our son and know that is exactly what he's thinking as well that I end up in tears or have to leave quickly so that I can cry on the drive home. I know that we have turned down dinner invitations or movie invitations. We have turned down just coming over to hang out.

I have also avoided attending church services often. I have such mixed emotions when I attend church and I cry, sometimes uncontrollably, every visit. I love The Lord and feel incredibly blessed and grateful for all He has given to me and to our son. But I am also sometimes so angry and sad, and sometimes it's over stupid little things like the epic fail of preparing a dog pen, that I cannot face The Lord. I feel guilty for being angry. And also we avoid it sometimes for the looks. We avoid everything and everyone sometimes because of the looks. And don't get me wrong, I know that the people who love us and care for us are only concerned for us and see that I am a different person than before. The looks mean genuine concern and I know that, BUT still it makes me feel like my absolute despair shows so loudly on my face, and I HATE that this is who I am now.

I am so incredibly sorry. But know that when I reply "I'm not feeling well", or "Conner isn't feeling well," I'm not lying. Depression, the bone aching kind, has settled into me and I can't seem to shake it off. I try. Believe me I try. Every second of every minute of every hour of every day I try.

But some days, and today is one of those days, I can't. I'm done. I can't face people or pretend one second of today. I pretend all day most days and sometimes the pretending ends up bringing me genuine laughter and genuine smiles. But many more times it is still just all forced.

So today I reached out for help again because I am an EPIC FAIL as a solo ANYTHING (and for sure as a dog pen builder) and I ended up realizing I owe so many of my family and friends an apology. To some I'm sure it seems like the only time I reach out is when I need something. I HATE being THAT person. I'm sorry. I truly am. I am grateful to each of you, whether all of our memories are old or we still try to make new ones when we have time. A few of you are still the diehard amazing people who text me regularly to check on us. Please know I want to return with all of my heart, I really do. I'm still trying and I still need your love, support, and prayers. I promise I won't be an EPIC FAIL at friendship and family, or at love and happiness forever.

I just still miss my husband and love and happiness and holding a handsome man's hand. I'm just still really sad.

Love,
Veronica

No Weapon Shall Form Against Me...

Boy, do I have lots to say tonight.  Thank God He has a hold of my tongue and I will try to "vent" in the most Christian of ways possible.

There are some snakes in the grass during widowhood and I have HAD MY FILL of them all.

I want to ask you a few questions and I really want you to consider the questions a while.  Think from MY perspective...a WIDOW'S perspective...a SOLO MOM'S perspective.

How evil can someone be to try and cause harm to a widow and her son?  I mean, it really takes moxie to try daily to cause harm to another person.  It takes even more moxie to do so to a woman who is trying her best to keep her head above water, between the depths of grief and the depths of debt left on her shoulders.  And I don't mean physical harm; I mean financial, emotional, whatever. I guess that grief is supposed to end pretty quickly and no one should ever consider the utter sadness still being felt.  I mean, we should be over it by now, right?  Wrong.
 
How about someone's lowness to stand on the sidelines only to watch and "tattle" when they think something "fishy" is going on?  I love how some people think they know my son's and my business and are not the kind of neighbors I would ever want in my life.  Poke a bear. Fuel a fire.  Whatever idiom you want to use, some people do this all the time just to send someone my way who will cause me trouble. And why?  What is gained?  Is this really the Christian way?  Is this really what God is leading you to do?  Ummm...no...it isn't.

How cruel can someone be to simply "forget" that my son exists?  Forget to actually SHOW UP for him?  Forget to call and talk with him about his day, his week, his MONTHS since the last time?
How about forgetting that Conner has NO male influence in his life and might need one and that you should actually step up to the plate and BE A MAN????  Or how about not forgetting...just NOT DOING.  Plainly remembering and offering HOPE to Coner, but never following through. Conner and I have heard WAY TOO MANY empty promises the last almost two years. Way too many.

But here is the deal.

No matter how much they try...no matter how much they love to see my suffering and my son's suffering...their game is nothing compared to God's game.  HE has game; they don't.  I am guessing that I am not the first widow to experience this kind of behavior from outsiders.  It makes us fighting mad.  It makes us angry beyond all measure of the word; it makes us want to shed the wrath of widowhood upon all of them.  I cannot tell you how many times I have ALMOST picked up the phone, dialed a few numbers I have and let loose.  But what will that accomplish?  Nothing but putting myself as low as they are.  And I shan't do that. Here is what I will do instead: pray.

I have had a beautiful day with my son and his friend Evan.  I had a beautiful day with my sister, niece, and her boyfriend yesterday.  My life is beautiful even with all its scars and pain. I have prayed many thanks to God for these kind of beautiful days for my family.

My life is filled with plenty of people who DO love us and would never cause us harm or say mean and hurtful things.  I am blessed with co-workers and staff who appreciate my efforts on a daily basis and who respect me for those efforts.  I thank God for the job opportunity I was blessed with after Mike passed away.  I am blessed with friends who text me every so often just to say hi and they hope I'm doing well.  I am blessed with prayers from all across the community.

I am blessed with treasures above all treasures: a son who makes up the best parts of Mike and me and forgiveness from my Father.  And trust me, I have needed plenty of forgiveness my whole life, but an exponentially greater amount since widowhood began.

I have a home that I love, but even if I did not have this home anymore, I will always have HOME because wherever my son and I are...that is HOME.

My mother-in-law has told me from the beginning of losing Mike that, "No weapon formed against you shall prosper, Veronica, that is in The Bible and I believe it."  She has been praying that for me since we learned I was going to have to battle for anything because Mike didn't have much of our property titled properly.  I have been in probate court more times than I can count and I am STILL battling.

God has held my shoulders up all these months.  Some days honest to goodness, I am barely standing. I am not saying that to receive sympathy...I don't want it.

I DO want empathy...understanding...patience...love...support...prayers...kindness...time for my son...time for me...dinner together...movie nights...texts to lift my spirits...offers that actually turn to action...no more empty promises...scriptures of encouragement...more prayers...help with things I don't want to ask for, like yard work (sorry Amy that your husband is always chosen for this task...;)...space...time...more prayers...

So, they can go ahead with their evil plots.  What will be will be.  I lost my husband, my best friend, the love of my life.  My son lost his dad, his hero above all heroes, the man he actually CHOSE to be with whenever he had the chance.  What more can they do to us; what more can we lose?  Whatever it may be will not tear us down.  We have stood in the depths of hell on Earth and are still on the fringes of it on any given day.  So, bring it.  God's game is strong.  No weapon they have will prosper against me or my son.

Keep loving, people.  Love all that you can while you can. Spread love and kindness and grace.

I am probably burning some bridges with this post.  I should have set them on fire a long time ago.

Widow Thinking...

I'm not sure about other widows, but I sometimes get in this thought pattern that is not healthy. I call it Widow Thinking. It's similar to Widow Brain (the forgetfulness and confusion that comes with this life), but worse. Widow Thinking brings the negative thoughts to the forefront, regardless how much I try to push it back down.

Yesterday kicked my tail and brought the Widow Thinking around after what had been a beautiful morning and afternoon spent in church. It doesn't make sense how Widow Thinking will just come out of nowhere and take over; it will ruin a perfectly beautiful day.

My dad just randomly showed up at our house while Conner and I were watching tv together. I haven't seen my dad in a while and was surprised to see him through the window but it was a pleasant surprise. I asked if he had time to take Conner bow-hunting and so they left soon after Dad arrived.

The house was quiet and I got in a little tv time to myself. Then Conner called because he had shot at a deer and tried to call my dad but there was no answer. I was about to start dinner but Conner needed help tracking his deer, so I pulled on my boots and headed his direction. I guess the first thing that set the Widow Thinking into action was seeing the soon-to-be new owner of most of the farm. I didn't know he was anywhere on the farm and there he was on a tractor, bushhogging the field.

I immediately became angry. I immediately felt cheated. I immediately felt guilt. I immediately felt failure. I immediately felt a gut-wrenching, aching sadness for the absence of my husband.

But as usual, I clenched my jaw and gritted my teeth as I slowed the four wheeler beside the tractor. After a minute of letting him know that Conner was hunting (the noise of the tractor would have spoiled any hunting had Conner still been in his stand), I drove toward my son's hunting spot, which isn't even his own stand. He has been using his brother's stand and we are reminded of that every conversation they have about it. I literally have forgotten a million times (Widow Brain) that it is a stand Mike and I bought Tristan some years back for Christmas. I need to buy Conner his own. That makes me angry; Mike should have bought Conner one too. Oh but that's right, he died instead.

So anyway, Conner and I began our walk through the woods and soon my dad arrived. I explained to Dad what Conner had explained to me and then on my walk back to the four wheeler, I turned to look behind me and saw two men standing by thw tractor. Neither was my husband. And that is overwhelming.

I raced home on the four wheeler, leaving Conner and my dad to track the deer, to start cooking dinner. Conner had requested deer meat from last year'a harvest. I had a good cry while at the house by myself but then Dad and Conner arrived (no deer was found). Dad began asking how things were going and I literally fell apart. It was one of those can't breathe, can't stand on my own kind of cries. My dad held me up and I let loose what I've been holding in for so long.

You see, I try my best every single day to be "strong". That's what people expect. That's what makes society feel comfortable. That's what keeps people from thinking they need to send me to an asylum. I have to be strong. For my son, for my students and staff, for my family and friends, for everyone and everything. I have so much responsibility riding on my shoulders that I don't have the time to cry. I don't have the time to stop the busyness of life or the business of life and have a complete breakdown. But sometimes against all of my own will, Widow Thinking comes in and takes over. And it doesn't matter what else is going on outside of myself, I lose control.

Widow Thinking brings guilt. I feel guilty for having to sell most of the farm. Widow Thinking brings failure. I feel like I am failing my husband exponentially by not being able to keep the 1200 acre farm (his lifelong dream) running myself. Widow Thinking brings anger. There isn't enough Internet space to list all that makes me angry anymore. Widow Thinking brings sadness unexplainable; loneliness unfathomable; longing unimaginable. And I live with Widow Thinking every single day. I just can't act like it.

No one understands unless he or she is living it. We can't explain it or will it to go away. So have patience; hug us when we have our breakdowns; listen as we rant; tell us you're so sorry. Don't tell us what you think will fix it for us; don't look at us like we're crazy; don't walk away because you aren't strong enough to handle seeing us like this. It is a part of us.

Be gentle and kind today. You never know what internal battle is being fought behind the smile.

I LOVE and miss you more than words, baby. NFAxI...
#stillhis
Love,
Veronica

A Different World...

Early morning cups of coffee, 

sitting one love across from the other.  

Feet touching on the edges of the couches

where they meet in the corner.

Moments of conversation and sideways grins

while sips of warm black liquid are taken.

A hand reaching over to touch the other

ever so gently and warmly.

A cute giggle out of such a burly

man when something funny is said.

Whispers into the pillow late at night

while the rest of the world sleeps.

Moments of silence between two souls who

look deep into the other's eyes.

Understanding of a love like no other when

not one word has to be spoken to know.

Youth fading into middle-age, wrinkles and 

extra pounds coming.

But loving just as much as the day they first met

over a phone call on an October evening.

Date nights spent staring into each other's eyes

as much as the teenagers around them.

Midnight snuggles on cold winter nights

when they should be sleeping instead.

Long talks of dreams and plans as cows graze 

in the fields below and the trees dance.

Plans and hopes and promises made to withstand

all tests of time.

A head gently tilted to rest on a strong shoulder

that makes her feel safe every day.

They were in love.

She was safe.

They had each other.

Her son had a daddy.

Her heart had its other half.

Life was complete.  

The world was as it should be.

It's a Different World...

Early morning cups of coffee taken alone

while she stares at his picture and flag on the mantle.

Feet curled in under the blanket while she feels

cold in the loneliness of her home.

Silence remains, and speaks stronger than any 

giggle or conversation they used to share.

Her hand is alone, empty of his, her wedding ring

changed sizes and fingers, but on the same hand.

A tear instead of a giggle, at the memory of 

something funny he used to say.

Whispers into the pillow late at night,

begging for peace and mercy from God.

Her eyes stay closed as she squeezes them tight

trying to block out the pain that keeps her awake.

She still knows there will never be a love

like theirs was.

Her youth is still fading and she feels more aged,

more wrinkled, and weary and heavy-laden.

And she loves him still just as much as she did

on that phone call one October evening.

Date nights are now just her and their son,

watching dads and kids and trying not to.

Midnight wakings because she dreams of him,

when she should be sleeping.

She doesn't talk about dreams anymore

knowing it will do her no good. 

She is afraid to have any kind of hopes or dreams

anymore; she can't let go of the old ones.

She misses his shoulder to lean on, she misses

feeling safe and protected.

She is still in love with a ghost.

She doesn't feel safe anymore.

She has no one who understands. 

No one to talk to.

Laugh with.

Love with.

Hold onto.

Promise the world to.

Her son struggles daily.

And she can't fix it.

She can't take it all back.

She can't carry it alone.

But she has to.

So she prays.

and she prays...

and she prays...

And she is grateful.

Grateful to friends.

To family.

But she is still alone.

At the end of the day.

When she climbs into bed.

When she picks up the phone to dial.

She is alone.

Her other half is gone.

Her best friend is gone.

Her knight in shining armor is gone.

And so is her heart.

Please don't ever judge a widow or widower, or a child without a parent.  I have a friend who was widowed several years ago.  I apologized to her tonight for not being there for her in her early days all those years ago.  I never understood all the thoughts and demons she has fought all these years. Not until they became my constant companions as well.  

I miss him.  More than my family can understand.  More than my friends and co-workers can understand. More than even I can understand at times.  

Life has to move forward, but no one realizes how truly difficult it is to accept that truth.  

I just miss him.  So. Much.  

I will now, forever, and always be #stillhis...

I love you and miss you baby.  I hope you feel my love all the way to Heaven.

Our Boy...

Several months ago I asked Conner if he wanted to start a "mom and me" journal to help with his grief. The idea was for us to keep a simple spiral notebook and I started with writing a note to him. He would read it, and when he was ready whether it was from having a bad day or a good day, he would then write me back. 

My first note to him was six months ago. Two nights ago he brought me the notebook. 

I cried. Like a baby. And I held our son close and tight for a few minutes as we stood in the kitchen. We cried together. 

Our son misses out on so much. Yesterday Mike's cousin Bert came over to teach Conner how to sharpen a pocket knife using a whetstone. They sat beside each other on our dining room bench, and I sat across from them just watching in silence. I held back tears and swallowed hard to keep the lump inside my throat under control. I love Bert, but it should be Mike beside Conner teaching him how to sharpen knives. 

Then Bert asked Conner where Mike's knife was that he had gotten from Grandpa Norman and I realized again that there are so many stories Conner will never get to hear. There are so many stories Conner will never get to tell. And that's so beyond unfair. 

I worry everyday about how I'm raising our son on my own. I worry about failure, about screwing him up for life. I worry about relationships he will have and how he will so desperately want to talk to his dad about it instead of to me. I will listen. I will talk. I will trust and tell the truth. But I still won't be his dad. 

I think about our son's future and how many things he will endlessly long for his dad to experience with him. 

I think about all the things that I will endlessly long for Mike to share with me. I think about Conner's first driving experience on the highway and not gravel or through the fields. I think about his first "real" girlfriend and his first kiss. I think about his first home run hit out of the park, his first prom, his graduation, his goals after high school. But I also think of all the little things every single day that Conner misses his dad for. 

Special nights when Mike used to share a pallet in the floor with the boys. The simple "how was your day, buddy," that Conner never gets to hear. All the bucks he will harvest, his first bow kill, and just the overall hunting experience. He only got to share a few of those before his dad was taken from us. So much more is missed every minute of every day. 

And I'm just a mom. I'm just a widow. I'm just a woman. I'm trying my best to raise him right and I'm trying my best to maintain some positivity in our otherwise grim situation. I still worry. I still fail. I still cry and show weakness in front of him. 

Our son is the absolute best thing to ever happen to me and as you can read in his journal to me, God is helping me every step of the way. Mike and I sure made a pretty cool kid. Maybe I'm doing something right all by myself after all. 

I love you, son, with every fiber of my being. And even though some days I want to knock you for a loop, you are MY rock too. You make momma and daddy proud beyond measure. 

Not Your Typical Night, But It Is Ours...

Widowed. Fatherless. That's who we are. It is not something for which we planned or could have ever imagined. It is not something for which we could have ever prepared ourselves. It is not a badge of honor, but instead it is a glowing scar across our souls. It is who we are. Is it ALL that we are? Absolutely not. But it defines our days, our actions, our patterns of thought, and more. And no one understands it unless they are scarred the same way we are. 

Tonight my son and I went to dinner at a local restaurant. We had a gift certificate that my in-laws had given me in July for my birthday. So, we went on our mother-son date, ate a great dinner, and talked about daddy. We arrived home and Conner asked if we could go see him. See that's what we say...we don't say "let's go to the cemetery", or "let's go to the graveyard". We say, "let's go see daddy." 

My stomach literally fills with anxiety the second we turn onto the road that leads to the cemetery. I begin having trouble keeping my breaths steady and my hands take on that same old tremble. As we inch closer to the gravel drive that leads into the gated, beautiful cemetery nestled amidst a cattle farm, I have to will myself to take a few deep breaths. I do this because I know once I kneel in front of my husband, I will lose all control. It is the same every time, no matter if it has been months or only days since our last visit. It never gets easier and the tears never lessen. 

Tonight our "date night" might not have been typical for most people, but to a widow and her son, it was. We can be having a totally "normal" day and then something hits us that sends us to that stone with the etched farm scene. Conner took his turn first, as is usual, and I waited beneath the huge shade tree behind him. The breeze blew and I could have stayed there forever. 

Once my son finished talking to his dad, it was my turn to take that dreaded walk. I know that some people say, "you don't have to go." I know I don't have to, but it is the only place we can basically lose all control with our sobs without feeling like a spectacle. And he's my husband; I will always go see him. And Conner will always go see his dad. And I know others say we don't have to go just to try and protect us; everyone knows how taxing it is on us. But my heart will always pull me to Michael's final resting place. 

That is where I last said goodbye as I held onto his casket one last time before they lowered him into the cold December ground. Nestled in the middle of a cattle farm, surrounded by barns and cows grazing, adorned with shade trees with welcoming branches, my husband sleeps beside his family. And our "typical" days are not what others expect, but they are ours. 

I ask tonight that you wrap your arms around those you love. Breathe them in. Hold them tight. Say I love you a million times. Smile and laugh and dance and sing. And if your typical day includes a visit to your lost loved one too, then God Bless you and yours with strength and love. 

We love you and miss you baby. More than any words can measure. 

NFAxI...

#stillhis

Love,

Veronica 

Missing Him...

I'm lying in bed next to our son and I just cannot fathom how we ended up without you. It seems like yesterday you were here. I hear your voice sometimes just around the corner, but then it fades quickly. I've been trying to step forward and begin life anew. I'm failing miserably. 

Everyone thinks I have it together and that I'm moving forward from grief just fine. The reality is, I miss you so desperately and it's almost fall, so that makes it worse. 

Fall is when we built so many of our most perfect memories. I miss riding around with the windows down, listening to old country or classic rock. I would sit next to you and let my hand rest on your leg. You'd look over and steal a kiss every once in a while. And sometimes, because you loved me so much, you would stop dead in your tracks on an old dirt road or in the middle of our field, and just look at me. Your eyes would burn through mine and you'd tell me how beautiful you thought I was. 

I remember all of the deer hunting and gigging trips we went on. You thought I was cute even with no makeup and hair unkempt and thrown under the hideous Hunter orange cap. You'd tell me I was cute as could be, camo clothes and all. I used to love gigging with you; sometimes we turned it into a competition. You were impressed I could do it so well. Remember the time we chased around my last fish of the night for an hour? I was determined to top everyone. You just were patient and grinned with pride when I got it. 

I miss the days when we would just sit on the porch and hold hands and talk. We had so many plans. We talked of those dreams we just knew were going to be a reality some day; us owning a big farm and watching our boys grow up working it. And I was able to go with you more once fall descended. It was too hot and you were too busy in a tractor amidst the hayfields in summer. But fall was our time. 

Fall also means our anniversary of beginning. October 18, 2001, seems  so far away when you say the year but seems like it just passed.  I have a picture of us at my rent house on Halloween. Amy brought Alyssa by for us to see her in her adorable little Piglet costume. We were already in love and had been for less than two weeks. I knew I was going to marry you. I knew I was going to be madly in love with you until the day I die. I knew it. I just didn't know God had other plans. 

I know that all of the things we used to do together in the fall are coming around again. Gigging season, deer season, Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas. I'm not ready to do any of them with anyone else, and I honestly don't know if I ever will be. I guess part of me also knows that December 29 is mixed in there and I absolutely cannot believe it has been almost 2 years. Sometimes I still catch myself in a pile on the floor, barely breathing through sobs and yelling at you. I ask why did you have to go? I scream that you were just here; I just had you. I just don't understand. 

I am so drained. I am so tired of reliving that day and your funeral. My memory is not as good as it used to be for just "normal" everyday things, but I can remember how your Carhart coat smelled as I wrapped myself up tightly at your grave. I remember the sound of the cows and the ringing of the shots fired from the Marines. I remember everything, babe. All of it. And I just miss you so incredibly much. I wish more than anything you were here in our bed, snoring loudly enough to keep me awake. 

I'm still so in love with you. How can I be in love with a ghost? I don't know, but I am. I feel like I am still your wife and you are my husband. 

I had my first speaking engagement this weekend that wasn't to a room full of students or teachers. I talked about widowhood a little bit. I talked about you. I spoke of being a teacher and a principal. I spoke of God's love and how He has not forsaken Conner or me. I received many blessings after I finished speaking. Hugs, prayers, and support came from several who attended. I felt humbled and honored. 

Things are difficult every day, babe. Sometimes I go a while without crying, days even. And then lately, the days blend together and I don't make it through a full one without losing control. Yesterday it happened in my admin meeting, in the room with my superintendent and the other four administrators. Awesome. I just had no control though; I miss you so much. 

My mom gave me a card today just because she knows I've been missing you so much lately. She worries about us. Here is what her card read: 

"The Oak Tree--a message of encouragement 

A mighty wind blew night and day. It stole the oak tree's leaves away, then snapped it's boughs and pulled its bark until the oak tree was tired and stark.

But still the oak tree held its ground while other trees fell all around. The weary wind gave up and spoke, 'how can you still be standing, Oak?'

The oak tree said, 'I know that you can break each branch of mine in two, carry every leaf away, shake my limbs and make me sway. But I have roots stretched in the earth, growing stronger since my birth. 

You'll never touch them for you see, they are the deepest part of me. Until today I wasn't sure of just how much I could endure. But now I've found with thanks to you, I'm stronger than I ever knew.'" 

Widowhood has broken my boughs, shaken me to the core, but I stay standing for our boy. And I can promise that God's grace and my love for you has been what we have been rooted in. We love and miss you forever. 

NFAXI...#stillhis

Love, 

Veronica 

Happiness is a CHOICE?!?! Seriously!?

Happiness is a choice. I get to choose whether I am happy or not. 

Really? 

Let's think about this. Maybe I'm just extra wound up and angry tonight. Something just hit me when I got home earlier and checked Twitter and read, "Happiness is an attitude and a choice." From that moment on I've literally been shaking and my heart has been racing and I have my jaw so tightly clenched in order to keep my sobs suppressed for my son. 

I've got so much to say about this whole "happiness is a choice" line of crap. 

I did not CHOOSE to become a widow and a solo parent (as an earlier post states, this is COMPLETELY different from being a single parent) at 36. I did not CHOOSE for my 10 year old son (now 12) or my 17 year old stepson (now 19) to lose their dad. 

I mean, look at this? Happiness is a choice? HOW??? When tragedy of this magnitude occurs, we don't have a choice in our emotions or our lives for that matter! Really, deep down we don't! Emotions take control. Grief is a process, a cyclical up-and-down road through which we travel half the time with blinders on. We don't know how to navigate grief. Grief does not include happiness. Loss, terrible, sudden and tragic loss of a person we love, does NOT include happiness. We DID NOT CHOOSE the loss; therefore, how in the world can we CHOOSE happiness in a time like this?

So let me tell you what else I DO NOT CHOOSE every single day. 

I do not choose to awaken to silence.

I do not choose to roll over in hopes of seeing my husband beside me, but being forced to see an empty space (except on nights Conner sleeps in our bed).

I do not choose to have knots in the pit of my stomach all throughout the day. 

I do not choose to have a massive lump in my throat that I have to force to stay put or else it means the flood is coming and I'll break down. 

I do not choose to pay these bills alone.

I do not choose to feel like a failure as a parent when I'm questioning my own parenting tactics, or how I'm going to answer a question Conner has. 

I do not choose to be the only name on our son's report card and school documents. 

I do not choose to mark "widow" on the stack of school forms, or to write "deceased" on the father section. 

I do not choose to begin shaking when I get really upset thinking about it all. 

I do not choose to have random spastic moments where I just cry and freak out about my life and my fears and my insecurities. 

I do not choose to have a heart that begins racing at random and inconvenient moments. 

I do not choose have a mind and heart that now don't work like they used to. 

I do not choose to have this mindset of not planning for anything beyond an hour or two in advance. What's the point? I had my whole life planned and look where that got me? 

I do not choose to feel sad. 

I do not choose to feel angry.

I do not choose to suffer from depression.

I do not choose to feel more uncertain than I ever have in my entire life.

I do not choose to receive others' looks of pity. 

I do not choose the feeling of defeat. 

I do not choose loneliness in a room full of people. 

I do not CHOOSE this life of widowhood. I do not CHOOSE to NOT be happy. 

I DO NOT HAVE A CHOICE. 

I did not get a say. I did not get asked if I was ready for my husband to die. I did not get asked if I would rather he die now or later. I did not get asked if I'd like to raise my son completely alone. I didn't get asked if I wanted to bury my husband in a beautiful cemetery on a freezing cold January day (actually New Year's Day 2015). I didn't get to choose any of it. 

I cannot just flip the switch and turn off grief. I did NOT choose for it nor can I just ignore that the love of my life has been gone almost 20 months and I'm really starting to freak out about the approaching Holidays and 2-year mark. I wish to GOD that I could choose. 

I wish that I could choose happiness. I wish that I could choose to block out lawyers, maps of the farm he built that will soon no longer be part of my life, and courtrooms. I wish that I could choose to throw a dart at a map and leave it all behind. I wish I could choose to love again. I wish I could choose so much, but I cannot. 

Now some of you may be thinking, well lady...God gave us FREE WILL so yes you DO have a choice in it all! You DO have a choice to be happy! 

 

You're wrong. 

Here is what I have a choice in:

I choose to be grateful for what I have and what I had. 

I choose to be me and if my grief and my crazy widow brain makes you uncomfortable, then you need to depart from my life. Because in the grief process, I DO NOT have a choice. 

I choose to breathe deeply when the anxiety rears its ugly head and I just want to crawl into a hole, and hide from everyone and everything except my son.

I choose to pray for strength, and for everyone I know and love, every single day. 

I choose to TRY to live my life the best that I can considering the circumstances. 

I choose to pray for others who are less fortunate than me, whether that is financial, emotional, in health, etc... 

I choose to love my friends and to text back when I'm feeling "normal" and to not text back when I'm needing just time to be sad. 

I choose to fight every day to get out of bed and put one foot in front of the other. 

I choose to laugh with my baby boy when we feel like laughing, and I choose to cry with him when we feel like crying. 

I choose to reach out and help every single widow that I can! 

So, don't expect me to believe all the hype that I CAN choose happiness. You have no idea. I wish it more than anything. But that's just not the case. If I DID have a choice, I promise you that the Angels would be jealous because Mike would be sitting beside me, his fingers intertwined with mine, and our son would be playing beside us. All would be well and I would be happy. 

I'm trying. I'm trying to bring little pieces of happiness back into life, but for the love of God I'll NEVER understand or choose to be happy in widowhood. 

I miss my life. I miss happiness. I miss so much every second of every day.