Shut the Door

I’m finally getting around to sharing these moments.  They feel like they were months ago, and yet it was only 3 weeks ago.

A friend got Reyna a casting kit while we were at the hospital, and she chose to do a cast of her dad’s hand.  It came out so beautiful my friends quickly got me one too.  It was not the easiest thing to accomplish but we laughed and gave Karl shit for once again quietly going along with some silly thing we made him do.   And I am so glad we did.  

 

We held hands in a strange way for whatever reason.  I think it was just more comfortable.  The Thursday before I flew out to Texas to get Aria Karl had asked me on a date.   Almost 11 years together meant we got into a routine of spending individual time together, but I usually made the plans - so him specifically asking was special.  After dinner we walked around outside a bit, holding hands for the first time in a while.  We had actually chuckled about how we held hands - noting that it was a two step process.  A clasp and then an adjustment placing my pinky between his pointer and middle fingers.  I always had to be on his right and his arm in front of mine.  Otherwise it didn’t feel right. 

It is now such a special moment I will treasure forever, and I have a beautiful casting of our hands together,  to remember our last date together.

 

That night, August 5th,  held some beauty in the pain.  As an organ donor there is an opportunity to do the hero walk.  I’ve also heard it called the honor walk.  A chance to honor the priceless gift of life the donor is giving.  

This typically occurs when the donor is being transported to the operating room.  An announcement is made and all available staff line the hallways to pay respect as the patient - with family and friends following behind - takes that last journey.   In this scenario a very limited number of people , typically 2, can be present with their loved one in the OR as they are taken off life support and pass away.  Since it’s in an operating room and a sterile environment, it requires scrubbing in, full body protection, gloves, hair and face coverings.  

Karl’s status at the time allowed us to have the option of doing this in his room instead, which sounded much more comfortable to me.  Reyna did not have a preference, so that’s how we proceeded.  

In addition to the hero walk it is also an option for a few loved ones to share something about the donor on a card that is then read to all the doctors and nurses who are assisting in the donation so they know a little bit about the person before the operation starts.  It’s a really beautiful opportunity to acknowledge the heart and the soul of the person before them. 

Since we chose to move forward in-room, it did not make sense to do the hero walk.  It’s a lot of disconnecting devices for battery transport and medical equipment to wheel through the halls only to go back in and do it again shortly after.  Instead we did a gathering in and outside his room.  

 

After everyone who was there had an opportunity to have a private moment with Karl, we gathered together - filling the room and hall outside the room.

Anyone who wanted to share something got the chance to do so.   And then the memory cards were read.   Reyna and Janet, one of Karl’s sisters - on behalf of the family, wrote something to share.  There were tears and there was laughter. 

David provided one last “Shut the door” (IYKYK) as he left the room.

Below is what I shared.   Karl once more got to hear me ramble on, likely noting I filled the front and back of the page.  

[Items in brackets were in my original writing, but removed once I realized I was running out of space].  

Karl appreciated a simple, quiet life, always seeking to stay in the background providing support.  Despite this, his goofy personality shone bright and was loved by all.

When gathered he preferred to be playing with the kids and helping to get things done over socializing.  His incredible work ethic was recognized everywhere he went and was so proud to have instilled it in his daughter Reyna.

He put up with me.  His patience and ability to forgive and forget showed his genuine heart.  He selflessly worked hard to grow individually and together to enrich our relationship.  I have always been thankful to have such a trustworthy and honorable man love me.

As a man of few words he showed his love in acts of service and quality time.  Helping Reyna with her truck, finding silly things to watch with Aria, and taking over the cooking duties for me.

Most admirable though by far, was his recent openness at allowing God into his heart.  He showed me a beautiful vulnerability I had never seen before and a desire to seek His word and connect deeply.

[His silly antics, dad jokes, love of whiskey and old fashioned’s, handyman skills, contentment, “shut the door”s, loud sneezes,  and everything that made Karl “Karl” will be so deeply and intensely missed. ]

There are no words that truly encompass the wonderful human he is.  And his last gift of life for others in his death shows that.  Thank you, Karl for all you did and all of who you are.

Reyna, myself, Janet, Julie and Tom - (a few of Karl’s fourteen siblings - yes, you read that right) sat by his side, listening to worship music  awaiting the time when they would disconnect him from the ventilator.  Around 10:20 pm they did.   At 11:06pm he was welcomed into Heaven.  

There are no adequate words for this experience.  It just sucks.  My only solace is knowing that in the 8 months before he died, he came to know and accept Jesus as his Savior.  God opened his heart and his mind, and Karl allowed Him in.  

The pain, hurt, anger and regrets stay here - with us.   He is free. From all of it. 

I believe he has a knowledge or a glimpse of those he left behind.  He sees or knows our souls as they were intended to be, free from sin and our most loving, true and authentic self.  And he patiently, yet eagerly, awaits our reunion in Heaven. 

"Sad-min"

It still feels surreal.  It's been 13 days since...well - I'm not sure what to call it.  The bleed?  The incident?  The moment life just turned upside down?  

8 days since his last breath.

It's been tough.  I'm still in the functional part of being in shock and taking advantage of the help I have navigating all the "sad-min" (the death related paperwork and tasks).  Reyna has been by my side though all of it, helping to make decisions and taking some things off my plate.  My parents have been with me for the estate attorney appointments and funeral home arrangements. 

I've repeatedly had the gut punch in this sad-min process of finding my self having to clarify, "My late husband...I mean, my (first or second) late husband..." followed by the dizzying and momentarily paralyzing reality that I am actually saying that.  

Aria has been busy back at dance and continually snatched up for time with friends while we are getting things done.  Mary, my sister-in-law, (Brandon's brother's wife) has been nurturing Aria and Reyna with the auntie love they need right now.  My mom cooking, cleaning and organizing and dad keeping busy with some honey-do list items Karl hadn't gotten around to.  And if rage-cleaning is a thing, so is grief-cleaning.  Needing to make some more room for additional air mattresses got the majority of a basement organization and haul done in a day.  

I'm grateful that earlier this year Karl and I started working with a financial advisor and all of Karl's individual expenses are documented in a shared program, making it a lot easier to deal with his estate.  

The most shocking sad-min gut punch was discovering he did not have Life Insurance through his current employer, which I did not know.  I knew he had with every other previous employer and had assumed such.  Since there had always been some sort of coverage I hadn't pushed too much for him to have an individual policy.  I know he was planning to get it set up as part of our financial plan we were working on - but unfortunately not soon enough.

I'm unsure what life looks like going forward from here.  For now it's one day at a time.  Again.

Reyna has chosen to move back home for a little while.  Aria will love having her here, and I'm glad that we can support each other through this loss of ours.  I'm especially thankful that she won't be living alone during these first few months that are so difficult...and selfishly happy that it won't be so quiet around here as we gear up for back to school next week and the fall dance schedule.

That is when guests all head back home and it's going to start feeling real.  The quiet will become loud with memories, regrets and broken dreams.  I'll never feel ready to face it, but I must, so I will.  A fitting line printed on the "spredges" or sprayed edges of a fantasy book Reyna or Mary is reading.

I am doing all I can to just sink into my faith.  I believe God will provide.  I don't know what He will provide or when but I am doing all I can to just be open to what that looks like.  At the moment it's strength, family and community support, financial assistance and rest.  

In the meantime I'd be grateful for your prayers over these areas - and forgive me for being somewhat vague.  God knows.

-For kindness, empathy, and an atypical response regarding an account issue

-For an ongoing situation to be resolved with no further action on my part

-For direction 

Update 8/10/26

At 11:06pm, Wednesday August 5th Karl was welcomed into Heaven, with his family by his side.  

Reyna, Aria and I have been surrounded by so much love and support from near and far.  My “worker bees”, as they’ve been lovingly labeled, have been buzzing around behind the scenes making this transition as seamless as possible for us.  Arranging meals, transportation for Aria to and from dance, covering August dance tuition so I didn’t even have to think about it, and so, so much more.  To say I am grateful is an understatement.  I think I’ll call them C’s Bees. :) 

Reyna and I have decided together that a funeral was not Karl’s style.  He’d hate something formal with him as the center of attention. Instead we will be planning an intimate gathering of some sort around his birthday mid-November.  We ran the idea past Karl’s family that flew out, and they felt that aligned with him as well.

As we’ve been navigating this, I’m not sure how much is the “peace beyond understanding” I’ve been praying for, and how much is just shock. I’m kind of just floating through the days detached and numb. I have moments of worrying about the numbness and start internally spiraling.  Then I find myself reassuring myself that this is normal - a defense mechanism.  My brain is protecting me as I process this.  Because I’ve lived it before that self talk seems to hit different. 

Your mind does strange things in times like these.  Literally, one of the first thoughts I had as I wrapped my mind around the reality of what was happening was “Well, now what side of the bed will I sleep on?”.  

When I had to come home without Brandon I could not bear the thought of seeing his side of the bed empty, so I took his side.  Now what do I do? Same house, same bedroom, same problem.  Now both sides represent loss - just 12 years apart.

As I find myself just “keepin’ on”, I feel a little out of body.  Able to acknowledge that I know I am in shock right now. Awareness that I need to take advantage of this numbness to get shit done before the shock wears off and grief overtakes. It’s strange to be analyzing my own experience in this way.  

At the moment I’m in a “Ok, God - wtf?” kind of mindset.  I want to trust in the plan, and I know God will provide.  But I’ll be honest with you and say I’m struggling to understand what that could even look like at this point?  I feel defeated.

I know I’ll find hope, just not right now. 

This song….

https://open.spotify.com/track/2eP2EBzjAoy34dnEB9CtF8?si=s30B71nZQEGCSFQl91KkNg&utm_source=copy-link

Link

 I was asked to share the Go Fund Me link here:

https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-for-karl-kellens-legacy-and-family?attribution_id=sl:23a6a1da-acd8-410a-a5eb-794adda54ad9&lang=en_US&ts=1785942471&utm_campaign=fp_sharesheet&utm_content=amp30-treatment-4&utm_medium=customer&utm_source=facebook&fbclid=IwRlRTSATgX9pwZG9mBWZkaWQWUL7pnY_M4hBDPNbPtqyfS1B7SrpX3mV4dG4DYWVtAjExAHNydGMGYXBwX2lkCjY2Mjg1NjgzNzkAAR6kKaqtWpUPOMiJitdH4QIi29RnyN_o0S9oGtiZY1mwHzZI6KDnAL9-wM0bvQ_aem_UYfcv-Qirlfc6xM6_ON8SA

Never thought I’d have to do this again

On Saturday, August 1st my world shattered for the second time.  In Texas for the weekend, picking Aria up from a week stay with her Titi and Uncle (Brandon’s brother and wife) I found myself anxious because I could not get ahold of Karl.  Life 360 showed him at home, despite him being excited to be going to Stranahan’s for a whiskey tour and tasting late afternoon.  I assumed Life 360 was not accurate, because it often wasn’t.  I’d get notified mid day that “Karl left home”, 6 hours after he actually left.  

When messages were unread a couple hours later I started getting worried.  Repeatedly checking Life 360 and calling, texting and FaceTimeing I tried to calm my anxiety by telling myself he probably fell asleep relaxing at home after the tasting.  I checked the Ring camera and could see his truck in the driveway,  but could only view the live stream because, of course, something needed to be reconnected to see the history.  Checking Life 360 again I note that his battery percentage was reducing, so it was accurate and I knew something was wrong.  

Feeling a little awkward, I reached out to my neighbor who is a good friend - and asked if she could pop up to check on him.  Responding a couple minutes later she let me know her husband was on the way.

I watched from the camera as he rang the doorbell, waited, then checked the handle and walked in - the door unlocked.  I start praying, begging God for everything to be ok.  Moments later I watch in horror as he runs out on the phone looking at the house - for the house number.  Shortly after his wife rushes in.

Frantically I start calling him and his wife, intermittently checking back on the ring camera. Then I see it - ambulance lights and EMT’s rushing to the door. My heart dropped, feeling so helpless, and so surreal.  

A few minutes later he calls, having to deliver the devastating news that he found Karl unresponsive and he is on the way to the ER.  

Earlier I had checked with Reyna to see if she had heard from him at all, which she had not.  Now I’m making the call no (bonus)mom wants to make, and she is immediately on her way from Fort Collins.

A blur of phone calls and hours later they determined that Karl had a spontaneous brain bleed in a “really bad spot”, where the brain connects to the brain stem.  They were pretty shocked to discover that he had no known high blood pressure issues, the most common contributor to a bleed of this extent.  The only intervention we could do had little chance for improving anything regarding recovery, the damage was done.  We could attempt to prolong life, but it would be no quality of life. Reyna and I agreed that is no life he would want to live.

At this point David had already rescheduled us for the next flight out, with Mary insisting on coming with us.  By early morning I am at the hospital with Reyna and Aria is back home with Mary, and Reyna and I begin the process with Donor Alliance for organ donation since Karl signed up as a donor. 

As of Tuesday afternoon, all of Karl’s major organs have a recipient match.  At 10pm tonight, Wednesday August 5th Karl will be disconnected from the support and allowed to pass in his own timing with Reyna and I by his side.  

It’s all just so surreal.  Utterly unbelievable and devastating.  Total bullshit.  It feels so unfair for Reyna to loose her father - her rock she could always count on to selflessly be there for her without fail.  It’s unfair to be widowed TWICE  at only 43.  And it’s unfair that such a kind, silly and honorable man’s life is cut short in a time of some beautiful personal and spiritual growth. 

Why God?! Why?!?! 

I’m not good at memorizing scripture, so I’m sinking into lyrics from worship songs to remind me that God is good.  This is not good, but God is.  He will embrace me as I yell at Him and question Him.  

In this moment I write from a place of numbness and shock.     Sadly, I know what is to come, so I’ll allow the brief respite from gut punching realizations and heart wrenching pain.

We have been surrounded by support. I have not had to think of anything but being present here.  Aria is being loved on by many, taken to and from dance and out shopping for a distraction. All my friends see Reyna as my daughter and are caring for her as much as me.  

It’s a shitty deja vu for many of us.  My parents, Haley, Mary, David, Jess and Steve and so many others near and far - all falling back into their roles as they supported me through the loss of Brandon just under 12 years ago. 

As we navigate this unimaginable loss, please pray for peace beyond understanding, strength, endurance, and steadfast faith. 

I will continue to update on here as we navigate this awful reality. 

The Quiet - 8 years later

 I sit in the dark in the tree swing in our back yard. A place I seem to find every time I need to be quiet with you and think, connect and reflect. A place that feels so familiar to me. And yet- it’s a place in our back yard you never knew. I remember wanting a swing after you passed so I could sit outside and rock with Aria. In survival mode and not thinking clearly I googled and found a post about wrapping a tow rope around the branch like 10 times ( so it wouldn’t hurt the tree like tree swing things do apparently). I bought the swing and the tow rope on Amazon, and one day when all our guy friends were here to help with yard work and other honey-do’s, they chuckled quietly and hung my swing from the damn tree with a tow rope. It’s crazy to me how many moments I’ve had in my life in this tree swing. But none of them were with you. Yet they were about you. 

I can’t help but sing in my head Evanescence My Immortal. 

Your presence still lingers here, and it won’t leave me alone. These wounds won’t seem to heal, this pain is just too real, there’s just so much that time can not erase….

I don’t live in this pain every day anymore- thank goodness. But as I’ve said repeatedly, when I sit in it - it is no different than the first night.

We had an evening just like this. A beautiful fall evening, comfortable to be outside on the back deck that we helped build. We gathered, smiled, laughed. We held each other up just by being together but we were falling apart. We all dreaded when the time came to go to bed and be alone with our thoughts.  Our reality. Our life without you. 

So much of that first year - or two… was and still is such a blur. Honestly the past 8 years have been a blur. And I don’t know if that’s just how it is once you become a parent?  I don’t know because I never got to experience just the  drastic life change of becoming a parent. I was also loosing you, and then grieving the loss of you and figuring out how to be an only parent. And from then on I just haven’t stopped going, going, going. I don’t know where I’m going, I just seem to need to do all the things because I just want to live and experience. Because what I value so much as I think back on our 10 years together is all the experiences we had. Those are the memories that flood back. And I am so grateful we did the things we did and we did life with the people we did. 

And so I continue to look for the experiences, make the connections, do the things - because life is short. And maybe because I am still running from the quiet. And have some serious FOMO…so thanks for that. (Chuckle)

And so I come here, every Father’s Day, every August 22nd, every September 23rd (and if our anniversary wasn’t March 25th which is usually a blizzard) to be here in the quiet with my thoughts of you. And it  brings me memories both good and bad, awareness of broken dreams, the return of heartache and tears. And yet here I am - surrounding myself in quiet to be with my thoughts of you. Because even every moment that brings me pain is bittersweet because it is still about you. 

Side note: I wrote this just as a journal entry - the conscious stream of thought type. Just blah blah blah - get it out. And as I reread it, it felt right to just share it - in its rawness

7 years out

 

7 years.

I sit here looking at that, just letting it sink in. Tears form in my eyes and my lungs tighten.  How? How could 7 years have passed? 

I’m trying to reflect and identify what is it that I’m feeling. What is the same and what is different from 2,555 days ago as I have progressed and lived with grief and loss. 

As I’ve always said, my love for Brandon and the pain of the loss of Brandon are the same.  But it feels that everything else is different. 

Some things I’m glad are different. Like the presence of grief is very much incorporated into my life in what I think is a healthy balance. It’s been a while since it has consumed me or has been what felt like my primary identity; widowed. 

I am different, in some ways I’m proud of and others I’m not. 

Aria is different, she is a 7 year old developing her sense of self and individuality.

Life is just different. As good as that can be, it’s also such a challenge when part of your heart lives in the past. 

My memories are different. Foggier.  And I have to search my mind for some details. 

I think this specifically is what anyone who has lost someone is so scared of.  And this may be more unique to me; that I often have to search my mind to recall things that were so familiar once - you think you’d never forget.  

The other day as I was looking at a menu it randomly crossed my mind that I wasn’t sure what soda Brandon would have ordered.  Sprite? Ginger ale? Coke? Why can’t I remember this? What else have I forgotten? What else will I forget?  

I know I will never forget the important things, like how selfless he was. Or how he could empathize with others and have the perfect words of wisdom to give guidance. And I take so much comfort in that. 

But this is a journey that will be a part of the rest of my life and it evolves, just as I evolve. I know I can not move forward in my life by holding on to everything in my past. It just does not work that way. But knowing that truth still doesn’t make these realizations along the way hurt any less. It just helps me know I have to allow space for these feelings so I can hold them, and have them, and then make peace with them.

So here I am, journaling/writing - my way of identifying and coping with these feelings that come with grief.

But don’t get me wrong - I do not live in this space. I carve out time on days like these to revisit this part of myself. Remember. Feel. Honor. Embrace. This allows me to then set it aside for a while, and focus on continuing to live the life I have which is beautiful.

Brandon’s 39th Birthday

Today is Brandon’s birthday. He would have been 39 this year. 

It’s crazy how at certain times the tears just fall. I can live life, think of him (every day), and keep on keeping on. 

Then days like today the tears just fall.  And as they do I realize that it still hurts the same as it did every year prior.  I do not miss him any less. I don’t think I ever will.  

It’s just crazy to me that now it’s a somewhat comforting thing. 

I think we are so afraid that we are going to forget or that they will be forgotten. And as time goes on the time between tears gradually gets longer and longer. The routines of day to day life become the focus. The days are long but the years are short. And suddenly it’s been almost 6 years since I held his hand. It feels so far away. Like another life all together. I have to remind myself of the life I had before that looks so different from the life I have now. And I get scared that I’m going to leave him behind because each year it seems details become a little less vivid.

Of course I know that I will never forget him, and I also know that it wouldn’t be healthy to try to carry all of him with me.  But there are times I have to search my mind to remember something - like what size and brand of jeans he wore, and that hurts. 

The reality is that time takes things from us. And it wouldn’t be a healthy life if I spent all my energy trying to carry the past with me, and missing out on what the present needs from me. And yet, even when we can rationalize these thoughts - It. Doesn’t. Make. Them. Hurt. Less. 

But it does give the feelings space to be what they are. I work hard not to dismiss them, and just let them be felt. And it never ceases to surprise me how quickly and intensely the tears come when I sit in reflection on days like today. 

I’m in a place in life where I can embrace these moments, not run from them. It brings me a strange comfort to see how my soul remembers so perfectly. Because love does not die. And though I can live my life without Brandon, my life will never be without him. 

14th Wedding Anniversary

Today would have been Brandon and my 14 year wedding anniversary. Instead it’s my 5th anniversary without him.  

It’s so very strange. It feels like the distance between he and I has grown so much more this 5th year.  And as always it’s bittersweet. With the distance of time comes healing of wounds and the ability to incorporate loss into the actual living of life.  But with it also comes the searching to remember the little things and the pain of trying to remember his voice. 

Yet some things have not changed with this distance.

Speaking of my love for him never comes without a cracked voice and tears, no matter how hard I try to hold it back. And if you know me well you know that I am expressive, passionate and temperamental in nearly every emotion...but sadness. Sadness is deeply personal and private to me, and yet I can’t hide the effects of this sadness when the feelings rush to be felt.

Brandon’s legacy and the effect he had, correction...has on me has not changed. I am still inspired by his influence on my life. I have struggled greatly navigating these past 5 years. And so much of it was the loss of a sense of self. The first few years I concentrated on working through my grief, and I worked ALL THE THINGS.  Counseling, Grief Share, support groups, books, podcasts, creating and facilitating a young and widowed group (still going strong and serving so many!), grief yoga, EMDR...you name it I likely tried it. And it all helped and would have been all the things Brandon, as a psychologist, would have encouraged a grieving widow to do. More recently I found a place in myself to examine myself, not my grief. In January God lead me to a class/group essentially about ownership of self. Really examining the depths of ourselves and owning who we are and challenging ourself to grow in knowledge of and confidence in oneself. This 18 week class and a weekend retreat has all been put on hold at the moment due to COVID-19, but what a breath of fresh air to step outside my situation, my grief, and see myself individually. Remember who I am, not who I’ve become through loss.  And I know Brandon would be elated that I’m on this path now.

I never would have thought this journey would be like this. I think we hope that one day we will not “be sad” anymore, but for many (dare I say most) of us that is an impossibility. We can’t just wake up some morning and be “over it” or “ready to move on”.  I will never be over the loss of Brandon. And we like to say we are “moving forward”, not moving on, because moving on suggests leaving something behind. This is not something I can leave behind, I carry it with me every day. And I can still say not a single day has passed that I have not thought of him. And I’m ok with that - because the majority are things don’t make me cry because it’s over, but instead make me smile because it happened.

I will always treasure the choice I made to marry Brandon 14 years ago today. And I will always remember the way that decision changed my life forever, for better or for worse.  

And today I dedicate this song to my Brandon:

https://youtu.be/U6oJODFyprM

Lyrics:

One, two, three

And you've gone so far

Far from me

As I fall apart

If I had known the way I'd feel

Right from the start

I wouldn't change anything

But my broken heart

Four, five, six

This is killing me

What I miss most

Is everything

If I had known the way I'd feel

Right from the start

I wouldn't change anything

But my broken heart

I didn't know

Watching you go

Would ever be this hard

I close my eyes

And be by your side

Wondering where you are

If I had known then what I know

Now right from the start

I wouldn't change anything

But my broken heart

One, two, three

And you've gone so far

Far from me

Like the morning stars

If I had known the way I'd feel

Right from the start

I wouldn't change anything

But my broken heart

I wouldn't change anything

But my broken heart

5 year Angelversary

12:15pm passes. It’s officially been 5 years. I take a break from work and sit outside reflecting. 

This one feels big. 5 years is one of those milestones seemingly different than 2,3 & 4 years. As momentous as 1 year, but in a different way. 

1 year was acknowledging pure survival. One full cycle through this new life. 5 years is acknowledging this significant passing of time and many cycles through this new life.

I look for visual cues of the time passed. The back yard is so different from when we all sat on the deck that evening 5 years ago.  The wall between the kitchen and living room where we whispered grim updates is gone.  But the greatest reminder of the time gone by is Aria. A newborn then, and now a 5 year old. Only 10 weeks of difference between the life changing events of birth and death. 

I’m still not sure how this grieving thing goes. I can honestly say that not a single day has gone by in 5 years that I have not thought of Brandon. I don’t speak of him every day, but I am reminded of him every day. 

I miss him just as much as I did 5 years ago and the depth at which it hurts is the same then and now. But yet it’s very different.

Shock, fear, anger and disorientation all accompanied that pain then.  It was nearly constant and all consuming.  Now acceptance and normalization bring some sweet relief when I visit my pain. I’m reminded of how far I’ve come and how I’ve incorporated this loss into life, and no longer  desperately battling to bring back life into loss. 

It hurts as deeply and intensely as it did then, but I have more strength to hold it now and it’s more familiar now. I know I can set it down when I need to and sit with it without fear when I need to.  I’ve even come to take some comfort in my grief, that despite the years accumulating my soul has not forgotten him and still aches just the same over the loss of him.

I do have to work harder to retrieve memories and remember his favorite things and his little quirks. It used to be so familiar.  But as time passes some things fade. And that’s hard.

But I never need to dive deep to remember how he loved me. I still feel it today, and that’s truly eye opening to me.  How  impactful how we make others feel really is.  

Friends still cry with me, or tear up or voices crack when remembering Brandon. Sorry, not sorry, but it’s incredibly comforting to me to experience those moments. It lets me know the depth at which he touched so many and the love that so many have for him.

I can finally say I don’t identify myself first as a widow. I am widowed, and will always be. Being in another relationship or married will never undo my experience. But it’s not my greatest identity anymore I think because the effects of being widowed do not consume the majority of my life anymore.  Thank goodness for that. 

I often wonder what 10 years will be like. I wonder if 5 years from now I’ll be sitting in this backyard reflecting as I have for so many years now.  I imagine so - but one thing I’ve learned is that life takes crazy turns, and whether I’m sitting here or somewhere else, this day will always hold so much weight I know I will never forget.

4th Celebration of Life

 

Post from my Social Media on Brandon’s Birthday.

I add this now because I intend to use this blog to help Aria understand when she is older. 

Today is Brandon’s birthday. He would have been 38 this year.  

This picture was taken on his last earthly birthday hours after getting released from the hospital, only to go right back just after this picture. 

With all the happy memories on this day from the years prior, and the friends and family gathering each year since, this memory still is strongest to this day. 

Just last year I finally threw away the bag of birthday decorations that had welcomed him home only to be removed with sadness and shoved in a bag that sat in my basement collecting dust and tears each time I saw it.  I don’t want this day to bring sadness, but it does. 

In years passed I’ve tried to embrace the “celebration” of his life without allowing the balance of the sadness of the loss of his life, which only lead me to a lot of unrest with my feelings. But I now know I need to be able to hold space for both, or actually all of the feelings on these trigger days. Sadness, anger, resentment, guilt, pity, nostalgia, gratitude, love...and so many more contradictory emotions. 

Today is a day to remember Brandon, and all that came with his presence in this world. All the memories that bring a smile from his bantering, that bring gratitude from his words of wisdom and insight, that bring a chuckle and an eye roll remembering his love of sports, guns and video games. 

But also the memories of the struggle, the sacrifice, and the pain that he and we all have endured in this loss, that should awaken us to live fully and treasure our loved ones deeply because we have experienced what it is to loose. 

In honor of Brandon today, tell someone how important they are to you. Really tell them. Those words will live on forever. And celebrate the impact that he made in your life with a bittersweet mix of emotions. 

Later that evening:

This. Just this. This is what life is about. Community. We don’t see each other often these days, with kids, careers, activities, proximity. But we did life together deeply and authentically, making it easy to pick up where we left off.  A part of Brandon is woven through each of us, and I am so incredibly grateful for this evening and these people. (And all of you who couldn’t make it too, I know you’d be here if you could have.) Thank you all for continuing to honor Brandon’s memory.  I am so uplifted by you all. 💜

5 years since recurrence

5 years ago today we found out the devastating news that just days before our daughter was due to be born the cancer was back.  I don’t think I’ll ever forget the image of walking into our bedroom to find Brandon on his knees at the side of the bed talking to the doctor. It’s one of those moments that is forever burned into one’s memory, along with these stupid trigger dates. There’s no way to fight the tears and feels that bring you back to that exact moment when your life was forever changed, and 5 years later I wonder if that will ever lighten. 

We had yet to know how aggressive it was; 5 years ago. We held onto blind hope. Hope for 5 more years before it would take his life. But it was only 12 short and awful weeks. 

5 years marks a new kind of milestone in the grieving community. It’s challenging. We feel we should be “over it” but that just will never be the case. I don’t want to feel the pain of loss, but I also don’t ever want it not to hurt because what would that mean? 

I feel like 5 years ago was a whole lifetime ago, and not even my own life. I often have to take a moment to reflect on what I have endured, and what I persevered through, gracefully or not. 

I continue to have flashbacks of traumatic moments from this exact moment 5 years ago; and all the utterly deveatating moments that incurred over the following 12 weeks. They still take my breath away and hurt so deep.

It’s bittersweet. I can’t think of any other way to describe it. Bitter in the loss, pain and trauma that had to be endured. But sweet because it wouldnt continue to hurt so much if I hadn't shared a love so deep and true. Love is a commitment more than anything else. It is a selfless action and choice, and for that reason on days like today I take a moment to remember and honor the love I shared and commitment I made, til death do us part...and forever after that apparently. 

Ultimately I’m grateful for where I am now, 5 years later. Aria’s needs have always been my priority, amongst balancing the need for self care so I can be the best mom I could possibly be.  I haven’t done it perfectly, but I think Brandon would know my heart has always been in the right place.  

The next 12 weeks, as a seasoned griever I now know, will bring many moments of pain. It hurts differently now though. It’s not as “active” and “overwhelming”. It’s more “reflective”. I can continue on with life in the midst of these moments, and not be debilitated in the aftermath.

Grief never goes away it just transforms. It adapts to you and you adapt to it. And I think that’s the best we can do with it. We all want to get rid of it, but we can’t. So we adapt to it and move forward with it. 

13 Year Anniversary

Today would have been Brandon and my 13 year Anniversary. 

Each anniversary seems a bit different.  This year I had to do the math to know how many years we would have been celebrating today.  I didn't "just know" anymore.

There's sadness in that.  And legitimately so.  I would have known that before he died, and each year since he died I did "just know".  This year was the first time I didn't. 

I allow myself to let the tears fall.  Fall for the loss of a love, a life, a dream. 

And I let them fall for the reality of what moving forward is.

It's letting go of enough to take on the new life I am living, but holding on to enough to preserve the memories.

It's a hard balance. 

But it's also ok.  It means I am healing.  I am moving forward. 

I've worked hard to be able to hold both truths at once. 

I can be sad about the loss of what would have been, and also be grateful for what was and for where I am now.  They can exist in the same space.

I don't get lost in grief everyday anymore, and the special dates don't cause me anxiety anymore.  I've learned to make space for these feelings and let them be felt when they need to, then keep on keeping on.

So I take some time today to sit in the memories, look through the pictures, and remember March 25th, 2006, knowing we fulfilled the vows made on this day, 13 years ago. 

4 years later

4 years

I can’t believe it’s been 4 whole years. Some things hurt just as much as they did 1,460 days ago. Some things have found a place of peaceful healing since then. 

I can say that not a single day has passed that I didn’t think about Brandon. 

Sometimes it’s a quick passing moment that I’m reminded of him when a silver Jeep passes by,  I see a bag of Haribo gummy bears, or the clock reads 8:22.  I smile for a moment, warmed by the memory, and then I’m on to the next thing that has my attention. 

Sometimes I sink into the depths of the reality of loss. I find myself crying it out when Pink’s song “Who Knew” plays on the radio. My ordinary moment temporarily transformed to a mourning moment, and just as quickly brought back to ordinary by the next upbeat song.

Sometimes I even intentionally blast my “grief” playlist, allowing the words and music to draw out my tears and release the feelings bottled up inside. 

Then there are the moments that happen unexpectedly taking my breath away.  Snuggling the other night when putting Aria to bed, her head on my chest, she noticed my heart beat, and asked me to listen to hers. I laid my ear to her chest and suddenly I was transported back to 4 years ago, my ear to Brandon’s chest.  The moment of pure blind hope thinking his heartbeat came back, only to realize it was just my own echoing in my ear against his now eerily quiet body. 

Sometimes these moments warm my heart knowing that consciously and unconsciously his memory is still alive. Sometimes they are like a punch right in the heart making everything spin wildly around me.  But in either circumstance and all the ones in between I continue to be somewhat surprised that this is how it is for me 4 years later. 

Being a facilitator and participant in the Young & Widowed group I created has taught me so much about grief and loss. One of the most impactful truths I’ve found is that there is so much in common with those who walk this shitty path, yet every response we have is incredibly complex and unique to each of us. 

The struggle to truly incorporate loss into life is difficult. I don’t want to be a part of the living dead, burying all of myself with him. I still have a life to live, and I only get one, and it can be taken from me at any moment. 

And I also don’t want to leave behind 10 incredibly impactful years of my life shared with someone. Someone who became a part of me, who influenced and shaped me, and is a part of my history, which will never change.

So I have to find that place between the two that makes sense. A place where two loves can be in harmony, a unique struggle for widows. There is no “replacement”, and love does not “cure” loss.  All the while trying to wholeheartedly embrace the excitement of happiness and love for another. It truly is complex and challenging. 

So 4 years later, what can I conclude about this widowed experience? Well, year 1, 2, 3 and 4 all suck in different ways. There are new challenges in each part of this experience. It doesn’t ever go away, and I guess I shouldn’t expect it to, grief is love. Brandon and I had no reason to stop loving each other, so it’s my tribute to the commitment we made. 

But I can say I’ve come so far. I have a lot of joy and happiness and hope in my life. And that’s truly an accomplishment.

12 year anniversary

I can’t believe it’s been since September that I wrote anything. I feel I have so much to share about this journey that’s good, bad, ugly, embarrassing, honest and just plain real. I just can’t find the time or correct mindset these days to put the words down. 

But today would have been Brandon and my 12 year wedding anniversary. Outside of death I had no doubt we would share this day together. That was our commitment, and that was our love. 

But death happened. Three and a half years ago. And we are not spending this day together.

I had a number of people send me well wishes hoping I was doing ok. (Thank you all!)

We all have certain dates that are just the worst in grief. In spousal loss wedding/dating anniversaries can often be the worst. It’s the epitome of what differentiates an intimate relationship from all the other relationships in our lives. (As a birthday is often the hardest to those who lost a child.)

As I sat - ok, laid on the sofa in a DayQuil induced haze- I thought about this. I reflected on what today used to mean to me; A celebration of another year together growing closer together, overcoming the obstacles of life together. Success.

Then I thought about what it meant to me after death; a marking of time lost unique to only me. Our loss. Love is hard to find, and it reminded me of the depth of my loss. 

But today was different.  This is my 4th anniversary without Brandon. I believe time has helped that shift. I also believe love has helped that shift. 

I am glad that (for the most part) I look at this date as the start of a beautiful part of my life. One of the biggest influences on the person I became, becoming a wife. A partner. One with another. 

That part of my life was unfortunately short. But it is what it is. I don’t like it, I never will. A good man was taken from the lives of so many at only 33 years old. 

I am going to be transparent here and say that my “tolerance” to this day is not just from time, and counseling, and support groups and perspective. Yes, that is a huge part of it. 

But is because of love too. I struggled to open my heart to love someone else. Not only to love a man other than Brandon, but to love another man and still hold love for Brandon. 

That is hard enough. But it gets harder. Then I had to allow myself to love another more actively than Brandon. To put another before Brandon. Because that is what it takes to commit your life to someone. 

This is very hard for a widow(er).  It is very unique to widowhood. It is judged from the outside. We are told milestones that we “should and should not” be doing things in. We put a lot of pressure on ourselves to know what to do and what not to do and when to do it. 

It took me 16 months before I actually found myself able to completely do that. Thankfully Karl is a very patient man! But it has not been easy.

I can say at the moment I have come to a place of peaceful remembrance on this day. Yes, I shed tears. That’s ok. Love and loss can exist in harmony together. And I’m so grateful that God allowed me to find such an amazing man that has helped me get to this place in my messy life. Who Aria loves as a father.  Aside from doing it himself, I can’t imagine Brandon wanting anything more.

So I look back, 12 years ago, 22 and newlywed. I’m grateful for those years that Brandon taught me how to love unconditionally. And I only hope that the love he poured into me will truly shine through me as his legacy. And I can carry that with me forever. 

Destination Sadness

Onboard a plane, destination sadness. Or at least that's the goal. 

Well that was kind of dramatic...<rolling my eyes>

On September 23rd it will be 3 years since Brandon died. It took 3 years to use that word instead of "passed". 

It seems silly that I need to seek out sadness. Connect with my loss. Most would think I've spent enough time with sadness in these 3 years. But no - seems I've avoided it like the plague. I guess it's not all that uncommon.  But it did take me by surprise.  

I worked SO hard on my grief. I went to therapy. I got involved in support groups. I attended Griefshare and grief seminars. I read books, listened to pod casts and journaled. I started a monthly Young & Widowed support group at the HeartLight Center. I thought I had "dealt" with this. 

On the contrary I'm finding that I accepted my grief, but I never felt my grief.

That first year I was in shock and survival mode. From diagnosis thru death I had to stay strong to show Brandon I could do this. He broke when he'd see me cry, so I couldn't. He could no longer be my strength when I was weak - so I had to be strong for both him and Aria. I could not allow myself to feel the pain, fear and anxiety that was bearing down on me as I watched him slip away.

Then I had a newborn and Lupus and a house and a job to take care of on my own. I simply could not allow myself to feel, I had to just do. 

So I "did" grief. I did everything I could. I kept myself busy, I smiled and laughed. On rare occasions tears would slip through the facade, then I'd logic them away with statements of faith and acceptance. 

I could not allow myself to carry the sadness because I feared I could not hold one more thing without it all crashing down. 

So I didn't. 

And I became quite good at compartmentalizing those feelings. 

But the reality I have found is like the quote: "That's the thing about pain, it demands to be felt."  

I think now that I am engaged to Karl and in a loving and supportive relationship the walls of those compartments are coming down because unconsciously I know that someone will be there if I fall, so now I can take this on. And in due timing as I think the sadness and pain and fear are starting to overflow those walls and seep into other areas to get the attention they need. 

This is surely a realization I do not want to face.  To be honest I'm annoyed. I thought I had done the hard work. 

Trust me, I know that everyone's grief journey is different, and we do not "complete" this - we "incorporate" it, and we need to be gentle with ourselves, and I'm doing the best I can with what I have and blah blah blah. Yes, all of that is absolutely true - but it doesn't make it any less annoying or scary to have to deal with.

I'm tired. 

I'm tired of dealing with grief. 

...Or not dealing with grief. 

So I sit here on a bench in Miami staring out at the water, writing and trying to connect with the sadness I have distracted myself from. To feel it and give it a home in my heart. 

It's hard. 

I keep trying to "schedule" my grieving. I do it when I go up to his grave. When I run to Miami. But the truth of it is that I can't do it that way. Yes, it gives me needed time for reflection, but not authentic bereavement.  

I will need to feel the sadness when it surfaces, of course at the most inopportune moments in life.  And I know I need to give it that space instead of stuffing it back in that box.   

I need to incorporate it.

And embrace it.

Wish me luck...