Life: Then & Now

Saying that life is different now compared to BL (Before Loss) is the understatement of the century. I lost my spouse, my best friend and partner. I lost the person who knew me better than I knew myself and someone I could always rely on. I lost the person I wanted to grow old with. When you lose something that is so significant and is such a large part of you, you lose yourself in the process. You lose your hopes and dreams, and what you thought was normal. So, when I lost my husband Dave, I had to figure out what my “new normal” (and God, do I loathe that phrase) was going to be. To be completely honest with you, it’s been a little over three years and I am still trying to figure it out. And now, we have the whole “stay home, stay safe” thing going on so that just adds a whole new layer of complexity.

Anyway, BL, I had a routine. Dave and I had a routine. This was our routine. Something we built and shared together for eight years. It wasn’t always perfect, but what relationship or marriage is? No matter what was happening in our lives separately or together, we were always there for each other supporting and loving one another.

When our son Parker was born in 2014, we built a new routine. Dave was a retired Army Veteran on 100 percent disability based on his time in Iraq from 2009-2010, so he stayed home with Parker when I went back to work after maternity leave. It may not have been a “traditional” type of set up, but it worked for us. Plus, our son got to spend quality time with his Dad before he passed, which I am so grateful for.

Two of my favorite things from our routine were:

1. When I would get ready for work in the morning, Dave would wake up and sit in the bathroom with me while I would put my makeup on, do my hair, and get ready for the day. We would talk and laugh — it was a little bit of time for just us.

2. Every day on my way home from work, as soon as I got into the car, I would call Dave and talk to him until I pulled into our driveway. It didn’t matter if we didn’t have anything to really say or the fact that it was only a 17-minute drive. I looked forward to calling and hearing his voice.

I was certain we would grow old together. Certain that we would have at least one more child and we would raise them together. Watch our children grow up and have families of their own. That we would take family vacations together and make memories that would last all our lifetimes.

This was all I ever wanted. To make memories with the man that I loved. To share experiences together and enjoy everything the world has to offer, and then at the end, we could look back on everything and say that we really did live our best lives together. Never would I have ever thought my husband would be gone from this earth before his 35th birthday. That I would be widowed at 33-years-old.

Those first five to eight months After Loss (AL) were literally like a fog. I couldn’t — and didn’t — know how to see past my pain and I couldn’t understand what was happening with my life. When I think about it now, I don’t remember much. I don’t remember what I did, who I talked to, or how I even functioned. I know there was a funeral. I know I woke up in the morning and went to bed at night.

For women reading this, maybe you’ve heard of “baby brain.” If you’re a mother, you know what I’m talking about. This can happen during pregnancy and continue after you’ve given birth, and refers to the mother becoming forgetful and developing a kind of brain fogginess. Well, there’s also something called “widow brain” or “widow fog.” I came to know of this a few months after Dave passed away, and I was definitely in it. The serious lack of sleep didn't help matters. And if I had to guess, I'd say that the excessive drinking probably also contributed to the fog, but it was the only thing that would numb just an ounce of my pain and allow me to get through life at the time.

When I look back at that time, I remember feeling like an empty shell, like a marionette doll being held up by strings, but I didn’t have control over those strings. I just went through the motions, drifting through the days. The only thing I could think about or feel was the pain of losing Dave.

I went back to work part time at the beginning of March, two months after I lost Dave. I remember my first day back. I remember pulling into the parking lot and not knowing what I was doing there or how to even do my job. My entire body wouldn't stop shaking. I didn’t know if I would be as good as I was before, or if I could be successful. I was timid and questioned everything. My anxiety was through the roof. How was this now my life? I couldn’t wrap my brain around it, no matter how hard I tried. And then — 26 days later — I lost my Dad to stage four esophageal cancer. I was completely and utterly broken. Within a matter of a few months, I had lost the two most important men in my life. My first love and my last love.

Fast forward to today. I have been through numerous metamorphoses to figure out who I am now (even though there are some days I am still trying to figure it out). I had to let go of the notion that this wasn’t supposed to be my life. I had to put myself back together again, and I’ll be honest, there were days where I didn’t think I would be able to do it. I learned to process my grief and do the “grief work.” I found healthier outlets to express my grief and got intentional with my self-care routine. I went into counseling. I got back into hot yoga. I started journaling. I built yet another new routine, one that is just for me and my son.

The girl who existed BL may be gone, but the girl who emerged AL is one that I admire. She’s still a work-in-progress, and that’s OK. Even though she doesn’t always feel like it, she is brave, strong, confident and intelligent. She is a total badass and has overcome the hardest shit life could throw at her. And while there are times she may stumble and fall, she stands back up and keeps going — stronger than ever.

#lifeafterloss