Tag: Widow

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A Reflection & Public Service Announcement:

Today is the 3 year-anniversary of our Stage 4 Diagnosis Day, and I feel compelled to share a little something-something today, now that we are 3 years out from that dreadful day. This is the day that my life most profoundly changed, followed closely by the day I became a 1st time mother, but that day was wrapped in joy, whereas diagnosis day was shrouded in fear, grief, & unbelievable pain, but I tend to write more about sad things than happy things. (Don’t I sound like some fun person you would want to hang out with at parties?? LOL! Disclaimer, I think I am more fun in real life than I am in my writing, but obviously I am not a reliable source on the matter. )

I was talking to a dear friend yesterday about how much my life has changed over the last 3 years, & how she has been a confidant & friend throughout that whole period (shoutout to my small group leader, you know who you are. 😉)  And while I always wish I could see the future & see where this or that will lead, I’m thankful for 1,000 past days that I didn’t know the various looming heartaches that awaited me, because I’m not sure I would have stayed on those different courses, but honestly I would have missed so much if I had taken any one of the detours offered to me. For its only in hindsight that you, or at least that I have, come to realize that the pain & agony of life is where & when you often learn the most profound life lessons, reprioritize the way you spend your time, and reconsider who you choose to spend your time with, all while drawing closer to God along the way.

I have said before, and I will say again, while our family’s Cancer journey, (because truly, one person’s cancer diagnosis is a diagnosis for all of those around them too) was wretched and heartbreaking, it was also, I see now, a necessary evil we all had to go through, like a refinement process turning us all into the people He has planned for us to be. Our girls have grown and matured and faced things that you would wish on no one, but as a result, I believe they too have learned so much and grown in their character and developed immeasurable in their grit along the way, that I stand in awe of them at moments. But at the same time, while we 3 may have emerged stronger 3-years later, I see us like a broken bone that heals, but still aches when it rains, and had we known, really known for sure, not just some hokey prediction what we would face if we did this or that, or didn’t do this or that, I know we would have all done whatever it took to avoid it, but then where would be now? Who can say?

Now, don’t read that and think that I am all Zen, and only spend my time on worthwhile things today, because I don’t.  I confess, I just binged The Perfect Couple on Netflix this past weekend, and I am just as guilty, if not more so than, the next person of mindlessly scrolling and watching ridiculous Reels about love, life, and black labradors, but I do try to be more intentional with my time and stay more present with my people than I used to; I also spend a lot more time, not necessarily on my knees in prayer, but certainly time while I drive and walk and drift off to sleep. I almost always have an ongoing conversation going on with God in my head. more time than not, about both the meaningful and the mundane, of hopes and dreams and small pleas. So much so, that I imagine that even He is thinking, TMI Dany, TMI.  LOL!

And to add to all of those maybe not so deep and philosophical thoughts brewing in my brain today, 😂 I’ll share that I am thoroughly enjoying Here One Moment, by Liane Moriarty, (book club friends: read this one!) that poses the question, can ‘Fate be Fought?’ From my experience, and those who know me well, & know of my story of the Palm reader prediction @ age 21 that turned out to be true 28 years later, my advice is to not mess with the occult, don’t look beyond the veil, not that it might be an inaccurate sneak peak, but I don’t believe that we were designed to know the future, because said knowledge could pollute your todays. Live gratefully in the present & pray fervently & constantly for the little & the large. 

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2-Year Anniversary Reflections by Heidi

Today it has officially been 2 years without my Dad. Two years ago God took my Dad to heaven and left us with a flipped family dynamic. Although we had time to prepare, and we knew that his time was coming, nothing could’ve prepared our family for the immense feeling of emptiness. Even in the midst of the hustle and bustle by our close friends and family, there was still a big void. Our family had always been just the four of us, and he was our leader; He was our rock and our glue. Without him, we were left just the three of us, on our own, to  navigate this world without him. 

I remember that day being swarmed by loved ones, plans, and lots of good food. The day was busy, but when everyone left that night and I went to bed, all I could feel was this big hollow feeling. I had never gone to bed in a world without my Dad in it  to tell me goodnight or to tell me that he loves me for what was on the inside of me and not on the outside. I had never gone to bed with him, not there somewhere in the world to say our prayers with and tuck me in. I felt empty. I have now gone to bed 730 times without him, and I have come to learn that that hallow feeling doesn’t ever leave.

Through stories his friends have shared of their memories of him I’ve learned even more about him. I remember him as my Dad; they  remember him as a cool guy, & apparently a bit of a wild guy as well. I’ve learned he played a special part in many people’s lives, not just ours, and it was a blessing to have him as my Dad. To me, he was my Hero. He was the strongest man in the world and no question or problem was too big that he couldn’t solve. Then one day there was a problem he couldn’t solve or answer. 

Standing in our kitchen mid September of 2021 my Dad told us the doctors had found a large tumor in his colon. When I heard him say this it didn’t seem like the end of the world at the time,  because so many people beat cancer, and I knew my Dad could too. After more tests, we came to learn that this was more than just a tumor, it was stage 4 colorectal cancer. Everytime my Mom or Dad delivered an update on his conditions or shared  what his doctors had said, they would deliver it with silver linings and a hopeful tone. One day I think my Dad just got too tired of putting up a hopeful front and he told my sister and I that odds were not in his favor;  they had  given him a 14% chance of survival. I hated the doctors for giving us that number, and I wanted them to try harder and give us a better number. Slowly but surely we ran out of options, and my Dad grew sicker and weaker. There are no words to describe how I felt watching the strongest man in my life deteriorate until he was so sick he was only a shadow of the man and Father he had once been. When he was put on hospice care and a hospital bed was wheeled into our living room, I knew it was over. There was nothing left, and all I could do was wait and watch. We had been told he had just days left several times, but he kept beating the odds and waking up the next morning. My mom had been sleeping on the couch next to him for weeks, and it had started to cause her  back pain. Her chiropractor told her she needed to go back to the bed for a little bit and to take a break from couch duty. I took her place. The very first night she slept in the bed, and I slept next to my Dad on our couch. I had a bad feeling. I told him I loved him, and that I would see him in the morning, and although he couldn’t talk back, I knew what he wanted to say. I have never been more afraid to fall asleep in my life. I knew that if I closed my eyes that when I woke up he might not be there. I can’t remember what woke me up but around 3 am I woke up. I wouldn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t open my eyes. I was too scared that if I did I would see him lifeless next to me, and he would be gone forever. So I kept them shut until I fell back asleep. I woke up again at almost 8 am forgetting for a second about everything. I called out to my Dad to see if he was awake yet, and I got no response. My heart sank to my stomach, and I felt nauseous. I sat up and looked at him. His eyes were frozen open and his chest wasn’t moving. I screamed. I yelled at him begging him to wake up. Still, no response. I slowly touched him seeing if I could tap him awake, but when my fingers touched his arm, it was cold. I started shaking him and screaming. My mom and sister were in the back of the house arguing but quieted at my screaming . The next thing I remember is my moms footsteps running down the hallway. I remember my mom screaming with shock and sadness and my sister wasn’t able to open her eyes. She didn’t want to see him gone, and I don’t blame her. What happened after that is a blur. I called my uncle (his brother) and I called his mom. I will not ever forget those phone calls. That is where our journey as family 2.0 began.

After that, my perspective on life and faith changed. I did not understand how a God so good and so capable of healing making miracles could let my Dad have so much pain, only to take him away. I did not understand how the world could continue on without my Dad in it. I watched my Mom as what she thought was the rest of her life crumble away, and my heart broke. When she met my Dad, she thought she was done. She had found her best friend, and they made plans for the rest of their life. They were a match like no other, and then he was gone, and she was left alone. I could not admire the strength and faith she had to keep going anymore than I do. She is now my hero, and I strive to one day have half of her strength. She has led our family better than I could’ve imagined, and my sister and I are so blessed to have her. I KNOW my Dad would be proud of her, and I hope she knows it as well. I have watched my sister, as she lost our Dad, the one person who really understood her like no other. She has grown soooo much in the past 2 years, and I can confidently say my Dad would’ve been unimaginably proud of her. Life without him has had ups and downs, and grief is exactly what they said it would be, it comes in waves. Some waves are bigger than others, but we are surrounded with so many people who help us  get through it. The constant we have throughout life is God and family, so, my advice to everyone is to lean into your relationships, and make memories that will last a lifetime, and even after a life. 

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We 3 After 2-Years

Friday marks the 2-year anniversary of a great loss, the day Jamey left this earth. While we all knew it was time, those last days were agonizing for us all, the finality of death is not truly comprehensible until you experience it. And while Jamey is, I know, enjoying the good life in heaven, we three were left behind to figure life out on our own, without our anchor, our rock. 

For better and for worse, I will never be the woman I once was. Our family dynamic was forever changed, & we three are still figuring out who we are now & who we want to be tomorrow. 

As for me, I’m trying harder to lean into each day & to be thankful for all the moments, the good & the bad. I’m trying harder to prioritize my time, & focus on my relationships, letting the inconsequential go, but it’s not easy. It’s a constant battle for me to choose to nurture a relationship & ignore the lesser grievances. But I’m trying to be, in the words of Jamey Hollingsworth, the bigger person & take the high road, – a lesson my girls still discuss & point out when we each miss the mark. (Family = accountability partners 🤦🏼‍♀️😂) And while I’m proud of some of my wins in that arena, I’m also ashamed of some of my losses. But I’d like to think that overall, Jamey would be proud of how I’ve carried on without him, and I KNOW he’d be proud of our girls. They’re blossoming into such beautiful & smart & capable young women, whether in spite of or because of their great loss, I don’t know. 😢

Personally, I’ve grown so much stronger, become so much more independent, & learned so much along the way, but I still struggle & falter, so I spend a lot of time talking to God & asking for wisdom & guidance.

But while my heart broke 💔 in half, 2-years ago, the amazing thing about the heart, is that it❤️‍🩹 heals, & scar tissue is thicker & tougher than the never before broken, soft heart. Those battle scars, once healed, tend to serve as armor that can protect you & help you overcome the fear of moving on, because you believe, you have to believe, that surely nothing will ever hurt that much again, so why not risk it & seek joy again? And with a thick & scar-y heart, your brain convinces you that you’re brave enough to test the waters again, & it talks you into first putting in a toe & then a shin, until the next thing you know, you’re splashing around in the shallow end again, feeling, dare I say it, happy.  😊

Yes, Friday marks the 2-year anniversary of Jamey’s passing, but it also marks the day we three started a transformation of epic proportions. I only pray now that we will one day discover this metamorphosis, though painful, allowed us to emerge like a phoenix from a flame, ready to face the world, ready to face the future.  

RIP Jamey. You are loved & missed always, & we are so much better off for loving & having been loved by you. 

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Halli’s Father’s Day Reflections

It has been about 6 months since I have posted anything. I tend to write the most when I am sad, and I have to say, I haven’t been sad enough to put pen to paper in a minute, and praise God for that. But journaling / blogging did truly help me process a lot of dark stuff, and I appreciate those of you who followed along. Today I am posting, not my own words, but the words of my oldest daughter Halli, and I wanted to share them here, albeit a little over a week past the time she penned them.

Happy Father’s Day to the Best Father there Was

It’s hard to believe that it’s been almost two years since he left us, but the time without him has allowed me to realize and more fully appreciate just how great of a dad he was. When he first passed, many people warned me that the first year of losing someone would be the worst, especially during Thanksgiving, Christmas, and birthdays, when at first you forget that they won’t be there. Although those times were difficult, the hardest part for me came later, when I stopped forgetting, and I already knew he wouldn’t be there for the times I needed or wanted him there most. The reason moments like these were harder is because instead of thinking he was still there, I remembered thinking how much he would have wanted to be there too. And I was not only sad for myself, but in some ways, sad for him too.

But now that even more time has passed, my perspective has changed. I know I am lucky to have had a dad who loved me and knew me so well. Now those sad moments also serve as a reminder for me that whenever I needed him, he not only was, but also wanted to be there for me when he could. While he can no longer give advice, encourage, or listen to me, I still know what he would say. I can imagine his words, and so I have realized that though gone, he is still with me through the example he set. To me, this shows that he was an even better father than I realized because, in his limited time, he was able to teach me how to be there for myself even when he can’t be now.

“Listen, my son, to your father’s instruction and do not forsake your mother’s teaching. They are a garland to grace your head and a chain to adorn your neck. “ Proverbs 1:8-9

“Start children off on the way they should go and even when they are old they will not turn from it.” Proverbs 22:6 

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Recovering with Community

So, I don’t know how many of you read my last post, but let me tell you, hysterectomy recovery is NO Joke. I will also share that I went into this with a LOT of trepidation. And I could NOT believe that I was facing such major surgery withOUT Jamey. But you know what, God provides!! I have been astounded at the kindness of friends & neighbors & of course my daughters, though my youngest complained last night that she misses when we “split” the task of rolling the trash can up & down the driveway. (“Split” 🤣🤣🤣 – ouch laughter hurts right now.) I did not ask for meals, or rides, or really assistance in anyway, because I kind of felt like I’ve used up all the goodwill one girl could ever ask for in her life when so many people helped us through cancer & then grief, but this is the South, & I live in the absolute most amazing community & help me they did! 3 of my friends, who also just so happen to live in my neighborhood, ALL brought me & my youngest the most delicious soups & soft burrito dinners, which is about all I could digest recently. I also have to give a shout out to my Sunday School friend who also brought soup & sat & visited with my bedrest bored self. (And now that travel soccer is over, I really do plan to start going to SS again. God has been nudging my heart.) And I can’t not also thank my dear, dear friend who stayed with me overnight in the hospital & helped me try & walk, ever so slowly, dragging my IV pole around in the middle of the night and who later drove over to bring me sexy & romantic things @ 11:00 PM like Metamucil & prunes. Yes, recovery ❤️‍🩹 is hard going, but God has again helped me walk, literally, through the kindness of others. It is humbling, & I am so very thankful, because I could not make it without so much divine support, & I am so thankful for my community.

Snuggled up in my reading nook with the bestest blanket from a friend.

But recovery has slowed me down, wayyyyy down. And if you know me, you know that’s hard to do. But with this time, I have been FINALLY working through an anatomy course that I have been putting off, but that I need to pass as part of my Pilates certification training, something I can’t actually practice for at least another 2 -4 weeks, grrrr. And in this forced upon me slower pace, I have allowed myself to just be, (& try to) listen, & pray. I’ve done a lot of talking to God lately, and to Jamey too. (And while I know God hears me, I’m not really sure Jamey does, though I’ve been talking to him too.) Yesterday was the year & half mark that Jamey’s been gone, & the girls & I have grown & morphed SOOOO much in that time, while still, amazingly, also stayed so much the same at our cores (thanks to our strong Pilates cores 🤣). I’d like to think they’d both be proud & encouraging, but I know there are totally a few choices that I’ve made where I can almost see Jamey with his arms crossed on his chest, lips tight, head cocked to the side, trying to think of the right words to say to make me reconsider something or other. But I also think he’d be impressed with how calmly, because I might have a penchant for the dramatic, I / we handled it when his beloved Jeep died, & we had to call AAA to save us. Life is a series of ups & downs, detours & setbacks, but I’m finding, while life doesn’t often go as I planned, God will walk with you & guide you around the next bend, if you let Him, and He is still doing so many good things & offering up so many good gifts to His children through the hands of people. And to all my people, THANK YOU!

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Hysterectomies & Colonoscopies

So, I know that I’m always evangelizing the importance of early detection and screenings via colonoscopies, but tonight I’m going to hop over to a different soapbox, but a soapbox that looks very similar to my colonoscopy box, but this one is about other screenings and other  early detection procedures. 

It was during a routine exam, almost a year ago, that it was discovered that I had pre-cancerous cells in my cervix and that my uterus was rather enlarged and filled with fibroids, and this is after I had an ablation procedure probably six years ago. While  not imminently life-threatening, though definitely annoying and uncomfortable and disruptive to life, I did not want those pre-cancerous cells to turn into cancer. My girls are already a parent down, so I feel even more compelled to take care of me now too. So, as a gift of love to my girls & of course to myself too, I went under the knife for a near total hysterectomy today. And while I will continue to preach the importance of colonoscopies, I wanted to take a moment to stress the importance of gynecological exams as well. Cervical cancer, I believe,  is the fourth most common cancer in women in the United States. So, while I lie in the hospital tonight,  dosed up on OxyContin and Toradol, with a belly all swollen up my like I’m 6 months preggers, and sore as all get out, I know I did the right thing, and not just the right thing for me, but the right thing for my girls too. Taking care of yourself & doing all the preventative things like mammograms, colonoscopies, gynecological & dermatology exams should not be luxuries you try to squeeze into your life. They should be more like changing the oil on your car every 3,000 miles, or  putting air in your tires, just regular maintenance for the human body, for it too is just a machine, albeit a glorious machine created by the All Mighty Himself, it is not indestructible. So, take care of it. If you don’t have some, go get yourself some good insurance, & do right by your body, for it is a temple for the Lord, & you only get the one.

Now I know we all just showered our loved ones with gifts and presents during Christmas and Hanukkah, but consider the greatest gift you can give to anyone whom you love or who loves you, is a clean bill of health, so you can be there for them long into the future. So make 2024 your year of health & preventative care.

O.K. Stepping down for now, & probably closing my eyes, for the pain meds make me sleepy. Also, I’m going to go ahead & blame all typos & run on sentences on my current dosed up state at St. Vincent’s hospital, and it’s St. Vincent’s not UAB, because I’m not sure I’ll ever be able step into UAB hospital again. (Trigger place for me for sure.)

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Facing the Holidays of 2023

Thanksgiving 23 is in the books, & our Christmas decorations are up! Whew! One lap down in the holiday race! I’m personally so dang proud of myself & the girls, and I’m grateful for the friends & family who pulled us through another holiday. Had Jamey had been here, he & I would have been high fiving about a job well done when the last friend left the house. As it was, I turned the lights off by myself, as the rest of the house went to sleep.

Last year, I unashamedly ran away from the holidays as best as I could.  – A real weakness of mine is that I stink @ crucial conversations & confrontations, & I wasn’t ready to face the hard things about the holidays. I know astrology is silly, but the symbolism associated with the zodiac animal of a crab 🦀 & the way it buries itself in the sand to escape hard things, fits me so well, & that’s just what I did last year. I ran away & hid out.

Fast forward to another year, & I’m trying out new battle tactics, a more sustainable long-term strategy, & my girls are bravely fighting in the trenches right alongside me, & together, I believe, we are all finding peace & joy in new & different ways. 

A real blessing for me is that my girls are 16 & 19, not 3 & 6. Being older, they were major players in Thanksgiving this year. Heidi made the best cheesy green bean casserole EVER that she dedicated 5-hours to. And Halli made a Toffee Cheesecake Graham Cracker pie, that was out of this world, & she too gave up hours & hours of her Wednesday to make it. I pulled up the rear with the loaded mash potatoes and gravy, & a pre-ordered Cajun spiced fried turkey. 🦃 

We hosted a grandma for lunch, & then Friendsgiving for drop in food & & drink & fun & hot tub indulgences, oh my. 

While Jamey was never far from our thoughts, we managed to pull off the traditional holiday fare, while also making it new, an important factor I believe, in moving forward with our loss, though that’s just what’s working for me. Loss & life are different for everyone & no one’s journey is the same, so I share, just to share how we are moving through it, because grief does not come with a playbook.

But with a Thanksgiving win behind us, we woke up to face the Christmas season, with a bit of new.  During & after our war with cancer, we implemented survival mode only tactics & for us, that meant borrowing my Mil’s artificial tree for the last few years. And while that was the best I could muster for holiday cheer for Christmas pasts, the girls said not having that real Christmas tree scent in the house made it not even feel like Christmas. Their registered & legitimate complaints loomed over me, because how was I going to manage a real tree by myself??? Cue the hero Andy’s Nursery!! The 3 of us picked out our perfect tree, & had it DELIVERED first thing Friday morning!! Score!!! 

So, while the holidays are not as happy for us as they once were, together we are finding ways to celebrate with our loss, not that we are moving on away from it, but with it. For example, we still hung Jamey’s stocking yesterday, & my youngest intends to write Daddy a letter & stick it in it. Grief, we are discovering, is not ever something you get through, but something you learn to carry, but you do have to train yourself to maneuver through life with that big pack, and you have to rethink battle plans, because none of us are as innocent & nimble as we once were. We can never go back to the magical ignorance of not knowing deep, soul crushing pain, but we can, & we are, finding ways to get by, smile & live another day, and through another holiday season. 

Happy Holidays to everyone, everywhere. 

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A Memoir by Heidi

The Beginning of No End  

He cried. I have only ever seen my dad cry twice before this: Once when his dad died, once when his brother died. Of the many ways I have imagined my life going, this was never a part of my plan. 

“There are treatments we can try, and I promise to do everything I can to fight this, but because of how late we caught it, it doesn’t look good, and it won’t be easy,” my dad says this in an unfamiliar tone with a strong front, but has fear ripping through him and making his voice unsteady. My mom wasn’t even making the slightest bit of effort to hide how terrified she was. 

“The doctors said it’s stage four and predicted he will have about a year” I can barely make out what she was saying through her sobs. I don’t remember what else was said after that, I just remember realizing everything was gonna be different. I was 14, too young to lose my dad. I was in disbelief; there was no way this could possibly be God’s plan for me. 

His treatment started soon after that. Everything was going so fast and day after day he got sicker. He started eating less, feeling less active, sleeping more, and I watched as my dad; the strongest man and biggest role model I knew, started to diminish before my eyes. 

It didn’t happen overnight though, and it wasn’t all hopeless. My mom, always trying to find a brightside, told us, “Maybe this is just a really hard patch in our lives that we will be able to look back on and say ‘damn that was hell’ but we’ll be so much stronger and all together”.

Despite my moms optimism, the next couple of months were full of more chemo, surgeries, scans, tests, and plans. 

Right before we were let out for winter break, I was in my pjs getting ready for bed when I heard our doorbell. Ding ding ding. 

“Jamey will you get the door?” my mom shouts from across the house. 

“Can you get it?” 

“No, I think you should get it honey.” This is when I knew there was something going on. My mom would’ve done anything for my dad, especially such a simple task like answering the front door. Halli must’ve thought this was unusual as well because she meets me in the hallway walking to the front door. As my dad opens the door we see one of his best friends standing there with a single candle in his hand. Confused, I get closer to the door. That’s when I see what is happening. There are almost 100 people in our yard with candles in hand. 

The four of us step outside and we are handed candles and lyrics with Christmas carols on them. Tears filled my eyes as the sound of 100 of our closest friends singing Silent Night filled the air. We sang many songs that night and all cried. Even with so many of our friends and family there supporting us I couldn’t shake the fear that this could be my family’s last Christmas. 

Although there are so many awful and hard things I could talk about going through this, there are so many blessings that surround us as well. The support we felt from our friends and community was unimaginable, and we knew we were not fighting this alone. 

Flashforward to the middle of summer, the doctors have decided they have done all they can do. My dad was put on hospice care and a hospital bed was placed in the middle of our living room. 

My mom slept on the couch next to him every night, but her back started aching so we decided I would sleep next to him instead. 

My mom and I were watching a show next to him. We all got tired and my mom said goodnight. I tried to talk to my dad some, but he wasn’t lucid and couldn’t talk very well. I went to bed and I didn’t know whether I should pray for God to take him and end his misery or for him to live another day. That night I prayed for him to live another day and for God not to take him. It was my job to watch over him tonight; he would survive. 

The next morning I woke up to the sun shining bright in my eyes and my sister and mom fighting in the back of the house. I quickly sat up to see how my dad was doing. 

“Dada,” no response. 

I say it again a little louder, this time making sure he heard me, “Dada.” Again no response. A rush of panic floods through me and I bolt up gettin closer to him. He is still. He isn’t moving. His eyes are frozen open staring into space. I shake him and ask him to wake up. I beg him to wake up. I touch his forehead, the feel of his ice cold skin immediately makes my heart plummet. 

“Mama! Halli! Help, he won’t wake up!” I shout and I scream and I cry. No one comes. I can still hear them fighting about whatever they were fighting about in the back of the house.

 I run to them and scream, “He’s gone.” They come running. Everything after that is a blur. 

There is not a happy ending or even an ending to this story. I am still learning how to live in a world that he is not in. I still wake up some mornings forgetting he is gone and not coming back. Things will never be the way they used to be and they will never end up the way I imagined them to. 

The first week of school my syllabuses come back with only one parent signature and the other line blank. When I look to the sidelines during my games only my mom is sitting there with an empty void where he used to be. Fathers Day is no longer a celebration, it is a day full of grief and sorrow. Holidays are no longer holidays, they are just a time where I miss my dad being by my side. My 16th birthday, graduation, wedding day, and the rest of my life there will always be something missing. 

Everyday is another day that I miss my dad and learn how to live life without him being here. It turns out there is not always an ending and life keeps moving.

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New Grief

So, I’ve been pretty morose the last few days. I think it’s kind of been a combination of things that I’m really just now processing & analyzing. (Bless the process of writing ✍🏼 for that awareness.)

#1 – This is the week our oldest daughter, Halli, moves out & into college. While I’m over the top happy & excited for her. I’m also super sad for me, & even more selfishly sad that I don’t have Jamey by my side cheering her on, commiserating with me, all while comforting me too. 

I look at her excited and hopeful face, and I still see the pudgy cheeked toddler playing in my heels & prancing around the kitchen. 

I see her packing up her room now, & it makes me sad, as I can so clearly still see the sweet little toddler she was who never wanted me & Jamey to even go out at night & leave her with a sitter for dinner. And if I close my eyes, I can still almost feel her weight balanced on my hip, because I rarely put her down to let her try to crawl or walk, like EVER. I swear, I don’t think her baby self even realized her feet had a purpose, besides being limberly popped into her mouth to be sucked on, because I truly rarely put her down. 

Plus now, the Mom guilt is hitting me with the force of a hurricane 🌀, and I’m regretting every harsh or short tempered word that has ever come out of mouth, and there have been many, because the Italian dramatic gene runs deep in me. And I’m missing Jamey’s voice consoling me & affirming me that I was a good mom, & that all is, and will be, well.

But now my 1st baby girl is leaving. Granted she won’t be that far, but she won’t be here. And to be honest, I’m feeling an awful pattern in my life, & though I’m a ‘lonely only’ child, & generally good by myself, I hate being left behind. And I even more hate that Jamey left us, me, so early, and my nest will one day be empty, with just me in it. 😢 

So while I know I’ve fallen off of a few prayer 🙏🏻lists, if others still have room for me, us, I’d appreciate still being lifted up from time to time, because my heart still aches, & now it’s experiencing a new grief too boot. (And bless our baby Heidi too, because I know – because she has told me 😂 – she is feeling this Mama squeeze and hold ger tighter & tighter, all while she is trying to pull away & gasp for air. 😂)

Have I mentioned that I’m really dreading Halli leaving on Thursday? 😢

And reason #2 I think I’m in a state of new grief: I think this second year is going to be worse than the first, because I’ve completed all the projects. I’ve gone on all the trips, & now it’s just me & life, carrying on in the world without my best friend, & partner in crime, & it stinks. The reality of it all is starting to settle into my bones, and I imagine it’s like my Nana 👵🏻 used to describe her arthritis to me, as a constant ache deep in her bones. 

And while I’ve read how important it is to just sit and be still & feel all the grief, I’m pretty sure I’ve been cruising down a detour route trying to bypass the hurt. But guess what.

All roads seem to lead back to the same congested heartache. 

I met another widow this week, who has been a widow for 26 years. As we were sharing stories, she told me how even after 26 years she is still so mad at her late husband for missing so many milestones. I found that interesting, because I am most definitely not ‘mad’ at Jamey. I’m sad at him. And as our family approaches another major milestone on Thursday, my heart hurts even more. 

Milestones are no longer the celebratory occasions they should be. But rather they feel more like a mean, boney finger poking the most tender part of a bad bruise again & again & again. 

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The Upcoming 1-Year Anniversary

We are days away from the 1-year anniversary of my husband’s passing. ONE YEAR!?!? 

I imagine some in my position would say that this past year was the hardest of their lives. I would not say that. 

I think the year leading up to Jamey‘s passing was undoubtedly the worst year of my life. The anticipatory grief, the heartbreak, and the realization that while I could feel God walking beside us, our prayers were not being answered the way we wanted them to be, was undoubtably the hardest year of my life. Watching the smartest, most talented, kindest, & wittiest man I’ve ever known disintegrate and become a mere shadow of himself was way harder than this last year.  But reader, please know that caring for him during that year was not the hardest thing I’ve ever done, maybe the most grievously foul, but not the hardest. That part was an honor. And I now, in hindsight, see that caregiving year as a weird blessing. Sadly, during this year, I have met and talked with other widows.  I have joined a club that no one wants to be a part of, but once in, there is no getting out.  But I now know that as awful as I think I have / had it,  I also now realize that it was a blessing that I had a chance to prepare, a chance to say goodbye, a chance to imagine a life in the future without him, a chance to even discuss a life without him with him. Not all, and maybe not even most, widows are afforded that opportunity.

I’ve read on various widow forums about how so many people have regrets. They regret conversations had or not had, actions taken or not taken etc. I have no regrets in that regard. We said all the sweet things. He knew he was leaving this earth well loved, & all he loved knew that they too were loved by him. He did not choose to leave us; this was not his, & certainly not my, plan. I am 100% living Plan B right now, and while this is not the way I planned my life to go at age 26, or 30, or 35, or 40, or even 45, I am finding joy on this new path too, a different kind of joy, but joy.

But this year has not been the hardest year of my life because Jamey loved me, loved us, so well in the 21 years we had together. Jamey provided for me and the girls, and he made and collected the best friends that continue to check on us and help me, and counsel me, and support me. And I’d like to say I’ve made and collected some of the best friends too, and they also continue to check on me, help me, counsel me, and support me. And friends from both sides of the aisle have talked me through and come over and helped with (AKA done) quite a few honey dos. Plus, we have family here & there who also love us as best as they can too, & we are thankful for all of it and everyone.

Without a doubt, I have kept myself extremely busy this last year. I have tried to fill the hole in my heart with activities, with house projects, with renovations, with travel, with new certifications, with exercise, with Bible study, with outings, with concerts, & of course because I live in the South, with football, & because Heidi is Jamey’s daughter, soccer games too. I have filled it with the good work that Jamey started with the Hollingsworth foundation. I have filled that hole by helping Halli prepare for college and navigate senior year, by helping our youngest navigate the complicated waters of entering high school, and all the trials and tribulations and hard choices that present themselves during that period of life. I have filled it with therapy, and I’ve certainly filled it with a bit of my own escaping as well. 

This year has not been pretty, but it’s not been the hardest year of my life. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve cried (a lot) but less than the year of dying. I’ve checked in and out a few times; I’ve gotten angry a lot, more than I should have, but I haven’t quit. People marvel and tell me that they don’t think they could’ve gone through this. The thing is, it’s not like you get a choice. You simply must move forward, because time waits for no one; life waits for no one.

I see myself still evolving, hopefully for the better, but not always. In some ways, a lot of ways, I feel myself reverting to the young woman I was before I met Jamey, just older, wrinklier, and a good bit wiser. I believe I’ve learned from some of the mistakes I’ve made this past year. But there are other mistakes that I’m sure I will continue to repeat for the rest of my life.  I mean human nature and all that. 

A cherished friend counseled me a few months back, and she said that she had a sense that Jamey was telling me to slow down. That makes sense on so many levels. Even together throughout our marriage, Jamey was definitely the more strategic, slower, more methodical thinker, and I was the energizer, the activator, the Make It Happen Captain partner. And so, I can relate to her / his advice, & I think this next year, I’m going to try and do just that, try and slow down. Emphasis on the word try. 

I stopped writing for a while, (5-months to be exact) but I miss it, & I hope to pick it back up again. Just writing this post feels cathartic. But solo life, solo parenting, gets so busy, and frankly it’s really, really hard managing it all, working full time, raising teens, heck, I’m kind of still raising myself, but I’d like to think I’ll pick the writing back up again. I do find it very therapeutic. But I also am still considering a new puppy in the Spring verses now, because as another friend, suggested, I don’t want to be potty training a puppy in the winter. I was born and raised in Miami, Florida, and you can happily take the girl out of Florida, but you can’t take the love of warmth and sunshine out of the girl, and I do not want to be walking a puppy in the dead of winter.  I’m also training to become a certified Pilates instructor. So, while I have hopes of slowing down and writing more, I’m not going to come to a halt; I can’t.  It’s not in my DNA. But I am going to try to slow down.

I’m also kind of mentally and emotionally preparing myself for the idea that this next year might be worse than the last. From therapy and from the Widow forums I read, the reality that it’s not just the first year without him, but forever without him will apparently really sink into my, our, bones this next year. So, I continue to ask for grace, and patience, and love, and forgiveness moving forward. Maybe I’ll write about it. 🤔😘

But back to the upcoming dreaded anniversary. I did not want to be in our home, nor did I want the girls to be in our home on the anniversary of Jamey‘s passing in our house. So, with the help of the bestest travel agent ever, we will not be. We are running far, far away, & I am hoping that we will make new and happy memories to layer on top of the anniversary of a horrible loss. I’m also trying to think of this escape as a new beginning, a rebirth. A celebration for sure that we’ve had major milestones (HS graduation, turning 50, etc.) this year, and that we too have survived a year without him. But I also want this trip to symbolize a rebirth into the women that God is shaping us into. I want it to be a time for the three of us to focus on ‘who do we want to be at this time next year’ and ‘what are the choices and decisions and actions that we need to take to become those women, women who Jamey would be proud of.’ Because while we still shed tears, and still have those moments of realization and shock that we are living our lives without him, no matter how ill equipped I feel, or they feel, to be navigating these waters without him, God knew this was in our future the whole time, and the Bible tells us we were fearfully & wonderfully made, Psalm 139:14. And while I may not be individually equipped for this path, He is with me, with us, & through Him all things are possible, Philippians 4:13.  God has sent so many wonderful friends and family members to support us, and He has supposedly given us the strengths and abilities to get through it, though sometimes I personally feel like Moses, and I keep questioning if just by chance, God is overestimating my abilities, Exodus 4:10. But I do trust the Lord more than I trust my own insecurities and the negative talk of the devil whispering in and undermining me in my ear. 

So, while this year hasn’t been the hardest year of my life, it hasn’t been the best or the easiest either, and I’ve certainly gotten way too familiar with some of the YouTube handymen do it yourself channels. And while I don’t have a crystal ball, nor have I been given the gift of foresight, I can only hope and pray and trust that this next year will be better still. 

Thank you all for walking this path with me and my girls. We could not have made it this far, with as few cuts and bruises as we have, without you. 😘