Year One

On the one year anniversary of the day Andy died, I reflected on the year. Here's what I wrote:

One year ago, I lost my husband and partner in all things, the kids lost their dad, in an instant our world was unrecognizable. I could never imagine the rubble that would be left behind. Yes, of course the sorrow. But grief- grief has a power that you never know until it happens to you. It strips you down to your core, and makes you question all you knew to be true. The loss of a spouse is profound, you lose yourself, your identity. You lose a future you believed in. You lose the love of the person who knew you with an unparalleled intimacy, someone who understood you like no other. Over years of growing and molding your lives and hearts together, you suddenly have to learn to breathe again on your own. Grief nearly kills you, it is agonizing, and you would do anything to end it. You feel as though you are on life support. It is torturous and seemingly unrelenting. Grief shows you the blackest of blacks and darkest of greys, shades you never knew existed.

But grief also shows you shades of the brightest colors that were also there, waiting to be discovered. It teaches you compassion, patience, and gratitude - practices that before would have taken focus but are now almost effortless. You see other people’s pain in a new light, and can relate in ways you wouldn’t have been capable of before. You gain experience with the complete spectrum of human emotions, and learn humility and vulnerability. You emerge changed.

Slowly, imperceptibly, grief recedes. If you let it, and do the painstaking work to heal. You learn to carry grief, while grief is also simultaneously changing, becoming more manageable. You begin to see life again and get glimpses of yourself. You see your friends and family in new ways, and you understand them at a deeper level. You are more enlightened, and are forever changed by the transformation you have unwillingly endured.

I spent the last year surviving. I went to therapy and a support group for suicide widows, I joined several social media groups for widows, suicide survivors, and solo moms. I talked (a LOT) to friends and family by walking and talking, in person or on the phone, crying but also finding laughter again. I put a lot of miles on new sneakers. I researched and generated a narrative of my life together with Andy, and sought to understand as much as I could about Andy’s life and suicide. I read a lot about suicide, grief, and loss and binged podcasts on the same topics. I journaled frequently to process my thoughts, feelings, and emotions, letting the tears spill on the page. And over time, celebrating my successes. Periodically, I went back to read old entries, a practice essential to realize how far I’d come. I started exercising again, running occasionally, rejoining my soccer team, and joined a new yoga studio. I slowly learned to give myself grace and space to heal, and accept my limitations. The process cannot be forced. My work is not done, and I continue to layer these tools to keep me buoyant.

I showed up every day for my kids, I let them see me struggle and break down, but also their mothers resilience and dedication to heal. At the same time, they witnessed the love from friends, family, colleagues, and even neighbors they may have never even met. We graciously received meals to nourish us for months, and accepted a variety of thoughtful and heartfelt gestures throughout the year. We opened our home to have visitors take care of us, offer their condolences, and bring joy and life back to our lives. We accepted all invitations to join others for dinners, trips, and outings. We expanded our family, with 2 precocious kittens, new outlets for our love. We weaved a web of support beneath us, and let our community carry us, and remind us we are loved and we matter.

On the 1 year anniversary of Andy’s death, we mourned and remembered him. There were certainly hard moments for me on this day. We did a long hike up Lake Serene, the last place in the wilderness Andy explored the week before he died. It was a perfect, beautiful day. It also marked an inflection point for us as we embark on Year 2. We strive not to merely survive, but thrive. To live the best life we can, with intentionality and purpose. On this day, we smiled and basked in the sun, the cool alpine water at our feet and the majestic views we are so fortunate to have surrounding us and so close to home.

In this year I leaned heavily on the love and support from my community. I let them care and show up for me and the kids, I allowed people to continue to check-in on us, and be there for my darkest days, bearing witness to my recovery. I could not have done it without all of the amazing people in my life. I have so much love for all of them, and am humbled they have accompanied me on this new phase of life.