It got to the point that I couldn’t walk by the spare room anymore without getting upset. Since he died, I had been throwing his stuff in the spare room. That room was a constant reminder of the life I was no longer living. I knew it was time. Time to make room for healing and my new life. Time to move forward.

We donated a lot and saved a few special things for the boys. Anything that was a favorite of Eddie’s and a frequently worn thing, I threw out. Before you roll your eyes and think that someone else’s could have worn it, keep that opinion to yourself. I didn’t want to think of, or actually see anyone else wearing something that was Eddie’s thing. So his madras shorts, that one year he and the boys had matching pairs and some shirts that he wore on repeat, went in the trash bag and I don’t regret it. Not one bit. They were his and no one else should ever wear them.

I found myself saying “I shouldn’t have to do this”, “this isn’t fair” over and over that day. My sweet friends always listened, helped to fill bags and said “no, you shouldn’t” and “no it’s not”. They held their shit together for me that day and I know it wasn’t easy for them either, but they did exactly what I needed them to do.

Cleaning it out was hard, but all the more reason to do it. Sometimes moving forward is like swimming against the current, but you know that to get anywhere, you have to do it. There is no easy button.

There’s still work to do in the spare room and pieces to be ordered, but it’s come a long way. Its very close to becoming my room…with the promise of brighter days to come.

Over the past four months, I’ve learned a lot about myself and what I need.

I need people to love me. Keep texting. Keep checking in. Keep sending the notes. Keep loving me. Some days, something you may think is so little, means more than you could realize.

I need people to be open. This is all uncharted territories. We shouldn’t have lost someone so young and full of life, but we did. None of us are feeling the same things or thinking the same things, at the same times.

I need people to be patient. There are some things that are a huge undertaking that I haven’t gotten to yet. Even though I haven’t been able to write the thank you cards yet, everyone’s generosity in my darkest time, has meant so much to me and I do not take it for granted.

I need people to listen when I want to talk and just be there when I don’t. I don’t want to rehash Eddie’s death every time I talk to people. If I want to talk about it, I will. If you want to ask how I’m doing and leave the door open for my response, please do…but don’t be taken back if I respond with “normal” life events.

I need people to let me move forward. Whether you agree with any of my choices or not, they are not your choices to make. Please keep any opinions to yourself. You can speculate, but have no idea how you would feel if you were dealt the hand I was. I am taking things as they come and doing what I feel is right. I need to do what is best for myself, Max and Zac and to be happy. I choose to be happy…and I deserve it.

A few weeks after Eddie died, my therapist sent me a TED talk to watch. I had seen it years before, but it took on a whole new meaning now.

One certain thing, is that we can never go back in life… only forward.

With each thing that happens to us, we are given choices of how we want to deal with it. From the beginning, I’ve chosen to pick myself back up and keep going. Most days it took a lot of work, but as time passed, that all got so much easier. I’m able to enjoy life again. I smile and laugh. Of course there are hard moments and there always will be. It won’t matter how many years goes by, I’ll always miss him and love him.

The life I had with Eddie, brought me where I am and although the last few months have been hard, I’ve learned so much about myself and how I want to live. I have learned to never take anything for granted because it can disappear at any moment. I’ve learned that you have to live each day as your best self and do what makes you happy. I’ve learned to take things in more and in that, I’ve seen so many signs from Eddie, that everything is going to be ok.

Most importantly, I’ve realized that when we allow ourselves to be judged by others, it limits our life and our opportunities. I was always so worried about what others would think about a choice I’d made and losing Eddie has helped me to let go of that…mainly because my life looks so different than everyone else’s now. Life is about doing what feels right to each of us. There are no guidebooks or timelines for anything. We just have to live our life to the fullest for ourselves.

I feel so lucky that I have such an army fighting with me always… helping me to move forward. You are all completely supportive, never pass judgement and love me unconditionally. I wouldn’t be where I am without you.

Some days the water is calm and then a huge wave comes and knocks you on your ass. That was yesterday.

I had been feeling pretty good…crying much less and smiling more.

On the way to work, I decided to turn on the radio. I actually like the quiet drive most days, so don’t listen to it often. I wish I left it off. “Memories” by Maroon 5 came on…I lost it. The tears wouldn’t stop on the drive in. I was caught totally off guard and shaking. That wave got me.

It took some texting and tears, but my army was there to pull me back up…to listen, to sympathize and to motivate me to keep going.

If that wasn’t enough, Max googled Eddie. (Side note- I was impressed he did this and did it right.) All of a sudden I heard our wedding song from the other room…“Better Together”. My heart dropped into my stomach.

Max had come across the photo slideshow from the funeral. I had never watched it…I couldn’t. Now here it was playing. He was so excited to see pictures of Daddy on it. Zac ran in and wanted to see too. It was beautifully done, but so sad to see because those are now just memories. There will never be new ones with him. Those are it.

Just like that another wave hit me today.

Those waves didn’t knock me down for as long as they have in the past. I’m grateful for the fact that Eddie made me strong enough to keep getting back up. I’ll never stop missing him or loving him… no matter how much time passes. It’s just a balance of learning to live with the loss and moving forward, while enjoying all that life still has to offer.

Last night a fish died. Normally this wouldn’t have been a big deal because it’s just a fish. However, this fish was so much more. It definitely wasn’t “just a fish”.

A couple of years ago, Max wanted a fish tank in his room so bad. Eddie loved fish (and all animals) so he was happy to start Max with something “they could do together”.

It took a few months of Max keeping his room clean, feeding the dogs and proving that he could handle the responsibility. He was determined to get that fish tank, so it did it all without any complaints.

When he earned it, there was a huge trip to the pet store for all the bells and whistles. It was followed by an afternoon of setting it up and learning. Max was so excited and he and Eddie had something they loved to do together.

A couple fish later, we ended up with Nemo and Champino. Zac finally had his own fish in the tank too now, but Eddie made it clear that they shared them and took care of them together. These two bug eyed fish, joined us in January, before COVID. Other than a food mishap many months ago with Zac over feeding them, they have been fine.

Well, last night as Max turned the tank light off before bed, he noticed that one was dead and ran to tell Zac and I… epic meltdown.

I knew that the meltdown wasn’t only about the fish. It was the last pet Daddy had gotten them. It was a promise of something they were going to do together…a connection they had shared. Now it was dead and gone, just like him.

My heart broke for them. It was much more than a fish. They lost one more piece of Eddie and the life they had with him. There was absolutely nothing I could do, except hug them and say “I know”. Because I do know. I know how as little things change, it feels like Eddie is slipping away even more.

The sad thing is, that’s the reality…we can’t stop life from changing and going forward. We have to take a deep breath, keep going and do the best that we can.

It’s been over three months without Eddie now. Some days it feels like it all just happened and others it feels like a lifetime ago. I have moments where the waves knock me over, but I can get up a little bit easier. Don’t get me wrong… they suck, but I know that they are temporary. Those waves will never completely stop, but we have found our routine and are moving forward. It feels more normal. It’ll never all be the same, but life is way too short, to not just accept what’s thrown at you and deal with it the best you can.

I know it’s only been just over three months, but it’s been three months… over one quarter of a year…that the life I knew, was ripped away from me. I was given no choice in any of it. The only choice I had and still have, is how I deal with it.

When I look back and everything that has happened in the last few months I think about how I’ve accomplished things that I never thought possible. I’ve been stronger than I knew I even I could be. Things that would normally knock me down, just make me wobble before I get my balance again and keep going. I went back to work. Ive made all of the calls no one should have to make. I’ve cleaned out his stuff from our room. I’ve sat at the same table (by crazy chance) in the last restaurant that Eddie and I went to. I’ve been to the church that his services were held at for the death of another loved one. I’m getting a hold of the rental properties and learning the business. I’ve untangled messes you wouldn’t believe. I’m taking steps to get the camp fixed up. I’ve gotten house projects done, with help of course. I realized I can’t do this alone and I reach out when I need to. Eventhough none of this has been easy, I’ve done it and I’m still here…still going.

Most importantly though, I’ve laughed. I’ve felt hope that life will get better and little by little it is.

I feel empowered. Empowered, that I’ve come so far.

At what point does the constant memories of the life I had, become more painful than moving forward?

I think I am getting to that point. I would be doing okay and all of a sudden I’d go to make a call and there was Eddie’s picture as favorite #1. All of the emotions came flooding in, just from seeing his name on my phone. A number I could no longer call. A voice I would no longer hear. Each time this happened I wondered when I would be ready…when it would feel right…to take his number off of the favorites on my phone and in my car. At what point was it hurting me more to see it everyday, rather than to not?

I wish I knew.

I knew that as soon as I deleted his number from my favorites there was no going back. My life was moving forward without him in it. He was never coming back and things were never going to be the same. Would I regret trying to hold on to it all for longer? As soon as I deleted his number that was it.

It seemed silly to keep it, but I thought about the countless times, I pushed the button and his voice answered on the other side. I would never hear that again. I would never talk to him again. I knew he was gone but somehow it was so hard to take that button away. It would make it permanent…

There’s no timeline of when to do any of this. So I guess I just have to wait until it “feels right” and go from there. Not today though…

During therapy yesterday, we talked a lot about the idea of radical acceptance. It’s basically when you tell yourself that you’re never going to know why something happened and you just have to be okay with it, let it go and move forward. Eddie’s death is always on my mind. I go over it and over it in my head, multiple times a day, but I’m never going to know why he killed himself. That unknown is sucking the life out of me.

How did this happen? Was there a trigger that I missed? Was he depressed? How could I have missed it? What was he thinking? How could he think we would be better without him…me without my husband and the boys without their father. What was so terrible that he thought suicide was the only way? Could I have stopped it? How could he leave us? Why did he do it? How were we not enough?

These questions are on constant replay. It’s exhausting. Its frustrating. It’s consuming. It’s wildly emotional. I’m a black and white person and this is all a fuzzy grey area. There are no answers and the only one who could give them to me is gone.

Enter the idea of radical acceptance. “I’m never going to know why Eddie killed himself and I have to be okay with it.”

I repeat this to myself throughout the day with the hope that I’ll believe it, if I hear it enough. We all know that the more you tell yourself something, the more you convince yourself it’s the truth.

Honestly, it’s worth a try. I’m hoping that I can get to the point where I accept this and can give my brain a break from the questions on replay.

Every year, during the last week of June, we would go on a mini family vacation. It was always something fun for the boys and not too far of a drive. In 2018 we went to Diggerland. It was definitely more hyped up than it was, but still a lot of fun.

Honestly, it was a boys’ playground… much like Eddie’s shop. He actually didn’t even think we needed to make the trip to the park because “we have our own Diggerland right here” he joked of the shop. He was right. Every tool and machine you could imagine, Eddie had it. Even from a young age, the boys could name all of the machines and tell you what each one did. It was very important to Eddie, that they knew how to use the appropriate machine or tool to fix a problem. He wanted them to be successful in anything they chose to do, but more importantly…self sufficient. Luckily, I know that with the army of support I have, the boys will still learn all of these things.

In this picture, Eddie convinced the driver of this ATV to let him take the wheel for the ride. He reassured him that he had driven them before and knew what he was doing, which he did.

As soon as Eddie turned the key, that thing went faster than it had all day. The dust was flying all over. That ATV was being driven like it was meant to be. The poor kid in charge of the ride, was holding on for dear life. I don’t think he expected a ride like that. I was cheering them on. Everyone in line was hoping Eddie would take them out too. Through it all though, in the distance you could hear Eddie laughing his contagious laugh. The boys were having the time of their life. Their excited smiles, said it all. It was awesome.

I loved the fact that Eddie was the “take charge” type. It made me feel safe, no matter what the situation was, he had it under control. I knew that he wouldn’t let anything happen to us and that everything would be okay. This is all still true, it’s just happening in a different way.

This was posted in one of my widow groups today and as I read it I just thought… “Wow, yup. That’s exactly it”. For those that say they can’t imagine, here it is. I know you can imagine it and I hope you never experience it.

My entire life has felt so different. As it has passed the 12 week mark, it’s starting to settle into what our new normal is. It doesn’t mean it’s easy or fun, but just starting to feel more routine.

I have had to relearn everything that I’ve known for the past 12 years. Nothing was as it used to be. Absolutely nothing. Even if he didn’t play an active role in every aspect of my life, he was a part of each of them. A part that is missed.

We had spent the most significant part of our adult lives together. We grew in our professions together. We went from young and single to a family of four together. We became “adults” together. We created and did our daily routine together. We made our home together. We built our family traditions together. We did all of our big life events together.

It’s hard. It hurts. It sucks. Time keeps going and the only thing I can do is adapt and change with it all. Hoping that one day soon, the new normal doesn’t hurt as much.

Now I was left to go at it all, without him. Our family doesn’t feel complete. Our daily routines feel heavy and dull. I constantly feel like something is missing. He is missing.