As I go back to work tomorrow, I’m filled with anxiety. Going “back to normal” when there is no such thing. When I go back, it’s like everything will be how it was, before October 17th, except there’s no more Eddie.

It’s crazy how the past six weeks have been a blur, but the week before he died, is crystal clear.

If it was a normal weekday morning before the 17th, Eddie would be up, before everyone, watching the news. He’d make me a cup of coffee for when I was done with my hair and makeup. I’d head downstairs and we’d hang out for a bit before I got the boys up and ready. They’d all snuggle while I worked out for a bit (clearly nothing intense since my hair and makeup were already done). Then, I’d get dressed and make my smoothie, all while they hung out on the couch. When it was time to go, he’d get them in the car, give everyone hugs, kisses and “te amo” and off we’d go to school. After I dropped the boys off I’d always call him and we’d talk for most of my drive to work.

All of these normal things seemed so insignificant, that I don’t think I ever truly enjoyed them. I took them for granted and figured they’d just always happen…until one day, six weeks ago. Now, I’ll never have them again.

As tomorrow morning approaches, I’m filled with regret and loneliness. Everyone says to “appreciate the little things” but I never fully understood it, until now. Those “little things” are some of my favorite memories. It’s the little things that make our lives feel full and we really don’t realize how lucky we were, until they are gone.

About a week after Eddie died, I ordered a fake Christmas tree. It was completely insignificant in the realm of everything going on, but something I had to do.

Every year we had high expectations of cutting down a tree, but life got in the way…every single year. There was always something that came up for work with him, whether it was plowing or the firehouse shifts. Every year instead of cutting down a tree, we ended up with an impromptu trip to Home Depot on our way home from some holiday event. I was usually without a coat, cold and clearly not dressed for tree picking. Then when we got home, Eddie would set it up and get the lights on, just right. He’d adjust things and keep turning it for the best angle that I approved of because he knew I am a perfectionist. Then, I would decorate it, with a little help from the boys. Except for the star at the end…that was “his part” of it and the biggest deal ever with the boys and helping him.

Not only was decorating it “my part” but I got to take it down and lug it outside too, usually because he was working and I wanted it out. I also got to clean up all the damn needles that flew all over the house. So much fun.

That was how it had been for the past 12 years. Every year, I put on a smile and went wherever he wanted, no matter what the plan changed to or what the weather was, because I loved him. He had in his head that he needed a real tree every year and even though I hated it, I did it for him. The boys could have cared less as long as presents showed up under it.

Today, I set up the perfect little fake tree that I ordered. It looked good. The boys decorated. All was going well. Then came all the memories with the ornaments. Each one significant to the life we built together for the past 12 years, with lost hopes of many more to come. Every time I looked at one, it felt like my heart was being stabbed. It hurt. Each ornament was a reminder of our life together, but now those pictures seemed as fake as the tree. They weren’t true anymore. That wasn’t my life anymore. He’s not here and that smiling family of four, will never be, again.

Putting them up and pretending life is okay seems fake…just like the tree. To the boys and I though, it’s our new reality… he’s gone and our family of four is now three.

Everyday I teeter on this fine line between my dreams and reality. Dreams that he’s still alive and here, but just working. Sometimes they feel so real that when I snap back into the reality, I think it must be a lie. It takes me a minute as I look around and realize, that cruel thought, is actually my reality.

Every time I hear a truck or the dogs run to the door, for a second, I think that’s him coming home. I’ll never understand how he could take himself away from us. No warnings or signs, no hugs or kisses goodbye. Maybe that’s why this is so hard to accept… it never seemed possible there would be a day that he wouldn’t come home.

Days like today, when he would have been at the firehouse seem like a dream and when I wake up tomorrow morning, he’ll be home. Unfortunately, that’s not my reality and never will be again.

Confusing my dreams and reality is dangerous… at times it makes it seem impossible to let go of the past. No matter how hard it is, I can’t let the dreams of my past blind me from the reality of my present and the hopes for my future.

Today was an okay day. As I sat here and thought about it, I realized that pretty much everything I did today was for me… not Eddie. That’s the first time that this has happened, in a long time.

My room was finished getting painted. It’s now a light grey with crisp white trim. A fresh look from the beige that was there. As soon as the paint dried, I put on the new Lilly Pulitzer duvet. It was starting to feel like me… you know I love my Lilly. With the gold pillows, over priced gold bow chair and chandelier table lamps, the room was not ours anymore, but mine. It doesn’t mean that I missed him any less, but I was moving forward.

Today, I didn’t cry.

Today, I accepted the different, that was now my life and was even a little optimistic for the future.

Today was okay and although tomorrow may suck, today gave promise of better days to come.

It’s been over 5 weeks since Eddie has been gone.

So much has changed, but to someone that doesn’t know differently … they don’t see it and it all looks the same.

I see it all though.

I see the last of the flowers that were sent after he left, drying out and dying. Reminding me that time has passed and nothing is going back to what it was. It’s all different.

I see the floor too clean. Looking too white without the mud that he used to track in, every single time he walked in the door. Missing all of his black socks he used to take off wherever he was and just leave them. It’s funny how much these things used to drive me crazy and annoy the hell out of me, but thinking that he’ll never make me roll my eyes, bitch about it and clean them up again, makes me cry.

I see all of the pillows and blankets neatly in the family room basket, not looking as lived in and cozy as before, with remnants of Eddie. A room that seemed the warmest and filled with family memories, now seems so cold.

I see the leftovers in the fridge, days without being eaten. I always used to cook extra and he’d take it for lunch. Now I have no idea how much to even make.

It’s too quiet every night here. Too calm. I know this sounds strange because I still have two boys and two dogs that are plenty noisy and wild, but it’s not the same.

I miss my chaotic, messy home with him. It’s all so different now. Although it hurts, this different will eventually become the new normal and hopefully this new normal, will at some point feel like home again.

Everyone asks how the boys are doing. Honestly they are doing much better than I would have expected.They are resilient. The boys have been able to laugh and play. Even the day Eddie died, they played. That’s what they needed. Their friends around them and to play, just like I needed mine to sit with me and cry. They went right back to life as they knew it, wrestling and just being boys. They told me that playing helped their heads keep busy. In the couple weeks after Eddie died they watched a lot of TV, Max said it helped him not think too much. By no means has the TV turned off, but it’s on a little less.We talk about the fact that he’s still all around us. Max struggles to understand exactly how, but Zac seems to get it. He will tell you that “Daddy is in the sky and all around us and we said bye to his shell”. He draws pictures with Eddie in them. At Halloween he decorated his pumpkin at school with the “Daddy eyes” that he saw in the sky that first week. Most recently he drew a picture of Daddy and Mommy holding a heart and Max and Zac sneaking up on us. There was also a flag “from the place we said bye to Daddy’s shell”. Absolutely broke my heart and I wanted to scream about how unfair this is, but instead I hugged his smiling little self and told him how beautiful it was.

They ask why the doctors couldn’t fix him. Zac thinks bandaids fix everything and he doesn’t understand, how his strong dad couldn’t just put a bandaid on and be okay. He was their super hero… invincible. Max still and always will idolize him. He drew a Fire Department badge for Eddie last week and keeps it on his nightstand. How could this happen to their dad, the strongest guy they knew? He wasn’t supposed to get hurt, let alone die.

After I got my tattoo, Max wanted to feel closer to Eddie, so when I was putting Zac to sleep he went into the spare room where Eddie’s clothes were, got a flannel shirt and wore it to bed. I didn’t realize this until I went to turn off his light. There he was wearing Eddie’s shirt, snuggling his “Daddy Bear”. He told me the next morning that it smelled like Daddy on the right arm. He’s worn it every night since.

There is so much they had to learn from Eddie… from their Dad. I know it’s hitting Max hard. He’s confused as to why other kids all have their dads and he doesn’t. He feels left out when he doesn’t know something that is a “Dad’s job” to teach. I’ll never forget, us being at a friends house and he didn’t want to go play football because he and Eddie had just started throwing the ball, but he didn’t know it very well yet. He was embarrassed and said “soccer was more his thing” so he could avoid playing it. My heart hurt for him. There was nothing I could do to fix that feeling. They were supposed to learn football from Eddie. Next summer Eddie was going to have Max come work with him “snapping lines” on the parking lots to start teaching him striping the lots. They were supposed to learn his amazing work ethic and take over the business some day. They were supposed to have days of fishing and nights of all of us snuggled in a tent at the camp. It was all suddenly and cruelly, taken from them.

My heart breaks for them that they lost their father and everything they were supposed to have with him, their hero.

Isn’t it funny how a word or phrases mean completely different things depending on where we are in our lives? I always loved those wooden “family” signs and canvas pictures. Now they make me sad. My family is not complete anymore. We are missing one very important guy and I’m not ready to accept that my family now looks very different than it did…than all of my friends’ families do. That word reminds me I don’t have it all anymore.

My monogram on all of my adorable sweatshirts…I haven’t wanted to wear them because they don’t quite feel right. He’s gone. It’s his last name on those with me. I know that won’t change, but I just don’t want to wear them right now. The curls and cuteness of them make me mad. I don’t see cute and happiness in the swirls, I see sadness.

The quotes on the boys shirts “kind like my parents”… I looked at that the other day and thought, “yeah but one is dead”. I can’t go into Carter’s right now because there’s too many of those shirts and even though I used to snatch them up, I don’t even want the boys to wear them right now. Another reminder of what I don’t have. What they don’t have. Their dad is gone. 

Even the phrases “good morning” and “have a good day” don’t work for me right now. It’s not a good morning. Eddie is gone and everyday I wake up it’s a new day, but I’m reminded that he’s not here…never coming back, so no, it’s not good. I have a dear friend who simply texts “morning” to me each day. This is fitting. It is morning and here we go again with another day filled with a wild card of emotions. As for “have a good day”…it may be an okay day, but while I’m picking up the pieces of my shattered life that seem to be all over, it won’t be a good day. Not for a while. There may be good moments, but on my emotional scale, my goal is “okay” each day right now. It beats “shitty”.

My therapist reminds me, that this is all temporary and the only things permanent are death and taxes. Even so, this temporary place I’m in sucks, especially because Eddie being gone, is permanent. Maybe the change of all of those words and phrases are only temporary and I’ll find a new meaning to them when I get to a better place…maybe even a “good” place.

Today I was mad. Mad at all that my life was supposed to be and now wasn’t. I needed to clean out his dresser and nightstand in our bedroom. It wasn’t bad because I threw it in bags and would deal with it later. When I was done, I looked at the empty dresser and nightstand and it’s different without his stuff in there. It’s missing everything inside. It looks fine on the outside, but inside it’s empty. That’s exactly how I feel…empty. I haven’t been able to get rid of any of his clothes yet, so I have been moving them into the spare bedroom which was also his other storage area. I keep moving everything into that room because I’m not ready to give any of it and our life away yet, but I don’t want to look at it every second and be reminded of what I don’t have anymore. It’s too painful. It’s too unfair.I always leave the door to the spare room open though. Even as I move forward, I never want to close the door on the life and love we had.

Yesterday I got a tattoo. Not just any tattoo, but angel wings with Eddie’s ashes in them. Before he died I didn’t even know that was a thing. Leave it to something like this, for teaching me so much that I never even knew. At first, things didn’t seem to fall into place… thanks covid. The original date of the tattoo was our anniversary, but it had to be rescheduled. I’m sure it’s a huge shocker that I’m not patient. Not even a little. However, sometimes there’s a reason things don’t happen right when, or how we want them to. The tattoo ended up being rescheduled for the 17th at 12:00. Definitely a sign. It was the one month mark on the 17th and 12 has always been my number. For so many crazy reasons throughout the years it became our number too. After numerous tries with the stencil and getting it just right (I’m a perfectionist too- shocker, I know), the 5th placement and sketch was perfect. As soon as those words were coming out of my mouth, a fire truck pulled up across the street. It was a sign. Eddie agreed. He’s always there giving his opinion, whether I want it or not. I always wanted his opinion whether I listened to it or not. The wings hold a special meaning, not only because of his ashes, but because in the last text that I have from him he promised to “always be there, with you, to protect you”. I know that he is and always will be.

The 17th… it’s been exactly one month since Eddie died and my life changed forever. In the past month There’s been a lot that has helped me. Sudden death of a spouse so young isn’t something that happens often (thank goodness!), so a lot of people have said that they don’t know what to do or say. Honestly, I would have no idea either. It was so incredibly out of any book that has been written about life. He wasn’t supposed to die this young. My friends and family weren’t supposed to have to figure out what to do or say, but they did and have done a great job. Here are some things that for me, in my situation have helped…
Friends come over– don’t ask, just come over. This has been very comforting to me. My dear friends just stop over, even when they aren’t invited and I love that.
Take notes– right after Eddie died, a couple friends took notes on things like my favorite foods, lunches for the kids, random things I liked. Then they made sure I was always stocked with those things without me having to ask. It left a little extra space in my head to figure out how to actually get through each day because honestly, most days still feel like a blur and I can’t remember much. The take notes goes for me too. I have a million thoughts running through my head at any given moment and can’t remember anything.
Stop asking, “how are you?”…I’m shitty. The answer is going to be shitty for a while. My husband is suddenly dead and I’m a widow with 2 kids. I know everyone is concerned and truly cares and wants to know, it just feels like I’m letting you down when I answer truthfully. So unless you really want to know and talk about it, just say “hi and I hope your day is going okay” or “thinking about you”
Make me Laugh– some days it may be harder to do than others, but tell me something funny. I want to laugh and love to laugh. Life keeps moving forward and laughing is good. Sometimes, I can even hear Eddie and his infectious laugh joining right in.
Hold off on Food– Don’t bring food as soon as you hear the news- well ok, bring food but within reason. We had so much food, which was amazing. I just felt bad so much got wasted. The food drop off being spaced out through the week was also great. I however could only stomach a smoothie, gluten free donuts and a few spoonfuls of a specific soup for that first week.
Paper Products- best idea ever. Someone who had also experienced a sudden death in their family brought over big bins filled with cleaning supplies, detergent, paper towels, toilet paper, plastic silverware, paper plates, napkins, trash bags and all of those other household staples you suddenly run out of within that first week or two because you weren’t planning for a houseful of people coming and going.
Bring Food- I’m joking… but not totally. Now is when everyone has gone on with their life but I still struggle to get through each day having to do everything for myself and the boys. The random food drop offs are really helpful and make the day a little easier.
Keep Texting– I may not answer right away or I may forget to answer or think that I did, but I appreciate the checking in. It makes me feel less alone and I appreciate each and every one.
Keep Asking- I am not the type to ask for help even when I need it. Ask me because eventhough I do need your help I don’t want to ask for it.
Keep Inviting- I may not always be up for going places, but don’t let that stop you from asking. I love being around people and busy most of the time. Just because I say no once or twice doesn’t mean I don’t want to do something, it could have just been a bad day. Ask again and again, please!
Be Honest-I’ve learned to speak up even more than I had before (shocking, I know) and I encourage you to be honest with me and ask those questions you are thinking. I’ll tell you the truth, trust me!
Don’t Judge- how I grieve is going to be different from how you or anyone you know grieves. We each do what we need to do, at our own pace and have no business telling anyone else what is okay and what’s not. Keep that opinion to yourself.