And Just like that, it’s been two years.

Hello blog family. I write this special blog post in anticipation of the two year mark of life on earth without Matt here. Two years of trying to figure out who I am without my person. Two years of navigating a space I never, in a million years, assumed I’d be navigating. I don’t feel like the same person I was two years ago, just as that person was vastly different from the woman I was in the years preceeding the collapse of our world. I hope Matt is witnessing all of this; that he is behind me, holding me up when I feel like I may collapse. That even in death from this life, he finds his way to us.

So much has changed in our lives these past few years; and, I know, that this is only the beginning. I would do a disservice to Matt, to Bryson, and to myself if I didn’t continue living, continue evolving, and continue to find joy. So, as tradition holds, I decided to write my two year tribute post to Matt in the form of a letter. You can read my other letters to Matt here and here.

Before I get into this letter, I do want to take a moment to thank all of you. When I decided two years ago to document this journey, I had no idea what kind of impact it would make; I wasn’t sure how it would be received. Without your continued support, I’m not sure I would continue being so real, and so vulnerable, in this space. I especially want to thank my family and our close friends. Most of you read every post I put out there; even the posts that are really, really tough to read. You lived much of this horror alongside me, and you continue to show up, fully supporting the decisions I make and allowing me the space to share much of this very personal journey without trying to censor it. I would not be anywhere close to where I am now, without you.

To all of my readers, I hope that within the words of these posts, you’ve begun to understand, or find acknowledgement of a part of the human condition that is often ignored. I hope that even in the darkest passages, you also find a glimmer of hope, of peace, of love, and of promise. I hope that you’re inspired to love like you’ve never loved before; I hope you hold onto the ones you love, tightly, not just in times of hardship, but in all times. I hope that you take big chances and treasure small moments. Above all, I hope you find peace in knowing that the power of the human spirit, of love, is much greater than life itself; it transcends time, space, and anything we can possibly fathom.

How has it been two years, Matt?

Dear Matt

Another year. How does time pass so quickly and sometimes feel like forever all at once? I can’t believe it’s been two years since I’ve asked you a question, and you’ve answered back; two trips around the sun, since I’ve felt your touch and held your hand. Every time I imagine your smile, your laugh, and the different expressions you’d make, I smile and cry at the same. It still doesn’t feel real and yet, I’ve spent much of this year trying to figure out how to make sense out of this new world, this new space in time, without you. I wish I could tell you it gets easier; I know you’d like to hear that. But, it doesn’t. It just changes. And, I suppose, the goal isn’t to make it easier; I suppose the goal is to figure out how to take all of it with me,  all of the grief and the love with me, and still find purpose and even joy alongside it. But man, I miss you. 

Most of the things I tell you in this letter, you already know. You’re out there, or in here, watching everything unfold for all of us. I imagine you’re cheering Bryson on as he develops new skills and impresses all of us with his vast knowledge, particularly regarding the Baltimore landscape, where his family members live, and all of their first, middle, and last names. He loves to point out all of the restaurants, some of our old haunts, as we walk, scooter, or stroll on by. He especially loves pointing out Mommy and Daddy’s old house. He freaked us all out a little when I showed him a picture of our Hanover st. rooftop and he knew immediately it was our house without any direction. Did you have a hand in that? We also need to chat about his “Natty Boh” identification…

I’m happy to report that Uncle Kris is now one of Bryson’s favorite humans. I guess you decided it was time to let up on Kris a little. “Sixten Stanley” is one of his new best friends and I foresee a lot of rooftop trouble in our future. Would you have it any other way? With each new word, with each new and wild moment, I miss you even more. It’s such a complex mix of feelings; I enjoy watching our little man grow, and I want you to be here, with me, for it. Solo parenting is tough. Honestly, sometimes, I feel like I’m doing the bare minimum just to get by. I wonder if you’d approve of the decisions and choices I make for us. I hope I don’t disappoint you. When I look at our smiling, belly-laughing wild child, I know I must be doing something right, even when everything feels impossible. Perhaps you can give him a little extra nudge in the potty training department. Asking for a friend. 

He’s gone through so much in his two, almost three, years of life. I feel and mourn for him, and for you, more than myself. I’m doing my best to integrate you into his life, while still making our situation clear. He’s beginning to understand; he’s starting to wonder, more and more. And all I can do is watch, and be there for him, as the reality of our unique situation becomes more apparent. Sigh.

This year has included a lot *more* change. You’re probably laughing and saying “of course it has, Christina. Change is one of your specialties.” But for real, this time, I don’t want to move for a long time. And honestly, I feel pretty at peace with each one of these decisions I’ve made over the course of the year. Our time in Connecticut, though brief, was necessary. It gave us extra time with our Brissette, Payne, and Sgambato families that we otherwise may not have had. Chuck got a taste of having a yard, before I brought our pavement pup back to that city dog life. It gave me the space to really figure things out, as both a young widow and a solo parent. I needed to leave in order to realize just how much Baltimore really did become my “home;” I needed the space to realize that this city is just as much my home, even without you here. It hurts to write that, and yet, it was the validation I needed. Even though the city may not have been our plan when it came to raising a family, I really do love our new house and neighborhood. Of course, I’m already thinking about the small renovations I want to do. I wouldn’t be Christina without that component. And Kris wouldn’t be Kris without offering to do them himself. 

Our next generation continues to grow with future UConn Huskies and HsigmaO-ers; I look forward to sharing stories about you with all of them. After a year of everything seemingly stalling, we saw the return of weddings, travel, and events. We had a couple special weddings this year. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hard. It was strange hitting the dance floor without my partner; it was odd RSVPing for one.  But I think you would have been proud; I still had a blast and killed it on the dance floor every damn time, even if, at the end of the night, I felt like crying.

 A Matter of Hope did some big things this year; I (along with our awesome family and friends) managed to apply for and gain nonprofit status.  I’m sure you are floored by what we’ve been able to accomplish in such a short amount of time. Almost $50,000 raised; Hundreds of people sporting tank tops, sweatshirts, and tee shirts all in honor of you. While this fight is far from over, we’re seeing advancements, the advancements we so desperately needed, happening. I am so proud of our community, and, especially, our A Matter of Hope team; and…it feels too late. I wish I never knew anything about any of this. I love what we’re able to do, and I hate that we’re here. 

Which I guess brings me to me. How am I doing? I would say  I no longer question how I will survive this, but I’m more in a space of “what will ‘this’ look like?” Time is strange. The sharpness of losing you fades, but the reality of how long it’s been is even more terrifying. In a little over a week, I will have seen more birthdays than you. Are you still growing old or are you forever 35? What do souls do? The pandemic, the lockdowns, delayed my transition into experiencing life without you; this was the first year I truly felt your absence in all of the things you should have been here for. And, yet,  in a strange way, I felt like you were there with me, holding my hand, through it all.

I’ve seen shifts in the core of who I am over this past year; of what I value and what is worth letting go. They say that losing someone you love has a way of shifting your person completely; it rearranges your values and, above all, emphasizes that our time here is temporary. And, it waits for no one. It feels like every moment is more precious than ever before. I’m still figuring out what that means for me and what I am doing to maximize my time here. I did decide it’s time to start dating again, which is so weird to talk to you about even though it was the only “ask” you ever made of me, post-diagnosis. I imagine you still want this for me; that you want this for Bryson and for our family. But it’s still so, so strange. I’ve realized that I won’t be able to find another Matt; and I don’t want to. Our love, our relationship, will forever be ours. And there’s space for more, for something new. I don’t know how to navigate this at all. I wish it were as easy as a Sunday Funday, push up contest with a T-Pain look alike; or a night out at Stalking Horse following an epic 4th of July party. But life is so different now. I am so different now. It feels like I have another impossible feat ahead of me. And, yet, I get this feeling that next year, this letter to you will read differently. 

There is so much more to say. So many questions I have and so much I want to tell you. Even though I talk to you on the regular, it feels good to get this all out on paper to you now. I still really, really miss you. I will never stop missing you, just as I will never stop loving you. And I will never stop grieving you, and what we’ve gone through. Though the world keeps spinning, and we keep evolving and growing, I want you to know that I will forever take you along with us. Please don’t stop sending me signs, and showing up when I need you most. Whatever this next year brings, know that I love you. Always. 

Christina

To all of you from Bryson, Charlie, and I…