A Quick Widow Life Update

It’s been a while, friends. We’ve had a lot going on these past few months. On top of my day job and taking care of a tyrannical two year old, I started my coaching certification in April, Bryson and I both came down with some nasty viruses (props to daycare), A Matter of Hope is in full swing, and we’ve had a few *gasp* trips. The world appears to be opening back up again and I am here for it. Along with the excitement though, comes a little anxiety. Aside from the brief, blurry two months I had in early widowhood, I haven’t known the “old normal” without Matt by my side. Travel. Weddings. Big Events. Birthday Parties. Concerts. Games. Balancing the joy of finally getting to do all these things I love while leaving space for the tough moments surrounding Matt’s absence from them, is yet another part of this tangled, messy grief experience. Sigh.

I’m not new to grief. In all reality, my “grief journey” began in January 2019, when Matt was diagnosed.

You can read more about that in my CCA Journey blog post. As a new mom simultaneously experiencing her husband’s (what we never called) terminal diagnosis, it felt like the twilight zone. I responded by going into complete overdrive. I held onto every ounce of hope while simply trying to survive every doctor’s appointment, every scan, every treatment, every clinical trial denial, and every “I think you should sit down for this.” I designated myself the beacon of hope. We would figure this out; we would come out on top. More sighs.

When Matt died that December 2019, a new type of grief hit hard. It was the type that ripped through my soul, and left me searching for something to hold onto. Fear. Sadness. Anger. Utter disbelief. It didn’t seem real. This couldn’t really be the life I’m living. Things like this don’t happen to people like us. I buffered a lot with “things to do.” I distracted myself because sitting with my grief was so painful. I moved through quickly and suppressed a lot of the “sad thoughts” like: the first signs of pain, the diagnosis, the weeks we spent not speaking following the diagnosis while Matt processed everything, the anger and rage moments, the dead ends, the failed treatments, the pain in his eyes every time he held Bryson, and the hospital. As time went on, those sad thoughts became harder to ignore, and eventually, I had to confront them. I had to process them. I am still processing them.

On top of that, dealing with the secondary loss of not having my parenting partner perpetuated a lot of anxiety. Being a new parent, in and of itself, is a trip. Doing it on my own, in the midst of tremendous grief, was terrifying. I constantly worried that I wouldn’t be enough for Bryson. My mind went to so many “what if” scenarios. What if I get sick? What if I die? What if Bryson gets sick? What if I simply can’t handle it? What may seem irrational to many felt very real to me. There was a lot to unpack there.

Almost 18 months into widowhood and I wish I could say things are getting easier.

I’m not sure “easier” is an appropriate term; it’s simply different. In some ways, things don’t sting quite as often. I don’t cry every day; the shower only occasionally serves as my tear repository. I have a lot more hope for the future; I’m beginning to see more clearly what I want in this next chapter for both Bryson and I. Stay tuned. But, the grief is still heavy; sometimes, it feels even more draining than it did last year. When a grief grenade hits, it explodes. Sometimes, it feels like one step forward, two steps back; it’s an epic “grief cha-cha.”

Perhaps this perpetual dance with grief comes from “acceptance” hanging out in the background of year two. Accepting that Matt died; accepting that I’m still here and that it’s ok to want love and laughter in my life. Accepting, at least for now, it’s just Bryson and I (and Chuck). Accepting that the world keeps spinning and people return to their normal lives, even if I don’t even know what “normal” is anymore. It’s accepting that the most I can do for Matt is to keep his soul ever present, share his stories, and fight for him every damn day. But it won’t bring him back.

The truth is, right now, life is fluid for us. When your entire world collapses, when everything is ripped away, figuring out “where to go from here” isn’t so cut and dry. Traumatic events like this unearth a lot of questions about how, where, and with whom we spend our time. Precious time. It’s a lot of trial and error. It’s making decisions and making different decisions. It’s a lot of gray. And yet, the most challenging part of all of it, of all the fluidity, is being ok with it and knowing that each choice I’ve made, at any particular time, has taught me something and served a greater purpose.

I needed this time.

I needed to sit with my grief. I needed to take an inventory of what feeds my energy and my soul now, in this next chapter. I needed to figure out how to move forward with the memories beside me, but not consuming me. Processing the pain and processing the anger are equally as important. Gaining confidence in myself as a mom, while also acknowledging that I’m a human in the wake of one of the most stressful events in a persons life time, has been imperative. In order to show up for my son, I needed to show up for myself. And that means showing up even when it’s really, really hard. Showing up when it feels like the world around me is imploding. Showing up when it feels impossible. Just like Matt did.

Most importantly, I need to show up authentic to my experience, honoring my beliefs, sources of energy, and heart. I hope that, one day, Bryson sees all of this as an example of what is possible even in the wake of hardship and tragedy; I hope he honors feelings that are complex, not always popular, and hard to handle. Because this is life; it’s often tangled, messy, and tough. It’s also precious and so, so short.

I know this is a very vague update. There are a few moving pieces for me right now, most of which, I will share in a future post once I become a little more clear on what’s happening. In the meantime, I’m going to throw in my first shameless plug for A MATTer of Hope 2021. There are a lot of fighters (and future fighters) out there just like us. A recent study predicted that by 2040, if we don’t see more clinical trial mobilization and funding, Liver and Intrahepatic Cholangiocarcinoma will be the 3rd leading cause of cancer deaths in the US. For the many cholangiocarcinoma patients and families out there, it is a true race against time.

On a personal note, A Matter of Hope brings together all of the people Matt loves and so many more who he would totally welcome into our circle with his (extra long) arms. It is my hope that in the years to come, even after we achieve victory over Cholangiocarcinoma, we can still bring together generations honoring an amazing soul.

On August 14th (Matt’s birthday) we’ll be fighting the fight in a true-to-Matt way: with food, beer, music, games, and friends. 100% of the proceeds from #MoHope2021 will go directly to the Cholangiocarcinoma Foundation. You can find all about how you can join us in Baltimore or anywhere in the world here.