Thirty-something

Thirty something. Admittedly, I have to do the math when someone asks me how old I am. I was in my ‘sweet spot’ in my life, so my age didn’t matter. We had closed the chapter on having children. My boys are healthy, thriving, and happy children. I wasn’t waiting for the next child to come or wondering when we got pregnant if this one would ‘stick’ … we were happy and content right where we were. We were grateful every single day for living the dream we had dreamt years ago.

In our 22 years together, we had never been happier, more aligned, more in tune with one another, more content with where we were instead of where we were going. We could just sit in the now and enjoy it. Enjoy each other. Enjoy our kids. And then he died. Wait, what? When I sit and look back at the last month of my life, it’s still difficult to process what actually happened to me. To my kids. To my poor sweet husband. It’s still unimaginable that he can be gone. That he won’t be coming home from a work Florida trip. That though I am surrounded by these beautiful boys, family, friends, and a community who have done any and everything in their power to lift us up, I’ve never felt more alone while facing pain I didn’t know existed. Cruel unimaginable pain. I don’t recognize my life without him. I haven’t been without him since I was 15 years old. So now what? In this moment I write. I’ll figure the rest out later.

As a mother and a woman, I know I can do literally anything- and do it well. I tell my boys all the time, you can do anything. I emphasize *anything* because it’s true- we all can. I learned that from Matt. He has said for as long as I can remember, ‘there isn’t anything I can’t do.’ To me that was a challenge lol but literally, he could do *anything.* And if he didn’t know how, he would research, watch videos, and ask questions until he figured it out. He always figured it out. He was the handiest man and my human google. Though the boys thought of him as their superhero, he was mine first. I recognized his status first.

Since Michael started talking, the phrase ‘that’s a Daddy question’ was adopted .. those who know me well could likely guess I used it often lol (no shame). And if I tried to answer a question and it was clear I was pulling the answer out of my ass, I would hear from the other room, ‘Michael, come here for a sec’ … and Matt would state the facts. Sometimes it made me mad. Other times I’d laugh. I’m laughing now as I write because I can remember a few specific times I was relieved he told Michael or Madden the correct answer (though I never would’ve admitted that to him).

Last week I did triple drop off in the mornings. The last door would close and I’d cry all the way until the boys came home. We’d have our evening of baseball or whatever was on the agenda that day, they’d go to bed, and I’d cry until I fell asleep. This week, or today at least, I feel like writing. Therapy once a week isn’t cutting it. I happen to love to write, so here I am. I don’t even care if anyone reads it- it feels good to word vomit somewhere without feeling like a burden bringing those around me down. If you’ve ever felt down or depressed, you know what I mean.

This might be messy, misspelled, miswritten, out of order… but I don’t care. Such is my life right now- it will eventually straighten out and make more sense. I keep telling myself that, anyway.