Skip to main content


Showing posts from June, 2016
Dear Cavs,

Our playoff season started the day my five week old daughter, Elly, passed away, twelve days later my husband also died suddenly.
Your road to the finals, so fraught with emotion was also the start of a very difficult, seemingly impossible journey for me.

I started watching at game five... when we were down 3-1, I thought for sure that we would lose that game- when we won, all of a sudden- I cared.  When so many lights had gone out for me there was all of a sudden very small glimmer of hope and dare I say satisfaction possibly ahead.

It would have seemed from the circumstances that I shouldn't care whether we won or lost, so many things in my life didn't hold their meaning anymore- but I did.  I couldn't help it.  The enthusiasm was infectious.  These games gave  me hope.

I watched as you won game five and game six and I'll never forget seeing Kyrie on the bench after six holding up his seven fingers.... Here we go.

I almost regretted getting invested as I …


I started traveling.  Never before have I felt such an ache for something that no longer exists.  If I thought being at home surrounded by all his things was difficult, this is harder.  Death, of course, is the ultimate finality.  The thing is, I have to face the finality of it over and over again, in each and every action.  The viewing, the funeral, sorting through his clothes and shoes and books and music.  Facing it in making new memories and experiences without him.  Every time I had to navigate handing back a snack while going 80 on the expressway- facing it over and over.  I wonder if the grief runs out once you are done facing new experiences without him.....  Until you hit the big milestones- first tooth lost, first homecoming, first wedding, first grandchild.

There have been moments of missing home so acute that if I would have had a way to physically get there without uprooting my kids in that moment- I would already be back.  The sheer intensity of it is beyond words.  Our…


to my love,

i hope you know how much i miss you.  the words, of course, fall short.  but there they are, just the same.  i told addy that you and elly can live in our hearts forever, but this of course is a lie.  death is permanent and there is no living to be done once the breathe leaves our bodies.  you are not living on in our hearts, minds, or souls.  there is no living to yet be done for you.  instead we are left with our memories which time will eventually dull.  numbing ourselves to the very sense of you.  it is that way for me with my mom, my memories of her are stunted and few and we had eight years together.

does it bother you to know the only real remembrance your children will have of you is seen through my eyes and my hearts?  the sharp reality of their dad is forever lost to them.

people are trying to instill hope in me in regards to my future.  i know they mean well but it is coming off condescending.  no one but my own being knows my pain.  i am not here…

holy shit.

does this get easier?  it has to get easier eventually right?  i don't think i can do a lifetime of this.  i've been prepping my house for some work which means organizing/cleaning out some of jim's things.  my master bath had to be redone because you know real casual like in between two of my immediate family members dying i also had a huge plumbing leak.  i moved back into my bathroom today which meant sorting through all of his stuff.

he should be here, he should be here 

addy's dance recital was saturday.  she was as ever, adorable.  and she did great.  i am relieved to see dance over though.  i usually worked monday nights and jim would come and meet me at dance and then i'd leave - go to work and he would go home, finagle the kids and rock a bedtime.  it was never the easiest task and i was always so grateful to him.  if i didn't work, i'd pull into the garage and honk... he would run out to the car (already changed into his sweats) and greet addy and …

the physicality of grief.

i can relate to those people that have phantom limb pain following amputation.  when elly died it felt as if a limb had been cut from me.  i kept staring at my arm wondering why she wasn't there.  i had carried the child for nine months and then held her almost continually for five weeks... other mama's out there know, in the newborn phase, you don't go more than a couple hours without holding your little one.

the hours ticked by... one hour without holding her, two hours without having her, three hours... until a brutal 24 hours had ticked by.  i remember being desperate to hold anything, a baby doll, a stuffed animal.  anything to fill the void, my body felt empty, deprived of the warmth and love of my beloved child.
when we started taking addy and lane out again i remarked to jim that it was like we were forgetting something.  i would start to say "don't forget the baby carrier" and cut myself short before the words even started tumbling out of my mouth..…