onedayatatime

We are officially entering our 2nd revolution around the sun without Steve. Although he was still with us in December, he was hospitalized and we were terrified. He was intubated and we were unable to see or communicate with him.

We “celebrated” my birthday, Hanukkah and New Year’s Eve during his hospitalization.

This second go round somehow seems harder.

It’s more “real”.

I have now learned to compartmentalize my feelings.

But that doesn’t always work.

As I stood at the checkout line at the grocery store yesterday, I was faced with the image of myself talking about Covid with the cashier and telling her that my husband was hospitalized.

I could “see” where I stood in that Jewel. I could “hear” our conversation as I told the cashier that my husband was intubated. I could “feel” the small strand of hope I was clinging onto.

I could not compartmentalize.

I got in the car and cried.

We are all on Winter Break in my home and we are all busy trying to “compartmentalize” our grief.

It is exhausting.

Although we are very close, it is so hard to talk about losing Steve. It is still so new to us and the kids are so very tender.

Occasionally, one of us will bring up a memory of him and the room is silent for a second as he is broken out of the box we all have him stored in.

Although we are moving towards our 2nd year without him, we still can’t share memories without fighting back tears.

It seems so much harder as we enter our year of seconds….

At times, I feel regret for the things I never got to say to him but I also feel guilty for things that I did say.

At other times, I am angry at him for all of the the family time he missed out on because he felt he had to work.

I feel like I am back on the rollercoaster ride of emotions.

My compartmentalization tool seems to be broken.

I am definitely proud of all we have accomplished and how strong we have become but I am so heartbroken that my children have to face this sort of grief at such a young age.

Our house is often quiet as we each sit in different rooms doing our own thing.

I’m fairly certain that the kids retreated to their rooms while Steve were alive as well.

But now, the separation and quiet is deafening.

We are all working really hard to be okay.

While everyone else is celebrating holidays and the New Year, we are fighting to put our best foot forward and to face the future.

I know that we have come so far and that I have amazing children with unbelievable resilience but right now, I feel like a failure because I can’t fix their heartbreak.

I once heard that when you have a child, it is like your heart is walking around outside of your body for the rest of your life.

That is so true.

When they are heartbroken, I am heartbroken and there is no fixing this kind of heartbreak.

There is only compartmentalizing, putting on a brave face and moving forward.

So, we will continue to face new challenges and we will continue to make wonderful memories knowing that sometime soon, we will be able to smile and laugh as we revisit our memories with Steve.

You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have. -Bob Marley

That is so very true.

I would have NEVER thought of myself as a strong person.

I am super sensitive, filled with anxiety and basically scared of my own shadow.

When Steve passed away, my sister told me I had a choice.

I could be a victim or a warrior. Daily, she encouraged me to be a warrior.

I had no choice. I have 2 kids that rely on me and there was no other option but being strong.

Somehow, this month, I seem to have lost some of my strength.

I can put on a brave face, but I am scared.

I find myself questioning so many things.

How can I raise these 2 humans all alone?

With winter just around the corner, how will I manage all of the snow?

Am I taking care of everything to ensure our home is safe?

What about our financial well-being?

My mind seems to be constantly spinning.

It’s as if I were living in denial for the last year.

“Pretending” that I have everything all under control.

And after a year, I realized Steve really isn’t coming back and I have the weight of the world on my shoulders.

I am finally facing the reality that his absence isn’t temporary.

For those of you that haven’t lost someone close to you, I’m sure that sounds insane.

Of course, death is permanent.

But I think our minds play tricks on us. To help get through the first year, I don’t think I completely accepted the permanence of losing him.

I’m not saying I’ve spent the last year waiting for Steve to come home from work, but it just seems so much more REAL now.

After going through almost an entire year, I now recognize all of the challenges I must face.

I know I can do it, but this was not the life I envisioned for my family.

I cannot be a father for my children.

Today, I felt like a victim, not a warrior.

I went to the bank to deposit checks that had been made out to Steve. The teller told me that I needed to sign his name on each check followed by the word deceased.

So, I stood in front of a teller and repeatedly wrote Steve Schor – deceased.

I tried so hard to keep it together.

I walked out of the bank using every breathing technique I had learned in my grief support group, just so I could make it to my car without breaking down.

My next errand was taking Jared to the ortho for the first time in awhile. Over the last several years, we have spent A LOT of time at the ortho (2 sets of braces, headgear etc) and they became like family.

Walking through those doors for the first time since Steve passed away was rough.

I saw the sadness in their eyes as they tried to express their compassion without saying much at all.

So, I sat through his appointment with a heavy heart and tears in my eyes.

I wish I were a warrior today, but I felt defeated.

Everyone tells you that grief isn’t linear and that we all go through the process differently.

It is literally the most unfair and difficult process I’ve ever had to face.

I am learning that it’s okay to have a bad day.

There is NO way that I can be a warrior every single day. (Sorry Staci)

Some days, I feel like a victim.

I guess that’s okay because I know I will pull myself together soon, so that I can be a warrior once again.

It’s the only choice I have.

It has been awhile since I have written.

I have worked hard on focusing on the present and trying to make sure the kids and I are okay.

We are quickly approaching the one year anniversary of Steve’s death.

It still seems surreal to write that.

I have been a widow for almost an entire year.

I still don’t understand how we got here.

What I do know is that I am a completely different person than I was a year ago.

I’ve spoken with many people regarding loss. One commonality that I have heard over and over again is that the “Firsts are the hardest and that you just need to get past the firsts”.

Thanksgiving was our “Last First” without Steve.

Thankfully, we were surrounded by family and so many of my friends reached out to let me know they were thinking of us.

All of the texts I received felt like warm hugs and reminded me that we are not alone in this journey.

I can’t say it enough times… I am so lucky that I am surrounded by good people

We made it through our “Last First” Thanksgiving.

But in my head, I am constantly replaying where we were one year ago.

On November 27, 2020, Steve started to feel ill and thought he was just fighting a sinus infection but he decided to get tested for Covid “just in case.”

On November 29th, the kids and I lost our sense of taste and smell so we knew it was Covid. Although Steve was pretty sick, his Covid test results hadn’t come back yet. But the reality of his diagnosis was looming above our heads.

On December 1st, I brought Steve to the ER where he was diagnosed with double pneumonia, given a Z pac and sent home. He was still not diagnosed with Covid but they wouldn’t give him another test since he had already taken one elsewhere.

On December 2nd, at 5:45am, I brought him back to the ER and he was admitted.

Steve remained in that hospital from December 2nd until January 7th.

So, I made it through our “Last First” Thanksgiving, but it will never just be Thanksgiving for our family.

While our lives continued to go on and I have learned so much during this difficult year, I still have moments that take my breath away.

I mentally prepare for birthdays, holidays and anniversaries.

I am often surrounded by loved ones to help me get through these challenging times.

But everyday triggers are hard to predict and I feel like THOSE are the hardest part of loss.

You never know when you are going to run into an old friend who might look at you with sad puppy dog eyes because they don’t know how to express their sadness.

You never expect to accidentally make a reservation for 4 and then realize you are a party of 3.

You don’t realize how difficult it is to carry the weight of making all of the parental decisions on your own.

Those are the things I struggle with.

I agree that firsts are hard.

But there are many moments that sneak up on you and bring you to your knees.

THOSE are the hardest moments.

THOSE are the times when you have to dig deep down inside and pull strength from within that you never knew existed.

I am grateful for all of the people who believed in me and picked me up when I was at my very worst.

And I am grateful for the friends that still stand by my side and understand that something as simple as having an oil change may require a pep talk and extra loving care.

Please remember that the first year IS definitely a struggle but that doesn’t mean that after that all is good and life goes on without a hitch.

Everyday moments can be hard and those of us that have lost a loved one have to build up an enormous amount of resilience and strength just to face each day with a smile and courage.

You never truly forget a loved one, you just do your best to compartmentalize your feelings and to move forward in your life.

It has been 10 months since Steve has passed away.

I have learned so many skills and overcome so many obstacles.

But there are still moments when the wind is knocked out of me.

Moments when I realize this isn’t how I envisioned my life.

Moments when I am so afraid of the future and what it holds.

This week, I had one of those moments. It seems silly and somewhat childish but I had to take Shelby’s car in for an oil change and it terrified me.

You may be thinking to yourself, what’s so terrifying about getting an oil change?

Ready for a good laugh?

I freak out about having to drive my car over the pit. I am a grown woman who has been driving for 36 years and yet, I worry that I won’t be able to center my car over that pit.

Ridiculous. I know.

Getting the oil changed was a drive thru, stay in your car experience. Most people would probably be thrilled with that.

I was basically having a panic attack.

I must have looked terrified pulling in because the guy who guided me in actually gave me a big thumbs up and cheered me on for doing such a great job!

Such a crazy fear.

But it is my reality. Steve knew about it and although he would tease me about it, he would still be the one to take care of car washes and oil changes. (I’m not a fan of lining the tires up at a car wash either.)

This week, I was reminded I have to add these tasks to my long list of new responsibilities.

So, I had a moment.

A moment when I realized how dramatically my life has changed.

A moment that screamed “You are a single mama!”

A moment that reminded me I am not really that strong after all.

A moment that reminded me of my loss.

This week, I was brought to tears because of an oil change.

So I cried and called my sister.

She reminded me how well I was doing.

She reminded me that 10 months ago I wasn’t even eating or sleeping.

She reminded me that I have so many people in my corner.

She reminded me how strong I am and that I have overcome all 3000 plagues that have come my way.

But she also reminded me that I will still have hard moments.

This week, I had a hard moment.

But my good moments far outweigh my bad moments these days.

It’s okay if I cry.

I now know I will survive bringing my car in for an oil change.

I may not LIKE doing it. But I KNOW I can do it.

We are approaching the one year mark of when Steve got sick.

The next few months are going to be difficult and there may be a few more tears and moments of sadness.

But, I know I can handle it.

.This past Tuesday, I was asked to speak at a JCFS event. This event focused on Healing Through the Seasons. It focused on people who have recently lost a loved one and are looking for ways to connect and heal in their journey. I was so honored to be asked to speak.

Since it was a JCFS event, and had some religious affiliation, I know many of my friends and blog followers were hesitant to watch so I thought I would share my talk here in my blog.

This won’t be my typical blog as it is longer and a bit more structured but I hope that everyone that reads it comes away with something that resonates with them.

I am, by no means a grief expert. I am just someone who has been there and is working her way out of the trenches each and every day. Thank you for sharing in my journey and supporting me along the way.

Here is what I read on Tuesday:

I am going to try to pass along some pieces of wisdom I have picked up along my grief journey. I will share what worked for me, but I also know that everyone handles grief differently. I can only hope that my journey is beneficial as you discover what helps you heal.

When my husband Steve was unexpectedly hospitalized with Covid in early December of 2020, I struggled to understand why this was our fate.

I started an online blog called One Day at a Time, to post updates for friends and family who were checking in and offering support since taking all of the calls and answering the texts had become too overwhelming.

He passed away after over a month long battle with Covid in January, 2021. My world imploded. I couldn’t believe we were a tv news statistic. And then, one week later, my dad passed away. I was now a single mom dealing with grief from all directions.

I will be honest, I did not take these losses like a rock star. I was a mess. I kept repeating over and over that I just couldn’t do it. My sister stood by my side constantly assuring me that I would be okay. I am so grateful for her as she was my rock and she kept me grounded and literally reminded me to breathe.

I am a planner and prior to this loss, I already had my battles with anxiety so I had a real fight ahead of me. I am so glad that I had family and friends standing by my side, holding my hand, as I found my way back to life.

In the early weeks after both of the funerals, I really struggled. I couldn’t eat and I couldn’t sleep. I know this is common for many of us that grieve. My sister made sure that I kept drinking and eating but that was extremely difficult for me. I had no interest in eating.

Thank goodness friends and family stepped in. We had meals provided for us for months. Even though I was unable to eat or cook, my children were being fed. We had warm meals delivered to our doorstep every night. It was lifesaving.

One of the first things I really needed to focus on was eating. Keeping yourself healthy is so important when experiencing a trauma.

Here is my advice for what it’s worth: If you are struggling to eat, find one thing that you CAN eat. For me, it was honestly Nothing Bundt Cake. A very dear family of prior students, sent me Bundt Cakes. I had never really had them before. But that family knew just how comforting these cakes could be. I am so grateful they thought of me and sent those cakes.

If you have never had Nothing Bundt Cake, go get one IMMEDIATELY. It is delicious! It may sound weird, but that’s all I could eat. I literally only ate cake for days. Probably not the healthiest choice but it was food and it was something I could stomach during this painful time.

So, if you have to eat donuts, french fries or milkshakes, I encourage you to grant yourself some grace and indulge. Make yourself a priority. Eat cake!

Another hurdle I needed to overcome was being faced with all of our memories. As I walked through my home, I was confronted with Steve at every turn. When you lose a loved one that you shared your home with, you are faced with all of the belongings you shared. There are things, things and more things. For some crazy reason, I felt the need to go through all of Steve’s belongings immediately after his funeral. I’m not sure why it was important for me to do that, but my sister and mom came over and helped empty the dressers and closet hoping that I wouldn’t regret my decision the very next day.

I know that many people hang onto their loved ones belongings for a much longer timeframe but somehow, not opening my closet and being faced with his belongings was helpful in my process.

I kept a few things that I knew he loved and we made blankets out of some of his favorite shirts. I did what I needed to do to make my surroundings more bearable. Again, this was my individual choice and it may not work for everyone. I encourage you to find what makes your living space comforting.

One of the most terrifying tasks I had to face was home maintenance. I took small steps and figured out what I needed to do, like how to use the snow blower, how to change the furnace filter, how to change the gas for the grill and even how to drive my car through a car wash (lining my tires up with those tracks terrifies me).

I had to find a strength within me that I never knew existed. And I did it. There were often tears involved but I figured out the best way to tackle all of the chores and tasks that once belonged to Steve. Although grief is so debilitating, it can also be empowering.

My next step in healing was going back to work. That was terrifying. Everyone had difference advice regarding my return to work. Some people said I should take the year off. Others said I should jump right back in the saddle.

I personally knew I needed to get back to work. But since it was the height of the pandemic, getting back to teaching looked a little different. We had been teaching remotely since the beginning of the year so I hadn’t been in the physical presence of most of my coworkers since March 13th.

On January 5th, they announced we were heading back into the building. Returning to work now meant physically being in the building with other teachers. None of my coworkers had been able to really see me to provide condolences because we were only allowed 10 people at the funeral and of course, we couldn’t sit shiva. The thought of even entering the building was overwhelming.

My first few weeks of being back at work were challenging. I had to put my game face on for all of my kittle kinders. I was probably not the best teacher in those early weeks, but I NEEDED to be there. Those kids brought me back to life. They reminded me that I love to teach and that I make a difference in this world.

Upon returning to work, it was interesting to see the people who approached me face on and the others who looked in the opposite direction. I learned that not everyone can handle grief even when it isn’t their own.

Try not to get upset if someone doesn’t acknowledge your loss. That is their baggage, not yours. Even some of the people closest to me had a difficult time knowing how to support me. I learned to accept that.

While I say getting back to work was key in my healing process, I also understand there are many grieving people who don’t go back to work. I spoke with several widows whose husbands were the breadwinners and they hadn’t worked for years. Again, going back to work is an individual choice. It is what I needed but everyone needs to figure out what feels right for them.

Another challenge was socialization. When was the right time to be social again? If I did go out, would I be judged for not staying at home mourning the loss of my spouse? Did I need to wait a year to be happy? Sitting at home, shopping on Amazon each Saturday night wasn’t helping my process or my finances. I don’t know what or if there is a correct time frame but my friends knew I couldn’t sit at home every weekend. So they all made efforts to invite me out.

The first time I ventured out socially I went with my lifelong best friends. I knew I wasn’t ready and it was a huge failure ending in tears but it helped me get my feet back in the water. It took me a little while to decide to go out again, but I knew I could do it. Don’t give up if you need to take steps back once in a while. Each step forward brings you closer to being whole again.

I am very proud of Jared and Shelby. We have done so many things we doubted we could do. We are now following a routine which looks different than our old life but we have each other’s backs and we rely on each other in times of need.

I cannot emphasize this enough- There is no one stop shop for treating grief. There are days when you feel like you just can’t go on and other days when you somehow pick yourself up and smile and might even catch yourself laughing. You are accountable for your own recovery and healing. You deserve to be happy. I can promise you that.

I will end with this.

There is no one recipe to process our grief. We are all different in how we handle loss. That is why it is so difficult. It would be much easier if someone could just say complete step 1, then step 2, and after step 3 you’ll be fine. I wish I could do that.

But I can’t do that. Grief is complex and unique to each person. When you are faced with grief, you somehow become the captain on an unpredictable voyage that you never even wanted to board.

Everyone needs to find what is helpful in their process. Find what fills your soul and helps you smile. For me, it was getting back to work, being with friends and family, and writing my blog.

I understand what it is like to feel completely alone and afraid but I also know what it is like to feel strong and resilient. I am proud of my progress and I am always happy to talk to others who are facing the same challenges I have had.

Please keep in mind, there is no correct time frame and there is no magic we can perform to overcome grief. We each just need to remember that we are the captains of our own ship and that we are responsible for finding the best way to ride the waves to get to calmer waters.

While on your journey, don’t forget to look up into the sky. You may see a star and know it is your loved one watching over you and leading you in the right direction.

I keep walking by the pumpkins in the store and looking the other way. They are a reminder of fall traditions.

Fall is the final season of “firsts” for us. We have now almost made it an entire revolution around the sun without Steve by our sides.

From the time the kids were little, until last October, Steve was in charge of carving a pumpkin with Jared and Shelby. I would purchase and bring home the pumpkin but the 3 of them would sit around the table, carve the pumpkin and roast the seeds. It was a rare occasion that I was not in charge of, or participating in, a family tradition but carving the pumpkin was all Steve.

He would insist that the seeds be soaked in saltwater a very specific amount of time. I have no clue about his timeframe but he would then put them in the oven at 200 and let them roast for a really long time. It would feel like it was taking FOREVER to roast the seeds.

Roasting pumpkin seeds was an exact science for Steve and his pumpkin seeds were never done in Marci Time.

But when they were finally done, we would all happily munch on them. They were always cooked to perfection.

So, now, each time I walk by the pumpkins in the store, I am faced with the dilemma of pumpkin carving and roasting seeds.

The pumpkins are kind of like the elephant in the corner of the room.

Sure, I could take over the task of carving the pumpkin.

I bet the kids could even do it without adult supervision.

But I am slightly intimidated by the idea of carving a pumpkin and roasting the seeds without Steve and I know I wouldn’t have the patience to follow his slow roasting process. Plus, the kids hadn’t mentioned carving a pumpkin.

Until today…

Jared went to Didier’s Farm with a friend.

He brought home a pumpkin.

I wasn’t sure how to respond since I suddenly realized that I might be the only one who has a pumpkin carving phobia.

We now have a pumpkin inside our home and I’m not really sure what to do with it.

It is one of our last “firsts”.

The pumpkin on my counter can be seen as a symbol of what we have lost.

Or it can be seen as a symbol of how strong and resilient we have become.

Whether we carve it or not, we now have a pumpkin.

We will obviously need to create a new tradition.

It seems silly that a pumpkin has been so thought provoking.

But “Firsts” are just never easy.

Yet we always seem to help each other get through the firsts and Jared just helped me get over that initial hump.

He brought home a pumpkin.

I no longer need to look the other way when I pass the pumpkins in the store.

We now need to figure out the best way to create a new tradition.

“Why do bad things keep happening to our family?” That is the question that came from my sweet son’s mouth after he found out that we lost Aunt Carol.

We have lost 3 family members in 10 months.

Unfathomable.

Devastating.

Surreal…

Yet, this is our reality. My Aunt Carol passed away earlier this week. She underwent a routine surgery but somehow got an infection which she was unable to fight off.

She ended up on a ventilator in the ICU that I was all too familiar with.

Although I have found so much strength in the last few months, I could not visit her in the hospital.

I was so disappointed with myself as I knew that my mother and cousin needed my support. But I have also learned that I need to protect myself. Going into that ICU would bring me back to a place that is just too painful right now.

So, I found other ways to love and support my family without destroying myself.

After Aunt Carol passed away, I took off the day and went to sit with my mother as she tried to process the loss of her sister. We sat around her table, drank coffee and questioned how we were dealing with loss once again.

I was the chauffeur to the funeral home and we all sat together to plan the unimaginable.

I was no longer the grieving widow or daughter but I was now an expert in death protocol.

Not a title I really ever hoped to acquire.

Sounds morbid, but somehow it felt good to provide support when I was so helpless while my aunt was in the hospital.

As we sat around the table speaking with the funeral director, we laughed.

We enjoyed chocolate (provided by the funeral home) and shared jokes and funny stories.

During one of the most difficult life moments, we were able to come together as a family and find moments of joy.

So, today, we are going to yet another funeral. It will look different than our last 2 funerals as Covid protocol has changed.

We will actually be able to go into the chapel and more than 10 people will attend (although we will all be masked).

I am nervous about how I will respond because I know as I sit in the chapel, my children and I will be mourning far more that just the loss of my aunt.

But I know we will be okay.

When I try to process what has happened in the last 10 months, I am devastated and can’t help but ask the same question as Jared….

“Why us?”

I have no good answer.

I just have to know that we are good people and as Rabbi Kushner says, “Bad things happen to good people”.

Life is crazy and unfair but it is also beautiful and wonderful.

I don’t know the answer to the question “Why us” but there is a poster in the funeral home that provides a beautiful message:

Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly.

Today, we will have to face the sadness and ugliness of life once again, but I am certain there are beautiful times ahead.

I am happy.

Somehow, even after going through a really rough patch in my life, there are still feelings of guilt attached to my happiness.

I know I deserve to be happy but still wonder what others are thinking when they see me moving on with my life.

It shouldn’t matter what others think…

The rational part of me knows that, but the other part of me can’t help but worry about being judged.

Things are falling into place for us…

School is well underway and I am in my safe place Monday though Friday, with people I love and consider family.

I have fabulous friends that still check on me regularly and never hesitate to come to my aide when needed.

I am going out on weekends and spending time with people I care about.

My kids are both doing well in school and seem to have found their rhythm again.

My basement is waterproofed, my chimney is built, I had my stovetop replaced, a new battery has been installed in my car and I seem to have eradicated my mouse problem on my own! (It seems the chimney rebuild invited a lovely family of 7 mice into my home which I, singlehandedly, resolved!)

All of these home improvement issues would have thrown me into a fit of depression had they happened a few months ago.

There would have been tears and many “why mes” involved.

But I am stronger now.

I have learned strategies to help me through rough times.

I try to make sure that I go for walks with friends as often as possible.

Being outdoors, with the sun shining on my face helps me feel better.

I call my sister when I feel as if I might hit rock bottom. We will then laugh at the fact that I have literally been inflicted with more plagues than any individual should have to endure.

I would never imagine that I would be able to laugh about the fact that I cracked my glass stovetop because I thought it was a good idea to tenderize my chicken there. . Yep, I did that… took a wooden mallet to chicken on my GLASS stovetop…

I am proud to say I am no longer in the “why me?” phase.

If you had asked me 3 months ago if I would be able to overcome all of the issues I have had to face since Steve passed away, I am confident that I would have been brought to a place of insecurity and tears.

But, I am taking each day as it comes to me and facing new holidays, experiences and life changes.

It’s taken awhile to get to this point.

We still have moments of sadness and we are in unchartered waters but I am the captain of this ship and I am trying my best to lead our ship in the right direction.

So, if people see me out and about, I hope that they are celebrating my smiles and accomplishments and not judging me for moving forward.

Happiness doesn’t mean I am forgetting.

It just means that I have realized that life must go on and we are healing.

If I were to choose one word to describe the grieving process, it would have to be unexpected. .

When Steve passed away, it was unexpected. When he was hospitalized and put on a ventilator, we knew losing him was a possibility. But when it came right down to it, no one truly expected him to die.

While my dad was very ill and suffering, losing him the week after Steve passed away was yet another unexpected event. I knew that he did not have the quality of life he wanted and that he was very sick, but my dad had survived a stroke and had been living with Parkinson’s for many years.

How was it possible that he lost his battle so closely to Steve losing his? His death added another layer of grief to my already overflowing plate. It was expected, yet unexpected.

I am fairly certain that is true for most people who lose a loved one. I may be wrong, but I bet even people who are given a poor prognosis, still do not expect to die.

I think it is only human nature to hold onto hope and when someone passes away, it is never truly expected, whether it be in a horrific accident, illness or due to a debilitating disease.

So, death can probably always be defined as unexpected.

I had never really lost a close family member until I lost Steve and my dad. I guess I am blessed in that I got all the way to 52 without a ton of experience with grief. Everything about the grieving process was truly unexpected for me.

I tried to read books on grief so that I knew what to expect but I would literally read a few pages and then need to put the book down. I didn’t want to read about it because I was living it.

I spent the first few months after Steve got ill thinking I didn’t need to eat and I could survive solely on water.

I had plenty of visitors and food was sent on a regular basis, but what I didn’t expect was my inability to actually eat.

Eating was so hard. I tried to set a good example for my kids but eating just wasn’t an option for me.

Unfortunately, this unexpected behavior landed me in the ER, dehydrated and needing fluids. Being rolled out of my home on a stretcher in front of my children, family and friends was unexpected. But that visit to the ER, alone (Covid protocol) and afraid, opened my eyes to the consequences of my behavior.

I knew I had to make a change.

I will tell anyone who is new to grieving, you must eat. I know it may be difficult, but it is a necessity. If you have a family member or friend who is grieving and not eating, understand just how difficult it is.

Having to complete so many home repairs has been one of my biggest unexpected hurdles. I knew our house needed a lot of work, but I didn’t really expect to have to do it all on my own.

In the last 9 months, I have realized we need a new roof, gutters, and downspouts.

I have had to waterproof the basement and rebuild our chimney.

I have had wasps invade my home and sting my dog (yes, you read that correctly) and I am currently dealing with a mouse infestation (we have never seen a single mouse in our home until now).

These are, obviously, all unexpected events. But these unexpected events have opened my eyes to the fact that I am a very capable and independent woman.

I now know I can handle almost anything thrown my way.

I now know to expect problems with our home.

Another difficult aspect of loss is returning to life.

While work has been cathartic for me, social events contain all sorts of unexpected moments.

No matter how much I mentally prepare for an event, something unexpected always occurs.

People you haven’t seen in awhile truly don’t know how to react when they see you. Since Steve and my dad passed away while everyone was still quarantining, many people haven’t seen me in over 9 months.

Each time someone approaches me and the loss is brought to the surface, I need to take a moment to bring myself back to the present.

I have worked hard to get where I am.

I hope people know that when I respond to their condolences, it is done with purpose and self preservation.

As time has progressed, I find myself laughing and enjoying life more often.

Finding happiness again was definitely unexpected and guilt ridden.

When I caught myself laughing or smiling, I would stop for a moment and look around wondering if those around me were judging me because I was demonstrating happiness.

I have since learned that people WANT me to be happy.

One of my colleagues told me a story the other day that made this point inherently clear. I had made a joke which may have been a little on the inappropriate side (for those of you that truly know me, I’m sure you can only imagine what I said). The colleague I shared the joke with, then shared the joke with our office staff. (It was a good joke!)

One of the women in the office replied with, “I think we have our Marci back.”

That one small comment, brought a huge smile to my face.

I am learning to expect the unexpected and to live each day as it is presented.

In spite of all of the unexpected events that have occurred, I am expecting to be Marci again.

A new school year has begun.

At first, it felt a little strange that everything fell right back into place.

I set up my classroom and met with my team and administrators just like we do every year.

Although my home life had dramatically changed, my school life remained the same.

That was both comforting and disconcerting.

How did the outside world fall right back into sync while my personal life had been completely upended?

After Steve passed away, I spent a lot of time worrying and predicting what my future was going to look like.

Everyone kept telling me not to look too far ahead.

To just take one day at a time.

But that is very challenging for me.

I don’t like change and I need to know that we are all going to be okay.

I don’t do well with sitting home alone with no purpose or plans, so summer vacation made grieving even more challenging for me.

While all of my teacher friends were celebrating their freedom, I felt like I was trapped in a cage of solitude.

To my surprise, summer went by far more quickly than I had anticipated.

Downtime was difficult, and I often found weekends to be unbearable, but I also slowly began to find myself again.

I am starting to realize that I am allowed to be happy.

But this is confusing because feeling happiness sometimes causes me to feel guilty.

I don’t know when it is considered okay for me to laugh and enjoy my life.

Am I dishonoring Steve’s memory because I am no longer curled up in my bed crying?

Simply put, when is it okay to be okay?

I’m not really sure there are answers to these questions because there are no rules and there is no guidebook on the correct way to handle grief.

I only know that right now, we are doing well.

We have found our rhythm as a family of 3 and everyone has seamlessly returned to school.

There is no question that we were dealt a terrible hand.

But that doesn’t mean we are out of the game.

I still have a fabulous family, we are surrounded by a wonderful tribe and I can honestly say that I love to teach.

So beginning a new school year has been good for my family.

It gave us purpose and allowed me to feel pride once again.

I’m even trying to cook nightly dinners and we are eating as a family once again!

I still need to remind myself to slow down, take small steps and to stop trying to predict the future.

But I have learned to speak up for myself and to ask for help and support when I need it.

I am not saying I am no longer grieving.

Grief seems to be a lifelong, unpredictable process.

I am still riding an emotional rollercoaster but I am finding that there are longer spaces between each dip and it is a little bit easier to to regulate myself once I’ve hit a low.

Losing Steve has been a terrible chapter in my life but I cannot let it define the rest of my life story.

I need to push myself to start a new chapter.

My life might not be a perfect fairy tale but I am hopeful that in the end, we will still have a wonderful life story.