Today Marks 20 Years

 Many of you know my story and what it means to have grief be a part of who I am. To say that I am deeply grateful to those who have supported me over the last 20 years is an understatement. I am so overwhelmed with gratitude for all of you. For those that I don’t know or who I’ve just met, this blog post is about a significant loss in my life. I was married in 2003 and my husband, Matt Love, was killed instantly in a car accident 55 days after our wedding. I have shared about the many layers of grief over the years on this little blog, feel free to stalk it if you want! I have learned so much over the last 20 years and I wanted to process a bit here again because it just seemed like the right thing to do.

So, thank you for letting me. Xoxo

On the 10-year marker of Matt’s death, I had a severe panic attack. I ended up in the ER needing Xanax and an inhaler so I could breathe properly. Breathing, as it turns out, isn’t as easy as it should be when your body betrays you and basically laughs in your face when you logically think you should be able to do what’s natural; what’s right. 

Growing up all I ever wanted was to be married and have kids. I grew up in a conservative Christian bubble where the narrative of a fulfilled life looked like marriage and kids. All through my 20’s I barely dated. I was so confused by this. I had “dedicated myself to the Lord” yet the “ultimate” reward of marriage wasn’t happening! I thought what I was doing was natural and right. Was I breathing the wrong air? Little did I know that this questioning would lead me to eventual freedom.

When I hit my 30’s I began to see that the narrow path I was on could be extended and explored. I realized that my own desires mattered; not those of what others expected of me. I got out of a toxic career and I began to discover who I really was. I felt like Julia Roberts' character in Runaway Bride when she realizes she doesn’t know what kind of eggs she really likes. She was always told what eggs to like from those around her. It turned out she likes her eggs benedict style. 

When I turned 31, I decided I didn’t want kids so badly that I would have them in an unconventional way like many of my friends were doing. I knew that raising a child on my own was not my jam and I felt true peace that if I never had kids of my own I would be totally fine. It was freeing to own this. I was still navigating what it meant to be single, but I was more confident and sure that there wasn’t a blueprint for everything like I had been taught. I had discovered freedom. I had found my own "eggs benedict". 

I met Matt when I was 32 and we started dating when I was 33. Matt was magnetic. His curiosity about life was electric. He asked deep questions about spirituality and wondered about things we were taught not to wonder about. His creative spirit was enchanting. He was charming and funny. He was different. We fell for each other hard and fast. He told me he had a daughter from a previous relationship and that his love for her spanned the whole sky. He didn’t have a place in her life, however, so being her father was foreign. He longed for this and was a continual place of heartache for him. He said he wasn’t sure if he wanted more kids and because of my recent epiphany, it sealed our hearts even more. 

We dated, got engaged, and got married between August/September of 2002 and June of 2003. Matt’s last name was Love and this is the truest thing about him. He showed me Love and how to live in the full expression of it. 

On August 15, 2003, Matt was killed in a single-car accident. He died instantly. I was at home and the Coroner had to come and tell me what happened and give me his belongings like his wallet and his wedding ring.  My world shattered. I couldn’t breathe.

The following chapters of my life were filled with lots of wrestling. I wrestled with my childhood dream of wanting to be married and have kids. Even though I had found some freedom from the religious expectations from my youth and knew that there wasn’t really a blueprint for “marriage and kids”, when I actually got married and had the potential of a kid, (through Matt’s daughter) I was faced with more questions about who I am spiritually and what I truly believed. I had to discover more about myself beyond the type of eggs I like. 

Through time, therapy, and an army of people Loving me, I realized that the answer (or parts of it) was found in the name I clung to; “Love”. My people kept showing me what it means to Love fiercely and how to use Love as a foundation for my healing. Matt had taught me to embrace this word and I have taken this and leaned into what it means to live in Love ever since. I have a different relationship with so many things because of what happened in 2003 and I have learned how to embrace who I am outside of what anyone or any institution expects of me. I Love with my whole heart. No matter what.

I met Brian in 2006 and we married in 2008. During this time, and countless times since our wedding, I have experienced different layers of Love and how expressions of Love change. Brian is someone who makes me feel seen and heard. He’s smart, funny, insightful, and loyal. He’s patient and generous. He sees me for who I am and Loves me completely. I made a conscious choice to give Brian my whole heart because we built our relationship on doing this. In doing this, however, I know that I feel gratitude for the ways that Matt laid a foundation of sorts for understanding the depth of Love in such a short time. As I continue to build my life with Brian I know that Love continues to teach me about what’s sacred and right. I’m breathing.

Over the last 20 years, I have experienced many moments with Matt. He shows up in the form of orange butterflies and certain songs. He shows up in dreams and sometimes tears. Some of his ashes are between two Blue Spruce trees at my childhood home that have been miraculously untouched by construction and progress. I visit The Trees at least once a year and Matt reminds me to continue to Love with my whole heart and stay true to who I am.

This year I got to go to The Trees with his daughter. She’s in her mid-twenties now. We've thankfully kept in some contact over the years and it's been more frequent over the last 2 years or so. I had a few boxes of his stuff and I got to give it to her this summer. I got to tell her in person just how much her dad Loves her and how alike they are. Magnetic, creative, funny, curious. She got to take pictures home of him as a young father holding the Love of his life. Today, she is linked to him through me. It’s wild. And wonderful. I am so grateful to have this relationship with her and it continues to grow and flourish. 

At the 10-year marker when I had my panic attack, my dear friend helped me realize that I hadn’t turned a corner on really shedding the shock I felt in 2003. Our bodies try to protect us. They know we can’t always take what pain really feels like, so we go numb. We turn it off. But, inevitably, the protection wears off and there’s a release. That’s what happened in 2013. Now, in 2023, I genuinely feel like I have reflected on so many layers of grief that not only can I breathe, but the light that has pushed its way through the darkness is brighter than ever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Tree pictures explanation: The older-looking pictures were taken in 2005. The Trees were so small when we put Matt's ashes there. The ones I took this year show how much growth they've had! I'm so grateful they've stayed in this sacred space untouched.

Live With Unlimited Dedication

His Unlimited Dedication knew no boundaries. 

He humbly loved, spoke, acted, lived. 

His fierce loyalty  

for his family

for his friends

for his Broncos

for his Buffs
for the cabin 

for his work

...

is unmatched.

His legacy can't be bound. 

His light can't be extinguished. 

His spirit dances.

Because of him we were changed and inspired to live life with more intention.

 We learned that fully embracing all life gives us is the only way

to live.

We learned that humility is priceless. 

We learned that generosity is immeasurable. 

We learned to love--

 fully, wholly, sacrificially. 

We learned this because

his Unlimited Dedication

knew

no 

boundaries.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is dedicated to my cousin, Phil.

His influence on my life was quiet and infrequent; but powerful and present. 

{It's truly so difficult to explain...}

The evil, that is ALS, took him from us way too soon, but his influence on so many people is unending. This little poem has been ruminating in me since his memorial service in July, and then last night we got to witness thousands of people meet him for the first time at a CU game where ALS awareness was highlighted and Phil was honored.

And in those moments, where strangers and family became one, I knew that I needed to try to put words to my feelings. I knew it because last night, he was with us and he was telling us to live with
Unlimited Dedication.

~~~~~~~~~~

If you are looking for a way to give charitably, please consider donating to this ALS association.

What single decision changed your life?

For many of my longstanding followers of this little blog, the post below will look familiar. It's a compilation of sorts about love and loss that I put into an essay I submitted to
Real Simple for a contest. The prompt was the title of this post. 

I didn't win, but  TODAY! is the 10 year anniversary of the decision that changed everything, so I decided  to share what I wrote here. 
I am so very grateful to all of you for being with me on this journey. 

xoxo

_________________________________________________________

The Shoes That Changed Everything

When my husband died after 55 days of marriage, my life perspective shifted. Completely.  

Matt was killed instantly in a car accident. I was at home, finishing up our thank you notes for wedding gifts when the Coroner knocked on our door. Many details of those moments are fuzzy, but others are bright and vivid. For instance, I distinctly remember looking at the Coroner's hands and noticing that she had on a wedding ring. I thought about how she would go home that night and probably hug her husband a little tighter after being with me. My expectation of what life was supposed to be and all of what I hoped for was gone in an instant, and I knew I would never be the same.        

Picking up the pieces after a loss like this is a bit like going into the witness protection program. Everything I had ever known about myself—how I looked, {I gained about 50 pounds...} how I acted, {Uncontrolled tears, panic attacks and the like in public...} how I interacted with the world, {Do I wear my ring? Do I go out to meet new people like other people my age?} was radically changing.

But even those in the witness protection program must take with them fundamental aspects of themselves which can never change. I had to go to the deepest depths of myself and figure out what those aspects were for me while engaging in my new reality. I was trying to figure out things like where does spirituality fit in? Does it? I know it should, but how? It’s different now. Who are my real friends?  My definition of real had been severely altered. What remains at the core of who I am? What makes me happy? Why?  How? Answering these questions forced me to reinvent myself.  

About 3 years into this reinvention process, I made a decision that changed my life forever.

I bought a new pair of shoes--sassy, summer wedges.

I was working in a little retail store near a mall, and on my lunch break I decided to go shopping. As I wandered around the mall, I spotted these magical shoes, and it was the kind of instant attraction that can’t be bottled or sold. I just knew they had to be mine.

Later that day my friend Tina asked me to go listen to a friend’s band with her at a dark, seedy bar in Denver called, of all things, The Bar Bar. If you are picturing a smoky haze, a sticky floor and vinyl bar stools with ripped seats, then you are on the right track. This bar was not “me” in any way, shape or form. I had never been there before, and frankly, why should I be at a place like that?  I really didn't want to go. It was going to be a late night, I had to work the next day and I just wasn't into it.

And then I remembered my shoes. I could wear my fabulous new shoes! I was in.

While sitting at the bar waiting for the music to start and trying to keep my treasured strappy sandals from sticking to the floor, I heard Tina say, “Have you met my friend Kari?” {Okay, so I don't know exactly what she said, but I like to think Tina was my Barney Stinson-esque wingman…} 
I turned and found myself making small talk with a man who eventually became my husband. 

I don't remember a lot about our conversations that night, but I do remember the feeling of terror when Brian asked for my phone number.  I was in my mid-thirties, widowed and completely overwhelmed. How was this supposed to work? Should I give it to him? {And, if I do, should it be my real number?}

I didn't know how to reconcile this part of my new reality. I was in a whole new world of expectations and navigating layers of grief I didn't know I had. Losing Matt is an integral part of my story, but I was learning that it wasn't my identity. It didn’t have to define me. I could continue to live. This was terrifying.  There was an internal battle with the fear of moving on and what was happening to me in the moment—as my newly invented self.

 I was meeting new people who didn't even know Matt.  Would that cause me to forget him? Betray him? Lose who I was when I was with him? These types of questions continue to be a part of my grief journey, but that night in the bar vividly showed me that there is no blue print for how life goes.  Matt’s accident taught me this, of course, but when I gave Brian my {real!} phone number and found myself waiting in anticipation of his call, I knew I had entered into a new way of thinking about how life works.

 I grew up with the mindset that I had to live my life certain ways to have certain outcomes. Life’s curve balls were not necessarily accounted for—or if they were, they were justified in a way that seemed inauthentic. Before that night in the bar, I felt like I was living in such a constrained way. I worried about how to please others, and I did or didn't do something because of fear of the unknown. I let this type of thinking guide my judgment in any given situation.

My decision to buy those shoes changed all of this. Those shoes taught me that fate is alive and well. They taught me that it’s okay to believe in something that might not make much sense, it’s okay to trust an unplanned moment, and it’s okay to let myself embrace something that is new to me.  I went with the flow, and it felt great.

 I feel like I owe my shoes and the events of that night an oceanic debt of gratitude for showing me how to trust what life was giving me. I wouldn't be living the happy life I am now if I hadn't gone to the bar that night with Tina in my magical new shoes and if I hadn’t learned to take risks and trust myself to be, well, to be myself.

Please Remember Me

The journey of grief is complicated.

For one, there is no blueprint for how to navigate all that it entails.

There is no way to plan for or expect the inevitable triggers 
that might cause a meltdown or a celebration. 
They come in many forms like
Songs.
Experiences.
Dreams.
Random Memories.
And for me, butterflies.

 I am in awe that a decade has passed since my life changed forever.

Ten years. 

A Decade.

10.

Years.

Ten years ago, today, my husband Matt was killed in a car accident
 55 days after we married.
{Some of my thoughts about this are captured here.}
The whole of our relationship spanned 1 year. 

We met briefly in 2001 but didn't start dating until August of 2002.

We were engaged in the spring of  2003,

married in June of 2003

and we buried Matt in August of 2003. 

I wasn't sure what do to with today.
I have been anticipating how to embark on this 10 year marker for several months.
It seems significant that a decade has passed.
A lot can happen in 10 years. 
And, a lot has happened to me in 10 years.
I reinvented myself. 
I learned to accept many parts of myself that were lost and confused.
I learned that life is full of goodness and grace.
I learned this because of Matt and what he gave me.
Matt's last name {and it was my last name for 3 years} was
Love.
Yes-- 
LOVE.
Like, 
L.O.V.E.

Matt taught me how to live in Love. 
He taught me the Truth of Love.
He loved me fiercely.
I loved him fiercely.
It's powerful how Love changes everything.

My epiphany moment of how to recognize this day happened a few months ago
 while watching, of all things, The Voice.
The *winner!* of The Voice, Danielle Bradbury, sang a Tim McGraw song called
 "Please Remember Me."
I am not usually drawn to country music and on some level this song is sorta cheesy but something connected with me that night.
That something was Matt.
 I felt him singing it to me.
I heard him showing me all that has happened in the last 10 years and 
all that is to be celebrated. 
The song talks about how there is a balance of what's new and what should be embraced or remembered in the midst of loss.

During this experience I also felt an overwhelming freedom in loving Brian, now, and forever.
 The chorus of the song is Brian.
 I have found better love that is deep, strong, warm and real. 
I can't put into words how important and real Brian's love is for me and mine for him.
And, I don't think I would have been able to feel this if it weren't for Matt loving me like he did and me loving Matt the way I did. 
I do remember him in all that I do to love Brian and I cherish this. 

 I am also reminded, and ever so grateful, for the amazing souls that have been a part of this journey with me. I can't put into words how indebted I am for the community 
of people who grieve with me.
These people know Love too and they remember Matt teaching them this. 
Those that didn't know Matt personally and have been a part of my life in the last 10 years, remind me to embrace and live in the Love that changed me. 
 I am the person I am today because of the amazing souls that 
continue to show me that Love is real and worth embracing. 

The lyrics of the song are below and I put 
the parts that are particularly 
important to me in bold.

Please Remember Me

When all our tears have reached the sea 
Part of you will live in me 
Way down deep inside my heart 
The days keep coming without fail 
A new wind is gonna find yourself 
That's where your journey starts 

Chours: 
You'll find better love 
Strong as it ever was 
Deep as the river runs 
Warm as the morning sun 
Please remember me 

Just like the waves down by the shore 
Your gonna keep on coming back for more 
'Cause we don't ever wanna stop 
Out in this brave new world you seek 
O'er the valleys and the peaks 
And I can see you on the top 

Chours: 
You'll find better love 
Strong as it ever was 
Deep as the river runs 
Warm as the morning sun 
Please remember me 

Remember me when you're out walkin' 
When snow falls high outside your door 
Late at night when you're not sleepin' 
And moonlight falls across your floor 
When I can't hurt you anymore 

Chours: 
You'll find better love 
Strong as it ever was 
Deep as the river runs 
Warm as the morning sun 
Please remember me 
Please remember me

Howl on, Nikita, howl on...

 Our family lost a dear friend today. 

Nikita, our blue eyed wolf, had a wonderful second home at my parent's house.

She came to the house daily, howling and begging for treats.

My parents basically became her day-parents. 

They loved her, fed her, groomed her and expected her to join us at every family function.

She was the perfect pet.

She was ridiculously persistent about getting her treats, 
and of course we obliged, 

every time.

She came to every family gathering and she reminded us that having a furry companion, even a borrowed one, is necessary and perfect.

Thank you, Nikita, for allowing us to spoil you rotten.

 Thank you for allowing us to love you like you loved us.

Thank you for being our dog. 

Howl on, Nikita, howl on.

We will miss you. 

I don't want to talk about it...

Oh BRONCS!.

You know that I am a fan through thick and thin, I really am...

This year was a lot of thick and it was glorious.

But of all times to be thin, BRONCS!, you chose yesterday?

A playoff game with the chance of playing at home AGAIN next week and then the

SUPER BOWL???

The Super Bowl.

You know what that is right, BRONCS!?

Right???

Ugh.

Yesterday's loss has left me depressed.

I know it's just a game, but for me and my family the BRONCS! games involve our hearts and souls and yesterday, our hearts and our souls were trampled on.
 {My heart and soul has been going through a lot lately and I didn't need this.}
 

I'm angry.

I'm sad.

I'm dumbfounded.

We were pumped and ready.
We freaking lost.

I really don't want to talk about it anymore {It's just TOO sad!} but I wanted to capture some of our BRONCS! spirit, as seen through the perspective of Gnorm the Gnome, just to remind myself someday that at least we did our part.

We really couldn't believe our eyes...

Damn you, BRONCS!.
You know I'll always be a fan, but we definitely need some time apart.

 

Miracles in the Mundane

This blog started with my search to appreciate simple things that surround us and

 highlight them as a reminder that goodness is possible in the midst of everyday life.

Everyday life is pretty awful right now for a lot of people. 

The tragedy in Aurora, CO this past weekend has turned us all upside down. 

We are searching for answers to the millions of "why" questions that plague us. 

Being a teacher in Aurora, the tragedy caused me a lot of anxiety as to the well being of 
my kids. 

Were they there? Are they hurt? How are they processing all of this?

As far as I know, none of my kids were hurt, physically. 

I know, though, that this isn't true for some of my district colleagues. 

 I have had to distance myself from a lot of the media coverage. 

Every time I read about the victims, I get pretty emotional. 

There are probably hundreds of people connected to just one victim.
Those people are entering a journey of grief that is unpredictable, scary, and in this case, really public.
This is causing me to be a little overwhelmed with the many, many things I take for granted.


Things that I know make my life better.

Things that are special and irreplaceable. 

Things that I call miracles.

I am finding myself intentionally looking for miracles that will remind me to be hopeful.
I want to embrace those things a little tighter because, well, life is too short not to.

My Story

When my husband died after 55 days of marriage, my life perspective shifted.

A lot.

Matt was killed instantly in a car accident. I was at home, finishing up our thank you notes for wedding gifts when the Coroner knocked on our door. Many details of those moments are fuzzy, but many are bright and vivid. For instance, I distinctly remember looking at the Coroner's hands and noticing that she had on a wedding ring. I thought about how she would go home that night and probably hug her husband a little tighter after being with me.

My expectation of what life was supposed to be and all of what I hoped for was gone in an instant and I knew I would never be the same.

Sacred Ground

Picking up the pieces after a loss like this is a bit like going into the witness protection program.

Everything I had ever known about myself,

how I looked,

{I gained about 50 pounds...}

how I acted,

{Uncontrolled tears, panic attacks and the like in public...}

how I interacted with the world,

{Do I wear my ring? Do I go out to meet new people like other people my age?}

was radically changing.

But, even those in the witness protection program must take with them fundamental aspects of themselves which can never change. I had to go to the deepest depths of myself and

figure out what those aspects are for me.

Where does God fit in?

{Does He? I know He does, but how? It’s different now…}

Who are my real friends?

{My definition of real shifted…}

What remains at the core of who I am?

{What makes me happy? Why?  How?}

I knew I had to reinvent myself in many ways.

My current journey of being married to an amazingly supportive, loving, safe, funny, generous man, teaching middle school and living a happy, simple life in Denver
 with my miraculous friends and family has happened because

I learned how to care for that core of who I am.

I learned to evaluate what I put my energy into.

I learned that my loss doesn’t have to define me;

it is a part of me, but it's not the essence of who I am.

My Miracles

This wasn't easy.
While in my deepest pit of despair of feeling like I wasn’t making any progress towards
what life “should be” someone very wise told me this:

“You are not doing “nothing”. Being fully open to your grief may be the hardest work you will ever do.”

Learning how to receive love and support like this was a trial and error process
of accepting Truth.

Living

I am not the person I once was but in many ways I have changed for the better.

The fabric of my life is now woven with humility and gratitude.

I have learned to embrace mystery in a way that frees me to see true beauty in life.

For this I am grateful.