It’s Easier Than You Think to Die Before You’re Dead

The journey I’ve been on for the last two years is not one I’d wish on anyone. I’d like to say I’m a better person for having gone through it, but I’m not. What I am is thankful for having survived it.

We lost our daughter in 2018. As that year came to an end, I was a shell of myself. From the outside it may not have been as obvious because I was pretty good at going through the motions. Each day I’d put one foot in front of the other in an effort to check a few things off my to-do list before I allowed myself to pull the covers back over my head for another sleepless night. But inside, I remember feeling very little beyond profound heartbreak. The horrors of Stephanie’s death were winning; the agony of losing her erasing memories of our happier times. I hadn’t just lost her; I lost an entire lifetime. Daily life had become an endurance contest, a far cry from the good life I knew just a year before. In those final days of 2018, I could never imagine feeling such carefree joy again. Truth was, I couldn’t imagine feeling much of anything.

But thankfully, without a plan or intent, 2019 became a year of healing for our family – each of us making strides in our own way and at our own pace. Equally committed to celebrating old memories and making new ones, we clung to each other as we learned how to redefine family life with one very precious piece missing.

My healing started just a few days into 2019 when I found it a little easier to breathe. For months my heart had been so heavy my chest couldn’t expand. It was as if when Steph drew her last breath, I lost mine and I couldn’t breathe again until that horrid year was behind me. Cautiously, I began to hope those first few deep breaths of the new year were a sign that life might be a little brighter where I was going than where I had been.

But grief was not a feeble foe; it had a tight hold on me. I knew that a piece of me had died along with Steph; I just hoped it wasn’t the best of me. I see now that in those early months after she passed, I was testing the waters of life. Our hearts had been so connected; her death was threatening to pull me under too. I had cut myself off from social media and most of the outside world. My journey felt so personal I had wanted to go it alone, surrounding myself with only the closest family and friends.

In those early days of 2019, I began to reengage a bit and happened upon a phrase that resonated with me: “Don’t die before you’re dead.” These five words crystalized everything. It reminded me it was about more than just survival. I had to start fighting for the life I wanted, for a life worth living. I made one resolution for 2019: Find my way back to a joyful life.

It didn’t happen easily or quickly, but as the weeks passed, I started to notice more good days. Days when I had energy. Days when I made plans. I credited a new morning routine of meditation and prayer with initially guiding me to a better place. As spring approached, I took my morning ritual outside to add in the daily renewal offered by a glorious sunrise. Over time, my thoughts as I waited in darkness for the sun to peek over the horizon began to center around cherished memories of Stephanie. I started thinking of my “morning memory” as my special time each day with my sweet girl. Sometimes there were tears, other times smiles and laughs. By the time the sun rose most days, love and gratitude for our life together filled my heart. I still treasure this morning ritual and will carry it into 2020.

No two people grieve the same. My journey was a very private one; it’s only now that I’m even beginning to find words to attach to it. I’m not sure grieving ever ends; maybe it just changes. For me, tears still flow, just not as often. The same memories that broke my heart when I first lost her, now make me smile – except for the occasional times when they still make me cry. But on most days, I feel like I’m able to remember her, not just mourn her. And thankfully, I am once again able to love and cherish my family and friends with a joyful heart.

Tim and I drove up to the mountains on New Year’s Eve to watch the final sunset of 2019. I realized in that moment when the sun dipped below the horizon, we had made it. We had started and ended a year without her. And it was a good year at that. I took a big step forward  in 2019 and now that grief and gratitude seem to have figured out how to coexist in my heart, I’m ready for the next step…