A year has come and gone.
I can vividly recall how it felt in the beginning. I knew something was wrong when mom and dad came over so late on a Friday. I asked if you had overdosed again. You see, the week before, I was on my knees begging God to spare your life. He did. You were discharged from the hospital and I thought everything was going to be okay. Surely you had learned we still needed you. You would get better. Right?
They said I had better sit down. Yes, you had in fact overdosed again. But this time you were not coming back. I could see their lips moving and hear the words coming out of their mouths, but my brain could not process the information. Slowly it started to sink in as they stared at me with tortured expressions. The sobbing ensued. The shock seeped into my bones.
If hell exists on earth, the following days I lived in it. Immune to sleep and unable to keep food down, I resembled a zombie. Planning the arrangements, choosing the music, making a picture slideshow, reading through quotes, finding an outfit for the wake. It's like I was watching a movie from someone else's body and couldn't turn it off; trapped in a nightmare I could not escape.
To this day, I still have no idea how I made it through your funeral. Growing up, I had always feared this day but never imagined it would actually happen. There was always hope you would get better.
We were allowed to see you before anyone else. I was adamant that I wanted an open viewing, but was horrified when I actually saw you. I could imagine the padding under your shirt. The makeup failed to give color to your skin and lips. The stillness of your body was the most disturbing.
Many people gave their condolences. Flowers were sent. Speeches were made. It was nice seeing how loved you were; to see evidence of all the lives you touched.
Bereavement leave is only three days. Then it was time to return to the real world. How do you participate in things like work and relationships when nothing matters to you anymore? I was about to find out.
The following weeks I went through the motions of life. Wake up, shower, go to work, come home, sleep, repeat. Lots of fake smiling and absentminded conversations in between. Just trying to make it through the day by pretending I was a normal, functioning member of society even though I wished I could stop existing. My supportive husband, family, and friends kept my head above the water.
One day, about 2 months later, I realized I didnt want to live life this way any longer. I was not doing justice to your memory. I had to wake up from this fog. I had to make a new reality for myself and think about what I truly wanted out of life. Creating a vision board expressed the future I desired.
Rather than remain a victim, I used my pain to fuel my passion for photography. I needed to give my life purpose. I poured my heart, soul, and every fiber of my being into my business. I began scheduling photoshoots again and mastering my craft. Being one of twenty people in November who got to attend a Sue Bryce workshop in LA lifted my spirits and confirmed I was on the right path. Perhaps God remembered me after all.
With newfound hope and resilience, I started the new year with the goal of opening a studio, quitting my full-time job, treating my body with love, and beginning the journey to becoming debt-free. Life is short. If I had to live this life without you, it would be on my terms.
Halfway into 2018, I have done all those things. In May I started working part-time at a new company. June brought the studio. July brings selling our house, and reaching my goal weight. It also marks one year without you...
For me, time has stood still. A year has passed, and I am still mourning you as if it happened yesterday. I can change my appearance, my job, my residence, and chase my dreams of being a successful business owner. Yet, my reality is untouched. None of these things can fill the void that your absence brings. How long does it take to grieve someone I have loved my entire life? My guess is a lifetime.
Grief has become a constant companion. I still have the nightmares, the moments where I can hardly breathe, the days of crying for hours on end. Sometimes I see someone on the road who looks like you or walks like you, and I do a double take. Something on a TV show or a song on the radio will remind me of you, propelling me into a whirlwind of emotions. I still talk about it as if it happened to someone else and cannot visit your grave.
Somehow, by the grace of God, I have made it through the past 365 days. Your death has scarred me, Michael. My life is divided into two parts: before you and after you. I am not the same person I once was. The road to healing will be a long one, and I do not see the end in sight. But others say it will get better. That it won't sting as much eventually. I am still trying to figure out how to live without you.
I may never figure it out, but I promise you this: I will try. I will fight to see the light on the dark days. I will try to create the best life I can and live it to the fullest, even if you aren't here to share it with me. I will live in a way that honors your memory. I hope one day when I meet you in heaven that you are there to greet me and say that you were with me every step of the way. Until then, know that I love you and have missed you every moment of every day along the way.
Love,
Steph-Steph.
Rather than remain a victim, I used my pain to fuel my passion for photography. I needed to give my life purpose. I poured my heart, soul, and every fiber of my being into my business. I began scheduling photoshoots again and mastering my craft. Being one of twenty people in November who got to attend a Sue Bryce workshop in LA lifted my spirits and confirmed I was on the right path. Perhaps God remembered me after all.
With newfound hope and resilience, I started the new year with the goal of opening a studio, quitting my full-time job, treating my body with love, and beginning the journey to becoming debt-free. Life is short. If I had to live this life without you, it would be on my terms.
Halfway into 2018, I have done all those things. In May I started working part-time at a new company. June brought the studio. July brings selling our house, and reaching my goal weight. It also marks one year without you...
For me, time has stood still. A year has passed, and I am still mourning you as if it happened yesterday. I can change my appearance, my job, my residence, and chase my dreams of being a successful business owner. Yet, my reality is untouched. None of these things can fill the void that your absence brings. How long does it take to grieve someone I have loved my entire life? My guess is a lifetime.
Grief has become a constant companion. I still have the nightmares, the moments where I can hardly breathe, the days of crying for hours on end. Sometimes I see someone on the road who looks like you or walks like you, and I do a double take. Something on a TV show or a song on the radio will remind me of you, propelling me into a whirlwind of emotions. I still talk about it as if it happened to someone else and cannot visit your grave.
Somehow, by the grace of God, I have made it through the past 365 days. Your death has scarred me, Michael. My life is divided into two parts: before you and after you. I am not the same person I once was. The road to healing will be a long one, and I do not see the end in sight. But others say it will get better. That it won't sting as much eventually. I am still trying to figure out how to live without you.
I may never figure it out, but I promise you this: I will try. I will fight to see the light on the dark days. I will try to create the best life I can and live it to the fullest, even if you aren't here to share it with me. I will live in a way that honors your memory. I hope one day when I meet you in heaven that you are there to greet me and say that you were with me every step of the way. Until then, know that I love you and have missed you every moment of every day along the way.
Love,
Steph-Steph.
