Ten Years Later: Reflections on Life after Loss…

Ten years ago, on August 2, 2014, Simon died. He was a faithful son, brother, friend, and my beloved husband and father to our three young children. He lost his quick, brutal liver cancer battle in just six weeks. This past decade has flown by and simultaneously, 10 years feels like a lifetime ago. Because it was. It was another life that changed the moment Simon was gone.

This year was packed with milestones. It would have been our 20th wedding anniversary. Our firstborn son graduated high school, started college, and soon turns 18. Our middle daughter is now working and driving. Our youngest daughter is done with her elementary years. We marked five years of living in Texas. Our family dog, Goomba, died. Simon’s dear grandfather and family patriarch passed onto glory. I visited Simon’s grave for the first time. I think this year had as many tears as year one after losing Simon. The difference is that there is also much more joy presently than in those first dark years.

A few months after Simon died, the kids and I did a photo shoot. It felt necessary to capture our new family unit. My hope was that someday we could reflect on those pictures and see how far we had come and how much we had changed. This summer, we recreated that photo shoot. I still see glimpses of my 2, 5, and 7 year olds who were learning to navigate a world without their dad, except now they are 12, 15, and 17. I am grateful for every day that Simon’s life was spared so that we could bring our children into the world. They are our greatest gifts.

The grief of losing a loved one is a gut punch that takes your breath away. It can cause physical, mental, and spiritual illness; I have wrestled with all three. Yet, I have learned so much in the last 10 years that it has truly made me better, and inspired me to do better in this world. The majority of days are filled with joy, as I watch our three amazing children become adults and find purpose in this life.

Some triggers still make me cry instantly. Tears well up when seeing an Amtrak train whiz by, since that was Simon’s last employer and we had so many fun and wild memories during his time there. Especially the 2013 Christmas evening debacle (pre-smartphone) where we got off the train in San Diego and walked miles only to end up eating dinner at Denny’s from the very mediocre limited edition Lord of the Ring menu. Tears flow when I hear Simon’s eclectic array of favorite music artists like Robert Earl Keen, Sufjan Stevens, Muse, Buddy Holly, OutKast, Bob Marley, Seal, Thelonious Monk, David Crowder Band, MXPX, Charles Mingus, Decemberists, and Johnny Cash. Tears well when I see any Boy Scouts, as he spent years with the organization, earning his Eagle Scout and OA Vigil Honor.

There are secondary losses that come with losing a loved one. Friendships changed after his death, some intentional, some due to sadness, some due to slowly fading away. Those who stuck around fill my heart with gratitude. I don’t blame those who left. Grief is hard, messy, confusing, and overwhelming, even on the best days. Finances change. We moved from California to Texas after his death for more affordability and to honor his home state. Hearts change. I remarried after Simon passed to an unlikely candidate who was Simon’s friend. Jason has been an amazing husband and father and always leaves room for us to honor Simon without judgement or jealousy. Nine years later, I don’t regret that decision.

There were some gestures and kindnesses extended to us in our grieving that I will never forget. Friends offered us free vacations, tickets to theme parks, and services like housekeepers, haircuts, and manicures. Just as meaningful, even if free or inexpensive, friends offered us invitations to coffee, parties, or to just hang out in their homes. Someone would show up to wash my car or mow the lawn. Someone would show up to take the kids on adventures and return them with a hot dinner for us all. I still get calls and texts all these years later on Simon’s birthday or death anniversary. We are not forgotten. In turn, we try to remember others on their hard or triggering days.

We have a choice when we lose the ones we love. We can either lean into that piece of us that dies with them, and shrink down into the shell of our mortal body that is still physically living, but emotionally void. Or we capture all the love we had with our person, and we grow it. We use the power of that love to give even more love than we received. We can split our broken hearts open wider and fuller. We start a chain reaction of love deeper than we ever thought possible. Love that will make our children and our grandchildren and the future generations better off. That’s what I’m hoping to do.