The Nightmare After Christmas
I am living in a nightmare.
This isn’t really happening. I can’t be burying my husband, the love of my life, my best friend.
My husband, JJ, was only 36 years old — handsome, intelligent, charismatic, selfless — and always so full of life. That is, until one day he wasn’t anymore.
We knew it might end like this. He had terminal brain cancer.
We fought, for three and a half years, with everything we had. I never knew I could fight so hard.
In the end, it took his life. And, in so many ways, it feels like the cancer is trying to take my life too.
You Wake Up, And It’s Not Over
Nightmares can haunt you. They jolt you awake at night and leave you gasping for breath.
Everyone has them.
My scariest dreams have always been the ones where I lose someone I love. That’s the terrifying thing about love…once you experience how truly wonderful it is, you know how much you have to lose.
The only good thing about a nightmare is that you wake up and it’s over.
My nightmare is reality, but it doesn’t feel like it. It doesn’t seem real.
Imagine that moment when you’re watching a movie and you’ve gotten to the really sad part.
You don’t want to watch it anymore. Stories are supposed to have happy endings.
You want to turn it off and go to bed. You want to pretend that it’s all ok.
You want your husband to roll over and laugh at you, “Honey, it was just a nightmare. I’m fine.”
That’s what I hope for, but I know it won’t happen.
I saw my husband’s lifeless body as his chest heaved, gasping for his last breath. I hugged him and kissed him one last time, tears streaming down my face as I said my final goodbye to the most incredible father and husband a girl could ever dream of.
No, this isn’t a nightmare. It’s not a movie. It’s my life and the sadness I feel threatens to consume me.
The Outfit You Never Want To Wear
What do you wear to your husband’s funeral? I find myself staring at my closet, blankly, realizing I have nothing to wear. I knew JJ was dying, but I didn’t plan for this part.
As I shuffle through the hangers I see a black dress, but JJ wouldn’t want that. He didn’t want a sad funeral, he wanted a celebration of life. I can remember the conversation where JJ sat me down with his parents. He told us that he didn’t want to die, but he had lived a good life. He wanted us to celebrate his life and share all the memories we had made together.
Black would be the easiest choice, but it just didn’t seem right.
So, the day before my husband’s funeral I went shopping. It felt surreal as I gazed around. Everyone seemed to be going on with their lives like nothing had changed. Didn’t they know life as I knew it was over? Couldn’t they tell by looking at me? Were any of them carrying pain in their hearts like mine?
I didn’t want to be shopping for clothes. It seemed so superficial. Who cared what I wore? The one person whose opinion meant the most to me wouldn’t be able to tell me if the outfit I chose was right. Yet, in some small, insignificant way it felt like it mattered. I wanted to find something that honored his memory.
As I sifted through racks of clothes, I settled on a simple grey and blue long-sleeved sweater dress that had orange piping on the sleeves. Orange was JJ’s favorite color, and grey and blue seemed to symbolize my mood. It wasn’t black, but the colors were muted and it’s mood was somber.
The Widow Warrior
JJ was a warrior. He was a Marine. He was always fighting for those who couldn’t fight for themselves.
In a way, this felt like it was just another long deployment. A decade ago he was in Ramadi, Iraq, helping his men complete a dangerous mission. This was just another mission, that’s all. I’d see him again, when it was over.
That was his mission, this was mine. To carry on what he started. I had never thought of myself as a fighter before, but I have been in training for more than three years.
I don’t want to be here. I want my husband back. I don’t want to be going to his funeral. I don’t want this to be happening, but it is.
So, I will wear the grey and blue striped dress. I will pack the kids in the car. I will drive to the funeral. I will be brave because it is what he would have done.
Every Day Is a Gift
My nightmare hasn’t stolen everything from me. I still have two beautiful boys to love and cherish. Our 4 year old son, James, won’t have his exuberant father by his side, mentoring him as he grows up. Our 5 month old son, Lucas, will only know his father through the memories that friends and family share. But, I will do my best to make sure they know how amazing their father was. I will try to raise them the way JJ would have wanted.
They say it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. JJ believed that. He knew that in order to find true love and happiness, you have to be willing to be vulnerable. And even amidst my grief, I can undoubtedly say that it was worth the risk. I have lost so much, but I have gained much more by being willing to love.
As I hold both my boys in my arms tonight I see their father’s smile in theirs.
I’m reminded that he’s still with me.
He will always be with me as long as I have our beautiful sons. They represent all the love we shared together throughout the years. And I realize that every day is a gift.
Even this one.
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