Jeremy and I were married when we were twenty-four. Not old by many standards but old enough to know who we were (ish) and to know what we did and didn’t want. In a spouse, in a relationship, and in life. Were we still clueless? Yes. Did we know it? Uh, no.

I had an irrational fear that when we walked out of the temple/ceremony I would cease to be Elizabeth and would immediately become Mrs. Jeremy Hill. I worried that I wouldn’t be ME anymore and that I could quite possibly lose my center of who I was: quirky, ridiculous, strong-willed, and a lover of God and faith. It seems ridiculous now but then it was a tenable yet tangible fear.

Imagine my surprise that as we walked to the car after taking fifty gagillion pictures Jeremy slapped me on my hiney that I felt very much like myself. I metaphorically took stock of my heart, mind, and soul and found to my utter shock that I was ME! What a relief. I was still the silly Elizabeth who would prank others, leave uncomfortably long voicemails, and want to jump into the deep end of conversations with those I loved.

Since Kathryn entered hospice, I watched, learned from, and took notes as other beloved friends had lost their children. I asked questions, mentally filed away advice, and learned to savor whatever time we had with her. The end line kept moving and the uncertainty became my frenemy and ultimate tutor. The type-A doer in me was beaten, subdued, and learned to apply skills as needed and lie in rest the majority of the time.

I was thoroughly prepared for emotional hell to unleash when she passed and though I have sobbed, cried both ugly and pretty, and wished I could hold her soft hands and kiss her smiling cheeks a million more times, I am shocked to find myself…as myself. I still laugh—A LOT. I still love to walk and be with friends. I still adore our family. And I find my faith stronger than ever. I enjoy thinking of and serving others in what small capacities I can. I am incredibly surprised and how remarkable I am doing.

KEEP IN MIND THAT EVERYONE GRIEVES DIFFERENTLY AND THERE IS NO TIMELINE.  I am not “done” nor will I ever be “done” or “moved on” from grieving for Kathryn. She is woven into my soul and each day I will think of her and remember her beautiful heart and mind.

At almost two weeks, I think these have contributed to my groundedness:

• I have an amazing partner that I realize not all mothers of medically complex kids have. He is a true partner; we take turns holding each other when we weep or console.
• We both have wonderful bosses who have been phenomenal through time and are flexible and care about us and our family as people.
• We have a life insurance policy for her that will cover expenses
• We are surrounded by literally hundreds of people willing to serve us, whether helping us spring clean our yard and home, bringing us snacks and meals, listening to our stories, and not hesitating to show their love through their words and actions.  The outpouring of prayers on our behalf is also key. These are a huge blessing!
• We have had time to somewhat prepare for this eventuality but you can never truly be prepared.
• We have had the benefit of the support of hospice nurses and staff for the last year. I cannot put into words what a relief and gift they have been as we navigated through this last year of her life. I’m so grateful we started “early” with them instead of waiting.
• I've also been on some anti-anxiety meds that help me quiet my mind and sleep at night which has been helpful. 
• My faith that I have nurtured, watered, and built has been the biggest gift. I know God. I know He loves Kathryn. I know there is an “after” for her and no matter your religious or non-religious background, medical people will tell you of the frequent occurrence of loved ones coming to take people Home. It’s a thing. I felt it thirty minutes before she passed—a surrounding of loved ones with peace so palpable that it felt like a cloud of spiritual glitter in the air. I thought it was just a sweet moment. I didn’t realize then that they were coming for her. Thirty minutes later she was gone here and arrived there.
• One of the greatest gifts we can give a person is to see them wholly, truly, and fully for who they are NOW—not as they USED TO BE or who they WILL BE but as we see them now—imperfect but ours. I have been working this week on not yearning for her as she was—in bed, in pain, smiling but not great—or even as a baby—adorable and determined to do all the things. The yearning for the past or the impossible can be incessantly draining and damaging. I can miss her, and I DO. I can cry for her, and I DO. But I don’t yearn for her the way she was here. I find great joy, peace, and hope in knowing that she is a new version of herself—whole, happy, and finding purpose in serving, learning, and growing. She is not lost—static dust floating etherally in the clouds. She is not gone—never to be seen again. She is not forgotten by the One who formed her but she is Home where she belongs and we will see her again. And if we will be joyous then…why not be joyous now? Why wait?

I’m still taking it easy—allowing my body, mind, and soul to rest. The tears flow when they flow and I welcome them. I’m attempting not to revert to the rushing of making decisions, plans, and to-do lists. I WANT to be different from this experience of caring for Kathryn and having a front-row seat to her goodness, tenacity, and intelligence. I want to use this wisdom for good and that might unfold slowly. I realize it’s a luxury many parents do not have and mortgages and life often decide for us when to show back up again.

I know my path is my own and I pray no one compares their journey to mine. Each day is a new day and maybe after her Celebration of Life, grief could look very different. I open my heart to whatever emotion or feeling needs to reside there. I only share in the hope that it will give hope to those who are trudging forward in their grief. Life is messy. People are inherently messy. Please know that you are known and that you are not alone.

I leave you with a phrase that she loved from her favorite hymn and one that has repeatedly run through my mind: “All is well, all is well.” She is well. We are and will be well. And I hope this finds you well.