I always knew I would be a widow

I always knew I would be a widow.  

When I decided to marry Jared, I knew that unless some unforeseen tragedy struck, I would someday be a widow.  I knew because of his CF, I would most likely outlive him.  I always knew I would be a widow, but I had no idea how it would feel.

I had no idea how it would feel to watch my husband die.  To see his slow decline for months and then a rapid decline and death just 6 weeks later.  To watch him put on a brave face everyday until the end.

I had no idea how it would feel to hear my husband say “I'm sorry you have to watch me die.”. Or worse “Carla, I'm dying.”. And then to hold him as he took his last breath.

I had no idea how hard it would be to have a dear friend have to help me get my husband back in bed so our son wouldn't see his dad lying on the floor.  Or to have that friend say “No, he can't be gone.”  And now I worry that the memory haunts her.

I had absolutely no idea how hard it would be to tell our son his dad had gone to heaven.  There is nothing that can prepare you for the sobs as your child's heart breaks. And I was not prepared for the helpless feeling as I watched my child grieve.

I had no idea that I would want to strangle the hospice nurse who showed up hours late because my husband's death was not deemed urgent enough.  Or the relief I would feel when another dear friend was smart enough to remove the hospice nurse from my sight.

I had no idea how it would feel when the funeral home told me I had to leave Jared's side so they could prepare my beloved husband.

I had no idea that when I walked out of our bedroom and left Jared with the funeral home, that I would literally slide down the hallway wall and minutes later be physically sick.  Or that I would need my mother to hold my hair and wipe my mouth because I just couldn't think to do it.  

I had no idea that after walking my husband to the hearse and seeing the doors close that I would fall to my knees because the pain was so great.

I had no idea that during this time, I would need others to provide my son sanctuary and not just while the funeral home was at my house but for months to come.

I had no idea that my kitchen would be full of friends who are like family to support me and Steven.  I had no idea one friend would suggest a toast to Jared's life and because of his suggestion, we started talking about Jared's life and not just his tragic death.

I had no idea the anger I would feel because a few, well meaning souls decided to change my bedsheets.  I needed to feel close to Jared and I didn't care that the sheets were dirty.  I had no idea I would grab his pillowcase out of the laundry and sleep on it for weeks.

I had no idea that planning a funeral to honor my husband's wishes would cause so much strife.  Ones who felt I included the wrong people.  Ones who felt I should have had a viewing for those who needed closure.  Ones who felt I had a celebration of life to soon. Everyone offering their unsolicited opinion without considering my husband's wishes.

I had no idea how it would feel to celebrate our anniversary without him exactly one week after his death.  Or how it would feel when I found out he had planned ahead for the date.

I had no idea how it would feel when in  what I deemed a short time, others went back to their daily lives.  Lives that were not shattered by the death of their beloved spouse.

I had no idea how it would feel to realize that some I had counted on to always be there, were not.  No calls, no text messages, no just wanted to see how you were doing.   I had no idea the pain I would feel knowing they cared so little.  Or that we could be so easily forgotten.

I had no idea how it would feel to have so many wrap us in love and support.  Feed us, make sure we were not alone, and continue to invite us to be part of their lives.  And these same friends still support us now.

I had no idea I could feel such love and completely alone at the same time.  I had no idea the hole losing Jared would leave not just in my heart but in my life.  A hole that can never be filled.

I had no idea that the widow fog was a blessing, protecting me when I was unable to handle the pain.  And that at 6 months, the fog would lift and I would feel completely hopeless.  I had no idea a wonderful support system of friends and fellow widows would reach out to ensure I knew that feeling hopeless and being hopeless are two different things.

I had no idea just how painful all the firsts would be.  Or that I could survive and still celebrate the holidays and special occasions.  And that our friends and family would ensure that we did not celebrate alone.

I had no idea just how lonely and painful the nights would be.  

I had no idea that people would judge me for how I grieved.  I had no idea that people who loved Jared wouldn't want to say his name. Or that my grief would send some running for the hills.  I had no idea that some would view me as a threat.  No idea that my grief, my horrible loss would be used against me.

I had no idea how it would feel to be a solo parent.  I had been the only parent at home when Jared was sick and in the hospital.  But that in no way prepared me to be the only parent 24 hours a day, 7 days a week with absolutely no relief in sight.  I had no idea how heartbreaking it is to parent a grieving child.  How often my own grief would have to be put on hold to care for my child.  Or how when I was doing OK, that his grief would knock me right back down again.

I had no idea how scared I would be of doing it wrong.  Of completely screwing up my kid.  Of worrying that I was grieving to much.  Not enough.  Worrying that this horrible loss would permanently scar my child.  That this loss would rob him of his childhood. I had no idea the lack of patience I would have.  And that impatience would be due to being tired.  All the time!  How quickly I would lose my temper.  How many times I would have to apologize.  I had no idea how it would feel to be the responsible parent all the time. And it sucks!

I had no idea how difficult it would be to try and live.  Live and not just survive.  To honor the promise I made my husband.

I had no idea how hard it would be to discover who I am now.  So much of my adult life was spent as Jared's wife and caregiver.  So, who am I now?  Where is that happy go lucky girl who loved to dance and was truly happy?  She is in there, somewhere. I just have to find her.

I had no idea how my friends would handle their new widow friend.  Would I still be included?  Would I only be invited to group events?  Would they eventually get tired of hearing about Jared and my loss and stop inviting me?

I had no idea just how difficult planning a vacation without my love would be.  Two months after Jared died, I was packing for our trip to Costa Rica.  I trip that was supposed to be the 3 of us but instead there were only 2.  I remember texting a friend, telling her I couldn't  do it.  She said simply “Then don't do it.  But whether you go or stay home, it's going to be hard.”. So I packed our suitcases and went.  Because Jared would have expected me to do just that.

I had no idea just how useless all the typical sympathy statements really are.  "He's in a better place".  "At least he's not suffering anymore."  And my favorite, "call if you need anything."  I could barely function, let alone know what I needed or wanted.  I had no idea how thankful I would be for the friends who just listened.  Who didn't try to fix me.  Who said and still say his name.  

I had no idea that Jared's death would shatter me to the core.  That his death would forever change my life.  I had buried my dad, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and friends but those deaths did not prepare me for a loss of this magnitude.  I felt like I had truly lost a part of myself.  A part of my soul.  And I was in no way prepared to deal with that.  

I had no idea that my loss and grief would be a platform for me to help others.  I had no idea I would use my grief as a platform to raise awareness for organ donation.  I had no idea I would start Breathing for Jared, a foundation to honor my husband.

I have no idea what my future holds.  The future I had planned died 20 months ago and I right now I am taking it day by day.  My future is ever changing.  But one thing that will not change is my love for Jared.  He will always be a part of my soul.  There will always be a part of my heart reserved just for him.  Our life together, our love shaped who I am today.  And will continue to shape my future.  I just have no idea how or what yet.

I always knew I would be a widow but I had no idea how it would feel.  I was not prepared for it.  I was not ready for it and I'm still not.

I always knew I would be a widow.  But I still chose love.  And yes, my love was worth the pain.

Lonely, Dating, Married...So Many Questions??

People ask if I am lonely? If I am ready to date? If I still feel married?

Yes, I am lonely.  No, I am not ready to date.  Yes, I still feel married.

I watch sappy love stories on TV and I miss my husband.  I think I would like to dance with someone again.   I think I would like to feel that excitement again.  I would like to have someone waiting for me at home again.  But I want that someone to be my husband.  

Yes, I am a widow.  But I still feel married.  While I am Jared's widow, my heart still feels like his wife.   So, no I am not ready to date.  Even the thought makes me feel as if I am cheating on my husband.

Yes, I am a widow.  That doesn't mean I don't notice an attractive man.  I do notice but that doesn't mean I want to date one.  When Jared was alive I was a shameless flirt and thankfully my husband was not the jealous type.  But now, it just doesn't feel right to flirt.   When I see happy couples, couples in love, my first thought is of my husband.  Not that I want to find a new man.

Yes, I am a widow.  And being a widow is lonely.  It's hard to always be alone.  To do everything without your partner.  But it is a new life that I have been drafted into, not something I ever wanted.  But just because I'm lonely doesn't mean I need a man.  I am OK by myself, really I am.

Yes, I am a widow.   I don't know if the day will ever come that I am ready to date.  In the meantime, I will remember how I love to dance.  Jared was not a dancer but he would always dance with me at home.  He would pull me close and slow dance me around the house.  But when we were at any event that involved dancing, he would ask guys to dance with me.  Jared knew I love to dance and he didn't want to me to miss the chance to dance.

Yes, I am a widow.  My life now is not one of my choosing.  Given the chance, I would turn the clock back 20 months.  But, since time travel is not option, I am learning to embrace the life I have now.  I am learning to discover what I like, what I want to do, what makes my heart sing.  So even though I get lonely, I find taking the time to explore the solitude helps me to heal a little everyday.

So just in case you are wondering...Yes, I get lonely.  No, I am not ready to date.  Yes, I still feel married.  And yes, these answers are subject to change without warning.

I wish grief wasn't a part of our life

I wish grief wasn't a part of our lives.
I wish death wasn't something that had forever changed our world.
I wish I could put my blinders back on.
I wish I could give my child his innocence back.

But, unfortunately, we know grief and death all to well.

So when learned about the death of Steven's Scout Master yesterday, my first thought was for his wife. Steven's first thought was for his son.  Because we can completely relate and understand how they feel waking up this morning knowing their world will never be the same.

Because, unfortunately, we know grief and death all to well.

A wife who has now been drafted to be a widow.  A title she never wanted but will someday learn to wear like a badge of honor. A son whose father will never again camp or hike with him but who will feel his dad's spirit near.

A family who will treasure their memories.  Who will, hopefully, bond together to work through their grief.  A mother who will hold her children closer and be so grateful that she has a daily reminder of her husband's love.  Children who will be forced to grow up a little quicker because they now know firsthand the horrible truth about death and grief.

And we will be here to offer them support and understanding without judgement.  Why? Because, unfortunately, we know grief and death all to well.

20 months

Today it has been 20 months since God called you home.  I have been trying hard to focus on the joy of a life well lived instead of the sadness of a life gone too soon.  Your example of faith continues to inspire me each day.

You never once blamed God or got angry at Him for your illness.  You had CF, plain and simple.  But it didn't stop you from living.

You never once used your disease as an excuse.  You graduated college, had a full time job, and worked on your MBA.  All while often fighting for each breath.

When you received your first lung transplant, we prayed for God's protection and trusted you would be alright.  When you woke up, your first request was to pray for the donor family.  You said we are celebrating and they are planning a funeral at Christmas.

When our marriage was blessed by Pope John Paul II 6 months later, you prayed for continued health and I prayed for one healthy baby.  Little did we know, God would answer both our prayers.

When we went through IVF to have Steven, we prayed for God to bless us with a healthy baby.  12 months later at his baptism, Father Jeff called him our miracle.

When a job opportunity for me required us to leave everyone we knew, you didn't hesitate to do what was best for me.

When we waited for your second lung, you said you weren't afraid to die but you were afraid to leave me and Steven behind.  As you fought for every breath those last few months of waiting, you still lived each day to the fullest.  And when the call came, we gave a prayer of thanks.

When you became septic and almost died 3 months later, Steven's faith kept me going.  He said the angels told him you would be OK.   And he was right!  If only we could have the faith of a child.

When we found out about the blood clot in your brain and how it was a miracle you were still alive, you just shrugged.  You didn't get mad that you could no longer ride roller coasters, drive the motorcycle, or go up to high altitudes.  You just took it in stride and kept living.

When you should have been resting, you were coaching Steven's little league team.  When you should have been at home because you had just been released from the hospital, you were coaching Steven's football team.  You never once let your condition stop you from being a loving parent.

You were always a loyal friend.  You could sit with your friends for hours, saying few words but sharing laughter.

When I wanted to take a 4 week vacation to make memories because you were diagnosed with chronic rejection and a third lung transplant was unlikely, you agreed.  Even though you were tired and had to rest frequently, you made the journey so Steven and I would forever have those memories.  And we treasure our memories of that last July.

When we knew God was calling you home, that you had finished your plan, you apologized to me.  You told me you were sorry I had to watch you die.  But you didn't realize that loving you and holding your hand as you entered God's kingdom was a privilege for me.

You made sure to tell Steven how much you loved him and how proud you were to be his dad. You told him you wanted him to be happy.  That when he was happy on earth, you would be happy in heaven. He reminds me often that his dad would want him to be happy.

And now, 20 months later I can reflect on these major moments and treasure your faith.

We had a faith centered marriage and home.  We truly believed that with God anything was possible.  We believed in miracles because we had witnessed them first hand. We believed that sometimes God said no because the request was not part of His plan.  We believed faith would get Steven and I through the darkest time of our lives.

Don't get me wrong, you were not perfect.  You had the least amount of patience of anyone I have ever met. Your laid back, don't worry attitude could be frustrating as hell. Your mantra of if you can't fix it, don't worry about it drove me crazy.  But you were my gift from God.  We were perfect for each other.  And I miss you like crazy.

20 months today.  I love you.

6 weeks of grief triggers

May 8th was a celebratory day but for me it also begins 6 weeks of painful grief triggers.

Mother's Day, Steven's birthday, Jared's birthday, my birthday, and Father's Day.

Five days that serve as painful reminders that my husband is dead and is never coming back.

Five days that are also celebrations of life, love, and blessings.

Five days that are bittersweet.

Five days that remind me that Jared is missing from our celebrations.

Five days that remind me that life is forever changed.

Five days that remind me that I am loved.

Five days that remind me that I am blessed to have so much to celebrate.

Five days that remind me that life post loss is a careful balance so as not to become lost in the grief.

Five days that I can chose to feel only the pain or I can chose to also feel the joy.

Five days that I can chose to focus on what is missing or I can to chose to honor all that I have.

Five days I can chose to focus on what never will be or I can choose to focus on what is right in front of me.

Five days I can chose to curl up and let grief take over or I can chose to find the moments of joy.

Five days of choosing between the bitter and the sweet.

Maybe the best thing I can do is hold bitter and sweet close.  Honor what was while being joyful for what is.  Choosing to be reminded of who is missing while remembering that he is truly never gone. Counting my blessings instead of my heartaches.

My life now is often bittersweet, I can't control that.  But I can control how I react.

These next 6 weeks will be difficult.  There will be moments of sadness.  Tears will be shed.  But there will also be moments of joy.  Laughter will be heard.  I will choose to find a balance between the bitter and the sweet.  A balance that works for me. A balance that let's me live my life while honoring my husband.

Finding my balance on this teeter-totter of life.

Turning 12

Friday my son will celebrate his 12th birthday.  His second birthday without his dad.


I vividly remember the day I had to tell  him his dad had finished God's plan and would soon be going home to heaven.  And I will never forget the night I had to tell him his dad had died.  I have never felt  so helpless or heartbroken as I did watching my child's heart break and not being able to fix it.  Delivering life changing news and then holding my son as he sobbed was the hardest thing I have ever done.

And now almost 20 months later, I am still helpless to fix his pain.  But surprisingly, he knows how to handle his own pain.  He cries when he needs to and shuts down when his heart needs to heal.  But the majority of the time, he is a happy kid.  He really is doing OK.

He is a smart, funny, loving boy who's dad died 20 months ago. He misses his dad.  He loves his dad.  He talks about his dad everyday whether it's to share a memory or wonder what Jared would think about something that happened today.

In many ways I can learn about grieving from him.  Cry when I need to, be alone when I need to, but most importantly remember to have fun and live.  Steven always says my dad told me he wanted me to be happy.  And for the most part, he is.

On Friday as we celebrate his birthday, Steven will miss his dad.  And he will wish Jared was here to celebrate. But, he will also have fun.  He will laugh and enjoy himself.  He will do just what his dad wanted...he will be happy.

Self imposed time of mourning

I was with some girlfriends and we were discussing grief. I was telling them that when Jared died, I told myself I would mourn him, deeply mourn his loss for two years. For me that meant that during those two years, I would not truly be happy, I would not truly find joy, and most certainly I would not move forward with my life. I would focus on being Steven's mom and Jared's widow and that would be all I would do for two years.

Two years didn't seem very long to mourn the loss of a man I have loved for 16 years. But my girlfriend said what if you are hurting yourself by putting that time limit on yourself. So I explained that if I felt the need to increase my time that would be fine. But I absolutely, under no circumstances, would end my self imposed  time of mourning early. I explained to them that in the almost 20 months that Jared has been gone I have found myself feeling very guilty when I have a really good day or a good week, when I laugh and when I feel joy, or the most terrible thing, when I don't think about him constantly.  There are times that I will go an hour or even a few hours and not actively think I miss you or I wish Jared was here, or life sucks without you.  And when I realize that I haven't thought about him for a few hours I feel incredibly, incredibly guilty. I feel like I have broken my vow to myself. My self-imposed promise that I would not move forward and enjoy life for two years.

Despite the fact that Jared made me promise that I would live, I put a two-year time burden on myself before I could find any true happiness or even try to live. But I must admit, I worry that because of my self-imposed time limit, that I am becoming very hardened. I find that when I meet new people, people who never knew or loved Jared therefore cannot miss him, that it hurts me and sometimes it even angers me. And often I feel that I can't include a Jared in the moment because they will truly never understand. And I worry that I am becoming very bitter. Bitter because if I don't  grieve enough I feel I am not honoring my husband.  Bitter because I don't know how to be happy without feeling guilty. Because at least when I feel bitter or hardened, I'm not breaking my promise to myself that I would mourn my husband and find no joy in life for two years.

When I was in Hong Kong last week, I realized I actually wanted to celebrate life and I wanted to go forward with my life,  And then, I started to feel a tug of war emotionally and I realized it was because  I felt I had broken my vow.  A promise that no one else holds me too. I vow that no one else even knew about. But a promise that 19 months ago was important to me.

Why two years? I have absolutely no idea. I don't know why I picked 24 months. Absolutely no idea. But in some crazy ways I'm actually looking forward to September 16 2016, because although it will mark two years since Jared left this earth, it will also mark the time that I can tend to myself and end my time of refusing to enjoy life.  Don't get me wrong, I will mourn my husband the rest of my life. I will grieve that man until the day I die. And I will love him forever. But, hopefully after that date I can allow myself to live, to be happy, to experience joy without the guilt. Because I will have served my self-imposed sentence of grief. I will be able to say I honored him.

No no one will be able to understand my self-imposed time limit of grief. And I wouldn't not even begin to try to explain it. All I can say, is often battling the demons inside yourself is much harder than  anything else. Do I want to be happy again? Absolutely. Do I want to truly live? Absolutely. Do I want to find pure joy again? Absolutely. But I fear that if I experience any of those things before the magical two year day, I will not be able to forgive myself. What is interesting, is that if I needed to extend my time of grief I would have no qualms or guilt whatsoever for extending it. But if I want to shorten it by any means, even if just one day that guilt is very real. Sometimes I think the guilt is the devil. It is the darker side trying to come in and rob my heart of all the good.  And I pray that God will help me find joy again. That God will help me to laugh. To live. And maybe even someday to open my heart to the possibility of love. . And I pray that God will allow me to do all of these things without becoming hardened. Without hardening my heart.

I find it's very easy with my friends who knew and loved Jared. Because they too miss him. They too feel his loss. But as life goes forward without Jared here on Earth it is very hard for me when I meet people who never knew him. To try to explain the man that he was, his sarcastic sense of humor, the dad that he was, the loving husband, all his quirks, and all the things that just made him the perfect man for me, and I find it very hard to try to explain that to someone that never knew him. I also worry that by talking about him wit h those who never knew him, I fear alienation. I don't want people to think there she goes again talking about her dead husband. I don't want to always be the 3rd wheel. I don't want to be the one to be invited because her husband is dead. I want to be the one to be invited because my friends want to include me. But I fear that I'm becoming hardened and I am pushing people away due to my own guilt. My own guilt failing at myself and my self imposed time of grief.  I also worry people will be concerned of what they can and cannot say around me. Friends will fear they can't talk poorly of her husband because of my husband is dead. But that is not the case. Even though my husband is dead, I realize he was not a perfect man. And I talked plenty about him when he was alive. There were definitely days that I complained to my girlfriends about what an ass he was. And if he were still alive I would still be complaining to my girlfriends. So I never want my friends to fear that they can't complain to me. That's what friends do and that's what friends are for. My friends have been my rock me since Jared died. They have supported me, held me up, and let me fall. And as a friend I need to be there for them as well. But with my self-imposed time for grief, I don't know that I can be. I sometimes find myself looking for reasons to not attend events. For fear that I'll be the odd one out. That everyone's a couple and then there's me. Because it's easier to say I don't want to ruin anyone else's night then to feel guilty for having a good time. The sad thing is, I know if my husband were here he would be so upset. He would tell me to knock it off. To get over it. To keep my promise and live. And he would ask me why would you ever, ever tell yourself you had to be unhappy for a certain period of time? Jared was very rational and very logical. And he would never want me to hamper my healing.

I also fear that by ending my self imposed time of mourning, it may appear I am forgetting Jared or that I did not love  him enough.  I never want to forget Jared. And  I don't want others to forget him either.  I don't want anyone to think I love my husband less.  I don't want others to think it is ok to act as if he never existed.  I don't want someone to think because I am trying to move forward, I am over Jared's death.   The battle between honoring my husband and beginning to live since his death is a difficult one.  I feel as if I would be dishonoring Jared by moving forward before the two year deadline. And while I try to make the  most of each day, I still feel that sting of how can i be happy when my husband is dead. My struggle is because of a vow I made to myself  within hours of my husband's death.

I feel as if I'm rambling and this will make no sense to anyone but me. But it was something I needed to put down on paper. Something so that I could see it and realize that I have put myself for lack of better words in a prison of grief that I won't allow myself to escape from. And if this was any of my widowed friends telling me they were doing this to themselves I would try so hard to make them understand that it's okay to go out and laugh, to live, to enjoy life and to never feel guilty about it. But this is one of those circumstances where it's so much easier to say than to do. So instead I will work very hard at not becoming bitter, I will work very hard at not alienating those who want to include me, and I will work very hard at making new friends and sharing Jared's story with them. And when my time of imprisonment ends at two years, I will reevaluate everything. And I will decide where am I now? What do I want to do now? And at two years I may still not be ready but at least I will no longer feel guilty for trying.

Mother's Day

Tomorrow will be my 2nd Mother's Day since Jared died.  Since I was forced into the world of solo parenting.

Mother's Day is completely different without my husband here to help make that special breakfast, take Steven shopping for a special gift, or tell me this is my day to do whatever I want.  Instead I will be taking Steven to the store to pick out a card, I will give him money to take me to breakfast (a tradition Jared started the last Mother's Day he was alive in 2014), and there will no resting tomorrow as things still have to get done at home.  But one thing has stayed the same.  Mother's Day dinner with friends where our children wait on us and the dad's cook the food.  Of course Jared will not be there to help braai and that will sting my heart but Steven will ensure I am waited on during dinner and will tell me often that he loves me.

Being a solo parent is often overwhelming.  There is no one to help.  No one to give you support and advice.  No one to say I got this, you go do something else.  I have found I have less patience with my son in the last 19 months because I am the only one.  I can't call his dad and say  talk to him.  I can't say we'll ask your dad when he gets home.  I can't say your dad can help you with that.  I can't ask Jared what he would do.  Not to mention when my child is grieving and there is nothing I can do to ease his pain.  When he looks at me with those sad eyes and says I wish my dad was here.  Or he looks at me with such pain and says but you're not my dad.  And he's right.  I'll never be able to ease his pain of losing dad so young.  I'll never even try to replace his dad.  But I will love him with all my soul and do my best. And that is all I can do because I am all alone in this parenting plan.

Then there is the added guilt of being a working, solo mom.  And sometimes having to choose my job over my child (like missing an event at school because I have clinic) because my income is the only one.  No one helps us financially so I need my job. Fortunately, I have a good job and am able to support us,  something many widows I have met do not have.  But, should I lose my job tomorrow, what would we do?  These are things I didn't have to worry about before Jared died.

The hardest part for me is making decisions on things we didn't discuss. Or worse, the things we did but given our new circumstances, the  choice Jared and I made no longer seems appropriate.  And then I feel as if I am going against my husband's wishes.  But he is not here to discuss these things and I have to make decisions based on our current situation. I can only pray I am making the right ones.

Despite all our losses and painful changes, one positive change has happened since Jared died. Steven and I are closer. It has strengthened our bond.  When Jared was alive, Steven used to say me and my dad.  I often wondered if he somehow knew his dad might die early because  everything was me and my dad even though Steven would ask me to join.  Now he asks me to play a game of catch. He hugs me and tells me he loves me in front of his friends.  He lays in bed at night and tells me all about his day.  He'll ask me to tell him stories of his dad. He is a sweet, kind, compassionate little boy and I think some of that is due to his suffering and pain.

So as I celebrate Mother's Day tomorrow, I will be grateful for the greatest gift Jared ever gave me.  I will count my blessings because I get to be Steven's mom.  Of course, I will miss Jared.  I will wish he was here.  But we will talk about him and probably remember something he did on a past Mother's Day.  There may be a few tears but there will also be love and laughter.  And while I never wanted to be a solo parent and would give anything to have my husband back,  I am blessed to have the opportunity to be Steven's mom.

Happy Mother's Day!!  May every mom feel loved and appreciated tomorrow.