If the World was Ending

I wish I had a different life.

I just wish life was easier.

Those thoughts have been scrolling through my mind the last week.

I want Rory here.

I want to feel complete.

I want to feel hope.

It takes a lot of effort to get out of that headspace for me. Daily effort. Sometimes multiple times during the day effort.

Yesterday I was listening to a song about if the world was ending.

It removed my mind from the wishful future to the present.

If the world was ending, what would I think about my life right now? What would I wish I was doing differently? Or more of? Who do I wish was here?

One of the side effects of Rory’s death was a change in priorities.

Things that seemed important, lost their importance.

Time was a precious commodity. I had no idea how precious and limited it was.

But I’m left today with a better balanced present. (Well, COVID-19 has left the balanced skewed.)

If the world was ending, I’m exactly where I’d want to be. With the people I want to be with.

The future is so uncertain. The things I planned for, hoped for, work toward, feel out of my grasp. Like reaching for a raft that keeps floating farther and farther away.

But today. Today! I’m going to make it a goal to enjoy being in the water with those I love before I look toward the raft again.

If the world was ending… What would you want in your life?

Long Days, Short Years

I’ve been really missing Rory lately.

There will be moments that I’m okay.

Then the next moment a memory will come to me and I have to do everything in my power to not completely breakdown.

It’s reoccurring.

And reoccurring.

I think the adage for toddlers is true for grief.

“The days are long but the years are short.”

The minutes of the day can drag. It’s exhausting to miss someone. To yearn for them. To search for peace. To search for joy.

But by the end of November 13th, we’d survived two years without her.

There were so many days where I thought the grief might win.

When I thought I couldn’t do it anymore and wished I could curl up in my bed and disappear.

Those days are long.

But it’s been two years now.

The twins have out grown me.

Dax’s feet are bigger than mine.

The twins are driving.

They’re liking girls.

Two years.

They go by fast.

So much changes.

But the days have felt pretty long.

Missing her.

Words that Stay with Me

I’ve had so many thoughts and feelings swirling around me this week with no energy to write them down.

My heart is so full when I think about Rory.

I love her so much.

I miss her equally.

I’ve been thinking about the notes she used to leave me.

On thank you cards.

On index cards.

In notebooks.

On hotel notepads.

It was always the same, in her perfectly messy handwriting.




Rory doing what she did best, spreading love.

She wrote them so frequently that I threw them away for a long time.

A few months before she died, I got this feeling.

Start saving those notes.

How grateful I am for that inspiration!

They are some on my most precious possessions.

As my life is hard. As I struggle seeing positive. When the future feels bleak.

I have those words.

I know someone is always in my corner.




My sweet angel baby girl.

The Hyphenated Life

Living with grief is a hyphenated life. There are very few times that I feel just one emotion anymore.

When I’m experiencing a moment of joy, I’m also experiencing sadness because someone is missing. Rory should be here, experiencing this with me.

When we were in Hawai’i, we were standing by a cliff’s edge. The sun was shining down on us, warming our skin. The wind blowing through our hair, knocking hats off.

The moment was beautiful.

One of my boys came over and wrapped me in a hug. “Rory never got to go here. She never felt the wind and the sun like this.”

She didn’t. She doesn’t.

A broken-hearted thought, in the middle of remarkable experience.

A hyphenated life.

My Life is a Dichotomy

Xander has been taking a ballroom dancing class the last few months and Saturday he performed.

His class was one of the last to perform.

As the other classes performed, I just tried to stay in control.

The last recital I went to was Rory’s. She performed two Christmas numbers.

As these sweet little girls performed their little hearts out, I missed my Rory.

Then Xander got up. He pushed past his fear. He had learned a lot.

And he did an amazing job!

I bawled!

I was so dang proud of him.

It feels like my life will never be whole. It will always be torn.

In one moment I’m feeling happiness and pride in my son. While feeling sadness and longing for her.

I don’t know if that will change.

But I’m grateful for every memory of her.

I’m grateful for my life even though it still ends a lot with tears.