Owning It

This chapter is called Being Okay with Having a Really Heavy Story. It's taken me over a year to even start to write this chapter, one I knew was coming but dreaded. I obviously couldn't avoid the discomfort my story brought on others in the weeks and months following Mitch's passing. Everyone around me knew what had happened (and until you've had your very own bone chilling story passed around to everyone you've ever known -- including and certainly not limited to, that random person you went to high school with and never spoke to, the girl that was in your ward four years ago & your mom's high school friend's hairdresser whose client spiced up the conversation with -- wanna hear something really awful and true that happened to this young couple? -- you can't really begin to understand what this is like). I'm not mad my story made the rounds, I know very well I've been on the other end of such sharing. I'm okay with it because I believe Mitch and my story is meaningful, and I like to think that people don't brush it off. But even though I am okay with it -- it was still a bit unsettling, in ways I can't describe or change.

In those first few months, being around people and having my story so public was challenging. People would give me that look that said I-wish-there-was-something-I-could-say-or-do-to-make-it-even-a-little-better-but-I-can't-and-we-both-know-that. Honestly, I hated that just my existence in a room brought on this turmoil in people who had little to do with Mitch or me. But I couldn't help it! So months went by, and as the aching grief consumed my entire being, I stayed away from people for the most part. I had to protect myself. I had to avoid all the negative byproducts of being a grieving person in situations where people could say (unintentional) stupid things to fill that awful silence of you're-living-my-worst-nightmare. I stayed away, and then I moved. I moved to a place where almost no one knew. And that was great for a time. I loved being anonymous, not getting those looks that were equally sad & helpless.

But slowly, things have shifted. I've slowly begun to accept that this awful, heavy, tragic thing that happened to me is a story that will always be my story. It will be a part of everything I'll ever do, everything I'll ever become. The fear has subsided and I've started to feel proud of what I've survived and done in spite of the awful-tragic-terrible thing. I don't have to be afraid of my own story and I don't have have to worry how other people will handle it either. Huge break through, guys. I get to feel all sorts of ways about this AND SO DO YOU and it has nothing to do with me.

I could have quit. I could still be curled up in a dark room in my parent's house -- but I'm not. I've done nothing remarkable, I've simply done what it took each day since February 25, 2016 to keep air in my lungs. To keep hope alive. I have put one foot in front of the other for 418 days and it has been enough.

And now, I'm owning my story. Finally. I don't hide it. I don't feel the same vulnerability over the story, my photos, this blog. I feel less embarrassed when I cry in public (I definitely still try to avoid it, but some things are inevitable). I'm human. I feel. I was hurt deeply and I'm still recovering. I'm okay that you know that. I'm okay if you share that. I'm okay if you want to look at my wedding pictures and feel sad. Even if we don't really know each other. Because I believe this story is bigger than Mitch or me. It's not just about us. It's about doing it scared. Whatever it is. It's about relying on spiritual power to raise you out of the deepest, darkest pit. Because it can & it will -- but only if you don't give up.

I hope my story gives you courage. I hope you know you are filled with so much magic and can do things that you think are impossible. I hope you know that we are all so much more than this life. We are so much more than those things we endure that are so heartbreaking and difficult. I hope you will think of Mitch and me when you do that scary thing that you know you should do. Because, I know you'd like to help me. I know you wish you could ease this pain. You can't bring Mitch back home to me but you can do the scary and brave thing. And you can tell Mitch. Tell him you did it for me.