I Don't Feel Like A Widow Everyday....Four Years Later.

  I don't feel like a widow everyday. But everyday I feel out of place. I keep showing up for this life that looks absolutely nothing like I thought it would. Nothing.  Nowhere in my wildest nightmares or deepest fears, did I ever see myself living this life without my ride-or-die. It didn't fit the narrative.  Two people put together by God, finished college, got married, bought a house,  started a family in love, and encouraged others in Christ to then become forever fractured.   This sucks. Even four years later, I'm still utterly confused as to how this was next.  

Today was heavy. December is looming over our heads. Something in my heart tells me that if December tarries, then it won't be really four years. Because how can it be four years ago that I got the worst, most unexpected news of my life? We were sitting in that waiting room, praying. Visiting every day and night, just waiting for God to do his "big one" for the one who loved Him most.  We all called Patrick, "God's favorite." Knowing him for over 20 years, I can firsthand tell you that his only desire was to make God proud. I had never seen something so pure, up close, in my life. So for him to be gone feels mean, and unsettling. And mainly unnecessary.

As I drove through parts of our old town today, I had a flashback of the visceral pain during those first weeks and months after we lost Patrick.  I remembered how I felt like my actual heart was bleeding. I was gasping for air and just trying to get through each day so that I could get back to my real life. 'Cause this wasn't it.  So much guttural  screaming and weeping mixed with sheer disbelief filled that space in time. Although I don't feel that type of pain anymore, I can't say that this year four pain is less. It's different.  My nerve endings are coming back.  The shock is finally wearing off, and I feel lost in this life that feels like it's betraying me. 

In the first year I screamed often at God, "What am I supposed to do with this? Literally, WHAT? All of the ministry I've lived, all of the theology I've learned and taught, there was no scripture for how "this" was good, or God's plan.  How is it not God's plan to raise seven little disciples with two parents who loved and lived for Christ? That ain't in no chapter, of any book.  And as we approach the fourth anniversary of Patrick's death I'm still stunned.  A few months after losing Pat my oldest son cried out during prayer, "Lord I know you don't make mistakes but this just might be your first one." 

As we are nearing the days inching closer to the dreaded December 10th, I've been overwhelmed and honestly in a panic.  I don't want it to be four years. I don't want to be heartbroken until I die. I don't want to be barely making it at the end of every single week. Exhausted, exasperated , fragile and fully consumed by a life that I didn't want, yet still having to fight the good fight. My God. 

Earlier this week, I did something that took three years to do...I went back to our beach. The first time I tried, for his birthday in 2022 it didn't go well. This time my body was aching for a getaway, and I had the notion to do something brave. So thanks to a wonderful family friend, we booked a quick getaway. I watched the sunset and I couldn't help but think "I don't feel like a Widow today." But I looked to my right, at the resort where we spent so much wonderful family time over the years and swore I could hear Patrick's laughter. He should be here. He should be on the sand with his babies.  He should be watching the sunset with his bride.  And although every day I don't feel like a widow, every hour my heart misses him and longs for what should have been.

-Keisha 

The Shock Has Worn Off: Patrick Keeps NOT Coming Back

 I'm broken as I type this.  All of the "it will get better with time" comments were simply not true. With time, my five year old realizes that she won't be a baby ever again.  As a baby, she saw her Dad every day and was with him every night. But she's growing up, and she's noticing that life moves forward, and keeps moving even without her Daddy. We cannot access Patrick. There are no more hugs, ever. There are no more laughs, no new photos. I'm completely devastated.  Time only has created a chasm that no one can close. A gaping hole in our lives, that is inescapable. And we build, and grow, and build, and grow and still he is not here to celebrate with us.  He won't be able to laugh at Christian's jokes.  He won't be able to measure Elijah's height against his.  He won't be able to watch them lead worship, or perform in their first play.  He won't be able to walk into Amira's classroom to pick her up.  He won't be able to compete in the "Dads Game" with Benjamin.  He won't be able to take Joy & Avielle on any more Daddy-daughter Dates.  He won't be able to walk his oldest daughter Kendall across the stage at graduation.  This is grief. This is real. It's not a one time event. Patrick's absence fills every crevice.  And as their mom, solo, I have to prepare for the moments. The moments when it "hits them", over and over again. 

Learn more about the work that's keeping us going,Legacy Work :Foundation

Barbershops & Breakdowns

 As we sat here preparing for Hurricane Milton, I received an automated message from a Barber in the area. Early on, I remember trying to find a new barber for the boys. How would I be able to take them back to the man who had cut Patrick's hair? It was right across the street from the hospital that issued me the most devastating blow of my life.  So, I had to find a new one. 

My first interaction with a barber was a few days after losing Patrick. I couldn't and hadn't' absorbed what was happening, but I knew my kids needed to look good. I remembered a company that offered mobile cuts, and I called him before the funeral, and he pulled right up in front of my house.  He had a full shop inside of a gutted FedEx truck. It was quite impressive. But after all the hoopla, after all the families had gone home...I faced the daunting task of taking the boys to a new barber. It was horrible.

What I didn't know, was that the new barber was in the mall. The mall is probably one of the top 5 most triggery places in this city. I HATE the mall.  Incredibly TOO many memories there; it was our hangout spot as a whole family. We often went as Patrick loved shopping for the kids, getting pretzels and haircuts. Back to the new barber. He was slow, he didn't know my kids, and I thought I would die.  But Christian had been booked to shoot a spot for ABC Mouse, and I could no longer put it off. Although I made two appointments for both boys, I had to leave after it took over an hour for one cut.  The rest of that day was a blur. 

After that experience, I knew I had a decision to make. Christian had another shoot and needed his hair cut badly. I asked if he was okay going back to Daddy's barber, and he said yes. We walked in, and Mr. Mike looked like he wanted to cry, but I watched him excitedly greet my son. To this day, I know he has no idea how much that meant to me.  He gently handled my husband. Patrick always came home so pumped after being at the barber. He loved Mike. He loved the conversations, and his heart for his family. Patrick was always a champion of people. As our good friend and Pastor Melody always says, "Patrick left us better than he found us."

So now, the boys go solo or my Brother -in-law takes them for me. It's the place where Benji got his first big boy haircut.  I can imagine how Mike must feel, watching them sit in his chair, month after month, year after year, growing into young men without Patrick.  This loss is so unfair. It's not just one person. It's not just one experience. It's a string of events and moments that he won't be here for. And this makes NO sense. It never will.

Our Finale Turned Four: The End of an Era

Benjamin started it off. Even at five years old, his heart is tender for his siblings and their grief.  He woke up yesterday morning, and he began to cry. "I don't want the baby to grow up, Mommy." It was so sweet, but also very sad.  That's how we all feel. This is the last Wheeler Baby. The Finale. Up until today, I had never had a four year old without another toddler in tow.  This is an end of an era, and I had no idea it was coming.  Many people were taken aback when they learned how many children we were parenting, but they soon fell in love with them all and understood the gift. 

These kids are so easy to love.  It's  painful to know that there is an ache that I cannot soothe for them. They miss and need their Dad.  Watching them grow, mature and develop without Patrick here feels...I can't quite explain it. What was meant to be the gift of a full quiver, now feels like a giant, heavy cross to bear. How can I keep them healed, whole, and happy by myself? This feels more like a punishment than  a privilege. 

I would cry a billion tears for Patrick, and that seems like it would be easier than trying to solo parent in his shadow.  I love these children. He loved these children. They are indeed the very best of Patrick and I.  But today a chapter ended, and I have no idea what the next one holds. Our last baby. The last of me and Patrick has turned four.  The finale is four. 

The Only Reason to Cry

 I’ve had to hold myself together a lot when these children have uttered heartbreaking realities of their loss. Recently, this one from my oldest really took me aback. She was casually explaining an experience  that she'd had that night in worship, In telling me  the story, she started to talk about how powerful the song was, and how the worship leader began to cry during the song. And very nonchalantly, she quipped, "I remember when crying in worship was the only time I had to cry. It felt like a dagger. She’s a child. One of the best kids that I know. Patrick and I cultivated an environment of worship in our home and it showed in our children . Even in lament,  they worship and cry out for help. A worship leader was crying from an emotional evoked by powerful song.  But my daughter making the link between that type of reverent cry, and the cry of incomprehensible heartache really almost broke me. For those people who can’t help but to offer platitudess when we have lost the thirty-year old rock of our family, I ask that you remember this moment. Remember that this child hasn’t lived long enough to have done anything to deserve this pain. None of us have. If you want to support a grieving family, then please sit with them in their lament.

Trash Bags

 The whirlwind surrounding  the week that we lost Patrick continues to pop up in my head in fragments.  Like the worst highlight reel; without warning. But when I think back on it, I was like a zombie-robot. Just going. Operating on adrenaline and disbelief. I remember my family scurrying around trying to stock me up with things, but the look of shock and sadness in their eyes I can never forget.   At one point, as I was preparing the kids for an activity, I looked over and my best friend was doubled over.  She had been trying so  hard to be strong for me, but I think it hit her. I didn't even shed a tear, I just asked "you alright?" and kept moving.  I was numb and in manager mode.  

After everyone had left to go home and return to their normal lives, I was grateful to be stocked with all of the things.  About six months later, I pulled out the last of the trash bags and it hit me. I was out of trash bags. I had no more cushion. I had to go back to getting things on my own. Patrick was really not here.  And although one would think that my overflowing tears would be in sadness in response to that devastating realization, the tears were those of gratitude.

Someone loved me enough, to make sure I didn't run out of trash bags. TRASH bags. It wasn't anything fancy or super expensive, it was just the thought that someone looked ahead and knew I may not be in a headspace to remember to buy them.  Someone wanted to make this awfully hard life a little  easier for me. I felt loved and seen during the worst time in my life.  I will never forget that.

It's been almost two years....

    It’s been almost two years, and Patrick still has not come home. I type that at the risk of sounding crazy, but to be honest I’m not crazy. This situation is crazy. Having 14 kids' birthdays without Patrick is crazy. Solo parenting seven grieving children all while I am trying to navigate what just happened to my life… That’s crazy. Still being able to provide emotional support, do outreach, and create a foundation for the bereaved while grieving...that's crazy.

    In the first few weeks of losing Patrick, someone who was probably well-meaning yet ill-informed, said to me, "God is going to use this." That infuriated me on 100 different levels! As someone who has been used the majority of my life by God, this didn't seem like the logical next move. Over years ago, God burst into my "independent woman" plans, united me with Patrick, and allowed us to create a small army of disciples.  I think I can safely say that the death of Patrick wasn't necessary in order for God to use us. We were being used just fine and frequently. The very same God that created something from dust, with His very words... The God that can grow an entire human in the womb of a mother for nine months... That kind of creative God did not have to take my husband and these kids' father in order for us to be used. But I digress. 

    During this time, I have seen exactly how much it takes to keep it moving. I watch my children continuously make the choice to wake up each morning and stare the day in the face. I look on as they take one step toward the light; onne step toward peace and joy, in the midst of extreme confusion.  I have seen their talents and personalities develop. I have seen a resilience in them that I didn’t think was possible. I have seen the love and guidance of their earthly father show up in them in a myriad of ways. Yet I’ve also heard screams from their little bodies that I could’ve gone my whole life without hearing. I’ve seen them be disappointed at people who truly should’ve showed up for us. I have seen the toiling of their little minds as they process never seeing Daddy again. I’ve seen them break into a full-blown panic at the slightest scare. This kind of out- of- order loss makes everything that you are sure of feel like quicksand.  Amazingly, I’ve seen my children be kept by God in a way that can only be the result of His sovereignty. I’ve heard joy in their hearts as they sing songs of praise. I’ve heard the pain in their lyrics as they screamed the words to songs that no longer seem like they fit life as we know it.  I’ve witnessed true joy as they experience a new adventure.  

    In the past two years, we've learned exactly what it feels like to be "in the margins" even more than we did before. And the lack of support and compassion for grieving families has been one of the saddest realities on this road. Wearily, we press on and continue to be who God has made us. If you are new to our blog, we thank you for taking the time to read this. We really want to shed light on how absolutely awful the moment-to-moment grief impacts us. It’s been two years, but it didn’t get better. Our village has been absolutely everything!  It takes so many mental and physical resources to keep it moving. So much compassion and flexibility are required to continue to raise these children in the light of the Lord: To keep them pressing on in purpose.  So, if you have been one of the people that we knew would be there for us, we thank you and appreciate you for doubling down and showing your love for Patrick by loving his family.  But, if you happen to be one of those that walked away in our darkest time, I respectfully ask that you keep walking. There were a bunch of little losses that follow Patrick’s passing, and although they were not as substantial, it still stung. We still noticed. Alas, God provides.