How is it already March? Spring Don't Mean A Thing

    I was on the phone with a sister who is dealing with a similar loss. I kept screaming, "How is it March? How is it already March of 2023?" Time is mean. And yes, I'm still screaming. How is it spring? How did we already have our first Wheeler Kid birthday of the year?  Where is Pat? How can we do this, another year without our person?

    I'm not ready for spring.  I drove past two home improvement stores, and they had all of the fresh, new, vibrant florals out on display. But there is no way any beautiful flowers will come from this. I'm not ready for spring. I vividly remember the pain and shock of our first spring after losing our person.  It was volatile, gut wrenching, and downright terrible.  

    How are we doing? For me, there are still daily breakdowns, gut punches of "reality", and just times when I laugh because I can't understand how this was really the move. How was THIS what God had next for us? As for my beautiful, brave, kind children-they're doing their best.  Although they still have meltdowns where they scream shout and cry; they are less frequent.  But, instead there are constant mood and behavior changes that highlight the sheer horror of being a grieving, solo parent.

    I can tell when they're sad or struggling because they will become argumentative, impatient, easily distracted, unmotivated and anxious.  So then, I have to put on my therapy mom hat and decide whether to cuddle, comfort or correct in those moments. Nothing could have prepared me for this. Making parenting decisions on my own, without Patrick has truly been one of the worst parts of this whole thing.  I was never meant to do this alone.

    We talk about Patrick every day, all day. I don't think that will change; I hope it doesn't.  I played a video the other day and his voice coming from the speakers of the laptop just...overwhelmed me. Because why is he not here? Everyone needs Patrick's voice, encouragement, laugh, and perspective.  I'm grateful for all of the people who call or text just to tell me a story about him, or to simply say, "I miss Pat, and I hate this."  It's been 15 month to the day that we rushed him to the hospital and the daily check-ins, meals, gifts, and gift cards have continued to come in.  Although we hate this situation, the outpouring of love is absolutely beautiful. 

    So I think, for me, my struggle is "how?" How do we keep pushing? What does this actually look like. As my 6 year old screamed a few weeks ago, "Why did you do this to US, God? Why Us?" I felt that in my soul. We're taking it day by day, moment by moment.  Trying to do things that work for us. Slowing down in some spaces, rediscovering and embracing others. 

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