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. 

I've been posting daily updates on Instagram, you can follow us @servingwith7.

Keep The Flowers Comin'

On our first Valentine's Day as a married couple, I remember seeing the florist walk through the parking lot with two beautiful bouquets of red roses. I thought possibly, he had a few deliveries to make. Nope. Patrick sent me two dozen roses for the special occasion. When I called to thank him, I asked "Why two, babe?" He said, "because everyone is going to get at least one, but you're extra special and I want that to be known." He was a hopeless romantic, me...not so much. But it was truly enchanting to see his love for me on display, constantly.  For the rest of our marriage, I would continue to be showered with roses not only on holidays, but on those "just because I went to Sam's Club" occasions as well.

The next day after I shared of Patrick's promotion to heaven, the flowers began pouring in. My cousin RiShard sent the first beautiful delivery. Every day leading up to the services, flowers were delivered from near and far.  For Christmas, we received flowers. My birthday, New Year's Eve, more flowers. Valentine's Day/Avielle's birthday, still more blossoming flowers.  A couple of weeks ago, I saw some gorgeous tulips in the supermarket and just had to grab them.  For Joy's Birthday, more fresh, fragrant flowers.

This past struggly Saturday, we hurried and got dressed to head to my sister's for brunch. On our way, I saw a huge sign that read "Plant Sale." I felt the most genuine, yet foreign, smile spread across my face.  Seeing those vivid, green, living things made my heart happy. The kids saw my reaction and encouraged me to stop and shop, and I did. 

A family friend caught up with me and asked, "What do you need? I wanted to send you flowers but is that cliche?" I replied, "Send the flowers, please." Any living, vibrant, fragrant delivery spurred by the thoughtfulness of others during this time of seemingly unrelenting shock and sadness is welcome. And Perfect.