Category: The 3rd Year

Letters of Hope

Letters of Hope Continued…

Mikki Eveloff Leave a comment

prayers 4My stress levels were off the charts. Every day I waited for Ashley’s call. My heart racing. Pounding out of my chest. Good news? Please God. I’d sit in my car. Afraid to move. Afraid if I were driving, I’d break down. I knew the time. Knew when she’d call. So I’d sit. Wait. Think. Pray. I had my songs. My letters. They kept me sane. At least somewhat.

May 20

Dear Gregger:

So today had it’s ups and downs. I struggled so much today. I cried a lot. A lot! I hear songs and they remind me of you. I try to pretend like you are speaking to me. Sending me signs. Messages. There are special songs. And when I hear them, I break down. “The Prayer.” “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” “To Where You Are.” I heard 2 of them today. I needed to. So badly. So Ashley got some news. Two of the eggs fertilized. It could have been better but she’s hoping to hear more tomorrow. Prayers. Prayers. And more prayers. I know you are watching. Taking care of them. We are hoping more will mature and fertilize too. Keep guarding her. Watching over her. I know you will. It’s hard as a mom. It’s hard being here alone. That’s why I’m talking to you now. I know you would know what to do. What to say. I just pray. Constantly.prayer 2

May 21

Dear Gregger:

I didn’t sleep very well last night. I was talking to you all night long. In my dreams. Half awake. Half asleep. I just remember talking to you. And praying. A lot. Today was a little better. Ashley found out that 1 of the eggs that fertilized split and they are still holding hope that another will mature and maybe split. I don’t understand all the terminology but 2 of the eggs were rated “good” which I know is a good thing. We have to keep praying. You have to keep watching and holding your hands over her. I am counting on you. She needs you. I need you. Really we all need you. But that’s the way it always was, right? Maybe we needed you too much. I sometimes feel guilty. Did I push too hard? Did I cause this somehow? Could I have done anything different and changed our situation? I don’t know. I go back and forth, blaming myself. It’s hard not to. It’s hard holding so much inside. From my family. Friends. It hurts. But I understand. So I pray. And I talk to you. I’ll keep saying it over and over, I miss you. I miss you so much. And, as always, I love you. Until tomorrow…

Two more days of waiting, and praying…

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TO BE CONTINUED…

Letters of Hope

Letters of Hope

Mikki Eveloff Leave a comment

hope for blog 3So I’ve been all over the place lately. 2 year anniversary. Butterflies. Signs. Sickness. Strength. Flashbacks. And the “news.” Ashley and Tyler. This consumed the first half of year 2. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. And I wasn’t even the one trying to get pregnant. But I was the mama. And there’s nothing worse than watching your child “hurt.” Hurt has no age limits. But this wasn’t a time for sorrow. Negativity. It was a time for strength. Courage. Confidence. And optimism. So I smiled. I laughed. I cheered. But in the silence, the tears fell. I prayed.

The hardest part was being alone. Not having anyone to talk to about my feelings. Not being able to vent. It was just stuffed. Deep down. It hurt. My heart hurt. Why was I taking this on so intensely? I wasn’t sure. I just knew I was. And I didn’t know how to let go. One night it hit me. I could talk to Gregger. Just in a different way. But he would hear me. So I started.hope for blog 4

May 19th:

Dear Gregger:  I am totally at a loss anymore. I don’t have anywhere to turn. You were my rock. My best friend. And you’re gone. You’d think I’d be used to it by now. 20 months and 19 days. But it doesn’t get easier. It gets harder. I don’t know if I was just numb before, or in complete denial, but lately it just sucks. Don’t get me wrong. It’s always sucked. But it sucks more than ever. I want to talk to you. I want to tell you things. I want you to help me find the answers. But you’re not here. I look at your picture. I beg you to send me signs. Show me the way. I feel helpless. Lost. Stuck. I reach for your hand. But there’s nothing there. It’s empty. Just like my heart. It aches. It hurts so bad sometimes I don’t think I can stand it for another minute. But somehow I breathe. I keep breathing.

Ashley and Tyler are going through their struggles. I want you here to hold me up when I’m ready to fall. Today was a big day for them. I was ready to fall apart. I just wanted to talk to you. Hold your hand. Have you tell me everything would be ok. I talked to you over and over again. Did you hear me? Please watch over them. Today was the day the doctors retrieved her eggs for IVF. She is going through infertility like we did. Only it’s even tougher for her. We got lucky. She’s lucky because now there are great doctors and miraculous medical improvements. I just pray and pray and pray for them. I pray that you are holding them in your hands and heart.hope for blog

I will continue to talk to you. I need you so badly. There is so much I wish I could say. I want one more hug. One more kiss. One more beautiful smile. I miss you more than words will ever say. Please hear my words. I love you. Until tomorrow…

So it was corny. Crazy. But it helped. This was the slow process. We had to wait to see if the eggs fertilized. Days and days of waiting. Hoping. Waiting. Hoping. So I kept writing. Day after day after day…

To be continued…hope for blog 2

Memories Fade and Messages Appear

Memories Fade and Messages Appear Making those Memories Clear

Mikki Eveloff Leave a comment

“‘When you wanted to forget everything would return in raw brutal focus. When you wanted to remember the details would slip away like a dream at dawn.”

memories 1I read this the other day and it struck a significant chord. Wham! Straight to my heart! Some days I struggle to bring the memories to life. I fight with my brain. Bring it in. Clearer. Clearer. I can’t see it. Focus. I don’t remember. Frustrating. I want it etched in my mind. Every detail. I don’t want to forget. I want to see Gregger. Every part of him. His eyes. They sparkled every time he looked at me. Gleaming with a touch of emerald. His beautiful bald head. Took me ages to convince him to get rid of the fuzz. I loved his baldness. Sexy. Sweet. Just like him. The stubble on his cheeks and chin. He could shave in the morning and have stubble by noon. Poor guy. He hated it. I loved it. And his smile. The smile that lit up a room. The world. Reminding us to be kind. Loving. Gentle. Good. The smile that emitted laughter. A giggle that turned into “hee-heeing” and “weeeeee” until tears rolled down his cheeks. Eyes squinted. Belly laughter. I miss that. The details.

memories for blogThe first year was easier. Fresher. As time passes, the picture fades. The edges fray. I fight to keep it intact. But will I be able to hold on? Paint the picture every day? I don’t know. It scares me. Just the other day a beautiful gift came my way. So unexpected. An incredible blessing. I opened the back pages of my FB to send a private message to my sister. Something silly. Inane. But, as I did so, I noticed something I’d never seen before. Something about messages to “accept.” I clicked. Had no idea what I’d see. I thought it was these weirdos who kept trying to “friend” me. Widow status. It attracts all kinds. But this was different. A few names I knew. A few I didn’t. I started clicking. One after the after. Messages about Greg. Dated: September 2014. Words from the past that I needed today. 

“Whenever I stopped by Greg always took time out of his day to talk with me. He treated everyone like that. For me (as I’m sure it is for you), this world is a very different place without Greg in it.”

“Although I knew Greg only for a brief time, he was always very generous to me and imparted many wise words. More than talking about work, the last thing I remember is him telling me to enjoy my kids and reminding me how quickly they grow.”

memories for blog 1The words imparted the same message. His kindness. His generosity. And his love for family. The last message shocked me most. Yet comforted me in the strangest of ways. From a “stranger.” Someone I’ve never met. Someone I’ll probably never meet. But she was there. On the beach. That very day.

“My family was with you and your family today and witnessed your tragic loss of your husband. I just want you to know that we are so sorry and we are lifting your family in our prayers. I am sure that words can’t fill this wound but we are saddened by your great loss today.”

She found our name. Found my name. And took the time to send this special message. I am forever grateful for these words. Two years later. They melted my heart. Maybe even more than had I read them back then. The words would have been mixed with so many others. Today it brought the focus back. The memories. Of strangers. Hugging. Holding. Praying. Compassion. Love. In a world filled with hate, anger, and violence, this moment was anything but. Strangers gathered. But in that moment we were all one. I will never forget. And be forever grateful.

These words reminded of memories I’ll never forget. The man who was loving, kind, generous, supportive, warmhearted, and selfless. My Gregger. Memories etched in my heart forever.

memories for blog 2

Passing The Test

Passing The Test

Mikki Eveloff Leave a comment

IMG_2403Year two was simply about riding the waves. Grief. Joy. Turmoil. Uncertainty. I never knew from one day to the next. Test after test. I was barely holding on. One night I realized something was horribly wrong. Face on fire. Sick. Achy. And alone. I grabbed Angel and raced to Urgent Care. Just as I suspected. Cellulitis. Another bug sting. Awful. I had to watch it. Scary. No one there. My face was swelling. What do I do? No Gregger. Again. I couldn’t be around Ashley. She was in the midst of IVF. I wouldn’t let her risk it. So I was alone. Drove to the ER. Ugh! Walked in. Waited in that cold, dreary place. Gregger. Where are you? You should be here holding my hand. And just as I suspected, I was admitted. Not even a room. A bed with a curtain. No bathroom. Shared with a bunch of strangers. Gross. Gregger would never let that happen. But there I was.

IMG_2404One day stretched into two. Then three. Then four. I begged to go home. They finally moved me to a private room. I stared out the window. Clouds. Gregger. Are you there?  GET ME OUT OF HERE! Finally. But with conditions. A pick line. A portable IV. That didn’t sound too bad. I could handle that. Or so I thought. Not! I couldn’t shower. Couldn’t change clothes. Couldn’t be without this massive bag hanging from my arm. They left out those pertinent details. So back to the ER I went. Out it came. Or part of it. Three trips back to the ER before the mess was gone.Two weeks of hell. But I made it. Another test. I passed. They say the difference between school and life is that “in school you’re taught a lesson then given a test. In life, you’re given a test that teaches you a lesson.” I was learning. Getting stronger.  But I begged for a break. A pass. Time out. Whatever. No more tests. At least for a while. Hadn’t I proved myself these past two years? I will never stop growing, but does it always have to be so hard?  I needed some happy news. Joy. And a little hope. Maybe tomorrow…

To be continued…IMG_2405

The White Butterfly

The White Butterfly

Mikki Eveloff Leave a comment

imageI was a mess without Gregger. Some days were so damn tough. It should have been easier. It wasn’t. He was my fixer. My comfort. My hand holder. And he wasn’t here. So I looked to the sky. The stars. The clouds. Anything. A sign. Give me something. And one day he did. Right in my backyard. A beautiful white butterfly.  Just for a second. I didn’t think much about it. But then it came back. Day after day. After day. It would flutter in. Stop for a moment. Flutter away. Always managed to catch my eye. Wherever I was. The kitchen. Family room. Outside. I’d approach it. Try to capture a picture. Never. Gone in a flash. But I knew. This was not random. Coincidence. Accidental. It was real. A sign. My first. Just when I needed it most.

imageMy butterfly. Still comes. On days I’m feeling sad. Empty. Or just needing a little comfort. It came several days ago. Hadn’t been by for a while. But it knew. There it was. I just stood at my patio door. Staring. Tears filling my eyes. Threatening to spill over. It fluttered in the bushes. Stayed a few extra seconds. And then off it went. But those seconds melted my heart. Gave me peace. Joy. The butterfly is a symbol of transformation. Rebirth. Growth. Joy. But, most of all, the white butterfly symbolizes the soul of a departed loved one. Gregger. Reminding me he was ok. I’d be ok. We’d be ok. He was here. Telling me everything would be okay. He was watching over us. Crazy? I think not. Coincidence? Couldn’t be. My butterfly showed up during the toughest of times. I’d catch a glint in the corner of my eye. Run out to see it. It would hover over the same bush and be gone. Every time. I’d see white butterflies other places. I’d smile. But this one was special. This was MY butterfly. The sign of “new beginnings.” In so many ways. It still comes. Not quite as often. But often enough. To let me know we’ll all be okay. Thank you Gregger.

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curve-balls

Curve Balls

Mikki Eveloff Leave a comment

imageDeath taught me “that tomorrow is not real, and yesterday is no longer here. It made me realize that living inside my comfort zone means that I don’t appreciate life as much as I should. It taught me to respect my sunrises and my sunsets. To dance when music is playing. To laugh at least two times a day and to say I love you even when I am mad at someone. Because at the end of this, nothing else will matter.”

Just as I was trying to figure out a way to pull myself out of this “funk,” life threw me another curve ball. I didn’t want to feel sorry for myself. I just wanted to ride on cruise control. A month. A week. At this point, I’d be happy with a few days. So I wasn’t prepared when Ashley and Tyler came over and hit me with their “tough” news. Something a mama never wants to see. Feel. Hear. Her kids hurting. Struggling. Trying to get pregnant. But it wasn’t working. Two years. I suspected. For a while. Tried to keep it to myself. Maybe nudged a few times here and there. But I knew it was their thing. Not mine. I just know (personally) what it feels like to want a baby and somehow it’s just not working. It sucks. And then there are all the people asking, “So when are you guys going to get pregnant? Do you want kids?” Posts of friends having babies. Getting pregnant. Sucks. Sucks. Sucks. So their pain became my pain. In a matter of seconds. I tried to hold back the tears. It was tough. I didn’t want them to see my pain. So there we were. What can I do? How can I help? I’m here. For whatever. Just tell me. I felt helpless. But wanted to be so helpful. All at once. But there was a plan. Doctor’s appointment set. And then we’d see. Fingers crossed. Prayers started. That’s really all there was left for me to do. Or so I thought…

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The minute they walked out the door, I broke down. Tears. Shaking, sobbing tears. Not for me. For them. That motherly feeling of helplessness. Ugh. I wanted Gregger. Why wasn’t he here? I  needed him. To talk to. To hold my hand. To lay my head on his shoulder. To tell me everything would be okay. But he wasn’t. So there I was. Alone. I couldn’t share this with anyone. Silent. Secrets. Stress overload. And a total game of wait and see.

To be continued…

curve balls 1

Moving On…The Tough Days

Moving On…The Tough Days

Mikki Eveloff Leave a comment

moving on 2Moving on. I thought it would get easier. It didn’t. I slipped. I skidded. I stopped. I shut down. And I just couldn’t write anymore.Thoughts would spin inside my head, but they wouldn’t reach my fingertips. They stopped. Somewhere. Jumbled.  I was too empty. Too lonely. Too alone. Stress was pulling me down. And I had nowhere to go. I kept reaching for Gregger. But he wasn’t there. And I realized he never would be. Ever again. The finality of it all. Scary. Sad. Detached. Should I share that raw emotion? People saw me as strong. Brave. Overcoming the worst of the worst. How could I go backwards? So I shut down. I buried myself inside my head.

I found solace in the space of my car. Music. Special songs. And I remembered. Tears would roll down my cheeks. Sometimes I’d sob uncontrollably. But it was my safe haven. Every morning. And then I’d walk into one of my “happy places” to work out. The tears were replaced by a smile. Fake? Maybe. I put on my “happy face.” No one knew. No one knew what was brewing inside. The turmoil. The heartache. The pain. I learned I could turn it on. And turn it off. I could allow myself to be sad. And then give myself space to be happy. It worked. I wasn’t burying emotions. I wasn’t hiding from them. I wasn’t burdening anyone. I was carrying the weight. But then I was letting it go. It wasn’t always easy, but, for the time being, it worked. And I hung on.  moving on 3

I just felt so stuck. I moved through the motions. I woke up. Got ready. Took care of puppy, Angel. Worked out. Incessantly. Ran errands. Came home. Watched TV. Stupid shows. Went to bed. Woke up. Repeated. Over and over. Again and again. I couldn’t read. I couldn’t do anything that required brain function. Concentration. Didn’t work. I was stuck. So I shut down. This was where I stayed for quite a while, until…

to be continued…

moving on 4

Celebration and Survival

Celebration and Survival

Mikki Eveloff Leave a comment

”The secret of health for both mind and body is not to mourn for the past, worry about the future, or anticipate troubles, but to live in the present moment wisely and earnestly.”

life is a giftThe days and weeks leading up to August 30th were tense. 2 years. You’d think it’d be easier. No. I was anxious. Emotional. Restless. Stressed. My stomach was in knots. My body ached. Anticipation. It does all kinds of crazy things. The BIG day. What would I feel? Would I break down? Could I handle it? AGAIN? The rush of memories. The flashes. Ugh. I just wanted to close my eyes. Wake up on August 31st. But that wasn’t real. That was an escape. And as others told me, the anticipation was far worse than the reality. So true. I survived. Survived. Celebrated. And realized it was all okay. Another year. We made it.

We celebrated what was. Celebrated what was to be. But, most of all, celebrated the day. The now. The being together. The present. That’s what mattered. Family. Sharing. Love. Gregger was with us. He always will be. We saw him in the clouds. We heard him in the ocean waves. We saw signs. We knew. And we smiled. A celebration of life. And all the beautiful gifts he gave to us. His legacy. Be kind. Be compassionate. Be patient. Be forgiving. And, most of all, love with all your heart. So we remember. And carry on…

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Gregger Pitti-Uomo-June-14-606

Here We Go…Year 3

Mikki Eveloff Leave a comment

gregger 1c

Dear Gregger,

Two years. Is that even possible? It seems like the blink of an eye. And then it seems like an eternity. So much has changed. So much has stayed the same. The one constant. You aren’t here. And I miss you as much as the day you left this earth. My heart still aches. I thought it would get easier. But here’s the thing. It doesn’t. I keep going. I live. Parts of me are even happy at times. But I’m empty. My soul is empty. I just can’t fill that void. I don’t know that I ever will.

I haven’t written for a long time. It was too hard. Too sad. I didn’t want to expose myself. It was easier to hide. Smile. Pretend. And cry behind closed doors. Everyone has their cards. Their issues. Their crap. So mine is mine. I own it. How was this year different? Reality hit. You weren’t coming back. No more celebrations. No more hugs. No more holding hands. No more conversations. The first year? I muddled through the motions. Made changes. Adapted. Held on. But now? Time just passes. Days blend into each other. And then what? Where do I go from here? I don’t know. I feel stuck. My life was with you. My feet were planted. Grounded. And now they’re not. I’m drifting. And I want my feet back on the ground. gregger 1b

The move was good. Some thought I did it too soon. No. It was good for me. It was right. No regrets. I’m growing. I’m learning. I’m building. But it’s slow and steady. You gave me the framework. And I’m so grateful. I’d be flat on my face without that. I’m not. I’m standing. I’m strong. Stronger than I ever believed I could be. Thank you. But year two. It’s been a struggle. Stress. Sickness. Anxiety. Loss. Without you. Alone. That’s a mountain to climb. But I’ve survived. That is success.  

Year three? Who knows. I believe it’s a year of Hope. Happiness. Rebirth. And lots of love. For this family. We are ready. Arms open. Bring it on.

But for today, August 30th, we remember. We remember the loss. The love. And you. A beautiful blessing to all of us. We honor you. The incredible man you were. Husband. Father. Son. Brother. Friend. Humanitarian. The best of the best. Your smile. Your kind, giving heart. Your gentle soul. Forever missed. Forever loved. Forever etched in our memories.

Pitti Uomo June 14' 606

Gregger. 

02.05.1954 – 08.30.2014.