Tag: 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…

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.

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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

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…

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