Remarrying after the death of my wife, Part I: The impact on my daughter

In the months following Aimee's death, my daughter told me that she hoped to have a new mom someday.

Well, she has a new mom.

Some parts of that process have been good. Others, well, not bad, but difficult.

I am one of those people who likes to try and determine the worst-case scenario, and then prepare for it. If something better than that happens, great. If the worst happens, then I was ready for it. And so, our situation is not unexpected.

Life is harder if you're not silly sometimes

In our case, things are not bad by any stretch of the imagination. It's, well, normal. Sarah loves my daughter, and my daughter loves Sarah. But despite my daughter being completely on board about Sarah and I getting married, there's now this tension as she adjusts to not being the only other person getting my attention and affection. Plus, she's doing what children do - testing limits and figuring out her own dynamic with Sarah.

Sarah, for her part, had to jump into the deep end of the pool. As an employee of a school district, she has summers off. That means that when we got married in June of 2015, she went from being a single woman with her own condo to being a full-time stay-at-home mom (for a few months). The bonding time for the two of them was invaluable. But it also meant that neither got much of a break from the other, which I think would have helpful when making a major transition like this.

Things have been bumpy at times. My daughter went  into counseling for a bit. Then Sarah and I did. Then we all did some more. Daughter has recently started seeing a new therapist better suited to her current feelings. Sarah and I did another round.

No, it hasn't always been easy.

Now that we're more than two and a half years in, the situation has evolved. Our daughter (yes, I often say 'our daughter' now) is still somewhat jealous of the attention I give to Sarah, but it's better. The two of them are developing a nice relationship that continues to grow. And we all continue to grow together - sometimes with laughter and sometimes with tears, but always with love.

My marriage advice to women (and men)

Are you contemplating getting married? If so, please let me offer you some marriage advice.

So now I'm giving out marriage advice? Maybe that seems like a bit of a stretch for a blog about my experience and grief after losing my wife, doesn't it?

Trust me, this is related. And it's important.

There was something Aimee used to say to me when we were married, something that meant so much to me: "I know that if anything ever happens to me, you're going to be a great father to our daughter." When she said it, I took it as a wife and mother just being sweet to her husband. But after Aimee's sudden death, I leaned a lot on that one sentence for encouragement. Aimee had faith in me - warranted or not - and I needed to step up and show her that she wasn't wrong. It was important to me, but it was critical to our daughter that I did so.

I think men and women approach marriage differently. I can't speak for women, being a man, but I just assumed Aimee would be a great mom because of who she was as a a person. I never once considered how she'd do if something happened to me. The fact is, she would've been a rock star, just like she was before she died. When Aimee loved you, she did so with a fierce devotion and dedication to your happiness. There was nothing in the world like being loved by Aimee. That went doubly so for our daughter.

So when Aimee looked at me and said she was confident in my ability to raise our daughter alone, that spoke volumes to me about her faith in me. Either that, or she knew I'd take that as a challenge to meet her expectations.

Aimee and I on our wedding day

Regardless of exactly why she said it, it worked. Since Aimee's death, I have been almost fanatical about my parenting abilities, taking my responsibility to my daughter even more seriously than I did before. And while I of course fall short sometimes, I see the evidence that I'm doing a good job all the time - my daughter is happy, smart, funny, and most importantly, emotionally healthy and stable. Her counselors have said a number of times that I've done as great a job with her as anyone could have ever expected. It's my hope that when Aimee and I meet in heaven some day, she'll say the same thing.

So ladies (and men, too), here's my advice to you:

• When you're considering whether the apple of your eye is marriage material, think hard about your possible future children, and think about what kind of parent you think they'd be without you there. It is very important that you're honest with yourself about this.
• Just as importantly, or maybe more so, think about what kind of decisions they'd be likely to make about new relationships. Would he/she be careful about keeping their dating life and parenting life separate for a while, until there was some certainty the relationship would last? Will he/she protect your children's feelings? Will they continue to put your children and the child's needs ahead of their own, and ahead of this new relationship, at least for a good, long time?
• Can you even handle the thought of him/her in another relationship if something happened to you? If not, I respectfully ask you to read this post.
• Also critical (especially for women choosing a husband). are they a person who's in touch with their emotions, and knows who to handle them? Grief is a terrible thing, and many people (ahem, guys) don't always handle it well. This is bad for the person grieving, but can be especially harmful on their children. 
• Most important of all, do they have a solid foundation that they've built their life on? For me, that foundation is my faith in God, as it is for many others too. Other people may have a different foundation for theirs. In any event, there should be something they can hold onto when the world seems to have been turned completely upside down.

It's so easy and understandable to get caught up in the excitement and joy of a relationship. I know, because I've been there. And of course, considering what kind of spouse and parent they'll be is extremely important. But please don't neglect to give serious thought to how they'd do if suddenly left to lead and care for your family on their own.

The hardest wedding vow to say: "Til death do us part"

The basic, traditional wedding vows go along
these lines:

"I [name] take [name]
To be my husband/wife
To have and to hold
For better or worse
For richer or poorer
In sickness and in health
To love and to cherish
From this day forward
'Til death do us part"

'Til death do us part

Wow, do I ever know the full impact of those words.

With my and Sarah's wedding days away, I have thought about those words, and the last time I said them, and how they came back to haunt me after Aimee's death.

'Til death do us part.

We always think that'll be in some far-off future, after kids are raised, and retirement, and a long life full of all the other stuff we say in those vows, such as richer and sickness and so on. We think death comes to us at some point when we'll be more ready for it, or when we sort of expect it (if there is ever such a time for either). In other words, we think we'll have a lifetime together.

Not five and a half short years.

'Til death do us part.

One of the characteristics I approached my first marriage with will be a mainstay of my second one as well: no regrets. I will live life as fully as I can while meeting my responsibilities. I will tell my family I love them, and get over myself enough to share how I'm feeling. I will laugh, I will love, I will live. I will kiss Sarah good-bye and I will kiss her goodnight. I will do the same with Rowan.

And I will do these things...
'Til death do us part.

Letting go of being mommy

I was daddy. Opposite me was mommy. We did this together.

Then mommy died. I was utterly lost. I knew how to be daddy, but I didn't know how to be mommy too.

And I had a three year old girl who wanted a mommy. Her mommy.

I couldn't give her her mommy.

So I tried to learn to be both mommy and daddy.

I did hair (badly). I bought clothes (better). I listened. I empathized. I held her.

I learned.

And I also still played tackle with her, tickled her, and threw her up in the air and caught her.

And the Mother's Days came and went and the Father's Days came and they went and I celebrated them both with my daughter.

Because I WAS both.

I'm reminded of a time, a bedtime, when Rowan was particularly sad. I tried to comfort her, but wasn't getting very far. Then I remembered how Aimee used to comfort Rowan, and so I asked Rowan, "would you like me to rock you in the rocking chair?" Her face lit up as she crawled into my lap. She rested her head on my chest, and relaxed into me as I gently stroked her hair, kissing her gently on the top of her head. When I placed her back into her bed a few minutes later, she was already asleep.

I pulled the covers up, and kissed her one last time on her head. Although asleep, she smiled a big smile of a child who's loved and secure.

I knew I was mom to her in that moment.

And then...

A new woman came into our lives. Shyly at first. Slowly to be sure.

But now there is love for her and love from her, and soon she will be a formal part of our family.

She will become... mommy. Rowan has already begun to start seeing her as such.

But...

A part of me is sad to let go of being mommy. I took such intense pride in doing both and doing them well. On picture days when my daughter looked amazing, I felt like a good 'mom'. When advising her on managing relationships with her friends, I felt like a good 'mom'. And when bringing baked goods for her class events or fundraisers, I felt like a good 'mom' (and a bad cook).

Consoling her late at night while she cried big tears, missing her mommy, I felt inadequate. But we can't ever win them all.

I have been daddy and mommy. But if my daughter is to have a MOMMY mommy again, I have to let this new part of our family BE mommy.

I have to let go of being mommy.

It's not easy. I want to hold on to keep close to all I have taken on. I proved I could do it, and now I don't want to stop.

But I must. For my daughter. For her new mommy. I have to let go. Well, maybe mostly let go.

I have to let go of being mommy.

I will be daddy. Opposite me will be a mommy again. We'll do this together.

PS. To be clear, the stuff I described as 'mom' stuff can and often is just as much within a dad's role. Dads can cuddle and soothe and bake, and they should do those things. It just happened in my and Aimee's life that we each took on fairly stereotypical gender roles, so the stuff I mentioned as 'mom' stuff had been the types of things Aimee had done for and with Rowan prior to her death. We have definitely made efforts to raise Rowan with the notion that most activities don't 'belong' to a specific gender.

Dear Aimee, Happy Anniversary. I'm getting married again.

Dear Aimee,
Happy Anniversary, Sweetheart. Today would have been our eighth, and I have no doubt that the last two and a half years would have been as wonderful as the first five and half were.

If only we could have had the chance to find out.

Rowan is amazing, by the way. I mean, wow. The kid just turned SIX. Can you believe that? But what blows me away is how smart, funny, compassionate, and sweet she is. You know, just like you were. If I was going to have to be a single dad of a child, you could not possibly have left me with a better one. :)

But I guess I'm stalling here. Let me get to the real reason I wrote this letter to you.

I'm getting remarried.

I suppose if you really can see us down here from the glorious heaven above (and I hope for all of our sake that you can't), you already knew that. Sarah and I have been engaged for more than six months now, and the wedding planning began almost as long ago. But with the wedding being now less than two months away, and with today being your and my anniversary, I thought it fitting to tell you now.

I know this is what you wanted. I remember you and I talking about this once, and you making it clear you would want me to get remarried. Maybe you knew Rowan would really want a mom (she does). Maybe you you were aware of how much more work it is to run a household and raise a child on your own. Or maybe you were realistic about how long I'd really be able to last on my own as a single parent. :)  Either way, I recall you being very firm in your belief that if anything ever happened to you, that you wanted me to remarry.

Well, now that time is upon us. And Aimee, I really hope you would have approved of her, especially as she is going to have a huge influence on your daughter.

I think I've done well, choosing Sarah to join our family. First and foremost, she really loves both Rowan and me. And she has in common with you a strong faith in God, a deep desire to care for those she loves, and a healthy dose of patience (which anyone around me needs). Also like you, she is a strong woman, not easily bowled over by life's trials or my Type A episodes.

I'd like to think that the two of you would have truly liked each other, had you had the chance to know each other in this life. And so it is my sincere hope that if you are watching, if you can see us, that you know that Rowan and I both simultaneously miss you every day, but are also happy. And I hope that we would have your blessing on the upcoming marriage and life together. Because since the day you died, I have lived a great deal of my life by the standard of wanting you to be proud of what I've done and the decisions I've made, especially the ones that affect Rowan.

May this decision fall among the ones you would have approved of.

With deepest love and affection on our anniversary,
-Patrick

The year of huge changes

It's been a huge year.

Around this time last year, I went to Florida for a deposition in the civil case around Aimee's death. By now, that case is closed.

Sarah and I were dating, but had been together for less than six months. As of today, we closed on a house we're buying together, and our wedding is a little more than nine weeks away.

Speaking of houses, my house looks very different. New driveway and walkways and a new exterior paint job have completely changed the appearance of the house, and a new fence and deck are being planned. By this summer, I hope to have the house run by a property management company who'll rent it out for me.

It's the house that Aimee and I bought together, and Rowan and I won't be living there anymore.

Keys - to a house, to a marriage,
to a life

Speaking of Rowan, she's coming up on the end of her Kindergarten year. She's lost a bunch of teeth, all of them within the last year. And she's gone through and processed a lot of life's upcoming changes in her own amazing way (possibly a topic for another blog post).

But not everything has changed. Aimee's mother Donna has been an absolute rock star. She's gone above and beyond to help me with Rowan. She has embraced my relationship with Sarah, despite how difficult it is for her to see me with someone other than her daughter. And she has continued to help Rowan learn a little more about her mommy each time they see each other, which is pretty frequent.

Yes, a lot has changed in the last year, and more changes are coming soon.

But some things have not changed. Some things will never change.

I miss Aimee. I feel it more strongly at some times than at others, but it's always there. Time hasn't changed it. Falling in love with Sarah hasn't changed it. I doubt anything will change it.

And the process of planning a wedding and more importantly, a marriage, have me reflecting a great deal on doing this exact same thing a mere eight years ago.

It seems like so much longer ago, a lifetime in fact. It was a life in which I'd never been married before. A life in which I didn't have any children to worry about. A life which didn't know what it was like to have someone walk through the front door and tell you your wife just suddenly, tragically died, while your three year old daughter gripped the back of your leg.

A completely different life from the one I have now. I'm living a much different life than the one I was leading eight years ago. And I am a much different person in many ways than I was eight years ago.

I am happy, for the most part. Rowan is doing so well, it's just amazing. Sarah and I are working very hard at creating a foundation for a wonderful marriage. But always in the background (and sometimes right in front), is Aimee and her death, and the undeniable impact that has on our lives.

Yes, it's been a huge year with a great many changes. But it feels like I've been through huge changes before, yes?

Part 3: What I'd like to see for the future

So, now we know how Aimee died, and who was responsible. Now, what would I wish for in regards to the future, as a result of all of this?

Assuming I couldn't undo what's been done and bring Aimee back to life, there are three big things I wish I could make happen in the aftermath of Aimee's death:

I took this photo on my and Aimee's
honeymoon, ironically, off the
coast of Florida. Aimee's own sun set
there five and a half years later

1. All scuba dive shops in the U.S. would be required to carry insurance. Seriously, at least in Florida, they aren't. Key Largo Scuba Shack had no insurance, so after Aimee died and the owners decided to stay in another country, there was no way we could go after them to compensate us for the tremendous loss we'd suffered (Aimee's income, a myriad of increased expenses, not to mention the huge emotional toll). I think it's criminal - literally - that businesses can operate in an industry that contains a great deal of personal risk (especially when not done correctly), and not be required to carry insurance.
2. Any vessel that took passengers out onto the ocean commercially would be required to pass annual Coast Guard inspections, even if they only took out a few people. That may be unrealistic, but it's horrible that a business can sidestep the rules to put innocent people at risk on a boat as bad as the Get Wet. Even if a boat is going to be used as a "6 pack" (six or fewer passengers), it should be required to at least once pass a Coast Guard inspection before it can be used commercially. Or maybe once every five years. 
3. Jones and Gracey would be brought back to the U.S. to face whatever legal consequences there might be as a result of their horrific management of Key Largo Scuba Shack. They knowingly and willfully cut corners in ways that made their operation unsafe for their passengers AND crew. They put people's well-being at risk, and as a result killed one person and nearly killed another. They ought to face the consequences of their actions.*

Of these three, they're all either long shots or practically impossible. But that doesn't mean some how, in some way, I won't try. Aimee's story, and her legacy, are from over, I'll tell you that.

Part 1: Here's what really happened on December 18, 2011
Part 2: Who was involved in Aimee's death, and how

________________________________________________

*A note on why #3 isn't going to happen: Apparently, countries almost never extradite their own citizens to other countries to face charges. Among those is the U.K., where Jones and Gracey are from. From what I was told by someone in the Florida Attorney General's office, countries that are part of the British Commonwealth of nations will typically never arrest and extradite British citizens to countries that are not part of that Commonwealth, and from the last I heard these two are living in the British Virgin Islands or some such similar place. In other words, they're probably never going to face the music for what they did.

When Aimee's mother met my new girlfriend

This is one of those posts I wrote months ago (last spring, actually), but didn't feel like it was a good time to post it. Obviously, some things have changed since then.

Donna has been aware of my dating Sarah since basically the beginning. While she'd been very supportive of the idea of me getting out and dating again, once I was actually dating someone, it became a little harder for her, at least initially. There was no way around it - in a way, I was on my way to replacing her daughter. Donna saw that eventually someone else was going to fill some of the roles that Aimee had filled, particularly Aimee's roles as my companion and as Rowan's mother. And I realized that if I did in fact get remarried someday, that would also potentially bring in new grandparents, aunts, uncles, and more. More relatives to share attention with. More people 'competing' for Rowan's time, attention, and possibly affection. (Donna doesn't care a whit about getting my attention.) :)

But I give Donna a huge amount of credit. She also remembered what it was like to lose a spouse, and she completely understood my desire to find companionship again. I also assured her that seeing someone for more than a few months did not automatically indicate wedding bells in our future. This would take time.

So she continued to be supportive and understanding, and she trusted how I handled things with Rowan. It also continued to be hard for her, but she bucked up and bore it.

And then Donna and Sarah met.

I was preparing to go out of town for work for a few days, and Donna came by the house to pick up Rowan. Sarah was there spending a few hours with me before I left, and I let Donna know that Sarah was there so it wouldn't catch her off guard. Donna said that was fine.

When she arrived, the three of us (Sarah, Rowan, and I) were out in front of my house enjoying the last bit of sunshine of the day. As Donna got out of her car, she immediately walked over to Sarah and hugged her. I was amazed. In that one brief moment, Donna put Sarah at ease and her own discomfort aside, and welcomed her.

I honestly didn't know what to expect, but that wasn't it. Seeing Donna's reaction was so heartwarming to me, knowing that she'd do whatever she had to to support me - I just appreciated it so much. And it reminded me once again how lucky I am to have the people in my life that I do.

Everyone else has also been extremely supportive, both of me dating again, and of Sarah specifically. Although Donna is the only person from Aimee's family to meet Sandra, Justin and Caroline have expressed a desire to do so, and support us being together (as of when this was originally written last spring). The same for Aimee's closest friends.

As I said, I am truly a blessed man.

The Big Announcement

With the continuation of legal proceedings in Florida over the last couple of years, I have stayed pretty quiet about my relationship with the woman I have referred to as 'Sandra' on this blog. Her name is actually Sarah, and now that the legal crap is pretty much out of the way, I plan to be a lot more open about our relationship.

The significance of this is that while she and I have undergone a number of struggles and experiences that are directly related to my dealing with Aimee's death, I haven't felt free to talk about that here. It's one of the main reasons I haven't posted much this year - most of what I've gone through has been in the intersection between Aimee's death and my relationship with Sarah. So in the coming weeks, I plan to share some of those things here, in hopes that people who've gone through similar situations might learn from my mistakes experiences.

By next summer the last name on
the jersey will be her last name too!

But for now, I am just going to share this one small, insignificant bit of news:

We're getting married!

Yes, Sarah and I became engaged about a month and a half ago (a little more than a year after we started dating), and are already full steam into planning our wedding, which will happen next summer. 

This development has brought on a whole new set of things we're dealing with, which will also be the topic of some future blog post.

I feel I would be remiss if I did not mention that although Sarah is walking into a very complicated situation, she's handled it with an incredible amount of grace, patience, understanding, and humor. She's going from being a single woman with no children (or in-laws) to becoming a wife and mother with what amounts to TWO sets of in-laws. Because I'll tell all of you this: Aimee's family is still exactly that - family. Not just Aimee's, but mine and Rowan's as well. And soon, Sarah's. And as I saw on Thanksgiving, they are embracing her and she them.

So that's the big news, and all I have for now. More - much more - coming.

Thanksgiving, and some important news is coming

First, let me say I hope all of you had a happy and blessed Thanksgiving. I really did, which I'll dig deeper into momentarily.

But first, I have some news. Well, ok, it's not news itself, but rather letting you know that in the coming weeks, there WILL be news, and lots of it. This blog is going to really come alive again for a while, as I have a lot of things to share... soon.

In the meantime, I'm going to share some things I'm incredibly thankful for, and a little about my Thanksgiving.

A photo of Caroline from
her blog, Caroline in Space

• I'm thankful that for now, at least, the legal proceedings in Florida are about wrapped up. I'm anxious to have that chapter in my life closed and behind me.
• I got to spend time on Thanksgiving with Justin and Caroline. Since we live across the U.S. from each other, I don't get to see them as often as I'd like. I was particularly excited to see Carline because...
• Caroline is pregnant! They're having their first child, a daughter. And in a move that brought tears to my eyes when Justin told me, they're going to name the baby...
• Aimee.

I also need to say I am so thankful for my relationship with Aimee's family since her death. Donna has been an incredible help and support, going WAY above and beyond to be a help to me, and to play an important role in Rowan's life. Donna tells Rowan stories about Aimee, shares keepsakes and old photos with Rowan, and in general just takes amazing care of her when she's babysitting. I am so blessed to have such a wonderful resource, and Rowan is blessed to have such an important link to her mother.

But it goes beyond just that. As I've been dating 'Sandra' for over a year now, Donna has been so supportive of that as well, and has really embraced Sandra and her role in my and Rowan's lives. Justin and Caroline have embraced Sandra as well, inviting her to join all of us on Thanksgiving. We all had a really nice time.

I could go on and on about all that I'm thankful for, but I'll leave it at this for now. And watch in the coming days and weeks, as there will be lots of stuff coming out. One of the biggest pieces of news will be coming tomorrow or the next day.

And yes, it relates to 'Sandra'.

Video of Aimee and Rowan shortly before Aimee's death

I have been holding on to this for a long time, intending to share it with you since shortly after Aimee's death. But for several reasons, I hadn't been able to do it. I think a lot of it has to do with my rambling (I'm the one shooting the video) about the vacation we're on, the house, the pool, etc, etc. It also felt so much more personal than some of the photos, the memories I've shared, and the experiences I've had since. This video belonged in almost another world, a world in which Aimee was still alive and our family was still intact.

But the focus of the video, primarily, is Aimee and Rowan playing in the pool. It's a wonderful few moments between a mommy and her little girl, one of the last such moments they'd have.

So what changed? Well, a few things. First, today is September 11, 2013, twelve years since 9/11. I've seen a lot of moving articles and tributes dealing with the needless deaths of so many people, and I couldn't help but think of the needless death of Aimee. Additionally, a number of friends or friends of friends have been battling cancer, and some have already lost their fight. Let's just say, there's been a lot of death lately, and so it's been more on my mind than normal. So while I'm not sure exactly why, the time felt right to share this more intimate and personal look into our last days as a family in a moment shared with Aimee, Rowan, and myself.

Girlfriend

So, I've decided to share the news... I am seeing someone.

For now, I plan to protect her privacy by not sharing a lot about her, including her name. For now, let's call her "Sandra". But here's what I will tell you:

It's going well.

Sandra is beautiful, smart, and funny. She is a very warm-hearted person doing speech therapy work in an elementary school. Sandra is fully aware of my situation: of how I lost Aimee, that I write this blog (she doesn't read it), and that I still have very close relationships with Aimee's surviving family members. In fact, she's very supportive of that. We've been together about six months now, and although it's still early, I am cautiously optimistic about where this might go.

I have also started to slowly introduce her and Rowan, with the three of us occasionally doing activities together. That part is really weird, because although I am used to being with her when it's just to two of us, adding Rowan into the dynamic feels like I'm betraying Aimee just a little somehow. Intellectually I know better, but it's still weird.

You see, when we're all together, I sometimes try to imagine a possible future where we're a family. And I see this analogy where our family was a three-piece puzzle, with each person - Aimee, Rowan, and I - were each one of the pieces. Together, our three pieces created an image of our family. Then one of those pieces was suddenly gone, and our family looked a lot different. It took some time, but I was able to reach a point of acceptance of how this new family image appeared. But now if I imagine Sandra's piece fitted in where Aimee's used to be, well now that's a whole new family image, and that one will take some getting used to (if we get to that point).

For now, I am enjoying getting to know her, and beginning to watch her and Rowan get to know each other. It's all a bit surreal, and weird, and fun, and sad, and many other things as well. But one thing I feel very sure about:

Aimee would want this. I have not a second's hesitation about that. Aimee would want us to move on, build new relationships, find love, and round out our beautiful family. Maybe Sandra is that piece, maybe not. But I know I am doing the right thing.

Observations after one year of Missing Aimee

Here are just some random observations after a year without Aimee. These are in no particular order.

I can do this single dad stuff. It took a long time to accept that I was a good solo father, but I did get there. I seriously doubted myself so much the first 8-9 months. But I eventually came to see that Rowan was as happy as a child could be in her circumstances (though she obviously carries a lot of pain), and that she she clearly felt loved, safe, and secure. Additionally, she is well behaved, well-mannered, and sweet. No matter what a child's parenting situation, you absolutely can not ask for more than that.

That being said, I can see seeds of the challenges I may face with her. I already see her questioning things about her mothers' death, and I know that some of the worst of her pain is still likely ahead of her, as she gets older and learns more about the circumstances of her mother's death and how needless it was.

Speaking of single parenting... I've known single moms throughout my life (including both of my sisters and my mom for at least some stretches of time), and across the board I've admired them for all they manage to accomplish. This year I learned firsthand just how difficult that is, especially if it happens suddenly and you're hell-bent on continuing to do everything well. I learned how to let go of some things, and how to get by on a lot less sleep.

All you need is love? The Beatles once sang that "All you need is love". Well, I'm not sure I completely believe that, but it sure as hell goes a long way. Aimee's love made my life a truly wonderful experience, even when life was far less than wonderful. And after her death, the love of so many friends and family members was just amazingly huge, I still can't fully wrap my head around it. Meals, gifts, free child care, words of support and encouragement, prayers, and so much more.

But please take this to heart: people can't truly love you in practical ways unless you let them. That means if you ever find yourself in a situation like the one I was in a year ago, when people offer to help, let them! I know it's not easy. Our culture idolizes the strong, and in some ways, that's OK. But when you're down, people want to help you, and you hurt them when you don't let them. You're not imposing on them by accepting their offer, you're recognizing their love for you, and returning it by allowing them to feel like they're alleviating your pain or worry in some small (or big) way. I know. I was exactly like that once, always one to say "Thanks, but I got it" when someone  wanted to help me in my times of trouble. But after I read "90 Minutes in Heaven" by Don Piper in the summer of 2011, I realized just how wrong this mentality is. And it was a lesson learned just in time for when I'd really need it. Now I'm passing it on to you. If you're going through struggles, don't be an ass and try to shoulder the burden yourself when someone offers to help. Let them help.

Choose to live. After Aimee died, I didn't feel like living anymore. Not that I was suicidal - I wasn't. But my joy for life was gone, as was my joy in all things (yes, even Rowan to some extent). But very early on, I decided, largely for the sake of my daughter, to choose to live every day. Not just to physically live, but to actually re-learn to find the beauty in life, to find enjoyment in things, and to feel happy again. It was damn difficult, especially the first six months. "Fake it 'til you make it" the saying goes. That's what I did. And slowly but surely, I found some joy again. Far more importantly I showed Rowan, by my example, that life does go on, and that it can be good if you choose to make it good.

Many days I still have to consciously choose to have a good day and find happiness and joy. It's often still difficult. But it's easier than it was, and it's a far better way to go through life than being miserable and taking those around you with you.

No one else is you.  No two people's grief is the same, and you can't compare your own grief process to that of others and wonder if you're 'doing it right.' There is no right or wrong way to grieve. There is no right or wrong amount of time before you can laugh again. There is no right or wrong way to remember your lost loved one. There is no right or wrong time before you can find joy. There is no right or wrong amount of time before you can fall in love again. You get the idea. You have to walk your own path, at your own pace, and do what you know in your own heart is truly the best way for you to go. Just keep in mind that this is never an excuse for being callous to the needs of others grieving with you.

Finally, let go of fear. I have had many fears this first year, some of which are still with me to some degree or another. Early on, I was afraid that most of my friends would move on from this tragedy and get on with their lives, and I'd be alone in my grief. And while slowly most of my friends have moved on from this, they haven't done so and left me behind. They've stayed by my side, checking in and just being available when I've needed them. I have not felt alone.

I have also feared for my own safety a lot more. Before, in the back of my mind, I knew that if something happened to me, Rowan would have Aimee. Now I'm it. I am more cautious than I used to be. More paranoid in dark parking lots, that sort of thing. I don't know if that will change. Perhaps it shouldn't.

There have been others. Fear about being a terrible parent. Fear that I won't find love again. Fear that our household won't be able to get by on one income. And so on and so forth. I have had to either learn that the fear was unfounded (I'm not a terrible parent), or that I'll just have to do what I can to address it, such as simply being more careful with my health and well-being.

I have chosen to live, but I will not do so enveloped in fear.

I don't care about tomorrow

"I don't care about tomorrow"

Aimee and I on our wedding day

I don't care about tomorrow
It's just another day
No matter what, you'll still be gone
Just like you were today

I don't care about tomorrow
A cold December day
I'll miss you like I miss you now
I miss you every day

I don't care about tomorrow
Whether skies are blue or grey
The hole you left can't just be filled
No matter what they say

No, I don't care about tomorrow
You're not here anyway
But thanks so much for all you gave
Your mark is here to stay


Rest in peace, Aimee.

Countdown to disaster: T minus 9 days

This post is part of a series that reflects on what we were doing, what I was thinking and feeling, and what this time last year was like.

It's Saturday, December 10, 2011
Tonight is one of two night a year that Rowan's preschool offers a "Date Night" for the parents. For $10, they keep the kids for about five hours, feed them dinner, and show a movie. Aimee and I jump at the chance for such cheap and reliable childcare.

My Facebook post from that night

After dropping Rowan off, we drive up to downtown Seattle and get dinner at Rock Bottom Brewery. It's a busy holiday Saturday night, and we have to wait for a table, but we're blissfully happy to be out on the town on a Saturday night, just the two of us, and not spending a fortune for a sitter. Despite the winter chill, it is otherwise a pretty nice evening.

After dinner we walk down 5th Avenue, and stop in a couple of stores for some Christmas shopping. We end up at a shopping center called the Westlake Center, which on its third floor has a balcony that overlooks a plaza, which is decked out for Christmas. There's a beautiful tree, tons of holiday lights, and a massive star lit up store an a nearby store. We each take the other's picture - I with my phone and Aimee with her camera. Sadly, we fail to get one together. I always hated getting my picture taken, and she gave me a bad time about getting photos together. I guess now I do wish I'd been more cooperative about that.

The conversation is both sweet and excited, because tomorrow we'll be leaving for eight days in the Florida Keys. We can't wait for the sunshine and warmth.

We get some more shopping done, including Adele's CD "21" for Aimee, and Aimee picking out a present that she plans to have Rowan give me. I would end up forgetting all about it until I stumbled across it a couple of weeks after Christmas had passed. That would end up being a very sad moment.

We wrapped up our date and headed back to pick Rowan up. Although we were actually a few minutes ahead of schedule, I was still characteristically impatient with slow drivers on the freeway. Aimee remarked that I was the only person she knew that could be mad because I was only going to be a little early instead of a lot early.

December 10, 2011 was a really good day.

Missing Aimee, but thankful

With Thanksgiving being this week, there's a lot of focus on what we're thankful for. As it relates to my time with Aimee, and the time I've lived since her death, I have come to realize there is a lot I'm thankful for, in the midst of her absence.

Most of the greatest gifts Aimee gave me
are related to being this child's daddy

• I am thankful for eight years of laughs and of love. Being loved by Aimee was an incredible thing to experience.
• I am thankful that she showed me how to be a great husband, and that she did so without ever saying a word.
• I am thankful that she majored in early childhood development, plus took a class on childhood grief and trauma, and that she shared so much of what she'd learned with me. I am so much better equipped for where I am not than most people simply by virtue of having been lucky enough to have married a woman with Aimee's educational background.
• I am thankful that so much of what she shared with me penetrated my thick skull. If that's not a sign of a Higher Power, I don't know what is.
• As much work as being a single father has been, I am thankful that Aimee and I had Rowan. She has kept me grounded, and given me perspective over the last 11 months.
• I am thankful for the countless friends and loved ones who've stepped up and stepped in through more ways than I can begin to count. 
• I am thankful for the ways modern technology has made it easier to preserve memories. I have digital photos and videos of Aimee. I also have this blog.
• I am thankful I was raised with a strong faith in God that helps me see the (much) bigger picture, which in turn helps me deal with both my grief at Aimee's death and my anger at the reasons it happened.
• Finally, the last thing I'm thankful for (tears in my eyes as I write this) are all the times Aimee said to me, "I have faith that if anything ever happened to me, you'd do a great job raising Rowan." For as high as her standards were, to have that complete faith in me is just amazing. When I've struggled as a single father the last eleven months, I've held on to that and felt like if Aimee could have that kind of faith in me, maybe I could allow myself to feel it as well.

To each and every one of you, have a happy and blessed Thanksgiving.

Superman cries

Lately I've been feeling pretty good about how I'm doing as a single dad to Rowan. She's been happy lately, which is the most important thing. But on top of that, I've just been pretty much on the ball. Ballet classes (I even bought her a tutu), gymnastics classes, and swimming lessons. She's really enjoying all of her activities and school, and she and I have never been closer.

On our own, the two of us do a mixture of fun stuff 'out' and staying at home and playing together. She still occasionally asks me to be 'mommy', but this is not quite as hard as it used to be. I guess I'm a little more used to this request, and it makes me feel good to somehow meet this need in her to talk to her mother.

It's the culmination of the last 10+ months of very determined efforts to be the best parent - both father and mother - I could be. I feel like Rowan deserves the best, and it's sure as hell not her fault that she lost her mother and got left with me. I have strived to be so good a father that she feels the loss as minimally as possible in her day-to-day life.

Rowan on Picture Day

Today was her preschool's Picture Day. I got her into a pretty dress and really beautiful white shawl/hood that someone gave her. She had on tights that matched and cute shoes. I even made sure her hair was brushed and glasses were clean. Before we left, I snapped a picture of her with my phone. I had the thought that has become so common to me now, that Aimee should have been here for this, but it happens so often now that I've gotten used to that too.

I started to feel a little like Superman, handling it all, doing it with a smile, and never a hair out of place (that's a bad bald joke).

But a while later, sitting in a Starbucks telecommuting, I suddenly thought about just how well I've learned to manage on my own, and for some reason, that made me really sad. It was like I suddenly felt like because I could do this on my own, and fairly well, that I not only didn't need Aimee anymore, but maybe even that I never had.

That thought brought instant tears to my eyes.

Because it just isn't true.

If someone had handed me Rowan at birth, without Aimee there, I would have been utterly lost. Even if they'd handed her to me when she was a year or even two years old, I'd have had no clue. It was three and a half years of learning from Aimee that made me the father I'm able to be now. Yes, I knew a thing or two about parenting already, and yes, I have some good instincts to go by. But the difference between the father I would have been and the father I am is huge, and can be traced back to the incredible woman I married back in 2006.

Aimee, if you're somehow watching, I hope you approve of how I'm doing. And thanks for helping me get to a place where I can be a father Rowan loves and trusts.

Goodbye letter to Aimee

After scattering Aimee's ashes last week, this next step just felt natural...

Dearest Aimee,
You were a great girlfriend. You were fun, and we laughed a lot together. We had similar interests, and I always had things to talk to you about.

We traveled around some, and we ate out a lot, and went to football games. We drank coffee. We fell in love.

And you made me a better person.

You were a great wife. You took care of my needs, and put them in front of your own. You led me by your example of what a great marriage looked like, and you were patient as I learned from your example and not from nagging, complaining, or guilt trips.

You contributed to our home by the chores you took on, the money you earned, and the love you gave. We tackled various challenges together, as a team. We fell more deeply in love.


And you made me a better person.

You were a great mother. You poured yourself into Rowan. You modeled great parenting and nurturing for me. You encouraged my wishes to be involved in raising Rowan. We watched Rowan grow. We both delighted in Rowan, worked to help her develop in a healthy way, and planned her future.

We intentionally modeled the best possible behavior for her, treating each other consistently with love, affection, and a deep mutual respect. We showed her what an affectionate and mutually respectful marriage looked like. Our circle of love expanded immensely and added another beautiful soul.

And you made me a better person.

Now you're gone, and I'm doing this alone. But thanks to you, I'm far better equipped than I was. I have more patience, understanding, and appreciation. You taught me so much, and you did it without ever sitting me down and telling me what I was doing wrong or correcting me in any way. You were just an amazing woman, and you showed me the way to be a worthy partner to you and father to Rowan. And despite all my flaws, I learned something.

I became a better person.

You made me that way. And I can never thank you enough for that.

I'll always miss you. I'll always love you. And I vow to make sure Rowan knows how incredible you were. I will never, ever hide you from her.

Thanks to you, I am a better person.

Until we're reunited in heaven...

Love,
Patrick

I said goodbye today

It's almost midnight on October 25. I am exhausted, so I won't write much. But I wanted to let all of you know: I survived the day, and so did my best friend Bart, who went with me.

The hike itself was rough. Three miles each way, with an elevation gain of between 2200-2400 feet. Nine years earlier, when the group Aimee and I were in hiked this mountain, it was a gorgeous fall day, sunny and warm. Today? Not so much. More than half a foot of snow at the trailhead. Up to several feel deep by the time we got to the top. The temperature at the car was 35 degrees - at the top it felt like it was in the teens. We hike all the way up in a combination of clouds and fog. The top affords some fantastic views when it's clear, but it wasn't when we got there. More clouds and fog, and little visibility.

The skies opened up as it came time
to say my goodbye to Aimee

Then God answered a prayer I'd been asking, and the skies opened up.

It didn't last long initially, but long enough that with a breathtaking (literally) panoramic view, I began my final goodbye to Aimee.

Bart videotaped it, and I'll post it some time in the next few days. In the meantime, I'll tell you that it was hard, so very hard to actually open that box and fling her ashes out into the air at the top of the mountain. But I did it, and it felt like the right thing to do. Plus, it was Aimee's wish to be cremated and have her ashes scattered, so I feel good about what happened today.

Almost immediately after we were done, the fog rolled back in.

We packed up our gear and began our return trek. But as if Aimee was smiling on us, the skies cleared again shortly after we'd started back down, and stayed that way pretty much the whole way back. The views we saw were nothing short of amazing, and I once again felt like I had done the right thing, leaving Aimee to rest in such a gorgeous setting (although her spirit is with God now).

So now I just need to go to bed. As I said I am exhausted, but I feel good, like someone who's done what they know is right.

As for Aimee, I'll see her one day in Paradise.

Moving forward, marching on

In one week from today, I will scatter Aimee's ashes, saying a final goodbye to the woman I loved so much, built a life with, and had a child with. I never, ever wanted this to be how our life together ended. I still wish, every single day, that it hadn't.

In pictures like this, you can
see how much Rowan loved
her mommy

But of the many things I learned from Aimee, one of them was to live your life. It would be so easy for me to stay focused on what I've lost, and try and hold on to feelings, scents, objects, and never let go and never move on. But that's not living. In fact, living that way indefinitely would be a kind of living death in its own way.

My goal has been to learn how to live, and to move on, without trying to forget Aimee or do anything to dishonor her memory. It hasn't been easy to move on, because many days I have wanted to just sit at home and stare at photos or videos of Aimee for hours on end. And sometimes, I do in fact indulge that for an hour or two here and there. It feels good to remember how much fun we had and how much love we had for each other. But, to quote someone near and dear to me, "Life should be lived for the living." To me that includes first and foremost Rowan, but also family and friends, as well as new people who come into my life.

So as I look back over the last ten months, and at how these posts that I've written have progressed, I can see that my efforts are paying off. It was extremely difficult at first. In fact, I had to pretend I was getting on with my life, because I didn't feel it at all. But now, I do feel it. Things are different. Not happy-go-lucky all the time or without pain, but that crushing weight of grief is no longer ever-present on my shoulders.

I honestly believe that would make Aimee happy.