Women Who Rise | I Am A Widow

On August 20th, 2017, at 5:37 pm, my world stood still.

Six days later I stood by my husband's casket as it was lowered into the ground.

This doesn't happen to 28 year olds. It just doesn't. The pain is too great for words, the heartache too deep and the emptiness too wide. The manner of his death too tragic. I can't close my eyes without seeing the accident in my mind, and it leaves me physically sick. 

In some ways I still feel like I'm in a dream. I keep waiting for his grinning face to walk in the door, drop his things and come right up to me for a hug. But the reality is that I've lost my best friend, the one I grew with into the woman I am today. Everything has a memory attached, every road, every song, every place we've ever been. I went to the bank yesterday and asked to order checks with just my name on it. And I lost it. I went to the jewelry store to get his ring fitted to my finger, and I lost it. Those moments seem to be constant.

I spoke at his funeral on Sunday with a composure and strength given by the sweet Holy Spirit. And everyone keeps saying how strong I am. But friends, I feel like I'm dying on the inside. That's the reality you don't see right now. 

But even in the midst of this unimaginable and indescribable ache, there's a hope that's holding me. There's community - friends, church family, total strangers - holding me up. I would not be walking on two feet if it weren't for the army of people who have rushed to my side. To you I say thank you. I can never repay you, or properly thank you. But know that you mean everything to me.

I have no doubt that its not coincidence I started this Women Who Rise project. Over the past several weeks I've spoken with and photographed women who have been through this tragedy I'm now facing. They are on the other side of the ashes, and I am clinging to their stories right now. And THAT is the reason I started this. Those stories are filled with strength and hope. I am not there. I will not be there for a long time, but I want to photograph this journey and tell my story. The depth of my pain may be too much to read at times, and that's okay. I hope that you will see me rise, in time. And see me be tenderly held by a God who weeps with me in the process.

I can't imagine one ounce of what the future holds right now. I don't know how to live life without my best friend. But I know that I will not be alone. When I have nothing, Jesus is here and He is my everything.