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Do you KNOW how many souls are YEARNING for JUST ONE MORE DAY & won’t get it??
You’re standing here NOW.
You’re breathing here NOW.
If YOU have the ability to wrap your arms around the people you love today. Then, DO IT.
Use your lips to kiss & your voice to sing & for goodness sake…. JUMP, RUN, DANCE!!!
YOU. Yes, you. You better be living the BEST VERSION possible of your life NOW!!
Not just because others CAN’T.
But, truly, because YOU CAN.
I can’t help but think about Nick‘s last months on the face of this planet. At 25 years old, there were days he was confined to a hospital bed.
At 26 years old, he could no longer lift his wife & swing her around like he used to.
And, at 27 years old, he stopped being able to talk to his baby girl, to hold her, to kiss her…
If that doesn’t convince you to get your butt moving, I don’t know what will.
Sometimes I have days where my desire to LIVE is so great! Even when life is not so great.
It BURNS through me and I like to think it’s Nick reminding me what truly matters. I have life. I have breath.
I am grateful.
& I will make it COUNT. 💕✨❤✌🏼✨
What do I want my daughter to know when she grows up?
I want her to know that she CAN do hard things, that she was MADE FOR BRAVE. 💪🏼
I want her to respect what her body can do; to TAKE CARE of that body because she CAN & not because she has to. 💕
I want her to KNOW deep down in her soul that she is LOVED & that “BEING LOVED BY GOD” is the only thing that TRULY defines her. 🙏🏼
I want her to SEE her momma & all she’s been through & know that she is CAPABLE of thriving instead of just surviving even the worst of storms. ☔️
I KNOW that Courage. Faith. Hope. &&& most of all… LOVE. will ALWAYS be hers.
I only PRAY that she KNOWS it & NEVER EVER FORGETS. ❤
(And, to each & every Momma reading this: I pray you know the same things about you, too. Courage, faith, hope & love are yours. You just have to remember to use them! 😘)
I felt alone in my last miscarriage.
Because I didn’t really tell anyone until it was all over.
The doctor said it happened to 25% of all pregnancies. Then how come I didn’t know many who had faced it?!
It felt like it had happened to NOBODY but me. COMPLETE ISOLATION.
But, after I finally opened up to people about it, I discovered so many other families had gone through this too.
So, this time, I’m not gonna hide. I’m gonna share where I’m at. Not necessarily so that *I* don’t feel alone but so others can see that they aren’t either.
People see my happy posts and sometimes I get messages of people saying they wish they had my life. Cracks me up. I’ve got sucky things in my life always, too. Believe me. Many, in fact. I just normally focus on the good. But right now, I’m gonna share a BAD that I’m in the middle of.
Right now: my worst thing?
I’m having a miscarriage.
I’ve lost one baby before. Nick (my first and late husband) and I had a miscarriage and it was horrible. Now, with my second hubby Jay, just four months into our marriage, we’ve lost one too and it hurts just as much.
My heart is in an entirely different place this time though.
Not because God’s taken everything from me… again. But, because He is everything TO me.
I’m not quite as confused. Not because I understand WHY things like this happen. (I don’t!!) But, because I KNOW that He has a plan and that it is better than mine.
I’m sad, disappointed, heartbroken but still JOYFUL. How can that be? I think happiness is a feeling but JOY is a state of mind. And, for me… these last few years, since I really found HIM, I’ve honestly found that my JOY won’t ever be shaken. No matter what I face. My joy can’t be twisted or buried or drowned.
Because it’s anchored in a foundation that’s indestructible.
I know He hears me.
I know He sees me.
I know His plans are for me.
I trust HIS plan and HIS timing more than I trust my own feelings and guesses at what might be best.
I’ve lost two babies.
I’ve lost my first husband.
But, I will NEVER lose my joy.
This is my second miscarriage. And it hurts as much as the first.
But, my heart is in an entirely different place this time. It’s almost like it’s been made new. In fact, it kind of has. Sure, it’s been broken, but it’s been broken a few times before. And every time it breaks, it comes back together, the cracks remain but they’re healed. Like scars that have allowed openness, stretching and growth.
Every time my heart breaks, I choose to open it up again.
Not because He’s taken everything from me.
But because He IS everything to me. 💓
Happy Birthday, my love, my friend.
I miss you.
Today, your daughter sat snug in my lap while we watched morning cartoons. We were 30 min away from having to leave and I was still in my pajamas, breakfast uneaten, makeup not done… But I couldn’t get up. Because, as I do many days, I was SOAKING her up.
Every so often, in between her crunching and munching on apples, our 3-year-old tilts her head back far and looks up at me. Her eyes sparkle and a grin spreads across her face. Oh, how that grin reminds me of you.
This is the third year that we are celebrating your birthday without you here. That seems impossible, for two reasons. 1. How could it be 3 years? On one hand, it feels like you were here yesterday! And, 2. How could it be ONLY 3 years? I’ve lived a lifetimes since I last saw your face.
Things have changed around here. Your girls have moved 4 times since you left, we’ve crossed from one side of the country to the other; twice. We’ve adopted a new man into our little family and we are working hard to make it the best little patched-up glorious family that we can.
Almost all the furniture is different. My style has changed a bit and I gravitate so much more to the things that I love instead of the things people always told me I should.
I do still decorate for all the little holidays. The fall stuff is up now. I remember how you always told me how much you loved that I did that. Back when we were dating and I lived in that tiny apartment, I remember how enamored you were that I decorated. At the time, I thought it was silly. But, now, I love how much you loved it. I love that you noticed and smiled that I took the time and spent the money to get dollar store autumn leaves on the window, because it made me happy inside.
I’m so different now, too. Not just where we live. As a person, I am different entirely. I’m not sure you would recognize this soul so well. It’s old now. Weathered and strong. I’m BRAVER now than ever before. I’m not scared of anything. Literally. Isn’t that crazy? Remember when I told you that I wouldn’t be able to live without you? I told you (and believed) that if you died, I would die. But, you swore to me I wouldn’t.
You said I was stronger than I thought. That God would carry me through. That our little babe needed me.
I cried then, in your arms, imagining the nightmare that loomed ahead and wishing with all my being that we could switch places. Oh, how I longed to switch places with you.
It’s crazy now, looking at what you said. That I would be okay. You said it with such confidence. How did you know? You knew that you knew. And I had NO idea. I truly think that ONLY God could have helped you see and given you that peace. It was ALL true. Now, I see what you saw then.
I think, I kept on living at first mainly because, I took a long, hard look at your short life and figured that… You wanted to live SO BAD and you didn’t get to. So, I better truly LIVE my days out in your honor. Not surviving, but thriving. Not wallowing, but celebrating. Not wishing I was dead, but creating a life I WANTED.
Like you always said He would, God came near during the darkest times. That day they told us your cancer was back and I collapsed to the floor, clutching the new life in my stomach as if I could somehow protect her from those words. That day 3 years ago, almost to the date, that you started hospice when your eyes were glazed over from the pain and yet you still breathed the word “blessed.” That day that they came and took you away and your hospice bed lay empty, all of you GONE in a single day.
In the end looking days like today straight in the face, can be hard for me. Only because I wish that maybe, as some sort of birthday miracle, you could come down and give me a little sign. But, I know how selfish that is. I’m lucky enough to have seen signs of you often and feel your love settling down on us every single day. Like gently falling snow, you are here.
It’s different now. But, our love is the same. It’s different now. But, you’re smile graces my presence every day. It’s different now, but somehow, it’s all okay.
It’s been 5 years since I celebrated a HEALTHY birthday of yours with you. 5 long years. And, though, the many healthy happy birthdays spent with you were FUN, none of them actually compare to all of these since. Because, once you got sick. EVERYTHING became clearer than it’s ever been.
God opened up my eyes to LIFE because of YOUR life. He showed me what being grateful truly meant. That life is so much more about living for people, for love, for hopes and dreams than it is living for money, or boats, or houses, retirement or things.
Your love, our love, has wings.
I’m so grateful I get to see it fly.
Happy 30th, Nicholas. Forever and a day.
Goodbyes just plain suck. All of ’em. To hell with ’em. We weren’t built for ’em. Especially the permanent ones. You know, the ones where you know it will be impossible to see your loved one’s face again, on this earth? Those ones. They freaking bite. When you know that the next time you’ll meet eye-to-eye will be when your journey is complete. And, right then, you have no idea when that day will come and it feels like forever away.
Indefinite goodbyes suck.
Indefinite goodbyes without the hope of reunion suck even more.
I’ve been trying to explain goodbyes to Austyn these last few weeks because she’s gonna be missing some sweet friends of hers very soon. I’m her momma. I want to prepare her. So, I’ve been trying to tell her that, because of our move up North, she won’t be attending her awesome little Montessori school here in Seattle anymore.
Today was her last day. And on the way to school, I tried to warn her again. I didn’t want her to freak out but I didn’t want this day to slip by without her realizing it’s seeming significance. I told her that today there should be long hugs and extra kisses. In my heart, I know that these kids that she’s made into friends and the teachers she’s made into family will fade into the background soon.
But, she didn’t really seem to understand. I know this isn’t goodbye forever necessarily. We hope to visit back to her school a few times in the coming year at least. But, the day to day will be gone. Every day she doesn’t have school during the week this past year, she tells me she misses her “fwends.” I am nervous for the day she tells me this, this coming week. Break. My. Heart.
I’ve never really liked goodbyes. Not to my parents when they left for vacation when I was a kid, not to my friends for summer break, not to my bestie when we chose colleges that were states apart, not to the baby I never got to meet, and DEFINITELY not to my husband when he died of cancer just five years into our marriage. No, definitely not then.
I remember crossing the hallway between our master bedroom and Austyns nursery in the early morning, just hours before Nick would leave this earth. I had been watching his chest rise and fall for the last half hour, not much unlike the past two weeks. However, this time, when I had been awakened by my usual alarm to give him his next dose of pain meds, I noticed right away that something was different. The hospice nurses had warned me that would happen. They told me that his breathing would “change.” I had worried that I wouldn’t be able to tell. “You’ll know.” They had assured me.
And, I definitely did.
It was coming… Our final goodbye. I had spent the last two years saying goodbye to small parts of my husband, small bits of us, and large chunks of me that had been tangled up in him. First it was goodbye to cancer free conversations, then date nights, then grocery outings, then morning coffee, then goodbye to our sex life… Next came goodbye to his lucid words, goodbye to his sound advice and goodbye forever to our flow of conversation. Then, goodbye to his kisses. Goodbye to his voice and then his whispers. It was obvious that this real last goodbye had been a long time coming. And, yet, my heart felt so surprised. Already? We hadn’t had near long enough.
That last night of his on this earth was also the very last night I breastfed our little girl, Austyn. (Last night of breastfeeding because my milk supply cut off the very next day. The stress of losing my husband’s life proving too much for my body to handle along with sustaining my little girl’s life.) I remember wondering if I was nuts to leave Nick alone in that room, but I knew Austyn needed to eat and I had a strange peace that he wouldn’t leave me until I made my way back to his side.
As I crossed the distance between the two loves in my life, angels were with me every step of the way. God was physically present. I felt Him there, in the house. I felt Him in my bones. And, though, I was trembling and heartbroken, peace flooded me like none I’d ever felt. I remember caressing Austyn’s soft little hand as she sleepily drank and letting tears roll down my cheeks as I thought of not only my loss, but hers.
Nick died when Austyn was barely 9 months old. She hadn’t walked yet or talked yet. She hadn’t learned to count. Or ride a bike. It just all felt so unfair. At the very very least, it seemed a girl should have her dad for her first soccer game, for her first dance, even for her wedding. My heart ached for her and shattered for me. Split wide open, right down the middle, for us both.
Looking back now, I realize a silver lining that I hadn’t seen then. The innocence that was preserved in my little girl. Obviously it would have been an immense blessing if Nick had been able to live his life into the years that will eventually reside in Austyn’s memory. But, he didn’t. And so, my sweet girl doesn’t know goodbyes like I do.
As we passed Greenlake for the last time on our way home from school today, she told me something.
“My teacher sad today.” She frowned in the rearview mirror and I longed to see the dimple that shows when she smiles.
“Is she baby? Why do you think?” I asked.
“Because it my last day at school.” She said.
“Yeah. She’s going to miss you, sweetheart.” My girl captured hearts there, even through her terrible twos.
“Yes. BUT!!” Austyn’s eyes twinkled and that dimple appeared fast as her smile grew. “She will feel better soon maybe. Maybe I will give her a hug someday and she will feel all better. Soon, mom. Let’s see! She WILL feel better. Not tomorrow. But SOON!”
My sweet child. My heart swelled with pride and with grief, happy and sad tears threatened to brim.
I know she will miss her friends and her teachers come next week. But, I also know that she will make more friends.
I made a conscious decision long ago, with the help of my God, my pastor, my grief counselor and countless psychiatrists studies, that I wouldn’t share my grief with my little girl. At least, as best I can. I share my grief with you, with the world, with other adults in my life. But, not with her. Not yet. She’s been far too young to understand goodbyes of this magnitude. And, I’m trusting that decision even more now.
Nevertheless, she has surely seen me cry and have hard days. When as a single momma, I just couldn’t keep those tears from falling to the floor.
And, I don’t know if it’s so much that, or just who God has made her to be, but she is honestly one of the most compassionate toddlers I have ever seen. Her heart is on her sleeve and its pure as gold, untarnished. She’s got her bad days, I assure you, but her tenderness and care for others is as plain as day. She puts others needs first, especially if they are having a hard time. She pats backs, asks to kiss boo boos and all around wonders aloud “You doin okay in there?” And, I pray my daughter and this love for others always stays that way. It’s the very best gift she could ever possess.
In all her childlikeness, I realize how very much I strive to be just like her. And, sometimes, I really do accomplish it.
A sweet acceptance that a “someday reunion” is good enough. And, that living life for JOY in the meantime is all there really is to do.
Goodbyes suck. They sure do. But, you WILL feel better. Maybe not tomorrow. But, soon! <3
Dear Future Husband,
I’ve gotta warn you about me… I’ve got scars on my scars and rips that cut deep from words that felt like teeth.
Sometimes, my heart tears right through. No, I’m not a victim. Most all of the time, I conquer… But, sometimes my past haunts me. Memories uncontrollably explode through me… no matter how hard I’ve tried to heal. They rip and roar and relentlessly crash.
At first, it’s just a sudden intake of breath, a hard crack in my chest, where my heart is. But then, suddenly, I feel it shatter. A million tiny pieces thrown onto the floor, rolling, bumping into each other, and then resting in every far away corner.
Don’t worry, it’s not your job to find them all, pick them up and put me back together again (God’s the only one big enough for that). But, I will need you to do something. I’ll need you to be prepared to catch me before I hit the floor, to push my hair back from my eyes so I can see yours through my tears. Let me see your love for me, your compassion, your “want” to be my protector. Hold me until the blackhole that consumes lets me breathe again. And then please just love me anyway.
Please don’t despise me for my pain, instead despise the pain itself. I despise it, too, that wretched pain.
You might not have signed up for this. You might have thought I was just a bright and shiny thing. A person whose happy fills up every room. And, on a good day, I think it does.
But, not every day is a good day. Not every day looks new and shiny. Some days, sometimes way too many in a row, look grey, broken, and all-around god-forsaken. I hate the grey days. I loath the dark. And, I rage against both.
Fight those days with me. Don’t give up on me. The shiny days are lasting longer now. Sometimes, they string together in beautiful rows, all lined up with colorful, sparkling layers, like a perfect rainbow. And, because of the rain that preceded them, the rainbow days are that much more beautiful. Just wait till you see!
I may look young. But, my heart feels about one hundred years old. I feel like I’ve lived two lifetimes over, at least. Be aware of this. And please love this old, tired heart anyway.
If we’re going to the alter or we’ve already been then you can rest assured that I adore you. I cherish you. Because YOU are an answer to a prayer that I wasn’t sure would ever be answered. You are “the dream” that I never thought would come true.
Dear future husband, because I’ve seen what I’ve seen and know what I know, I can promise you that without a doubt I’m your ride or die chick. That I will be there for you through your dark days, your callouses, and your hidden hurts.
I will hold you together if you ever fall apart. And, no matter what, I will always love you anyway.
Sincerely and always,
Your Future Wife
PS: One last thing…. I tend to get hangry. VERY HANGRY. So, for your own benefit, and mine, feed me often. (Disclaimer: I am not responsible for the things that I say when I’m hungry. And, love me anyway. tehehe)
It’s challenging enough to balance your own emotions between a lost spouse and a new-found love. But, trying to balance the emotions and responses of others can prove to be even more exhausting.
Losing someone is difficult, no matter to what capacity you lost them or to what capacity your relationship had reached. When you lose a best friend, a lover, a husband, your heart is ripped clear open and into a thousand many pieces. The face you present to your loved ones, to your family, to the public is one that’s put together even if inside it feels like you are falling apart.
Eventually you might find a way (I honestly think this can only happen with God’s help) to put yourself back together again, for realz this time, on the inside. But, that genuine smile. That glow. Especially if you’ve fallen in love with another might hit others wrong.
To them, it might feel like a slap in the face. They may think that you’ve forgotten who you lost. They might think it doesn’t hurt anymore. After all, they don’t see the waves of grief wash over you, so clearly those waves must not exist.
YOU know where YOU are at with your grief. You KNOW that your love for your lost loved one will NEVER go away, even if you wanted it to. Don’t let what other people think or don’t know about you get in your way of moving forward.
There is NOTHING wrong with moving FORWARD.
There is NOTHING wrong with falling in love again.
There is NOTHING wrong with starting a family with someone who wants to be a part of your broken life and help you hold together your broken heart.
There is NOTHING wrong with continuing to LIVE even if your late love didn’t have the chance to make it this far.
Your story CAN be BEAUTIFUL again and you can be HAPPY about sharing that BEAUTIFUL STORY. So, do it, friend!
Guilt can be a powerful thing. It can hold us back… Especially Guilt mixed with Grief. Sometimes it can be hard to smile when you know that smile might cause someone pain… But, I CAN ONLY CONTROL ME. And YOU CAN ONLY CONTROL YOU.
As long as you are doing your best, LIVING your life, and remembering the one you lost without letting it consume you, I would say you are doing a DAMN GOOD JOB! Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.
You do you. There are no timelines or agendas to follow as far as grief goes. You know you. You do you. That is all.
So, no matter where you are in life… Live for God. Live for you. Don’t live for others. God’s opinion is TRULY the ONLY ONE that counts. <3
To borrow some cheesy quote from some brand that I can’t quite remember right now… “It’s YOUR life. Live it Beautifully.”
Be brave, dear one. You’re doing great!!
You guys remember how a few years back I got to go to the Super Bowl? No? Well, I freaking do! I was totally GONNA write a blog post telling you guys all about the experience, but life was so crazy busy at the time.
Nick, my late husband, had passed away January 7th so I was knee deep in sympathy cards, waist deep in paperwork, and neck deep in a puddle of my own tears. Our daughter was just 9 months old. She was just beginning to walk and starting to find ways to get into trouble (imagine a baby who is suddenly able to open all the cabinets in your home, purposefully step on the dogs tail, and falls down every single time her toe hits a grout line on the tile floor… Chaos? Exactly. Moms of babies/toddlers, you hear me. Total. Complete. Chaos.).
So, there I am, trudging along, a 27 year old widow (The heck?! Those last four words will NEVER look right to me). I’m trying to keep my smiles up for my little girl, my head up for my sanity, wondering how I’ll ever trust God again, and I get a phone call.
“Alyssa! The pastor of our church was given Super Bowl tickets. They don’t know who they are from, but the person who dropped them off asked that they be given to somebody who needs some joy in their life. Pastor Mike saw your blog posts and knows about Nick. Anyway, he picked YOU! Two tickets to the Super Bowl, airfare to New York, and a hotel. What do you think?”
At first, it seemed like the smartest answer would be “NO WAY.” And, it probably would have been. I was suddenly a single mom. Who was I to think about bringing my sweet little baby girl girl to NYC? I was super busy… But the more I thought about it, I knew I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. I knew that Nick was looking down on me and how dang disappointed he would be if I said No.
Right then and there, I made a pact with myself. I would never pass up another opportunity just because I was scared. No. More. Fear.
Fear had ruled far too much of my life. Nick and I hadn’t done that many awesome and exciting things in our marriage. Mainly, because we were afraid (okay, okay… it was mostly me). We were afraid we would miss out on too much work, that we might not have the money, that we might get lost in a foreign country (valid fear tho: Jay and I got lost in Paris. True Story.) the list goes on and on…
We didn’t start REALLY taking chances until Nick was diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer. What a wake up call, right?! After that, especially once he was given a bill of clean health (which only ended up lasting 10 months), we took EVERY SINGLE opportunity we could to do the things we wanted to do. We went on a vacation (I swear that I hardly knew what that word meant before cancer) to Hawaii. We got pregnant (enter: Baby Girl Magnotti). We spent more time together. And, we spent QUALITY time together (imagine that)!
So, would I like to go to Super Bowl? “HECK YES!”
The trip was amazing, one of a lifetime and I don’t regret one second of it! One of my sweet friends, Cat, came with me to the big game and stood by my side to cheer the Hawks on. Austyn came along and my dad too for extra help!
A local news station covered the story. We did an interview here in Seattle before the game and then one at Columbus Circle in NYC. When those videos hit the news channel, there was a lot of love…. But, there were also some nasty comments.
One commenter said something like, “She must not have loved her husband if she is going to the Super Bowl just one month after he died.”
The answer that came straight to mind was “I must love my husband SO MUCH to go to the Super Bowl right after he’s died.”
Doing things AFTER loss isn’t disrespectful. Doing things might be hard though. You should NOT feel guilty and don’t let people make you feel that way. You very well might be scared, but please don’t let that hold you back.
Whether you’ve lost someone or not… remember that LIFE is for LIVING. Stop being afraid. Put on your BRAVE PANTS. Live every single day… on purpose!
So go on then…. Oh, and GO HAWKS!
Read the crazy story BEHIND the tickets at the bottom. You’ll never guess who the “mystery person” was who gave their SUPER BOWL TICKETS to the church!
SO…. WHO GAVE THE TICKETS TO THE CHURCH? >>> The guy who gave the tickets to Overlake Christian Church contacted me when he saw the story on the news. The reason he had dropped two perfectly good Super Bowl tickets at the front desk of the church that day, just a few weeks before the game, was because he knew he would need to stay home. You see, his father was sick with cancer and he wanted to be there for him. As it turns out, his father passed away the very day after the big game.
PS>>> Mike Howerton has become a great resource for me for my upcoming book! He’s an author himself and has offered great advice and amazing resources. Seriously. God sets things up in some pretty awesome, amazing ways, don’t you think?!
Sometimes I just sit and let overwhelming AWE flow over me. HOW IN THE WORLD have I been given the love of not only one but TWO amazing men? God’s given me SO MUCH. I have nothing that I can’t look to God and thank Him for. He’s given me LIFE, FREEDOM from the consequences of my sins, and His FOREVER FRIENDSHIP (the greatest gifts of all)! And, as if that wasn’t enough, He’s proven time and time again that He CAN somehow conjure up GOODNESS in the wake of tragedy.
Just this morning, Austyn was pulling apart an orange with her breakfast. “Look, mom! A tiny one!!!” she said as she pulled a small section away from the fruit. “And… Look! A DADDY one!” her eyes lit up as she held a larger piece of fruit out for me to see.
That is THE. FIRST. time she has ever named any bigger “thing” as a “daddy.” If theres a small item and a bigger one… it has ALWAYS been a “mommy one.” That’s because it’s always been just her and I…. A Mommy and a tiny one.
This little girl lost her biological father when she was just 9 months old, a week out from her first step, a year away from her first words… Her world was forever altered before she even knew what her world could have been.
And now, somehow, years later, it seems that our plan includes a second daddy for Austyn. What a lucky girl! An awesome daddy in Heaven and a sweet daddy on Earth! God is just TOO good!
Jay will be adopting Austyn (officially) shortly after our marriage this summer. I can’t put into words the feelings that arise when I hear Austyn call Jay her “Daddy.” As she transitions into having an earthly Father, I ask for your continued prayers over our family, for strength, for growth, for understanding and for beautiful, wonderful unity.
Things are CRAZY good over here. Crazy hard, too, sometimes. Crazy different. Crazy LOTS-to-get-used-to. But, I am loving every second of it!