It’s been two years since my husband lost his person.

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Two years ago I lost a dear friend. Two years ago a family lost their brother, son, uncle, nephew.

Two years ago the world lost a soul so bright and full of life, that it dimmed the sun for awhile.

Two years ago my husband lost his person.

You know what I mean? One of those people whose existence is so instrumental to who you are as a person, that there isn’t really a word that can adequately describe it. Not brother, not friend… Those are “your people”.

And if you know Nick well at all, then you know his childhood was rocky and far from ideal. He was never dealt the easy hand. But there were a handful of people there willing to keep dealing him new cards. Willing to turn his crappy hand into a good one.

Kody was one of those people.

Young, dumb, and… safe?

Grief is a strange thing. Never in my life have I felt so much grief over someone else’s grief, if that makes any sense at all. I, of course, was sad, heartbroken, devastated, for myself, the entire family, Everest, and all of Kody’s friends…

But I was shattered for Nick.

I remember consciously sliding my own sadness to the back burner, because I knew, everything I was feeling, there were so many other people feeling it hundredfold.

I have had loss in my life and it is always jarring and painful and life changing. But sudden loss is different. Sudden and unexpected loss is a different type of raw and a different type of earth shattering.

It really hits home the saying “we are all just one phone call from our knees”. Because that’s really how it is, it crumbles you.

It cracks you right down to your core.

And those cracks never really heal, do they? They just get a little more shallow. A little easier to hold together.

The process of losing Kody, and watching everyone put their lives back together, taught me several things.

I learned that being kind to people goes a long way. I knew Kody was well liked, but seeing the outpouring of love and solidarity from people in all walks of life, was amazing. It really makes you think, would this many people turn up on a cold day in March for me?

I learned, what I basically already knew, I was ready for the next stage of life. I already had Everest, so of course I was much more tame then back in my heyday, but part of me missed that. Part of me wanted it back a little. But I think losing Kody was kind of the end of an era for everyone. A reassurance that we were ready for settling down and taking things a little more slowly.

Yes, I had my baby in Kody’s favorite bar.

I learned the very cliche, tell your family you love them, because you just never know. You just never know when looking through photographs will replace making phone calls. When visiting a crash site will replace crashing on their couch. Make sure the people in your life know how you feel.

Kody wasn’t able to be the best man at our wedding, he doesn’t get to watch our kids grow up, he has missed birthdays, and graduations, and holidays. And will continue to miss every important and every mundane event for the rest of our lives.

And it’s not fair.

That’s the thing with loss, it’s never fair. The what ifs and maybes and why hims will haunt you if you let them. We’ve all got them. We all have a tiny bit of guilt that eats at us just a little, especially when days like today creep up on us.

If you have lost, I am truly sorry and I hope your support system is as strong as ours.

I hope you feel surrounded by love.

I hope that the good days eventually outweigh the bad.

I hope you have little ones in your life, because I swear, nothing helps mend a heavy heart like the heart of a kid.

I hope the grief that, at first, swallows you whole, eventually spits you out, and you learn to live alongside it, instead of being buried beneath it.

Cheers to you Kody, we miss you.


Kody’s Beautifully Mediocre Friends

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