Kelsey Chittick - Second Half Book: Surviving Loss and Finding Magic in the Missing

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There are only two ways to live your life: as though nothing is a miracle, or as though everything is a miracle.

Albert Einstein

I had 12 grief books on my nightstand, seven lasagnas in my refrigerator, two sobbing kids and one dead husband.

It was a cold, dark afternoon in November. I was in bed wearing mismatched Target pajamas and staring at my ceiling fan. As the fan went around and around, I tried to keep my eye on one paddle as some sort of weird mental game, but I kept getting distracted by all the dust on each blade. Someone should clean that, I thought. But I couldnt move. I had no energy and no hope. The only thing I could do was lay there, staring at the fan and thinking to myself, Holy shit, we are so screwed.

A few days before, on November 11, 2017, my amazing husbanda seemingly healthy and strong retired NFL player and Super Bowl championhad died of a massive heart attack at the age of 42 in front of my kids.

Suddenly, my whole world felt surreal. In one moment, my kids lost their dad, and I lost the man I had loved for 21 years. I was 40 years old, and now I was a widow with two kids. My life was unrecognizable. We went from a life we loved to a new life that was unwanted, unimaginable and more painful than we thought we could handle.

This story is about traveling from that journey into a new reality. Its about holding on, letting go and ultimately enjoying the ride. This is the story of endings and beginnings and how change can be both heartbreaking and healing at the same time. A lot of it is painful, and some of it is funny, but most of it is simply magical.

This journey felt the way I imagine surviving a natural disaster would feel. One minute, life is calm and familiar; the next, everything looks and feels totally different. I lost all sense of comfort and security. In the time it takes for one heart to stop beating, I was thrown into the unknown, where pain and joy, sorrow and gratitude, mix together. And in that moment, I was forced to face myself and who I wanted to be in this new life. I had to decide if I was ready to do the hard and beautiful work each of us is eventually called to do.

I dove into books, articles and podcasts about death because I was desperate to connect with other people who had lost someone they loved. I needed to know that this was something people could survive. I journaled about what I learned and clung to the words and stories people shared. Their insights and experiences became the guides I followed along the way.

I also sobbed uncontrollably, rubbed my legs until they bled, took Xanax and lay for hours on my bathroom floor. I was looking for relief in every area of my life. Each night, I lay in bed and watched my thoughts loop over and over in a continual cycle of How could this happen? and Why did he die? and How will we go on? I struggled to understand how he was no longer living in my home or alive in this world.

For a while it felt like nothing was helping.

But after about three months, once the gut-wrenching holidays were behind us, I felt something start to change. I was in the kitchen crying, as usual, when my daughter Addison walked in. It was a few days before her 10th birthday.

Mom, are you okay? she asked.

I looked down at myself and realized the answer was No. I looked like someone with a meth habit: dirty robe, hair in a greasy bun, swollen eyes.

Addison asked again, Mom, are you okay? Have you been crying again?

I nodded, and she grabbed my hand. Mom, please, she begged. I dont want you to be sad anymore. I just dont want everything to be so sad anymore.

At that moment I realized that our house used to be the most joyful place. Before Nate died, there were parties and dancing. Our home had been filled with laughter and friends for 15 years, and now it seemed painfully quiet.

We were all desperate to have happiness back in our lives, but I didnt know how to do that and feel all the pain. How can I be joyful and broken at the same time? I decided I would have to fake it a little and see if that could move us in a different direction.

Alexa, play Three Little Birds by Bob Marley, I commanded our favorite Amazon assistant.

My daughter looked stunned. It had been a while since we had listened to music.

Alexa, volume eight! I yelled.

As the music began to fill our kitchen, a small smile came over Addisons face. We looked at each other, laughed, and began to dance around the kitchen island, just like the old days.

Don't worry about a thing

'Cause every little thing gonna be alright

Singing' don't worry about a thing

'Cause every little thing gonna be alright

My son Jack walked in, sleepily rubbing his eyes. When he saw us twirling around the kitchen, he looked shockedlike he couldnt understand what was happening. But then his face relaxed, and he smiled.

You know you two are crazy, right? he said, then turned to go back to his room. When I think back to what I saw on his face that day, it was relief.

For the first time in months, I had some space from the pain. And most importantly, I had laughed with my kids. In the beginning, grief is all-encompassing and, most of the time, completely out of your control. But there are always small breaks in the pain, little slivers of hope that show up each day. From that point on, we started to recognize those moments, and instead of ignoring them, we began to walk towards them.

After that day, I started wearing the robe less often, even though many days it still hung on me like an old friend. Every week I tried to wash and dry my hair at least once. On some days, that simple task felt like an Olympic event. Even though I only took Ambien once a week, I knew it was time to stop. There were times that I missed the blackout sleep, but once I was off of Ambien, I started to dream more. And some of those dreams began to blissfully include Nate.

I worked hard not to feel sorry for myself. I would say into the mirror, Okay, I give up. Im here and ready to experience this whole thing and see where it takes me. I wont decide if it is good or badIll just accept it and ride the waves of emotion as they come.