Today marks 10 years since my husband Mike’s death. This is one of my favorite pictures. I like to think of him with this smile and the children climbing on him, not sure if he might break out in an Elvis voice or John Wayne. For years he wasn’t able to find this smile or anything carefree. It’s taken a lot of ups and downs for my heart to move past his troubled soul and settle on this picture of him in my memories. 

Today is a day that largely lives in my memory as last conversations and fears and numbness. As a conversation with my children that I know overpowered their innocence with uncertainty and grief.

I feel like I had one golden moment of wisdom before that conversation. It came from God, I guess, because I sure didn’t know how to do anything in such an overwhelming moment. Except to love, and I committed my heart to being honest with my children in all things, right from the very start. I committed to being sure our story was rooted in truth, as hard as the truth was for all of us to understand. 

Grief is so weird. Of that I am sure. The trick seems to be figuring out what to hold on to and what to let go. And, for me, learning how to honor a person’s place in your life — as challenging as that place was — and giving yourself permission to move on.

I put out “the scarecrows” on our porch this weekend. They’ve been part of our fall celebrations as long as my kids have been alive, sitting right there by the window with their same disproportionate smiles. And this year, there are only four.