My beautiful mother-in-law, my late husband’s mother, passed away last week. One day shy of exactly eight months after Jeremy went.
We knew it was coming, and in the months leading up, I cherished every moment we spoke.
She was, and always will be, a major part of my life. In her, I had not only another mother, but also the last living piece of Jeremy’s beginning. The only person I could talk to for hours about him and never tire her out. Of course, as his mother, she could go on about him forever. And I will miss that deeply.
I loved her from the moment we met. She had impeccable taste, lived a colorful life, and knew grief in a deep and intimate way. She was a badass boss who built things with her bare hands. She supported my music. She believed in my writing. She loved this Substack. She always called to discuss my new posts.
But most importantly, she raised my husband. And if you knew them, you knew how deeply connected they were.
So this one is for her. For Victoria.
Trigger warning: This post contains emotional landmines disguised as birthday cards, parking spots, and people named Jeremy.
A list of recent triggers:
Losing my mother-in-law
Parking in the same spot Jeremy and I parked when we went to get pedicures that one time
Trying to go back to The Grove (that’s a no)
Rewatching Someone Great (should’ve known better)
Going to a friend’s for lunch and meeting someone else there who starts talking about their husband, named Jeremy
Standing in a stationery store and seeing a birthday card he would’ve loved(His birthday is coming up. It’s the same day as mine.)
Hearing another friend talk about her friend named Jeremy. (how are there suddenly SO MANY Jeremy’s?)
Eating alone
Sleeping alone
Breathing
Oof. The list goes on.
You’re fine one second, the next you’ve got the weight of 10,000 alpacas on your chest.(I don’t know why alpacas, okay? They’re soft.)
I’ve floated on this side of #grieftok long enough to know that my feelings aren’t unique. But they are uniquely mine. For every one second of normal, I get endless seconds of “get me out of this skin, I don’t know how to live in it anymore.”
One thing that’s brought me a sliver of peace recently is something Tracy Stella said (and surprise she TOO has a Jeremy in her life). If you don’t know her, she’s a medium. Look her up: Uptalk with Tracy. We had a beautiful reading not long ago, but we also just found each other in that strange, magical way people sometimes do.
Before I met her, I saw a video on her Instagram where she spoke about suicide. (*Don’t worry. Thankfully, I’m not suicidal.) But I do feel untethered here on Earth when I’ve had so much loss. Especially the loss of a husband and child. And that untethering can make the dark feel closer than it should.
You know those moments where you’re just… tired of being a human here?
Tracy lost her brother to suicide. And she’s done thousands of readings since. She said this, and I’ve never forgotten it:
“You either heal here, or you heal there. But if you heal there, you leave behind more damage than if you choose to heal here.”
Basically: the only way out is through. No matter where you are. And I believe that.
So I try to remember it when things get heavy, or triggering.
My hardest trigger this week was losing Victoria. There have already been twenty moments I’ve wanted to send her a photo, show her something cool, or just ask how she’s feeling, or share in missing her son together.
But again…another new emptiness to conquer.
I just hope she and Jeremy are up there laughing, reminiscing, and so happy to be together again watching the people who love them do their best to keep going.
Triggers and all.
xx
*If you’re reading this and struggling with thoughts of suicide, please know that help is available, and you don’t have to carry it alone.
You can call or text the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988 (U.S.) anytime, day or night, to talk to someone.
Or visit 988lifeline.org for chat support and resources. We need you here. 💛
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️