Fourteen Years Later: A Day, A Lifetime - July 2, 2025

Fourteen years.
It seems like yesterday.
And it also feels like forever.

Words don’t really describe it. A date only marks it.
This is just a day—one day—when our world shattered into a million pieces.

Some people mark this day with rituals.
Some dread it.
Some want to do something special to remember their loved one.
For me, it’s always just been a day.
Because every day is a challenge—not just this one.

This day is only a marker of when it happened.
I remember the morning.
I remember the moment I knew he was gone.
And I remember the moment God and D told me I couldn’t go too.
That moment—leaving him, knowing I couldn’t follow—was the hardest decision of my life.
But it was also the best one.
Because our boys couldn’t lose us both.

We all went through the why, the what ifs, the anger, the sadness, the depression.
The emotional, mental, and physical pain that makes you want to give up.
But I couldn’t.
I had to fight to survive—literally.
Because my number one concern was our two young boys, who lost more than any of us.

We had the memories.
We knew D as the wonderful man he was.
But they didn’t get that chance.
They lost the opportunity to know him as adults.
And I knew that would be a lifelong struggle.

So what does it look like, 14 years later?

Some days, I still don’t know.
I just get up and put one foot in front of the other.
On the hard days, that’s all I can do.
Most days, we make the best of the life we’ve been given—the life D was taken from far too soon.

In these years, we’ve found a new kind of happiness.
It’s never the same after loss.
But in a way, it’s more sacred—because we know the depth of pain, and we’ve chosen to keep going.

I was lucky.
God placed a wonderful man in our lives—someone who helped us heal, who showed us love again.
It wasn’t easy.
The guilt. The fear. The confusion of holding space for someone new while still grieving someone who shaped your past.
It’s a dance between two worlds—one no one prepares you for.

Somewhere between the ache of missing him and the courage it takes to keep going,
I found a new version of myself.
One who didn’t ask for this, but still rises with heart.
Still hopes. Still builds a life he’d be proud of.

We’re all still walking this road of loss.
Grief isn’t just missing them.
It’s learning who you are without them.

Some days I did it right.
Some days I stumbled through.
And I still do—because there’s no manual for this.

But today, I choose to remember the good.
The memories. The love.
The moments that move us forward and help us heal.

Grief is forever.
But so is love.

 

Fourteen Years Later

 

2025 - Almost fourteen years. You’d think it would be easier by now. And in some ways, it is. Time softens certain edges, and you learn how to carry it. But then there are days when the weight feels even heavier, because the longer it’s been, the more you realize what’s been missed.

Watching our boys grow into young men—men that I am so incredibly proud of—fills me with both joy and heartbreak. Joy because they are becoming exactly the kind of people I know D would be proud of. And heartbreak, because I know how much he would’ve loved this stage of their lives. He would’ve cherished every moment, every laugh, every hard conversation, and every proud moment. Seeing them now, in all their complexity and strength, makes me miss him in a way that words don’t quite cover.

There are times they struggle, when I know they need their dad—not just a mother or father figure, but him. His advice, his comfort, his way of showing up. And while they have good people around them, and I couldn’t be more proud of who they’re becoming, the reality is that D’s absence is something that never fully leaves.

Being a dad was the most important thing in the world to D. The love he had for his boys—it was powerful. It was something to witness. And unless you've lived through this kind of loss, it’s hard to explain. What hurts me the most isn’t just my own grief—it’s theirs. That’s why I’ve grieved in my own way, in my own space, since that day. Fourteen years ago, laying in that ditch, I wanted to go with D. My heart was broken, shattered. But God—and D—showed me that our boys couldn’t lose us both that day. Staying was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

He was my heart and soul, outside of our boys.

And still, as much as I lost, nobody lost more than they did. Because while the rest of us had years with D, memories, stories, time—they only had the early years. Their memories are snapshots. They won’t get the chance to know him as adults, or to have him know them as the men they are becoming. That kind of loss—it's a different weight. One I carry for them every single day.

So we live. We live fully, with purpose and with love. Because we knew him. We loved him. And we carry him with us in everything we do.

I couldn’t be more proud of our boys and the lives they are building. D would be, too.