I can’t even tell you the number of well meaning people who have told me how strong I am this past seven months.

You’re amazing.

I don’t know how you do it, getting through every day. You’re so strong.

You’re stronger than I ever could be.

I’m proud of you. Stay strong.

Like I have a choice.

Like not getting up and getting through the day is an option.

Like I’m not hiding in the van, driving in circles, crying my eyes out on the regular.

Like I don’t turn into a puddle every time my kids fight or scream, “I hate you!” at me because they also have big feelings and I’m their safe place and while they don’t really hate me, they hate hurting and I’m their best outlet.

Like I don’t break down at least five times a week.

Like I can actually finish a single thing I start lately. Like it hasn’t taken me three months to paint one wall in my bathroom. Because I. just. can’t.

Like I don’t hide out, curled in a ball in the bottom of the shower, so my kids can’t hear my sobs.

Like my hair isn’t falling out.

Like I can get through a single day without wishing things were different.

Like I haven’t downloaded so many stupid “merge three” apps on my phone and spent hours escaping from this life by crushing candy and merging dragons.

Like I’m not overeating.

Like I don’t miss Vance more than I ever thought possible.

Like this is the life I dreamed of. Widowed and single parenting in my forties. Livin’ the dream right there, folks.

Like any strength that I might possibly have is my own. Like I’m not just barely holding on to Jesus these days.

Strong.

I’m so tired of hearing people use that word to describe me. It’s not accurate. Strong, I am not.

I am weak.

So weak. So desperately clinging to hope and God and the promises in the Word. So desperately repeating to myself, “In my weakness, he is made strong.” Singing out loud, under my breath and in my head, “You’re gonna be okay. Hold on. Don’t let go.”

So please don’t tell me I’m strong. I’m simply surviving.

Before our vacation, I made the decision to leave my rings at home.

No, not because I wanted to be seen as single on vacation. But because I was afraid to lose them in the ocean or have them stolen from my room. These aren’t replaceable. If something happens and I lose them, I can never again have either the ring Vance bought me or the one he wore for twenty years.

It felt so weird to not have them on. I kept finding myself reaching to play with them, only to realize they weren’t on. Instead there’s just this weird little indention. This slightly paler than the rest of my hand circle that reminded me that something was missing.

When we got home, I left them off. It had been six months and I thought maybe it was time. That I was ready for this part of moving forward.

For a week I didn’t wear my rings. I thought that maybe I was ready accept widowhood, singleness.

It wasn’t. I’m not.

A week later, I found myself opening the drawer and putting the rings back on. Six months or not, I just am not ready yet.

I didn’t grow up watching football. Neither of my parents really cared much about it and my brothers didn’t play. I went to a lot of games in high school and college, but it was never about the game. It was a social event for me. It’s where the people were, so it’s where I went.

Then I married Vance. The Crutchfield are much more of a sports family than mine have ever been. They watched football all weekend, every weekend, from August until February. Fridays were for high school. Saturdays for college and Sundays for the NFL.

We established pretty early on that we spent Thanksgiving with that side of the family. That meant the Macy’s parade in the morning and the Cowboys game after lunch. And the Lions game, too. It was a given that there was a game on all fall and into the winter months.

Glenda, my mother-in-law is a pretty hard core Cowboys fan. She really tried to get her kids to follow suit, but once they moved to Kansas, Vance started cheering for the Chiefs. Try as she might, she never could get him to root for her boys in blue. He was red through and through.

This season, for the first time in 50, the Chiefs not only went to the Super Bowl, they won the whole thing.

Originally, I had planned to take my kids to a party where we could all watch together. Honestly, even with twenty plus years as a Crutchfield, I still don’t really like or understand football. (Please don’t hate me. I love me some baseball!) It’s still a social thing for me, so I was planning to just socialize.

Then, as the big game got closer, things just started to, well…feel off. I didn’t really want to go anywhere. The kids all ended up different places, surrounded by friends or family and I ended up at home, alone. I wasn’t going to even watch the game. But I’m in Kansas and this year, LIV was a big deal around here. So, fifteen minutes or so after it started, I turned on the TV. I made myself some cheese dip, sat on the couch and watched the game.

I cried for the entire first half and it had nothing to do with the score.

I just remembered how excited Vance had been when the Royals won the pennant. He’d stayed up late night after night watching the games and cheering so loudly. SO LOUD! That was the thing about watching games with Vance. He was loud. Almost always positive, but always, always so dang loud. He’d jump up, pump his fist in the air and yell, “YES!” when his team made a play. This. This Super Bowl run. It would have made his year. He would have loved it.

Sometime during the game or maybe the half-time show, I started going through pictures and putting them together in one album on Facebook. I’ve wanted them in one place for a while and the time seemed right. So I started looking. First at, just a photo of Vance in his football uniform, posted by his mom, who was also missing him that day. But then others. Pics of us, our kids, our families. Us together.

There aren’t a lot of pictures of Vance alone. He loved his people and he was always the one with a kid on his lap. He loved holding hands and physical touch in general. It was by far, his primary love language and it’s obvious when you look at pictures of his life that he loved well.

For the rest of the game, I watched the TV and in his honor, yelled at it when plays were made. I have picked up a few things about football through the years, so I mostly know enough to cheer at the right times now. With the final touchdown, I may have jumped up and pumped my fist in the air myself. I could hear his deep voice and see him smiling even though I was alone in my living room.

The Chiefs won it all this season. This first one without Vance. He woulda been so stinkin’ excited.

Because there were five of us staying in one room, we had to upgrade to a suite, the “Premium” package, if you will. It came with all sorts of perks, including a platinum wristband and an exclusive lounge.

To start off, instead of standing in line with all the regular folks, we were ushered into the air conditioned lounge, brought fancy drinks in champagne glasses and welcomed to sit in nice chairs while we checked in. There were beverages and snacks. Water, Pepsi, Corona, Fanta, and more. The server even asked my kids if she should get a shot of tequila for me. They knew better.

Once we were checked in, the bellman took our bags and escorted us across the resort to our room. It faced the ocean. From the second floor balcony, I could hear the waves hitting the beach.

You guys! It gets better. On this little balcony was a two person hot tub, just for our use. I gotta say, we got our money’s worth out of that thing. There were bath salts and bubble bath to go with it. Someone was using it the entire time we were back in the room.

The night we zip lined, I put my swimsuit back on after dinner and went out to the porch to relax. I closed the door, letting the kids know I needed a few minutes alone. They gave me a couple hours.

I sat in the hot water, jets streaming, surrounded by bubbles and cried my eyes out. I texted my mom, my sister and a couple friends to tell them about the craziness of the day. I talked to God. I even talked to Vance, even though I know that’s not how it works.

My tears started sad. I missed him so much that day. Knowing how proud he would be of me was bittersweet. I mourned the loss that is widowhood that night.

But I also cried proud. I’d done it, you know? I’d done the hard thing. Conquered a fear. The kids had seen that their mom was braver than any of us thought I could be. So I sat there and let happy tears fall into the water, too.

Isn’t that what life is? A mixture of pain and pleasure, sadness and joy?

The final tears that night were simply tears of gratitude. I know, I know. That sounds so cliche. It is. But it’s also the truth. As I’d flown across the sky that afternoon I couldn’t help but think about how awesome the God who made it all is. About how blessed I am to get to live this life. It might end tomorrow or maybe I’m not even half way done yet. I have no idea. But I know this: I am thankful for what has come before and I am thankful for what is right now and I am thankful for the chance to get to see what comes next.

That premium upgrade, the one that came with the hot tub, it was totally worth it. Not just for the ten percent off in the gift shops and the free room service, although we totally took advantage of those! It gave me a solitary place in a room for five. It brought me peace.

My unsolicited advice: You only live once. Take the upgrade. You won’t regret it.

On the second full day of our Mexican adventure, we crossed the street and headed to the zip line park.

You should probably know something about me at this point. I’m scared of heights. Like, really scared of heights. I don’t go higher than the second step of a ladder. I don’t climb to the top of the state capitol or get on the roof. Heights are not my thing.

But the kids wanted to go to the zip line park, so we went.

If you’ve never had this experience, I’ll walk you through it. First thing, you get all harnessed up. Safety is key when you’re literally jumping off of platforms dozens of feet in the air. So after you’re harnessed, you sit through a small safety presentation. They show you how to slow yourself down and to stop. Emphasis is put on NOT putting your hands in front of where your harness is attached to the line. Don’t want to lose a finger!

I’m a big person, so I required an extra harness so that I could “ride more comfortably.” One of my kids asked what it was for and I said, “It’s for fat people.”

Our quick witted guide told me, “No, lady! It’s for sexy people.” Yes, I tipped him.

The first jump was off the wing of an airplane. It was a fireman’s pole kind of thing, only a rope, not a pole. It was actually not that scary. You had some control, as you could hang on. Easy-peasy.

Next, was a bungee jump. It was more of a swing than a jump but you had to free fall off the edge of the airplane wing. It was high. It was terrifying. The kids got all the Canadians in our group to cheer for me. “You can do it, Mama!”

So, after walking away once, it was finally down to me and Asa left at the top. I told him if he did it, I would, too. The little stinker took me up on it. I’m not sure I’ve ever been so afraid for my physical well being as I was in that moment. The guide hitched me to the line and counted to three. “Uno. Dos. Tres!” And that was that. I was suddenly falling, then flying through the air. I screamed all the way through the first arc. Then I quit screaming and started smiling. I had done the scariest thing and. I. didn’t. die.

After barely catching my breath at the bottom, it was time for the next challenge: the zip line course. I have to throw that last word in there because y’all, I didn’t just do one line. I did seven! Once a person stepped off that first platform, there was no turning back.

I got partly up and stopped to rest for just a minute. Then my legs started to shake. But I climbed another set of stairs and watched as our new Canadian friends started zipping by one at a time. I made it to the final landing before the zipping platform and I froze. I just couldn’t make myself go any further.

I’d been thinking about Vance since the first jump. How he’d always been my biggest cheerleader. How fearless he was when it came to heights and how he knew I was terrified of this. I could see his smile and hear his voice cheering me on, telling me it was going to be okay. That I was braver than I knew and that he was proud of me. It wasn’t a vision or anything, but I saw his face in my mind. The smile in his bright blue eyes.

And I started to bawl like a baby right there on the landing.

Poor Angel. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with this poor American lady losing it on his course. He kept looking at me, saying, “Please don’t cry lady. It will be okay. Just watch me. Don’t look down. Please, lady, don’t cry.”

I couldn’t stop the tears but I could control the sobbing. So I kept my eyes on Angel (Coincidence in the name? I think not.) and climbed on up. At the top he asked me if I wanted to go tandem with him or another guide. I shook my head no. My kids had already gone and were waiting for me on the next landing. I was not about to take the chicken exit. I could do this.

I took a deep breath and told him to hook me in! Then on the count of three, I launched myself into the air, past the point of no return, and I zip lined to the other side. When my feet hit the platform, a couple of my kids were still there. I got a “Good job, Mom,” from them and a few “Good job, Mama!”‘s from the guides.

The next jump off was easier. By the third time, I can say that I really enjoyed it. I took in the scenery. The beach. The trees. The buildings. The giant sky.

It only took a handful of seconds to get from one side to the other but in those moments, I could feel the hand of God. On the world he created. On my family. On me. His grace rested on my weary soul as I flew across the Mexican sky.

Zip lining was not on my bucket list. I had no desire to do it. But this trip, for me, was a lot about doing hard things by myself. About putting on a brave face, hitching up my extra large granny panties and doing what needs done. About conquering fears and above all, about moving forward with this life I’ve been dealt. I’m a single mom now, like it or not. This is my life. I’m going to live it, conquering one terrifying moment at at time. And likely, always seeing those blue eyes and that deep voice in my head, cheering me on, telling me I can do it, and letting me know he’s waiting for me on the other side.

Last week I took my kids on vacation. We went to Riviera Maya, Mexico. We sat on the beach, we snorkeled, we zip lined and we swam with dolphins. We ate all the food and drank all the drinks. We ordered room service. It cost a ridiculous amount of money and it was one of the best things I’ve ever done.

I know that some people might think it was selfish or unwise to spend that kind of money or take such a trip right now. They’re totally right. But they’re also very wrong.

When Vance got his job at the plant, he finally had paid vacation. For the first time ever, we were going to go on a family vacation and it wasn’t going to be to go see family or to Branson. We were going to take a real trip. And then he died. But I decided that we were still going.

I had to show my kids that we can move forward. That we can still do fun things. That we can still do hard things (because taking four kids out of the country alone, that’s not easy.). That we are still a family.

So this vacation, for me, was about much more than a week at the beach. This is my life now. I’m a single mom. I can do hard things. I can do fun things. I tell you this, though, I would give up any vacation have my husband back.

“Oh my goodness! You have two parents! Go ask your dad!”

I used to say that all the time. My kids would literally walk past their father to come to the bathroom door while I was showering to ask me if they could eat the bananas on the table. Or be sitting beside him and ask me what we were doing the rest of the day. Or while I was cooking and he was playing on his phone, ask me to help them with a project. They almost always asked me. Unless it was to watch more TV, in which case, they would ask Vance, because he almost always said yes and I say no. Smart kids.

It’s not like Vance wouldn’t have answered or helped them if they’d just asked. It’s just that, well, he’s the dad and I’m the mom. Most of the time, he got to be the fun parent. I got to be the one who laid down the rules.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying Vance couldn’t make the kids behave or that I never have fun with them. I just mean that because I was home all day and with the kids more, I was the primary parent when it came to chores, schoolwork, schedules and rules. He worked all day (and sometimes night) to provide for us, so when he came home, he wanted to relax. He had limited hours with the kids before bedtime and he didn’t want to spend them being the bad guy. I totally get that, although to be honest, I sometimes resented it.

In fact, after a particularly difficult day with one of the kids this week, I found myself screaming at Vance. “Thanks a lot for dying! Once again, you get to be gone and I have do all the hard stuff by myself! AGAIN! I hate you for that!”

(At this point, I feel like I should mention a couple personality flaws I’m working on. First, I have a short fuse. I get angry quickly and then blow. The positive side of that is that I don’t usually stay mad for long and once I’m over it, I’m over it. Second, I tend to take things to extremes. If I am happy with you, I love you to pieces but when I’m angry, I honestly do not want to see your face. Third, I say mean things in my anger. Again, I know these are flaws, not just quirks. I mean it when I say I’m working on it but right now it really is a daily fight for me. )

So back to me yelling at my dead husband. I don’t hate Vance. Not for being the fun parent or for dying. But dang it, sometimes I’m really, really mad that he’s gone and I’m here to navigate all of this alone. It doesn’t seem fair. But then, who said life was fair?

So lately, I find myself wishing I had the option of sending the kids to their dad. For help with math homework that I simply don’t know how to do. For discipline. For comfort. For a ride to practice. For jammed fingers and goodnight snuggles. Because every kid deserves two parents but mine don’t have that anymore, which totally sucks.

I know. I know. It could be worse. The time they had with Vance wasn’t nearly long enough, but it was full of love and games of catch and snuggle-jitsu. I know that some kids never even get a fraction of that. But it doesn’t mean it still doesn’t suck. Because it totally does.

Right now, I’d give almost anything to let him be the fun dad just one more time. To have the kids walk past him to ask me something and be able to scream, “You have two parents!” If only that were an option.

2019 was not my favorite year. In fact, I’d say it’s by far the worst I’ve ever experienced.

I mean, I became a widow in 2019. That was not exactly in my ten year plan. If you’d asked me in June, I would have said I would be taking a vacation in August, not figuring out life insurance policies and social security payments. Not to mention learning how to deal with day-to-day life alone.

Yeah, 2019 was not my favorite.

But even in all of the mess of these last six months, I have seen the goodness of God.

I have seen just how loved our family is and by how many. I’ve seen the gentleness of a friend silently take my hand in a hard moment. I’ve felt the strong arms of loved ones around my shoulders while I cried. I’ve heard the concern and genuine care in the voice of those who stopped by just to check on us. The sweat of those who have worked to do the things I physically could not do myself. I’ve read texts of encouragement that came just when they were needed. I have seen love in action.

I’ve seen the impact a quiet, gentle, hard-working, humble life lived for God can make. Grown men, mostly strangers to me, showing up to tell me how Vance changed them for the better. Stories of how he set the example and how he did the next right thing over and over. How he refused to gossip or believe the worst, but how he chose instead to encourage and honor those who were hurting.

This year has changed me in ways that I’m not even sure of yet. In some ways I’m much weaker; unsure and even frightened. I have cried more in the past six months than in my entire lifetime. I have struggled and doubted and curled up in a ball and sobbed more than I’d ever thought possible. I have been broken.

In other ways, I am becoming stronger. It wasn’t a choice. It was a have to. Being a single mom is not for the weak. And so, I have independently made decisions about money, my kids, memorial services, home improvements and how we would spend these first holidays as a family of five. I’ve said, “No, thank you,” and I’ve asked for help. None of those were easy.

In this new year, 2020, I want to be stronger than I am now. I want to spend less nights crying myself to sleep and more days making a difference. I want this year to have purpose. To honor Vance’s legacy and to create my own.

God is not finished with me. I know that. My story isn’t over.

This year won’t be an easy one. It will still be full of “firsts” without Vance. All the kids’ birthdays, Easter, baseball, dance recital, and who knows what else. Just thinking about those creates a giant ball in my throat and makes my eyes get all leaky. And I know that once all the “firsts” are over, there will be the “seconds.” The second birthday without him. The second anniversary, beginning of the school year, Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas. I don’t know that any of those will be easier than the firsts but I know they will come.

So, 2020, I’m ready for you. This will be a year of firsts, seconds and so much more. I’m gonna be stronger when you’re over. Let’s do this.

Since Vance died I started a new Spotify playlist. I call it Grace in the Grief, just like this blog, because just like this blog, I want the music I listen to point me to God. Especially so on the darkest days; the days I am drowning.

I asked my Facebook friends for song suggestions. Some of their music made the list, some of it wasn’t for me and some of it, sadly, I still haven’t listened to yet.

But the ones that have made the cut, they are each and every one, a lifeline. They remind me that I’m not alone. They give me hope. They reassure me. They almost always bring tears but they also bring strength when I am at my weakest.

A lot of the songs I already knew. Their familiarity made them easy to sing along to but there were also a few that were new to me. One of these has become my anthem, heavy in the rotation on my darkest days.

I know it’s all you’ve got to just be strong
And it’s a fight just to keep it together
I know you think that you are too far gone
But hope is never lost
Hope is never lost

Hold on, don’t let go

“You’re Gonna Be OK” by Jenn Johnson

Those first two lines. Um, yeah. Keeping it together is the fight of my life. Being strong enough to get through the day and then through the night and then through the next day…

I know your heart is heavy from those nights
But just remember that you are a fighter
You never know just what tomorrow holds
And you’re stronger than you know

Some nights recently I haven’t felt much like a fighter. With Christmas and the kids busy sports schedules and just… life, I don’t have a lot of fight left in me. I just wanna curl up in my bed and never get out. But the chorus of this song has more than once propelled me to get up, to move, to take one step at a time.

Just take one step closer
Put one foot in front of the other
You’ll get through this
Just follow the light in the darkness
You’re gonna be ok

You know what? I am gonna be ok. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe I will for a while then I’ll slip back into the ugly place. But eventually, I’ll get there. I’ll find a way to make the life I’ve been given meaningful. I’ll get out of bed with purpose. I’ll put my feet on the floor and move one at a time towards the light. Towards the Light of World. Moving forward without moving on.

I’m gonna be ok.

It’s finally over. This first Christmas without Vance. This holiday that has always been my favorite.

We’ve been to all the family gatherings. We made pizzas and Oreo balls and lasagna soup. We held candles and sang carols on Christmas Eve. We went to the park and had a Nerf War. We wrapped and unwrapped presents that honored Vance’s legacy and ones that were simply fun. Every single one of those things was wonderful and every single one of them was excruciatingly hard.

All of my siblings, parents, aunts and uncles and even some of my nieces and nephews, are married or in long-term relationships. This year I really noticed that everyone was half of a couple; everyone except me. No one made that weird or left me out or anything like that. But I noticed.

I was the only one who packed up the car alone. Who wrangled the kids without the option of, “Go ask your dad.” Who bought every single gift herself. No, wait, that’s pretty much every woman I have ever met. But I was the only one who came home to sleep alone. Who cried herself to sleep.

I don’t begrudge my family their relationships. I’m really happy that the people I care about have someone to love unconditionally. It’s not easy to find and we’ve been truly blessed to have so many in our lives who love each other so well.

But it’s lonely, this suddenly being single. This no longer being a couple. I don’t like it.

I miss him.

I miss us.

Moving forward is necessary but seems almost impossible. One step at a time. One foot in front of the other. One day, one hour, one minute, one breath at a time.

I took down the big tree a few days ago, something I don’t normally do until the new year. But this year I just was over it. I wanted Christmas to be over because I just need to find “normal.” It eludes me, no matter how hard I search for it.

So, yes, Christmas was hard. But not any harder than any other day. They’re just all hard.