Months To Years Fall 2018 Months To Years Fall 2018 - Page 48

went camping with friends, plus went on a much-needed “Now is when I have to reinvent my world. Without Brad...” road trip with his parents. All to build memories where These were fleeting thoughts captured in my journal in the soon there would be none. We lived. months after Brad died. This was how I began to process and how I learned to live all over again. It took months to I wish there were more conversations, but headaches stole stop crying. Years to come out of active grief. And I still more hours than I care to remember in Brad’s last days. By process what it all means. August, I was numb. Shock kept building as the inevitable outcome inched closer. And cruelly, before Brad hit the six- Sometimes life is given in an abundance of years. Other month mark, he was in hospital again. This time, the last. times, your window to explore life’s beauty and mysteries To the end, I don’t think I ever accepted Brad’s impending is far shorter. I survived then and still seek life today. Brad death. I lived and lived and kept praying that we could stoically faced his life-threatening illness by embracing keep on living for just one more day. But one day, there life and giving me the gift of two beautiful girls to live it was only me left to keep on living. Brad passed the torch with. As he dreaded, their memories of him are fleeting, of life into my unstable hands. He was a month shy of his but I don’t let them forget all he was. He knew life was 35  birthday. I was 34 and had a 10-month-old and a 2 worth living. I try to prove that to our girls by pointing out “When I am going to wake up?” family, the marking of death… “I am the only one to make decisions.” Life is a gift. Death, sometimes our best reminder. th ½-year-old. Now the story was only mine to tell. everything from simple marvels to extraordinary moments which live on in memory—a tree planted, time spent with “I still can’t believe it. I miss him so bad.” “Not a day goes by that I don’t cry. I don’t understand what I am supposed to learn.” Katherine Krige is a freelance writer in London, Ontario. Her Bachelor of Arts in English collected dust for many years, until one day someone noticed her scribbling in a journal in a coffee shop. They suggested she start a blog to get her words out further. Those words went farther than she could have guessed and turned into a career in social media strate- gy. Katherine is a widowed mother of two prone to looking for the silver lining in things. After watching her late husband struggle to hold onto living for as long as possible during his cancer battle, she now throws herself into all she does. She writes, researches, volunteers in her community, wrangles cats and kids, and stops to smell the flowers as often as she can. You can find her on Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, and Instagram. You can also find her at the coffee shop whenever she gets the chance. 48