When I added this line to the revamped version to record, I wanted to add a little more depth by adding a number that reflected our dating and married time together. On this anniversary, I can’t help but feel this number a little different. Especially as I tip toward 7 years without Josh's physical presence – another strange parallel, (7 was our unique celebrating number.) 
​
The song “Everyday (It’s Hard to Be Blue) truly does reflect so much, from our story to the many pieces it represents within my grief journey. Yes, it is just one song, but it is also a way to express my feelings rolled into one bunch. It’s like a giant chord of emotions, maybe like one of those extended jazz chords with lots of notes. 

Yeah, that's it, anniversary 24 is like a big fat jazz chord of emotions. It's complicated, and at times, it even sounds a bit bizarre.

As I start this Monday, I am trying to tackle it with intention by taking my nephew and bride-to-be to dinner and talking about Josh and our love story. I'll continue my work at the grief center, post this blog, and most likely play some melancholy/hopeful music at some point.

In this ever-changing space of my widow-life journey, I still acknowledge that there are many complicated parts in between. There is new blending with the old. There is sorrow and hope. There is now and then. There is contrast in all, and at various moments, I still feel the blues deep because Josh is truly gone. Even as I sing about joyful memories, there is a note of sorrow in the bass. This is just part of the song and journey. 💙​

"It's Hard to blue, when I think of you.
You brought a smile to my face every time
You brought laughter to my life
And joy to my soul." 

Find links to listen to the full song here Everyday (It’s Hard to Be Blue)
&  View all the lyrics to the song below

Six yea​rs later . . .

I pen the words imagining they appear like an opening caption to a movie sequel or the return of a favorite tv show. 

It has been six years, since I said the long goodbye to Josh. Even as his presence lingers like a ghost at times, I notably feel his absence in my everyday life. There are still moments when I would love to talk about a significant event happening and get his perspective. The sorrow doesn’t grip my heart quite as intensely as it did six years ago, or even five. I can’t fully say it has lessened each year, but it has toned down generally. This year, I find myself reimagining what I would do with one more day with him. 

Working on staff at a grief center, this year especially, has also heightened the conversations around me about grief and given me a new type of permission to talk through the layers that linger within anyone’s grief narrative. We talk about our people — living and dead. It’s refreshing. Maybe that sounds weird to say but I think so often in our culture, we skip over talking about people who are no longer here. Maybe it’s uncomfortable, maybe it’s just still so sad. I think honestly, it sometimes just feels easier to do ANYTHING else instead of looking that grief monster right in the eye. 

I recently watched the season finale of a show called “The Bear” which is riddled with themes of grief. The last episode of season 4 had me crying as it so fiercely tackled the topic – and all the things we hold inside trying to avoid truly facing it or talking about it. (Warning, there is a lot of language in the show and that episode, so it might not be for everyone)

Part of the tears came because of the timing of the year, but I also found myself caught up in how the characters addressed the heaviness and intensity that is grief. The journey impacts us all uniquely. As I take this September 30 day off work and sit outside a quiet cabin surrounded by birds, chattering chipmunks, and scurring squirrels, I know my friends and family are each navigating this day differently. 

Grief is hard because the significant days (birthday, death day, anniversary, etc.) are so unique and personal. It’s easier to remember or recognize a birthday (thank you social media) but a death day (which is also significant) can slip past without recognition for many. Yet, it is very memorable (and emotionally hard) to those who faced it head on.

There is a poem called, “The Dash” that references the time between our birth date and death date as our dash. Interestingly it was written the same year Josh graduated high school. In overview, it encourages readers to live, love and maximize our time between the two dates – our dash. While I agree with this sentiment, I know the markers of each beginning and end are also important to note.

With all this in mind, I thought on this sixth anniversary, it would be fitting to share six things I wish everyone (including my newer friends who never met him) knew about Josh’s dash of life.  

1. Josh loved a good story - telling it, watching it in a show or movie, or hearing it in a song.
2. Josh loved to laugh and enjoyed a good level of sarcasm.
3. Josh sincerely believed and trusted in Christ and loved the Church. He understood and believed in the good it could be when operating well, and was often frustrated when it didn’t.
4. Josh only had one lung (due to the 8 lb cancerous tumor being removed when he was 15 years old).
5. Josh loved the KC Royals, European Soccer and the Chiefs (probably in that order)
6. Josh loved his family and friends, this includes me, who he loved to his very core (and we in turn loved him greatly too).

Narrowing this list down to six was a challenge as there is so much more to any person, especially Josh, but at first pass these are the key things I’d want people to know about my beloved on this sixth anniversary.

Side note: Thank you to many who follow our story still today and who have told me so. It’s an honor to share my grief journey and to share about Josh and our life together. 

​Anniversaries seem to include a lot of math. How many years have we been together? How many years has it been since we did this or we did that? And each time you do the math somehow, it still doesn’t seem accurate. How could it be that long or that short? Today would be my 23rd wedding anniversary. Coincidentally our anniversary day math equals our “would be” years. I just realized this writing the title!

​This day, especially, still leaves me in a melancholy mood. The sorrow is not quite as severe as it was the first year, but it manages to sit on my chest like a brick. ❤️‍🩹💔

Just yesterday I was talking to someone about their “would be” 40th anniversary and she said, “you were so young to lose your husband.” My response, “yes, but it still hurts no matter how long.” 

Our grief and sorrow is not for comparing. It is different for sure but thinking, “oh they were married longer so it hurts more or it hurts less”, is not always accurate. Comparing is not fair in life or in death. Of course, there are a lot of things that aren’t fair in the world - I know there’s a whole lot we can say about that and I probably have at times.

Anyway, as I attempt to process the thoughts and feelings in my mind and heart today I am still thankful for saying, “I do” and “until death do us part” on May 18, 2002. I still greatly wish Josh and I could be celebrating another anniversary. If I add in the seven years of dating, I guess we’d be 30 years together at this point - crazy math once again. The bonus is that I got some added family members out of this mix that I still get to call my own. For that, I am very thankful. 

I am not an expert on grief, but I have lived it and there’s a lot of talk about you not moving on from grief. It’s true, you don’t just move on. I call my blog Grieving On, not because it’s about moving on, but I feel like I am carrying it with me so I’m grieving on. I’m grieving on in the sense of movement. On days like today, the movement is not as active but also life still happens around me. There are new memories and joyful moments still happening. Even still, the day can feel a little bit like sticky mud where it’s hard to gain traction. Even if trying to make the best of a sticky situation, mud pies don’t always taste so good.

So a sigh for a Happy/not so happy anniversary. But a smile for the love I experienced and the joys we shared as Mr and Mrs. Brown. 🤎