Memories

Because It Was All A Blur

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When I met with my therapist on Friday, I told her that I was concerned about this weekend. I knew it was going to be a busy weekend between several events on Saturday and the addition of Eleanor’s birthday party to our already busy Sunday routines. And, while busy times can actually be good for me, I was scared how all of the social situations would play out given the significance of this weekend’s place in the calendar.

Today marks five months since we lost Emily.

I think that, if you saw me yesterday or today, you probably wouldn’t have realized the impact this date has on me each month. However, as I sit in the stillness now that the kids are asleep, I can feel the emotional weight of the weekend in every part of my body. And, although most of the weekend flew by in a fast-paced blur of tissue paper and baked goods, I was fully aware of every moment I cried or longed for Emily over the past two days.

It started Saturday morning, as I stood in the background for a moment at the bowling alley, and I wished for her presence by my side. I held back tears in the card section of Target a few hours later when the kids saw a hedgehog card and said, “This would be a great card for Emily.” As the kids and I spent the evening at a birthday party, I stepped outside in hopes the cold air would calm me down as I suddenly became very acutely aware of the fact that I was the only person in the room without a spouse.

During Sunday School, I had to reel in my emotions when a classmate brought up his wife’s gallbladder surgery happening this week. I cried during the baptism that happened in worship, and again during the final hymn (Here I am, Lord) because both of those moments made me think of Emily for very different reasons. Then there was Eleanor’s party, which came with so many emotions and moments I had to stuff down just to get through the afternoon.

It all flew by so quickly. And yet, each of these snapshots I mentioned makes me think back to the day it all ties back to: October 19.

Trauma Brain Explained

As I told someone just last weekend, much of October 19, 2022 is a blur. I don’t remember what I was wearing that day, nor can I recall a single thing I ate. I suppose part of this could be chalked up to the fact that I hadn’t slept or changed my clothes for two days prior to that since I took Emily to the emergency room the evening of October 17 and never left her side those last 48 hours minus the couple of times I ran to the cafeteria to grab food.

However, there are some very specific moments I do remember from that day. And, if you asked me to, I could describe the small snapshots I do recall in great sensory detail. And, because I spent the last half of 2020 and first few months of 2021 going through very specific trauma treatments with my therapist to process past sexual assaults, I know that these highly detailed snapshots and large bits of missing data from that day are simply my brain working as it should because Emily’s death was very much a life trauma for me.

When we experience any type of trauma, our brains do very specific things to protect us. In some instances, it stores every sensory detail it can about the traumatic event so that it can use that data later to protect us from the same trauma happening again. This is why seemingly small things, like the scent of lavender or the sound of boots on stairs, become very intense trauma triggers for people.

However, our brains will also sometimes “wash away” memories as a way of protecting us from experiencing painful emotions again when we recall a specific memory. In these instances, those same sensory memories like the smell of lavender or sound of boots may make someone panic, but they don’t understand why.

And these “protective measures” are exactly what makes trauma so hard to process or even cope with.

Pieces of a Day I Never Wanted

It’s funny, because as much as I’ve tried not to think about Emily’s death this weekend, random pieces of that day have popped into my mind. Yet, even when these snapshots appear, they’re just that — tiny fragments of time, with no connection to the moment before or after they occurred.

I remember the doctor telling me that ECMO didn’t work and Emily was gone. My entire body felt cold, and I kept saying, “No… This can’t be happening… She was fine… No…” on a loop as I wavered between crying and panicking.

Yet I don’t remember anyone calling Emily’s parents (they did), nor do I remember calling my mom or texting one of our pastors (but my phone logs clearly show it).

Time passes, a break in my memory.

I remember sitting in the room with Emily all by myself. I remember the sounds of the machines still running. Her hand felt cold as I held it, yet it was just as soft as always. My voice trembled as I talked to her, and the silence swallowed me as I asked her questions I knew she couldn’t answer. People walked in and out of the room to check on me. Time felt frozen but moved so quickly at the same time.

Silence. They still have her hooked up to machines. I hear it pumping air, but she’s not breathing. Her body is there, but she’s gone.

I don’t remember taking my mask off (I did because I realized it was missing later when I went to leave the room), nor do I remember anyone handing me her ring (it was in a plastic bag in my pocket when I got home).

I contemplate climbing in the bed with her. Maybe if I lie there long enough, I can be with her. My eyes scan the room for a way to escape life. Her lips aren’t moving, but I hear her say, “No, babe.”

Time passes, but I feel frozen, just holding her hand. I can’t tell you if more happened, but something tells me it did.

I remember hugging Emily’s mom when she arrived. The tears started all over again, and the only thing I could get out was, “I’m sorry.” The guilt and the pain hit me like a semi truck, and I kept wishing I could trade places with Emily so she could simply walk out of the hospital with her parents, alive and well. A pastor arrived, more hugs, more tears. Time continues moving but I’m still frozen in this moment, I can’t help but continue holding her hand.

I remember a brief break from the tears when someone said something funny, yet I don’t even remember who said it or what they said. People are talking, but I’m barely processing the words. In my head I keep shouting, “Wake up, Emily!” but really I’m just holding her hand that’s still cold, but soft.

Time passes. It’s a blur again.

The next thing I remember, we’re leaving the room. We go into a sort of private waiting area, and I feel like I’m watching an episode of Grey’s Anatomy, not living my own life. I become very aware of her shoes. Why she wore her Chacos, I’ll never know.

Someone is talking, but they might as well be speaking a different language. I space out and hope Emily’s parents are paying attention. I want to go back and be with her. My phone rings. I don’t remember the conversation.

I’m standing outside the hospital, still holding her shoes. My mom pulls up. Introducing my mom to her parents feels so wrong. We were going to do this over dinner soon to celebrate the engagement. This can’t be right. I pinch myself, but it’s not a nightmare.

Time passes in the car. I remember sitting at a table, texting my therapist to please fit me in today if she can. I think I ordered food. I don’t remember eating it.

Time passes. Another break in my memory.

I pull into the garage at home. I leave her shoes in my car. I don’t want to look at them. If I don’t confront the things, then she’s not really gone. I walk into the house. It’s exactly how we left it Monday night. I yell at myself for leaving dinner out, but I have zero motivation to do the dishes right now. I sit on the couch.

Time passes. I think I sleep. My phone goes off. I don’t remember texting people, but my friends know what happened. They ask me if I’m safe.

Time passes. It’s all a blur. Eventually I look at my phone, and it’s not Wednesday anymore. It’s Thursday.

Will It Ever Not Feel Like A Blur?

So many moments over the past five months have felt like a blur. I don’t always remember time passing, yet it does. And, with every minute of time, that much more distance comes between October 19, 2022 and the present day.

I don’t know if life without Emily will ever feel right. Part of me thinks it won’t, and I’m willing to live with that. Because of Emily, there’s a very specific period of time in my life that felt truly incredible. And if that’s all the time like that I’m ever given, it would be enough. Because to me, even one day in her presence is worth an entire lifetime of days that feel like blurs. And that probably doesn’t make any sense, but I think I’m to a point where I’ve realized very little about life makes sense. So, I guess it’s all par for the course.

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Because She Couldn’t Say ‘No’

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It’s 2:30 in the morning. I shouldn’t be awake at all. Yet, here I am, writing.

Right now, I’m experiencing one of those rare instances where I feel angry. I don’t know exactly who I’m angry at, but I do know why. And, I’m not just slightly angry — I’m absolutely livid. I’m so sick of “counting my blessings” and being “thankful for the time” I did get with Emily. For once, I just want to say, “No!” to all of that and sit with the anger I feel towards the situation.

Of course, the irony here is that Emily and I are probably two of the least likely people to say “no.”

She Refused to Rock The Boat

Emily and I were very different people. But, at the time, we shared several personality traits… One of them being the inability to say “no.”

In the time I knew Emily, I watched her say “yes” so many times. I watched her say it to extra shifts at work. I watched her say it to friends who needed rides or other help. I watched her say it to Julian.

And, although I know she genuinely wanted to help people, I also know that there were many times when the “yes” came as more of an obligation.

Emily hated conflict. She tried to live her life in a way that would create as few ripples in the water as possible. So, in many cases, she’d convince herself that saying “no” would rock the boat too much, so she’d choose the “yes” as a path of least resistance… regardless of the personal cost.

The Anger That Comes With ‘Yes’

Even before we started dating, Emily often reached out to me to discuss the “yes” situations where she wanted to say “no” but didn’t. Looking back, I’m not sure why she chose me to confide in me about those moments, but if I had to guess, it’s because she knew that I struggled with saying “no” as well.

Anyway, I’d sometimes laugh at her messages as I empathized with her because of how angry she’d be about the situation and how mad she’d be at herself for saying yes. Of course, I’d always have to play devil’s advocate a bit and remind her that, ultimately, she has the option to say no if she feels so strongly about it.

I would also sometimes express my own frustration in her “yes” moments when I knew she would have preferred to say “no.” For me, the frustration came when she’d choose saying “yes” to someone else over her own needs or established plans we had together. I think that sometimes my feelings for her would impact the way I viewed the situation because, although she rarely stood up for herself, I was always more than willing to put my life on the line for her.

For example, there was more than one occasion where she’d say “yes” to something that would interfere with her getting grad school assignments done. She’d always say, “I’ll find a way to get them done,” but I’d also overly lecture her on the fact that her entire future career depended on grad school assignments.

Then there were all the times she’d say yes to her ex, both when they were dating and after they broke up. I couldn’t believe all the things she put up with from him, and it made me not just mad at her, but mad at him for taking advantage of her in every way imaginable.

And, although I sometimes felt bad for pointing out these things, I always did it with the best of intentions. I just wanted her to learn to put herself first… but ultimately she never did.

It’s All in the Past Now

I look back on these seemingly silly moments now and feel angry all over again. I’m angry that so many people took advantage of Emily. I’m angry that she never valued herself enough to put her foot down. But, at the same time, I’m angry at myself for all the times I lectured her or argued with her for saying “yes.”

It’s probably stupid to look back and think, “How could I have handled that differently? How could I have supported her more?” But, at the same time, I have to wonder how much of what was happening with her at the end was the result of her sacrificing herself for others too many times.

Emily couldn’t say no, and sometimes it really irritated me. But, ultimately, it only made me mad because I loved her and wanted what was best for her, even when she didn’t prioritize these same things for herself.

Because Her Grace Was Abounding

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I think I’ve mentioned it before, but Emily and I signed up for Disciple Bible study back in the fall. I remember that first week, as we debated between going to Disciple class or another option, Emily looked at me and said, “I’ve heard that Disciple classes are pretty intense… Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I nodded, and in we went with no idea what we were getting ourselves into.

As someone who grew up in the Catholic church, I’ve always considered myself to be fairly well versed in scripture. After all, the Lectionary is set up so that you read the entire Bible every three years (assuming you go to Mass every Sunday). I’ll be honest, though, this class has really made me look at everything in a very different way. And, in many ways, it’s made me question a lot of the beliefs I’ve held onto about Christianity and, even more so, myself.

This week, we discussed the Epistle to the Romans. Although I definitely had many thoughts and questions about the book as a whole, I really went down a rabbit hole in my mind when someone in class brought up the topic of grace. It’s a subject that, honestly, I’ve always struggled with, largely because much of modern Christian teachings specifically condemn multiple aspects of my identity as undeserving of God’s grace. And yet, as I drove home tonight and fought back tears, I could hear Emily’s voice clear as day, telling me to stop being so mean to myself… just like she did nearly every single day from 2018 to 2022.

She Showed Me Grace

Emily was one of the most kindhearted, giving people I’ve ever met. In fact, I often think of her when people ask for a definition or example of terms like abounding grace or altruism. She shared her gifts, her presence, and her love with others without hesitation and, oftentimes, without any consideration as to how it might affect her.

It always surprised me when I’d do something that I considered inconsiderate or harsh, and she’d still be there, ready to forgive me and accept me still. And, as I often told her, I didn’t understand how she did it because I felt so undeserving.

The Puppy Debate

There was that ridiculous puppy, Nova, that she fostered for a few days then decided to adopt. She was not only living in an apartment that didn’t allow pets, but she was working two jobs and enrolled in grad school. I watched this puppy for her a couple times, and I spent several nights talking to her on the phone or texting her as she struggled to deal with the dog because it was so young, untrained, and quite the handful.

Finally, I told her, “Emily, just take the damn dog back to the humane society and tell them that you just don’t have the time or space to deal with a puppy right now. It’s not that big of a deal.” She asked if I’d take the dog back for her, and I said, “No. I’ll drive you there, I’ll stand by you the whole time, but I will not do it for you. You are the one who adopted the dog, so you need to be the one to take it back. You’re an adult, and sometimes that means you have to do hard things.”

I know I was harsh. I know I made her cry. And, honestly, I spent the entire rest of that day feeling guilty about it and worrying if she was going to stop being my friend because of it. But, the next day, she reached out and thanked me for what I said and told me she didn’t think any less of me because of it. She never once yelled at me, told me I was a bad friend, or treated my any differently after that. (Oh, and she did take the dog back, too.)

Jealousy Over The Ex

Emily and I started dating about two weeks after she broke up with her ex. We didn’t plan it, and I definitely didn’t see it coming, but I definitely found myself floating on air that entire first week after that night at Hooters.

Then, on Friday night, she started texting me. She’d agreed to hang out with her ex and some mutual connections that evening. However, when she went to pick him up (he doesn’t drive), he had an entire suitcase with him because he decided they needed a “romantic weekend together.” And, because Emily hates confrontation even more than I do (and that’s saying something), she didn’t say no.

She was texting me to try to figure out what to do, but my emotions were all over the place. I stopped replying to her texts because I knew I was going to say something I’d regret, but then she started blowing up my phone because she interpreted my sudden silence as anger. I tried my best to explain to her that I was feeling jealous, hurt, and confused, but I wasn’t doing it well.

At one point, I told her I felt stupid for thinking that she’d actually be into me, and I’d rather her be honest than pretend to be into me. Of course, she responded by telling me that she definitely wanted to date me, but she was afraid of confrontation (which I already knew) and she didn’t want to hurt Julian’s feelings or give him a reason to lash out at her.

The entire time, she kept telling me that my feelings about the situation were valid and the last thing she wanted to do was hurt me. Looking back, I definitely didn’t handle the situation in a mature way, but she was still willing to love me anyway. And, ultimately, she did start setting some harsher boundaries with the ex — it just took a lot of time and effort.

Her Grace Knew No Limits

Obviously, those are very specific examples of me and Emily. However, I watched her show grace to countless other people, too.

She had this friend that, honestly, said some really harsh things to Emily at times. I remember multiple conversations with Emily crying over the things this friend had said about how Emily was “getting fat” and how she “wasn’t a good friend” because she was trying to get the friend to make recovery oriented decisions. And yet, it didn’t matter what Emily had going on in her life, anytime that friend needed help, Emily would drop everything and go. We once even had to turn our date night into sharing a fast food burger and fries outside the emergency room because the friend called her when she was on her way to meet me and needed medical attention.

The same ex I mentioned before? We once picked him up at 11:00pm and took him to the ER as well because his blood sugar was all sorts of out of whack and he called Emily because he didn’t have anyone else. After everything he had done to her (I’m eventually going to talk more about that), she looked at me that night and said, “I know he is a huge jerk, but he needs help and we can help him. Doesn’t everyone deserve that?”

Trying to Find My Emily-Like Grace

As I told people in my Disciple class tonight, I really feel like my job at this point is continuing Emily’s legacy. She never said that, but I feel like she made the world a better place, and I still want that for everyone.

But, like I said tonight: How do you show others grace when you yourself don’t feel deserving? And, even more so, are we supposed to offer abounding grace if we’re truly leaning into our call to be Christ-like?

I am going to talk to Emily about these things this weekend. And, even if I don’t get an answer, I know she’ll at least be willing to listen because she’s always been willing to do anything for me.

Because She Loved a Good Bargain

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Do you ever just have those days that instantly suck from the moment you wake up? Monday was that kind of day for me. The alarm brought my dream to an abrupt halt, which made me angry and sad because dream me was cuddled up in a hospital bed with a very much alive Emily while one of our friends kept watch on the door to the room (long story).

The kids grumbled, groaned, and yelled at me the entire time we got ready for school. A client’s blog broke. Kroger isn’t have several items from my Clicklist order in stock. You name it, it probably went wrong. So, I called it quits a little before 4:00, threw a piece of “magic chocolate” in my mouth (IYKYK), and went over to the battlefield park near my townhouse.

I spent over an hour at the battlefield mindfully walking along trail and sitting to read in the grass for a bit. The sun started to set, so I left, but I knew that my mental state at that point wouldn’t be safe at home alone. So I went to Bargain Hunt. And, of course, about 5 minutes into my time there, I started crying because I thought of Emily.

Shopping on a Budget

In case the posts about Costco and Target weren’t enough indications, I’ll just spell it out for you: Emily loved to shop. Didn’t matter if it was clothes, books, or home decor — she loved it all.

But, here’s the best part: She loved thrifting and bargain shopping just as much as anything else.

Over the years, I went on many adventures with Emily to stores like TJ Maxx, Marshalls, Home Goods, and Bargain Hunt. We also frequently hit thrift stores, Goodwill, and McKays (I’ll probably do a whole other post about McKay’s because there’s a lot of history there). And, of course, I will never forget her love for Five Below.

Sometimes, she went into these stores purely to walk around. But, other times, she went into them with a mission, and that mission was to get whatever items she needed for as cheap as possible. In fact, I watched her price compare things on several occasions, because she was determined to get the best possible price for whatever item it was.

It’s funny, because I don’t think I would have ever guessed by looking at her that Emily was a serious bargain and thrift shopper. But, honestly, I’m pretty sure she knew about more of those stores than I did, which is fairly impressive.

My Favorite Thrifting Date

I’d say Emily and I ended up in some type of bargain store at least once a month. However, I very distinctly remember a day when we intentionally set out to have a thrifting date day, which meant we basically just hit every discount or used goods store in Murfreesboro.

We started at Plato’s Closet and each found a few clothing items there. Then we ran next door to Play & Trade to see if they had any good deals on used Switch games (they really didn’t). From there, we went to Uptown Cheapskate, where we found even more clothes for both of us. I especially liked this part of the day because Emily had several items to try on, so she did a mini fashion show for me (my rendition for her wasn’t nearly as attractive or fun). Then, we ran next door to… Bargain Hunt.

I think this date stands out in my mind to this day for several reasons. For starters, Emily is just incredibly fun to shop with. Also, we each picked out a couple of silly things for the other person to try on, and we both laughed out asses off. And, of course, it was a relatively cheap date, which was nice.

Yet, despite all of that, the best part for me was something that probably doesn’t make sense to anyone else, but it did to Emily. She was totally chill with my buying clothes from the “men’s” part of the store. In fact, she wasn’t even just chill about it — she literally encouraged me to buy things that I liked and made me happy, regardless of what part of the store they were in.

I already knew before that day, but seeing her so openly support me and say how good things looked on me just sealed the deal for me. It was clear that I’d finally found someone who saw, understood, accepted, and loved me just the way I am. And, I hope that day helped her see the very same thing, because I know how hard shopping for clothes could be for her.

An Aisle Full of Tears

It’s funny, as I look back on that thrifting date and many of our other shopping adventures, I don’t think anything overly significant ever happened at Bargain Hunt. But I think the emotions hit me hard yesterday because of the way our brains just associate things, and I’ll always associate stores like that with Emily.

After I finally moved on past the aisle I fell apart in, it was like I kept seeing signs of Emily throughout the rest of the store. There was several beach things and some camping gear. Then I found little decor items that were funny little plant signs: one had a pun that said, “You had me at aloe,” and one that was just a snake plant (which she claimed to be). There were even some damn Boosts in the grocery section… It was all things that made me continue to think of Emily.

My love of a good bargain probably won’t ever disappear. But, because Emily loved that type of shopping as well, I think my mind will always think of her when I step into any of those stores. But, hey, at least she won’t judge me for overspending if I’m buying stuff at a discount store?

Because She Could Spend Hours Inside Costco

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This may sound ridiculous, but I took what I’d consider a small step forward today. I went to Costco for the first time since Emily died.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: What the heck does Costco have to do with anything? But, there’s a lot more to this warehouse store than you’d think. Or, maybe I’m overly sentimental… Who knows?

Costco Was Uncharted Territory

If you’ve lived in Murfreesboro for a while, then you know Costco is a fairly new addition to our city’s shopping options. In fact, the warehouse chain just opened the Murfreesboro location in July 2021, which was 3 months after Emily and I started dating.

As the opening date approached, Emily kept talking about how wonderful this was going to be. She’d talk about all of the incredible things she’d bought in bulk at the Nashville Costco, and how she was so glad she had a membership. Sometimes she sounded like a walking advertisement for the place, because she would just insert how we could “save so much” and “stock up on essentials” with a single trip every few months.

Meanwhile, I remained full of scepticism because I’d never been in a Costco before. It was uncharted territory for me, and I just didn’t see how anything could be that amazing. I’d been to Sam’s Club, and it was alright, but only if I needed 800 of something and was willing to deal with the ridiculous crowds. (Spoiler Alert: I hate crowds.)

But, just like with everything else in our relationship, Emily always wins. So, after it opened, we went to check out Costco.

A Magical Warehouse

I’ll be honest, my first encounter with Costco was a lot. I think we spent over two hours in the store, and I got to see every inch of the warehouse. Emily was determined to walk me through every single aisle (I later learned when we went to IKEA that this is just how Emily operates) and show me everything.

Like Sam’s Club, the store has a little bit of everything. Yet, in many ways, it had a wider selection of things, especially for those who follow specific types of diets. Certain sections had a lot more to offer, while there seemed to be less “junk” items available to buy. It was fascinating and overwhelming all at once.

And yet, it was one of those places where Emily seemed to shine.

If you’ve never watched a woman who doesn’t even clear 5′ tall push around a giant cart full to the brim of groceries, paper goods, and various household items, then you’re doing life wrong. It’s hilarious. And, honestly, I’m still not even sure how she did it besides to say magic played a part.

Costco Became Date Night

Over the course of the next year or so, Emily and I made several Costco adventures. And, because we essentially turned it into a date night, we often went when the kids were with their dad.

One time, we completely lost track of time and eventually were ushered to the front because they were trying to close. Another time, we sat in the massage chairs they had on display and spent 30 minutes testing them out and sending each other ridiculous text messages because we couldn’t talk to each other without yelling. Sometimes we’d even eat inside Costco because it was cheap and honestly not that bad.

It didn’t matter what made it to the checkout or how much we spent: we always had fun together inside the store.

We Always Went Back

I remember some of our favorite purchases, too. For example, they had this giant package of sliced cheese you could buy, and Emily made sure that ended up in the cart every single time we went. We’d buy spinach, almond milk, laundry detergent, nose spray, snacks and more. We loved the salmon patties as well as these prepared entrees of Indian food. Oh, and we fell in love with the Truly popsicles and had to get those each time.

So, every couple of months, we’d go to Costco together and stroll through the store together, laughing and filling the cart.

It Felt Strange to Go Without Her

I’ll be honest, I was a bit hesitant to go to Costco today. But I sucked it up and went because I desperately needed laundry detergent and a few other things. And, sure, it wasn’t nearly as fun without her, but it was helpful nonetheless.

Now that I’m back at home, reflecting on my day, I’m realizing that part of the journey we all go on in our grief is reclaiming places and activities after the loss. It’s not that we ever want to erase our person or want to “move on,” but rather that we have to figure out how to exist in the world without the person we loved.

When my grandmother died, I had to learn how to feel comfortable playing card games again because that had been such a huge part of our shared story. She taught me how to play almost every single card game I know, and it felt wrong to play these games without her.

With Emily, nearly every aspect of my life feels wrong when she’s not by my side. Yet, I only have two options: do the things anyway or stop living. And, deep down, I know that Emily would never want me to choose that second option.

So, yes, I’m sure it sounds silly for me to say, “Hey, guys, I did this huge thing today — I went to Costco!” But, because that was something I only did with Emily until now, it’s important for me to recognize the effort it took to step inside the door without her.

Because I Got Her In Trouble

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Back in January, a dear friend of mine suggested I sign up for a grief support group. She even helped me find one specifically for spouses, so I decided to take a chance and sign up.

It’s funny, because group therapy used to be such a huge part of my life just five years ago. Yet, since I left the DBT group Emily and I met in, I have mostly sustained myself through weekly individual therapy sessions without much else in the way of therapeutic intervention. But, then again, I suppose the sudden and very much unexpected death of the woman you planned to grow old with is one of those life-changing events that requires a bit more support.

Although the circumstances are very different, I guess you could say that life today feels eerily similar to the year from hell that led me to group therapy before. Of course, this time I’m in therapy because Emily is gone, whereas before, the therapy is what brought Emily into my life.

When Strangers Become Friends

At Emily’s funeral, I very candidly shared the story of how we met. I still smile every time I think about the moment I saw Emily walk into that room. Although I won’t go so far as to say it was love at first sight, I definitely felt a sort of emotional shift inside of me that day. And, even if she only did it because I seemed like the least intimidating or crazy person in the room, I definitely felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness when she sat down next to me that day.

Between August and April, that first encounter became commonplace, as nearly the exact same situation unfolded each and every week. I quickly learned that I could anticipate exactly what Emily was coming to therapy that day based on three key Emily components: her hair and makeup, the beverage in her hand, and her eyes. But, I didn’t care if happy Emily, depressed Emily, or sleep-deprived Emily sat down next to me — because I enjoyed Emily’s company regardless of her mood.

Of course, one of my favorite parts about having Emily in group was the comments she would make. Like her, I have a bad habit of responding to pretty much every situation with a terrible joke or overly sarcastic comment. Fortunately, we had both learned how to mumble those comments in a way that usually people didn’t listen. Unfortunately, because we both did this, we picked up on when the other person was doing it, which meant we heard each other’s comments all the time and laugh about them.

And, if you know me at all, you know that I do a terrible job of remaining still and quiet when I find something funny.

Emily and I got “in trouble” several times because of what became our little inside jokes. The therapist leading the group would glare in our direction, sigh heavily, and suddenly find a reason to call on one of us or ask if we were listening. It got to the point where sometimes we’d pick up on what the other was thinking or saying, and one time we even both started laughing during a mindfulness exercise because we’d just had a conversation previously about how much Emily hated that specific guided meditation.

Some weeks, the therapist would sit between us or near enough to us that we had to behave. Other weeks the therapist would catch us both hanging out in the parking lot an hour after group had ended, and she’d ask what we were talking about before she got in the car and drove away. She knew we’d become close.

Then, one week in late April of 2019, I said one thing, and it started a whole train reaction of events.

Emily and I were both also seeing the therapist who led the group for individual sessions. It’s sort of the protocol for dialectical behavior therapy, because the assumption is you’ll bring homework from the group to unpack during individual sessions, and the therapist can reinforce skills. We were also nearing the end of the final module in group, which meant I was nearing my second time through the entire program. If you do DBT “by the book,” most people either stop the group after two times through or, as recommended for people with BPD (which according to that therapist I had), you move into an advanced group.

At this point, I felt like I was doing well all things considered. I hadn’t been in the hospital for over a year, I was working at a church and a rehab facility, and I seemed to be on a good medication combo. So, during my individual session, I casually asked, “So what’s next once we finish this last module?”

The therapist gave me this confused look and asked what I meant, so I explained that this was my second time through everything, and I felt like I had a good grasp of the skills we’d covered and wasn’t sure that it made sense to do the same thing a third time. I then asked if she had any referrals for a place to go if I wanted to try an advanced group since she wasn’t offering one.

Without projecting too strong of a negative attitude towards this therapist, I’ll just say I left the session in tears and unsure of what was coming next. The next week, the therapist essentially told me she was going to be unable to continue working with me after we finished the last group session and I would need to find someone else to see individually. Of course, my individual session just happened to be right before group, so Emily knew the moment she saw me that day I wasn’t okay.

When I told her everything later, she couldn’t believe it. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have told her everything, but I trusted her and needed a friend. But, I told her, knowing that she was going to do a second round of the group sessions and still see the therapist individually.

Well, long story short, Emily did a whole worksheet about a situation where “a friend got kicked out of a group we’re both in” and how she felt about it (angry and upset). Suddenly, Emily said the therapist told her she needed to move back in with her parents because she wasn’t recovered enough to live alone. And, like me, she was left to find a new therapist.

In other words, my decision to be assertive about my own mental health care also messed up Emily’s care.

I Guess I’m Not Getting Her In Trouble Now

Okay, yes, I realize that what happened isn’t exclusively my fault. I’ve shared the story with my current therapist and, spoiler alert, she was a bit appalled about many things the aforementioned group therapist did. But, it does make for an interesting story and does make the fact that we remained friends even after our time in group therapy ended a bit more understandable.

But, between that and the fact that most people didn’t know Emily wasn’t straight until she started dating me, I feel like I got Emily in trouble a lot in the time we knew each other. But, every time I pointed this out to Emily, she’d smack me and talk about how I also was incredibly helpful to her, especially in regards to her ED recovery.

Because of me, Emily got in trouble. So, at least I’m no longer being a bad influence on her?

Because She Lived For Medical Shows

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I know by now I’ve mentioned that one of the first things Emily and I bonded over was our mutual love of Grey’s Anatomy. It was very much a focal point of our friendship and provided us with an abundance of memes, quotes, and memories to share. By the time 2020 rolled around, we frequently hung out on Thursday nights so we could watch the show together, and once we moved in together we relished our time together after the kids went to bed when we could curl up with our favorite snacks and watch the show together. In fact, this show was such a huge part of our story that we actually debated having a Grey’s-themed wedding or, at the very least, a Grey’s-themed joint bachelorette party.

My love for this show is a bit odd, because I’m not usually one for anything that includes a lot of blood, guts, and needles. Of course, if you knew Emily at all, then you knew her love of Grey’s Anatomy was about so much more than the characters or the drama — it was the medical aspects of the show that really appealed to her.

More Than Just Grey’s Anatomy

For reasons I’ll never fully understand, Emily lived for any television show with a medical component. In the time I knew her, she made me watch Private Practice, 9-1-1, and another fictitious medical show I can’t remember. I know she watched other shows too, like Chicago Med, but somehow we hadn’t gotten around to any others just yet.

She absolutely loved watching these shows. Yet, at the same time, they always pissed her off because of her extensive medical knowledge. So, for me, watching her watch the shows was entertainment in itself.

She’d sit and speculate what was wrong with a patient or make guesses about what would happen during surgery. She’d get mad anytime the doctors would casually call up UNOS because “that’s not how getting an organ works,” and she’d constantly correct how certain procedures or tests were done. It was hilarious.

Of course, my favorites were the episodes that also involved a psych component, because then I also got to see social worker Emily come out and yell at the television set even more. She hated pretty much every single social worker, therapist, or psychiatrist any of these shows ever cast, and she’d get mad at how ridiculous some portrayals of diagnoses appeared (example: Dr. Bailey’s OCD).

No matter how inaccurate the shows were, though, she continued to watch them. And I loved seeing this side of Emily come out.

Don’t Forget The Real-Life Medical Shows

Although I would have been content with our mediocre fictional medical dramas, Emily’s love of medicine + TV didn’t stop there. She also loved many real-life medical shows, and she made me watch them all when we had access to Discovery+.

My personal favorite was Sex Sent Me To The ER because no one died or had a serious medical condition, they were usually just stupid and needed medical attention to fix their stupidity. Also, they often had people reenact what happened in an overly dramatized way, which made me laugh to no end.

We watched several other shows, too. Some memorable ones include Untold Stories of the ER, Mystery ER, Mystery Diagnosis, Life or Death, and Surgery Saved My Life. Many of the shows had questions throughout, and Emily always knew the answers. She also frequently guessed the diagnosis before the doctors even figured it out fully, which impressed me. But, sometimes I had to just not watch for a bit, because I don’t do well with blood and other gross stuff.

Of course, Emily’s favorite show was without a doubt Dr. G Medical Examiner. As the name implies, a medical examiner named Dr. G would investigate unexplainable deaths and find answers for the families. Sometimes Dr. G would discover something rare, whereas other times she’d merely find that the cause of death given wasn’t the full story. Each episode included plot twists, and Emily lived for the thrill of the final answer.

She’s Her Own Medical Mystery Now

Looking back, I wish I’d had enough grasp over my thoughts during those last few hours with Emily to joke about how she was becoming her own version of her favorite medical mystery television shows. Emily’s brother did joke about it in his speech at the funeral, which I appreciated. Because I know that, deep down, she would have laughed and screamed over the irony all at once.

But, alas, here we are over four months after her death, and we still have no idea what caused Emily to die. The autopsy results still haven’t come to fruition (at least to my knowledge), and not a single person I’ve talked to that has any sort of background in medicine has any idea for me.

I know that Emily would want to know what happened, and the not knowing often keeps me up at night. I can’t help but wonder if taking her to the ER sooner would have helped. I keep thinking about those last 48 hours and ask myself each day if I made a misstep along the way or if something her treatment team did could have gone awry. I’ve even wondered if the pieces of my orange chicken from the cafeteria that she stole from me to supplement her bland dinner could have been the culprit.

Unfortunately for now, her death is just as much a mystery as any of the aliments people dealt with on her favorite television shows, and it’s sad, frustrating, and excruciatingly painful to live in the unknown.

Because Emily loved medical mysteries, I suspect the answers we eventually get will either be something incredibly rare and fascinating or so unclear that she’ll become a medical mystery for the ages. But, because I also love her, I am just glad to know she’s not in pain anymore and have to assume that the damage that occurred in those last few hours was so extensive that God didn’t see any other way to take care of her but to call her home.

Because She Gives Me Strength

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Over the past four months, I’ve done a lot of things that, quite frankly, I can’t fully explain. Some of these things, like drinking an entire bottle of rum in a single day, were 100% a form of pain management. Others, like agreeing to be in a fashion show (more on that later), are definitely no-brainer decisions I’ve made on the premise that Emily would want me to do them.

Honestly, I can’t quite explain where the strength or knowledge that compels me to do these things comes from. However, I know that it’s been happening from the moment I walked out of Vanderbilt just over four months ago. And, although most people may think I’m crazy for saying this, I’m choosing to believe it’s some form of Emily with a side of the Holy Spirit leading me along.

Of course, if you don’t believe me, maybe you will once I finish this little story that’s been on my mind today.

Words Are My Thing

When we started the planning process for Emily’s funeral, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But, when her mom asked me if I’d like to speak, I just felt something inside of me saying, “Do it.” I guess it’s probably the fact that words are my thing, and I knew deep down Emily would want me to write something.

So, I did. In fact, this is what I wrote (and read):

“Every great love story starts with an adorable narrative of how the couple met. Sometimes they’re high school sweethearts or have a budding college romance. Other times they meet in places like work, through mutual friends, or at church. 

Of course, if you know Emily, then you know how much she “loved” fitting into the mold. So, it’s only fitting that we met in a way much like any other couple… we met in group therapy in 2018.

If you ask me, I say that our meeting was serendipitous. I was instantly drawn to her warmth, her smile, and her energy. I could just tell that there was something about Emily that made her extraordinary, and I wanted to learn what exactly that spark was all about. If you ask Emily, she’d say that she really only sat next to me because I was ‘less weird than everyone else in the room.’ 

Despite these less-than-conventional beginnings, Emily and I quickly bonded like any couple who is destined to be together. We often laughed at each other’s snarky comments during our therapy group’s weekly meetings and checked in with each other when we sensed something was “off” with the other person. Over time, our conversations moved out of the therapy room into the parking lot, then to text messages and phone calls, dinner rendezvous, and trips to McKay’s together. She accompanied my children and me on vacations, we celebrated a pandemic Thanksgiving together over Zoom, and we regularly indulged in our favorite guilty pleasure — Grey’s Anatomy — from the comfort of my couch.

For me, every moment we spent together was magical and meaningful and far beyond anything I’d ever experienced with another person in my entire life. Yet, somehow, it took us until April 2021 and a day-long adventure of couch shopping together to finally admit what was on our hearts: we were in love.

In some ways, I think the wait was a lesson in patience and learning to ‘trust the process.’ Of course, this lesson was just one of the many things Emily taught me during our time together.

Throughout our friendship and romantic relationship, Emily taught me so many things that I’m not sure I can even list them all. But, I’m going to try and share a few with everyone who is gathered here today.

Emily taught me what true joy and passion looked like. Every time Emily danced, played her oboe, sang, or played the piano, she did so wholeheartedly. You could see the joy these creative outlets brought her, and it made watching or listening to her that much more impactful. 

But she didn’t just express that joy through creative arts — it showed through in even the most mundane tasks. She found ways to sprinkle joy into activities like cooking, caring for pets, working on grad school assignments… pretty much anything you can imagine, Emily found a way to make it joyful and exciting (except cleaning, but we’ll just forget that).

Emily showed me what strength, courage, and determination can really do. In the time I knew her, I watched Emily push through eating disorder recovery. She’d set goals and challenges for herself, and crush them time and time again. She would reach out for support when she needed it, eat meals even when she admitted she didn’t want to or heard her eating disorder telling her to do the opposite. She faced fear foods, bought clothes for her changing body, and broke habits that had become commonplace — all for the sake of her own future. 

Because I watched her do all of this, I had the strength to face my own demons and work on myself as well. I made it through some exceptionally tough times, processed traumas that I’d buried away and shared with no one, and broke out of my own unhealthy habits — all because Emily taught me that I could.

Emily also taught me the true essence of living authentically. Day in and day out, she made the choice to show up and be real. She wasn’t afraid to share her struggles with others and speak candidly about her life. I know this transparency helped her connect with so many people, like her friends from eating disorder treatment, fellow transplant recipients, and even the hundreds of clients she served through her jobs in peer support and crisis stabilization. She was willing to be real with people, and I learned how to be my true self in her presence.

Emily showed me what gratitude looked like, too. Even before she learned about her organ donor, she constantly shared how thankful she was for the precious gift of life she received from another person’s selfless act. After she learned about Victor, she looked for ways to thank him and memorialize him in every step of her journey. She included him on her graduation cap and she fervently shared his story. We’d even discussed ways to show our gratitude to Victor in our life going forward, both through a memorial table at our wedding and by naming the child we hoped to have together after him.

Emily taught me so much more about compassion than I ever knew was possible. No matter what people did or said to her, she still found a way to care about them and help them as much as she could. She would give anyone the shirt off her back or drive them halfway across the country if it would help them in some way. She never asked for anything in return, and she was never resentful or mean — she simply paid it forward to anyone who crossed her path.

Most of all, Emily showed me what true unconditional love looked and felt like. From our first kiss until just a few hours before she passed, Emily constantly let me know how much she cared about me with her words, and more importantly, her actions. It didn’t matter how tired she was or what I had or hadn’t done for her — she loved me completely, without hesitation. I had never experienced the type of love that Emily showed me, and I will carry every compliment, every hug, and every moment we spent together in my heart for the rest of my time on Earth.

As many of you know, I had just proposed to Emily a little less than a month ago. Although we had just started planning our wedding, I was looking forward to writing my vows and making countless promises to her as we started our lives together as a married couple. 

Unfortunately, most of those promises I would have made are now null and void since they required her to also be here on Earth with me. I’ll admit, I’m a little salty she went first, because that’s exactly what I told her not to do. But, I have decided that one of the ways I can keep Emily’s spirit alive is by making some slightly different promises to her today with all of you here as my witness.

So, Emily, even though the life we dreamed of together is going to look a bit different from here on out:

  • I promise you I will find ways to spread joy to others through music and my various spiritual gifts. I may even find a way to spread joy throughout all 50 states since I know you wanted us to visit them all together.
  • I promise I will continue to pay it forward to others by sharing my own recovery journey and helping those who are struggling. If I can, I will even find a way to make that treatment center we dreamed of opening together a reality.
  • I promise I will share Victor’s story and yours in any way I can. I will honor you both by being an organ donor myself and encouraging others to share the gift of life.
  • Finally, I promise you I will continue to live my life authentically and learn to love myself the way you loved me, unconditionally and without hesitation.

I know that, if you’re here today, Emily touched your life just like she touched mine. I also know that even though Emily has left this Earth, her story isn’t over because we all carry pieces of Emily with us in our memories and in our hearts. As long as we’re all willing to cling to those pieces of Emily that we each carry, find joy in simple moments, and live our lives wholeheartedly, Emily will always be here with us.“

She Gave Me Strength

A couple of weeks ago, a friend of mine brought up the funeral. She talked about how she just remembered me making it through my entire speech, and then I just sat down and completely collapsed.

And she wasn’t wrong, I fell into the chair and just started sobbing. It’s like I was somehow protected from the weight of my emotions as I read, and then it all hit me at once as soon as I was done. And, given everything that’s happened to me since, I firmly believe that Emily was there with me that day, giving me the strength to pull through.

Looking back, I don’t even fully remember reading the speech. But I know I made it through.

It’s funny, because when Emily was alive, she was a major source of strength and determination for me, too.

For example, Emily was one of the first people I told about the divorce and many of the details behind it. As I spent several months in the trenches of negotiations and talks with lawyers, Emily was there. When I felt like giving up, she reminded me what I deserve. When I panicked about the future, Emily told me she knew I’d make it through. And when I was really bad, she sat and drank with me until I felt ready to take on the world again.

And it was exactly the same after the divorce was finalized and I decided to do some intense trauma work with my therapist. It was the same when I applied for jobs or took on a new freelance client. It was the same when other friends would completely knock me down. And, funny enough, it was the same when I agreed to ride a water slide that seemed absolutely terrifying. No matter what I faced, Emily gave me the strength to go for it and stand tall. She was my security blanket and the medal to give me courage all wrapped up in a cute, fun-size package. She was the one who helped me through everything.

She’s Still Giving Me Strength

I know that I should be getting over my loss and moving on with life, but I’ll be honest, it’s hard. I told someone the other day that these past 4 months have been harder than anything else I’ve faced in my life, and I meant it. Harder than the semester I got sent to alternative school, harder than the college semester I almost didn’t finish, harder than miscarriage, divorce, and everything else that’s ever happened to me.

Each morning I wake up and spend a solid five minutes convincing myself to get up. Then I have to fight the urge to vomit and cry as I start moving around. There’s usually at least one point where I cry, and I’m still sleeping on the couch.

But, somehow, I get dressed and get the kids ready for school. I get my work done, I prepare dinner, I get the kids ready for bed. I’m holding steady with my freelance work, I’m somehow keeping my head above water with the household chores. And, most importantly, I’m still alive, even though I’ve been incredibly close to trying to change that.

At the end of almost every day, as I lay on the couch curled up in one of Emily’s favorite blankets, I ask myself how I made it through another day. And, nearly every day, there’s only one explanation that comes to mind: her.

I don’t know why I’m still here, but I know that every breath I take is because of Emily. From the first day I met her, she gave me strength. And, I feel so lucky that she’s still giving me strength right now, because today hasn’t been a great day. I just hope that, someday when the time is right, she won’t have to give me strength anymore and can just give my a hug instead.

Because She Loved Gift Giving

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One of the hardest parts of grief is the unexpected ways it creeps into everyday events. Yesterday was of those days where everything brought on the tears, and I actually ended up just getting up and leaving less than halfway through church service so I could go cry in my car.

Today seemed better, and I was so thankful. I woke up and hit the ground running. By lunch time, I’d gotten 80% of my work tasks for the day finished, I had laundry running, and I used my lunch break to clean out the fridge. I wrapped up my work day and got on Facebook, then I saw a post and remembered I’d never finished the checkout process for something on Emily’s brother’s wedding registry, so I did that.

When I pushed button to finish the transaction, one of those waves hit me… And I spent the next 30 minutes wiping away the tears.

As I cried, I started asking myself why something that normally would bring me and Emily such joy was making me cry, especially when I’d been so stable all day. Of course, here I am hours later, still wondering why buying a registry gift tugged at my heartstrings so much. And, honestly, I don’t have an answer. But, I do know that Emily would be happy about the gift because she always loved getting the people she loved things that brought them joy.

Emily Lived For Holiday Shopping

Okay, let me rephrase that heading — Emily loved to shop all the time. However, she really enjoyed the opportunity to shop for other people.

Every Christmas that I knew her, she’d sit down and carefully plan out what to get each person on her list. She especially loved shopping for her nieces, but really everyone got special treatment. Sometimes I’d watch her hunt for weeks, trying to find the perfect gift, and every time, she’d get so happy when she came across an item that made her think of someone on her list.

Birthdays were done in a similar fashion. Whether it was her youngest niece or her dad, Emily made sure to find the perfect gift and the perfect card for each and every person when their birthday rolled around.

I don’t know that I’d ever seen someone who put so much thought and effort into gift giving. I also don’t know that I’ve ever seen someone so happy to watch someone open the gifts she got for them, but Emily always was.

Of course, the fact that I not only have all of the gifts she ever gave me, but that I absolutely cherish them (and did even before she died) should tell you everything you need to know about her gift giving skills.

I have two different t-shirts she got me for two separate Christmases. One of them says, “You can talk to me about mental health… And cats.” The other one is a music joke and says, “These are difficult times,” then has two complicated time signatures on it. I also have the Grey’s Anatomy book and cactus shirt she got me for my birthday a couple years ago, which I’ll never forget.

Any Excuse Was A Good Excuse To Buy A Gift

Of course, holidays only come around so many times each year. But that didn’t stop Emily from finding other excuses to buy random gifts for the people she loved.

I’m pretty sure that every time that woman went into Five Below or Target, she came home with something for everyone in the house. And every time we’d clean up her apartment or clean out her car, she’d find a “just because gift” she’d picked up for someone from a store because “it made me think of them as soon as I saw it.”

I told her time and time again that she was spoiling the kids and I by buying random gifts. Every single time, she’d just smile and say, “I love all of you and you deserve to be spoiled.” And, given that most of the items came from $5 or less sections of stores, I guess I can’t argue with her too much.

However, I think what I really learned from watching her buy things for people is this: Emily always had other people on her mind, and she enjoyed expressing her love for them in any way that she possibly could. She bought items because they made her think of the person she got them for, and giving the item to the person was a way for her to let them know that they’re always on her mind… Even when she’s in the middle of Five Below.

I Would Love To Harness Her Gift-Giving Spirit

I’ll be honest, gift giving has never been a skill that I possess. I am terrible at remembering birthdays, and even worse at taking the time to go shopping for someone and pick out the perfect gift. But, after seeing the joy that doing it brought Emily and knowing how much I cherish the gifts she gave to me, I’d really like to see if I can get better at the whole gift giving thing this year.

It may be the best thing I’ve ever done. Or, it may completely flop. But, either way, it’s another thing I can do to try to keep Emily’s spirit alive. And that’s something I really, truly want to do with my entire soul.

I loved everything about Emily. And Emily loved giving gifts. So here goes nothing as I try to find pieces of myself in the things that mattered to the woman I loved.

Because She Sucked At Cleaning

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Although I’ve never been a “neat freak,” I appreciate it when my house is mostly clean and organized. I am embarrassed to admit this, but my house is not clean right now. At all. Sure, it’s liveable, and yes, I can find everything, but it’s messy, making my eye twitch as I look at it all.

If you knew Emily, then you know cleaning was not her strong suit. At all. So, you’d think that her death would have made it easier for me to maintain a clean household… but it hasn’t.

I could probably justify the mess to some degree by sharing the fact that I work around 60 hours each week between my full-time job and freelance gigs. I could also blame some of it on the fact that I am still using my living room as a makeshift bedroom because I am still avoiding the bedroom because it’s just filled with her clothes, makeup, and memories. But, the reality is that I’ve simply lacked any and all motivation to do what I need to do, and, in a weird sort of way, having a messy house almost gives the illusion that Emily is still here.

Emily’s Cleaning Buddy

I remember the first time I saw Emily’s car. Boy, was it a sight. From the outside, it appeared to be filled to the brim with everything you can imagine, from clothing to textbooks to trash. At the time, I assumed it was something temporary, like she had just moved or had gone somewhere for a week and hadn’t gotten around to cleaning out her car. But, the more I got to know Emily, I learned a simple truth: Emily just didn’t clean things.

As our friendship evolved, I became Emily’s cleaning buddy. Anytime she’d get a notice from her apartment about inspections, anytime she planned to drive to Knoxville for a weekend, or anytime her parents planned to be in Nashville, I’d get panicked texts or phone calls. And, nearly every single time, I’d go help her clean up her apartment or clean out her car as best as I could.

I’ll admit, it was never easy or fun. I’d usually find things growing in her fridge or in coffee mugs throughout the apartment. I frequently found items that had obviously been sitting in the same place on the floor for months, with no effort to pick them up. I’d uncover things in her car that she forgot she even owned, or see that she had three opened containers of the same thing (like cookie butter) in different rooms because she couldn’t find the original one.

Sometimes I’d leave after spending several hours throwing out trash and deep cleaning and wonder, “Why am I doing this?” Other times I’d have to stand outside for a minute between running bags of trash to the dumpster just so Emily didn’t hear or see me throw up. Each time, though, it mostly broke my heart a bit to see how she lived because, deep down, I knew it wasn’t really her fault.

It Wasn’t Always Her Fault

I think a lot of people would see someone like Emily, take one look at her car or her apartment and think, “Man, that girl is lazy.” But, as is the case with many people who live in disorganized homes, there’s more to the story than meets the eye.

I knew fairly early on in our friendship that Emily lived with several mental health conditions. She most openly talked about her battle with anorexia, but for a large amount of the years I knew her, that was far from the most problematic symptoms she experienced. Instead, I really think her obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) paired with her depression were the real culprits when it came to her issues with cleaning.

Every time I helped Emily clean, I couldn’t help but look at her with curious fascination. It was a great way to see exactly how her mind worked and watch the battles she dealt with constantly play out.

One time, I cleaned out two entire rooms and hauled all of the trash to the dumpster in the time it took her to simply clear off her desk. She literally could not move on from this stack of papers because, in her mind, she had to sort them and place them in file folders immediately if she wanted to clean them up. She couldn’t simply put them all in a drawer or leave them neatly stacked on top of the desk. It was like she could only follow a certain path, and trying to do otherwise made her panic.

Another time, I ended up going over and cleaning her kitchen while she was still at work. We were dating at this point, and she had been living with me for months. However, we had decided to stay the night at her apartment one night when we didn’t have kids because it was closer to the city. I realized that next morning that we not only didn’t have anything to eat at her place, but the kitchen hadn’t been touched for at least two months. Emily attempted to clean in there, only to decide within a few minutes that she was going to die from some sort of contamination and that she’d be better off to simply never go into the apartment again than try to clean it. So, I waited until Friday when I didn’t have much to do at work and I spent several hours over there throwing everything in the fridge away and wiping down as much as I could.

I remember when she showed up after work that day, because she was panicking that I was going to break up with her over the fridge. She kept saying, “Why do you love me? I’m disgusting and broken! You deserve so much better!” But, as I told her, she wasn’t any of those things. She simply had a mental health condition that made tasks like cleaning very complicated. And, because I’m me, I also threw in a joke and then shared with her in great detail how gross the liquified hot dogs in her fridge were. We laughed, hugged, and moved on.

That’s one thing that I wish I’d gotten across to her before she died — even her flaws weren’t fatal. In fact, they usually weren’t even her fault at all. And I was more than happy to deal with a woman who would never clean out the fridge because I appreciated all the other parts of that same woman. Also, I knew that with time, she’d work through some of these issues. She’d already started doing some therapy specifically focused on OCD, and although it had only been a few months, I’d already seen some improvement and change.

Pieces of Her Messes Everywhere

Each time I’ve cleaned part of the apartment since Emily died, I’ve ended up finding things that made me cry. I moved some things around in the living room a couple weeks after she passed and spilled her purse over, only to find where she’d kept our admission tickets for the Shedd and something from our trip to St. Louis. When I cleaned out her car before taking it to her parents, I found a postcard I’d sent her back in 2020 sitting right in the center console, almost like she kept it there to look at. When I cleaned up the kids’ room, I found some things she’d left in there when she used it to do a therapy session one afternoon a few weeks before she died.

It doesn’t matter how long it’s been or where I go in this house, I uncover her everywhere.

I know that I eventually want to maintain a clean home again because I know it is one thing that does help my mental health. But boy, is it hard to keep the house spotless when you often struggle to even get out of bed and spend 10+ hours per day working. But, every time I get mad at myself or start to judge myself for everything I see around the house, I remember the things Emily said and felt when I would help her clean and remember my responses. So, because of Emily, I’m trying to give myself some grace. It will eventually all be clean, but until then I know she’s not judging me whatsoever because it would be just as bad if she were still here.