Come What May & Love It

"Come what may and love it."

My friend Alysa gifted me this quote years ago, and it's been framed in my house ever since. 

I loved it long before cancer popped the bubble of invincibility my beautiful family lived inside. I loved it before I came face to face with death, waking up a widow at 47 years old. 

It's difficult to understand the depths of accepting such a quote until it's your life that burns to the ground. Difficult to grasp how exhausting & scary it is to learn firsthand what it means to alchemize common phrases like;

• Faith over fear.
• If it doesn't challenge you, it doesn't change you.
• Stars don't shine without darkness.
• Life is tough, but so are you.

I've been thinking a lot about the past 2 years lately. Two years spent trying to save my husband's life, witnessing his death in our bed, grasping the impossible truth that he is gone from this world forever, and, ultimately, making repeated attempts to understand who I am- as a mother, a wife, a sibling, a daughter, a friend- without the person I planned to grow old with. 

In case you're wondering, It's been a real bitch sometimes.

The trajectory of my life was altered in a second, and continues to press forward in ways I simply never imagined. I have so many feelings about all of it. You see, I have met the best & worst versions of myself these last 2 years. Versions of myself that had to exist to survive what I was convinced wasn't survivable. 

• I severed many friendships. 
• I spent gobs of time alone. I still do.
• I drew bold boundaries regarding who had access to me as I grieved.
• I quit my job & hung up my hat on a 27 year career that I once believed was my life's purpose. 
• I learned to let the light back in...one small moment at a time. 
• I curated new relationships with my children as a solo parent. 
• I stepped into vulnerability & began publishing my writing as a means to heal myself & build a community I didn't know I needed. 

I am so proud of this list, and for the other small moves that added up to who I am today. I am a woman changed. Permanently tattooed by the grief of losing a husband midlife & fighting her way back to a hopeful heart. 

This 2.0 version of me also fell in love unexpectedly with a man who oozes peace, calm & reassurance. In case you haven't simultaneously grieved & learned to love someone new, let me share some things I bumped into along the way. 

• The guilt of opening the door to happiness is BIG. It will sabotage opportunities God sends you for redemption if you don't work hard to heal. You see, we don't heal to carry the ache. We heal to expand our heart for the goodness we deserve.
• People will have opinions about your timeline. Your decision to live again. Often, dissenting opinions will sound like the silence of disapproval. Your life was never meant to be guided and rooted in the opinions of others. When you accept this, the second part of your life begins. 
• You can be in love with 2 people for the rest of your days. You can talk about your dead husband, keep his photos on the wall, honor his special days & keep his essence present in your life. If you find the right person, this won't be threatening or a sign of being stuck. 

If you have been a regular blog reader, you know both Geoff & Jeff. I'm going to tell a story about both of them that you haven't heard. A story that cements what wonderful men I've been blessed to love. 

Jeff & I booked a weekend getaway in Palm Springs for his birthday in mid-May. It was the last free weekend before the Pod arrived to be packed. It was a bit of a farewell to California before we were moving to Michigan in a couple weeks. 

Just after breakfast, Jeff gifted me this necklace. 

I won't get his words just right, but this is what I remember him saying. 

I have looked for you for nearly 60 years. I love you. I love everything you are and are becoming. This necklace has 2 distinct circles. One for Geoff & one for me. And I want all of it. I want to marry you, Ashley Hayball. Will you marry me?

Without question or hesitation, it's a YES. 

And as I type these words in our new home, 2800 miles from where this happened, I'm gobsmacked...wondering what kind of person finds a way to honor Geoff in a marriage proposal. 

The simple- yet remarkable- answer is this. 

The right person. 

The right person says yes to all of it. Your gifts. Your strengths. Your talents. And also your shortcomings. Your worries. Your messiness.

So, reader...I'm engaged! 

I'm sure there will be plenty wondering why I kept this secret for so long when I'm quite open about my grief journey. Honestly, I still need to keep some things just for me, my family, my inner circle. This one was special, and I needed precious time to absorb the enormity of knowing I said yes to being a wife again. 

I snapped this picture just after Jeff's perfect proposal. I love that it's an engagement necklace and not a ring. I still wear my wedding band on my right hand & have no immediate plans to remove it. This necklace is a reminder of why I worked so damn hard to heal...to feel worthy and deserving of the joy & the love we are entitled to, no matter the storm we have endured. 

I love that I can look at my life & say things like;

• I feel so lucky.
• God has been so good to me.
• Come what may & love it.

There was span of time where I felt so far away from any of that. And despite all the beauty that's come from the ashes, I still ache. Last night, we were hanging pictures & art in our new home, and I broke down...wondering how I make space for Geoff here. I just needed someone to give me a number.

• How many pictures is just enough to display for my children to see their dad?
• How many still make space for Jeff & his family photos?

I was overwhelmed & I missed Geoff. And Jeff said, "There's no easy answer, but we will figure it out. He is a part of this family...always. He needs space." Then he was just quiet & reassured. 

This is what the right person does. And despite all this, I still struggle, because that's grief. And that's love. And I want all of it. 

keep going.