Even though the huge memorial service and burial was over, the continuous planning of more memorials to attend, meetings to be at and decisions to make definitely wasn’t over.
It still isn’t over.
I still attend multiple memorials that honor Mike each year and they are never easy. I still have to attend meetings and I still have to make important decisions that are a result of Mike being killed, on a daily basis. And I still question myself.
I’m pretty sure I only survived the next few months after Mike’s memorial because of the support from so many. Family, friends, our church, our community, the police department and even strangers across the country poured out their love on the boys and I.
Our mailbox was overflowing daily with cards, letters and gifts. Every week my liaison officer would bring boxes of items that were sent to the police department for us from people literally all over the country and some even out of the country.
I’m pretty sure if it wasn’t for my mom staying with us, my boys would have starved and been running around our property naked, with no clean clothes, shooting their guns and riding their dirt bikes all day.
I was a walking zombie for a while. I felt like my whole future had been taken from me. What was the point of life if I had to spend the rest of it without the man I loved? The man I was supposed to grow old with, the man who was supposed to help me raise our boys.
Being with Mike was all I knew.
I left my mom and dad’s in Nevada days after my 18th birthday, moved to California to go to college, met Mike the first day of freshman orientation and had been with him 16 years. Now what was I supposed to do?
Word got out that Mike and I had recently bought our home, a fixer upper, with the intention of remodeling it. Most of it we had planned on doing ourselves. Well, really Mike was doing everything, I was just picking out the pretty stuff.
When a local, retired police officer heard of my needs he didn’t hesitate to gather a large group of contractors to finish our remodel plans. He brought an architect, a plumber, an electrician, some dry wallers, a framing contractor… the works.
We had blue prints, 3 phases planned out and the work begun fairly quickly. Each day these men worked so hard, volunteering their own time to remodel our home.
Talk about a blessing! The transformation was happening before our eyes. An addition was completed, walls were knocked down, new floor was ready to go in, brand new big kitchen was on order. Our fixer upper farm house was turning into exactly what Mike and I had envisioned.
I had my own plans to never leave that property. The house was almost onto phase 3 of the complete remodel, I could afford our small mortgage payment, I was comfortable there, I loved the land even though it was a lot for me to take care of and our boys could run free doing what they loved. I wasn’t going to leave Mike and my home. Too many memories.
God had his own plans.
On January 11, 2017, almost 6 months after my worst nightmare came true, another unthinkable tragedy struck our little family. At three in the morning, Josh woke up to use the restroom. He stepped out of bed, made a huge splash and yelled, “Mom! There’s water, water everywhere!”
