top of page
  • Writer's pictureKatie Beucus

Six Months

I woke up this morning and the air is crisp. While we are still in the thick of Summer there is the smallest hint of Fall in the air this week. It will always remind me of drinking coffee on the porch, rocking Evan and Haddie as newborns. Those memories make me smile.

Last night was a late night for our year of yes trip to see Taylor Swift in LA. The show was everything we thought it would be and more. Haddie was mesmerized first by all of the incredible outfits and then by Taylor herself. We sang and danced until 12:20 AM, with me holding Haddie for about 3/4 of it. When I can’t life my arms later I suppose that will be why. My face hurts from smiling so much and my voice is a bit rough from singing nearly every single song.

Evan was supposed to have one last baseball camp today, so despite Haddie and I getting home at 3:00 AM, he and I were up to get to camp by 9:00.  Only we got there and Evan wouldn’t get on the field. I could see the panic setting in, his breathing getting rapid. Him trying not to cry, not to feel like he’s disappointing me if he says he can’t do it. That he doesn’t want to. We tried some breathing exercises but he wasn’t calming. So we left. And there were tears, but it also created a really great opportunity for us to discuss how he is never responsible for my feelings or emotions. That he should do things to make him proud of himself first, not me. That I am sad he has experienced so much that makes doing kid things so hard sometimes, but that it is not he who has made me sad. That he experienced something truly awful this year and that it is my job to nudge him, but to also recognize when he is just not ready. Therapy has helped him develop such incredible communication skills, sometimes it’s hard to remember I’m talking with an 8 year old.

The other night I went down the rabbit hole of my Instagram stories archive and relived all of Aaron’s journey. Our journey. Every post, from beginning to the very end.

It’s amazing being on the outside, looking back in. I understand so much better now why it has taken my own body so long to recover. To breathe correctly. To think clearly. To sleep again. I do that now. Sleep. It started about a week ago and going to bed is something I no longer dread for the first time in a year and a half.

Everyone said things would get easier. That this feeling of loss would never go away, but it would get easier. And it’s hard to imagine when you’re in it, but it’s true.

I am in a good place. I am working and caring for the kids and the house and taking on projects and traveling and really living and it feels like we’ve started to find our rhythm. It feels like we’ve found our way back home.

But the more comfortable I become in this new life, the more I have found myself pulling away from the public space. I have talked with my close friends and my therapist about how while what has happened is a defining moment in my life, I do not want it to define me. And what I have learned is that I get very little say in whether or not others define me by this.

For some I will be Katie. A young mom of two who lost her wonderful and much loved husband to cancer. For others I will be Katie. Aaron’s widow. And there is a difference. And how each interacts with me is vastly different. And while it feels deeply unfair that anyone would pass judgment on my life after Aaron, this is life and something I am prepared for.

It is my honor and privilege to carry on Aaron’s legacy and memory in the way I treat and care for others. In spending as much time outdoors as I possibly can. In saying yes to adventure, even when it feels a little scary or intimidating. In the decisions I make and how I raise our children. And as a good friend often reminds me, I lived out my vows. In sickness and in health, to death do us part. That last half just came much faster than we ever could have imagined. And I’d do it all again, even if I knew the ending.

This is where I begin again. I have no idea what that will look like. And I’ll probably make mistakes. I might disappoint myself and I might disappoint others. I’m sure I’ll continue to grow and evolve as I continue to find myself but I intend to do those pieces more privately. Life is too short not to do something that makes you happy today. Unless that something is drugs. Don’t do drugs :)

So many have written to share with me how helpful my writing has been in their healing following Aaron’s death. If you find you are still deep in grief, I would strongly encourage you to seek support. Aaron would want you to. He would want you to be happy again in the same way he wanted nothing more than for me to be happy again too ♥️

108 views1 comment

Recent Posts

See All

332 Days.

It has been 332 days since Aaron turned his head ever so slightly toward me, in the dead of night, as I watched his final breath escape his mouth along with the word “love”.  It’s incredible how clear

1 Comment

Aug 04, 2023

“And I’d do it all again, even if I knew the ending.” THIS! Thank you for loving my brother soooo well. We love seeing you and the kids happy, smiling, and living your best life as you’re right, Aaron would want you to do just that. We are soooo proud of you! We love all 3 of you so much!

bottom of page