Grief, Grace & New Beginnings

I have shared my heart about grief. I have shared what grace looks like in the middle of it. And now, I want to tell you about my new beginning.

Jason was my whole world. When I met him in 2014, it started as what I thought would just be dinner. Shortly after, we were engaged, and less than a year later we were married. I couldn’t have asked for more. He was my best friend, full of wisdom, quick wit, a beautiful heart, and a smile that could light up a room. He was my forever.

I never knew it was possible to love someone the way I loved him.

And then, not by any choice of my own, but by the careless decision of someone else, all of that was taken from me.

I lost my best friend. I lost his wisdom. I lost the laughter. I lost his smile. I lost a love that felt like it was built to last a lifetime. I lost everything.

The weeks and months after Jason’s death were some of the darkest of my life. I was spiraling. I tried to buy happiness. I looked for comfort in all the wrong places. I isolated myself. I was reaching so hard for something, anything, that would make the pain stop, that I completely lost track of who I was, what I stood for, and the person Jason was so proud of.

Do I like to admit that? No. Who would?

But grief does not look the same on anyone. It changes the way you think. It changes the way you act. It changes everything.

I am not here to excuse every action made in grief. I am not saying every decision should be accepted or understood. But what I am saying is this, give that person grace. Give them respect.

Because while it may look like chaos from the outside, it is their entire world collapsing, not yours.

And trying to carry that alone is more than most people could ever comprehend.

So be thankful you do not understand, and lead with grace.

In the middle of all of that, I had very little communication with law enforcement after Jason’s collision. There was one deputy who would return my calls and try to keep me updated. I had never met him before that day, and he did not know me or Jason prior to September 8th. Everything he knows about Jason now is through what I have shared with him and what he has come to learn along the way.

What I did know was that I could hear the weight in his voice. I reminded him often that he was human too.

Terry was the first on scene to Jason’s collision. He was there when Jason took his last breath.

When he told me that, my heart did something I did not expect. It was drawn to him, and if I am being honest, there was a part of me that felt envious. Because he was there, and I was not.

We spoke often. I asked the same questions over and over, trying to make sense of something that would never make sense. He answered every time with patience, with kindness, and always with I am sorry.

As the months went on and the case moved forward, the legal process became overwhelming. The terminology, the waiting, the unknown. It was exhausting mentally and emotionally. And still, Terry would answer the phone and try to help me understand.

One of our last phone calls about the case, we both got emotional. He apologized again, said he was dealing with things of his own, and ended the call.

I could feel it. This man, who had been helping carry pieces of my grief, was carrying something heavy himself.

A few weeks later, I sent him a simple message. I told him I was thinking about him and praying for him.

And in that moment, something shifted.

Because just days before, I was angry. Angry enough to question everything, even God Himself. But there I was, praying for someone else.

That is when I realized something was changing in me.

We began talking more. Texts turned into phone calls. And then on May 18, 2024, at a graduation for the school Jason once drove for, we met for the first time.

That hug was something my soul had been missing.

We went to dinner that night, and for the first time in a long time, I was able to do something I desperately needed.

We talked about Jason.

We talked about his life, our life, the things he loved. Terry did not know Jason before that day, but he wanted to know him through me. He listened, he cared, and he made space for those memories in a way I had not experienced in a long time. And in that moment, I realized Jason still mattered in a way that did not feel so lonely anymore.

I asked the hard questions that night, the ones I had been holding onto. Terry answered every single one with honesty and compassion. And without even realizing it, he helped heal parts of my heart that I did not think could ever be touched again.

What Terry did not know is that I had plans for that night, before the plans for dinner.

Plans that would have been my last.

But God intervened.

He placed someone in my path who would become a reason to keep going. And for the first time in eight months, I felt peace.

Real peace.

Four months later, on a beach in Florida, Terry asked me to marry him.

And that is when I knew I had found my new best friend.

I told him something that might sound strange to others, but it was the only way I could explain it. I told him that somehow, in a way only God could orchestrate, it felt like Jason had handed my broken heart to him to love and take care of.

And that is exactly what he has done.

Terry has loved me at my absolute worst. He has helped mend a heart he did not break. He allows me to still love Jason, to still grieve him, and to talk about him daily.

We remember him together. We laugh. We cry.

And in doing that, Terry has done something very few people are capable of.

He has made space for both love and grief to exist at the same time.

Something I once believed was impossible, he has made possible.

There is so much more of our story still to come. But what I know today is this.

God gave me a new beginning.

And through Terry, He gave me a love that never required my first love to end.

“We love because He first loved us.” -1 John 4:19