Closer

There is a layer of my grief that has been buried in my heart for fourteen months. A pain that has purposely been punched down so deep and cavernous that I'm not sure I'll ever let it fully surface. It is so immeasurable and extensive that it's nowhere to be found. It is located in a bottomless pit, and to be frank, I don't care to go down and bring it up, let alone, deal with it. I would rather it just live there forever. Maybe it's the complexities of this layer. Or maybe it's the pure avoidance I have placed on it because of its complexities.

I have faced so many other layers of my grief head-on this past year. I have worked tirelessly to come to grips with my harsh reality. I have been intentional with my time and my healing, and I have placed my grief and self-care at the top of my priority list. The day I lost Riley I lost my best friend and my husband, and I can confidently tell you that I have done the work to process through that fact. I have registered it in my mind that he is gone. I have accepted in my heart that I am a widow. I have healed in so many ways. But the layer that I have not come to terms with is why my baby girl does not have her daddy.

My soul is crushed for her. Incalculable devastation does not even begin to explain the feelings I have. She got robbed. She has a loss in her life that she will never fully understand, and that stand-alone fact might be the most gut-wrenching piece to this heartbreaking story. She was a baby in a bathtub the moment her daddy met Jesus. She was playing with a Buzz Light year figurine while he was ushered into glory. Splashing and laughing while he entered the gates of heaven. What an insane concept. How can joy and tragedy live side by side? How can peace and earthly devastation be so parallel? The laughter of Riley's daughter radiates his home while simultaneously just nine minutes down the road he was violently taken from this earth. How can anyone ever come to terms and acceptance of that horrific scenario? I haven't, and truthfully I am not sure I ever will.

I will forever harbor Khloe's grief. I will forever harbor her enormous loss. And with Khloe's grief, I will also harbor the reality of being her single mom. This is the complexity. This is the part that has been shoved down to the point of no return. I have not fully accepted the fact that I am a single parent. I have not fully accepted that it is just the two of us in this big house.

Let me be clear. I don't ever want Khloe to feel as though her grief needs to fit into a box I have created. I never, ever want her to feel this heavy loss as deeply as I've felt for her. My prayer is that her grief journey is extremely minor. My prayer is that God will protect her heart and shield her from the devastation. That he would be so near to her precious little mind and soul and walk beside her as she begins to understand. I believe with my whole heart that He can and will do all of those things for her. But that still does not mend this layer of my grief. I am still grieving Riley as Khloe's dad and my teammate. I am still grappling with the truth that lies in single mothering. Before I go on, please hear me well, I have an incredible team that has stepped up to the plate. I have a village of people who are here day in and day out to fill in the gaps of single parenting. But what happens when you are trying to win the game of parenthood, which by the way is a team sport, and your best teammate goes down? Not just your teammate, the elite player, the absolute all-star. The one who can and will step up and finish out the game. The relief pitcher. The closer.

Riley was the closer.

He was the best in the bullpen.

We made a hell of a team, and since he's been gone I'll tell you what has happened. I have had to take a lot of L's. Anyone who knows me understands how hard this is for me to accept. I am intensely competitive by nature. I not only want to win and achieve, but I want to be the absolute best. I am an achiever to a fault and I hate failing. I hate losing. But with Riley, I rarely lost. He came in and got the final outs for me. What I wouldn't give to lock eyes with him across the room when things are falling apart all around us. To just laugh and embrace the chaos together. I'd give anything in this world to get relief from Riley. To call him into the game and let him win for me. When I desperately need that second set of hands for just a moment to wipe up the mess on the floor. The tantrums, tears, puked-stained shirts, blown-out diapers, and sleepless nights, he handled all with pure grace and humble sacrificial love. He handled it with light-hearted laughter. He handled it with a kiss on my forehead and a, "You are an amazing mom, Kate," and then proceeded to protect our victory with pure confidence. I don't think there are words to articulate how much I miss that. I don't think there are words to explain how damn tired my arm is, and how sick I am of taking the L's and even the W's by myself.

He was an incredible husband, teammate, and father. Riley will never, ever be replaced, but as this layer of my grief has surfaced recently, I have started to look for another closer. I have dipped my toe into the dating world and here is what I have learned so far; there are incredible men and awful men. There are interesting men and boring men. There are cowardly men and courageous men. There are so many things I don't know or understand about dating. There is so much I don't know about my future spouse. But what I know for certain is love and marriage is good and my heart wants that again. What I know for certain is that the stakes are high and the game is on the line. What I know for certain is it's going to take a hell of a man to step up and be Khloe and I's closer. It's going to take someone with supreme confidence and insane bravery. I know he's out there somewhere. I am confident God will assign him to my roster, and you better believe he'll be the best in the bullpen.

I won't settle for anything less.