For the past decade, I have been beaten down, broken and damaged. I have died twice. Paul brought me back to life. Twice. Once in life and once from the afterlife.
I flatlined from a massive stroke in 2015 and came back because my son needed me. The other time I died was when Paul passed away. That shattered my heart, life and soul into oblivion.
I have had been living with half of me in the afterlife and the other part of me living like a zombie in this place we call life.
In my grief, I have pushed away people and have not let myself get anywhere near anything that is good or could help me feel something that is positive or experience any kind of happiness.
The reason I have done this, is simple. I am broken. I am damaged. Living in fear of happiness being taken away again. Afraid of something or someone killing me again because I trusted in the path of the goodness. I have spent years being scared to pull one half of me from the grave and merge it with half that is here and wanting nothing more to be happy once again.
Paul’s death is my crucible. Most people believe there are two types of crucibles. The first one is to become stronger from the experience and survive it, and the second one is die. But there’s a third type. The one where you learn to love the fire and choose to stay in it because it’s easier to embrace the pain when it’s all you know anymore. That is what I have been doing all these years. Embracing the pain and staying in the fire. Finally accepting it and moving out of it has been almost equally as hard as my son’s death and living with it.
Being broken and damaged has changed me. It has reshaped how I see the world, how I trust, how I hope. The person I was before the pain feels like a stranger now—someone who lived without flinching at memories, dates, or certain words. Someone who could love and be happy. Pain, grief, anger, rage, sadness and everything that has happened, has changed me. The change has been hard and painful.
Trying to live again doesn’t mean I am healed. It doesn’t mean the cracks are gone or that the damage no longer exists. It means I am learning how to exist with the broken pieces still inside me. Some days, I carry them gently. Other days, they cut deep. Both days count.
There is grief in realizing that life will never look the same. Dreams have shifted. Joy feels unfamiliar. Laughter can arrive unexpectedly—and leave just as fast—sometimes followed by guilt, as if happiness is a betrayal of the pain you carry. But joy does not erase loss, and living again does not mean forgetting. It means allowing space for both.
When you are broken, progress looks different. It’s not about “moving on.” It’s about learning how to stand in the middle of the wreckage and still choose to stay. It’s about finding small reasons to keep going—morning light through a window, a familiar song, a moment of quiet where the pain loosens its grip just a little.
You may feel damaged, like something essential inside you has been permanently altered. And maybe it has. But damaged does not mean useless. Broken things can still hold meaning, depth, and beauty. In fact, they often hold more. They understand pain, compassion, and resilience in ways untouched things never could.
Trying to live again is an act of defiance against everything that tried to take you down. It is choosing life even when it hurts. It is allowing yourself to be unfinished, unhealed, and still worthy of existing fully.
Bring broken and trying anyway, shows that we are not weak. We are not failing. We are surviving in the most honest way possible. Living again doesn’t require perfection—it only requires presence. And even on our hardest days, our presence matters.
We are allowed to live again, even in pieces.
It has been 1530 days since my son died. It has taken Paul that many days to help me accept his death. To accept that I can move forward and let happiness and anything that is good in.
I accept that I am broken. I accept that I am damaged. I am no longer going to let fear keep me from living and trying. I am not going to forget everything and run. I am going to face everything and rise from the ashes like a phoenix. I am going to try to live. I will get knocked down and get right back up. I will always fight to live from now on.
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