In a little over a month it will be the ten year anniversary of a loss that was so profound, it nearly broke me. My fiancée, and the father of my two boys, passed away on the night of February 16, 2009. I was in my late twenties back then, engaged to be married to my best friend and the mother of two adorable boys, aged three and five. The world was my oyster and everything was magically falling into place. I imagined a future of happy days with my family, picket fences, and a partner who would be there by my side through the ups and downs of life… but those dreams went up in smoke in the matter of a moment.
The man who I considered my soulmate had a hidden addiction to opiates. I was naive and had no idea he was slowly destroying himself to escape his demons, he hid any trace of the pills he was taking. When he passed away that night, he’d taken a mixture of morphine, methadone and hydrocodone: a mixture that was just enough to be too much.
I operated strictly in survival mode during those early years. Amidst the grief of losing him and all of our dreams, I was also diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis; it was something that was suspected in the summer before he passed. I fought through depression and anger as I grieved the future I thought we would have together. I was also scared of my diagnosis: for my thirtieth birthday, six months after his death, I was hospitalized for almost a week because I was numb from my waist down. I faked happiness and delight when I needed to, and I spent my evenings crying myself to sleep. Through it all, I knew I had to keep my chin up and be present to raise our two young boys.
Ever so slowly, I built a new foundation for all of us. I tried my damnedest to keep his memory alive while I hugged the boys close and feared for our future. I lived day to day, sometimes hour to hour in those early years. I purposely isolated myself from everyone when I wasn’t at games, concerts or other school-related events for the boys. At work, I kept pushing forward to make sure we had necessities. To battle the MS, I did injections weekly, and then daily, until the neurologist and I finally found an infusion that has been my miracle treatment for the last five years. Now I get an IV treatment every four weeks, keeping my MS monster at bay and fighting the disease that is trying to tear my body apart.
Looking back at the time that has passed since that tragic year, I realize that strength, courage, independence, and a whole lot of faith helped to mold a new version of me. I was forged and sculpted within the burning remains of the life I once dreamed.
Today our boys are strong and well-adjusted young men who have the world at their fingertips. They have survived heartache and loss, and they have learned to draw on the strength comes from within when life tests them. They have learned healthy coping skills which I hope will keep them from self-medicating when life gets hard.
Ten years later, I am finally in a place where I feel secure enough to pursue my own dreams. I know exactly who I am and what I want and I am at peace with the woman I’ve become. My Phoenix is ready to rise from her ashes… she is ready to live again…
Evelina Wood 