Thank You

“They (we) will not recoil. They (we) will not be victims of your sudden death. They (we) will not be paralyzed by losing you - our husband, best friend, partner, Dad. We honor you every single day. But they (we) will not fade away.”

I have more than one draft post sitting in my generously populated Google doc for this blog. Yet, at this time, this one feels the most pulled toward (needed, even) by the one person who may read it.

Enduring your person’s sudden and tragic death culminates in a multitude of emotions, expressions, questions, statements, reactions, and responses.

Overwhelmingly, over the past several weeks, I have been sitting deep in gratitude.

I have shared numerous times, however vaguely, that my marriage was not easy. (Also, what marriage IS? Maybe some. But I think, as I’ve already shared, it’s often harder to stay than it is to leave.) Maybe one day I can share more about the challenges. I do think a reasonable number of people may benefit from learning about our journey from the inside out. As more time passes, the more I wonder how I became who I was. And I marvel at the human capacity to slink back to the core of who I once was.

Dr. Brian Mitchell was a complicated, fascinating, raw, loving, committed, wounded, wishful, hardworking, often painfully realistic (and simultaneously ambitious), hilarious, out-of-this-world brilliant man.

I chose him, and he chose me, for Forever. However complex and ultimately tragic our journey was, I always knew this was no human or cosmic error. At the very least, our son, Benji, was meant to come into this world as OUR SON. Not just mine or his, as I believe souls are meant to enter into this realm, but ours. This I know from very deep in my core. I mean, look at him. We made him. (If you know Benji’s story, God bless you.)

The topic of one of the aforementioned posts is human agency. It has been, by far, the most significant lesson I’ve learned since my husband died. More on this soon.

At this juncture, I get to exercise my very own agency in how I reflect on my marriage.

I choose gratitude.

Because of you, Brian,

…at a time I was preparing to be a single mom to Kira, I got to welcome her into a warm home with two loving parents present. Kira had two dads from the start. She had an in-home doctor investigating how to tend to newborn challenges, complementing the guidance we got from the pediatrician. I got to experience this incredible new chapter not just with Kira’s biological father supporting us from afar, but also with a true partner there to help me through the nights. Through the seemingly unnavigable.

…I got Benji. My little koala. My bright boy (in both spirit and intellect). My real-life proof of human tenacity and strength. My nightly little-spoon-acting-like-big-spoon. My forever visual reminder of you - he looks so, so much like you. My forever reminder of the bare minimum of why “we” ever were. I can go on forever or stop here because I CAN go on forever.

…we were able to navigate the pandemic as a true family unit. I’m sure the alternative would have been just fine. But I’m betting that what we did - camping out in Cloverdale, all five of us (with Bear at the time), proving to each other we could not only tolerate each other but crave and love each other - that was something, wasn’t it? I’ll never forget a couple of weeks into it, you doing telemedicine from the house, saying, “Wow, it’s incredible. To essentially be holed up with your partner and realize you actually like them.” It wasn’t untrue.

…I was called to do some deep personal work. When things got hard, I had to look very deep inside my soul to understand my values and desires and exactly where my breaking point was. I am a liberal woman of God (is that even a thing?!), raised and still believing in Russian Orthodoxy, yet opening my soul, heart, and mind to other channels, like the Kabbalah. In the last two years that you were still here with us, “you and I” got stronger and better. And that’s because of both of us. I simultaneously became more independent, compassionate, patient, light-hearted, and I shed some judgment, reactivity, resentment, and anger. You started actually to listen AND hear me. You stopped recoiling. You heard me and came to me to repair.

(I cry thinking about this because you were THERE in this final stretch. You showed up, Brian.)

…We have so. Many. Fucking. Amazing. Memories. I know I can’t see you, but I can certainly feel you. As I said on August 9, 2025, seven years are both a blip and an eternity. And, boy, did we do it all. (Except for traveling more without kids.) The inside jokes. The endless pages of hilarious shit the kids said and did. There are so many songs I still can’t hear without feeling the visceral pain of your absence. I don’t even want to share many of the inside jokes, not even with friends, because they comprise our secret little space that spans realms. Flying to Salt Lake City - IYKYK (and no, it’s not related to the Mile High Club!).

…I now carry the responsibility and legacy to present these kids to the world they deserve, in the form in which they are meant. They (we) will not recoil. They (we) will not be victims of your sudden death. They (we) will not be paralyzed by losing you - our husband, best friend, partner, Dad. We honor you every single day. But they (we) will not fade away.

We use your memory and our family story to build an indestructible foundation for our future. It’s insane to me that just five months and a bit later, I feel this foundation. I know it’s what you’d want for us. I know you never meant to leave us as soon as you did. I want you to know that we’ve got this. Difficult and easy decisions alike. Particularly with Benjamin, I am charting a new course. I know you’re proud of them both.

Of all of us, Brian.

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Loyalty & Love