Post overload I know, but in the words of one of my favorite little boys from one of my favorite movies “when I feel it, I do it.” Sure, he was talking about taking a dump (you’re welcome) but I think it still applies to this situation.

I may have told this story before. I may not have. I can’t remember because when can I remember shit? My wind and hail insurance just got terminated because I paid the bill late and applied it to the wrong house. So don’t count on me for shit. Don’t worry, Mom, the problem has been fixed but there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t seem to have some kind of mammoth screw up. It’ll get better, they say. Time heals all wounds, they say. I’d really like “they” to shut their damn mouths.

Anyway, the weekend I would like to talk about is the weekend before Ash’s passing. I know I’ve touched on the fact that Jack had a travel baseball tournament that weekend. It started Saturday, November 9, 2019. Ash was being insistent that he was going to Jack’s tournament. Jack had to be there an hour ahead of game time to warm up so I had at least convinced 1. Ash to come closer to game time and b. for his mom to come and drive him there as he could no longer handle driving a vehicle (a combination of heavy duty medication and withering away being the culprits). Jack is at the field across the street with my parents for his pre-warm up warm up (we might be a tad on the crazy side, just a tad, no comments from the peanut gallery), Colt is being Colt (playing in the dirt, making large messes, wandering aimlessly around the yard with a rope (his hand-line) trying to catch a sailfish, normal Colt stuff) and Ash is in his position in the recliner probably watching the Golf channel.

I make my escape (knowing Ash’s mom will be here soon) to shower and dress in all the layers because it’s cold AF and baseball is an outside sport if you didn’t know. I’m finishing up drying my hair when I hear this loud commotion outside my bathroom window. I’m thinking, oh no, Colt has fallen or something and run out to see what’s happening. I see Ash’s moms car in the driveway, I hear her being a bit hysterical and turn the corner to find my husband, my full-of-cancer-knocking-on-death’s-door-withering-away husband on the ground, huge knot on his head and his tiny, waif like mother with his arms wrapped around him trying to pick him up. And I LOSE. MY. SHIT.

I start by literally pushing my mother in law off my husband, yelling at her to go inside and stay out of the way. I ask Ash what the hell happened. He said his mom freaked out because Colt was “missing” so Ash was a little panicked himself and tried to find him, walked through gravel, slipped and his head bounced off the concrete.

Now, as a side note, let me tell you a little something about Colt. Colt is a wanderer. He is extremely smart in different ways. If we were to drop him off in the middle of the woods with nothing more than a bottle of water and a pocket knife, I have no doubts that he would find his way out and make it all the way home. He is independent and stubborn and very free spirited. He knows his boundaries in the yard and he doesn’t stray from them because his mom is mean and he’s smart enough to not want to deal with the repercussions of not following instructions (on this one matter anyway, everything else is a whole different story). The point is, Colt is NEVER missing. He’s somewhere doing something I’ll never quite understand with fishing line and a hammer, a long piece of rope and 3 sticks.

So my poor, sickly, not quite in his right mind Ash panicked following his mother’s panic and got himself quite a goose egg and cut on his forehead and we’re pretty sure he cracked a rib. And I’m fucking pissed. I yell at my mother in law. I yell at Ash, tell him he’s been a stubborn asshole the whole fucking time we’ve been together and could he, for once, just fucking listen to me and stay the fuck put. Our child was never missing. He was in the damn garage with his fishing line, hammer, long piece of rope and 3 sticks.

Fast forward to baseball. Ash did actually listen this time and stayed him with his mom keeping a close eye on him. I think I’ve told you that Jack got hit in the mouth by a pitch, knocked his tooth out, blood everywhere, me freaking out inside but staying calm and staying put until Coach is all like Kellie, get out here, we need you. (As a boy mom, they (these fucking they people again) tell you to stay off the field/court whenever your boy is injured because no boy wants his mom running out to him to check on him). Well, this time warranted a checking on since Jack went straight down, a tooth flew out and there was plenty of blood! He was ok, though, or so I thought, and even went on to play in the next game because he’s a badass that way. No pain, no gain! Or some such shit.

We arrive home. Some friends bring us dinner. All seems well until Jack suddenly decides he’s not feeling well and goes and throws up. Now, being the extreme mother of the year that I tend to be, I don’t really worry too much even though he just got hit so hard with a baseball that his tooth fell out and now he’s throwing up. I give some water, love on him a bit and send him to bed. He wakes up the next morning still not feeling great so I message a nurse practitioner friend, who also happened to be one of his coaches, and he advises I take him to the ER just to be sure everything is ok. I do and he is. He does miss his very last travel ball game, though and how his team is broken up and woe is us.

Two days later, Ash passes away in our living room. And you know that story. But I tell you, I will never forget that weekend. Everything we went through. Everything Ash went through. Everything Jack went through and then it all culminating with the death of our dad, our husband, our best friend and sometimes our worst enemy.

I’m going to share with you the last picture of Ash and I that was ever taken. It was on that awful Saturday when nothing went right. Looking at it now, I see how sick he was, how much he was suffering, but while I was in it, he was still my handsome, stubborn ass husband with the most beautiful eyelashes I’ve ever seen and the most critical nature I’ve ever experienced.

A lot of days, I really am fine. The boys are also doing great and I am so proud of them. But today, and really every day this week, I am not fine. I am not ok. My eyes are not dry. My soul is not complete. I am scared and alone and really fucking sick of 4th grade.