Life is full of surprises, some of them good, some of them mediocre and some of them downright awful. Meeting my future husband at age 24 was a good surprise. Losing him to cancer at age 37 was a downright awful surprise. It is not how I envisioned our future panning out, obviously. But, life being what life is, it kind of is what it is. (Profound, I know.)

I have done a fair amount of tearing myself down lately. Sort of, anyway. I’m actually quite good at it. As is the lovely person that labeled me a whore on social media, but I still take the cake when it comes to making me feel like a shitty person. Good try, though, sweetheart! Anywho, I decided that perhaps it is time to take a moment to remember the things that I tend to excel at, the things that I have overcome and the good things that make me, well, me.

First tick in the “pro” column when it comes to “Things Kellie Doesn’t Suck At” is strength. I’ve got that shit it spades. I’ll give you a couple of examples. I watched my husband, best friend, confidant, the person I intended to spend the rest of my life with, die. We all know that, but do we all know the kind of strength that entails? I was at every appointment (well, technically, I didn’t go to 3 separate chemo sessions – Ash’s brother went once, his mother went once and a good friend went with him once); I was by his side for every hospital admission. I went days without showering, days without clean clothes, days without a proper meal. I listened to doctors and nurses, I asked hard questions and yes, I even let myself breakdown in front of all of them. I drove to and from appointments, all hours of the day or night. I was by his side for every good day, every bad day and every day in between. And I ultimately put him out of his misery. And if that’s not strength, I don’t know what is.

Last week I took the boys and my mom on vacation. It’s not the first vacation we’ve been on since Ash’s passing (remember last January where Disney robbed me of all my money and not only do those lightsabers not cut through anything, but those damn droids don’t clean a damn thing. Rip. Off.) But it was a big group of us that took that trip last year and we had a man with us (my brother) and it just wasn’t quite the same as the trip we took last week. Ash always drove everywhere we went (which is actually quite funny because a good driver he was not. He got 3 speeding tickets in about a 6 month time frame a few years ago. And also averaged about 1 fender bender every year or so for quite a while.) But, still, I’m kind of an old fashioned girl and I’m not ashamed to admit that I want my man to drive me around, to open doors for me, to pay for my dinner on occasion, things of that nature. To make a long story short (just kidding – I made it totally long), Ash always drove. Especially on mountain getaways.

If you haven’t already guessed it (well, you might be a dumbass) but we went to the mountains last week. I chose a cabin as close to the top of the mountain as I could get because if I’m going to be in the mountains, I want one hell of a view. I wanted to feel closer to Ash and to God (something about being in the mountains always makes me feel closer to heaven) and to be surrounded by all of that beauty. And surrounded I was. However, what I didn’t consider when booking this beautiful cabin at the tippy top of this steep mountain was actually driving up to said cabin at the top of said mountain. Now, this may sound a little ridiculous because I’ve been driving for quite some time, I even lived in the mountains for a period of time. A big deal this should not be. But it was. Because I had never driven on a tiny mountain road with several hairpin turns going straight up the side of a Goliath-like mountain (that’s an exaggeration, it was a North Carolina mountain, not Mt. Everest, but still). I was nervous. I had doubts. But I pushed through. I drove up that mountain like it was my fucking job. I may have yelled at everyone to shut up at one point but we all know that we can see so much better when we can hear. I realize it’s not much, but damn was I proud of myself. I did it. There was mud, snow, ice, sharp turns, cliffs, narrow paths and I made it through all of them. Hell, I even turned around in the driveway, which, had I driven one foot too far in either direction, we would have taken quite a tumble down the side of not Mt. Everest. Also, I’d like it noted that not only did I successfully drive up and down Not Mt. Everest, but I also did it in a full sized truck that did not belong to me, that I had never driven before. I mean, whoa! That’s pretty damn impressive. I mean, I know it’s not that impressive, but I kinda impressed myself.

Also, on the way home from all this bad ass, treacherous mountain driving, I really tested my lungs. For 8 1/2 hours I sang every last song that came on. And I do mean every last song. When I didn’t know the words, I just made them up. But I gotta say, I knew most every word to most every song proving that a. My brain is a good brain 2. There’s a real possibility that I need to get a life and c. Dad was right, I am full of hot air.

I can jog a 10 minute mile. Again, I know that doesn’t sound very impressive, but let’s go back in time 2 years. My husband is diagnosed with terminal cancer, we are on the road more than we are not, I am eating shit food, I am not exercising, I am exhausted all the time and I am fucking depressed. I am pushing 185 pounds. Seriously. I was larger then than I was when I was pregnant with Jack with preeclampsia (which makes you super puffy). I was big. Fast forward to today, I am down 40 plus pounds. Based on all the shit I’ve been through the past few years, a friend of mine and I decided my effective age is really closer to 68 than 38. I’m still pretty fucking depressed but my diet has improved immensely. And I can now jog 5 miles like it’s nothing. And that’s pretty awesome. Go me.

Another tick in the “pro” column – I am fucking hilarious. Seriously. I crack myself up. All. The. Time. Sometimes I even make others laugh. I get that deflecting real feelings by making jokes isn’t always considered the healthiest of behaviors, but still, I’m pretty damn funny and who doesn’t like to laugh?!

I opened myself up to a relationship again, to what I thought was going to be something wonderful and important. I mean, sure, it ended with me being publicly called a whore and lots of questions from some friends and family, but I tried. I put myself out there. I was open and honest and [insert shudder here] I was vulnerable. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the other person. But, hey, I tried it. I got hurt. But I am still ok. Because I am strong.

Don’t forget to remind yourself of how awesome you are. We all make mistakes. We all have faults. But we’re also pretty fucking amazing individuals. We can do hard things. We can withstand a lot of pain. And at the end of the day, we can still laugh because most of this ridiculous shit in life is pretty fucking funny.