It’s been a hot minute since I’ve had any major widowhood complaints. Well, let me rephrase that, it’s a been a hot minute since I’ve published any major widowhood complaints – I have complaints aplenty, I just mostly keep them to myself or to my very tiny inner circle, said circle getting tinier with age. That’s not a complaint, by the way. I love my very tiny inner circle. I trust them wholeheartedly with my life. And as they say, a friend to all is a friend to none. Thank you for coming to my KellieTalk (patent not pending).

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. Sort of. You know I’ve got some tangents. I went to a new hairdresser the other day. It was an emergency situation. I was looking more and more like the Fruit Stripes gum zebra every day. Cute for a gum mascot, not cute for a middle aged woman pretending to be anything but middle aged. She was a lovely woman, very easy to talk to and I was there for many hours so a lot of talking was happening. Naturally we talked about my dead husband, as it’s one of my favorite topics, a real defining topic, basically the only thing I really bring to the table – dark jokes about dead husband. Nail it every time. And that led to talking about choices we make, how we’ve come to be where we are, what we would change, what we wouldn’t and how to get to where we want to be. She was big on speaking your wants into the universe; she even had real life examples of people speaking out (out loud – not just in your head) what they wanted and the universe returning said request. It gave me a lot to think about.

I’m not one that is good at asking for what I want or what I need (from the universe or anyone else). Asking for help in any way, shape or form tends to make my heart race, my armpits sweat and my face turn red. It’s a real uncomfortable feeling. And I always buffer it on both ends with the if you don’t minds, if it’s not too much troubles and I totally understand if these asks are too much. Topped with the background of why I need what I need or want what I want to the point where it becomes totally awkward and unbearable for me and everyone else. I drove home from the appointment (looking much less fruity and far less striped than when I arrived – yay!) and contemplated it. But I did not speak about it. Not at that time. I had to really overthink it some more.

The next day, driving home from work (yes, I still have a job and yes, I still enjoy it), I decided to give it a try. Heart racing, arm pits sweating, heat creeping up my neck into my face. I addressed God, the universe, the fly that’s been trapped in my car and refused to leave anytime I tried to escort it out by rolling (pushing, we don’t roll anymore) down the window or opening the door. Please note, other than those mentioned above, I was completely alone. With my thoughts. And giving those thoughts a voice. So, naturally, when I finished with just a few very basic things that I would like in my life and in my children’s lives (I won’t go into those wants and needs here, I can barely tell them to myself), I burst into tears. I was so open and vulnerable. With myself. And I absolutely hated every minute of it. I’m not certain, but there’s probably some rule about having to really believe that you deserve what you’re asking for and I surely don’t feel I deserve much of anything. Because the thing is, my life is pretty good. I’ve created the Island Kellie – is it lonely at times? For sure. But all my basic needs are met. Emphasis on basic.

That brings me to my next epiphany. I was sitting on the back porch, enjoying the beautiful fall weather on Birdwell Island (just kidding, that’s from Clifford the Big Red Dog, a Jones family favorite from way back when – Ash used to say it a lot “It’s a beautiful fall day on Birdwell Island”). Squirrel! Is ADHD contagious? I think Ash left me with some of his. Back to my point, I was sitting on my back porch and my stomach starting feeling uneasy, which lead me to think I wonder if I need a colonoscopy, which lead to what age does one get a colonoscopy, which lead to holy shit you’re getting old Kellie, which lead to who the fuck is going to drive me to my colonoscopy? Obvious answer, I know, my mom. God bless her. She never gets to stop taking care of everyone. But the obvious answer is also not that obvious. If she’s driving me to and from my asshole’s photo shoot, then who the hell is driving Colt to and from school? My dad? He doesn’t know how to do that. Bev? She’s 112 and not getting any younger. Maybe my brother? But he has his own life and job and wife and things to which need tending. My friends (all 3 of them)? See previous answer to brother. Plus, like, a colonoscopy is a pretty personal thing. It’s supposed to be your spouse. I took my spouse to many. Where is he to return the fucking favor?

That’s one of the things you take for granted when you have a spouse that is among the living. You always have an emergency contact. I mean Ash probably wouldn’t answer and I had surgery one time and he didn’t take the day off because he didn’t realize I would need a ride. But that was still his job. He would eventually get there, give me a ride, sort of take care of me in a Kellie, you’re fine, do it yourself, sort of way. I guess he was preparing me for the inevitable. Funny how life works out and how it doesn’t.

Anyway, I’m accepting applications for an emergency contact. In a very vulnerable way, I do not wish to grow old alone which is quite unfortunate as I reside mostly alone on Island Kellie – something I did to myself, protecting my peace and whatnot. I’m not good at letting people in, sharing my space, compromising much of anything, anymore. So the job will not be easy. I’ve become quite the selfish little cow – a real I’ve made my bed, now I must lie in it situation. But also, in my defense, the emergency contact pool is quite shallow, full of urine and an alarming amount of unsolicited dick pics.

I suppose it’s not hard to guess one thing I tried to speak out into the universe. Please don’t judge. Life is hard. For everyone. Especially in 2026. The application pool is open and until then, back to lying to myself…