Author: Kellie

Kellie is a 43 year old widow/wanna be child but really just stays home with her own two children. She loves to read and get a suntan. Preferably at the same time. She's now delving into the big bad world of blogging! Be kind, Strangers!

Happy Death Day. Happy Birthday? (Month 10)

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Dear Jonesie:

Kind of an oxymoron, huh? Death day and birthday right around the same time. Today marks 10 months since you left us. And Tuesday will be the 38th anniversary of your birth. I’ll never forgive you for not growing old with me. But I suspect you could careless.

It’s hard to believe it’s been 10 months since I’ve seen your face in real life. Probably longer for you since you were in a drugged up, not with it state. I’ve thought about our last night together a lot lately. In true Kellie fashion, I was inappropriate, making light of death rather than telling you how much I love you, how much I appreciate you and how much I’m going to miss you. Although I feel I’m a bit of a hopeless romantic, I wasn’t quite good at expressing myself or actually letting you know how feel. I can write it down like it’s my j-o-b, but give me face to face interaction and I clam up, like, well, a clam. (Not my best analogy there – I’m going to blame it on the tears is my eyes as I write this.)

What can I tell you? Jack has started talking about you again. A lot. Unfortunately, none of it is very nice. It’s no secret that the 2 of you didn’t have the best relationship, and I guess a part of him just needs to get it out, get it off his chest. And I understand that. It also hurts some kind of awful. I hate that he only remembers the bad. But maybe he has to get through the bad, before he can start remembering the good. Because certainly there was good, right?! Kidding, I know there was. Jack continues to excel in baseball. He’s doing well with virtual school also, but is struggling with math, which I am too stupid to help him with. 5th grade math ain’t my thing! He grows more mature by the day, always helping with Colt (perhaps a little too much!) and always looking out for me. He’s still a slob and still obsessed with video games, but I guess there could be worse things.

Colt’s birthday is coming up and no one is more excited than him. In his true Colt way, he has asked for some interesting things – a baby Groot, cool new baits, another fishing pole, a metal excavator and bull dozer and a Dr. Doom costume (which, by the way, doesn’t exist!). I got him baby Groot and a Dr. Doom figure and I’m taking him on a near shore fishing trip. I so wish you were here to join us, but alas, you, God and the universe have other plans. I’m sure I’ll write another poem that I’ll think is so wonderful, read it out loud and get the same lackluster reaction that I always get. Such is life I guess. Kindergarten is ok. More often than not, Colt has the consistency of a wet noodle or lava lamp, melting into the couch and trying to do anything but what he is supposed to be doing. Maybe it will get better. Maybe it won’t. All we can do is try.

As for me, I’m ok. Still short on patience, still yell too much. My 38th birthday came and went. You weren’t here. Although, I did get on the treadmill over the weekend and right in the center of the screen was one tiny pink flower. I’m assuming you perhaps arranged that. Which is ironic given the fact that you never gave me flowers that I can remember in our 13 years together. I’m not entirely pleased that you will be 37 forever while I continue to age but, again, nobody fucking asked me what I wanted. I might be a little bitter today. Shocking, I know.

Yesterday I had a near panic attack while driving to get gas. Over something quite ridiculous. But it struck me, while driving that Ash Jones ICE can no longer be my ICE (in case of emergency for those of you that aren’t quite as hip as me. Ha! That’s a joke.) But it hit me, I’m 38 years old and my in case of emergency contact is dead so good luck getting a hold of him. Although, to be fair, even if he weren’t dead, good luck getting a hold of Ash Jones. You know I’m right!! And man, did it take my breath away. I’m sure there are forms out there with you still listed as my emergency contact. Hell, my medical power of attorney still hasn’t been changed since your passing. And I know, I have my mom or dad or brother to take your place but I shouldn’t have to have someone take your place this young. It’s just not fair. But life ain’t fair. Lord knows we’ve all learned that. Anyway, it was a harsh reality that I hadn’t thought of until yesterday. And it sucks.

What else can I say? We miss you. I dreamt of you not long ago. You were in the backyard cutting grass and I ran out to touch you and as soon as I got to you, you turned into someone else. And that was pretty shitty.

We are well-ish. We love you. Happy heaven day and happy birthday!

Love,

Poopsie

Thirty-Not-So-Great

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So my birthday is coming up. And it is generally one of my most favorite days/weeks/months of the whole year. This year, however, I’m not sure I’m feeling it. On the one hand (and I really hate to even say this), how could it possibly be worse than 37? I lost my husband. We entered a global pandemic. The shit has certainly hit the fan in every possible facet that the shit can hit said fan. But, it’s 2020, so I shudder when I say things can’t get much worse. Because, undoubtedly, they can. But let’s stay positive and hope not.

Today was one of those days where if it could go wrong, it did. I’ll start with virtual school. I’m not going to get into it much. However, I will say, do you know who is not meant to learn virtually? Kindergarteners. It is “virtually” impossible (see what I did there?! Man, I crack myself up!!). It is a struggle. Every. Fucking. Day. My 5 year old does not know how to use a computer, yet alone a mouse or a track pad. He’s not meant to know how to use these things given that he is 5 years old and computing is not necessarily something that is important in a 5 year olds life. But what do I know? Not much about helping with kindergarten, that’s for sure. I let out a very loud growl/yell today trying to figure out how to video and post and photograph said 5 year old painfully attempting to trace the letter “e” on said computer he doesn’t know how to use with said mouse he doesn’t know how to navigate. All the while the 10 year old is on google meeting number one of four for the day. I’m pretty sure his microphone was muted. If not, oh the fuck well.

After all the virtual hell, I decide it’s a good time to go let out some frustration on the treadmill. It’s generally the best medicine to get me back in the game so to speak. Unfortunately, I had ordered my groceries online beforehand so there was a lot of back and forth on everything the grocery store does not have in stock. I was trying to type while jog, which wasn’t really working out, so attempted to step off the treadmill to finish my message about my damn lunch meat but apparently did not step completely off the treadmill and almost fell to what I’m sure would have been my death, or at least the death of my mostly scar-free face. I caught myself on the fly and did quite a number on my shoulder and arm so as not to ruin my face before my 38th birthday. It’s not the best face in the world, but it’s mine and I’m pretty attached to it so I’d rather keep in the best shape that I possible can. My arm is feeling better tonight, thankfully. We’ll see if that holds true tomorrow.

I then go pick up my groceries, or lack thereof. They’re all packed in paper bags. And of course, all the glass items are packed in the same bag because that makes complete sense. I’m one of those people that tries to carry as many bags in as humanly possible at one time a. because I’m lazy and 2. because I think I have Herculean strength (for the record, I do not). And of course, the fucking paper bag rips and all glass items scatter on the hardwood floor including 2 bottles of wine. Good times.

Next up on the list of shit that is this day, I’m making a new recipe for dinner. I’m chopping onions like it’s my dang j-o-b except for not really because I kind of miss the onion and kind of slice my thumb instead. Luckily, I just nicked it but 1/2 a centimeter in the other direction, this could be a very different story.

The grand finale of this day (I’m hoping anyway), my dogs are playing in the backyard. One is old. One is not. The old one has a growth/tumor thing on her eye because she’s old and really sexy things happen when you start getting old – dog or human, the same is true for both. I’m chatting with 2 of my girlfriends, look over at the old girl and her eye is bleeding like a stuck pig. I hold a wet paper towel on her eye for a while and she seems fine. The bleeding stopped. The growth has actually shrunk a bit but I’m sure it will fill back up and be it’s ever beautiful self again in no time.

I realize that none of these are real problems. I’ve had real problems so I know the difference. But dear lord, can I get a fucking break. I want easy. I want relaxed. I want love. I want acceptance. I want the clouds to fucking part and the sun to shine on our lives more often than not.

I want thirty-no-so-great to become the thirty-great that I’ve desperately been hoping for over the last year.

 

Purgatory

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Disclaimer: There is much cursing, sadness and self pity happening up in here…

Am I in hell? Purgatory? Some days it certainly feels that way. I’ve heard you must pay for your sins here on Earth before you can make it to the pearly gates. And I’ve got to say, I’m sick of paying. I’ve sinned. Lord knows I have. But when will the debt be settled? How much longer will this Groundhog Day continue? I’m guessing for the rest of my life. I understand that there are different chapters in life, and to get to it, you must go through it. But I’m fucking sick of going through it.

I’m being a bit dramatic, I know. But 2 years ago, our lives changed forever. August, 2 years ago Ash really started feeling like shit. Unfortunately, we equated it to his liver disease and didn’t really think much of it. I’m not sure it would have a made a difference had we sought help sooner as he was diagnosed with rare, no cure cancer, but that’s one thing we will never know. (Although, let’s be fair, the outcome would have been the same.) For some reason, though, this month 2 years ago has really been weighing on my mind. We were ignorantly happy, working, playing, enjoying ourselves and then BAM, life was never the same again. Hell, Ash was so used to feeling like shit, I/we didn’t even notice how bad it had gotten, how much he had thrown up, how much weight he had actually lost. And all these things are spinning through my had like a hamster on a wheel, over and over and over again.

We did our best while he was still around but everything changed. My role as wife became something completely different. Nurse, caretaker, fetcher, pharmacist, waitress, masseuse, (although, let’s be real, some of these things I was doing before devastating cancer news) we were still friends, we still made each other laugh but everything wife was no longer what one thinks of as a typical wife. He fought for 13 long (and very short) months. For a while, on the chemo, he did great. And then it stopped working and nothing else worked again. And that poor man suffered. He suffered so much. Yet, if you knew him, he never let on to how bad he was truly feeling. Which, also if you knew Ash, was very unlike him. Men get fussy when they’re sick. They like to be babied. Unless they are dying. He was tough as nails. He fought so hard. He was my hero.

And now, I just can’t stop thinking about the hell he went through and the hell we are still going through. Which, again, is dramatic. I am aware that we are extremely fortunate and have so much to be grateful for, and we are, but I am also aware that there are a few things for which we are not so grateful. Losing Ash – husband, father, friend – we’re not feeling very appreciative of that. Almost immediately following that, as if our lives and routine weren’t fucked up enough, enter global pandemic – not really appreciating that one either. Remember the movie Groundhog Day? That is what this new normal feels like. I am trying to keep alive and entertain 2 children, who I fear might not actually like me anymore (they love me, but like, that’s a bit questionable these days). Possibly because our “pandemic” started 2 years ago. And we’ve all changed. So, so much. Because of course we have. You can’t lose the. nucleus of the family and come out unscathed. We have bad attitudes, we are constantly irritated with each other, we are short on patience, we are tired no matter how much sleep we get. And we are so sick of it. We want out. We want life to go on. We want our new normal to be, well, more normal.

And I understand, we all feel this way. Shit is crazy for everyone right now. But this is my pity party, and I’ll cry, bitch, moan and complain if I want to. It doesn’t matter how much we do, how many loved ones, friends, family we surround ourselves with, there is still this bottomless pit of loneliness deep inside that I am desperate to fill. And sometimes, it does fill like I’ve done a good job of filling it. Until it doesn’t again. That bone deep sadness and loneliness always comes back. And I wonder – is that just how it’s going to be for the rest of my life? Will there always be a void? Will my heart always feel just a little bit broken? As mama always says, time will tell. I hate to wish my life away, but I wouldn’t mind fast forwarding just a little bit to get through this shit show we’re in right now.

We’re really ok. We have so much. We love so much. We are so loved. But, we’re also a little bit not that ok.

 

Anniversary Blues

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It’s my anniversary week and I must say it’s not really going well. I’ve been in a shit mood. I’m weepy as hell. And I’m just generally pissed off. Unfortunately, I also seem to be taking it out on everyone I love.

I didn’t realize it would hit me like this. Things have been going so well. But I guess that’s the nature of grief and heartbreak. Most days are normal. And then some are pure hell. And I’m currently in pure hell.

I don’t remember what Ash said when he proposed to me. Being pregnant, and knowing where we were headed, it was a little anticlimactic. We were living in Denver, CO in the super swanky neighborhood with the crazy homeless general and the den of a million foxes next door (that might be an exaggeration). Like I said, super swanky. We took Bogey, our chocolate lab, for a walk. We ended up at a park. Ash sat me down, probably said something nice I would assume (or maybe not, you never know with him) and then asked me to marry him (I said yes by the way, in case that wasn’t obvious). The ring was gorgeous and also way too big but I loved it and I loved him. We walked home hand in hand with smiles on our faces all the while puppy Bogey was trying to bite the diamond off my hand. Apparently diamonds are a dogs best friend, not man as originally thought.

I believe we got engaged sometime in May but I’m not so great with dates so that could be totally wrong. I know we got married in August and my mom kindly reminded me it was the 9th, which I sort of knew but also thought it could have been the 8th. The wedding was short and hot but also one of the best days of my life. I guess now I could also classify it as one of the worst days of my life because here we are on year 11, and I’m still Mrs. Jones but Mr. Jones has flown the fucking coup. And that just plain sucks.

By our first anniversary, we had moved back to my home town in North Carolina and so began the tradition of anniversary dinner at our favorite Colington Cafe where I would indulge in too much wine, too much rich food, overheat from all the said wine and rich food, and leave my handsome groom at the table halfway through dinner to go sit in the car in the a/c, take my ridiculously over the top high heels off and try not to vomit. I am the definition of sexy. And romantic. Eventually, around year 7, we learned – sexy time before dinner so when Kellie overindulges yet again, everyone is still happy.

Last year, we spent our anniversary in Durango, CO where we went on tiny hikes, long drives and essentially said goodbye to each other. We didn’t have our kids with us so it was a good time to let it all out. And we did. All our thoughts, all our feelings and more tears than I knew any 2 humans could cry. It was by no means the trip of a lifetime but it is a trip I will never forget in my lifetime. Until the Alzheimer’s hits at least.

And now he’s gone. No more Colington Cafe. No more sexy time. No more unsexy time. No more short hikes or long drives. Still plenty of tears but now I cry them alone. And right now, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more alone in my life. And tired. I’m so fucking tired.

It’s not always like this. It’s just this week. I hate this week. And I equal parts love this week. But I miss my groom, my date for life, my best friend and my worst enemy.

I do have a large distraction this weekend to help get me through – a ladies only fishing tournament. My children are going to stay with my parents (thank you parents) for a few days and I’m really going to live it up with some great ladies and maybe catch a marlin while I’m at it. I will pour one out for Ash. I will celebrate our marriage. And I will also curse him the fuck out for leaving me way too soon.

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

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In the interest of keeping things real (because that’s how I roll), this morning was not great. It never fails, every time I write something regarding strength and happiness and moving forward, something happens that totally negates everything I think I believe. And it’s not that I don’t think I’m strong or that I’m not moving forward. Because I am. But without fail, once I put it in writing, something smacks me in the face (like memories and all the ways that I’m potentially failing my children) that says whoa bitch, calm the fuck down, you have nothing figured out. I guess that’s the nature of losing your spouse maybe.

I woke up this morning thinking I should make my children breakfast. (Not that I don’t feed them breakfast regularly – like cereal or grits or something equally lacking in effort on my part – they do get fed. If you’ve seen them, you know that. Well, it looks like Colt doesn’t really eat – he’s long and lean – but I promise he eats more than Jack and I combined – kind of like his father.) Anyway, back to the point, if I have one. I woke up, laid in bed for while contemplating making bacon and eggs and pancakes. I got out of bed and made my coffee and talked myself right out of making breakfast, drank said coffee, then asked the boys if they wanted me to make them breakfast. Emphatic yeses (is that a word??) all the way around – you know, all 2 of them.

And it hit me. I have not actually made breakfast since Ash died. So as I’m frying up the bacon, I lose my shit. Food (and eating) was one of the most important things is Ash’s life, which I get sounds weird. But that man LOVED to eat. And eat he did. Seriously, he ate like he weighed about 507 pounds. But he didn’t. He was little. He just had that metabolism that burned up everything as soon as it entered his body. He was kind of an asshole that way. Unlike me that looks at a French fry and gains 3 pounds.

So, I’m making the bacon (hey oh!), crying my eyes out, trying to figure out what in the actual hell is my problem. Breakfast is not a big deal. But today it was. Because when you become a widow with 2 young children, everything becomes your job. EVERYTHING. (Obviously) The messes. The meals. The injuries. The sports. The school. The chores. The tantrums. The really good things. The really bad things. When shit goes wrong in our house. When shit goes wrong in our other houses. I had to fix an electrical problem this morning. Do you know what I know about electrical problems? Apparently one thing that actually worked. Today anyway. Hell, I even started cutting grass this week. (Side note – I suck at cutting grass. I managed to make both mowers – riding and pushing – stop working. I missed several spots. I ran into the garage and knocked off the garage door censor. I left the gate open and lost my dogs for a bit. I burnt my neck on the cord thingy on the push mower because I thought if I just pulled it harder, certainly it would start. And I pulled it right into my neck. I was not good at mowing grass. But I did it. And the lawn looks mediocre at best (and that’s being generous). But still, I did it.)

I used to make breakfast all the time. It was one of Ash’s 3 favorite meals. Ha! But once he left us, I never brought myself to do it. I didn’t think the boys cared. They never asked for a home cooked breakfast. I make them lunch. I make them dinner. I just gave up on breakfast. But today you would have thought I hung the fucking moon. They were so grateful and happy. They hugged me. They thanked me for the “best breakfast ever”. There were I love you’s all around. And it was just pancakes and bacon. Nothing complicated. Something I used to make all the time.

It’s strange, the things that change when you lose someone you love. I promised the boys that I wouldn’t wait another 10 months before I made them breakfast again. And they were happy with that.

There were also so many memories swirling in my head for the rest of the day. Ash and I fought. A lot. Especially for the first 5-7 years of marriage or so. It took us a long time to adapt and accept all the things that we could not change about each other. So not all the memories swirling in my head today were good. But some were. And I just miss him.

I just started watching Yellowstone. And it’s good. But Ash would have loved it. It would have been a show that we got sucked into together, staying up entirely too late, bingeing as many episodes as we could until one of us (usually me) couldn’t make it any longer. But he’s not here to watch it with me. And today, it hurts. Which I know is normal. It would be weird if it didn’t hurt. I also realize I’m talking in circles but sometimes I talk in circles.

Hug your people. Tell them you love them. You never know what’s coming in the chapters ahead.

How to Kill it as a Widow

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Ha! See what I did there? I love a good pun. Is that a pun? I don’t even know.

Either way, recently someone said to me that they admired me, that they didn’t know how I did it and how I have overcome my so called widow-hood. The truth is, well first of all, who doesn’t love being told that you’re admired! That doesn’t suck. But second of all, what choice do I have? And thirdly, you don’t overcome widow-hood. You just have to learn how to live with it, how to live through it and how to be happy while doing it.

I guess I could choose to wallow in self pity. I could choose to focus only on what I have lost. I could choose to live in the past. I could choose unhappiness. Certainly I wouldn’t be judged (yes I would) if that’s the path I chose. But I don’t choose that.

I have 2 children that follow my exact example at all times. They deserve a life of happiness and joy and freedom. Losing their father at such young ages fucking sucks. There are no ifs, ands or buts about that. They didn’t deserve that. But we don’t always get what we deserve. Life deals our hand and it’s how we deal with what we are dealt that matters. (That’s a whole lot of dealing right there!) My point is, they are watching my every move, my every reaction and they are emulating what they see in me. Do I want them to be mopey, woe is me, my life sucks because these circumstances that we had no control over happened to us? Hell to the f-ing no. I am raising men. Strong men. Resilient men. Happy men. And it all starts with me.

Secondly, and I believe this to the depths of my soul, happiness is a choice. And I choose to be happy. Do I have bad days? Undoubtedly. Do I have days where I am mopey and feeling sorry for myself? Obviously. I just texted one of my closest friends in the middle of the night not too long ago complaining of my sadness. These days are bound to happen. Hell, they happen when you haven’t lost your spouse. But on the regular, I choose to be happy. I choose to focus on what I do have rather than what I am missing. I choose to stay in the moment rather than dwell on the past.

I also choose to stop worrying about things beyond my control. Take school for example. Is it ideal for my children to be educated virtually? Fuck no. I am no teacher. I have no patience. Jack will be fine. He’s smart. He’s disciplined. He gets it. Colt, who’s supposed to be starting kindergarten, he’s not going to be so fine. And neither am I. Not because we’re not smart or disciplined, but because it’s all brand new. Everything you need to know in life, you learn in kindergarten. Isn’t that what they say? That’s a lot of damn pressure right there. But at least when Colt’s dumb as a shoe box full of rocks his whole life because his mom taught him kindergarten, it won’t be his fault. He’ll have plenty to divulge to his future therapist about how his mom ruined his life when he was 6 years old because she didn’t know how to teach the alphabet. But all of these things are beyond my control. It is what it is. There’s nothing I can do about it. Therefore, I am not going to waste my time worrying about it. Because I have no control over it.

I can control how we spend our time. I can control who we spend our time with. I can control what I choose to focus on. And we choose to stay busy, we choose to surround ourselves with the people we love, we choose to have fun, we choose to laugh more often than not, we choose to sing out loud and off-key as often as possible, we choose to dance in the kitchen while cooking dinner. We choose to focus on the myriads of good things that we have in our lives. Because that’s the way forward for us. That’s what makes us happy. That’s how we keep on keeping on.

The Art of Moving On (Month 8)

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Dear Jonesie:

If I’m being completely honest here, I almost totally forgot that today was the 12th of the month. In my defense, I fear my brain may be partially melted from overexposure to heat and sun this past weekend. Jack had 2 double headers in 2 days in the brutal, unrelenting heat of southeastern Virginia. Seriously, at one point I put ice cubes in my bra and felt very minimal relief. Also tried some down my back. Not much better. Also forgot to bring the stupid canopy to guard us a bit from the hotter than a billy goat with a blow torch sun so today we just kept moving further and further away from the field to seek shelter and shade in the trees. Hell, towards the end of the game, I wasn’t even watching, which you know is very unlike me. Colt was sort of a trooper. Yesterday he fell asleep for a while, woke up and cried for a while. My mama thought he might was coming down with the Covid, but, thankfully, once I took him to the car and let him sit in the A/C for a while, and eat some Star Wars fruit snacks (what can’t they cure?!), he was back to his nonstop chattering self (seriously, he’s so much like you, it’s ridiculous. It was easier with you because I could just tell you to shut up or walk away or even leave. Can’t so much do any of those things with a 5 year old). Today he handled it much better.

Our oldest boy played great yesterday. He pitched well, he did well at short stop and hit some bombs. Today, not so much. That’s the nature of our boy, though. I’ll defend him a bit and say he was nervous today, playing with a team he only knew a handful of kids on and a coach he had never met until today. Yesterday was also a long day that ended late and today started early. And, again, the heat. So, Tiger Mom here will give him a bit of a pass.

Anyway, back to my fried egg status brain, I was sitting at dinner, it was the boys, my parents and me and we’re just chatting and I randomly half shouted “SHIT, it’s the 12th of the month!!” To which Jack replied so what. To which I then reminded him (well, after counting on 2 hands)  it was the 8 month anniversary of your death. To which he replied “so what? It’s not like it’s been a year.” So, yeah, he’s still 10. Ha!

The truth is, we’ve been super busy. Baseball is in full swing so that consumes a lot of our time. And in between, we are going to the beach, pool, sound. We are sharing meals with friends. We are over using the grill and trying to avoid the stove. We are covered in mosquito bites from staying outdoors way too late. We are dancing by fire pits, we are staying at the beach until dusk, we are laughing and singing and finding joy in as many ways as possible. We are making new friends while still enjoying the old. Colt is fishing as much as he can. Jack is still all about the sports while adding a couple of new favorites – surfing and skimming (he could use some help with both but I’m not quite the person for that job). And I am loving watching them grow and change. Their wings our spreading and it won’t be long before they are ready to take flight (shit’s getting real deep now, you got any waders where you are?!). As corny as it is though, it’s also 100% fact.

As for me, I am in a good place. Sometimes I drink too much. Sometimes I smoke too many cigarettes (sorry but you know how I love a smoke sometimes). I stay up too late and wake too early, never quite getting enough sleep. But I am well. My family is amazing. My friends are incredible. I’m looking forward to the future while also completely embracing where I’m at today. (There I go getting all corny again. WTF is wrong with me?!)

I’m not sure if you want to hear this or not, but, for the most part, we are happy. We were in a dark place for a while, I’m not going to lie. But we can’t stay in that dark place. I think you’d actually be really proud of how we’ve dug our way out. It did get ugly for a while, I’m not going to sugar coat it. And I’m willing to bet my left arm there will be more ugly in the future. That’s ok. We can handle it. Right now, though, we are going to soak up all the happy, sun, friendships and love that we can. Because that is what makes our world go round.

We have found a sense of peace. Maybe it’s acceptance. Maybe we’re just too busy to think about how sad we are supposed to be. Maybe it’s a combination of a million different things. Whatever it is, we are happy and enjoying all of life as much as we can. In the words of Creepy Jonathon, it is well with our soul.

Certainly we miss you. Certainly we think and speak of you often. But those assholes were fucking right. Eventually, time heals all (most) wounds. Not to say we’re not still wounded, because we always will be, but the more time goes by, the better we get at going by with it. Because that’s how it has to be.

Love you always,

Poopsie

 

 

Amarillo By Morning

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Music is an amazing, albeit sometimes unwanted, trigger for our memories. Well, at least for mine. I guess I shouldn’t speak for everyone. I was just driving from Target back to Jack’s baseball practice when George Strait’s Amarillo By Morning came on. And boy did it trigger. First I felt happy, it’s a great song, and then the tears came. But they weren’t all sad either. Because the memories are happy.

In May, 2008, after 2 short years together, Ash packed up his shit and moved to Durango, CO. In August, 2008, I sold most of my shit, packed what I could in my little Jeep Liberty, grabbed my mom, some Harry Potter books on tape (side note – I hate books on tape. I don’t think we made it through 2 chapters. Fuck a book on tape. No offense intended to those who enjoy them. They just don’t work for me) and hit the road. It was one of those trips I will never forget. I was moving far, far away from my family and everything I’d ever known. I quit a great job. I left amazing friends. But I was moving to something. To something wonderful and awful and perfect and stupid and beautiful and ugly and fun and mundane and just everything (as is the nature of meaningful relationships).

My mom and I are extremely close. So it was only natural that she accompany me on my journey out west (move over Fievel). That and she would have been terrified to send me all on my own! (Ash used to call her worst case scenario Geri because, well, her mind instantly goes to the worst case scenario possible in any given situation, you know it’s true Mama! 😘). Our first stop was Tennessee, where I got pulled over for doing absolutely nothing wrong. Apparently, he couldn’t see where I was from on my license plate (even though it was just one state over and our license plates are pretty distinctive what with either a lighthouse or the Wright flyer on them) so he stopped me to find out. He also had many other questions for me – where I was going? Why I was going? Was I going to college? All sorts of weirdness. I also hit a bird in Tennessee and believe I screamed when I did it! My mom probably thought the poor bird was stuck in the engine which would cause said engine to fail, which would lead to the whole car blowing up, us included. Haha! Just kidding! Sort of!!

Our next stop was Oklahoma City, if I’m remembering correctly. It was a long time ago. We took turns driving. We talked incessantly. We sang (probably off key) our hearts out. Oklahoma City was a little scary, at least where we stayed so we got the hell out of there as fast as possible. We stopped in the small town of Elk City, OK for a quick breakfast. But if we’re really being honest here, we stopped in Elk City because, at the time, we were a wee bit obsessed with bull riding, a wee bit more obsessed with professional bull rider Justin McBride, knew that Elk City was his home town (stalker much?!) and figured we’d certainly run into him because he would obviously be craving an egg McMuffin at 6:30 in the morning at the same time as us. I’m guessing we probably just missed each other by a few minutes. But, much to our hearts’ dismay, we did not catch even a glimpse of him.

When we got back on the highway, I think my mom was driving, Amarillo By Morning came on the radio just as we passed a highway sign for Amarillo and the miles left. I screeched (because that’s what I do, I’m a screecher and a woo girl and I am not ashamed). I thought it was pretty ironically cool that Amarillo by Morning just happened to be playing as we passed the highway sign indicating how far Amarillo was from our location and that we would in fact be traveling through Amarillo just that morning.

I was so excited to get to Ash we drove straight through from Oklahoma City to Durango. I can’t remember how long it took. But I do remember knocking on Ash’s door, I was wearing gym shorts, an old white t shirt and tennis shoes, he opened the door, we shared an awkward, somewhat uncomfortable hug (it had been months since we’d actually seen each other) and he told me I’d never looked more beautiful. We moved inside, into my new studio apartment that I was sharing with this boy that I couldn’t help but love, and we, let’s just say, reacquainted, ahem, ourselves in the closet while my mom took a shower (sorry Mama).

I haven’t thought about that journey in a long time. Hearing that song this evening brought it all back (ok, not all because it was a long time ago and I’m not as young as I used to be). And thinking about it now brings back so much. So much that I don’t even know how to put it into words. Ash always pushed me. To be brave. To take the leap. To go on the adventure. And while his adventures were cut short, mine are still going. His spirit, his passion, his love will always live inside of me, pushing me, as always, to live. As he would have lived. Well, maybe not exactly but pretty darn close.