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!

Nothing and Everything

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My husband is dead. It’s been almost 6 months. And he’s still dead. I walked into our, well, my, technically, bedroom tonight and I could smell him. And I sobbed. He didn’t even really have a particular smell. He didn’t wear cologne even though I kept buying it for him. He used whatever soap I purchased, so I guess we smelled pretty similar. His shampoo wasn’t super aromatic. But I swear I could smell him. So maybe he did have a scent.

I miss him. And yet, it’s almost as if he were never here. I often wonder how in the world did it all happen. Why did we meet? How did we fall in love? How did we come to marry and have children? And how on Earth is he gone? At 37 years old. I’m 13 days older than Ash and he always joked I would die first, naturally, because I’m so much older. But that didn’t happen.

He started getting sick in 2014. I also happened to get pregnant at the very end of 2013 so, at first, I felt like he was stealing my thunder a little bit, what with all the throwing up and not getting out of bed. That’s what I was supposed to be doing. He had countless doctor appointments and multiple hospital stays before he finally ended up with a diagnosis. Primary Sclerosing Cholangitis. It’s an auto-immune disease that affects the liver and bile ducts. I’m sure you could have guessed that if you have been reading my writings for a while. There is no cure. He may need a liver transplant 10-15 years down the road. Ash’s doctor was world famous. One of the best in his field. We were scared back then but he assured us, most people that have PCS die with it and not from it. Most people.

Ash and I changed our lives. Our marriage had been more than a little shaky for a while. At times, I did not deserve him. At times, he did not deserve me. But once he was diagnosed, back in 2014, our perspectives changed quite a bit. We learned to accept each other. We worked at it every day. And it worked. We changed. Ash had to quit drinking, you know, because of the whole liver disease thing. He started a clinical trial, we had to travel a couple hours north once a month to his doctor to check in and they were some of the most fun days in our relationship. We learned to communicate with each other again. We fell in love all over again. I guess, in a way. Life changed, for the better, if you can believe it.

In April, 2018, we were back at Ash’s liver doctor, just for a routine check up. And the words that came out of that doctor’s mouth was some of the best news we’d ever gotten in our lives. He said “I don’t know what you’re doing, but keep it up. Your numbers are incredible. We don’t see this with this particular disease much.” In September, 2018, he was diagnosed with Stage IV Terminal Cholangiocarcinoma. Bile Duct Cancer. Terminal. That’s how fast it happened. He went from what we liked to joke as a “medical marvel like Ross Gellar” to a dying man. How does that happen? Why does that happen?

I just miss him. I miss kicking his ass at Mario Cart. I miss all our date nights. I miss holding his hand. I miss just driving around doing nothing with him. I miss the way he could make me laugh. I miss his amazing smile. I miss his positive attitude. I miss how he always knew when I was about to start my monthly business based on my attitude. I miss hearing his voice. Jack has Ash’s old cell phone and the voicemail on it is still Ash’s voice. I call it, at least a few times a week, just to hear that “Hey, it’s Ash’s voicemail. Leave a message.” Simple. To the point. Just like Ash wasn’t. Ha! (It’s funny because it’s true.) Either way, I miss him. Hell, I miss the shit that I hated and thought I’d never miss. But I do. Grief is annoying like that. It reminds you that even the bad shit wasn’t really that bad. In my case anyway.

The kids are so incredible. They are so resilient. So in the moment most of the time. Sure, they have their breakdowns. But they are less frequent. I’m so envious of their strength. They are growing and learning and they are just amazing.

I don’t know the point to any of this, other than I went in my room, could smell my husband, sobbed and felt the need to write. So I did. And it’s helped in the way that only it can. My own personal therapy. Remembering him is a gift, one that I hope to only love one day.

One Is Very Much Not Like the Other

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Here’s a question? How the eff does one get an email from Babycenter and Silver Singles Dating Site in the same fucking 5 minutes? How do those go hand in hand? First of all, Babycenter, I am done with you. I’ve had my babies and I care to have no more, thank you very much. Also, considering the present circumstances of my life, couldn’t make a baby if I even wanted to unless I’m just pulling some guy off the street with sexy words such as “put a baby in my belly.” I guess that’s where the Silver Singles come in? 🤷🏻‍♀️

B, Silver Singles, how the fuck did you get my email address, who the fuck are you, and WHO THE FUCK are you calling silver or old and, I mean this with every fiber of my being, go the fuck away. Seriously. Stop harassing my email account. I am not silver, I am not old. I am 37 years young and not interested in your geriatric love matches. Fuck right on off.

Rant over. Carry on.

Perks of Being a Widow

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I don’t know much about the afterlife. I guess none of us do. What I do know is that these lightsabers (you know the ones from Disney – not going there (literally and figuratively) again) have a mind of their own. They turn on at will. Jack’s will stay on for hours at a time. Glowing in all it’s purpleyness and making its cool lightsaber sounds. Like right now. It’s almost 10 pm. The boys are long asleep. And the lightsaber is just a glowing and whirring away. I like to tell myself that it’s Ash. That he’s showing me he’s here, that he’s with me all the time. Other random things will happen, also. The X-box turns on nearly every time I sit down to write. One night, lying in bed, unable to sleep, my hand (just my left hand, that was resting where Ash used to lay) turned ice cold. I wondered if that was him, holding my hand, reassuring me that everything is going to be ok.

And I know, everything is going to be ok. And everything is, for the most part, ok. Except for when it’s not. (I know, wiser words were never spoken – it’s a wonder Harvard or Yale hasn’t offered me an honorary PhD in life.)

There are some perks to being a widow – I have full control of the remote control (well, after the boys go to bed that is); nobody ever critiques the way dinner is presented anymore; we eat in the living room whenever we feel like it; I can read for hours if I want – no one complains he’s not getting enough attention; there’s less laundry; we spend way less money (that’s also thanks to the whole don’t leave your house thing we have going on right now); I can go to bed whenever I want (my husband was always big on us going to bed at the same time – funny (not like in a funny ha ha way, but funny in an ironic way), he used to be the one that wanted to stay up late while I preferred an earlier bed time and now I’m always up late watching television that doesn’t make me any smarter and living other people’s lives through social media; there’s no guilt for eating the last Twix; I no longer have to watch golf on television, which I guess is also due to circumstance at the moment, but also, I don’t really enjoy watching golf on television so I’ll keep it in the perk column; there’s less mess in the house (not much less because 2 boys and I kinda suck at cleaning) but slightly less; I have 2 bathroom sinks all to myself; Ash was a critical guy by nature, so not constantly being told how I could improve myself isn’t so bad. I know, these are all silly things but I’m a silly girl and you get what you get.

There is one major thing that I can take away from being a widow as being a pretty large, I don’t know that perk is the right word, but it’s something I have always lacked and something I’m gaining more and more of every single day. Courage. I’ve always been a bit of a coward. I mean, my dad was still ordering my food for me in restaurants when I was 18 years old, I made my roommate make any kind of important phone calls for me all through college in exchange for ironing her clothes and then, once I got married, my husband took over ordering my meals for me and all the important phone calls. I’m intimidated by people. I always have been. I’m more on the shy and introverted side and was always happy to stay on the sidelines. But once you become the only adult in your life (that’s not literal, obviously I have other adults in my life, but on the regular, it’s just me and 2 kids), you have to grow some balls, you have to take the field and you have to start making some fucking plays. You have to order your own food. You have to make important phone calls. You have to make huge, life changing decisions, all by yourself. These things have never been my strengths. But now, I don’t have any other choice. And you know what, it feels kind of good. Liberating, in a way. Given the option, clearly I would keep my husband and keep deferring to him but nobody gave me a fucking choice. So I have had to woman up and I won’t say I’m doing great at this whole courage thing (it’s still pretty new), but I’m not doing bad, either.

Some days, I still put off the important phone calls, I avoid answering the phone, I turn in to myself and avoid being brave. But that’s only some days. And there will always be times when I have to take that time, because I am not naturally courageous. But I’m learning and growing, I’m changing, for the better, I think, because I’m relying on me to get us through this life, and if I can’t rely on myself, who can I rely on?

 

Broken

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How do you not hate everything? It’s nearly impossible. You have good days. You have shit days. You have mediocre days. But even on the good days, there is this underlying pain that trumps even the best times.

We put on a brave face most of the time. But if I can be real for a minute, that’s all it really is, just a brave face. Because inside we are so fucking fragile. We are broken. We are lost. And I don’t know how we come back from that.

We trudge along. We do the things we are supposed to. We laugh at stupid jokes. We talk to our friends. We go about our daily lives. But none of it is the same. Because we are fucking broken.

We are vulnerable. We are scared. We are bone deep sad. We are so sad that it physically hurts. We have this newfound realization that everything, and I do mean everything, fucking ends. The good things end. The bad things end. Things you wish would last forever end. Things you never wanted to begin with end. It all just fucking ends. Whether you are ready for it or not, it all ends.

And it fucking hurts. I hurt all the damn time. And there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. I’ve tried to fill the void with things that are good for me. I’ve tried to fill the void with things that are bad for me. I’ve tried distraction. I’ve tried copious amounts of wine. None of it fucking works. It may seem like it for a time, but in the end, I still fucking hurt.

Was my relationship perfect? Not even close. But it was mine. I married a man. I started a family with a man. And now, he’s gone. And we are fucking broken.

I grilled steaks tonight. I didn’t burn my house down. I didn’t burn the steaks. They were even quite tasty – according to Colt, the best he’s ever had, my sweet, sweet boy. And Jack? Jack could barely eat it. He said it didn’t feel right eating steak without daddy. Because we are fucking broken.

To my friends, I’m sorry. I am a terrible friend right now. I am selfish. I am angry. I am tired. I am alone. And I can’t be the friend you deserve. To my family, I am sorry. I rely on you for everything. I need you constantly. I thought I was strong, but I’m not. I’m just fucking broken.

I want to numb the pain. I want to make it all go away. I want to forget. And I never want to forget a thing.

I sometimes ask myself, if I had it to do all over again, knowing the end result, would I do it? Would I go on that date? Would I meet that man that would change my life forever, in so many ways? It’s a stupid path to go down, because, of course, we can’t change a damn thing. But it doesn’t stop me from wondering. Of course, the immediate response is YES! I would do it all over again. The days when I’m really feeling it, this unrelenting agony, this gut-wrenching pain, the answer is no, I would skip all this heartache, all this pain, even though it would mean I wouldn’t have these exact children, because then they wouldn’t be broken either. But the real answer doesn’t matter. I don’t even know that there is a real answer because you can’t change what has already happened. And honestly, I wouldn’t want to. I mean, if I could go back and change things, I would change Ash’s shit liver, not us being together. Because, no matter how short, we were meant to be together for that period of time. We were meant to have 2 beautiful boys. And I guess we were also meant to lose each other November 12, 2019. And I guess that means Jack, Colt and I are meant to be a little bit broken, for the rest of our lives.

Strength and the Lack Thereof

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I am strong. That is my daily mantra. I set the intention of having strength every day. And I’m going to brag a bit and say I do a pretty good job on most days.

Enter global pandemic. That strength I’ve been holding so tightly to has sailed away like a ship in the night. You see, in real life, we are constantly on the go between kids, friends, sports, school, eating someplace other than the kitchen, errands and other such things that make our lives an actual life. Put that life on hold, and us recently unfortunately widowed folks are left to actually have to deal with our feelings. So thanks for that, raw bat eater. I’ve got a couple of hand signals for you.

I selfishly took this past Saturday, and aside from working out, did not leave my couch. I let my children play outside, I gave in to too much screen time and too many video games. And I parked my ass on the couch and didn’t really move. Other than to blow my nose because I let myself basically cry all day long. It is not my proudest day in history, nor my strongest day in history. But maybe it was my most necessary day.

I recently complimented myself on not having a day where I laid around and drowned in self pity. I guess I planted the seed in the recesses of my mind. And that seed sprouted and turned into this past Saturday. I watched romantic comedy after romantic comedy, which was quite the idiotic move because do you know what life is not? If you said a romantic comedy, you would be exactly right. But it did unlock feelings that I guess I’ve been holding onto for far too long and I finally let them out.

The problem, you ask, with letting them out? Once they start, I’m not sure how to make them stop. There is so much shit, in the world, in my own personal life, that sucks right now. And if I’m completely honest, I’m having a hard time finding the bright spot. Yes, my children are a bright spot, we have our health and each other and all the other shit you’re supposed to say that you’re grateful for (and I am grateful for it) but I also have all of these other negative feelings and self doubt and pain that are overtaking everything good that I know I have.

And there’s really not anything to be done about it, which would drive Ash crazy. He was always a fixer, not great at the listening and just being there. If there was a problem, yo, he’d come up with several ways to solve it. There’s no distractions to push away the painful feelings. There are no friends to give hugs and love and feed me wine and tell me I’m pretty. (That’s a joke.) It’s just me. And the boys. And the dogs. Trying to pretend like we’re ok.

My poor kids, every night, something makes me cry, generally at the dinner table. My sweet Jack always asks if I’m alright and my sweet Colt always answers she’s just missing daddy. And that is true. I am missing him. But there’s so much more to it than that. So many things, that I, myself, do not understand and do not know how to navigate through.

So, for now, I guess I’ll just let the water works flow. Because what else are you supposed to do when your husband dies and then the world fucking stops?

More of the Same

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How’s everyone? Drowning in misery? Yeah, me too. I guess I have been for quite some time but this somehow feels worse. Probably being totally cut off from society (and other adults) being the culprit. Don’t get me wrong, I love the shit out of my kids, I just wish there was maybe one other adult around to love them with me. Post-widowhood pandemic is not doing great things for my mental state.

Things I’m not doing well in this new phase of life:

  1. Homeschool – I was not made to teach my child. I was especially not made to teach my child math. There has been arguing. There has been tears. We’re doing a little bit better each day, which I guess shows progress, but if we both make it out of this unscathed, well, color me surprised.
  2. Reading – I am reading 5 books at present. That’s not how you’re supposed to do it, but since when do I do things the way you’re supposed to do them. I started It’s Always the Husband while my husband was still alive. And while it held my interest for a while, whenever I did have a chance to read, I chose not to, choosing instead to hold onto my husband. I haven’t been able to pick it back up since he passed away. I stopped (mid-chapter mind you) on page 122. Next up When Children Grieve. This one is a real nail biter guaranteed to put you to sleep just by opening the cover. It should be something I make myself read, and I did for a while, and then I stopped. Next, my mom gave me James Patterson’s The Inn, telling me what a quick and easy read it was. I’m on page 59. There are far too many characters and different stories happening for my current state of ill-performing brain, so I put that one down. Another one that I pick up and put down at random is a story a bit like mine – a young widow with young children, only she lost her husband suddenly, and I knew for a while that I was losing mine. It’s called Confessions of a Mediocre Widow and it’s very relatable and very good, I just have to be in the right frame of mind to read it and currently, I guess, the right frame of mind isn’t hanging around my mind. Moving on. Last but not least, and the one I’m actually making progress on is Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine. That’s a lie. She’s not fine at all. Kind of like me, but her story is totally different. I picked it up because the cover literally said it was “Beautifully written and incredibly funny” and while I’m sure it is beautifully written, it has done nothing but invoke feelings of sadness and pity for poor Eleanor. It’s held my interest well enough though, as I’m more than 3/4 of the way through it. And while it has funny moments, I believe it to be a bit of a bold statement claiming it incredibly funny. Me thinks I was duped by that choice of words.
  3. Cleaning. Here I thought we had all this time and I could finally get some much needed cleaning done. Hard pass.
  4. Keeping my shit together. We’ve (my children and I) have been dealt a shitty hand. While we were still allowed to be part of civilization, I think we handled it all pretty well. Take civilization away, enter crazy, angry, weeping us. Apparently our people were holding us together. Take them away, you’re left with sadness from the movie Inside Out. Not really that bad, but we’re crying much more often than we used to, we’re throwing many more tantrums than are acceptable and feeling a deep void that we can no longer fill with all of our loves.
  5. Staying connected. It’s true that deep down, I’m an introvert. I like time to myself. I like the quiet. The more time I spend away from my friends, the easier it seems to not reach out. I fear by the end of this I will turn into some kind of recluse who’s book number has jumped even higher and friend count at an all time low. I won’t really let that happen, but I will deem it a concern.

But, enough of that Debbie Downer crap. On to the good bits! While trying to find a sheet of paper that Colt has not drawn planes, trains and automobiles all over, I came across another list from my Jonesie. Now, they are more of the same things he’s said over and over, but if you know Ash, you know that repeating himself in countless different ways was kind of his jam. It’s another list that he wrote for Jack and while much of it is repetitive, when can we not use a little advice on how to better live our lives, especially now?!

  1. Be open minded.
  2. Be kind.
  3. Be empathetic, compassionate and loving. Accept people. Tell people when you love them. Don’t let moments of greatness pass you by.
  4. Be strong. Don’t be easily influenced by others. Stay true to your values and beliefs. Don’t succumb to peer pressure.
  5. Choose your friends wisely. Stay away from drugs, alcohol, violence and hate. Always choose love.
  6. Set goals and work to achieve them. Start small and work your way up. Stay motivated.
  7. Maintain your hobbies – continue with your love for sports. Explore nature. Read every day (this wasn’t on there but don’t read 5 books at the same time, don’t be like Mama!)
  8. Practice, practice, practice. You wan’t to hone your skills? You have to work at it. Every. Single. Day. Hard work always pays off in the end.

Well, I was always one to argue some of Ash’s points and I will say that we worked our asses off trying to stop the spread of cancer and that one didn’t work. So while hard work may not always pay off, it is always worth trying. Stay strong my friends. We’ll get through this, one painstakingly slow day at a time. Stay connected. Reach out. And always keep an open mind.