Category: family

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.

Stage 4: Sadness

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Grief is selfish. The feelings that grief can emanate are all consuming. It is something you feel, on your own. Maybe I should rephrase to say that grief is selfish for me; I can’t speak for everyone. When I’m in the throes of my sorrow, or even the boys’ sorrow, it is all about us. How we’re feeling. How we’re coping. We work through it. We try not to burden others with it. We try to keep it just for us. We try to be strong when we enter the real world with other people.

Yesterday was a day of grief for us. Maybe more so me than the boys, but any time they see me sad and crying, they tend to join in, in one way or another. I woke up yesterday feeling broken. I tried to distract myself with cleaning (my least favorite task) but came across my wedding album and being the daft twit that I am, decided to flip through it. A couple of things came to mind – 1. we looked genuinely happy (even though I tried to call off my wedding the night before but that’s another story for another day). B. I couldn’t help but get angry, looking at how genuinely happy we looked, to the point where I “punched” Ash in the face (well, I punched his picture in the face) because he’s not here trudging through this life with me as promised. To be fair, he trudged as long as he could. I guess it’s not his fault his time was cut short. 3. The anger led to acute sadness. And that’s where my feelings remained for the duration of the day.

My dad stopped by. I cried on him. And he hugged me. And it was so nice. I went to my parents house for the afternoon so that I didn’t have to be alone (not that I’m alone because I always have the boys, but I needed adult companionship, adult conversation and honestly, I just needed my mom) and I let the sadness completely fill me and I let it out on my parent’s front porch. Silent tears poured down my face. It’s such a combination of so many feelings, this grief. I obviously mourn the loss of Ash – I miss him. There’s also so much fear. Will I feel this way forever? Will our new normal ever feel normal? Of course, our new normal keeps getting more and more abnormal thanks to ‘rona so that’s fun. Will I always be this lonely? I guess the only way to do it is to go through it. But man, is going through it exhausting. I know the answers to all of my questions. I know that time heals all wounds, or some such bullshit. Which is bullshit, I don’t think some wounds ever completely heal. You just learn how to live with a limp, so to speak.

I also had one of the best day’s I can remember having since losing Ash on Saturday. It started with an ass kicking workout followed by a fantastic beach day with my boys. We played paddle ball (we suck at paddle ball), we threw the football until my shoulder ached and fingers went numb, the boys got in the frigid cold water. We left sun kissed, tired and filled with a sense of peace. We filled our bellies with delicious takeout and then we watched one of our most favorite movies ever, Trolls. It was just a perfect day. And I think that’s what led to yesterday.

Ash wasn’t there for our perfect day. We had a perfect day without Ash. We will continue to have perfect days. But they might always be followed up with a hangover of sadness because life does go on. We move on. March forward. We continue to love, we laugh, and some days really do feel perfect. And some days don’t.

And when they don’t, it’s so easy to shut everyone out. I ignored phone calls yesterday, text messages. I didn’t want to let anyone in. I didn’t want anyone to know how shitty I was feeling, how down and out I was. I just wanted to let myself feel every last drop of sadness. I wanted to hug my parents and let them take care of me and the boys, if only for the afternoon because I needed that love, that acceptance and that time. Because grief is selfish.

 

Worrisome Wording

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Words. Words can affect us in so many ways. When someone says I love you – it can make your heart soar. When someone gives you a compliment, it can make you stand a little taller, feel a little better (not me, they just make me uncomfortable but I’m weird that way). When someone criticizes you, it can ruin your whole day, maybe even your whole perception of yourself.

I have been riddled with anxiety for as long as I can remember. Losing Ash, hasn’t changed that, although, some things have gotten a little better (because my perspective has gotten a little better) and some things have gotten a lot worse because, of course they have. I was given some words last night that were probably intended to make me feel one way, but they did the exact opposite. “I worry about you.” I expect these words from my mother because a. that’s her job as my mother and 2. she’s a worrier by nature.

Someone unexpected shared these words with me last night (regarding me if that wasn’t clear) and it took an unexpected toll on me. At first, it sort of made sense. My husband is gone. The father of my children is gone. We are delving into elementary online learning/learning from home. We are stuck at home. I guess, in a way, we’re all a little worried about one another. These are crazy, unprecedented times.

But then, my brain did a 360 and spiraled in the other direction. Why are you worried about me? What have I done to cause you to worry about me? Am I not functioning? Am I not performing my job well? Am I screwing up my kids? Myself? My life? Am I not doing as well as I think I am? Because, given the circumstances, I do feel like I am kind of kicking ass and taking names. I get up every day. I take care of my body every day. I provide my children with most everything they need every day. We put one foot in front of the other every. single. day. Even when it’s the last thing we want to do. I have not, not one single time, laid in my bed all day crying my eyes out and drowning in my own sorrow and self-pity even though I have felt that I could. I have not given up on doing the things that I enjoy doing. I have not stopped taking my children to their activities (well, I have now because pandemic). I have not stopped providing them with adequate sustenance. We have pushed through. I might even go as far as to say we are thriving. We are mostly happy. We love each other. We support each other. We drive each other crazy.

So why are you worried about me?

These words hit me so hard last night, that I believe I had a bit of a panic attack. My stomach knotted up, it felt like there was an elephant sitting on my chest and my heart was racing. My brain dove into a tailspin thinking of all the things I must be doing wrong, how I must not be as strong as I thought. I tried to dose off, but every time I was nearly there, I would jerk awake, thinking I heard a noise, calling out hello to a dark room in the middle of the night, thinking things were crashing down on me. It was a rough night. I did not get a lot in the way of sleep. My mind kept playing tricks on me. And I started to worry about me. Where am I coming up short? What am I doing wrong?

Do you know what the answer is? Nowhere. I’m not doing anything wrong. I am doing my best every day. Certainly some days my best doesn’t look very good, but I’m still trying. And the boys and I, we are doing well.

I’m certain I took the comment the wrong way. I’m sure it was meant out of love. But for the anxious, it was a hard pill to swallow. I even expressed to my friend how it made me feel. And my friend tried to take it back. But the seed had already been planted and my anxiety bloomed completely.

I feel better this morning. I realize that people being concerned for my well being is a good thing. And I’m not sure why I took such offense. I guess I just felt stripped of my armor or that there was a chink in my armor that I was unaware of. And maybe there is. But that’s ok, too.

Why?

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The dreaded question. The one that has no answer. But I can’t help but wonder, why us? Why my kids? Why don’t they get to have their father? What did they do to deserve this? How were they chosen? Is it something that God chooses? Is it an eenie meenie miney moe kind of thing? Is our fate already decided before we’re even born? Don’t get me wrong, this is not something I would wish on anyone. But I especially don’t wish it on my children. Do they ever wonder why my dad? Of course they do, but they’re kids, and they go with the flow. They feel it and then they move on. I envy them for that. I feel it nonstop. All the time. So many memories. So many good times. So many terrible times. But it all made us who we were, who we are. And I just can’t help but question why. Certainly Jack and Colt don’t deserve this. They are young and wild and innocent and beautiful and intelligent and weird and perfect and imperfect. Why don’t they get a life with the man that helped create them? The man I chose. The man that chose me. Why did we get so unlucky? Fate? Luck or lack there of? God’s plan? Well, God, guess what? Your plan really sucks for us. We are ok because we are strong, but we are not ok because a very large piece of us is missing.

Tonight was not a great night in the Jones household. That’s actually a lie. It was great in a beautiful and sorrowful way. We were sitting at dinner, just chatting and I looked over at Colt, looking so much like his daddy, acting even more so like him and I asked his favorite memory with daddy. This lead to a mad dash from the table to my (my, mine alone, just mine) bedroom to grab our “Daddy Memory Box” filled with weird and random shit chosen by the boys. Colt, in his 5 year old excitement, brings the box to the table and grabs Ash’s wedding band (one of those rubber/silicone rings you order on Amazon for $8) and declares that his favorite memory of daddy. Ok. What about anything you did with daddy, I ask him. His reply: legos and golf were my favorite things to do with daddy. Mine too, buddy. Well, not Legos, they’re not my favorite but golf, that was definitely a favorite.

Jack then decided to take his mad dash from the kitchen table to gather all the memory/photo books we’ve created over the years. We paused our eating and just flipped through them. And we cried. We cried because we made so many great memories together. We had so much fun together. We also created some pretty awful memories, but the beautiful thing about life, and death, is that once someone is gone, even the bad becomes the good. Because it’s something to hold onto. It’s something that you learned from, something that seemed important at the time, but in reality, didn’t matter one damn bit. It’s not that someone becomes perfect once they are gone, it’s that you realize how much you loved the perfect and the imperfect. Because it helped shape who you were, who you are and who you will be. You can look back and laugh at what once caused you so much anguish. You can find the hilarity in the awful, the beauty in the pain, and the love in the hate.

Ash and I were passionate. We fought with passion and we made up with passion. And what I wouldn’t give for one more fight and one more makeup. I can remember the last time we lay together as husband and wife (you know, in the biblical sense). It was January, 2019. We were in a Residence Inn in the Brier Creek area of Raleigh. It was the day before chemo. We didn’t know then that it would be the last time, at least not consciously, maybe subconsciously. It wasn’t our best effort, either, for obvious reasons. It was a little clumsy, we both cried the entire time and it was short lived. It wasn’t passionate but it was full of love, full of trepidation, full of fear and full of sorrow.

I’ve dreamt of Ash twice in the last week. In the first dream, we were riding in the back of a pick up truck. Our children were with us (so unsafe). My mother was driving (she would never allow the children to be in the back of a pickup truck) and my father was riding shotgun. Ash was upset because he had just learned I’d made an offer on a lot without consulting with him (um, bullshit babe, I asked you nonstop for guidance) while my mom was trying to tell him how nice Mother’s Vineyard in Manteo is. The next one, I walked into some kind of cafeteria. He was sitting at a table with a bunch of unfamiliar faces. We locked eyes as soon as I walked in, he got up and started walking towards me as I was walking towards him, never breaking eye contact. And then I woke up. That one hurt.

So, again, why? Why my children? Why us? And why, following all of that, must we be stuck at hour homes with no outside contact? How are we supposed to handle that? I guess with the same strength and resilience we’ve handled everything else.

My parting words to you this evening are to hug your husband/wife tight. I know he/she is probably driving you crazy (especially since you’re stuck with only each other), but imagine if you didn’t have him/her at all. Would the bad times also become the good times? I’d bet my life that they would. Fight passionately and make up with that same passion. It’s all cliche but it’s all true.

Urine My Thoughts

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It happened again. Right in front of me this time. I’m sitting at the computer in my home office. My dad is with me. We’re looking at house plans. And the 5 year old goes behind the recliner, THAT’S RIGHT NEXT TO US, and pisses on the floor. At first, I don’t quite grasp what I’m hearing. I turn. My dad turns. And there he is, golden shower sprinkling right into my brand new fucking carpet (ok, it’s like 8 months old, but still pretty freaking new). What in the actual fucking fuck? Hello God, it’s me, Kellie, mother of 2, widow, crazy ass crying in her car lady. Remember me? Wanna ease up a bit? Maybe give us a little bit of a break here and there?

I don’t mean to blame you, God. Although, I was told I could turn all my aggression your (Your?) way because if anyone can handle it, it is God. I know that my boys are going to go through some tough shit. I know that it would be weird if they weren’t acting out in one way or another. But does it have to be pissing on the fucking floor? How am I not supposed to react to that? I can’t. You’ve met me. I’m a fly off the handle kind of girl. I’m made up of sarcasm, competitiveness and anger. I’m not sweet and patient and kind. I’m yelling and mean and yucky. And my kids don’t deserve that. And I know that Colt is 5 and he’s sad and confused and angry but how about we channel that into, say, a deep need to clean things nonstop rather than soiling all the carpet in our home? Is that too much to ask? I guess that’s why we have a carpet cleaner in the family. Who knew it would come in so handy?

I’d also like to thank Colt for announcing in the middle of Great Clips today that “mama doesn’t have a job.” (Makes you wonder why I have a home office?!) You’re right, son, I don’t. I’m too busy cleaning your urine off the floor to go to work. (To be fair, he hadn’t peed on the floor yet at this point in the day. He was just making announcements while getting his high and tight even more heightened and tighted. I’m just letting my anger and bewilderment and aaaarrrrgggghhhhhh take over this post.) The hairdresser across from us just thought Colt was the funniest little thing and what else could he announce about mama. Luckily, he just kind of giggled and went back to staring at himself in the mirror.

In other distressing news, I cannot pick a lot. It’s impossible. Nobody can pick it for me. I know that. But it’s really hard to be a grown up and make big decisions all by yourself when you’re not used to having to make the big decisions all by yourself. Even the people that want to help can’t really help because it’s ultimately up to only me. And I’m not all that great at things that are ultimately up to only me. My heart tells me one thing. My brain tells me another thing. And I’m not sure which one I’m supposed to be listening to. (My heart tends to lean towards the more ignorant side of things, whimsy little bitch that she is, so I’m a little nervous to follow her anywhere…)

I’ve spoken to my builder. He’s given me his opinion. Is it a dick move if I don’t listen to him? Should I take his advice? Should I follow my heart? Should I just take a leak on the floor? Does that make things easier? Somehow I doubt it!! Don’t worry. I’m not going to try it. I’m going to make a decision. And it’s going to be right. Because I will have made it and I should have some faith in myself. I’ve made it this far, right?