Category: Hope

Winning (and Losing)

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First of all, I will have you all know that I found all 3 fucking tape measures. In the same day! So if that’s not winning, I don’t know what is! I have also started successfully jogging 1.25 miles without stopping. Can’t be long until I’m shitting my pants in the NY marathon because I just can’t stop, won’t stop. Kidding. 1. That’s disgusting and b. I will never run that much ever because I don’t want to.  I went totally out of my comfort zone yesterday and went to a Whimsy Warrior (low impact/high intensity) class. Where there were other people. And mirrors. And an instructor. It wasn’t pretty, but I did it! Don’t let that name full you either, there was nothing “whimsy” about that damn class. My friend told me it was so “chill”. My friend is a liar. But I love her anyway!! It really was awesome. And awful. And I can barely walk today. Also can’t wait to go back again!

Last night was Jack’s first basketball game of the season. He scored a career high 12 points, had several rebounds and just played his little heart out (side note, he’s a bit asthmatic and “we” forgot to do his inhaler before the game so the poor kid was sucking wind the whole time. Mom fail.) It was a nail biter of a game that we won 18-17 (it’s 9-10 year old basketball, keep your expectations low.) Jack’s team was up 18-16 with 6 seconds to go. The other team had the ball and was dribbling down to shoot. Poor Jack fouled the kid right as he was going up to shoot as the buzzer went off simultaneously. Jack was not happy with himself. The other team made the first foul shot and and my son, who happens to be exactly like me (unfortunately, fortunately, who knows?) shows some anger on the court, which looks a bit like bad sportsmanship. He is only 10 and controlling those emotions is hard.

Jack is exactly like me. He looks like me, other than having his dad’s eyes. He’s strong, competitive, sarcastic, emotional, shy, stoic when it comes to matters of the heart, yet wears his heart on his sleeve everywhere else, he’s his own toughest critic. Because of that competitive spirt and critical nature, those emotions show all over the place when on the basketball court, baseball field or football field and last night was no different. When the other team made that first foul shot, he slammed his hands on the court. What looked like bad sportsmanship to anyone that doesn’t know much about Jack, was really Jack being super pissed with himself for making the mistake of fouling. That’s a tough thing to learn at 10 years old, controlling your emotions.

When we got home last night, he broke down in my arms and told me how sorry he was. I couldn’t figure out for the life of me what he was apologizing for or why he was crying (he just played the best basketball game of his. life thus far and we won). I just hugged him and rocked him and let him have his cry. When he had calmed down a bit I asked him why he was upset and sorry. He said “I just got so mad at myself, mama. I knew not to foul but I did it anyway and everyone thought I was being a bad sport. I didn’t mean to be a bad sport.” My heart just broke for him. I knew how it looked when he slammed the court, but I also knew that my baby was just being so hard on himself. My little boy has so many feelings running through him at all times, especially right now, and the last thing I want for him is to ever feel bad about how he’s feeling. Feelings are real things, whether anyone understands them or not. You cannot tell someone how to feel or how they should react to something. Sure, as adults, we *can* control our outward emotions (I use the term “can” loosely, lord knows when it comes to most things, you know exactly how I’m feeling when I’m feeling it, except, of course, matters of the heart, I like to keep those feelings close to the belt.) My son is no different than me. How can I teach him to control his emotions when I, myself, can’t control mine?

Sports are a major outlet for him. He excels at them, so far, anyway, in his 10 years. They bring him joy and they also bring him pain. Hell, watching him brings me joy and brings me pain. I guess it’s all about balance. You can’t have the good without the bad. You can’t know what it’s like to win without also knowing what it’s like to lose. I pray he perseveres through, works through his demons and goes on to find all the joy that his heart can hold. In whatever that may be. I hope he always wears his heart on his sleeve and stays true to who he is. Because who he is is really fucking awesome. (And that sounds like I just called myself really fucking awesome because up there a bit I said he was just like me. Guess what though? I am pretty fucking awesome, too!)

My Achy Breaky Heart

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I remember the first time my heart was truly broken. I was 15 years old and my first “real” boyfriend had broken up with me. I can’t say that I blame him. While super cute at age 15 (haha!), I was also super insecure, jealous and an all around bitch. But I remember that pain like it was yesterday. It took me years, literally, to really get over it. I can remember every day, for a while anyway, waking up and knowing something wasn’t right, not quite remembering what and then it hitting me all over again. That deep ache in your chest, the gut-wrenching sense of loneliness, the wondering if you were ever going to be ok again or ever find love again or always be this sad, broken, spinster. Ok, so I was a bit dramatic at age 15, but, hey, at least I’m honest. I’ve grown a bit since then. At least a bit. The point is that it was awful and I can still feel that 15 year old me’s pain. The pain of rejection. Is there any knife that cuts deeper? Maybe just one.

I had another serious relationship in college. It ended from natural causes. While it made me somewhat sad, it wasn’t the pain that I had felt all those years ago. I graduated. He was transferring 6 hours away. He asked me to go with him. I thought about it, applied for jobs and then said no thank you. Take your cat, but leave my sweater. He moved to the mountains; I moved to the beach.

I had a series of other “friends” over the next few years but no real heartbreaks. Maybe some rejection that stung but easy enough to get over. I was maturing. Ha. Ha.

And then I met Ash. And we know how that went. It took a while to get going, but once it did, man, did we have fun. He ended up by moving away from our cozy little beach town. I felt that awful heartbreak all over again. Not because we broke up, but because he wasn’t an every day part of my life anymore. I loved him. And he was gone. (Ash had this great knack for always leaving me wanting more – in my more immature days, I think most of the time dating someone was more about “winning” and getting what I wanted; once I did, I got bored and moved on. With Ash, I never felt like I was winning and boy did that work! I’m not saying it’s right, I’m just saying that’s how I was at that point in my life. Stop judging me!) I’m not sure if he asked me to come or if I forced it upon him (he would tell you it was all me; I will tell you that it was both of us), but either way, 3 months later we were living together in Durango, CO in a studio apartment (our bed was literally right next to our refrigerator) making a “living” being mountain bums (instead of beach bums). Being the spoiled little brat that never left her comfort zone that I was, it was a hard transition for me. I made it so much harder than it had to be instead of just living and enjoying. I guess hindsight is always 20/20 and that’s not really the point of me writing this. Ash was great at getting me or anyone really out of their comfort zone. It was one of his gifts. He liked to draw the box and live just outside of it!

We lived in Durango; moved to Denver; got pregnant; moved to Texas; got married; had a baby; moved back to our cozy little beach town where it all began; we worked jobs we hated; we fought a lot; we went to therapy; we took cool vacations; we had another baby; we quit the jobs we hated; we opened a business; we got cancer (yes, we, Ash, Jack, Colt and me); we sold a business; we took more cool vacations; we died (yes, we, Ash forever; for the rest of us, life as we knew it died.)

Death cuts more than any rejection knife ever could. It’s so final. Unless, of course, Ash is a Jedi and we didn’t know it and he’ll come back to us in hologram form but only when we’re really in trouble. In which case, send on the Sith, I’d really like to see my person again.

All jokes aside, I have grown from that 15 year old girl (bitch). Obviously I feel a shit ton of pain. But it doesn’t consume me. I’m able to get up, get dressed, function and even have fun. I’ve had lots of fun over the last almost 2 months since Ash has been gone. But it’s all tainted with heartbreak. So many times I have so many things to tell him, or text him, or call him to say. The other morning I woke up to this pushing on my lower back, to the point where I thought I was going to fall out of bed and I reached my arm back and said out loud, Ash, stop. But it wasn’t him. It was his damn puppy. Because he’s not here. I know I sound like a broken record. But fuck. It fucking sucks.

Mustard is Sexy

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I debated on what this next post should be about. Part of me thought it was necessary to divulge what happened New Year’s Eve (super amazing night with friends, lots of Tito’s, too much champagne, plenty of dancing and tons of laughter), the devastation of New Year’s day (and it wasn’t just the hangover, really didn’t feel all that hungover to be perfectly honest) and the lack of sleep on both nights. But then I decided my posts have been morose enough as of late and you’re probably all sick of my depressing bull shit and want to tell me to woman the fuck up! If you do want to say that though, screw you, I’m going through a lot, it’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to!!!!!

I thought, instead, I’d take it on back to those glorious, rocky, uncertain dating days with my Mr. Wonderful (which is an ironic nickname because Ash was many things, wonderful probably not being his top quality. I actually just had a very similar conversation with one of my closest friends the other day. How Ash was so great at living! It was probably the thing he was best at, that and anything related to golf. But he sure did suck at real life, you know the parenting and the paying the bills and the husbanding and the getting a job and the real deal, real life shit that we all have to do!! It’s ok, he knew it, too. I’m not speaking ill of the dead! (I guess technically I am, but it’s not anything I wouldn’t and didn’t say to his face.))

We last left off with Ash calling me to find out what color sheets I thought he should purchase. That was probably one of the strangest phone calls of my life, but I went with it. He did not, as previously stated, ask me on another date on that phone call. Again, WTF, why did he call, why did he want my opinion, what is up with this guy? I thought, like you probably did, oh, he wants my opinion on sheets, perhaps he has pictured me in these sheets with him. But, then he said thanks and hung up. What in the actual fuck?

The next day was a Friday. I worked and then had plans to go out with some girlfriends. I think we went to a wine tasting that I very vaguely remember. I drank too much then went home with said girlfriends and drank some more. Shocking, I know. Some things never change. I lived in this adorable cottage at the time, right across the street from the beach, old Nags Head style cedar shake with red trim. The floors were made of 2x4s I’m pretty sure and all the dirt and sand from upstairs fell through the cracks in the wood so that it often felt like its was raining dirt in the downstairs of the house. I loved it, though. It was perfect for a young and vibrant 24 year old girl that was obsessed with sandy toes and sun kissed skin.

I wake up Saturday morning to my phone ringing at some ungodly hour, like 8 am. I look at it, see that it’s Ash, wonder if he’s looking at dish towels now and really needs my opinion on that as well. I answer it because 1. I’m intrigued and b. I’m kind of excited, interested, confused. Low and behold, he asks me out! He finally asks me out again. Only, he’s literally asking me out right that minute. Like, he’s going to pick me up in 20 minutes, can I be ready. Ummm, not really, but like the dumb 24 year old twit that I am, I say absolutely, no problem, see you in 20.

Ash is a realtor back then. Not a good one, but a realtor nonetheless and he has to go sit at an open house down at some condos an hour south from where we are. I don’t think I even showered, no time. I throw on a denim skirt, a pink polo shirt and the most adorable pink Sperry topsiders that also happen to be 1/2 size too small but they were so darn cute, I just couldn’t resist (told you I was a twit). I toss my hair on top of my head, quick swipe of mascara and a touch of lip gloss (so simple when you’re so young) and voila, I’m almost presentable. Never mind the alcohol seeping out of my pores or my stomach that is ready to revolt at any minute (whether from nerves or the aforementioned alcohol, I’m not sure).

He picks me up and takes me to a local deli to grab a breakfast sandwich and lunch because I guess we’ll be gone a while (wish I had known that before I put on the damn pink shoes that are a 1/2 size too small, probably why I have a foot issues presently). I will say I won the breakfast order – ham, egg and cheese on a croissant. I had a hard time with ordering my lunch. I am a mayo girl. I am also a girl riddled with anxiety and fear of people’s opinions of me (at that time anyway, who am I kidding, I’m still anxiety riddled) so I order a turkey sandwich with mustard because clearly mustard is a sexier choice than mayo (seriously, this is my thought process and also one of Ash’s favorite things about me – when he learned this he both teased and loved it mercilessly). Mustard. The sexy condiment.

We make our way south to the condos and literally just sit in the clubhouse. All. Day. Long. Except of course when he decides we should really go check out the surf because he brought his surf board and maybe he should do that for a while. See? Worst realtor ever. We check out the surf (there was none), we walk on the beach, we take a nature trail to the sound. You know what we don’t do? Sell any condos! We eat our lunch, my sexy mustard, his much more delicious mayo. The day drags on. I’m dog tired. My head hurts. I’m thirsty. And I just want to go home. I was enjoying his company. We talked endlessly. This just wasn’t the day for marathon dates and conversation and nerves and excitement. My stomach was too delicate. Probably had everything to do with nasty mustard. Bleck!

5 pm finally hits. There’s been not one single person interested in a Slash Creek Condo and we finally start the trek home. Only hold up, Ash has decided we should also have dinner. Holy shit. I don’t want to say no. I also don’t want to say yes. But I’m young, weak and a little dumb and I do say yes but in my head I’m screaming. Why are we having 3 dates today? We’ve had breakfast and lunch and now dinner, too?! I just want to go home!!! But I also like that he’s liking me. He hasn’t touched me all day. No hand holding. No hugging. No kissing. Surely, after all this, he will take me home and something! A hug, a kiss, a full on make-out? I wouldn’t be opposed to any of it. But, alas, nothing. Not even a high five. I can’t exactly remember how it ended, what was said. I know we didn’t make more plans for another date. Jesus Christ, we just had dates 2, 3 and 4 all in the same day. I still like him though. He’s cute, funny, seemingly nice and really hungry all the time!

I asked him out for date 3, didn’t wait for him this time, so progressive of me. Took him to dinner and The Lost Colony (front row seats – do you know what you don’t want front row seats for? If you guessed The Lost Colony, you hit the nail on the head!! So fucking loud!) He took me home afterward, and still no kiss, no hand holding, nothing. I’m so confused.

Date 4 he invited me over for dinner that he was making. They were the worst fucking tacos I have ever had in my life. Seriously. (a little fact I didn’t divulge until years later) We watched a movie after. I can’t remember what the movie was, but he finally kissed me. Like, a lot. Finally.

Dating Ash was always so much fun. Even after marriage, we still dated each other all the time. Real life we weren’t always great at, but dating, we had that down. So make sure you still make time to date each other, enjoy each other, dress up for each other, go out, watch movies and make out on the couch. You never know when something will change your life forever and make you realize how lucky you were to experience all that love, lust and fun.

To The Woman Staring Back at Me

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I’ve spent a lot of time looking in the mirror lately. Not out of vanity, not completely anyway. But just to check in with that woman. How has she changed? How is she the same? Physical things have obviously changed. Same blue/green/gray eyes; same white line across the nose; some acne prone skin (blah). Also some new things. Sun spots. Not too many wrinkles but definitely a few more lines; more facial hair than I care to admit; one screwed up left eye brow (actually the same since high school; thank you softball); and the latest, and my least favorite is the dark circles and bags constantly present under my eyes.

I earned those bags and dark circles. This last year was anything but easy. Cancer. Late nights. Long trips. And ultimately the untimely death of my husband, my person, my best friend. That will take a toll on your face (and your body if you happen to find comfort in food rather than starvation, dammit why couldn’t it have been starvation?!). But I feel like I’m on the right track with that. I was never thin to begin with. Always curvy, always a little soft. And I think that’s ok.

What I’m failing to see is the joy I once had, so I thought I’d write this to myself, as a little self-love, self-affirmation, self-get your head out of your ass.

  1. You’re not perfect, you’re never going to be perfect and perfect doesn’t exist.
  2. Forgive yourself. You will continue to fuck up all the time. It’s ok.
  3. Love yourself. If you don’t, who will? Love the lines and the spots and the acne (ok, maybe not that one) and the bags and your slightly less than perfect form (yes, that’s a stretch, it’s far from perfect). You earned them. Every day you earned them. Also love the humor, the loudness, the ridiculousness that is you. You won’t be everyone’s cup of tea and that’s ok. Just be you.
  4. You are enough. Your children love you. Your friends love you. Your family loves you. You are doing your best. Even when you don’t feel like it, you are doing your best.
  5. Take time for yourself. It’s ok. No one needs or wants you 24/7. You will be a better mother/daughter/sister/friend if you take the time for yourself.
  6. Stop judging yourself so harshly. Be a better friend to you. You are so much better than you think you are. You are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for.
  7. It’s ok to cry. Let it out. Yell. Scream. Curse. Just let it out. It doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.
  8. Try, for the love of dog, not to make the same mistakes over and over again. Learn and move on.
  9. Be patient. Not everything can happen the way you want it to. There is *probably* a plan that you know nothing about but will reveal itself in time.
  10. Respect yourself. Always. If you’re not respecting you, how can you expect anyone else to?
  11. Say no. You have the right to say no to whomever you wish, whenever you wish. This is your life. No one can walk in your shoes. No one can live it for you. No one can feel what you feel.
  12. Stay honest. With yourself. With your children. With everyone. They may not like it, but at least you can like yourself at the end of the day for being true to you.
  13. Stop seeking approval from everyone. Be you and be happy. You can’t please everyone. That’s not even your job.
  14. Write as much as you want, as often as you want, as long as you want, as short as you want. No one has to read it, but if it makes you feel better, if it gives you hope, if it brings you joy, sadness or anger, just do it. Who cares if anyone reads it or likes it!
  15. Sing. Loudly. All the time. The best way to spread any cheer is singing loud for at least yourself to hear!
  16. Remember that you will feel happy again. There are glimpses of it every day. One day the pain won’t be so strong, the memories so fresh, the feelings so raw. Soak it up, that way you really know when you’re feeling true joy again.
  17. Keep covering those grays. You’re 37, cover them up!
  18. This is similar to 13 but so important. Stop worrying about what anybody thinks. You do you, boo. Raise your children the way you want. Dress the way you want. Look the way you want. Feel the way you want. Again, this is your life. No one can do it for you.
  19. Find the fucking tape measures. (I just threw that one in for fun!)
  20. Lastly, go find some joy. Whatever it is, whatever it looks like, go find it, grab it by the balls and embrace the fuck out of it. We only get one chance at this thing called life. So fucking live it, the way you want.

I could go further. There’s so much I could tell to that woman in the mirror, but I think this is a good start. Be kind, be honest and love yourself. Everything will be ok.

Christmas and Birthday and New Years, Oh My!

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I woke up today feeling more tired than I have in a long time. My chest hurt and there was a knot in my stomach. I woke up sad. I sat up in bed and I cried. I looked at my husband’s side of the bed, so still, so untouched and it made me feel sick. The one thing I have learned thus far is you never know what any given day is going to make you feel, you never know what song will trigger your eyes welling up with tears (today it was the always classy Get Low by Lil Jon – not generally considered a tear jerker but Ash and I had so much fun with that song every time it came on – I was in the middle of my workout, the sweat dropped down my balls (not really, I don’t have balls) and the tears rolled out of my eyes.)

Christmas is 2 days away. I have never felt less Christmasy in my life. There are very few presents under my tree. There are no presents under my tree that were bought by me for anyone. Don’t worry, I am giving my children Christmas I just can’t bring myself to wrap anything or display anything. I’ve yet to watch one single Christmas movie, which is strange for me (that’s a lie, I watched Bad Moms Christmas but it’s more raunchy-gross-why did I just waste time watching this type movie). I didn’t decorate the outside of my house this year. Well, as you know, we have all those lights but I wasn’t sure where the hell I was supposed to hang them. I haven’t kept up with the countdown calendar, taken the boys to see Christmas lights, I’ve barely even mentioned Christmas, until now, where I’ve mentioned it every other word! I’m just not feeling it. I want to feel it, but I can’t get there. Especially today for whatever reason.

Next up, 3 days after Christmas is my oldest son’s 10th birthday. Historically, we’ve always taken Jack on an adventure rather than buying him more junk that he doesn’t need. And it was generally a trip that was just the 3 of us. We went to a Redskins game one year, last year we went to a Golden State Warriors game (in DC, we’re not that nice), we’ve done Disney trips and Universal trips (and that is what both boys are getting for Christmas, so still adventuring to be had) but I can’t think of anything that will compare to years past adventures with Dad. I can’t imagine how he must be feeling. He would never tell me. He’s a closed book, my boy Jack. He doesn’t express much other than anger and irritation but so do I, so he gets it honest.

But no adventuring trip for him this year. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. So I went the complete opposite and am re-doing his bedroom and got him a TV for his room, which I know, he doesn’t need, but that’s what I did so kiss my ass. And maybe he does need it. Maybe he does need his own separate space where he can kick back and relax and watch what he likes without his brother or me complaining in his ear about watching Star Wars  Rebels for the 89754638th time.

Next up, New Years, which really isn’t a thing but feels like such a big thing this year. Ash and I always did something for New Years – went to friends, had friends over, nice dinner out, always something. Last year was the first time that we didn’t. He was asleep before 9:30. But he was here. He was with us. We could see him and touch him and squeeze his hand and kiss his forehead. This year we can’t. And we’re ending what was undoubtedly the worst year of our lives and starting another new chapter in another new year. It’s a little scary, a lot sad and somewhat overwhelming. How does time just keep marching on? How can it go so unbelievably fast? Why won’t the knot that’s in my stomach today loosen up? Or the tears dry up? And lastly, why the fuck won’t the house clean itself?

Some Friendly Advice from an Idiotic Widow

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As you all know, I never would have imagined being a widow at 37 years old, because who does, right?! (But here I am, killing it! What?!) The good news, we had over a year to prepare. The bad news, in that year we did many, many different things, but was so called “preparing” one of them? Not so much.

Now before I go any further, to my feminist friends, please keep your judgement, comments and general dislike of anything I’m about to say to yourself. I got enough issues so worrying about if I have offended your very modern ways of life isn’t one of them. I’m pretty modern, too but I was also raised to be a bit old fashioned. I’m not saying I can’t do anything a man can do, I’m just saying that there are some things I would prefer a man to do (talking around the house, etc., get your mind out of the gutter! Or keep it there, that’s where I prefer to keep mine!) Literally, though, there are actually some things that a man can do (around the house) that I can’t do or at least can’t do satisfactorily. Seriously. I took the ASVAB in high school (like an aptitude test to see what I should be when I grow up – still haven’t figured it out so total waste of time but that’s another story for another day – it did recommend funeral director which I find hilarious because I couldn’t be a more awkward person around any kind of tragedy) and on the mechanical portion, guess how many I got right? If you said 0 then you are absolutely 100% correctomundo. 0 out of however many. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, I have 0 ability to figure out anything mechanical.

Now, I’ve probably learned a bit in the last 20 years and I could potentially take that aptitude test again (I’m not going to but I probably could) and maybe get 1 or 2 right. But for the most part, I’m still that dumb ass 17 year old taking aptitude tests just to get out of class and failing mechanics.

So I write to you today to help you should tragedy fall upon you (I pray not but shit happens) and you need to figure out how the hell to do the shit your spouse used to do without your spouse. (My spouse was male and I’m a female so this may be sexist in nature but I can only write what I know.) These are the things I wished I had asked Mr. Wonderful when I had the chance (household things, there are many things I’d still like to ask but again, another story for another time):

  1. How the hell do you shut off the water to the outdoor shower and water hose hook up thingys (actual name) when the temperature falls below freezing? (thank goodness for my dad and brother being way more mechanical than me, for I still had running water this morning because of their magical mechanical powers)
  2. Should you own rental properties together, find out what your spouse has told the tenants regarding what they can and cannot do with regards to improvements to the home (specifically new thermostats) so that when they call with an issue with said thermostat that you had no clue about, you don’t sound like such a bumbling ass.
  3. Where the fuck are all the tape measures? I know we have at least 3. Can’t find a damn one.
  4. Why do we have so many tools, especially rusty old saws? What were we sawing? In our 13 years together, I’m not sure I saw you saw anything but we sure do have plenty of saws. Some still in the wrapper, some covered in so much rust I feel like I have tetanus just looking at them.
  5. What the fuck am I supposed to do with all these golf clubs? Seriously, there are sets upon sets upon sets of golf clubs in the garage. Anybody looking to take up the sport? I’ve got you covered, for a small fee!
  6. Surf boards. We have 6 surf boards. Sure, when we were dating he “surfed” (I use the term surf quite loosely, I’m not sure I saw you catch more than 3 waves in all our time together). Too bad you didn’t store the tape measures with the surf boards, then I’d be able to find them.
  7. Where the hell are the instructions for the ridiculous fancy toilet seat you got me for Christmas last year? (Seriously ladies, in front of my whole family, I open a gift from my husband and it’s a heated toilet seat with many other functions that only a girl can generally dream of. Eat your hearts out. Sorry, he was taken and sorry, now he’s gone!)
  8. Grilling. I don’t know how to grill. Don’t know how to change the gas. Don’t know how to exchange the gas tank. Don’t know how to turn the fucker on. The boys are seriously concerned they are never going to get steak again. Why didn’t you teach me to grill? Why didn’t I think to ask you to teach me to grill?
  9. Why do we have a strand of Christmas lights 100 feet long when our porch is smaller than an REI two man tent? Where were we going to put all those? (which makes me think bend over and I’ll show ya!)
  10. Lawn mowing – we have a push mower and a riding mower. Don’t know how to use either one. The boys don’t know how to use either one. Well, Colt probably does but there’s probably laws against 5 year olds cutting grass. Also, what’s the gas/oil ratio? Where does the gas/oil go? Same spot? Different spots? I’ve also never filled up a gas can at a gas station? Is it just like filling up your car only you have to really pay attention or you overflow the can? I hate to smell like gas. Doesn’t seem like a job I want.
  11. Why on God’s green Earth was our online banking in your name? You have never online banked a day in your life. You didn’t even know how to log in to the online banking. When I went to the bank to advise of your passing (thanks a lot, ass hat) they took away our online banking because it was in your name and I need to create my own, thereby taking away all of the myriads of bills I paid from said online banking. Therefore, I missed the car payment last month, the Home Depot payment and the damn power payment. Ugh!
  12. Plants. I don’t do plants. I can’t keep them alive. Hell, I couldn’t keep Mr. Wonderful alive despite my (and really Duke’s) best efforts. I have received many plants since Ash passed away. One of them is already outgrowing it’s stupid pot, getting dirt/soil all over everything. Ash did the plants (full disclosure, he wasn’t much better at it than me but he at least cared, I don’t care). I’ve tried neglecting these plants (sorry to whoever gave them to me). They’re supposed to be in sunlight, I have them next to closed blinds. They probably need water. Don’t think I’ve watered them yet. They are still living. And fucking huge. And need to be repotted. And I don’t want to do it!

That’s my list thus far. I know, I can figure all these things out and I probably will and I’ll be better and stronger for it, blah, blah, blah. But I really don’t want to. Those were his jobs. I have plenty of my own jobs and don’t have the time (or let’s face it, the desire) for all these new jobs.

So, in closing, should you be faced with tragedy in your life, be sure to find out where the fuck the tape measures are. You might need them.

The Rest of My Life and What the &*$% to Do With It

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Yesterday we celebrated my husband’s life. September 15, 1982 – November 12, 2019.

It was a great celebration. There was booze (essential to most celebrations), there was family, there were friends, there was food (which actually didn’t suck, or so I was told – I can attest to the fact that the booze didn’t suck!), there was one fan-fucking-tastic speech (given not by me because 1. I don’t think the widow should have to; B. I am a chicken shit and the thought of speaking in front of people turns all of my bits wobbly and sweaty and 3. I just didn’t want to but Ash’s brother did it and it was spectacular), there was lots of laughter, there were a few tears (not by me because apparently I’m dead inside but I’m sure others have feelings), there were children running around like crazy outside having the time of their lives because they have no idea what’s actually going on inside, and there were so many hugs (I hugged the shit out of many people, which if you know me, you know that’s not quite my favorite thing, but I did it and I even liked it. Mostly.).

You know what there wasn’t? My husband. We were celebrating him without him. Which he would be ok with. He hated celebrations. He hated attention. He hated anyone to fuss over him, other than me, he couldn’t get enough of me fussing over him. Shit, I’ve been fussing over him for so long that I haven’t quite figured out what to do with all this extra time of no fussing. I guess that’s why I write. Because Ash isn’t here to fuss over. (This is probably one of the most well written paragraphs in history – awards probably coming my way). I could also use this time to pay bills that apparently don’t stop when your spouse dies, but who wants to do that? Me, I do, I used to be very responsible. This widow shit is seriously mass murdering my brain cells.

He wasn’t there, though. For obvious reasons. And man did I miss him. My kids missed him. They couldn’t quite grasp why we were celebrating Daddy without Daddy. Um, because kids, that’s how it works. People die and you have a few options 1. do nothing; b. funeral/depressing memorial service; and 3. my favorite option – a celebration of life. So many of my family and friends poured their time, love and attention into this shindig and there’s no way I could ever possibly thank them enough. The decorations were perfect, the slide show was tear inducing, the memory box with the note cards for my boys was unbelievable. All things I could never have pulled off in a million years. But they did, for Ash, for my babies and for me. That’s love.

I think I felt so much love yesterday that I didn’t have time to feel sad. Sure, there were moments where I got choked up, but for the most part, I was smiling, laughing and loving all the fun stories and memories surrounding everyone. I think we could all feel Ash in that room. Or I sipped the champagne a little too aggressively and that’s what I felt. Either way, it felt good. And the boys and I got through it (so for the boys it was like a giant playdate but that was perfect too. Exactly what they needed. They even went on to have a sleepover with some great friends and one saint of a husband who’s wife I owe $51!)

And some of my friends and I went to grab some dinner and continue the laughter. But then I came home. And I was all alone. It was dark. My babies were tucked in somewhere that wasn’t with me. And God hasn’t given me Ash’s forwarding address or new phone number (rude) so I’m not sure how to get a hold of him. I crumpled last night. I read every single card in the memory box. They brought smiles to my mouth and crocodile tears to my eyes. I didn’t sleep well.

I woke up today, sad, a little scared and so alone. That’s the thing that’s the hardest. How do you transition from spending your whole life with someone to oops, we’re going to have to take him back, you’re on your own now? I know I sound like pity party, table for 1. And I guess that’s what’s happening right now. Dammit. But, fuck, it’s unfair, unlucky, unbelievable, unfathomable – how many more “un” words do you want?

Today was hard. It was an emotional hangover from hell. My eyes were scarcely dry. I went to church, which was new for me. I took my kids to a candy bomber thing (not sure why I keep taking myself to so many people-y places but I do). I had dinner with my parents tonight. So I’m clearly not alone. I’m surrounded. I’m supported. I’m loved. But my friend isn’t here anymore. I have nothing to fuss over. My babies are fast asleep. My dogs are fast asleep. And here I am. Staring at this screen. Wondering what the fuck am I supposed to do with the rest of my life?

 

Unexpected Breakdowns

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I’m going to toot my own horn for a minute. Don’t worry, it’s not something I do often (unless of course I’ve been sipping on the Tito’s for a while and I promise I haven’t been this morning), but today I feel like it. So I am.

We were dealt a life changing hand September 2018, obviously, or I wouldn’t be writing this. I would say for the first 2 weeks, I was a crumbling mess of tears, nerves and anxiety. But then I put my girl panties on (literally because eating was my coping mechanism and I needed the big girl ones to fit around my fat ass), raised my tits up (thank you Mrs. Maisel) and I dealt with it. I found my inner strength (and maybe Xanax) and we continued to live. We lived the shit out of the last year.

Ash and Jack went to a World Series game in LA thanks to some very dear friends. Jack got to play baseball with Duke’s baseball team. Some of Ash’s best friends from high school came to see us. We went to Jamaica for Christmas. We took Colt to Target for hours one day and let him shop the hell out of it. Ash even bought him some random junk, which was very unlike him! We sold a business. We went to Houston, Ft. Worth, Salado and Austin, TX. Both boys rode a horse. Ash shot guns at cacti. We played countless rounds of family golf! Ash and I went to Durango, CO where we took very short hikes and cried too many tears. We went to another World Series game thanks to an awesome brother in law (and our very favorite Washington Nationals won the whole thing! Like, whoa! Divine intervention. Me thinks so!).

You get the point. We lived. We held our heads high. We did not break down in public. To look at us, you would never know what we were living with day in and day out. Even our closest friends were always shocked when Ash couldn’t come some place, or didn’t feel well or found out he threw up several times a day every day but still pushed through and LIVED. He is for sure my hero (that wasn’t always true and those that know me, know why, how, when, etc.). He was so brave through this fight though.

But guess what? So was I. (Told you I was going to toot my own horn.) Some days were worse than others but for the most part, I was dressed, my makeup was done, my hair looked decent and I was mostly friendly (other than at preschool, something about chipper, bright eyed and bushy-tailed preschool moms made me want to crawl in a hole and never come out, sorry ladies!) I went out with friends, I laughed, I made inappropriate jokes about our situation, took my kids to do fun things, took care of Ash. I can’t take all the credit of course. We have one hell of a support system around here, family, friends and even strangers. But dammit, I was strong. I am strong.

Now you’re wondering where the hell are you going with this, Kellie?!?

So here goes. Saturday, you heard about Saturday. I was an angry elf. And then I was a teary elf. I got the sympathy cards. I had the breakdown. I ended up letting the boys sleep in my bed (not my favorite thing in the whole wide world if you wanted to know.) I stayed up too late bingeing The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (best show ever, go watch it!). At one point, I needed to take a trip to the little girls room, somebody (ie the young boys that I don’t necessarily want sleeping in my bed) used the last of the toilet paper so I opened the cabinet above the toilet to find some more. Nothing strange there, except that it was. My husband’s side still had all his things. Deodorant, cologne that he never wore, some medications, shaving cream, razors, all the normal things a man would have for the bathroom.

And I just lost it. Out of nowhere. Unexpectedly. I crumpled to the floor in a heap and just sobbed. And I thought of all the reasons I was angry at him. He left me. He left the boys. He left the dogs. We had a rule, no more children than there are adults and now there’s only 1 adult, 2 children and 2 dogs. He broke the rule. And I am so mad. He never cleaned up his messes. He was always critical. He never liked my ideas. Until he did, because my ideas are mostly awesome! (haha!). He didn’t clean the garage. He left me in this house where now 2 Jones men have died. And I wanted to write it all down. I wanted to write him a letter and give him a piece of my mind. Tell him all the ways he’s pissed me off. But I couldn’t do that, could I? Because he left me. And our boys. And I know it wasn’t his choice but it doesn’t stop the anger. Or the unexpected breakdowns. Like opening the bathroom cabinet.

Yesterday I started cleaning out the garage. My dad’s boss let me borrow his dump trailer. My husband is a bit of a pack rat. He never throws anything away. Why throw it away when we can just lose it in a heaping pile of other junky shit in the garage. So it was a big task. My brother and mother helped because they are angels on Earth! But I found something again. Another letter. (also $25 in Canadian money so I’m probably a little rich now). It was a letter from Ash and my boys for Mother’s Day and it was just thanking me. Thanking me for “all you do for us everyday: laundry, dinner, groceries, special sandwiches!, coffee, paying all our bills on time so we don’t go to jail!!!!, letting us know when we need to go sit on the stairs, keeping our daily schedule intact, always showing us love and patience (okay that isn’t even possible) – but you are always there when we need you, when no one else will do.” It goes on to say other many nice things, and while it brought tears to my eyes (Ash didn’t do nice, really – unfortunate that my love language is words of affirmation. His wasn’t! Makes me laugh now – we somehow made it work, though), it also dissipated some of my anger with him. Had he been given a choice, he never would have chosen cancer and living our entire life in one year and leaving when everything was so good. The last sentence of this letter that I found is “God put us together for a reason and he made you a mother for a reason.”

I sure wish I knew the reason why He didn’t keep us together for longer. More unexpected breakdowns are in my future, but for the most part (other than in writing), you won’t see them. You will see me smile and laugh and make inappropriate jokes.

Hello, My Name is Kellie and I’m an Angry Elf

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One of the grief processes – anger. I have it in spades. I never know what’s going to set it off. Could be one of my children scraped his nerf gun against my wall for the 3,257,851st time in a 5 minute period. Could be the new puppy my children just had to have pissed on the floor yet again because she doesn’t understand going outside and I’m not sure she ever will. Could be that my underwear is on inside out. Which it is. Right now. Because that’s my life now.

It’s funny. But it’s also making me cry. Today is one of those days where I’m teetering between punching everyone I see in the throat and just crying my eyes out for no good reason. (I have not yet tried the aforementioned throat punching, but I have tried the latter and it’s scaring my children). I guess there’s a good reason for it. I’m 37. I have 2 children. It’s almost Christmas. And I’m a widow.

I took my children to a Christmas parade this morning. It was freezing. It was windy. I didn’t want to be there but the boys did, so I made it happen. 2 of their friends met them there. They are 4 boys 10 and under. To say they have a lot of energy is the understatement of a lifetime. Candy is being thrown at them. They are of course aggressively attacking like Darth Maul with his double light saber at every Dum Dum and Tootsie Roll being tossed their way. Have I mentioned it’s a parade? And parades are crowded if you didn’t know. In my mind, parades are for children. I mean, they’re throwing candy. If I want candy 1. It sure as hell ain’t Dum Dum’s and peppermints and b. I can damn well buy my own candy whenever I want. It’s one of the perks of being an adult.

Well, I’m standing back behind the boys out of the line of fire, and a family comes and stands directly in front of me with very young children. They squeeze in right by the line of boys with their metaphorical double light sabers and one of my boys accidentally bumps into this new family’s little girl. Mama Bear said words to my son. Then my other boy stepped on the precious little girl’s foot. Mama Bear says words to my other son. And it is at this precise moment that I realize I am exactly where I don’t need to be. Anger was becoming my new best friend. We were ready to hold hands and skip our throat punch fists right into Mama Bear’s thick and pasty neck. Does she know what my boys are going through? Does she know that it’s Christmas and that those 2 rambunctious, candy chasing boys are actually showing some joy on their faces because of this cheap ass Dollar Tree candy? Does she know they lost their father less than a month ago? Does she know that her family cut right in on my boys’ space and then proceeded to get angry when my boys used said space?

No, she doesn’t know any of this, so me and my new best friend put our fist away.

Then we move on to Winter Wonderland at one of the local school’s. Santa is going to be there. Bounce houses. Food trucks. Crafts. All sorts of the shit that makes me drag my feet and prepare my fist. But again, my boys come first, and they wanted to go. So go we did. And I think they had fun. However, I only let their fun last for just the tiniest little bit. My poor 5 year old, passive, sweet, wonderfully weird boy that he is, got cut in front of, he got booted out of his games in the middle of them, he got pushed out the way, he got balls taken from him while it was still his turn. Again, not the place for me to be today. I can feel my best friend’s heat rising up my face to the tips of my ears. We left immediately. We didn’t see Santa. We didn’t eat lunch. We didn’t craft. We just got the hell out of there.

When we got home, I checked the mail, as one does when they get home for the day. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten a sympathy card in the mail. Today I got 3. One of them was from Ash’s oncology team at Duke. All the anger dissipated and it’s place came sadness, loneliness, pain, loss, grief. And I let myself feel it. And I let myself cry. And my children think I am crazy.

But now, I don’t feel so angry and I don’t feel so sad. I had my moment and now I can move on. And I think that’s exactly what I’m supposed to be doing.

Next weekend is the Celebration of Life. Tomorrow I am supposed to go through all our pictures and decide what to use for a slide show. All of Ash’s life condensed to one slide show. I’m not sure there’s enough wine in the world. Wish me luck, friends. My fist and I are going to need it.

Insights From a Dead Man

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Today I was cleaning my office. There were piles and piles of paper on my desk. Old bills – that probably got paid, several children’s drawings that you know are shit but feel terrible about throwing away, so many sympathy cards that I both love and loathe, books, more insurance notices than I could ever possibly need (hello insurance company, I’m aware my husband died, I’m the one that informed you, could you please leave me alone now?), photo books that we made over the years. You get the picture, my office is a mess, still is, because underneath all the piles I was searching through, I found a notebook.

Ash was big on notebooks. He loved to write things down and then forget he wrote the things down, ask what he did with the notebook where he wrote the things down and get mad at everyone for misplacing the aforementioned notebook. It was a thing. It happened a lot. We got used to it. I’m not sure he did, though.

Anyway, at the bottom of one of the excessive piles on my desk I found one of Ash’s notebooks. In it, there was a letter that he wrote to me on my birthday this year. I won’t share that with you because that’s just for him and me. But I also found just some things he wrote down that I think can help us all and I’d like to share them with you.

His Advice to Jack, Colt and me (and everyone else too):

You can do anything you put your mind to. Seriously. Write down your goals.

Choose your friends carefully. Good friends care about you. They hold you accountable. They support you. They do not try to get you do do bad things. They have your back.

The most successful people are also the most focused and hardest workers.

Surround yourself with happy, positive people. Life is too hard to be negative. Life is too good to be negative. Life is too short to be negative.

See the good in life and in people.

Live by the golden rule. Know the difference between right and wrong, between good and bad.

Make the right choices.

Live with a clean conscience.

And lastly, Kellie, Colt and Jack go play golf! Top Golf counts, but not every time. You must play family golf at least once a year.

Ash lived in his 37 years. He lived more than most do in a whole lifetime. And he loved to give advice, solicited or not. I am extremely grateful to have found this today. I am extremely grateful that he chose me to spend his life with. I am extremely grateful.

I will heed his advice every day. I will also mess up every day, but that’s ok, too.

And I can’t wait to find more notebooks.59206749902__B8CA1DFA-1433-4BC0-A5BE-CC94501FA740