Category: relationships

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?

 

Is This Rock Bottom?

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Some weeks are harder than others. Some days are harder than others. Hell, some minutes are harder than others. This is true for anyone on any given day. It’s also true for the grief stricken. Enter Jack, Colt and me.

I barely remember a lot from the past week. (The confusion part of grief is really taking its toll on my brain or maybe I was always this confused. Who knows? Not me. Because I’m the confused…) The shit I do remember is just that. Shit.

We’ll start with Colt, or Mr. Tolt as I like to call him. My Mr. Tolt is so much like Ash it’s uncanny. He looks like Ash. He acts like Ash. He’s wildly independent. He’s hilarious. He will very bluntly tell you his opinion whether you want it or not, right on that fine line of oh how endearing to man you’re kind of a dick. (Side note – I don’t call him a dick to his face, but he certainly can be one). Colt is strong, brave and could careless what anybody thinks of him or what he’s doing. Just like his father before him. He’s an outside the box thinker and enjoys individual pursuits far more than group activities. I mean, if you knew Ash, I could very easily be describing him right now – they are so similar (that’s some strong DNA). But my whole point is, when it came to grief, sadness, acting out, anger, or any of the other myriads of emotions and outlets you can think of, I wasn’t all that worried about Colt. He’s not afraid to show his emotions – he breaks down nearly every day, it lasts about 5-10 minutes and then he moves on, like any normal 5 year old. Certainly he cries more often than he used to, over silly stuff that never would have bothered him in the past. But overall, I feel he is handling this fucked up hand he has been dealt like one bad ass 5 year old.

Enter this week. (Apparently enter is the word of the day today). I guess it really started the week before last, but I totally blamed it on Ash’s puppy. I found a large pee spot on the floor in Colt’s room right next to his nightstand and bed. I thought it was an odd spot for the dog to pee but just went about cleaning it up and moved about my business. A week later, my house, more specifically the area of the house containing Colt’s bedroom, is emanating an odor quite unpleasant to the senses. I go in his room to find another large pee spot, this time nearly under the bed. I think it’s Ash’s damn puppy again but do question how she squeezed under the bed and how she possibly could pee that much. I’m confused, my brain is spinning and then it dawns on me – this urine does not smell like dog urine – it smells like human urine. It’s also too large to be puppy pee. It has to be people pee. Yay. So I, like any insane, panicked, crazy ass mother that has too much shit to deal with every fucking day, lose my shit, just for a minute, at my poor Colt. He confesses that he has peed on his bedroom floor 3 times. He first tells me he forgot we had toilets (insert eye roll here) and then tells me he was mad at the puppy so decided to pee on the floor.

Luckily, my brother is a carpet cleaner and Colt’s bedroom is now fresh as daisies again. Unluckily, my little boy is having some big feelings, missing his father some kind of terrible and has taken to pissing on the floor because that is something he can control. He can’t control his feelings. He can’t control that daddy is gone and never coming back. But he can control where he takes a leak. Except, he can’t control that either, because mama won’t allow it! Go in the toilet, go outside, but ABSOLUTELY DO NOT PISS ON THE FLOOR ANYMORE! And he hasn’t done it again. And maybe he won’t do it again. And maybe he will. If you need me, I’ll be in a heap on the kitchen floor listening to Lewis Capaldi (is there anyone more depressed than that guy?!) crying my eyes out because I don’t have the handbook on what to do when your child starts pissing on the floor because dad’s dead. If anyone has a copy, send it my way.

Next, we have Jack, the child that is just like me. Shy, sensitive, sarcastic, a little mouthy and a lot angry. He wears a necklace that we found one day when going through an old box of Ash’s things. It’s just a cheap, white, shell necklace on fishing line with one of those spinny clasps that always pull out the hair on the back of your neck. It probably cost Ash $6.99 in 1999 (side note – we even have a picture of Ash wearing said necklace years ago which is pretty cool). Anyway, the point is, while the necklace may not have much value, to us, it is priceless. So of course, boys being boys, decide to wrestle on a trampoline and the necklace gets ripped off Jack’s neck and woe is fucking us! The boys diligently collect all the shells through their tears, we place them in a ziplock baggie with what’s left of the necklace and I drive it 30 minutes away to a friend of mine that makes jewelry because she’s awesome and is going to fix it for us because, again, priceless.

Also of note this past week, Jack had therapy. He always makes me stay with him, I think it helps him feel more comfortable and more willing to open up about his feelings. It also gets me to open up about my feelings, which I’m not all that good at, could be where Jack gets it from. Therapy day is always a hard day anyway. This one was particularly hard, I guess because we had the broken necklace tragedy and the Captain Pisses on the Floor tragedy and you know, the dad is dead, reality that he’s never coming back hits harder every day and what the hell do we do with ourselves now tragedy. Either way, nothing crazy or terrible or wonderful happened in therapy. We talked about grief, apparently Jack is still getting over his dead fish, and I cried because that’s basically all I did last week. Cry.

Moving on to me. I will be honest and say I am an absolute train wreck. Especially this last week. My new favorite thing to do is get the kids where they need to be, drive around listening to sad music and just cry (hello, loser!). I had a dream about Ash last week. And it was a good dream. I don’t remember much about it other than him telling me he loved me. And I think it nearly killed me. A girlfriend of mine also had a dream about Ash the exact same night I did. She said they were at a social event, talking and she looked at him and said “Kellie really misses you” and he said “I know, but I’m ok.” And she said he looked healthy and healed. And that nearly killed me even further. I feel so grateful that he is healthy and healed and ok.

And I’m also pretty fucking mad that he’s ok. Because we are down here struggling our asses off when all we want is to be ok. And we are ok but we’re also pissing on the floor, still grieving our beta fish and crying all over town because we’re so fucking lonely, we don’t know what else to do with ourselves. We’re placing feelings where they don’t belong, or maybe where they do belong. We’re confused. We’re sad. We’re angry. We’re tired. Colt has slept in my bed twice this week, something I don’t generally allow. Jack tried to spend all weekend with a friend because distraction is so much better than reality. And me? I don’t know how I’m doing on any given day. What’s that song my mom is always singing? Some days are diamonds and some days are stones. I’ve never questioned my mothering skills so much. I’m trying to be everything for my babies, but I’m definitely coming up short. I’m also in my own head so much, questioning every move I make, every conversation I have and how I really feel about anything that my anxiety level is at an all time high. Who knew that was even possible?!

Either way, I do know that Ash is ok and healed and healthy. And I also know that, one day, we will be more ok than not, we will be mostly healed and we will be healthy. And until then, I guess we will piss on the floor and cry in the car. And maybe this is rock bottom, and there’s nowhere to go from here but up.

Dinner For Four

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Almost every night that I make dinner, which let’s face it, is a rarity these days, I set the table for 4. 4 napkins, 4 forks, 4 knives, 4 plates. It’s a habit. One that I can’t shake. And every time I realize I’ve set the table for 4, again, I heart aches just a little bit harder.

Dinner time is one of the most difficult times of my day. We used to make family dinner a priority. It’s where we would catch each other up on our days, say a family prayer, share a few laughs and yes, consistently correct the barbaric eating habits on display at any given minute. Sometimes the kids needed correcting, too! The point is, we made it a habit, to sit down together as many nights as we could, and share more than just a meal.

And now, it’s just the 3 of us. Mama, Jack and Colt – the dynamic trio. Dinner is quiet. We try to converse but it’s not the same. Sometimes we watch The Lego Batman Movie a. because it’s awesome and 2. just to fill the silence (and disgusting sound of chewing). If we have something to focus on, then we don’t focus on the seat that is set but empty.

There are a lot of little things, that we so often took for granted, that are daily reminders of what we lost. Every morning, getting Jack to school, Colt always got to stay home with daddy. Now he can’t. Daddy was always willing to jump into an X-box game with Jack, and actually loved it. Me, not so much. But now it’s my job. Because daddy can’t. I can’t watch anything scary anymore because Ash isn’t here to reassure me that there’s not a zombie hiding in the corner of the room just waiting for my leg to kick out of the covers so that he can sink his teeth into my flesh. He’s not here to help coach Jack’s baseball team this season. For the first time since Jack’s first year of baseball. He’s not here to hop on the tractor with Colt and mow even though the grass hasn’t started growing yet. I just saw a meme that said T-Pain was only 22 when he rhymed mansion with Wiscansin, one of our most favorite lyrics ever. And I can’t share it with him.

We were watching a movie the other night – How to Train Your Dragon 2. My boys are obsessed with How To Train Your Dragon. At the end of the movie, the father of the main character dies. My poor Colt, with all his feelings and all his emotions, completely lost it. Huge, crocodile tear sobs emitted from my poor baby. It was all too real for him. Something that most 5 year olds probably wouldn’t even grasp or understand, was all too familiar for my innocent boy. Both boys. Even Jack teared up. Because they lost their dad, too. They know that pain. They know it all too well.

I often wonder if I am enough for those 2 amazing boys. Why is this the life chosen for them? How is it fair? Yes, I know fairness has nothing to do with it. Life isn’t fair. People have suffered far worse things. But still. How is it fair? Why them? Why us? Will this pain that they are going through, the loss of their father, will it strengthen them? Will it motivate them to really live, to really love and to really thrive. Or will it do just the opposite? Will they let it cripple them and use it as a crutch for mediocrity? Will they turn to the wrong people and make the wrong choices? Am I strong enough to lead them down the right path?

I wonder when you get used to your husband and father being gone. I wonder if you ever do. I wonder if you eventually stop getting out 4 plates at dinner time when there are only 3 of you around to eat.

As my mother always likes to remind me, time will tell. I am going to choose to believe that this pain, this hurt, this awful, wretched, FUBAR bull shit they are having to navigate through is only going to lead them to greatness. Besides, Ash wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

Wild and Wonderful West Virginia

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Dear Jonesie:

It feels normal to write to you. I’m not sure why. It’s like P.S. I Love You, but in reverse because you’re the one that’s gone and I’m the one writing to you. Which, obviously, is backwards, but I’m pretty backwards so I’m certain you’re not surprised. Anyway, last letter I wrote to you caused quite a stir. I’m not sure if you can see what’s happening from where you are, or if you even care (I, for one, hope you are so blissfully happy that you could careless what’s happening on Earth, coz let me tell ya, it ain’t all that great). But I pissed some people off. Shocking, I know. I don’t know if this is the easy way out, but I think it’s more of a them problem than a me problem. Or if it’s a me problem, which it totally might be, it’s not something I have the time or the energy to worry about. I’ve got bigger fish to fry, ya know? But I’m sorry for upsetting people you cared about. That much is true. But I’m not sorry for being me.

Anyway, the boys and I took a lonnnnggggg car ride this weekend to Wild and Wonderful West Virginia. Gosh, that is one beautiful state. It started snowing in the mountains of Virginia and didn’t stop until we arrived at our destination. I don’t know why snow is so pretty, or why I think I hate it so much (that’s not true, I hate it because it’s cold and I hate to be cold) but it was breathtaking. Almost like traveling through space, the way it was coming down at times. The boys absolutely loved watching it, so thanks for that, if you had anything to do with it.

The weekend was filled with so much belly laughter that I might have given my core a bit of a workout (ha)! Jack hung with his first ever friend and it was like no time had passed at all. They just picked right up where they left off last time they saw each other. Colt bonded with everyone, I think, as Colt does, with his charming way and hysterically funny nature. Jack practiced baseball with his buddy and won the team practice golden glove award. He went to the mall and bought a pretzel because “we don’t have malls where we live.” The boys experienced hibachi for the first time and it was almost magical (so much more so than that fucking place we won’t mention again, the one with the mouse…). They were beyond amazed. I got a few good pictures but was not camera ready when the cook top was first set on fire. Colt’s face was priceless. That’s one memory that will stick out in my mind for as long as I still have my wit’s about me. (I took that DNA test – the one you claimed was such a rip off because they probably just have a handful of results they rotate through everyone – turns out I’m at advanced risk for late onset Alzheimer’s so it’s possible I won’t remember it forever.)

We ate, we shopped (side note – I suck at shopping – it used to be one of my favorite things and now, nothing. Amazon has ruined me. Damn you Amazon), we drank, we laughed (we laughed hard and often) and we cried. We cried because you weren’t there. We cried because life is so fucking hard, for everyone, with tiny little moments of joy thrown in the mix just so we don’t lose sight of why we’re here. We also cried because, man, children are slobs. It takes them seconds to completely wreck a room, yet when it’s time to clean up, they’re so tired, and they’re bellies hurt and they’re hungry and can’t do anything until they get something to eat. Pansies.

There were 2 five year olds in the house and I don’t know if I had too much champagne or wine or too little sleep, but I decided to let those 2 five year olds give me a makeover. I wasn’t quite going for the Avatar look, but Avatar is what I got. There were way more belly laughs involved in the makeover, though, so it was totally worth it. Colt got over it pretty quickly. His “palms were getting sweaty so he couldn’t do it anymore” and “mama doesn’t look like a mama anymore” so he had to go outside and do man things. Like jump on the trampoline. (Is that manly??? I don’t know!)

You’d be so proud of the boys and the trip there and back. We, of course, had our issues because we were trapped in the car together for 8+ hours each way. But they sure did handle it like champs. I feel awfully proud of myself, too, for making the journey. You know how I hate doing things alone. But I did it. It was fun. It was worth it. We didn’t die. And we didn’t kill each other. We did stop and eat at possibly the sketchiest, and grossest, Wendy’s I’ve ever had in my life, but otherwise got through the actual driving pretty unscathed.

We wish you had been with us. Our friend was so good to Jack. He took him to practice, took him to Dick’s, they did the batting cages, he’s the one that took Jack to the mall and took the boys to take infield. Everything our boy needed before the start of next season. He was happy and having fun, soaking it all up. But, again, we missed you. As we always miss you.

I had a dream about you last night. It wasn’t a good dream. But it was nice to see you. Maybe next time you come see me, don’t be such a prick!

Back to reality tomorrow. It was so nice to escape it for a few days, escape these walls that remind us of you, remind us of what we had and constantly remind us of what we lost. That which doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger though, so we are going to be some strong mother fuckers up in here! Until next time, Jonesie…we love you.

Love,

Poopsie, Donkey and Mr. Tolt

 

Month 3

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Dear Jonesie:

It’s month 3 since you left this world. Happy anniversary?! That’s not appropriate. First, I’ll be nice to you. We miss you. We miss your silliness, your laugh, your smile, your grumpiness first thing in the morning, the way you never know what’s going on any given day. We miss your playfulness, your abilities with the grill, your hugs, your kisses, your love. We miss it all. The good, the not so good and the in between. But we’re doing ok.

Jack just finished his best basketball season yet. He was confident on the court, he was a real leader and he had FUN! Something we’ve been trying to get him to do for years. We have one weekend off and then baseball season starts. Our favorite season (yours and mine that is). This is the first year you won’t be coaching and gosh we’re gonna miss not being able to watch you not pay attention while coaching first base, looking around at everything but the game. Haha! Jack hasn’t expressed whether he’s looking forward to baseball or not. I’m hoping the confidence and leadership will carry over from basketball season but you never know with that boy. You know how baseball is a little bit tainted for him without you.

In other shocking Jack news (seriously, if you were here, this would shock the pants right off of you) – he signed up to do the talent show at school. WHAT?! How out of character is that! He’s going to do stand up comedy. I am floored. You would be floored! He had me order a whoopee cushion today (don’t worry, it was only $5) because that is the prop he needs for his act. I’m so proud of him. You would be so proud of him. He’s blossoming (doesn’t seem like a fitting word for a boy of 10 but whatever), maybe growing is the right word, into such a confident and inspiring young boy/man (boy doesn’t seem right, man definitely isn’t right – so some hybrid in between).

Mr. Tolt is still in the thick of his basketball season. He has improved so much from the beginning. He’s starting to score baskets in practice and even scored once in a scrimmage. Still waiting on the big game score – it might happen, it might not, but he is trying, still great at galloping and mostly having a good time. He just had to bring in a family picture for his Spanish class at school. I was nervous, talked to his teacher about what to do. His family has changed. You, of course, will always be his dad, but I didn’t know if this picture would upset him and I didn’t want that to happen. But this is Mr. Tolt we’re talking about here – blunt, matter of fact, straight shooting Mr. Tolt. Of course he will bring in a picture of his family and it will be a picture with Mama, Daddy, Jack and me. That boy amazes me. He grieves for you all the time. He will sit down, a somber look will come over his face and he will say I miss Daddy in heaven. I wish he didn’t have to go to heaven. I always say me too, buddy, me too.

T-Ball season is right around the corner for our Mr. Tolt. He still hasn’t decided if he’s playing. He really wants a trophy, though, so I think he’s leaning towards yes. The problem is I can’t remember if you get a trophy in T-ball. When he turns 6, I think Boy Scouts/cub scouts will be a great option for him. He’s our outdoorsman. Remember the commercial (I think it was Geico) with the young, rich maybe brother and sister and they’re off to some sporting event that they have no idea about and they’re like “yaaayyyy sports!”. That’s Mr. Tolt. Only he’s not rich. And doesn’t have a private jet. But he really doesn’t get sports. Or love them. Or particularly want to participate. Your brother seems to think that’s going to change and he’s going to surprise us all. We shall see.

Me, I’m ok. This isn’t easy, but we knew it wasn’t going to be. I want to move. I know we spent all that time and money trying to make this house what we wanted, but it’s just not what we want. First of all, the fire station building is still going on, may never end and just all around sucks. Ok, I know it will end but between it and public works, I’m over it. We’ll miss being able to walk to school but you know how much I love to ride and drive in the car, so it’ll all be just fine. The memory of you leaving us behind in our living room is too much to handle. Our memories here are mostly of illness, disease and death. We deserve a fresh start.

I’ve narrowed the lot search down to 2 and I really think I know which one I want, but I wouldn’t mind a little guidance from you somehow if you would be so kind. Except I know you won’t. Someone told me that our loved ones come back to us in our dreams. I’ve dreamt of you exactly 1 time. What the fuck, man? I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re Ash. You do what you want, when you want, on the timeline you want. I should be used to it by now. But seriously. I’d love to see your face in my dreams. I’d love to know that you’re still here with us, checking in, keeping your eye on us.

I’m still doing the ladies golf leagues at Turf’s Up. It’s not the same. I’m grumpy every time I go. I want you to be impressed by this, though. I was on bay 4 on Monday and I hit some pure shots. I know they were pure because you taught me so well. I can now tell the difference between greatness and shit. And I had some greatness Monday night. And some shit. Because it’s me. Ha! Anyway, the greatness that I could feel was registering as shit on the screen so I said something to you know who. He told me he was on that bay earlier and it was just fine. I was pretty bitchy and said no it’s not and we kind of moved on. It pissed me off because you know how competitive I am and you know I want to win and I knew I was right because, let’s face it, you and I both know I am right 98.9% of the time. It’s both a blessing and a curse. (Also, side note, the team next to us scored a +7 Monday night and you know who entered into the scoreboard as a +6 – don’t think I didn’t notice, I did, and I’m mad.). Anyway, guess who texts me last night to tell me I was right, cameras were reading the wrong launch angle? It was said you know who. And this girl was right. Coz I know stuff. About golf. And golf simulators. Thanks to you. I also think my teammate and I should get like 4 mulligans next round for the inconvenience. But I’m not in charge. Boo.

We have a 4 day weekend this weekend. Today is the anniversary of your death. Friday is Valentine’s Day. So we’re getting the fuck out of dodge. We can’t be here and our lovely friends in West Virginia invited us to come stay with them for the weekend. Wish me luck. 8 hours there and back with the boys. What am I thinking? It will be an adventure, though. And it will be a distraction. And that’s what we need. Plus, we get to see our friends and we’re so excited about that.

I know this is getting lengthy, but I haven’t talked to you in 3 months. And I have so much to say. You should understand that, no one can talk more than you. I’m still pretty angry with you. And God. And myself. I often wonder if I had forced you into more treatment, would you still be with us today? But I know that wasn’t what you wanted. Or the right thing to do. I know you were suffering. And I know you are exactly where you are meant to be now.

Just to piss you off a little bit, I let the boys shower and use our bathroom every day. I don’t know why that bothered you so much, but ha! I’m in charge now. There are guys and trucks in the bottom of our shower all the time. It would annoy the shit out of you. They also use our fence toilet every day. I kind of understand your annoyance with that one, though. Those dudes can’t aim for shit! It’s gross! The boys still sleep in the same room. They need each other. Maybe, once our new house is built, they will go back to their own rooms. I’m fine with it either way.

Your puppy has apparently entered her “teen years” according to the vet and that means she’s rebelling, as teens do. Do you know how teen dogs rebel? They piss and shit on the floor again. Cool, huh? She’s still really cute but I’m close to my wit’s end with her. Maybe you could send some magic heaven voodoo down to make her stop. Is that possible? The brown girl is still Dog Kellie – bitchy, moany, groany and mostly annoyed but very cute ;). She get’s grayer by the day and that one tumor on her underside seems to be growing at quite a rapid rate. Maybe you need her? But we still need her here so ease up, would you?

Your mom is hanging in there. We’ve had many cries together. Colt is still her favorite. They spend some good, quality time together. She watches the boys on Mondays when I go to golf league and she picks Colt up from school once a week. She’s come to all their basketball games and so has Steve. I just love Steve. One of the best men around.

I know I’ve said it, but we miss you so much. We hope you are happy, pain free and giving God some good tips on his golf game. Check in on us when you can. We’re here and we’re ok.

Love,

Poopsie, Donkey and Mr. Tolt