Post overload I know, but in the words of one of my favorite little boys from one of my favorite movies “when I feel it, I do it.” Sure, he … Continue reading Back to November
Category: widow
Adulting is Hard
I have a confession. I am looking for a new house. My boys hate it here. I hate it here. Their father passed away in the living room. Their grandfather passed away in the living room. There are too many memories that aren’t good. Ash was sick for most of the time that we lived here. We can’t do it. We can’t stay.
Problem number 1: everything on the market that I am willing to afford is more than likely a heaping pile of shit (apparently this is my expression of the week). I have found 1 acceptable home and it is *near* perfect. The kitchen is lacking in cabinet space, which I can work with. My dad is a builder. He can make shit happen. The major problem is the fact that the driveway is at such a steep grade that I don’t know if I can get past it. Which I know sounds stupid. The lot is huge. Unfortunately, most of it is unusable. Because its on a fucking cliff. Ok, not really, but you get the point. The front yard is a huge hill and the backyard is a huge tree filled hill. Those aren’t really fixable things.
The biggest problem of all is that there is no one to help me figure out what to do. There is no one to rein in my heart invested impatience. To help me think with a level head. Ash did that for me. He brought me back to reality. To the facts. The neighborhood is quiet and tucked away. The boys would be close to some really good friends. The house is beautiful. But we might die getting in and out of the driveway. The boys will lose countless balls down the fucking hill of doom. Riding their bikes out of the garage will be a near death experience every single time. What is one to do? There is literally nothing else out there that is acceptable.
So this raises the question should I buy a lot and build my own home. That gets scary coz this mama definitely has champagne taste on a beer budget (as my dad always likes to remind me). Should I sit tight and wait? That’s not something I’m good at. When I decide something, I want to make it happen immediately if not sooner. My mom would refer to that as the instant gratification generation. I’ve always wanted what I want when I wanted it. And I think losing a spouse so early in life does nothing to deter that mind set. If anything, it does just the opposite. I could be diagnosed with cancer next week, in a deadly car crash next month, why should I postpone what I know in my heart is the right thing to do? Except, other than getting the fuck out of dodge, I don’t know what the right thing to do is at the present moment. The boys and I deserve happiness. We deserve a fresh start. I know we can’t force it, we don’t need to settle, but is nearly perfect settling? I just don’t know.
In other news, the boys and I had family therapy today. Our first (and last) session. It was a freaking shit show (another favorite this week). 5 year olds and therapy don’t really mix. I basically paid $80 for Colt to play with stuffed animals and legos. The same exact thing he was doing before we left the house to get there. I, on the other hand, cried like a baby while we were there. Our therapist read some book about losing things and missing them and forgetting them and it got me right in the feels. Everything is getting me right in the feels this week. Jack just tried to feed her jelly beans flavored like black pepper, vomit and ear wax. Really good session.
Then we meet Ash’s mom and her friend, in town from Texas, for dinner, which was pleasant.
We then have to rush home because Jack has about 14 projects due in the next 3 days and too many math problems to complete. First up, the projects. Hello 4th grade teachers, why the fuck is every one of them due at the same time? And why the fuck are they almost the exact same project, for different classes, on different people? And why in the actual fuck do the children have to dress up like an explorer that’s been dead for centuries? Do you think we have a suit of armor with some puffy sleeves just laying around the house? Do you think my child is doing anything to help with said dressing up? No, it all falls on me. That is a stress I don’t need. Do you know another stress I don’t need? 4th grade math. What are y’all doing? Why can’t my child multiply and divide like a normal mathematical person? Why all the drawings and graphs and circles and dots and lines? I don’t understand what’s happening at all. Can I come sit in on math class so that maybe I can help him with his homework? Jesus. When did math get so complicated? Is this what calculus is like? Are we preparing him for that? I was never smart enough for calculus so I have no idea. Again, more stress I don’t need.
Fast forward to bed time, and this is where my complaining gets a little ridiculous, but I need TV to fall asleep. (and Xanax but you didn’t hear that from me). I like to watch something funny – used to be Friends until those Netflix bastards took it away from me (more stress I don’t need) and now I rotate between That 70’s Show and Schitt’s Creek. Well guess the fuck what? The Wifi signal is all of a sudden too weak to reach the TV in my bedroom. Spectrum…have you done this on purpose? Is there something newer and faster and more expensive that you’re trying to rope me into? Guess what internet Gods, your withholding my fucking falling asleep television show caused me the biggest breakdown I’ve had in weeks, ok, maybe days. Who am I kidding? I breakdown all the time. But, I just want to watch my damn show and giggle and not think about houses and driveways and vacant land and Hernando de Soto and Julius Caesar and fucking 4th grade math.
Also, I just got warned that imminent doom is headed our way anyway so maybe none it really fucking matters at all.
Adulting is hard AF.
Adventure for My Soul
There’s been something on my mind for a while. (Mama, be warned, you’re not gonna like this one!). As you know, Ash was cremated and had a few spots he would like his ashes scattered. Jack, Colt and I took care of the first spot, off the Kitty Hawk Pier into the Atlantic Ocean on New Year’s Eve. It was a beautiful, crisp bright day. A little windy (hence why a little bit of Ash may or may not be stuck on a piling on said Kitty Hawk Pier). I said a few words (the boys didn’t want to), we took a few pictures and we let go of our first piece (is that the right word? Probably not.) of Ash. There was some laughter, a little tearing up and a lot of arguing between the boys. I don’t think Ash would have expected it any other way.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the next destinations. The Grand Canyon, Salado and Ft. Worth, Texas and Ireland (wherever I so choose!). I’ve decided Texas should definitely be a family trip with the boys. They had so much fun when we went last spring break. They got to meet some of Ash’s closest friends, fish, ride horses, play in the creek, eat real Tex Mex, and Texas BBQ (different from NC BBQ) and they/we fell just fell in love with all of it. It will be difficult to go back without Ash but it is something we have to and need to do together. The 3 Musketeers (ok, we don’t call ourselves that but whatever.)
Ireland is in the 5 year plan. I don’t intend to take the boys to Ireland. They are young and complain a lot and it’s too much money and too far to go to spend 10 days listening to them bitch. Sorry boys, you know it’s true. So that will be an adult only trip, but down the road a bit. It’s going to take some cash and a lot of planning that I don’t have the energy to put into at this time.
That leaves the Grand Canyon, which I’m thinking of heading out over spring break in April. I’ve had many different thoughts on this one. The kids and me? Maybe but again it’s another long trip where a lot of fighting and complaining will happen. Girls trip to Vegas with a quick hop over to the Grand Canyon? Anyone (adult) trip to Vegas with the same quick hop? I thought that was the way I would go, but the more I think about it, the more it turns me off. I don’t want to cheapen what I’m doing with some drunken trip where I spend too much money, drink too much booze and forget the whole reason I am there. I am there for Ash, to honor him, to remember him, to free him and to free myself.
So that leads me to where my thoughts lie now, something that has been toying with my brain (and my heart) for a while. It started as a fleeting thought. Road trip somewhere? And then it grew. Road trip to the Grand Canyon? And then I let it go, or I tried to let it go. But it just kept nagging and growing and growing and nagging. What if I go to the Grand Canyon, drive myself there (maybe with a friend and maybe not – it’s ok mama, it will all be ok!). What if I make it an adventure that Ash would be proud of? What if I step outside my comfort zone (Ash’s proverbial box) and do something fun and exciting and a little bit scary? What if I let go of what people think and just do what I feel is right deep in my soul? What if I create a beautiful life experience to honor my deceased husband that I will remember for the rest of my life? Just thinking about it, writing about it is bringing tears to my eyes, I can feel the blood in my veins coursing through my body, my heartbeat escalating and I just know this is what I’m supposed to do.
There is a camper van sitting in my driveway. It’s not mine, but maybe, just maybe I could borrow it? Rent it? Can someone teach me how to use it over the next 2 months should the answer be yes? Maybe I could bring a friend. Or maybe I drive my car and maybe I do this all on my own.
I want Ash to be remembered for the way he was – always LIVING, always looking for his next adventure and always Always ALWAYS having the balls to do it. And this is one thing I can do for him that I know he would be so proud of and love so hard.
So, Mama, don’t be scared. I know what I’m doing. Can you keep all my things while I release another part of my heart?
Moody Monday
Today was one of those days that just kind of sucked. And it didn’t suck. I had weird conversations with my children. I had lunch with a friend where apparently my tears were on the menu. I received more bad news than I wanted. And I returned to the business that Ash and I started together, for the first time since we sold it and it was just so different.
I got up early this morning, did yoga, made Jack’s lunch for school, had my coffee, got the boys up, walked the dogs, made (you know, poured bowls of cereal) the boys breakfast, took Jack to school, came home, jogged on the treadmill, took Colt to school, grocery shopped (are you bored yet?!). I’ll stop. I just did the shit you do as a parent. Normal. I started the day off happy enough. I made a lunch date with my sister from another mister (I don’t generally say that ridiculous saying but it seems fitting for our relationship). All good things, right?
I picked up Colt from preschool and we headed to lunch with my friend. We’re chatting, catching up and then a bomb gets dropped on me. Not really, if a bomb really got dropped on me clearly I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this. My friend is moving. Far, far away. I’m not surprised. But it surprised me. And it made me sad to my core. She’s one of those people that is always there for you no matter what. Would give you the shirt off her back (and complain the whole time while doing it!). I love her like she’s family. I’ve known her longer than I knew my husband. And I just can’t imagine doing life without her being near me. I know she has to go. I know why she has to go. But it doesn’t make the pain any less. Bitch. Kidding. I love her. But bitch.
So, weepy lunch. Then I get more bad news. My oldest, Jack, is a pretty decent baseball player. Last year he played on at 12U travel team. In his last travel ball tournament, he got hit in the mouth with a pitch so hard that it knocked a tooth out. He sat out the remainder of that game but played in the very next one because he’s a bad ass like that. That night we went home and he threw up. Being the most excellent mother that I am, I put him to bed shortly after said throw up and checked on him later. He woke up the next day saying he still felt nauseous so I finally took him to the ER, where it was determined he was perfectly fine (dodged a mom fail there) but he missed his last baseball game of the season. 2 days later, his father dies. A week or 2 later her declares he’s never playing baseball again. Poor kid had been through so much trauma/drama/what-the-fuck-is-this-life bullshit that he decided baseball wasn’t for him. Which was pretty devastating in and of itself. Then he decides he will play baseball again, but only regular season league ball – he’s not doing travel or fall ball. Ironically, 2 weeks ago he decides actually he will play travel ball and can’t wait for it to start up again. So, naturally, because this is the run of luck we’re having, we get an email today to let us know that the team has broken up, too many boys have too many other things going on and it can’t continue. Cue the tears.
I tell Jack and he handles it just fine and decides he’ll see if he can play for the other travel team with all his buddies! Except, no son, you can’t because that one is 9U and you are 10 and there are no other local teams in your age group in our area. Ugh! He handled it better than I did but was still pretty bummed.
Move on to dinner. We’re sitting there, just chatting about the day, when out of nowhere Jack says to me “Mama, I’d like a new dad.” And then Colt chimes in, “yeah mama, we need a new dad.” Then they continue with how it’d be so nice to have someone else here and how they miss dad and we can just get a new one. They said dinner is always so quiet and it would just be nice to have someone else here to play with and hang out with and love. Sure kids, I’ll pop on down to the dad store and pick the best one on the market.
This was not something I was prepared for. I should have been. Kids are so resilient and so much better at life than we adults are. They get hurt, they share their pain and they move on. The don’t dwell on things. They stay in the moment. They just get it so much better than we do. But this one just caught me so off guard.
I tried as best as I could to talk through it with them. I did mention that the dad store didn’t exist but that maybe one day we would meet someone, and we would fall in love with him and he would fall in love with us and that potentially, one day, someone would be here with us. I explained how I didn’t like the situation either, that I missed having a husband and a partner. I told them how much I loved them and how I wished I could wave a magic wand and bring dad back or take away the pain. But that I couldn’t . Then the conversation took a strange turn into who was king and queen of the family. For some reason they seem to think the dog, Bogey, is queen. I quickly informed them that hell no, mama is queen, Bogey can be the princess and it just got weirder from there. See? Resilient. So good at moving forward.
Did I do or say the right thing there? I have no idea. There is no guide book in my possession that is telling me “what to say when the kids ask for a new dad.”
On a completely different subject, the business Ash and I used to own was an indoor golf and sports simulation, beer drinking, kick ass place. We had a blast owning it. We used to run golf leagues. I played in the ladies league back when we owned it. The new owners have continued the golf leagues so a couple of girlfriends and I signed up. This was my first time back there, I think I already mentioned this, since we sold it. And boy had it changed. It was the same concept, but they had added so much to it. Nets and official golf club holders and ball holders and wood everywhere. So much more put together than Ash and I ever were! Still all the same pictures with an added picture of Ash on the wall. Luckily I had been warned about that so I just didn’t even look at it. But I looked at everything else. It didn’t cut as deep as I thought it would, probably because I was surrounded by love, light and laughter. The leagues were totally different, too. Where Ash and I were super laid back, this had so many rules. And that’s fine. Obviously it’s not mine anymore so why would it be run the way Ash and I ran it? It was just a little difficult to not be in control, to not have my friend behind the bar making sure my beer never ran dry, to not have the ridiculous loud 90s rap blaring while we hit wildly awful golf shots and took as many mulligans as we wanted to help boost our ever deflated golf egos, to have to wear shoes, to not have Ash there telling us why we hit it like such shit and having him tug on everyones belt loop to show how the hips are supposed to move and giving as much boost as we feel we need. Again, it’s no longer my rodeo, Ash and I were very different from the new owners. It was just an adjustment I didn’t quite prepare for.
But I did it. And I’m proud I did it. And I’ll be back next week to try again. But I might bring my own playlist!
Month 2
It’s the 12th again, and it’s amazing how one day out of the month can completely turn everything upside down. It’s like Topsy Turvy in the 2nd Mary Poppins only I’m not finding the fun in it.
This weekend, one of my greatest friends came into town to celebrate a certain age birthday that I’m not going to mention. Her husband rented us an ocean front house south from home and it was just perfect. We had a wonderful weekend of drinks, food (mainly chips), conversations, some suspect 80s music and plenty of laughter. It was perfect. But then I woke up today, the sun wasn’t shining, the wind was blowing and the rain was coming down. And I remembered what day it was.
Today is January 12, 2020. It is 10 years from Jack’s due date (random fact that doesn’t matter at all) and it is also 2 months since the death of my person. And it has been the longest 2 months of my life. Sure, some days, it feels like only yesterday he was here, on the couch, snuggled up with his damn puppy, falling asleep to the umpteenth hour of SportsCenter. But mostly, the days drag on, the nights even longer.
I came home immediately upon waking this morning (well, after packing up my stuff, washing some dishes and taking down the birthday decorations we had put up.) I put on sad country music (because that’s always wise) and I took the beach road (the slow road) the whole way home while the tears streamed silently down my cheeks. I got home to lackluster excitement from my boys and jubilant tail wagging from my dogs. I had cleaned up my act, so to speak, from my ride home but as soon as I saw my mom, the tears came again. We’ve, again, done so many things since the last time the 12th came.
We’ve celebrated birthdays – Uncle G, Jack, Jesus.
We’ve visited with more family.
Christmas didn’t kill us.
My boys destroyed me in laser tag.
We went to Busch Gardens. For Christmastown. After Christmas. Why?
We had a family sleepover with some dear friends.
I nearly didn’t survive New Year’s Day because it was just too damn hard to think about a brand new year without Ash by my side.
Both Jack and Colt have broken down countless times, just missing their dad. Funny (funny probably isn’t the right word) how month 2 seems so much more difficult than month 1 was. I guess the longer time goes on, the more real it all is. And the more they just miss him.
Basketball games started. Colt is a star galloper, also quite good at Star Wars battles on the court. Jack keeps breaking his own personal best records each game.
We have nearly finished reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire together. It’s taken an embarrassingly long time, I’m not all that ashamed to admit. Still have a few pages to go. We can do it!! Tonight’s goal!
I’ve continued exercising even more.
We’ve planned a night at a local resort next weekend with friends so we can swim and play and distract ourselves further.
I’ve lost another 4 pounds. (I know, still a lot to go!)
We fulfilled one of Ash’s wishes by scattering some of his ashes in the Atlantic Ocean. It was just the 3 of us and it felt good to do. It also felt like every other day because “Colt’s hogging the jar” and “Jack dumped more than me” and “I’m cold” and all those fun things that come with 2 growing adolescent boys!
I’ve found all 3 tape measures (just so darn excited about that it’s worth mentioning every time I write apparently)
We’ve laughed and cried and yelled and stayed up too late. We’ve fought, we’ve made up and we’ve fought again.
We’ve watched countless episodes of Chasing Monsters and How to Train Your Dragon Race to the Edge.
I’ve watched too much Netflix, mainly You. Oh Joe!
We just keeping doing it. Every day. Living.
They (who ever the fuck they are, I have no idea) say it gets easier. So far it hasn’t. In fact, this last month was more difficult than the one before. Maybe because of all the holidays and New Year and just more time to adjust to the new normal. And I’m not trying to be this sad, weak, complaining mess of a woman that I’m coming across as. I just don’t know how else to get it out, where to let it go. Because while some days I may not feel like putting one foot in front of the other, that’s just not an option. So the pain has to go somewhere. And this is where for me.
I know it’s just a date on a calendar. I know that everybody suffers from loss and grief and all the bull shit life can throw at you. But I’d like to propose we just remove the 12th from every month from now until forever. Except, that’s not true either. Because while it’s difficult, remembering Ash, really taking the time to think about him and remember him, doing so brings me so much more joy than pain. So keep on coming the 12th of the month. I see your sadness and raise you a heaping dose of joy.
My Achy Breaky Heart
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.
Beautiful, Awful Day
Full disclosure – there’s a lot of whining going on here. Proceed with caution if at all.
It’s Christmas. We did it. We made it through. The boys were strong, happy and, you know, young boys who are slightly less than grateful.
Christmas Eve was the same as it always is, except someone was missing. I had my parents over, Ash’s mom, my brother and his wife. We had our traditional Christmas Eve fare of hors d’oeuvres and vodka. Not for the kids. They didn’t have vodka. It was mainly for me, don’t worry. The boys opened a couple of presents. But someone was missing. It hit me several times yesterday that he wasn’t there. If the boys ever noticed, they didn’t say anything. They had a wonderful time, ate until their bellies were near popping and jumped and skipped around like they were all hopped up on Santa and Mountain Dew, except it was Coca Cola because that’s so much better for them (insert eye roll here)!
We tracked Santa. The boys went to bed. My mom and brother stayed at the house so that I didn’t have to do everything alone. They were super helpful. Super loving. But someone was missing. I couldn’t sleep. I literally felt like my chest was caving in most of the night. Because someone was missing.
Christmas morning came. My oldest woke us all up by coughing as loudly as he could for several minutes. The boys still had the same excitement that they always have. It is me that is different. I half relished in their joy and half wanted to climb in my bed and not reemerge for a week or two. They got bikes, nerf guns, a baseball net, video games, more Star Wars action figure than anyone on Earth could possibly need and all the love they need. But still, someone was missing. I noticed. All day I noticed. We had breakfast – sausage gravy, biscuits and hash brown casserole, same as always, but again, someone was missing. Everybody left after breakfast. It was just the boys, me and dogs.
They played with all their new toys. I probably snapped at them more than once. We tested out the bikes, although very short lived, because, unfortunately, someone was missing and this girl had a flat tire that she thought she had pumped up, but apparently needed to add “teach me how to pump up a tire” on that all important list of shit to go over before you peace the fuck out on me. We watched a movie. More family came to visit. Someone was still missing. And my fucking God, does it hurt. Bone deep. Pain. Tears. Anger. Sadness. Grief.
We went to dinner at my parents’ house. Prime rib, twice baked potatoes, roasted broccoli, yeast rolls, fresh cut vegetables. One of Ash’s favorite meals. And he wasn’t here. He was missing. I ate my dinner silently. I cried at the end of my meal. Then I ate a piece of 12 layer cake, then cried for a different reason. I got in my car, drove my babies home and cried the whole way. My oldest asked what was the matter. I just said Daddy. And he understood.
We got home, took showers, cozied up on the couch and watched junky TV. I put them to bed, read to them for 40 minutes, laid with them until they fell asleep. And now, here I sit, still fucking crying. Because someone is missing.
Someone told me not long ago to use my boys. They are a great distraction. And they are, except they are little and I am strict. I enforce bed time (not always but a lot of time) because it’s important and necessary. But then comes that loneliness again. Because my person is fucking missing. And I fucking hate it. (In case that wasn’t clear.)
Merry Christmas. It was one beautiful, awful day.
Christmas and Birthday and New Years, Oh My!
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?
I Need a Volunteer
My husband was one of my favorite people in the whole wide world. His sense of humor was just as sick as mine and he rarely ever got annoyed with all the memes, videos and ridiculous things I texted to him on a daily basis. Anything that made me laugh, he was my go to. Did he ignore me sometimes? Yes! Did I question him mercilessly when said ignoring was happening? Yes! Did he think although it was rather annoying, I was still quite cute and he put up with me regardless? Also yes!
So now I see hilarious memes with 2 reindeer in the car all like yo, bro, get in the car, we gotta find grandma! And they literally crack me up. And I go to send them to my person only to remember he won’t get it (again with the forwarding address and phone number, WTF God, WTF?) and if I send it to his last known number my 9 year old will get it and he won’t understand and he won’t think I’m cool (which, if you were wondering, cool apparently now stands for (according to 9 year olds anyway) constipated overweight out of style loser – I may be overweight but none of those other things apply to me FYI). Ash thought I was cool (like the cool kind of cool, not the 9 year old kind of cool). I also keep getting these weird ads about Jolly Jewels Ball Wash on my facebook feed. I literally screenshot it and went to send it to my husband, but, again, he wasn’t there.
If you look at the photos on my phone, literally half of them are ridiculous memes that I find hilarious and want to send to my person. My person who loved me for me. My person who always thought I was funny even when I wasn’t. My person who understood me inside and out. Was that always the case? Absolutely not. I won’t pretend that it was. But when it came to humor, we were simpatico!
And, yes, I can send them to my friends and they might find them funny or they might think I need to get a life and that I actually am the 9 year old version of cool. Ash, though, he liked me. Like really liked me. Liked me to my core. He knew the good, the bad and they ugly and he accepted it. Sure, he had things to say about it at times, but who doesn’t. We’re human. We’re programmed to complain and always want more. I just miss him. In all the ways you can miss someone. I miss the security of knowing he won’t reject anything I send his way. I miss always having someone to laugh with. I miss my person.
So, I’m looking for a volunteer. You can pretend I’m awesome or you can really think I’m awesome. And accept all of my ridiculous memes and videos and general hilarity. And send your own memes and videos and general hilarity back. I promise to laugh and love it, but you have to do the same. Or pretend to do the same but never let me know how annoyed with me you actually are! Can you feel the anxiety?! Because it is pouring the fuck out right now. Pass the Xanax.
Cancer fucking sucks.
One Month Down, The Rest of Our Lives To Go
Today marks one month since Ash’s death. It’s been an incredibly long, yet incredibly short month. My boys and I are still standing. Thing 1 just got straight A’s on his last interim report, Thing 2 just sang “Jingle Bells” in his preschool Christmas program. Life goes on. I’m proud that my boys are still thriving. They’re surrounded by great family and friends to help navigate them through these rough waters so to speak (Jesus, I’m getting metaphor-ey – can’t be a good sign of things to come!)
I didn’t realize how hard today was going to be. I feel sad, tired and way older than my 37 years. Yesterday I wrote about how strong I am. Today I feel the complete opposite of that. I cried in the elementary school. I teared up at the preschool Christmas program. I’m crying sitting here thinking how tired I am. Selfish cow – present!
Here’s what I have done in the last month:
Cried.
Laughed.
Yelled. Mostly at my dogs and children.
Apologized. Mostly to my children for all the said yelling.
Drank too much.
Eaten too much.
Gone out with friends.
Got a fence.
Got new blinds.
Replaced my bedding.
Booked a trip to Disney. And Universal Studios. (don’t tell my kids)
Cleaned up limitless amounts of dog piss in my carpet. (Someone, for the love of me or God or dog, take this damn puppy – I’m kidding – sort of.)
I’ve questioned life.
I’ve questioned God.
I’ve questioned Ash.
I’ve cursed even more than usual. Which is a lot. Like a lot a lot.
We saw Santa. (Colt doesn’t want socks if you were wondering)
We watched a parade. (you know the one)
I’ve lost 4 pounds (only 104 more to go!)
I started doing yoga daily.
I started jogging (less often than daily).
I’ve talked to friends.
We’ve visited with family.
We put a puzzle together.
We endured our first holiday.
We’ve done countless, meaningless tasks every single day for the last month.
Life has gone on. It didn’t stop for our broken hearts. It just keeps on keeping on. And we’re keeping up. But today, I don’t feel like keeping up. I feel like curling up on my couch with a warm blanket and hugging my babies tight and crying until my eyes hurt. But that’s not possible either because have 2 basketball practices and Christmas programs and haircuts. Because life goes on. Whether we want it to or not. Whether we’re ready for it to or not. Life goes on.
JonesBoysMama 