Category: widow

Burnin’ it Down

· Leave a comment ·

There are many things in life at which I do not excel. Cutting grass, for instance. I suck at it. I tried it a couple of times over the summer because I absolutely had to and it just didn’t go well. I tried push mowing. I tried the riding mower. It didn’t matter which one I used. They both shut down on me, I cursed a lot and the yard ultimately looked like I let an ADHD goat gnaw it down for us. So, mowing, not my thing.

Something else I have learned that is not my thing is anything pertaining to bikes (other than riding one, I’m pretty mediocre at riding one). Low tires? Can’t figure out the pump. Popped tire? Ummmm?????? Gears twisted more than an Auntie Anne’s pretzel? Yeah right!!! Can’t do it. Don’t want to do it. That’s why I have a brother. And a brother-in-law. And nearly any other human on the planet that is not me. Mechanical fixes are not my jam. And I’m ok with that.

Also not my thing – assembly of any and every thing. I’ve been searching for Christmas gifts for my children, trying to fulfill *most* of what they are asking for (that’s not even a little bit true – Jack’s list is so over the top ridiculous and expensive, I’m not even pretending that I’m getting him anything remotely close to what’s on it – other than the scooter (only needed because his brother may or may not have left it in the middle of the driveway and Uncle Randy may or may not have run it over) which is really the only affordable thing on his list). Seriously, his list consists of a Playstation 5 (impossible), an iPhone, a Chromebook, an iPad, a gaming chair (umm, isn’t that just like an office chair and won’t that require assembly on my part?!) and a million dollars. Get in freaking line kid. That’s one hell of a Christmas list. I’m not saying you’ve been bad this year, but you sure as shit ain’t getting any of that. Anyway, I got a little off topic there. Assembly. I suck at that as well. Shocking, I know based on the above where I’m proving some pretty impressive skills. I’ve been searching for only things that do not require assembly. And when did everything stop coming assembled? Has that always been the case? I bought a new vacuum probably over 2 months ago and just opened the box YESTERDAY and it was all because I knew it had to be assembled and to me, that seemed very daunting. (It wasn’t, by the way. I did it just fine. It even mostly works as long as I don’t take it on the carpet. It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.)

You see, Ash was in charge of lawn mowing, bike mechanics (or any other mechanical things that may come about), assembly of all things including Legos (seriously, I cannot follow Lego instructions to save my life. I put at least some portion of any Lego project together backward, upside, inside out or all of the above. Every. Fucking. Time.) and grilling. Ash was in charge of grilling.

Which leads me to where I’m at right now in my current state of widowhood. I have been grilling for a while now. And I haven’t been terrible at it (unlike everything else listed above). I’ve been succeeding. I’ve been doing it regularly. My kids have even been impressed with me. They’ve been begging me to try grilling steak again for the last few weeks. So, I finally bought some ribeyes and tonight was going to be the night. I poured a large glass of red wine, started the grill, went about cutting up potatoes and seasoning the steaks. I had fed my dogs and let them out. The Lumineers radio was playing softly from that stupid Alexa bitch that can never seem to get anything quite right (it seems we have that in common). Everything was right with the world. Until I hear my old Bogey girl barking like crazy (which isn’t weird for her, the older she gets, the mouthier she gets, kinda like me). But it’s starting to annoy me so I can only imagine how the neighbors feel about it. I go outside to see what all the fuss is about, look to my right at the screaming banshee/crazy old dog and then look to my left to see my grill up in fucking flames. I mean, the bitch was on fire. Big fire. Scary fire. I look at it for a few seconds, open the lid (flames everywhere), open the doors underneath where the gas is and and (proudly) smart enough to know to turn the gas off. I notice the little tray that I guess catches all the yuck that falls off all the shit you grill (including the fat and grease and stuff) and pinpoint the source of said fire. I turn the burners of the grill off and shut the lid thinking certainly that will solve all my problems (it doesn’t) and then I just stand there for a minute, staring, entranced by the heat and the flames, wondering should I pour some water on the grill. But then remembering that water is sometimes bad for fire but I can’t quite remember why or when or how. So then I go grab my cell phone and call my parents house. They don’t answer (umm, parents, why do you have a house phone if you never ever intend on answering it?) so then I call my mom’s cell phone. I very calmly (and I’m serious here, my mom even commented later on how calm I was) explained that my grill was on fire and I wasn’t quite sure what to do. She suggested flour or baking soda/powder (I can’t remember) and I very calmly marched inside, got the flour and threw that shit all over the grill, the grill pan, the porch, the dogs, myself. Wherever I could throw flour, I fucking threw it.

And it worked. The fire went out before my house burnt to the ground. It’s safe to say I need a new grill. But all in all, it could have been a lot worse. But that brings me back to my whole point. Grilling was not my job. Grilling clearly should not be my job. I had no idea about the grease trap pan thing (probably definitely the technical name for it) – didn’t know it was there, didn’t know it was full, sure as shit didn’t know it needed to be changed (probably frequently).

I’ve never lived on my own for such a long time (I mean, my kids clearly live with me but they’re not so helpful in the way of chores and getting shit done and knowing how not to burn the house down). I lived with my parents (obviously) until I went off to college. In college, I had a roommate every year except for one (and even though I paid rent on a one bedroom apartment for that one year, I actually lived in my college boyfriend’s apartment and literally never stayed in my own apartment. Sorry mom.) There was a brief time after college where I lived by myself but that was only for a month, maybe less. I’ve always had a family member or a roommate or a boyfriend or a husband to pick up where I leave off, to fix what I may break, to balance out all the shit that I can get so incredibly wrong, to know that the grease trap pan thing in the grill needs to be changed or your whole grill will go up in flames. And now, at age 38, I have lived essentially on my own for almost 13 months. I guess I was bound to almost burn the house down. I’m sure I’ll make hundreds and hundreds and thousands and thousands of other nearly detrimental mistakes. That’s both the pain and the hilarity of becoming a young(ish) widow.

But, I guess the whole point is that I didn’t burn the house down. We ate steak from a cast iron skillet. We’re all still here. We’re all still healthy. We’re all still sane(ish). We’re doing it. It’s not always (ever) perfect. It’s not always pretty. It’s not always (ever) normal. But we’re still ok. And if we’re still ok (especially in 2020), then I absolutely know, that no matter what, we will always be ok (I’d better knock on some wood STAT). Even when we (I) almost burn down the fucking house.

Grateful?

· Leave a comment ·

Thanksgiving was Ash’s favorite holiday. Which is no surprise. If you knew Ash, I’m certain you knew the top 5 loves of his life and I’m certain food may have come in first place followed closely by golf, his 2 sons and then maybe me. So again, with his love of food, of course Thanksgiving was his favorite holiday.

Last year was our first one without him, and while I’m sure we felt his loss, it was all so new (him being dead and all) and we had so many people trying to keep us distracted, it wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought it was going to be. We went to my parents (we actually spent the night there, which may sound normal to those that travel for Thanksgiving, but my parents literally live 7 minutes away, so spending the night wasn’t exactly necessary). We had a fried turkey and a smoked turkey and all the normal trimmings. I may have teared up a time or two throughout the day but it was mostly uneventful, emotionally wise. We did have the moment where my mom’s curtains fell off the wall of their own accord (which was actually quite hilarious – you may or may not know this (because I may or may not have already written about it) but Ash and I had a history of breaking curtains in hotel rooms every time we traveled. It started on our honeymoon in Antigua – we consumed entirely too many Jack and Coke’s, returned to our room in a drunken, laugh-filled stupor, attempted to close the curtains, couldn’t close the curtains so clearly used more force, more strength because that was most definitely how to fix the problem and ripped the curtains right from the wall. It didn’t stop there. We had a streak for quite a while of ripping curtains right off the wall in our ignorant attempts to draw them closed nearly everywhere we went.) So I felt like that was Ash’s little sign last year, to say hi, to let us know he was ok and to make us laugh.

Anyway, that was a really long winded paragraph to basically say we made it through our first major holiday without Ash pretty unscathed. This year, I don’t quite feel the same. I am lacking in the holiday spirit, if you will. We decorated for Christmas on November 11 (don’t judge us, we needed some cheering up and nothing cheers my children up more than Christmas and decorating and colorful lights). And it helped for that day. But I feel like (and bear with me here, this is going to sound really overly dramatic. Because it is overly dramatic.) my holiday spirit is currently on life support. I am no longer excited about any of it. I used to be great at Christmas and not to toot my own horn here, but I was great at giving gifts. It’s one of my talents, and I don’t have many, so I’ll boast about the few I do have. I love the music, the movies, the spirt and decor, the shopping, the baking (ok, I love watching my mom do the baking), the eating, the planning and gift giving and holiday lights and all the things that are everything Christmas. And now, I’m not necessarily dreading it but I can’t say that I’m too hyped up about it either. I have no idea what to give anyone. I could careless about listening to the music or watching the movies. It’s like there’s this big dark cloud (kind of like the ones outside right now raining down on Ash’s favorite holiday – thanks, babe. Again.) parked over my soul, sucking all the joy out of all the things I used to love. (I told you I was going to be overly dramatic.)

And it’s probably not as drab and dreary as I’m letting on. But I’m having a hard time finding my holiday joy. I’m having a hard time finding the motivation to even care that it’s the holidays. Don’t worry. I will put on my happy face and make it as good as I possibly can for my children. But once they go to bed, and I’m alone, I feel this overwhelming exhaustion from pretending all day that this doesn’t suck, that I’m fine without my husband, that I’m a great single mother, that I don’t spend most of my day barking orders and cleaning up messes that I didn’t make or yelling at little people to clean up the messes that I didn’t make. It’s all exhausting. And overwhelming. And just a general pain in the fucking ass. I’m tired. I’m the opposite of jolly. And my family deserves better than that. But I haven’t quite figured out how to snap out of it.

Yesterday I decided to not yell at my children all day. And I was mostly successful. So maybe that’s a step in the right direction. And I realize that I have so much to be grateful for and that my life is good and we’re very fortunate for everything we have. Just right around this time, it’s easy to feel very unfortunate for what we don’t have.

Ok, pity party over. I will put my smile on. I will enjoy this day with my family. I will focus on what I do have. Happy fucking Thanksgiving.

Life As We Know It (Month 11)

· Leave a comment ·

Dear Jonesie:

Can you believe it? 11 freaking months we’ve had to learn to live without you. It’s quite hard to believe, yet not that hard to believe. We are walking oxymorons around here. Don’t worry about it.

Jack continues to struggle, I’m not going to lie. He resumes face to face school in 2 weeks and I’m hoping that helps return some normalcy to his life. His attitude sucks. The things that used to make him happy no longer do. I’ve taken away his x box for an undisclosed amount of time, and I have to say, I think it’s actually helping him become a happier person. He’s playing again, using his imagination and actually having to entertain himself. He has his brother ask about 5.2 times a day when he’s getting it back and my answer every time is “I’m not sure you will.” You can imagine how well that goes over. He lost another tooth, a molar this time, yet the canine he lost approximately 2 years ago still hasn’t shown its face. I’m certain some kind of dental intervention is going to be required but I don’t like thinking about that.

We went up to Virginia this weekend for a baseball tournament that ultimately got rained out. Not all was lost though, we had quite a good time at Top Golf (I kicked everybody’s ass, Colt whined because it wasn’t always his turn, Jack also didn’t love that it wasn’t always his turn or that he didn’t hit the ball perfectly every time and Mimi just genuinely enjoyed herself). All in all, it was one of our favorite canceled tournaments!

Colt is still as amusing as ever. He’s quite temperamental these days, choosing to wear his heart quite loudly on his sleeve. You know when he’s happy. And you definitely know when he’s not. He’s doing great in virtual kindergarten so far but I look forward to him heading into the classroom and having actual interaction with his teachers and making new friends. If that’s allowed during Covid. I’m not sure. There’s so many rules to follow. Today in class we read a book about “My Dad” and I was quite nervous when the teacher showed the title. I thought for sure Colt was going to mention that he no longer had a dad but he didn’t. He participated and didn’t bat an eyelash at any of it. Meanwhile, I may have been sniffling in my sleeve just a bit.

Losing you has taught us so many things. Well, I can’t speak for the boys, and they are probably too young at this point to know what it has taught them, but I can speak for me and not everything has been negative. My writings have become fewer and further between. Apparently my sadness is my muse and the more time that goes by, the less sad I feel, as is the nature of time passing and time healing all wounds and all that bullshit people tell you to make you feel better. I guess they tell you because it is true. If we had to live with unbearable pain for the rest of our lives, I’d venture to guess that we wouldn’t live a great deal longer. The biggest thing I’ve learned is to let go. I no longer sweat the things I cannot control. I worry so much less. I accept so much more. And it’s made me a much happier person. I’m quicker to laugh. I offer help more often. I say yes more often. So many insecurities have held me back in my life. You always tried to teach me to lighten up. And it only took your death for me to finally listen. Is it too late to say that you were right?

I’ve also learned to accept myself, to love myself, just as I am. Is there room for improvement? Always. But you know what, I’m not so bad. I’m mostly kind, damn funny, pretty easy going and kind of helpful. I’m still not the worlds best cleaner, I still get awkward in crowds or with people I don’t know, I’m still short on patience and yell too often, I will never let go of the excessive sarcasm and I will probably always eat more than I should because I freaking love food. And wine. I also love wine. But these are my traits. And in the words of T.O., I love me some me. Kidding. I mean, I do love me but I’m not quite as in love with myself as T.O. seemingly is with himself. The point is, I’m ok with who I am and where I am and I’m always ready to learn and grow. And losing you, well, right or wrong, it helped me learn how to love me some me.

Life is not bad. We will still have our struggles. But we are strong and we know how to get through them. We are surrounded by so many amazing people, some we’ve always had and some new and unexpected ones. Our hearts are open and as cliche as it is, the future is looking pretty bright. We wish you were here to see it but hopefully you have the bird’s eye view wherever you are.

I don’t know how much longer I will keep writing. The more time passes, the better I feel, the less I feel I have to say. Cheers to you my love. You are forever in our hearts. You are forever a part of me. I love you.

Love,

Poopsie

Happy Death Day. Happy Birthday? (Month 10)

· Leave a comment ·

Dear Jonesie:

Kind of an oxymoron, huh? Death day and birthday right around the same time. Today marks 10 months since you left us. And Tuesday will be the 38th anniversary of your birth. I’ll never forgive you for not growing old with me. But I suspect you could careless.

It’s hard to believe it’s been 10 months since I’ve seen your face in real life. Probably longer for you since you were in a drugged up, not with it state. I’ve thought about our last night together a lot lately. In true Kellie fashion, I was inappropriate, making light of death rather than telling you how much I love you, how much I appreciate you and how much I’m going to miss you. Although I feel I’m a bit of a hopeless romantic, I wasn’t quite good at expressing myself or actually letting you know how feel. I can write it down like it’s my j-o-b, but give me face to face interaction and I clam up, like, well, a clam. (Not my best analogy there – I’m going to blame it on the tears is my eyes as I write this.)

What can I tell you? Jack has started talking about you again. A lot. Unfortunately, none of it is very nice. It’s no secret that the 2 of you didn’t have the best relationship, and I guess a part of him just needs to get it out, get it off his chest. And I understand that. It also hurts some kind of awful. I hate that he only remembers the bad. But maybe he has to get through the bad, before he can start remembering the good. Because certainly there was good, right?! Kidding, I know there was. Jack continues to excel in baseball. He’s doing well with virtual school also, but is struggling with math, which I am too stupid to help him with. 5th grade math ain’t my thing! He grows more mature by the day, always helping with Colt (perhaps a little too much!) and always looking out for me. He’s still a slob and still obsessed with video games, but I guess there could be worse things.

Colt’s birthday is coming up and no one is more excited than him. In his true Colt way, he has asked for some interesting things – a baby Groot, cool new baits, another fishing pole, a metal excavator and bull dozer and a Dr. Doom costume (which, by the way, doesn’t exist!). I got him baby Groot and a Dr. Doom figure and I’m taking him on a near shore fishing trip. I so wish you were here to join us, but alas, you, God and the universe have other plans. I’m sure I’ll write another poem that I’ll think is so wonderful, read it out loud and get the same lackluster reaction that I always get. Such is life I guess. Kindergarten is ok. More often than not, Colt has the consistency of a wet noodle or lava lamp, melting into the couch and trying to do anything but what he is supposed to be doing. Maybe it will get better. Maybe it won’t. All we can do is try.

As for me, I’m ok. Still short on patience, still yell too much. My 38th birthday came and went. You weren’t here. Although, I did get on the treadmill over the weekend and right in the center of the screen was one tiny pink flower. I’m assuming you perhaps arranged that. Which is ironic given the fact that you never gave me flowers that I can remember in our 13 years together. I’m not entirely pleased that you will be 37 forever while I continue to age but, again, nobody fucking asked me what I wanted. I might be a little bitter today. Shocking, I know.

Yesterday I had a near panic attack while driving to get gas. Over something quite ridiculous. But it struck me, while driving that Ash Jones ICE can no longer be my ICE (in case of emergency for those of you that aren’t quite as hip as me. Ha! That’s a joke.) But it hit me, I’m 38 years old and my in case of emergency contact is dead so good luck getting a hold of him. Although, to be fair, even if he weren’t dead, good luck getting a hold of Ash Jones. You know I’m right!! And man, did it take my breath away. I’m sure there are forms out there with you still listed as my emergency contact. Hell, my medical power of attorney still hasn’t been changed since your passing. And I know, I have my mom or dad or brother to take your place but I shouldn’t have to have someone take your place this young. It’s just not fair. But life ain’t fair. Lord knows we’ve all learned that. Anyway, it was a harsh reality that I hadn’t thought of until yesterday. And it sucks.

What else can I say? We miss you. I dreamt of you not long ago. You were in the backyard cutting grass and I ran out to touch you and as soon as I got to you, you turned into someone else. And that was pretty shitty.

We are well-ish. We love you. Happy heaven day and happy birthday!

Love,

Poopsie

Thirty-Not-So-Great

· Leave a comment ·

So my birthday is coming up. And it is generally one of my most favorite days/weeks/months of the whole year. This year, however, I’m not sure I’m feeling it. On the one hand (and I really hate to even say this), how could it possibly be worse than 37? I lost my husband. We entered a global pandemic. The shit has certainly hit the fan in every possible facet that the shit can hit said fan. But, it’s 2020, so I shudder when I say things can’t get much worse. Because, undoubtedly, they can. But let’s stay positive and hope not.

Today was one of those days where if it could go wrong, it did. I’ll start with virtual school. I’m not going to get into it much. However, I will say, do you know who is not meant to learn virtually? Kindergarteners. It is “virtually” impossible (see what I did there?! Man, I crack myself up!!). It is a struggle. Every. Fucking. Day. My 5 year old does not know how to use a computer, yet alone a mouse or a track pad. He’s not meant to know how to use these things given that he is 5 years old and computing is not necessarily something that is important in a 5 year olds life. But what do I know? Not much about helping with kindergarten, that’s for sure. I let out a very loud growl/yell today trying to figure out how to video and post and photograph said 5 year old painfully attempting to trace the letter “e” on said computer he doesn’t know how to use with said mouse he doesn’t know how to navigate. All the while the 10 year old is on google meeting number one of four for the day. I’m pretty sure his microphone was muted. If not, oh the fuck well.

After all the virtual hell, I decide it’s a good time to go let out some frustration on the treadmill. It’s generally the best medicine to get me back in the game so to speak. Unfortunately, I had ordered my groceries online beforehand so there was a lot of back and forth on everything the grocery store does not have in stock. I was trying to type while jog, which wasn’t really working out, so attempted to step off the treadmill to finish my message about my damn lunch meat but apparently did not step completely off the treadmill and almost fell to what I’m sure would have been my death, or at least the death of my mostly scar-free face. I caught myself on the fly and did quite a number on my shoulder and arm so as not to ruin my face before my 38th birthday. It’s not the best face in the world, but it’s mine and I’m pretty attached to it so I’d rather keep in the best shape that I possible can. My arm is feeling better tonight, thankfully. We’ll see if that holds true tomorrow.

I then go pick up my groceries, or lack thereof. They’re all packed in paper bags. And of course, all the glass items are packed in the same bag because that makes complete sense. I’m one of those people that tries to carry as many bags in as humanly possible at one time a. because I’m lazy and 2. because I think I have Herculean strength (for the record, I do not). And of course, the fucking paper bag rips and all glass items scatter on the hardwood floor including 2 bottles of wine. Good times.

Next up on the list of shit that is this day, I’m making a new recipe for dinner. I’m chopping onions like it’s my dang j-o-b except for not really because I kind of miss the onion and kind of slice my thumb instead. Luckily, I just nicked it but 1/2 a centimeter in the other direction, this could be a very different story.

The grand finale of this day (I’m hoping anyway), my dogs are playing in the backyard. One is old. One is not. The old one has a growth/tumor thing on her eye because she’s old and really sexy things happen when you start getting old – dog or human, the same is true for both. I’m chatting with 2 of my girlfriends, look over at the old girl and her eye is bleeding like a stuck pig. I hold a wet paper towel on her eye for a while and she seems fine. The bleeding stopped. The growth has actually shrunk a bit but I’m sure it will fill back up and be it’s ever beautiful self again in no time.

I realize that none of these are real problems. I’ve had real problems so I know the difference. But dear lord, can I get a fucking break. I want easy. I want relaxed. I want love. I want acceptance. I want the clouds to fucking part and the sun to shine on our lives more often than not.

I want thirty-no-so-great to become the thirty-great that I’ve desperately been hoping for over the last year.