Ash and I were (technically I guess I still am) huge Marvel movie fans. They have everything a great movie needs – plenty of action, a dose of humor and even some romance thrown in the mix. We saw Avengers: End Game one Tuesday night at a large AMC at the Streets of Southpoint in Durham, NC. It was one of those theaters where you could order beer or nachos or other items that you would never have considered ordering at a movie theater (we never did venture past popcorn and a coke). The chairs were recliners (that possibly may have had a heated seat feature, I can’t quite remember), there were tables and fancy cupholders and you had assigned seats, which never failed, we always seemed to mess up somehow. It was a pre-chemo night. See, Durham is a good 4 hour drive from us, appointments and chemo always started first thing in the morning so Ash and I would go up the day before, stay in a hotel and always tried to make a date out of it (we were always very good at dating), even when he felt his worst, he always wanted to keep me happy, entertained and feeling his love.

Last night, my youngest, Mr. Tolt, spent the night with my parents. (I promise this is probably leading somewhere relevant, but maybe not. It’s hard to say where my brain might take us.) Jack and I had an at home date night, just the 2 of us. Well, the 2 dogs were here as well but they don’t really count since they don’t talk and one of them constantly ignores all of us and the other is constantly in our faces. At first he ignored me (kind of like our old brown girl), as every 10 year old boy likes to do to his mother. He engrossed himself in several Star Wars Battlefront, well, battles, for lack of a better term, until I lured him away with a delicious dinner of frozen cheese pizza (don’t worry, we didn’t eat it frozen, I’m not that bad of a mother) and Caesar salad.

After eating, he finally decided he would grace me with his presence and he wanted to watch a movie. His choice was End Game. I convinced him he needed to see Captain Marvel first, which I’ve been attempting to get him to watch with me for months, to no avail (apparently when you’re 10, and male, girl superheroes aren’t that cool, at least for him anyway – I don’t want to blanket all 10 year old boys in that category). I told him she could kick his ass and would be worth watching, I promise. So we watched it last night and he loved it, as I knew he would because Mama generally knows best. We then had a slumber party in my bed, which is a rare thing that both my boys seem to think is the best treat in the world.

We slept in this morning until almost 9 am (one of my favorite treats!). We’re actually still in our jammies now at 12:20 pm EST (don’t judge us, we’ve nowhere to go and not shit to do). As soon as we woke up, brushed our teeth and got coffee (well, I got coffee. He didn’t. Because 10 year old.) Jack turned on Disney+ and loaded Avengers: End Game. I was excited. He was excited. The movie is great, albeit a tad on the lengthy side (that’s why it worked out so well that Colt wasn’t here.) I saw it, with Ash, not too long ago (see above), and I had no idea the affect it would have on me today, watching it with our oldest son.

We’ve been so wrapped up in the Coronavirus pandemic, it’s been easy to forget what else has been happening in our world, what we’ve lost, how we’ve navigated the last 4+ months, even what we’ve gained and how we’ve grown and changed.

This morning, watching End Game, made me feel our loss again. I ugly cried for the first time in a while. It was hard to watch the end. I found myself comparing my loss to Pepper’s. She looked so beautiful and full of grace for Ironman/Tony Stark’s funeral whereas I looked drunk and loopy at Ash’s. (Also, I know it’s all fake and a movie, I’m not that crazy, yet, but it invoked feelings and when I feel it, I do it, you know.) The part where she told Tony to rest now, it would be ok, they would be ok, I never did that for Ash. Not while he was conscious anyway. On the night I ultimately led him to his death, I said it, but in true Kellie fashion, I made it a joke. I laughed. I asked if he could see the light and if so, to go on into it. I guess I told him we would be ok. I can’t quite recall. But I wasn’t serious. I never take much seriously and in this instance, I wish I would have. I had been up all night, slowly easing his pain, slowly taking his life (because I was instructed to do so – just want to make that clear – I did not murder my husband – I eased his suffering upon strict orders to do so). At 5:30 in the morning, I decided my mom and I needed coffee. I left the room and Ash left me. I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t tell him I loved him. I didn’t tell him we would be ok. Nothing. I left the room. And he left us. End Game.

Today, I watched a movie with my son. Today, after watching that movie, I am not ok. I am filled with regret – regret for not being a better wife, regret for the way I left things during Ash’s final hours, regret for making everything a joke. He deserved better. He deserved my best. And I did not give it him. That said, he loved me anyway. I just wish I would have said a proper goodbye. I wish I would have thanked him for choosing to spend his life with me. I wish I would have said I love you just one more time instead of hey baby, see the light? Why don’t you go on into it. I wish I would have embraced him one last time, held his hand all through the night. But I didn’t it. And I can’t change that. I can’t get that back. End Game.