Tag: Grief

Purgatory

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Disclaimer: There is much cursing, sadness and self pity happening up in here…

Am I in hell? Purgatory? Some days it certainly feels that way. I’ve heard you must pay for your sins here on Earth before you can make it to the pearly gates. And I’ve got to say, I’m sick of paying. I’ve sinned. Lord knows I have. But when will the debt be settled? How much longer will this Groundhog Day continue? I’m guessing for the rest of my life. I understand that there are different chapters in life, and to get to it, you must go through it. But I’m fucking sick of going through it.

I’m being a bit dramatic, I know. But 2 years ago, our lives changed forever. August, 2 years ago Ash really started feeling like shit. Unfortunately, we equated it to his liver disease and didn’t really think much of it. I’m not sure it would have a made a difference had we sought help sooner as he was diagnosed with rare, no cure cancer, but that’s one thing we will never know. (Although, let’s be fair, the outcome would have been the same.) For some reason, though, this month 2 years ago has really been weighing on my mind. We were ignorantly happy, working, playing, enjoying ourselves and then BAM, life was never the same again. Hell, Ash was so used to feeling like shit, I/we didn’t even notice how bad it had gotten, how much he had thrown up, how much weight he had actually lost. And all these things are spinning through my had like a hamster on a wheel, over and over and over again.

We did our best while he was still around but everything changed. My role as wife became something completely different. Nurse, caretaker, fetcher, pharmacist, waitress, masseuse, (although, let’s be real, some of these things I was doing before devastating cancer news) we were still friends, we still made each other laugh but everything wife was no longer what one thinks of as a typical wife. He fought for 13 long (and very short) months. For a while, on the chemo, he did great. And then it stopped working and nothing else worked again. And that poor man suffered. He suffered so much. Yet, if you knew him, he never let on to how bad he was truly feeling. Which, also if you knew Ash, was very unlike him. Men get fussy when they’re sick. They like to be babied. Unless they are dying. He was tough as nails. He fought so hard. He was my hero.

And now, I just can’t stop thinking about the hell he went through and the hell we are still going through. Which, again, is dramatic. I am aware that we are extremely fortunate and have so much to be grateful for, and we are, but I am also aware that there are a few things for which we are not so grateful. Losing Ash – husband, father, friend – we’re not feeling very appreciative of that. Almost immediately following that, as if our lives and routine weren’t fucked up enough, enter global pandemic – not really appreciating that one either. Remember the movie Groundhog Day? That is what this new normal feels like. I am trying to keep alive and entertain 2 children, who I fear might not actually like me anymore (they love me, but like, that’s a bit questionable these days). Possibly because our “pandemic” started 2 years ago. And we’ve all changed. So, so much. Because of course we have. You can’t lose the. nucleus of the family and come out unscathed. We have bad attitudes, we are constantly irritated with each other, we are short on patience, we are tired no matter how much sleep we get. And we are so sick of it. We want out. We want life to go on. We want our new normal to be, well, more normal.

And I understand, we all feel this way. Shit is crazy for everyone right now. But this is my pity party, and I’ll cry, bitch, moan and complain if I want to. It doesn’t matter how much we do, how many loved ones, friends, family we surround ourselves with, there is still this bottomless pit of loneliness deep inside that I am desperate to fill. And sometimes, it does fill like I’ve done a good job of filling it. Until it doesn’t again. That bone deep sadness and loneliness always comes back. And I wonder – is that just how it’s going to be for the rest of my life? Will there always be a void? Will my heart always feel just a little bit broken? As mama always says, time will tell. I hate to wish my life away, but I wouldn’t mind fast forwarding just a little bit to get through this shit show we’re in right now.

We’re really ok. We have so much. We love so much. We are so loved. But, we’re also a little bit not that ok.

 

Anniversary Blues

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It’s my anniversary week and I must say it’s not really going well. I’ve been in a shit mood. I’m weepy as hell. And I’m just generally pissed off. Unfortunately, I also seem to be taking it out on everyone I love.

I didn’t realize it would hit me like this. Things have been going so well. But I guess that’s the nature of grief and heartbreak. Most days are normal. And then some are pure hell. And I’m currently in pure hell.

I don’t remember what Ash said when he proposed to me. Being pregnant, and knowing where we were headed, it was a little anticlimactic. We were living in Denver, CO in the super swanky neighborhood with the crazy homeless general and the den of a million foxes next door (that might be an exaggeration). Like I said, super swanky. We took Bogey, our chocolate lab, for a walk. We ended up at a park. Ash sat me down, probably said something nice I would assume (or maybe not, you never know with him) and then asked me to marry him (I said yes by the way, in case that wasn’t obvious). The ring was gorgeous and also way too big but I loved it and I loved him. We walked home hand in hand with smiles on our faces all the while puppy Bogey was trying to bite the diamond off my hand. Apparently diamonds are a dogs best friend, not man as originally thought.

I believe we got engaged sometime in May but I’m not so great with dates so that could be totally wrong. I know we got married in August and my mom kindly reminded me it was the 9th, which I sort of knew but also thought it could have been the 8th. The wedding was short and hot but also one of the best days of my life. I guess now I could also classify it as one of the worst days of my life because here we are on year 11, and I’m still Mrs. Jones but Mr. Jones has flown the fucking coup. And that just plain sucks.

By our first anniversary, we had moved back to my home town in North Carolina and so began the tradition of anniversary dinner at our favorite Colington Cafe where I would indulge in too much wine, too much rich food, overheat from all the said wine and rich food, and leave my handsome groom at the table halfway through dinner to go sit in the car in the a/c, take my ridiculously over the top high heels off and try not to vomit. I am the definition of sexy. And romantic. Eventually, around year 7, we learned – sexy time before dinner so when Kellie overindulges yet again, everyone is still happy.

Last year, we spent our anniversary in Durango, CO where we went on tiny hikes, long drives and essentially said goodbye to each other. We didn’t have our kids with us so it was a good time to let it all out. And we did. All our thoughts, all our feelings and more tears than I knew any 2 humans could cry. It was by no means the trip of a lifetime but it is a trip I will never forget in my lifetime. Until the Alzheimer’s hits at least.

And now he’s gone. No more Colington Cafe. No more sexy time. No more unsexy time. No more short hikes or long drives. Still plenty of tears but now I cry them alone. And right now, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more alone in my life. And tired. I’m so fucking tired.

It’s not always like this. It’s just this week. I hate this week. And I equal parts love this week. But I miss my groom, my date for life, my best friend and my worst enemy.

I do have a large distraction this weekend to help get me through – a ladies only fishing tournament. My children are going to stay with my parents (thank you parents) for a few days and I’m really going to live it up with some great ladies and maybe catch a marlin while I’m at it. I will pour one out for Ash. I will celebrate our marriage. And I will also curse him the fuck out for leaving me way too soon.

The Art of Moving On (Month 8)

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Dear Jonesie:

If I’m being completely honest here, I almost totally forgot that today was the 12th of the month. In my defense, I fear my brain may be partially melted from overexposure to heat and sun this past weekend. Jack had 2 double headers in 2 days in the brutal, unrelenting heat of southeastern Virginia. Seriously, at one point I put ice cubes in my bra and felt very minimal relief. Also tried some down my back. Not much better. Also forgot to bring the stupid canopy to guard us a bit from the hotter than a billy goat with a blow torch sun so today we just kept moving further and further away from the field to seek shelter and shade in the trees. Hell, towards the end of the game, I wasn’t even watching, which you know is very unlike me. Colt was sort of a trooper. Yesterday he fell asleep for a while, woke up and cried for a while. My mama thought he might was coming down with the Covid, but, thankfully, once I took him to the car and let him sit in the A/C for a while, and eat some Star Wars fruit snacks (what can’t they cure?!), he was back to his nonstop chattering self (seriously, he’s so much like you, it’s ridiculous. It was easier with you because I could just tell you to shut up or walk away or even leave. Can’t so much do any of those things with a 5 year old). Today he handled it much better.

Our oldest boy played great yesterday. He pitched well, he did well at short stop and hit some bombs. Today, not so much. That’s the nature of our boy, though. I’ll defend him a bit and say he was nervous today, playing with a team he only knew a handful of kids on and a coach he had never met until today. Yesterday was also a long day that ended late and today started early. And, again, the heat. So, Tiger Mom here will give him a bit of a pass.

Anyway, back to my fried egg status brain, I was sitting at dinner, it was the boys, my parents and me and we’re just chatting and I randomly half shouted “SHIT, it’s the 12th of the month!!” To which Jack replied so what. To which I then reminded him (well, after counting on 2 hands)  it was the 8 month anniversary of your death. To which he replied “so what? It’s not like it’s been a year.” So, yeah, he’s still 10. Ha!

The truth is, we’ve been super busy. Baseball is in full swing so that consumes a lot of our time. And in between, we are going to the beach, pool, sound. We are sharing meals with friends. We are over using the grill and trying to avoid the stove. We are covered in mosquito bites from staying outdoors way too late. We are dancing by fire pits, we are staying at the beach until dusk, we are laughing and singing and finding joy in as many ways as possible. We are making new friends while still enjoying the old. Colt is fishing as much as he can. Jack is still all about the sports while adding a couple of new favorites – surfing and skimming (he could use some help with both but I’m not quite the person for that job). And I am loving watching them grow and change. Their wings our spreading and it won’t be long before they are ready to take flight (shit’s getting real deep now, you got any waders where you are?!). As corny as it is though, it’s also 100% fact.

As for me, I am in a good place. Sometimes I drink too much. Sometimes I smoke too many cigarettes (sorry but you know how I love a smoke sometimes). I stay up too late and wake too early, never quite getting enough sleep. But I am well. My family is amazing. My friends are incredible. I’m looking forward to the future while also completely embracing where I’m at today. (There I go getting all corny again. WTF is wrong with me?!)

I’m not sure if you want to hear this or not, but, for the most part, we are happy. We were in a dark place for a while, I’m not going to lie. But we can’t stay in that dark place. I think you’d actually be really proud of how we’ve dug our way out. It did get ugly for a while, I’m not going to sugar coat it. And I’m willing to bet my left arm there will be more ugly in the future. That’s ok. We can handle it. Right now, though, we are going to soak up all the happy, sun, friendships and love that we can. Because that is what makes our world go round.

We have found a sense of peace. Maybe it’s acceptance. Maybe we’re just too busy to think about how sad we are supposed to be. Maybe it’s a combination of a million different things. Whatever it is, we are happy and enjoying all of life as much as we can. In the words of Creepy Jonathon, it is well with our soul.

Certainly we miss you. Certainly we think and speak of you often. But those assholes were fucking right. Eventually, time heals all (most) wounds. Not to say we’re not still wounded, because we always will be, but the more time goes by, the better we get at going by with it. Because that’s how it has to be.

Love you always,

Poopsie

 

 

Lucky Number 7

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Dear Jonesie:

What can I say? This sucks. You being gone sucks. There’s nothing lucky about the past 7 months. And unfortunately, your death has been trumped by the whole entire world turning into a steaming pile of donkey shit. It’s also raining again. I wish I had kept a log of the number of days it has rained since you died. I’m not saying you have something to do with it (yes I am) but it sure has been a ridiculous amount of rain. It’s kind of like our grief – we get glimpses of sunshine and then the sky opens up again.

Jack just yesterday declared 2020 the worst year of his entire life. Which is really saying something because I didn’t know it could get worse than 2019, you know, the year we lost you for the rest of our lives. But this new normal is anything but normal. It sure would be easier, in ways, if you were here with us. But then it would also be awful because following rules wasn’t really your jam. And it is my jam, mostly, so a lot of arguments would have been had I imagine. But it doesn’t really matter what I imagine because you’re not here and therefore, we’ll never know.

After weeks, maybe months, hell if I can keep track of it, we have finally re-emerged (I may have turned our kids into recluses for a bit of time. Sorry about that). Spending time with our friends and family. A semblance of baseball is back in our lives, which is really delighting Jack, not so much Colt. We spend as much time outdoors as possible (when you’re not reminding us to still be sad via down pouring rain). Just so you know, the rain is no longer working for the boys (so why don’t you go ahead and ease up). They get excited because they get to have an inside pajama day filled with movies, video games and laziness.

I often wonder what Jack and Colt remember about you. They don’t talk about you much. When I ask them, they don’t have much to say. And I don’t say that to be mean. It’s just incredible, the mind of a child, the strength of a child. Especially our children. Maybe all children. I don’t know, I only know ours. But Colt no longer pees not the floor (thank the maker), he never breaks down anymore crying for his dad. He’s happy. He’s funny. He’s sweet. He’s remarkable. He’s becoming quite the fish slayer. He finally got to go on the boat with Uncle G this week and loved every second of it, as he usually did when the boat was ours. He said he had a trout on his line but the fish bit his bait in half. But that’s all he needed. It brought him so much joy just feeling the tug and trying to reel it in. They went cruising, too, just like you and I always liked to do, and absolutely loved it. Our little waterman.

Jack is like a little man. He takes care of me. He’s the one consoling me when I’m having my moments. But he never has moments of his own. He’s so mature. And understanding. And compassionate. Is he happy? I think so, but he’s in that phase of life where hormones are taking over so there’s a little more discontent and a lot more attitude. He tries to help me parent Colt constantly, which, as I’m sure you can imagine, drives me insane. Baseball seems to be going well, but I don’t know for sure, because I can’t always watch, which, you know me, I absolutely hate because crazy baseball mom. It’s good though, he needs some space away from me to do what he loves without the pressure of thinking I’m disappointed. Which how could I ever be disappointed but we know how his innocent and sensitive heart works. What I do know is how happy it is making him, which is absolutely what he needs in this self-declared worst year of his life.

As for me, I’m still a mess. Mistakes should be my middle name because I seem to be making them constantly. The loneliness can be all consuming which has led to latching on to ridiculous and inappropriate things, which then of course leads to let down, which is the last thing I need. You’d think I’d learn. But I’m only human, and a bit of a broken human at that. You would think, after all this time, things would start being better. And from the outside looking in, they are. But deep down, I’m just as broken today as the day we found out you had terminal cancer with 8-12 months to live.

I miss you. I know it’s repetitive but it’s true. We should be arguing about travel ball and how expensive it is. We should be teaching Colt about fishing and boating and how to swim and arguing because your expectations are too high and mine are too low. We should be arguing because the governor won’t let us open Turf’s Up and we’re really starting to stress about the future of our business and money and what it will look if and when we can reopen. All of these things would be more favorable than life without you. But we didn’t get a choice. And it is what it is.

I’m down 30 pounds, which is a huge accomplishment. Unfortunately, I need to lose about 20 more to still be just a little chubby. Ha! I’m thinking of getting a new tattoo – not of the one you hoped for – your face on my left breast with your tongue reaching, well you know, but, as weird as it is, I want a reminder, not that I ever really need reminding, of you, of us, of our life, our love and our hate. We’ll see.

Bogey is still brown and grumpy and groany. Her tumors continue to grow but Nattie has brought some life back into her. Nattie, for all my bitching and moaning and wanting to give her away for a while, (to be fair, you had just died and taking care of a puppy while going through all that was about one of the more overwhelming challenges I’ve taken on, which sounds ridiculous but true) she is the sweetest, most loving little girl on earth. She is finally potty trained, she sucks at walking on a leash and she loves us something strong.

I hate that I never dream of you. I hate that I never see your face anymore. They say your loved ones come back to you in your dreams, but I guess you’re wherever you are, living your best life. You always were out of sight, out of mind! I guess I kind of forgot.

I love you. I miss you.

Until next time,

Poopsie

Midnight Melancholy

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Disclaimer: This post is depressing as hell. Ye be warned.

How is this my life? Am I allowed to be depressed? There are some times when I feel fine, good even. But then there are other times where everything feels absolutely hopeless. Like now, for instance, at 1:00 in the morning. When I should be sleeping, but I’m not. Because I feel like shit. Not physically, physically I’m fine. Technically, that’s not true either because I somehow sprained my wrist today playing baseball with my 10 year old because that’s just what happens when you reach a certain age. You try to do things with your kid and you end up hurt. And it hurts like hell. But I’d gladly feel wrist pain every day for the rest of my life if I didn’t have to feel this emotional pain that still tries to consume me.

Night time is when it always gets the best of me. Whenever everything gets quiet. When everything goes dark. When it’s just me and the sound of the stupid clock ticking in the background. When I go into the bathroom to get 1/2 a Xanax to help me shut my brain off, but open the cabinet and see my dead husband’s anti-nausea medication staring me in the face. Because my husband had anti-nausea medication for his terminal cancer that ended his life.

I suffered from postpartum depression for nearly 2 years after having Jack. At the time, I had no idea that’s what the problem was. I just knew that I felt emotionally dead inside. I’m a cryer. I’m sensitive. These are facts about me that have been true since the day I was born. But for 2 years after the birth of my first son. I didn’t cry. I didn’t feel. I was nothing. I felt like no one. I lost myself. And I had no idea.

Now, I’m well aware of how I’m feeling and that feeling is fucking broken. And guilty. And alone. Growing up, and probably well into my 20s, I used to always think how lucky I was because nothing tragic, truly tragic, had ever happened in my life. It’s like I was tempting fate. Like I decided I was untouchable from tragedy. It happened to other people. But not to me.

And then I got married. I had a child. I suffered from an unknown depression that left me empty.  I fought with my husband nonstop. I wished he would go away. I threatened to leave him. And now he’s gone. And I can’t help but feel somewhat responsible. Yes, in my rational head, I know that’s not how these things work, but we can’t always control where our thoughts lead us. How irrational our thoughts can become.

I’m having a hard time enjoying my life. Certainly, I live and breath, my heart beats for my children. They are my absolute everything. But I’m not the same. We’re not the same. Life is not the same. Which is a stupid thing to write because of course we’re not the same. How could we be? But, fuck, do I miss my husband? His friendship. His love. His advice. His support. His touch. His kiss. His humor. His passion. His ugly ass feet. His beautifully perfect eyelashes. His nonstop chatter. His awful driving. His intolerably lengthy shopping habits. His appetite. His passion. His adventure. His dreams. His irresponsibility. Just him. All of him. The perfectly imperfect man, husband, father and friend that he was.

This isn’t my finest hour. When is 1:30 am anybody’s finest hour? I just wonder how it all came to be, why it all came to be? How is this my life? It’s certainly not how I pictured it to be as a young girl who’s main dream in life was to get married and to have children. I guess I should have specified that I would prefer my husband also stay alive to help raise said children. Rookie mistake. In reality, Ash did make my dreams come true. He made me a wife and he made me a mother. Unfortunately, he also made me a widow. What a dick. That wasn’t part of the plan. We had a plan. Create successful business, raise successful children, pray said children want to take over said business, retire, move to The Villages and spend the rest of our days soaking up the sun, playing golf and making out like teenagers. But, alas, fate had other plans.

Don’t mock fate. Don’t take for granted what you have. Don’t settle for less than what you deserve. Soak it all in. Please. For all us widows wondering why the fuck, what the fuck and how the fuck?

4,368 Hours

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Dear Jonesie:

We’ve made it 6 months, half of a year, 4,368 hours or 262,080 minutes without you. Take your pick on whichever way you prefer to tell time these days. I’m not sure how it works where you are. Some days have been hard. Some days have been heartbreaking. Some days have been ok. And some days have even been great. But they’ve all been different.

We just celebrated Mother’s Day. I wanted to thank you for creating these 2 beautiful lives with me. They are incredible. Which I know that you know. And I know you are watching. I know you saw them bring me breakfast in bed Sunday morning. They made scrambled eggs (if I’m honest, they were a little crunchy due to the added bonus of a few egg shells and a little, let’s say, not quite done and runny), a biscuit that was reheated in the microwave and came out more rock like than biscuit like and a bowl of freshly picked strawberries. It was nearly perfect. The only thing missing was you. And just to piss you off, I let the boys eat breakfast, in our bed, with me. So ha! They remembered, though, that all of you brought me breakfast in bed last year and they were so proud to do it on their own this year. I tell you, whatever gal (or guy) ends up with each of our boys, they are in for one hell of a good life. We did good, Jonesie. Hopefully, I can keep doing good without you.

It’s not easy, doing this life without you. I don’t know what stage of grief I’m in – I think I’ve created my own – it’s called I hate everyone and everything so please leave me alone but please don’t leave me alone. I think the closest thing to it is anger, which I think is the 2nd stage of grief. I’m pretty sure I’m not doing the stages in order, though. I’ve accepted that you’re gone, which is the final stage, but I’m reverting back to the angry stage. Maybe that’s how grief works. Maybe I’m just backwards. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. I hate how I feel. I hate how angry I’ve become (which, let’s face it, I’ve always been more on the angry side than not, and really didn’t think I had room to grow in that area.) Apparently I was wrong. I’m angry with you. I’m angry with God. I’m angry with myself. I’m angry at the unfairness of it all. And if I’m totally honest, I’m angry that people’s lives are moving on yet I’m still stuck in this pit of hostility and jealousy and more self pity than I care to admit. (Although, that statement was just an admission of said self pity so there’s that.)

I recently started reading Girl, Wash Your Face and I think it’s doing the opposite of what it’s supposed to do. I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to inspire me to become a better person. But all I’m really feeling inspired to do is break shit, kick holes in doors and be the crazy, spitfire, passionately pissed off Irish girl that only you really know me to be. Perhaps when one is grieving, one should not take on reading self help books. I’m hoping that the loss of your husband can maybe excuse the fact that you’re not quite ready to set goals and show up for yourself and all that positive self talk bull shit I’m supposed to give to make myself a better person, friend, mother, daughter, sister, etc.

Unfortunately, this anger coursing through me reared it’s ugly head at our first born the other day. We had dinner with your mom as a Mother’s Day celebration. We were sitting around, playing games, just chatting and having a nice time when I remembered your voicemail, your voice still on your phone. I imagine your mom hadn’t heard your voice since she last visited you just before you left us, and even then, it wasn’t “your” voice, the one you had most of your life. It was that of a dying man. So I thought I’d play your voicemail, the one I just recently wrote about so that she could hear you again. When I went to retrieve it, the message was gone. Deleted. No longer available. I held my tongue. I had not announced that I was searching for your voice for all of us to hear again. I asked Jack what happened to it. He claimed he didn’t know. Heat flushed my cheeks. I announced our departure, we got in the car, headed down the road and my anguish exploded. I am not proud. I accused our son of deleting it. I accused him of lying. I yelled. I sobbed. I deflated. We got home and I sent him directly to bed, so upset I didn’t know what else to do. And then I wept some more. I realized my myriad of errors. I scared our little boy. I made him feel overwhelmingly sad and guilty. And I’ve never felt more disgusted with myself. I went to his room, apologized profusely and begged his forgiveness, which he offered instantly. He also apologized, said he didn’t know or remember if he deleted it but he hadn’t meant to do it. I told him over and over again how wrong I was, how sorry I was, what I huge mistake I had made, treating him that way. I hugged him until he admitted I was squeezing him too hard. And we moved on. But I am still ashamed.

Adding fuel to the raging fire already lit inside of me, I’m going to assume you saw the unexpected, unannounced and a little bit unwelcome guests that showed up at our home the other day. They came, they offended (at least Jack and me), they praised the amazingness that is Colt, said how special he is and they left. Luckily, Jack had gone back inside while Colt’s praises were being sung. Not to take anything away from Colt, because he is amazing and his praises deserve to be sung, but so is Jack and I find it so shockingly sad (and cruel) that some people don’t see him that way. You know my theories and I will leave it at that.

It took everything in me not to kick them “out” (I use the term out loosely because I did not allow them in my home because a. coronavirus and 2. I would gladly allow some unexpected guests in our home, but some, especially the offensive kind, I will not), but I did use the manners I was raised with, I was kind enough even if not deserving, I let them offend our oldest son and me and then I watched as they drove away. I may have expressed some very expletive language in front of our children and then took the rest of my frustration and anger out on the treadmill, running 3 miles faster than I have in my life to date. It’s amazing the adrenaline anger can cause to course through the body.

In other news, I received the 6 month “making sure you haven’t killed yourself or anybody else” check in from hospice. It came with a quiz this time to see if  “I may benefit from increased exposure to a support system”. I passed with a 2. If you received higher than a 5, then it may be time to call on said increased exposure to a support system. The quiz consisted of 5 questions, none of which were “are you so angry you’d like to take a golf club Elin-style to any and everything you possibly can?” so I’m not sure it was the best assessment in the world, but they didn’t ask for my opinion.

I’m really more ok than I am letting on. I think anyway. But I also do have an unnerving amount of hostility running through me with thread bare patience and a general loathing for a lot of things. But, in that hospice letter also came 20 Common Reactions as You Heal From Loss and apparently my reaction is common. So I’ve got that going for me. Which is nice.

Apparently, though, the 6 month mark is supposed to be when you’re feeling more healed than not. But some wounds never heal, some things will never be the same and 6 months is not that long.

In more positive news, I’m buying a lot (as in a piece of land, not like a lot of things) this week. I close on Friday. I’ve been working on house plans and should have a first draft in hand some time this week. The lot is well over half an acre, on the sound, full of trees, tucked away from all things I may want to hit with my 7 iron and just perfect. Or just perfect enough. The boys and I are so excited to build, to move, to start fresh somewhere we never expected to be. It feels good to have something positive to focus on, to make tough decisions, to lead myself and our little bear cubs down the path the I chose.

Lastly, you should know, I picked up Colt’s memory book from preschool. You remember last year’s, I’m sure. This year’s was just as lovely, if not maybe even a little more so. Our boy looks so happy in all of the pictures. Laughing, learning, playing. At the end, there’s a page that starts “When I grow up, I want to be…”. Colt’s response? A golf teacher. Talk about a punch to the gut. It hurt in the most beautiful way. He is his father’s son. Everything you’ve done, he wants to do. Everything you were, he wants to be.

Be proud, my Jonesie. Your boys grow into the young men they are meant to be more and more by the day. We did good. I’ll continue to do better. I will not let this anger get the best of me anymore. (We both know that’s a lie, but I strive to let it go.) I will be strong for them. I will control it for them. And hopefully soon, I can let it all go for them. And for me.

Missing you always,

Your Poopsie

PS – I have finally mastered your un-patented but should be patented hiccup cure without your guidance. It works every time. Kurt, I don’t know if you are reading this, but if you are, unbeknownst to you, your friendship with Ash Jones almost ended rather abruptly after the 2 of you went skiing together and you hiccuped almost the whole way home because you wouldn’t listen to Ash’s cure. He was so mad at you when he got home. True story. Glad he recovered from it and we all remained friends. Love and miss you guys always!

Nothing and Everything

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My husband is dead. It’s been almost 6 months. And he’s still dead. I walked into our, well, my, technically, bedroom tonight and I could smell him. And I sobbed. He didn’t even really have a particular smell. He didn’t wear cologne even though I kept buying it for him. He used whatever soap I purchased, so I guess we smelled pretty similar. His shampoo wasn’t super aromatic. But I swear I could smell him. So maybe he did have a scent.

I miss him. And yet, it’s almost as if he were never here. I often wonder how in the world did it all happen. Why did we meet? How did we fall in love? How did we come to marry and have children? And how on Earth is he gone? At 37 years old. I’m 13 days older than Ash and he always joked I would die first, naturally, because I’m so much older. But that didn’t happen.

He started getting sick in 2014. I also happened to get pregnant at the very end of 2013 so, at first, I felt like he was stealing my thunder a little bit, what with all the throwing up and not getting out of bed. That’s what I was supposed to be doing. He had countless doctor appointments and multiple hospital stays before he finally ended up with a diagnosis. Primary Sclerosing Cholangitis. It’s an auto-immune disease that affects the liver and bile ducts. I’m sure you could have guessed that if you have been reading my writings for a while. There is no cure. He may need a liver transplant 10-15 years down the road. Ash’s doctor was world famous. One of the best in his field. We were scared back then but he assured us, most people that have PCS die with it and not from it. Most people.

Ash and I changed our lives. Our marriage had been more than a little shaky for a while. At times, I did not deserve him. At times, he did not deserve me. But once he was diagnosed, back in 2014, our perspectives changed quite a bit. We learned to accept each other. We worked at it every day. And it worked. We changed. Ash had to quit drinking, you know, because of the whole liver disease thing. He started a clinical trial, we had to travel a couple hours north once a month to his doctor to check in and they were some of the most fun days in our relationship. We learned to communicate with each other again. We fell in love all over again. I guess, in a way. Life changed, for the better, if you can believe it.

In April, 2018, we were back at Ash’s liver doctor, just for a routine check up. And the words that came out of that doctor’s mouth was some of the best news we’d ever gotten in our lives. He said “I don’t know what you’re doing, but keep it up. Your numbers are incredible. We don’t see this with this particular disease much.” In September, 2018, he was diagnosed with Stage IV Terminal Cholangiocarcinoma. Bile Duct Cancer. Terminal. That’s how fast it happened. He went from what we liked to joke as a “medical marvel like Ross Gellar” to a dying man. How does that happen? Why does that happen?

I just miss him. I miss kicking his ass at Mario Cart. I miss all our date nights. I miss holding his hand. I miss just driving around doing nothing with him. I miss the way he could make me laugh. I miss his amazing smile. I miss his positive attitude. I miss how he always knew when I was about to start my monthly business based on my attitude. I miss hearing his voice. Jack has Ash’s old cell phone and the voicemail on it is still Ash’s voice. I call it, at least a few times a week, just to hear that “Hey, it’s Ash’s voicemail. Leave a message.” Simple. To the point. Just like Ash wasn’t. Ha! (It’s funny because it’s true.) Either way, I miss him. Hell, I miss the shit that I hated and thought I’d never miss. But I do. Grief is annoying like that. It reminds you that even the bad shit wasn’t really that bad. In my case anyway.

The kids are so incredible. They are so resilient. So in the moment most of the time. Sure, they have their breakdowns. But they are less frequent. I’m so envious of their strength. They are growing and learning and they are just amazing.

I don’t know the point to any of this, other than I went in my room, could smell my husband, sobbed and felt the need to write. So I did. And it’s helped in the way that only it can. My own personal therapy. Remembering him is a gift, one that I hope to only love one day.

Broken

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How do you not hate everything? It’s nearly impossible. You have good days. You have shit days. You have mediocre days. But even on the good days, there is this underlying pain that trumps even the best times.

We put on a brave face most of the time. But if I can be real for a minute, that’s all it really is, just a brave face. Because inside we are so fucking fragile. We are broken. We are lost. And I don’t know how we come back from that.

We trudge along. We do the things we are supposed to. We laugh at stupid jokes. We talk to our friends. We go about our daily lives. But none of it is the same. Because we are fucking broken.

We are vulnerable. We are scared. We are bone deep sad. We are so sad that it physically hurts. We have this newfound realization that everything, and I do mean everything, fucking ends. The good things end. The bad things end. Things you wish would last forever end. Things you never wanted to begin with end. It all just fucking ends. Whether you are ready for it or not, it all ends.

And it fucking hurts. I hurt all the damn time. And there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. I’ve tried to fill the void with things that are good for me. I’ve tried to fill the void with things that are bad for me. I’ve tried distraction. I’ve tried copious amounts of wine. None of it fucking works. It may seem like it for a time, but in the end, I still fucking hurt.

Was my relationship perfect? Not even close. But it was mine. I married a man. I started a family with a man. And now, he’s gone. And we are fucking broken.

I grilled steaks tonight. I didn’t burn my house down. I didn’t burn the steaks. They were even quite tasty – according to Colt, the best he’s ever had, my sweet, sweet boy. And Jack? Jack could barely eat it. He said it didn’t feel right eating steak without daddy. Because we are fucking broken.

To my friends, I’m sorry. I am a terrible friend right now. I am selfish. I am angry. I am tired. I am alone. And I can’t be the friend you deserve. To my family, I am sorry. I rely on you for everything. I need you constantly. I thought I was strong, but I’m not. I’m just fucking broken.

I want to numb the pain. I want to make it all go away. I want to forget. And I never want to forget a thing.

I sometimes ask myself, if I had it to do all over again, knowing the end result, would I do it? Would I go on that date? Would I meet that man that would change my life forever, in so many ways? It’s a stupid path to go down, because, of course, we can’t change a damn thing. But it doesn’t stop me from wondering. Of course, the immediate response is YES! I would do it all over again. The days when I’m really feeling it, this unrelenting agony, this gut-wrenching pain, the answer is no, I would skip all this heartache, all this pain, even though it would mean I wouldn’t have these exact children, because then they wouldn’t be broken either. But the real answer doesn’t matter. I don’t even know that there is a real answer because you can’t change what has already happened. And honestly, I wouldn’t want to. I mean, if I could go back and change things, I would change Ash’s shit liver, not us being together. Because, no matter how short, we were meant to be together for that period of time. We were meant to have 2 beautiful boys. And I guess we were also meant to lose each other November 12, 2019. And I guess that means Jack, Colt and I are meant to be a little bit broken, for the rest of our lives.