Tag: Loss

Lost AF

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Disclaimer: It’s very sweary up in this piece.

Building a house is not easy. At first, I was killing it. I was making decisions left and right. No problem. I know exactly what I want and where I want it. Then enter freaking light fixtures. Who knew there were so many lighting options out there? It is mind blowing. I’ve been staring at light fixtures on this computer screen for so long that they now all look like ridiculous cartoon drawings that no one should ever put in their house. I’ve been staring at them for so long and just thinking “wow, I couldn’t give 2 fucks about what the fucking lights look like in my house or on my house or around my house”. I’ve been staring at them for so long that I am now in tears questioning everything about my whole entire life.

Here’s the thing – I am not a picky person. I like to think of myself as easy going and laid back where most things, especially these kinds of things, are concerned. Aside from anything ridiculously tacky, I really couldn’t give a shit about any of the lights that are in my house. Or much else for that matter. There are some things that I absolutely do not want, such as anything with brass. Or crystals. Or brightly colored. But otherwise, don’t care. Can I get a volunteer to come pick out all the damn lights for my house? Cuz in case it wasn’t clear, I don’t fucking care.

Which brings me to my point, sort of. Someone asked me recently what I’ve been doing with my time. And I couldn’t answer the question. I had no idea. I mean, sure, I’ve been keeping my kids alive, doing the single mom thing, going to the baseball games and the practices, and the baseball treasuries thing and doing the laundries and making the meals and cleaning the toilets and getting the groceries and all the dumb ass adult shit that we dumb ass adults have to keep doing every fucking day until we die (that was dramatic). And I’ve been doing the building the house thing, well up until recently, quite well. And I’ve been doing the thing where I avoid being in my house because I hate my house because my husband (and his father) died in my house. (Hence the need to build the new house and pick out the light fixtures.) So I spend a lot time with whichever loved one will take my boys and me in for the evening because avoidance is always a very healthy choice.

But what am I doing? And the answer is, I have no fucking clue. I am lost AF, y’all. I do not know what to do with myself. Apparently, being married to Ash was my whole identity. Which makes sense. We got married, we had the kids, we did the jobs, we fell into marital bliss/marital holy-shit-I-hate-you-why-did-we-do-this (it could have been either scenario on any given day at any given moment – that’s just the nature of the beast that is marriage and if you say it’s not, I’m going to go ahead a call you a fucking liar), we ultimately opened a business together, worked together, lived together, did literally almost everything together. And then Ash had to go and get the damn cancer, and if you thought we were together a lot pre-cancer, it had nothing on our togetherness post cancer. Our roles changed, obviously. We went from happy, oblivious young(ish) business owners with their shit together(ish) to terrified people with their world literally crashing down. But, we did our best. We lived. We wept. We laughed. We kept moving forward until moving forward was no longer an option (well, for Ash, at least – I have no choice but to keep moving forward. Fucking bullshit.). But still, moving forward has me lost AF.

He’s been gone almost 18 months. And I gotta say, the first year went by in a blur, what with the grief and the learning how to do all the things alone and then the whole pandemic thing and the virtual school thing. It was a whole new horse of a whole different color (pretty sure that’s not how that saying goes). So it was hard to tell how much I didn’t know what I was doing. But now, things have gotten (I hesitate to even use this word) easier in a sense. I mean, really, when is life ever easy? Never. Easy is definitely not the word I am looking for here. But we have our routine. Things are about as normal as they are probably ever going to be for us. I now have time. And I have no fucking clue what to do with it.

I want to be a better person. I want to make a difference. I want to feel needed. And respected. And loved. And while doing the dishes and the laundries and the groceries are all necessary, they are not satisfying any of my needs to be more. To do more. My cup is wholly un-full, if you will. And I’m just not sure what to do to start filling it up again.

If I have any talents that don’t pertain to wiping asses, making jokes or bursting into tears at any given moment, I certainly can’t remember what they are. And my situation is different in that I do not have to go work some shitty job that I hate or take time away from my children or my responsibilities. I have the flexibility to be choosy, to find what will make me happy. If only I knew what that was.

For now, I will pray. I will have faith. I will smile through the pain. And I will go look at more fucking light fixtures.

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.

End Game

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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.