Tag: Love

Is This Rock Bottom?

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Some weeks are harder than others. Some days are harder than others. Hell, some minutes are harder than others. This is true for anyone on any given day. It’s also true for the grief stricken. Enter Jack, Colt and me.

I barely remember a lot from the past week. (The confusion part of grief is really taking its toll on my brain or maybe I was always this confused. Who knows? Not me. Because I’m the confused…) The shit I do remember is just that. Shit.

We’ll start with Colt, or Mr. Tolt as I like to call him. My Mr. Tolt is so much like Ash it’s uncanny. He looks like Ash. He acts like Ash. He’s wildly independent. He’s hilarious. He will very bluntly tell you his opinion whether you want it or not, right on that fine line of oh how endearing to man you’re kind of a dick. (Side note – I don’t call him a dick to his face, but he certainly can be one). Colt is strong, brave and could careless what anybody thinks of him or what he’s doing. Just like his father before him. He’s an outside the box thinker and enjoys individual pursuits far more than group activities. I mean, if you knew Ash, I could very easily be describing him right now – they are so similar (that’s some strong DNA). But my whole point is, when it came to grief, sadness, acting out, anger, or any of the other myriads of emotions and outlets you can think of, I wasn’t all that worried about Colt. He’s not afraid to show his emotions – he breaks down nearly every day, it lasts about 5-10 minutes and then he moves on, like any normal 5 year old. Certainly he cries more often than he used to, over silly stuff that never would have bothered him in the past. But overall, I feel he is handling this fucked up hand he has been dealt like one bad ass 5 year old.

Enter this week. (Apparently enter is the word of the day today). I guess it really started the week before last, but I totally blamed it on Ash’s puppy. I found a large pee spot on the floor in Colt’s room right next to his nightstand and bed. I thought it was an odd spot for the dog to pee but just went about cleaning it up and moved about my business. A week later, my house, more specifically the area of the house containing Colt’s bedroom, is emanating an odor quite unpleasant to the senses. I go in his room to find another large pee spot, this time nearly under the bed. I think it’s Ash’s damn puppy again but do question how she squeezed under the bed and how she possibly could pee that much. I’m confused, my brain is spinning and then it dawns on me – this urine does not smell like dog urine – it smells like human urine. It’s also too large to be puppy pee. It has to be people pee. Yay. So I, like any insane, panicked, crazy ass mother that has too much shit to deal with every fucking day, lose my shit, just for a minute, at my poor Colt. He confesses that he has peed on his bedroom floor 3 times. He first tells me he forgot we had toilets (insert eye roll here) and then tells me he was mad at the puppy so decided to pee on the floor.

Luckily, my brother is a carpet cleaner and Colt’s bedroom is now fresh as daisies again. Unluckily, my little boy is having some big feelings, missing his father some kind of terrible and has taken to pissing on the floor because that is something he can control. He can’t control his feelings. He can’t control that daddy is gone and never coming back. But he can control where he takes a leak. Except, he can’t control that either, because mama won’t allow it! Go in the toilet, go outside, but ABSOLUTELY DO NOT PISS ON THE FLOOR ANYMORE! And he hasn’t done it again. And maybe he won’t do it again. And maybe he will. If you need me, I’ll be in a heap on the kitchen floor listening to Lewis Capaldi (is there anyone more depressed than that guy?!) crying my eyes out because I don’t have the handbook on what to do when your child starts pissing on the floor because dad’s dead. If anyone has a copy, send it my way.

Next, we have Jack, the child that is just like me. Shy, sensitive, sarcastic, a little mouthy and a lot angry. He wears a necklace that we found one day when going through an old box of Ash’s things. It’s just a cheap, white, shell necklace on fishing line with one of those spinny clasps that always pull out the hair on the back of your neck. It probably cost Ash $6.99 in 1999 (side note – we even have a picture of Ash wearing said necklace years ago which is pretty cool). Anyway, the point is, while the necklace may not have much value, to us, it is priceless. So of course, boys being boys, decide to wrestle on a trampoline and the necklace gets ripped off Jack’s neck and woe is fucking us! The boys diligently collect all the shells through their tears, we place them in a ziplock baggie with what’s left of the necklace and I drive it 30 minutes away to a friend of mine that makes jewelry because she’s awesome and is going to fix it for us because, again, priceless.

Also of note this past week, Jack had therapy. He always makes me stay with him, I think it helps him feel more comfortable and more willing to open up about his feelings. It also gets me to open up about my feelings, which I’m not all that good at, could be where Jack gets it from. Therapy day is always a hard day anyway. This one was particularly hard, I guess because we had the broken necklace tragedy and the Captain Pisses on the Floor tragedy and you know, the dad is dead, reality that he’s never coming back hits harder every day and what the hell do we do with ourselves now tragedy. Either way, nothing crazy or terrible or wonderful happened in therapy. We talked about grief, apparently Jack is still getting over his dead fish, and I cried because that’s basically all I did last week. Cry.

Moving on to me. I will be honest and say I am an absolute train wreck. Especially this last week. My new favorite thing to do is get the kids where they need to be, drive around listening to sad music and just cry (hello, loser!). I had a dream about Ash last week. And it was a good dream. I don’t remember much about it other than him telling me he loved me. And I think it nearly killed me. A girlfriend of mine also had a dream about Ash the exact same night I did. She said they were at a social event, talking and she looked at him and said “Kellie really misses you” and he said “I know, but I’m ok.” And she said he looked healthy and healed. And that nearly killed me even further. I feel so grateful that he is healthy and healed and ok.

And I’m also pretty fucking mad that he’s ok. Because we are down here struggling our asses off when all we want is to be ok. And we are ok but we’re also pissing on the floor, still grieving our beta fish and crying all over town because we’re so fucking lonely, we don’t know what else to do with ourselves. We’re placing feelings where they don’t belong, or maybe where they do belong. We’re confused. We’re sad. We’re angry. We’re tired. Colt has slept in my bed twice this week, something I don’t generally allow. Jack tried to spend all weekend with a friend because distraction is so much better than reality. And me? I don’t know how I’m doing on any given day. What’s that song my mom is always singing? Some days are diamonds and some days are stones. I’ve never questioned my mothering skills so much. I’m trying to be everything for my babies, but I’m definitely coming up short. I’m also in my own head so much, questioning every move I make, every conversation I have and how I really feel about anything that my anxiety level is at an all time high. Who knew that was even possible?!

Either way, I do know that Ash is ok and healed and healthy. And I also know that, one day, we will be more ok than not, we will be mostly healed and we will be healthy. And until then, I guess we will piss on the floor and cry in the car. And maybe this is rock bottom, and there’s nowhere to go from here but up.

Month 3

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Dear Jonesie:

It’s month 3 since you left this world. Happy anniversary?! That’s not appropriate. First, I’ll be nice to you. We miss you. We miss your silliness, your laugh, your smile, your grumpiness first thing in the morning, the way you never know what’s going on any given day. We miss your playfulness, your abilities with the grill, your hugs, your kisses, your love. We miss it all. The good, the not so good and the in between. But we’re doing ok.

Jack just finished his best basketball season yet. He was confident on the court, he was a real leader and he had FUN! Something we’ve been trying to get him to do for years. We have one weekend off and then baseball season starts. Our favorite season (yours and mine that is). This is the first year you won’t be coaching and gosh we’re gonna miss not being able to watch you not pay attention while coaching first base, looking around at everything but the game. Haha! Jack hasn’t expressed whether he’s looking forward to baseball or not. I’m hoping the confidence and leadership will carry over from basketball season but you never know with that boy. You know how baseball is a little bit tainted for him without you.

In other shocking Jack news (seriously, if you were here, this would shock the pants right off of you) – he signed up to do the talent show at school. WHAT?! How out of character is that! He’s going to do stand up comedy. I am floored. You would be floored! He had me order a whoopee cushion today (don’t worry, it was only $5) because that is the prop he needs for his act. I’m so proud of him. You would be so proud of him. He’s blossoming (doesn’t seem like a fitting word for a boy of 10 but whatever), maybe growing is the right word, into such a confident and inspiring young boy/man (boy doesn’t seem right, man definitely isn’t right – so some hybrid in between).

Mr. Tolt is still in the thick of his basketball season. He has improved so much from the beginning. He’s starting to score baskets in practice and even scored once in a scrimmage. Still waiting on the big game score – it might happen, it might not, but he is trying, still great at galloping and mostly having a good time. He just had to bring in a family picture for his Spanish class at school. I was nervous, talked to his teacher about what to do. His family has changed. You, of course, will always be his dad, but I didn’t know if this picture would upset him and I didn’t want that to happen. But this is Mr. Tolt we’re talking about here – blunt, matter of fact, straight shooting Mr. Tolt. Of course he will bring in a picture of his family and it will be a picture with Mama, Daddy, Jack and me. That boy amazes me. He grieves for you all the time. He will sit down, a somber look will come over his face and he will say I miss Daddy in heaven. I wish he didn’t have to go to heaven. I always say me too, buddy, me too.

T-Ball season is right around the corner for our Mr. Tolt. He still hasn’t decided if he’s playing. He really wants a trophy, though, so I think he’s leaning towards yes. The problem is I can’t remember if you get a trophy in T-ball. When he turns 6, I think Boy Scouts/cub scouts will be a great option for him. He’s our outdoorsman. Remember the commercial (I think it was Geico) with the young, rich maybe brother and sister and they’re off to some sporting event that they have no idea about and they’re like “yaaayyyy sports!”. That’s Mr. Tolt. Only he’s not rich. And doesn’t have a private jet. But he really doesn’t get sports. Or love them. Or particularly want to participate. Your brother seems to think that’s going to change and he’s going to surprise us all. We shall see.

Me, I’m ok. This isn’t easy, but we knew it wasn’t going to be. I want to move. I know we spent all that time and money trying to make this house what we wanted, but it’s just not what we want. First of all, the fire station building is still going on, may never end and just all around sucks. Ok, I know it will end but between it and public works, I’m over it. We’ll miss being able to walk to school but you know how much I love to ride and drive in the car, so it’ll all be just fine. The memory of you leaving us behind in our living room is too much to handle. Our memories here are mostly of illness, disease and death. We deserve a fresh start.

I’ve narrowed the lot search down to 2 and I really think I know which one I want, but I wouldn’t mind a little guidance from you somehow if you would be so kind. Except I know you won’t. Someone told me that our loved ones come back to us in our dreams. I’ve dreamt of you exactly 1 time. What the fuck, man? I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re Ash. You do what you want, when you want, on the timeline you want. I should be used to it by now. But seriously. I’d love to see your face in my dreams. I’d love to know that you’re still here with us, checking in, keeping your eye on us.

I’m still doing the ladies golf leagues at Turf’s Up. It’s not the same. I’m grumpy every time I go. I want you to be impressed by this, though. I was on bay 4 on Monday and I hit some pure shots. I know they were pure because you taught me so well. I can now tell the difference between greatness and shit. And I had some greatness Monday night. And some shit. Because it’s me. Ha! Anyway, the greatness that I could feel was registering as shit on the screen so I said something to you know who. He told me he was on that bay earlier and it was just fine. I was pretty bitchy and said no it’s not and we kind of moved on. It pissed me off because you know how competitive I am and you know I want to win and I knew I was right because, let’s face it, you and I both know I am right 98.9% of the time. It’s both a blessing and a curse. (Also, side note, the team next to us scored a +7 Monday night and you know who entered into the scoreboard as a +6 – don’t think I didn’t notice, I did, and I’m mad.). Anyway, guess who texts me last night to tell me I was right, cameras were reading the wrong launch angle? It was said you know who. And this girl was right. Coz I know stuff. About golf. And golf simulators. Thanks to you. I also think my teammate and I should get like 4 mulligans next round for the inconvenience. But I’m not in charge. Boo.

We have a 4 day weekend this weekend. Today is the anniversary of your death. Friday is Valentine’s Day. So we’re getting the fuck out of dodge. We can’t be here and our lovely friends in West Virginia invited us to come stay with them for the weekend. Wish me luck. 8 hours there and back with the boys. What am I thinking? It will be an adventure, though. And it will be a distraction. And that’s what we need. Plus, we get to see our friends and we’re so excited about that.

I know this is getting lengthy, but I haven’t talked to you in 3 months. And I have so much to say. You should understand that, no one can talk more than you. I’m still pretty angry with you. And God. And myself. I often wonder if I had forced you into more treatment, would you still be with us today? But I know that wasn’t what you wanted. Or the right thing to do. I know you were suffering. And I know you are exactly where you are meant to be now.

Just to piss you off a little bit, I let the boys shower and use our bathroom every day. I don’t know why that bothered you so much, but ha! I’m in charge now. There are guys and trucks in the bottom of our shower all the time. It would annoy the shit out of you. They also use our fence toilet every day. I kind of understand your annoyance with that one, though. Those dudes can’t aim for shit! It’s gross! The boys still sleep in the same room. They need each other. Maybe, once our new house is built, they will go back to their own rooms. I’m fine with it either way.

Your puppy has apparently entered her “teen years” according to the vet and that means she’s rebelling, as teens do. Do you know how teen dogs rebel? They piss and shit on the floor again. Cool, huh? She’s still really cute but I’m close to my wit’s end with her. Maybe you could send some magic heaven voodoo down to make her stop. Is that possible? The brown girl is still Dog Kellie – bitchy, moany, groany and mostly annoyed but very cute ;). She get’s grayer by the day and that one tumor on her underside seems to be growing at quite a rapid rate. Maybe you need her? But we still need her here so ease up, would you?

Your mom is hanging in there. We’ve had many cries together. Colt is still her favorite. They spend some good, quality time together. She watches the boys on Mondays when I go to golf league and she picks Colt up from school once a week. She’s come to all their basketball games and so has Steve. I just love Steve. One of the best men around.

I know I’ve said it, but we miss you so much. We hope you are happy, pain free and giving God some good tips on his golf game. Check in on us when you can. We’re here and we’re ok.

Love,

Poopsie, Donkey and Mr. Tolt

Moody Monday

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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!

 

 

 

To The Woman Staring Back at Me

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I’ve spent a lot of time looking in the mirror lately. Not out of vanity, not completely anyway. But just to check in with that woman. How has she changed? How is she the same? Physical things have obviously changed. Same blue/green/gray eyes; same white line across the nose; some acne prone skin (blah). Also some new things. Sun spots. Not too many wrinkles but definitely a few more lines; more facial hair than I care to admit; one screwed up left eye brow (actually the same since high school; thank you softball); and the latest, and my least favorite is the dark circles and bags constantly present under my eyes.

I earned those bags and dark circles. This last year was anything but easy. Cancer. Late nights. Long trips. And ultimately the untimely death of my husband, my person, my best friend. That will take a toll on your face (and your body if you happen to find comfort in food rather than starvation, dammit why couldn’t it have been starvation?!). But I feel like I’m on the right track with that. I was never thin to begin with. Always curvy, always a little soft. And I think that’s ok.

What I’m failing to see is the joy I once had, so I thought I’d write this to myself, as a little self-love, self-affirmation, self-get your head out of your ass.

  1. You’re not perfect, you’re never going to be perfect and perfect doesn’t exist.
  2. Forgive yourself. You will continue to fuck up all the time. It’s ok.
  3. Love yourself. If you don’t, who will? Love the lines and the spots and the acne (ok, maybe not that one) and the bags and your slightly less than perfect form (yes, that’s a stretch, it’s far from perfect). You earned them. Every day you earned them. Also love the humor, the loudness, the ridiculousness that is you. You won’t be everyone’s cup of tea and that’s ok. Just be you.
  4. You are enough. Your children love you. Your friends love you. Your family loves you. You are doing your best. Even when you don’t feel like it, you are doing your best.
  5. Take time for yourself. It’s ok. No one needs or wants you 24/7. You will be a better mother/daughter/sister/friend if you take the time for yourself.
  6. Stop judging yourself so harshly. Be a better friend to you. You are so much better than you think you are. You are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for.
  7. It’s ok to cry. Let it out. Yell. Scream. Curse. Just let it out. It doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.
  8. Try, for the love of dog, not to make the same mistakes over and over again. Learn and move on.
  9. Be patient. Not everything can happen the way you want it to. There is *probably* a plan that you know nothing about but will reveal itself in time.
  10. Respect yourself. Always. If you’re not respecting you, how can you expect anyone else to?
  11. Say no. You have the right to say no to whomever you wish, whenever you wish. This is your life. No one can walk in your shoes. No one can live it for you. No one can feel what you feel.
  12. Stay honest. With yourself. With your children. With everyone. They may not like it, but at least you can like yourself at the end of the day for being true to you.
  13. Stop seeking approval from everyone. Be you and be happy. You can’t please everyone. That’s not even your job.
  14. Write as much as you want, as often as you want, as long as you want, as short as you want. No one has to read it, but if it makes you feel better, if it gives you hope, if it brings you joy, sadness or anger, just do it. Who cares if anyone reads it or likes it!
  15. Sing. Loudly. All the time. The best way to spread any cheer is singing loud for at least yourself to hear!
  16. Remember that you will feel happy again. There are glimpses of it every day. One day the pain won’t be so strong, the memories so fresh, the feelings so raw. Soak it up, that way you really know when you’re feeling true joy again.
  17. Keep covering those grays. You’re 37, cover them up!
  18. This is similar to 13 but so important. Stop worrying about what anybody thinks. You do you, boo. Raise your children the way you want. Dress the way you want. Look the way you want. Feel the way you want. Again, this is your life. No one can do it for you.
  19. Find the fucking tape measures. (I just threw that one in for fun!)
  20. Lastly, go find some joy. Whatever it is, whatever it looks like, go find it, grab it by the balls and embrace the fuck out of it. We only get one chance at this thing called life. So fucking live it, the way you want.

I could go further. There’s so much I could tell to that woman in the mirror, but I think this is a good start. Be kind, be honest and love yourself. Everything will be ok.