Tag: Parenting

Grateful?

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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.

Happy Death Day. Happy Birthday? (Month 10)

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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

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.

 

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

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In the interest of keeping things real (because that’s how I roll), this morning was not great. It never fails, every time I write something regarding strength and happiness and moving forward, something happens that totally negates everything I think I believe. And it’s not that I don’t think I’m strong or that I’m not moving forward. Because I am. But without fail, once I put it in writing, something smacks me in the face (like memories and all the ways that I’m potentially failing my children) that says whoa bitch, calm the fuck down, you have nothing figured out. I guess that’s the nature of losing your spouse maybe.

I woke up this morning thinking I should make my children breakfast. (Not that I don’t feed them breakfast regularly – like cereal or grits or something equally lacking in effort on my part – they do get fed. If you’ve seen them, you know that. Well, it looks like Colt doesn’t really eat – he’s long and lean – but I promise he eats more than Jack and I combined – kind of like his father.) Anyway, back to the point, if I have one. I woke up, laid in bed for while contemplating making bacon and eggs and pancakes. I got out of bed and made my coffee and talked myself right out of making breakfast, drank said coffee, then asked the boys if they wanted me to make them breakfast. Emphatic yeses (is that a word??) all the way around – you know, all 2 of them.

And it hit me. I have not actually made breakfast since Ash died. So as I’m frying up the bacon, I lose my shit. Food (and eating) was one of the most important things is Ash’s life, which I get sounds weird. But that man LOVED to eat. And eat he did. Seriously, he ate like he weighed about 507 pounds. But he didn’t. He was little. He just had that metabolism that burned up everything as soon as it entered his body. He was kind of an asshole that way. Unlike me that looks at a French fry and gains 3 pounds.

So, I’m making the bacon (hey oh!), crying my eyes out, trying to figure out what in the actual hell is my problem. Breakfast is not a big deal. But today it was. Because when you become a widow with 2 young children, everything becomes your job. EVERYTHING. (Obviously) The messes. The meals. The injuries. The sports. The school. The chores. The tantrums. The really good things. The really bad things. When shit goes wrong in our house. When shit goes wrong in our other houses. I had to fix an electrical problem this morning. Do you know what I know about electrical problems? Apparently one thing that actually worked. Today anyway. Hell, I even started cutting grass this week. (Side note – I suck at cutting grass. I managed to make both mowers – riding and pushing – stop working. I missed several spots. I ran into the garage and knocked off the garage door censor. I left the gate open and lost my dogs for a bit. I burnt my neck on the cord thingy on the push mower because I thought if I just pulled it harder, certainly it would start. And I pulled it right into my neck. I was not good at mowing grass. But I did it. And the lawn looks mediocre at best (and that’s being generous). But still, I did it.)

I used to make breakfast all the time. It was one of Ash’s 3 favorite meals. Ha! But once he left us, I never brought myself to do it. I didn’t think the boys cared. They never asked for a home cooked breakfast. I make them lunch. I make them dinner. I just gave up on breakfast. But today you would have thought I hung the fucking moon. They were so grateful and happy. They hugged me. They thanked me for the “best breakfast ever”. There were I love you’s all around. And it was just pancakes and bacon. Nothing complicated. Something I used to make all the time.

It’s strange, the things that change when you lose someone you love. I promised the boys that I wouldn’t wait another 10 months before I made them breakfast again. And they were happy with that.

There were also so many memories swirling in my head for the rest of the day. Ash and I fought. A lot. Especially for the first 5-7 years of marriage or so. It took us a long time to adapt and accept all the things that we could not change about each other. So not all the memories swirling in my head today were good. But some were. And I just miss him.

I just started watching Yellowstone. And it’s good. But Ash would have loved it. It would have been a show that we got sucked into together, staying up entirely too late, bingeing as many episodes as we could until one of us (usually me) couldn’t make it any longer. But he’s not here to watch it with me. And today, it hurts. Which I know is normal. It would be weird if it didn’t hurt. I also realize I’m talking in circles but sometimes I talk in circles.

Hug your people. Tell them you love them. You never know what’s coming in the chapters ahead.

How to Kill it as a Widow

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Ha! See what I did there? I love a good pun. Is that a pun? I don’t even know.

Either way, recently someone said to me that they admired me, that they didn’t know how I did it and how I have overcome my so called widow-hood. The truth is, well first of all, who doesn’t love being told that you’re admired! That doesn’t suck. But second of all, what choice do I have? And thirdly, you don’t overcome widow-hood. You just have to learn how to live with it, how to live through it and how to be happy while doing it.

I guess I could choose to wallow in self pity. I could choose to focus only on what I have lost. I could choose to live in the past. I could choose unhappiness. Certainly I wouldn’t be judged (yes I would) if that’s the path I chose. But I don’t choose that.

I have 2 children that follow my exact example at all times. They deserve a life of happiness and joy and freedom. Losing their father at such young ages fucking sucks. There are no ifs, ands or buts about that. They didn’t deserve that. But we don’t always get what we deserve. Life deals our hand and it’s how we deal with what we are dealt that matters. (That’s a whole lot of dealing right there!) My point is, they are watching my every move, my every reaction and they are emulating what they see in me. Do I want them to be mopey, woe is me, my life sucks because these circumstances that we had no control over happened to us? Hell to the f-ing no. I am raising men. Strong men. Resilient men. Happy men. And it all starts with me.

Secondly, and I believe this to the depths of my soul, happiness is a choice. And I choose to be happy. Do I have bad days? Undoubtedly. Do I have days where I am mopey and feeling sorry for myself? Obviously. I just texted one of my closest friends in the middle of the night not too long ago complaining of my sadness. These days are bound to happen. Hell, they happen when you haven’t lost your spouse. But on the regular, I choose to be happy. I choose to focus on what I do have rather than what I am missing. I choose to stay in the moment rather than dwell on the past.

I also choose to stop worrying about things beyond my control. Take school for example. Is it ideal for my children to be educated virtually? Fuck no. I am no teacher. I have no patience. Jack will be fine. He’s smart. He’s disciplined. He gets it. Colt, who’s supposed to be starting kindergarten, he’s not going to be so fine. And neither am I. Not because we’re not smart or disciplined, but because it’s all brand new. Everything you need to know in life, you learn in kindergarten. Isn’t that what they say? That’s a lot of damn pressure right there. But at least when Colt’s dumb as a shoe box full of rocks his whole life because his mom taught him kindergarten, it won’t be his fault. He’ll have plenty to divulge to his future therapist about how his mom ruined his life when he was 6 years old because she didn’t know how to teach the alphabet. But all of these things are beyond my control. It is what it is. There’s nothing I can do about it. Therefore, I am not going to waste my time worrying about it. Because I have no control over it.

I can control how we spend our time. I can control who we spend our time with. I can control what I choose to focus on. And we choose to stay busy, we choose to surround ourselves with the people we love, we choose to have fun, we choose to laugh more often than not, we choose to sing out loud and off-key as often as possible, we choose to dance in the kitchen while cooking dinner. We choose to focus on the myriads of good things that we have in our lives. Because that’s the way forward for us. That’s what makes us happy. That’s how we keep on keeping on.