Tag: relationships

More of the Same

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How’s everyone? Drowning in misery? Yeah, me too. I guess I have been for quite some time but this somehow feels worse. Probably being totally cut off from society (and other adults) being the culprit. Don’t get me wrong, I love the shit out of my kids, I just wish there was maybe one other adult around to love them with me. Post-widowhood pandemic is not doing great things for my mental state.

Things I’m not doing well in this new phase of life:

  1. Homeschool – I was not made to teach my child. I was especially not made to teach my child math. There has been arguing. There has been tears. We’re doing a little bit better each day, which I guess shows progress, but if we both make it out of this unscathed, well, color me surprised.
  2. Reading – I am reading 5 books at present. That’s not how you’re supposed to do it, but since when do I do things the way you’re supposed to do them. I started It’s Always the Husband while my husband was still alive. And while it held my interest for a while, whenever I did have a chance to read, I chose not to, choosing instead to hold onto my husband. I haven’t been able to pick it back up since he passed away. I stopped (mid-chapter mind you) on page 122. Next up When Children Grieve. This one is a real nail biter guaranteed to put you to sleep just by opening the cover. It should be something I make myself read, and I did for a while, and then I stopped. Next, my mom gave me James Patterson’s The Inn, telling me what a quick and easy read it was. I’m on page 59. There are far too many characters and different stories happening for my current state of ill-performing brain, so I put that one down. Another one that I pick up and put down at random is a story a bit like mine – a young widow with young children, only she lost her husband suddenly, and I knew for a while that I was losing mine. It’s called Confessions of a Mediocre Widow and it’s very relatable and very good, I just have to be in the right frame of mind to read it and currently, I guess, the right frame of mind isn’t hanging around my mind. Moving on. Last but not least, and the one I’m actually making progress on is Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine. That’s a lie. She’s not fine at all. Kind of like me, but her story is totally different. I picked it up because the cover literally said it was “Beautifully written and incredibly funny” and while I’m sure it is beautifully written, it has done nothing but invoke feelings of sadness and pity for poor Eleanor. It’s held my interest well enough though, as I’m more than 3/4 of the way through it. And while it has funny moments, I believe it to be a bit of a bold statement claiming it incredibly funny. Me thinks I was duped by that choice of words.
  3. Cleaning. Here I thought we had all this time and I could finally get some much needed cleaning done. Hard pass.
  4. Keeping my shit together. We’ve (my children and I) have been dealt a shitty hand. While we were still allowed to be part of civilization, I think we handled it all pretty well. Take civilization away, enter crazy, angry, weeping us. Apparently our people were holding us together. Take them away, you’re left with sadness from the movie Inside Out. Not really that bad, but we’re crying much more often than we used to, we’re throwing many more tantrums than are acceptable and feeling a deep void that we can no longer fill with all of our loves.
  5. Staying connected. It’s true that deep down, I’m an introvert. I like time to myself. I like the quiet. The more time I spend away from my friends, the easier it seems to not reach out. I fear by the end of this I will turn into some kind of recluse who’s book number has jumped even higher and friend count at an all time low. I won’t really let that happen, but I will deem it a concern.

But, enough of that Debbie Downer crap. On to the good bits! While trying to find a sheet of paper that Colt has not drawn planes, trains and automobiles all over, I came across another list from my Jonesie. Now, they are more of the same things he’s said over and over, but if you know Ash, you know that repeating himself in countless different ways was kind of his jam. It’s another list that he wrote for Jack and while much of it is repetitive, when can we not use a little advice on how to better live our lives, especially now?!

  1. Be open minded.
  2. Be kind.
  3. Be empathetic, compassionate and loving. Accept people. Tell people when you love them. Don’t let moments of greatness pass you by.
  4. Be strong. Don’t be easily influenced by others. Stay true to your values and beliefs. Don’t succumb to peer pressure.
  5. Choose your friends wisely. Stay away from drugs, alcohol, violence and hate. Always choose love.
  6. Set goals and work to achieve them. Start small and work your way up. Stay motivated.
  7. Maintain your hobbies – continue with your love for sports. Explore nature. Read every day (this wasn’t on there but don’t read 5 books at the same time, don’t be like Mama!)
  8. Practice, practice, practice. You wan’t to hone your skills? You have to work at it. Every. Single. Day. Hard work always pays off in the end.

Well, I was always one to argue some of Ash’s points and I will say that we worked our asses off trying to stop the spread of cancer and that one didn’t work. So while hard work may not always pay off, it is always worth trying. Stay strong my friends. We’ll get through this, one painstakingly slow day at a time. Stay connected. Reach out. And always keep an open mind.

Worrisome Wording

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Words. Words can affect us in so many ways. When someone says I love you – it can make your heart soar. When someone gives you a compliment, it can make you stand a little taller, feel a little better (not me, they just make me uncomfortable but I’m weird that way). When someone criticizes you, it can ruin your whole day, maybe even your whole perception of yourself.

I have been riddled with anxiety for as long as I can remember. Losing Ash, hasn’t changed that, although, some things have gotten a little better (because my perspective has gotten a little better) and some things have gotten a lot worse because, of course they have. I was given some words last night that were probably intended to make me feel one way, but they did the exact opposite. “I worry about you.” I expect these words from my mother because a. that’s her job as my mother and 2. she’s a worrier by nature.

Someone unexpected shared these words with me last night (regarding me if that wasn’t clear) and it took an unexpected toll on me. At first, it sort of made sense. My husband is gone. The father of my children is gone. We are delving into elementary online learning/learning from home. We are stuck at home. I guess, in a way, we’re all a little worried about one another. These are crazy, unprecedented times.

But then, my brain did a 360 and spiraled in the other direction. Why are you worried about me? What have I done to cause you to worry about me? Am I not functioning? Am I not performing my job well? Am I screwing up my kids? Myself? My life? Am I not doing as well as I think I am? Because, given the circumstances, I do feel like I am kind of kicking ass and taking names. I get up every day. I take care of my body every day. I provide my children with most everything they need every day. We put one foot in front of the other every. single. day. Even when it’s the last thing we want to do. I have not, not one single time, laid in my bed all day crying my eyes out and drowning in my own sorrow and self-pity even though I have felt that I could. I have not given up on doing the things that I enjoy doing. I have not stopped taking my children to their activities (well, I have now because pandemic). I have not stopped providing them with adequate sustenance. We have pushed through. I might even go as far as to say we are thriving. We are mostly happy. We love each other. We support each other. We drive each other crazy.

So why are you worried about me?

These words hit me so hard last night, that I believe I had a bit of a panic attack. My stomach knotted up, it felt like there was an elephant sitting on my chest and my heart was racing. My brain dove into a tailspin thinking of all the things I must be doing wrong, how I must not be as strong as I thought. I tried to dose off, but every time I was nearly there, I would jerk awake, thinking I heard a noise, calling out hello to a dark room in the middle of the night, thinking things were crashing down on me. It was a rough night. I did not get a lot in the way of sleep. My mind kept playing tricks on me. And I started to worry about me. Where am I coming up short? What am I doing wrong?

Do you know what the answer is? Nowhere. I’m not doing anything wrong. I am doing my best every day. Certainly some days my best doesn’t look very good, but I’m still trying. And the boys and I, we are doing well.

I’m certain I took the comment the wrong way. I’m sure it was meant out of love. But for the anxious, it was a hard pill to swallow. I even expressed to my friend how it made me feel. And my friend tried to take it back. But the seed had already been planted and my anxiety bloomed completely.

I feel better this morning. I realize that people being concerned for my well being is a good thing. And I’m not sure why I took such offense. I guess I just felt stripped of my armor or that there was a chink in my armor that I was unaware of. And maybe there is. But that’s ok, too.

Why?

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The dreaded question. The one that has no answer. But I can’t help but wonder, why us? Why my kids? Why don’t they get to have their father? What did they do to deserve this? How were they chosen? Is it something that God chooses? Is it an eenie meenie miney moe kind of thing? Is our fate already decided before we’re even born? Don’t get me wrong, this is not something I would wish on anyone. But I especially don’t wish it on my children. Do they ever wonder why my dad? Of course they do, but they’re kids, and they go with the flow. They feel it and then they move on. I envy them for that. I feel it nonstop. All the time. So many memories. So many good times. So many terrible times. But it all made us who we were, who we are. And I just can’t help but question why. Certainly Jack and Colt don’t deserve this. They are young and wild and innocent and beautiful and intelligent and weird and perfect and imperfect. Why don’t they get a life with the man that helped create them? The man I chose. The man that chose me. Why did we get so unlucky? Fate? Luck or lack there of? God’s plan? Well, God, guess what? Your plan really sucks for us. We are ok because we are strong, but we are not ok because a very large piece of us is missing.

Tonight was not a great night in the Jones household. That’s actually a lie. It was great in a beautiful and sorrowful way. We were sitting at dinner, just chatting and I looked over at Colt, looking so much like his daddy, acting even more so like him and I asked his favorite memory with daddy. This lead to a mad dash from the table to my (my, mine alone, just mine) bedroom to grab our “Daddy Memory Box” filled with weird and random shit chosen by the boys. Colt, in his 5 year old excitement, brings the box to the table and grabs Ash’s wedding band (one of those rubber/silicone rings you order on Amazon for $8) and declares that his favorite memory of daddy. Ok. What about anything you did with daddy, I ask him. His reply: legos and golf were my favorite things to do with daddy. Mine too, buddy. Well, not Legos, they’re not my favorite but golf, that was definitely a favorite.

Jack then decided to take his mad dash from the kitchen table to gather all the memory/photo books we’ve created over the years. We paused our eating and just flipped through them. And we cried. We cried because we made so many great memories together. We had so much fun together. We also created some pretty awful memories, but the beautiful thing about life, and death, is that once someone is gone, even the bad becomes the good. Because it’s something to hold onto. It’s something that you learned from, something that seemed important at the time, but in reality, didn’t matter one damn bit. It’s not that someone becomes perfect once they are gone, it’s that you realize how much you loved the perfect and the imperfect. Because it helped shape who you were, who you are and who you will be. You can look back and laugh at what once caused you so much anguish. You can find the hilarity in the awful, the beauty in the pain, and the love in the hate.

Ash and I were passionate. We fought with passion and we made up with passion. And what I wouldn’t give for one more fight and one more makeup. I can remember the last time we lay together as husband and wife (you know, in the biblical sense). It was January, 2019. We were in a Residence Inn in the Brier Creek area of Raleigh. It was the day before chemo. We didn’t know then that it would be the last time, at least not consciously, maybe subconsciously. It wasn’t our best effort, either, for obvious reasons. It was a little clumsy, we both cried the entire time and it was short lived. It wasn’t passionate but it was full of love, full of trepidation, full of fear and full of sorrow.

I’ve dreamt of Ash twice in the last week. In the first dream, we were riding in the back of a pick up truck. Our children were with us (so unsafe). My mother was driving (she would never allow the children to be in the back of a pickup truck) and my father was riding shotgun. Ash was upset because he had just learned I’d made an offer on a lot without consulting with him (um, bullshit babe, I asked you nonstop for guidance) while my mom was trying to tell him how nice Mother’s Vineyard in Manteo is. The next one, I walked into some kind of cafeteria. He was sitting at a table with a bunch of unfamiliar faces. We locked eyes as soon as I walked in, he got up and started walking towards me as I was walking towards him, never breaking eye contact. And then I woke up. That one hurt.

So, again, why? Why my children? Why us? And why, following all of that, must we be stuck at hour homes with no outside contact? How are we supposed to handle that? I guess with the same strength and resilience we’ve handled everything else.

My parting words to you this evening are to hug your husband/wife tight. I know he/she is probably driving you crazy (especially since you’re stuck with only each other), but imagine if you didn’t have him/her at all. Would the bad times also become the good times? I’d bet my life that they would. Fight passionately and make up with that same passion. It’s all cliche but it’s all true.

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.

Dinner For Four

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Almost every night that I make dinner, which let’s face it, is a rarity these days, I set the table for 4. 4 napkins, 4 forks, 4 knives, 4 plates. It’s a habit. One that I can’t shake. And every time I realize I’ve set the table for 4, again, I heart aches just a little bit harder.

Dinner time is one of the most difficult times of my day. We used to make family dinner a priority. It’s where we would catch each other up on our days, say a family prayer, share a few laughs and yes, consistently correct the barbaric eating habits on display at any given minute. Sometimes the kids needed correcting, too! The point is, we made it a habit, to sit down together as many nights as we could, and share more than just a meal.

And now, it’s just the 3 of us. Mama, Jack and Colt – the dynamic trio. Dinner is quiet. We try to converse but it’s not the same. Sometimes we watch The Lego Batman Movie a. because it’s awesome and 2. just to fill the silence (and disgusting sound of chewing). If we have something to focus on, then we don’t focus on the seat that is set but empty.

There are a lot of little things, that we so often took for granted, that are daily reminders of what we lost. Every morning, getting Jack to school, Colt always got to stay home with daddy. Now he can’t. Daddy was always willing to jump into an X-box game with Jack, and actually loved it. Me, not so much. But now it’s my job. Because daddy can’t. I can’t watch anything scary anymore because Ash isn’t here to reassure me that there’s not a zombie hiding in the corner of the room just waiting for my leg to kick out of the covers so that he can sink his teeth into my flesh. He’s not here to help coach Jack’s baseball team this season. For the first time since Jack’s first year of baseball. He’s not here to hop on the tractor with Colt and mow even though the grass hasn’t started growing yet. I just saw a meme that said T-Pain was only 22 when he rhymed mansion with Wiscansin, one of our most favorite lyrics ever. And I can’t share it with him.

We were watching a movie the other night – How to Train Your Dragon 2. My boys are obsessed with How To Train Your Dragon. At the end of the movie, the father of the main character dies. My poor Colt, with all his feelings and all his emotions, completely lost it. Huge, crocodile tear sobs emitted from my poor baby. It was all too real for him. Something that most 5 year olds probably wouldn’t even grasp or understand, was all too familiar for my innocent boy. Both boys. Even Jack teared up. Because they lost their dad, too. They know that pain. They know it all too well.

I often wonder if I am enough for those 2 amazing boys. Why is this the life chosen for them? How is it fair? Yes, I know fairness has nothing to do with it. Life isn’t fair. People have suffered far worse things. But still. How is it fair? Why them? Why us? Will this pain that they are going through, the loss of their father, will it strengthen them? Will it motivate them to really live, to really love and to really thrive. Or will it do just the opposite? Will they let it cripple them and use it as a crutch for mediocrity? Will they turn to the wrong people and make the wrong choices? Am I strong enough to lead them down the right path?

I wonder when you get used to your husband and father being gone. I wonder if you ever do. I wonder if you eventually stop getting out 4 plates at dinner time when there are only 3 of you around to eat.

As my mother always likes to remind me, time will tell. I am going to choose to believe that this pain, this hurt, this awful, wretched, FUBAR bull shit they are having to navigate through is only going to lead them to greatness. Besides, Ash wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

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