Category: Grief

If I could have just one more day with you…

Published on by kerrymckimLeave a comment

I have often thought about what we would do if we could just have one more day together.  We weren’t expecting you to get sick.  There was no way to know when you went into the hospital that you would spend five months there and never leave.  What would we have done if we could just have one more day?

Of course, our day will take place in a time that you aren’t sick.  I don’t want to spend our day in the ICU.  If we could have one more day it would be a Saturday and during a time of the year where you aren’t busy with work. I thought about reliving our wedding day or a day from one of our vacations or Christmas but I decided that while those days were filled with great memories, I miss the non-glamorous memories more.   I am also going to be selfish and pretend it’s a Saturday where there are no sporting events.  I want my family all to myself.

We would start the day with an activity that you enjoy doing in the morning.  To be clear, I like this activity too. Just not in the morning because I am definitely not a morning person.  But this would be your special day back so we will do this activity at your preferred time.  Amazingly our daughter will sleep in so we can complete this activity without rushing.

Afterwards we will wake up our daughter.  She will be so happy to see you.  She will jump up and down in her crib and yell “Daddy!”  She will know who you are, I promise.  She recognizes you in photos.  We will let her watch an episode or two of whatever show is on Disney Jr.  As long as it isn’t Miles from Tomorrowland because we both don’t understand why Miles has a pet robot ostrich and it pisses us off.  But chances are, she will want to watch Elena of Avalor, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse or Doc McStuffins.

You will make coffee your favorite way which is in the French press.  I will attempt to make your favorite breakfast which is waffles but you will decide you would rather make them yourself.  You will probably use the Mickey Mouse waffle iron that Maddy bought you for her first Christmas.    We eat our waffles with real maple syrup because we don’t keep the fake stuff in our house.  You put fake butter on your waffles and I put real butter on mine.   

As we eat breakfast, we will watch soccer. Your team Chelsea is playing.  You put on your Chelsea jersey.  You make some rude comments about the other team.  You will yell a lot.  It could either be joyful or angry depending on how Chelsea is playing.  

Many Saturdays, we went to estate sales but it seems silly to spend the day shopping especially since you can’t take any of it with you.  Or we could go to Home Depot and you would most likely quote Frank the Tank because that always makes me laugh (“Well, um, actually a pretty nice little Saturday, we’re going to go to Home Depot.  Yeah, buy some wallpaper, maybe get some flooring, stuff like that.  Maybe Bed, Bath, & Beyond, I don’t know, I don’t know if we’ll have enough time.”)

Or we can stay home and watch another soccer game.  It’s your choice.

Lunchtime rolls around and you get to pick. You can have a Garbage Plate at McGeary’s or a Buffalo Burger at Swifty’s.  We can go have miniature hot dogs.  Or we can stay home and make tomato soup with grilled cheese.  Whatever you want.

It’s a beautiful day so we take our daughter to the pocket park near our house.  You push her in the swing and she loves it.   After that we will hang out on our front porch and watch the cars speed down the street.   You will put our cat on his harness and leash and call him a dick when he doesn’t want to go outside.  The ice cream truck comes and you can’t resist getting our daughter an ice cream.  And you get an ice cream for me too.

For dinner, I will make chicken enchiladas because they were your favorite.  You liked to add sriracha to them.  You were always happy when I made chicken enchiladas.  Personally I don’t think the recipe is very authentic but you don’t care.

I know I said I wanted you to myself but I have to share you for a little while because you have a lot of friends who miss you and will want to see you.  So we will have a sitter come and we will meet up with friends for Karaoke.  And of course you sing some Righteous Brothers “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’” and all of your favorites.  You always told me that you wanted to sing “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” as a duet but I always said no because you always made fun of the fact that I can’t sing.  So today I will sing that duet with you and you can make fun of me all you want.  

This ends up being a fun night.  It is great to spend time with our friends.  But the night must come to end even thought we don’t want it too.  We go home and go to bed and hold each other.  I will probably cry because I don’t want our day to end and I don’t want to say good-bye again.   But I must.  So I give you one last hug and kiss and tell you that I love you one last time.  I will be okay because I know that while it’s fun to think about this day, it will never happen.  At least I have our memories.

Condescension and clichés

Published on by kerrymckim4 Comments

I am going to preface this post by saying that what I am going to write about will be upsetting to some.  When you read it, please remember where I am coming from and that this post is just about how I feel.  This is my starting point for my healing process.  I am open to conversation on this topic but please respect that this is where I am at right now.  

* * *

I was born into an Irish Catholic family.  I was baptized at St. Mary’s Church in Billerica, MA in the fall of 1978 and had my first communion there when I was in second grade.  I got confirmed in 1994 at St. Joseph’s Catholic Church in Ellsworth, Maine.  Bryon and I got married at Blessed Sacrament Church in Albany and our daughter was baptized there a two years later. Two years after that, Bryon had his funeral there.  Aside for a period of time during my teenage years, I loved being a Catholic.  It was just as much a part of my heritage as was being Irish and I love tradition.  I have always felt at home within the Catholic Church and never felt the need to explore other denominations of Christianity or other religions.

Religion has played an important role in my life and in our married life.  We attended Mass on most Sundays and Holy Days. For awhile, we attended Young Adult Ministry until the program was discontinued. Bryon was a lector and sat on the Parish Council.  He also helped out with many parish projects.  My involvement wasn’t as noble as Bryon’s but I like to think that I took care of our daughter which freed him up for his ministries.  

Naturally, when Bryon was sick, I relied on my faith to get me through it.  I prayed, my family prayed, friends prayed, people I didn’t even know prayed. Friends and family put Bryon on their prayers lists and chains. People I didn’t even know put Bryon on their church prayer lists and chains.  People would reassure me that Jesus healed.  I guess we just didn’t reach the quota of prayers for healing.  We were short.

I used to love saying the Rosary.  I always thought it was beautiful.  I took great comfort in it.  I usually made sure to say it once a day during Lent.  I am ashamed that I wasn’t always good about setting aside the time to say it as much as I should but how am I supposed to say the Rosary now?  The same prayers that provided comfort now immediately transport me back to the ICU room and the words fill me with anxiety.

I was having a discussion with a good friend who lost her brother when she was in college. We were talking about how the cliches were the worst.  Most cliches aren’t that bad but they aren’t always helpful and then when you multiply them by hundreds it compounds the frustration.  Sometimes I think people feel the need to say something to try to make me feel better but can’t think of anything so they default to a cliche.  And those cliches usually make the grieving person feel worse.  Sometimes it really is better to say nothing at all.  We discussed that even if it true that God loves us or that it is part of “His plan”, now is not the time.

I keep hearing about a “plan”.  All of my suffering is part of a plan.  But this doesn’t make me feel any better.  God wasn’t the only one with a plan.  Bryon had a plan.  I had a plan.  A lot of people close to Bryon had plans that involved him.  All we are left with is pain.  How am I supposed to trust this “plan”?  How am I supposed to take comfort that there is some plan when this plan involves the world losing a good man, me losing my husband and my daughter losing her father?  I hope God is up there enjoying his plan being executed while there are those us that are suffering.  I hope God is happy about it because I am not.  I couldn’t care less about his plan right now.  I have some choice words about his plan that I will refrain from using here.  I have a hard time believing that God’s Plan has anything in it that can make up for this.

Bryon’s death isn’t just some bump in the road or a disappointment of some sort.  I lost my other half.  He is gone.  And the whole foundation of my life hasn’t just been rattled.  It has completely come down.  All of our dreams are gone.  Yes, I have some pieces that I have salvaged but I don’t think people really understand how big of a void Bryon’s death leaves in my life. And yes, I am aware that things can be worse. I still have my daughter who I love more than anything in this world and she is a piece of Bryon but she doesn’t replace him.

I keep hearing that God loves me.  Really?  I am expected to believe that?  When you love people, you don’t hurt them senselessly.  Bryon’s death was senseless.  He shouldn’t have died.  He deserved to live a long life. God chose him to die.  His death leaves an emptiness in my life.  I will not grow old with my life partner.  My daughter will never know firsthand what an amazing man her father was.  His death leaves a void among so many of our friends and his work colleagues.  So many people depended on him.  This is not love.

People tell me that they pray for me and my daughter.  I truly appreciate that you are thinking about us and wishing us well.  I just say thank you because I don’t have the heart to tell you that I think praying is pointless.

I also have realized how much I used to pray.  I used to pray for many things, specifically for people and for guidance.  I realized that I have not prayed since Bryon has died.  To me, there just doesn’t seem like there is a point.  I lived my life trying to be a good Catholic girl.  I tried to follow all the rules though I failed miserably at some.  I prayed so hard and God clearly doesn’t listen to me.  I have been told that God answers prayers, but not always in the way you want them.  If that was the case, then what was the point in praying for Bryon to get well?  If God just did what he wanted to do then what was the point of praying?  And if he was going to take him in the end, then why did he make him suffer for five months?  It was downright cruel to Bryon and it was downright cruel to those of us that cared about him and had to watch him suffer.

I can feel the judgement and the pity.  They are usually met with condescension and patronization.  Especially from people who are happily married and don’t know the pain of losing your spouse at a young age.  I know it is easy to look at me and feel pity.  I know, it must be so sad to see my faith crumble. I get it.  You would never lose your faith if this happened to you because your faith is much stronger. Trust me, you can’t even imagine this pain until you live it and I sincerely hope you never have to.

I don’t mind when people offer book suggestions.  I don’t mind honest, sincere suggestions.  I welcome deeper conversation.  But I don’t need to go to Mass at a different parish.  I am aware that the Catholic Church offers the same Mass in different parishes.  I have attended Mass in 4 countries and in two languages.  I understand how the Church works.  I know where to find Mass should I want to attend and I am going to be just as mad at God at your parish as I am at mine. 

I also don’t need a different religion. I can assure you that I am just as angry at the Protestant version of God or the Bible Church version of God as I am at the Catholic version of God.

Despite all of this, I still plan to raise my daughter in the Catholic faith.  The church, although it has its faults, is beautiful and it is her heritage.   I still have every intention of sending her to Catholic School.  I hope I am healed enough by then so I am not faking my faith.  For years, I looked down with disdain at “cultural Catholics” but maybe in the end, that is where I will be?  Maybe all these “cultural Catholics” have had horrible things happen to them, things that have shaken their faith to the point that they are going through the motions of the faith?  Maybe I have been judgmental toward them this whole time.

Many widows have found that their faith is stronger in widowhood.  Some widows have told me it took years before they felt that their faith was stronger.  Maybe someday I will be in that group.  Maybe in a few years I will be writing about how my faith is stronger than ever and that I have an amazing relationship with God.  Maybe I will be writing about how I healed and my faith was restored in a way that helps other young widows.  But until then, I am going to stay where I am and just hope that when people want to talk about religion and God with me that they do so without the condescension and cliches.

Top Gun Wake

Published on by kerrymckimLeave a comment

Friday 12:30pm

August 26, 2016

 

“Revvin’ up your engine

Listen to her howlin’ roar

Metal under tension

Beggin’ you to touch and go

Highway to the danger zone

Ride into the danger zone”

             ~Kenny Loggins

I walked into the viewing room at the Funeral Home to see Bryon for the last time.  Funeral Nick shut the doors behind me.  We walked up to the casket.  It had been a lengthy and rather difficult process to get Bryon’s body moved from New York City to Albany and Funeral Nick had told me the day before that he did not feel that Bryon was fit for a public viewing.  I had decided that was just as well because I wanted everyone to remember the version of Bryon that was full of life, not the sick and lifeless version of Bryon.

He was in his kilt.  Next to him were the three items I wanted him buried with: a rosary, a bottle of Maker’s Mark and a Top Gun DVD.  And Top Gun was playing on the two TV’s mounted on the wall on both sides of the casket.  Just like Bryon wanted.  My friends had done a phenomenal job at collecting photos of Bryon for the picture boards and they were displayed all over the room.

Funeral Nick had stayed up late working on his makeup which I thought was very kind of him considering that I would be the only person who would see him.  Funeral Nick was quick to cover Bryon’s hands, he didn’t want me to see them.  I didn’t question why.  I just assumed they were either discolored as they were turning blue during his final hours or that they were puffy because Bryon had a lot of extra fluid in his body or both.  Seeing Bryon all caked with makeup reassured me that I was making the right choice by having a closed casket.  Caked on funeral makeup was acceptable for my grandparents who lived into their 80’s and 90’s but not on a 30 year old man.

Funeral Nick closed the casket and left me alone to be with Bryon.  I went to walk around the room and look at the photos and flowers and I hear Maverick start singing, “You never close your eyes, anymore, when I kiss your lips.”  I could feel Bryon’s presence strongly.  I think he was trying to make me laugh.  He was right with me.  I laughed and cried at the same time.

When I had arrived I left my parents, daughter, extended family and close friends were out in the lobby. After I had a good look at each of the picture boards, I told a member of the funeral home staff that it was okay to let them in.  They kept me company. The funeral staff was bringing in the flowers that we still being delivered.  I remember that my best friend from Maine made sure that there would be no wardrobe malfunctions with my dress while the Top Gun volleyball scene came on.  Everyone looked at the picture boards until it was time for our pre-wake ceremony and for the priest to come by.

3pm was the official start of the viewing.  I remember that there was a long line of people.  I stood next to the casket and my daughter’s Godmother stood next to me.  People from so many areas of Bryon’s life came by; coworkers, friends from college and college, friends from politics,  friends from some of the various organizations he belonged to, friends of his parents, some of his relatives.  I remember that many of my relatives made it in from Boston, Florida and Maine.  My best friend and another friend arrived from Chicago.  During the procession, there was a break in visiting and my best friend from Maine brought me Wendy’s (perfectly timed) which I quickly ate in a conference room. The visiting hours ran from 3 pm to 8pm and it the line of people slowed down at times but never completely stopped.

I had gone to Target the day before and I bought a doll, a doll stroller and a Doc McStuffins doctors kit for my daughter to play with.  She is a trooper when it comes to having her around people but I wanted her to have some toys to play with.  And I wanted these toys to be a novelty so they had to be new.  My friends and my family all took turns playing with her.  I was greeting people and everyone made sure that I did not need to worry.  I remember a few times I would look around and not see her but someone always reassured me that she was being watched by someone.

So many people came to pay their respects for Bryon to our family and many friends stayed the whole evening.  I know the visiting hours were long but to be truthful, the whole night was a blur, a whirlwind.  After the visiting hours ended, a staff member of the funeral home sat down with my daughter’s Godmother and me and we discussed logistics for the next day and what to do with flowers.

It was late but a large group of friends went out after for dinner.  The group was comprised of close friends from different areas of our life; college, politics, local and out of town. I needed the company and to hear the stories about Bryon.  It was late and it was a big day tomorrow.

The mopey love song phase

Published on by kerrymckimLeave a comment

My early days of widowhood were filled with numbness as I worked through processing Bryon’s death as well as the death of all our dreams.  I am one of those people who likes to have some idea of what will happen in the future like a tentative 5 year, 10 year and 20 year plan.  I am not good at flying by the seat of my pants. I know that things can change but I was certain that Bryon, our daughter and the child we planned on having later were going to be there.  When Bryon was sick, I knew that it was possible that if he survived (which I believed he was going to) that he was probably going to have long term health problems that would have altered our plans.  But he was going to be there.  We would figure the rest out.

Then one day he was gone and so were our dreams.  The family of three (with plans to be four) had become a family of two.  And I have gotten used to the fact that that will be our future.  My daughter, me and our cat.  Maybe I will get her a dog to make up for the fact that she won’t ever have a brother or sister.  I am trying to reconstruct new dreams.

I have been shifting from feeling of numbness due to his absence in our daily life to reflecting on our life together.

I never really been one to date.  I didn’t have a serious boyfriend until my senior year in college.  He was the complete opposite of Bryon.  We dated for almost three years even though he didn’t really put much effort into our relationship.  At the time, I thought that it was love and left the relationship unimpressed with the whole concept of love. It definitely was not like the love I had seen in the movies. I don’t think he was a bad guy, he just did not seem to have much passion with me or for anything else.

All my life I had kept people at a distance.  I never let anyone get too close and can be quite stand-offish at times.  This probably factored into the reason why I never dated much.  I never liked letting my guard down.  It is much easier to not let people get close instead of opening yourself up and potentially getting hurt.  I spent my 20’s immersed in Maine Republican politics and the politics of the Young Republican National Federation.  While part of me enjoyed some superficial male attention, I really wasn’t that interested in letting anyone into my own world and exposing myself to potential hurt. As a result, I probably denied myself a lot of happiness during that decade.

All that changed in the winter of 2008.  I was still living in Maine and I had traveled to Albany, NY for a leadership conference put on by the New York State Young Republicans.  I was feeling more social than usual that weekend and I chatted with several charming gentlemen.  I must have made quite an impression on a certain younger gentlemen who stood next to me all evening at the bar and kept buying me drinks.  This younger gentleman brought me back to my hotel.  I started to get nervous because I felt that this younger gentleman was interested in me and I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.  I started to stress our age difference because he would surely lose interest if he knew how old I was.  He said he didn’t believe I was that old so I took out my driver’s license and said “That’s a ‘7’ not an ‘8’.”  He looked at it with complete disbelief and said that that can’t be right.  I said.  “Oh, yes it is.  I was born during the Carter Administration.”

The fact that I was born in the 1970’s (albeit late 1970’s) and that I am old enough to remember Ronald Reagan actually being president did not deter this young gentlemen.  For the next several months he showered me with attention on google chat and Facebook.  While I enjoyed the attention, I tried to discourage his advances.  He was too young.  Why on Earth would he want to date an old lady like me?  

I didn’t make it easy for him but Bryon eventually wore me down.  Our attraction was just too strong and it was just meant to be.   And to this day, I have no idea what he saw in me.  What made me special?  No man had ever made an effort to romance me or make me feel special but Bryon did.  What was it about me that made him think I was worth the trouble?

He was the first person I truly let get close to me.  This scared me and I am ashamed to say that I would test him even though I don’t think I did it intentionally. I just thought he was too good to be true and that he would surely lose interest in me.  Friends used to always say that I was a saint for putting up with his mischievous antics but he was just as much as a saint for putting up with me. I wasn’t always a picnic to deal with.   I have no idea why I couldn’t just accept that a great guy like Bryon would love me.

I just think about how he used to look at me during those romantic dinners, like I was the only girl in the room.  Or how he listened to every silly story I told on our first date.  I think about how sappy he got right before he proposed to me at Mahars and how happy he looked when I walked down the aisle on our wedding day.   I think about how excited he would get when I would say a one-liner that made him laugh.  He would reiterate to me that he was the funny one but once in awhile I can be really funny too.  I think about all the times he told me I was beautiful and all the times I got mad at him because I didn’t believe I was deserving of that compliment.

I think I am beginning to enter what I am thinking of as the Mopey Love Song Phase.  In the earlier days of widowhood, my sadness felt raw and intense but it still felt like an external feeling that I could fight off. My sadness doesn’t feel as raw or intense now but it feels deeper and more internalized. It is like the sadness has actually become a physical part of me and I accept that it is now a part of me. The emptiness sits like a big pit in my stomach and radiates through my bones.

Now that I am getting over the shock of Bryon being gone, I am bombarded with memories and trying to process the emotions that go along with all of those memories.  Our love story is played over and over again in my head. I tear up to think that as we were living our lives and making memories, we never knew that we weren’t going to get many years.  And there never would have been no way to know.

Six Months

Published on by kerrymckim5 Comments

It has been six months since you left us.

It has been six months since I last held your hand or looked into your brown eyes.

It has been six months since your body just couldn’t fight anymore.  

It’s has been six months since I had to give up the dream that you were going to recover and that we were going to be able to put this nightmare behind us.

It’s been six months since I walked out of the hospital for the last time.

Within the past six months, I have probably felt every emotion possible.  

I have felt anger.  Not at you, but at the situation.  That this had to happen.  That our daughter will grow up without you.  And at God for taking you from me.  Who does he think he is?

I have felt relieved that you are not in pain anymore.  Wherever you are now has to be better than the ICU.  I am also relieved because as you were dying, I was afraid that I was going to remember you as you were in that hospital bed.  But I remember you as the person you were when you were full of life.

I have felt numb and unable to deal with certain tasks.  Dealing with those tasks would be admitting that you really are gone.  

I have felt helpless because you did so much.  How can I do all of this without you?  

I have felt fearful.  I am the only parent left to take care of our daughter.  What if something happens to me?  How am I going to be a Mom and a Dad to our daughter?

I have felt guilt.  Did I do everything I could?  Did I miss something?  Was there something that could have kept you alive that I somehow missed?  

I have felt frustrated.  Taking care of our daughter by myself is tough.  I miss having you as my co-parent.

I feel empty every night as I sit at home by myself without you to talk to.  I feel empty every night when I go to sleep alone.  I miss you every day.

I have felt lonely because your death and absence leaves a huge void in my life.  I miss you so much that it hurts.  I miss our conversations.  I miss watching TV with you.  I miss emailing back and forth with you trying to figure out what to do for dinner.  You truly were my other half and my best friend.

I have felt happy because you left some great memories.  I love it when friends share funny stories about you.  You might be gone, but you still find a way to make us laugh.

I have felt comfort because I know that at some level you are still with me and you will continue to look out for me and our daughter from above.

I have felt grateful that you chose me to be by your side even if it was for a short time.  I am grateful for the love that you gave me.  I am grateful for everything that you have taught me and I am grateful for our life together.  

I have lost my faith.  I used to think God loved me but not anymore.  And I think he is kind of a jerk.  I used to believe in happy endings but my “Happily Ever After” has been taken away.  I no longer believe in happy ends or miracles.

I have felt despair because I will not get to grow old with you and that our daughter will not remember you.  Why did this have to happen?  I have a hard time with the fact that you will not get to watch our daughter grow up.  She has already grown up so much since you got sick. Who is going to take her to the Father-Daughter dance?  Who is going to walk her down the aisle when she gets married?  I know you left behind many great friends who are willing to be positive male role models for her and will be there for her and I am grateful for that.  But sometimes I still think it is unfair because it is supposed to be you that was supposed to do all of those things.

I have learned that I am a lot stronger than I have ever given myself credit for.  I am a survivor.  

I have had moments where I am about to call or text you but then I remember that you are not here.  I can’t ask you that question or tell you that story.  There is so much that I want to tell you. Your phone will go straight to voicemail.  Because I can’t bring myself to call the phone company and disconnect your number.  It’s just easier to pay the bill as I have been.   And speaking of phones, my phone is acting possessed and I don’t have you to fix it.

Some of your clothes are still hanging up in the closet.  Others are in bags but I can’t bring myself to bring them to goodwill.

You meant so much to so many people and you accomplished so much in your short life.  And you were only just beginning.  I can’t help but wonder what you would have accomplished if you were given the 80+ years on this planet that you should have had.  There were so many dreams and plans that you had for yourself and for our family.  Dreams that will be unfulfilled.

I am still trying to make sense of what happened and trying to accept that I will probably never make sense of it.  Why this had to happen?   We think we control our lives but at the end of the day, we can only control so much.  We just have to do the best with what we have at any given time. I am trying to accept that all of this had to happen for some reason but I don’t know what that reason is.  Whatever that reason is, it is just hard to accept that you had to die for it.  

I am sad because you are gone.  But also because I am starting to get used to you being gone.  Every time I throw something away, even if it is something like your holey socks, that is another piece of you that is gone.  But I know I can’t keep your holey socks around.  My emotions feel less raw but they are still there.  At times I feel like I can more forward, without you here.  This makes me feel guilty.  You are supposed to be here with me.  I didn’t plan on having to go it alone at this stage of my life.  We were supposed to be forever and always.  I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with you and that is not going to happen but I get a little comfort knowing that you spent “the rest of your life” with me.  

To the new widow(er)

Published on by kerrymckim5 Comments

Since I joined the Widows Club last August and even since I started this blog last month, many people have approached me about friends of theirs who have become young widows.  (Nothing against the guys but there seems to be a lot more of us younger widows.  I hear that the statistics back that up but I am too lazy to research it.)   It breaks my heart that so many people have been joining the club that no one wants to be a part of.  I am about five and a half months into my widowhood and I wanted to give some unsolicited advice, widow to widow(er).

First of all, I am sad that you are part of this club. You have just lost the love of your life, your best friend, other half, soulmate and partner in crime.  I don’t know the circumstances whether it was a long illness or a sudden accident but either way, it isn’t fair.  None of this makes sense.  You were supposed to grow old together.  Grief is rough regardless of who you lose but you will probably find that this is the worst grief you have ever had.  Whether your spouse may have died suddenly or been sick but there is nothing to prepare you for this.  My husband was sick for five months and came close to dying several times and I still wasn’t prepared for it.  I thought I was but I wasn’t.  Nothing can prepare you for the void you are going to be feeling.

You may not want to get out of bed.  You may not want to shower.  You may not be able to sleep.  You may need to be told where to sit and when to eat.  You may forget things.  This is called “Widow Fog” and it is real.  My parents and I spent an hour looking for my phone only to find that I had put it in the fridge.  I am sure I must have had a good reason for that.

You might hear a lot of about stages of grief.  It is total B.S.  First off, the emotions of denial, anger, bargaining, desperation and acceptance are only a fraction of the emotions you will feel and those feelings will not come packaged to you in perfect little stages.  You will probably have periods where you feel numb as well as periods where you feel every emotion at the same time. You may feel emotions you never knew existed.  There is no textbook process of grief.  This will be unique to you.

Don’t listen to people who tell you how to grieve.  You will grieve in your own way, on your timeline.  You can wear your rings for as long as you want and there is no rush to clean your spouse’s clothes out of the closet.

People are going to say things that don’t make sense and may upset you.  Just remember that people mean well.  They want to help the situation but they don’t know the right words.  So if their words upset you, just try to remember that.  I know right now you don’t care if “this is part of God’s plan” or that “you will find love again” or that “you should be thankful for what you have” and you know very well that sometimes God does give you more than you can handle.  There might be truth to those words (except that God doesn’t give you more than you can handle.  I vehemently disagree with that one), people don’t understand that that isn’t what you need to hear right now.

Widowhood is lonely.  In addition to losing your spouse, your friends that have been checking up on you will thin out as time passes.  They might see you and think you are doing okay.  They may think you need your space.  They might not know what to say or do.  They may be afraid to bring up your spouse in conversation because they will be afraid it will make you sad.

For the friends that do stay around, take comfort and spend time with them.  Try to engage as much as possible. Try not to isolate yourself.  Remember that those friends are grieving your spouse too.

Grief shopping is a real thing.  I know I got too familiar with Target and Amazon Prime.  Santa may have taken his grief out on Amazon this year but my daughter didn’t seem to mind.  It was to numb my emotions and it is important to not let it get out of hand.  This goes the same for other destructive behaviors.  Do what you need to do to take the edge off but just make sure you are still taking care of yourself and those around you.

You will feel like you are going through the motions.  I still feel this way.  But many experienced widows have told me that you need to fake it until you make it.  Continue living your life and someday you will be happy again.  Again, I haven’t gotten there yet but I am trying because I figure it is better than letting life pass by.

Seek out others who have gone through this.  There are tons of groups on Facebook.  There are also a lot of books written by widows and you can get many of them used for a penny on Amazon (with $3.99 shipping.)  I read as many as I could get my hands on because I wanted an idea of what to expect.

It is okay to cry and scream.  It is okay to smile and laugh.  It’s okay to pamper yourself.  It’s okay to spend time doing things you enjoy.  It is okay to not be okay.   It is okay to let people know you are not okay.  I know that one is easier said than done.  I am one of those people who feels that I have reassure everyone that I am okay even when I am not.

If it is all too much to handle, it is okay to see a grief counselor or therapist.

You are going to feel lost.  You were part of a couple, a unit.  Now you need to figure out who you are as an individual.  I imagine this is a long process as I am still figuring it out.  Don’t be afraid to try new hobbies or pursue new interests.

And lastly, you will never look at the world the same way again.  You will learn not to take certain things for granted.  While the world will be a sadder place, you will see more beauty in it.

Getting pretty for him…one last time.

Published on by kerrymckimLeave a comment

Wed-Thurs

August 24-25, 2016

It was late August and Bryon had been sick since March and I clearly had ignored my appearance.  I hadn’t worn makeup during that time.  My nails were bitten off due to the stress and I don’t want to think about how many gray hairs I had.  There were several instances over the course of Bryon’s five month stay in the ICU where he came very close to dying and I was too afraid to leave his side and went days without showering and I would wear the same clothes for days. Before this health crisis, I never would have dreamed of going more than 24 hours without showering or wearing dirty clothes but I learned that showering and clean clothes were actually optional.

Amidst planning Bryon’s funeral/farewell party, I realized that I needed to do something about my appearance.  I was talking to my good friend (and daughter’s godmother) and we both agreed that I shouldn’t look like a tired widow and that Bryon would actually be hurt if I didn’t get all prettied up for him and his farewell party.

My hair needed the most help but I was dreading going to the salon I had been going to.  Normally I don’t mind small talk but the last thing I wanted was to have to talk to the hairstylists.  I hadn’t been to salon in awhile and I know I would be asked about what was going on in my life.  I did not want to talk about how my husband died.  I shared these concerns with my friend and she told me not to worry.  She said she would call her salon and get me an appointment with the instructions to just do my hair.  The owner of the salon did my hair and she did talk to me but did not bring up Bryon’s death.  We chatted about how we knew mutual friends and we talked about our kids.

I decided to get acrylics put on my nails even though I hate them because Bryon liked my nails long.  He didn’t care if my nails are real or fake, he just liked them long.  But I honestly can’t tell you which nail salon I went to.  I have no recollection of getting my nails done but I know I had them done.  Perhaps “widow fog” (it’s a real thing, similar to “pregnancy brain”) was beginning to set in.  Keep in mind, I can remember the conversation I had with the nail tech that did my nails for my cousins wedding in Florida in 2004.  I can tell you about the conversation I had with the nail tech who did my mani-pedi in New Orleans in 2014.  But I can’t tell you which salon I went to the week Bryon died.  I just know that I got my nails done and that they didn’t do a good job because they started popping off a day or two later.

I needed something to wear for the wake and the funeral.  I had a few tired black dresses in my closet that I have worn to countless weddings and they would have worked but I felt that these events deserved their own specific event dresses.  It was weird to buy a dress for Bryon’s funeral without Bryon there.  Bryon was a “guy’s guy” but he was a stylish dresser and many times he would find clothes for me try on.  I preferred shopping with him over anyone else.  He knew my style better than I did and he was honest about how items fit.  I always valued his input.  But I was going to have to do this one alone.

I began my search at a store that is local to us in Upstate NY called Boscov’s.  For some reason I usually have good luck in that store.  I don’t know if Bryon was guiding me but I made my way straight to a rack that had black dresses with white polka dots.  Bryon always liked me in polka dots though they were my thing long before he came into my life.  I decided that I could wear this dress for the wake but I needed something more somber for the funeral.  Something that was solid black.  I did not see anything else at Boscov’s so I made my purchase and then head over to my other “tried-and-true” shopping options- Macy’s.

At Macy’s I selected a few dresses to try on but as I passed the clearance rack on the way to the fitting room, a black dress caught my eye.  It was my size to I grabbed that one as well.  I went into the fitting room and tried on my choices but they didn’t work.  I tried on the clearance dress and it fit perfectly.  This was the dress.

As I looked in the mirror, I had another “punched in the stomach” moment.  I realized that this would be last dress I would buy to wear for Bryon.   This was it.  He was dead.  There would be no more dresses.  No  more celebrations.  No more anniversaries.  No more weddings. No more fancy dinners.  No more formal nights on cruises.  This would be the last time I would get pretty for Bryon.  I cried in the fitting room.

Before I purchased my dress, I went to the toddler section because my daughter needed dresses.  My mother had bought a white dress with black polka dots that she had seen in passing knowing how much I liked polka dots.  But we needed at least two dresses, preferably three because I wanted an extra dress in case one got dirty.  It was a little hard to find a mourning dress in the little girls section but I found two black and white dresses that would work.

The last thing I needed to look pretty for Bryon’s funeral was makeup.  I hadn’t worn makeup in over five months and I couldn’t remember the last time I bought makeup before that.  So I went to the Mac counter within Macy’s.  I must have had a blank stare on my face because the makeup artist came over and asked me if he could help me with anything.  I just blurted out “my husband’s funeral is on Saturday and I don’t want to look like a tired old widow.”  He was sympathetic, sat me down and got to work picking out some simple makeup.  He said that we should skip the mascara and I agreed.  I bought the makeup and I was ready to go.  Bring on the wake and the funeral.

I want my old life back

Published on by kerrymckim4 Comments

Bring a widowed, single mother has been fun but I am ready for my old life back.

Lately my two-year-daughter has been struggling with transitions.  Each morning we go about our morning routine but getting her out the door has been a struggle.  She wants to stay home and play with her toys and watch Disney Jr.  Then when I pick her up from school, she doesn’t want to leave.  She wants to stay and play with the toys and stay with her friends.  This might just be normal behavior but it’s frustrating for me.  I am tired.  I no longer have Bryon to tag-team with.  It’s just me.  I don’t have Bryon to take a turn if I am feeling frustrated.  I also wish Bryon were still here so I can have a break when I need it without feeling like I am an inconvenience to people.

Bryon always seemed to make sure everything got done.  He made sure the bills were paid.  He made sure all the maintenance on our house and cars was up to date.  He made sure all paperwork was done because he loved to do paperwork.  When I had to fill out my FMLA paperwork when he got sick, I remember saying to friends that I hadn’t had to fill out paperwork in 7 years.  I wasn’t joking.

Sometimes I think all I did was change diapers, did laundry (which I never kept up with it) and make sure there was milk in the fridge.  Now I am trying to figure all these things out.  Luckily he bequeathed me many friends with strengths in many areas and I do have a lot of people looking out for me and my daughter but it can still be overwhelming.  Before Bryon got sick, I remember being worried and stressed all the time.  Bryon used to tell me that I looked for things to worry about because I liked to worry.  I wish I could go back to the older version of myself and tell her that she had it easy and to quit worrying.  I guess when you survive a crisis, it puts things into perspective.

Some days I am busy and I am distracted enough that I don’t need to think about being a widowed mother.  Unfortunately most days it is still all too clear the emptiness I feel.  Before Bryon got sick, he would regularly be in touch with me throughout the day whether it was to figure out what we were going to do for dinner, making plans if there were evening events or sometimes just to tell me a joke.  Now my days at work are long without him checking in.   We used to spend our evenings talking about our days and now I don’t have him to talk about my day.  We used to watch TV and now I watch our shows and I miss talking to him about them.

Sometimes I wonder if this is some sort of punishment for not being a good wife and mother.  This is some sort of lesson because I took Bryon for granted.  Every night I lie in an empty bed and I remember all those times I got mad at him for hogging my side of the bed. He would tell me that I hogged his side of the bed and I told him that was impossible because I was on the edge of the bed.  He claimed that he was on the edge of the bed.  I think about all those times where he wanted to cuddle and I would get annoyed because I just wanted to sleep.  I think about our nightly arguments because he liked to sleep with the TV on and I wanted silence.  Now I lie in an empty bed at night thinking about how much I miss cuddling and I would gladly sleep on the edge of the bed with the TV on just to feel his warm body next to me.

I wish I had my old life back so I can stop pretending I am okay.  

I wish I had my old life back because it would mean that I wouldn’t have to feel the sadness and pain I feel every day.

I wish I had my old life back because I am tired of feeling like I am going through the motions.

I wish my old life back because I want to feel alive again.

I just want my old life back.   But I am never going to get my old life back.

Missing you a little bit more…

Published on by kerrymckimLeave a comment

Today America experienced the peaceful exchange of power between two presidents.  It was a day of mixed emotions.  Some Americans were sad to see President Obama’s term come to a close  and are dreading a Donald Trump presidency.  Some Americans were thrilled to see President Obama leave office and are excited to see President Donald Trump take office.  Some Americans didn’t like either of them and are probably sick of all of the Facebook posts.  Most of us probably watched the events on TV while some Americans from all over the country traveled to Washington, D.C. to celebrate or to protest.

This post isn’t meant to incite political feelings.  I almost didn’t write it.  I also thought about writing it and waiting to post it until feelings about the current situation died down.  But the reality is, the pendulum of time and American opinion is always swaying back and forth and this blog isn’t about that.  This is a story about me and my husband.  This is not a political blog.  This is a blog about grief, life, love and resilience.  But politics does play a backdrop in our story so I ask that you put aside partisan politics before reading this.

Bryon and I first met the weekend after the election of 2006 in Louisville, Kentucky.  It was the Fall Board meeting for the Young Republican National Federation (YRNF) and it was during the Northeast Caucus.  I was the lone Maine representative in a room that was predominantly filled with New Yorkers and one New Yorker kept interrupting me when I was giving my report.  The other New Yorkers thought he was hilarious but I thought he was obnoxious and rude.

I went back to Maine and didn’t put any more thought into that rude New Yorker until March 2008.  I was attending a leadership conference in Albany put on by the New York State Young Republicans.  There was one person who seemed to be running all the logistics of the event and I went up and introduced myself to him.  He informed me that we had already met in Louisville.  Then I remembered that he was the one that kept interrupting me.  Luckily for him, I believe in second chances and I gave him the opportunity to redeem himself.

Needless to say that that weekend was the start of a friendship.  A friendship which turned into love soon thereafter.  We did the long distance relationship thing for a year and we both managed our political activities in our home states and with the YRNF.  A year into our relationship, I decided to take a leap of faith and I moved to Albany.  It was one of the scariest things I have ever done.  I never got involved in New York politics.  Partially because it was a whole different animal compared to Maine politics.  I let my fear of not succeeding in a more aggressive political arena keep me from even trying.  The other reason, as Bryon once accused me, was that I had spent years working my way up in Maine politics and I was simply not interested in starting from the bottom again.  He was absolutely correct.  But I also knew it was time to focus on my career, our relationship and eventually, our family.

At home we watched a lot of politics.  We watched all the debates, Republican and Democrat.  We watched Canadian and British elections.  Bryon was always fascinated with the Westminster system of government and I was mesmerized by the BBC infographics.  There even was a period of time that Bryon recorded “The Prime Minister’s Questions” each week off of C-Span.  As the title states, it is where members of Parliament ask the Prime Minister’s questions and if you think we are not civil in the U.S., then you need to watch The Prime Minister’s Questions.

Bryon was fascinated with Canadian politics and admired former Prime Minister Stephen Harper.  Somewhere in our house we have a Progressive Conservative Party of  Canada winter hat.  When I was pregnant, we were visiting his parents in Buffalo, NY and we drove to Canada to go to a Canadian maternity store called Thyme.  Our visit was during the Ontario Provincial Elections and commercials about Tim Hudak played on the radio.  Tim Hudak represented the ridings of Niagara South and true to any campaign, some commercials were scathing and others sang his praises.  One commercial sang his praises and then ended with “paid for by Progressive Conservative Party of Canada.”  Bryon and I both immediately said something to the effect of  “Oh, okay, we want Tim Hudak!”

One time Bryon asked me if I thought he should run for president.  I said no.  It was not the answer he was expecting.  He expected me to tell him he was smart and that he would make a great president.  He asked me why.  I immediately told him it that he couldn’t run for president even if he wanted to because he was not 35 years old.  Bryon breaks out in a huge smile and says he loves me so much and he loved that that was how I answered his question.

Bryon and I had one of those relationships where we would talk about everything from religion and politics to trivial matters like cat videos and our bodily functions. (Sorry but it’s true.)  Even though we were both Republicans when we started dating, we disagreed on many issues.  Over the years, we seemed to disagree less.  I like to think it was from all our conversations with each other.  I know he expanded my mind and turned me into more of a critical thinker.  Maybe I had some effect on him too.

As the 2016 Presidential Election got underway, we were critical of Donald Trump.  We both liked Marco Rubio.  We both has a soft spot for “Jeb!”  We watched every debate, except the one that played on the last night of our cruise.  One night I was at the gym when one of the debates began and Bryon had recorded it on DVR and replayed the highlights when I got home.

Then Bryon got sick and was fighting for his life.  The same election I was obsessed with no longer mattered.  I remember sitting in the ICU waiting room and watching the news and it was just so foreign and removed to me.  It was hard to believe that just weeks before, I was so emotionally invested in this election and now it seemed so trivial.  I didn’t care who was running this country as long as I had Bryon with me.  Because at the end of the day, the most important thing is my family.

My first election day after his death was much more difficult than I had anticipated.  I was lost as to who to vote for.  I did not have Bryon to discuss all the options.  Ironically, I usually never saw him on election days because he was working.  Usually he came home around 3 am.  When I went to bed that night, I was half-expecting to be woken up by him at 3 am and hear all about election night. But I was only woken up by the TV that I had left on.

I thought I was indifferent about the Inauguration but this morning I was thinking that while we were not fans of President Trump, we most likely would have been in D.C. today.  We would have been visiting with old friends from our YRNF days.  We might even have been crazy enough to take our 2-year-old daughter because we took her everywhere with us and we would want her to witness history.  Bryon would have been scheming of a way for him to have his picture taken with Joe Biden because, despite partisan politics, he loved Joe Biden.

I will probably always miss him more on political days.  My life will never be the same.  Bryon is gone. This is my new reality.  It’s just me and our daughter.  Bryon was not one to sit and watch life pass.  The best I can do is try to take my daughter on as many adventures and try to teach her to live life to the fullest just like her father taught me how to do.