Grief – Page 4 – Running Forward…My Way

How to handle it when people start to forget your spouse.

Published on May 10, 2018May 10, 2018 by kerrymckim1 Comment

It’s a scenario that is very common to those in the widow world.

Our beloved spouse dies. Whether your spouse died after a long illness or if your spouse died suddenly and unexpectedly, you are in shock.

Then we have a funeral or a memorial service. Friends, family, co-workers and even acquaintances may attend. People tell stories about the deceased and assure the widow that they will never forget the deceased and that they are there for her if she needs anything.

A good portion of those people disappear forever. They mean well but to tell a widow that they are always there for her. What did that mean? Was it a lie? The funeral is not the hardest day for the widow. It’s the weeks and months that follow.

The pessimistic side of my personality feels that these people only told the widow that because it made them feel better.

The optimistic side of my personality reminds me that that time period is a big jumble in my mind and it remains blurry in my memory, a lot like a dream sequence in a 1980s sitcom. But without the cheesy transition music. So does it really matter if all those people who said they would never forget my husband have forgotten my husband?

For the first few weeks after the funeral, there may be people to check up on the widow. They may see if these needs anything around the house. They may have made her dinner and played board games. They let her cry in her dinner. They may have kept her company as she drinks wine and binge watches the Gilmore Girls.

But gradually the amount of people checking in on the widow gradually drops off until one day she begins to wonder what happened to all the people who said that they would never forget their spouse.

It happens to every widow. On some level. And it stings.

I was shocked when I came to the realized that very few people talk about Bryon now. It’s pretty much just my inner circle. Even though I still feel like I am getting my feet steadily on the ground, it is like Bryon never existed to anyone outside my core group of friends.

And what happened to all those people who said they were going to share stories of my late husband with my young daughter? She was a month shy of her second birthday when my husband passed so she won’t have any memories of her own. I was counting on those stories for her to know her father.

I do have a core group of friends who are very present in my life and my daughters life. I am one of the lucky ones. Widowhood is lonely. Some widows don’t even have a core group of friends or family to lean on.

So how is a widow supposed to handle it when they are struggling to move forward and the rest of world has already moved on? And while I have moved forward, it doesn’t mean that I want Bryon to be forgotten.

Here are the five things I remind myself to feel better when it feels like everyone has forgotten my late husband.

Remember that this is what normally happens.

Many people were affected by Bryon’s death. I think of their grief as a hole and depending on their relationship with Bryon would determine the size of the hole.

On one end there are some people had small hole that might trip them if they weren’t looking. But they can just look up and keep walking.

On the other end (where our close friends and family are) is a hole that is the size of the hole that was next to Anne Perkins house on the pilot episode of Parks and Recreation. This hole is impossible to avoid and it caused drama in Anne Perkins life. Her boyfriend even broke his leg. It is much harder to function with this kind of hole.

But I am the widow. But I wasn’t dealing with a hole that needed to avoided or filled. I was dealing with the fact the whole foundation my life was built on was destroyed. Everyone else had their distractions and they had their homes to go back to with their spouses and significant others. It is hard to find distractions when your whole life is destroyed. My husbands death affected every area of my life.
Give yourself a pat on the back

Because you have done such an awesome job at surviving and existing that people don’t feel like you don’t need to hear stories about your deceased spouse. As far as they are concerned, you have moved on. Why shouldn’t they? We live in a society that has a twisted sense of grief. You are either completely beside yourself with grief or you are completely over it and there is little room in between.
Accept it

This is your life and you can’t make people understand. Unfortunately I feel like you can’t truly understand widowhood until you have been there. No one can understand the pain and emptiness that fills up most of our life. It is what it is. And really, that is a good thing that they are blissfully unaware. The world doesn’t need more hurt.
Realize that maybe people are actually thinking about your spouse and you just don’t know it.Maybe people are remembering your spouse and you are just not aware of it. We make assumptions based on what we see and maybe people don’t want to bring up your deceased spouse because they are worried that they are going to hurt you if they do. They don’t realize that we are not delicate flowers.
Take that upset energy and turn it into gratitude.
This one is the most important step. It is best not to waste your energy dwelling on negative feelings and instead, use that energy to be grateful for all the people who remain a positive force in your life. Even if that positive person is you.

I will hold onto those friends who have been by my side through the past two years. They aren’t getting rid of me.You can also take some of that energy and focus on yourself. Give yourself some self-love. You deserve it.

If you are widow, how did you cope when it felt like a loved one was being forgotten?

Why this widow donated her wedding dress.

Published on April 29, 2018April 30, 2018 by kerrymckim9 Comments

The dress came into my life on October 28, 2011. Bryon and I had been engaged since Sept 6, 2011, and had set our wedding date for Sept 29, 2012. We had our venue and wedding planning was in full swing. I needed a dress.

EQ4C1451-99 — Photo Credit: Heidi Benjamin Photography

I can’t say that I was looking forward to picking out a wedding dress. 5 out of 6 of my bridesmaids lived out of state so I was pretty much alone in the process. I wasn’t going to be sitting with a group telling Randy that I was saying yes to the dress. (Yes, that is a TLC reference)

I have also struggled with my weight throughout my life so that also left me apprehensive about the whole wedding dress shopping process.

I had looked through some wedding magazines and I had an idea what I wanted. I wanted a princess gown with sparkle but I didn’t want anything too crazy.

At that point in my life, I was working in a clerical position at a local emergency room and my schedule ran from Sunday to Thursday. Bryon and I decided that we would go to Boston because Filene’s was going one of their “Running of the Brides” events on Friday, October 28, 2011. It ended up being the last time Filene’s did the “Running of the Brides.”

EQ4C1578-177 — Photo Credit: Heidi Benjamin Photography

These events were known to open at 4 am and be full of brides and their teams running around grabbing whatever they could find. Bryon and I decided that we would aim for a ten a.m. shopping time after things settled down and we left Albany for Boston around 6 am.

Bryon was not going to go shopping with me. We were old-fashioned about many things and seeing my wedding dress was one of them. Luckily, one of my bridesmaids who lived in Maine made the trip down to Boston to help me shop. Bryon decided that he was going to take a tour of Fenway Park while we were dress shopping.

I told my friend my vision and my size range. I looked at a few racks and found exactly what I was looking for but it was a size too small. Yes, I planned to exercise and lose weight and all that but I didn’t feel comfortable relying on my plans. I knew it was safer to err on a larger sized dress and have it altered own.

Luckily this dress was a mass-produced Alfred Angelo dress and I quickly located the same dress in my size. I quickly located my friend who has a few dresses she found for me to try on. Then I stripped down in a busy store and put on the dress. Normally that might seem bizarre, but that morning, everyone was doing it.

Buying my dress at Filene’s “Running of the Brides in Boston, 2011. (Cellphone picture)

I knew the moment I put on that dress that this was it. This was my dress. It was love at first sight. It was a princess gown but not too poofy and just the right amount of sparkle.

There was what looked like a few black grease stains on the bottom but I figured they would come out with dry cleaning. (Spoiler alert- they did!)

I didn’t even try on the dresses my friend picked out. We both knew there was no point.

I called Bryon to tell him the news. He couldn’t believe that I picked out a dress so quickly as his tour of Fenway Park hadn’t started yet. I told him how much the dress cost ($500) so he could input the data into his Google spreadsheet. He loved Google spreadsheets.

While Bryon took his Fenway tour, my friend and I took the subway out to where Bryon and I had parked our car and I locked my dress in the car. We went back into the city and we met Bryon for lunch at Boston Beer Works right outside of Fenway Park.

Photo Credit: Heidi Benjamin Photography

Photo Credit: Heidi Benjamin Photography

I don’t remember much more from that afternoon. I had my dress and I was happy. Bryon was happy that I was happy. We walked around the city. We went to Cheers (it will always be the Bull ‘n Finch to me) and Bryon got annoyed by some tourists that were blocking the door. We had dinner at an Italian Restaurant in the North End that Bryon had seen featured in Gordon Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares. Bryon had a bit of a man-crush on Gordon Ramsay and gushed after a trip to the men’s room saying he went in the same urinal that Gordon Ramsay must have used.

EQ4C1735-282 — Photo Credit: Heidi Benjamin Photography

Our wedding came and went. It was my day. It was everything I dreamed it would be and I felt like a real princess.

Now it is five and a half years later. My husband is dead and I have no use for this dress.

I am never going to wear the dress again. I mean, even if I get married again, I am not going to wear it again. For one, it’s the dress I wore to marry my first husband who is now dead. Secondly, even if it wouldn’t be weird to wear the dress again, my tastes have changed. It was the perfect dress for me in 2011-2012 but now it wouldn’t suit my style in 2018.

EQ4C1749-290 — I can remember telling Bryon I wasn’t walking down the steps in the heels I was wearing. He obliged. Photo Credit: Heidi Benjamin Photography

The dress has sat in the back of the closet in my spare bedroom. I never had it cleaned after the wedding and the bottom of the dress is dirty from being dragged on the floor all night.

When Bryon was alive, he encouraged me to get the dress cleaned and then sell the dress but I just couldn’t bring myself to part with the dress I wore on one of the happiest days of my life.

Now, this dress, which is a symbol of my happiness is also a symbol of my sadness.

And I began to wonder what I should do with this dress.

The first thing people usually suggest to me is that I should save the dress for my daughter.

While I think it is touching when someone wears their mothers’ wedding dress, I felt like I would be burdening my daughter. I didn’t want her to feel like she had to wear my dress.

Styles change. Yes, she could change the style but the dress was strapless, to begin with. Also, the dress was made out of polyester, not some fancy fabric. Lastly, I hope my daughter doesn’t struggle with her weight like I do and the dress size may not be easy to work with.

I feel that my daughter deserves her own “say yes to the dress moment”. A moment that, God willing, I will be there to witness.

output — Flower Girl Dress Shopping, 2018 (Cell phone photo)

The second reason I don’t want my daughter to wear my wedding dress is a bit selfish.

I have attended two weddings since Bryon passed and my daughter and I will be in a party wedding very soon.

And at each moment I am always taken aback at the father-daughter moments. Because Bryon won’t be there to walk her down the aisle. He won’t dance with her. (Which he once mentioned he wanted to dance to Sitting at the Dock of the Bay because it was in his favorite movie, Top Gun. I told him it would be our daughter’s decision, not his.) He won’t be beaming with pride. He won’t be making jokes, pretending to be annoyed at how much the wedding cost.

Now I don’t know who is going to walk my daughter down the aisle.

Maybe she will have a stepfather. I am optimistic that I will fall in love again. And he will be a wonderful man because I wouldn’t settle for anything less.

EQ4C1939-397 — Photo Credit: Heidi Benjamin Photography

Or maybe my daughter will have her grandfather walk her down the aisle. Or maybe her Godfather will walk her down the aisle. Or maybe one of the many uncles she has, the men who were Bryon’s closest friends. She has lots of great men in her life to choose from.

But the only thing that is certain is that Bryon won’t be walking her down the aisle and that moment is going to take me aback. Even if that moment is brief, that moment will be there. I will feel my breath being taken away. I will feel like I am being punched in the stomach. It will sting. There is a good chance I will tear up. Because even though so many people love my daughter, the man who gave her life and loved her so much won’t be there to walk her down the aisle.

EQ4C1993-423 — Photo Credit: Heidi Benjamin Photography

And if she were in my wedding dress, it would be too hard for me.

So this brings me to this wedding dress from one of the happiest days in my life that was a symbol of all my sadness.

I am in the process of clearing Bryon’s belongings out of the house. Letting go of each item is a process, no matter how small. First I have to decide if an item holds a practical use for me If not, does someone I know have a practical use for the item? Is the item broken? Those questions are usually easy to answer. It’s the sentimental items that are tough.

Sometimes I break down and cry. Sometimes I get angry because he is dead and all I have is…stuff. Sometimes I feel empty. Sometimes I feel nothing at all.

My wedding dress was definitely a sentimental item.

I felt like my wedding dress wasn’t done yet. My dress had done what it was meant to do. It had served its purpose. It made me feel beautiful on one of the happiest days of my life. I felt like my dress wasn’t mean to just sit in my closet and remain a symbol of my sadness.

One day I felt like it was time to let go of my dress.

I remembered hearing about charities that take donated wedding gowns and making gowns for babies who have passed away.

Just like I knew right away that my wedding dress was the one, I knew immediately that this was what I was meant to do with my wedding dress.

The families of those babies are in a deep and profound grief and while I don’t know the pain of losing a child, I do know deep and profound grief. I felt like I needed to whatever I could to help.

I couldn’t think of a more dignified second life for a dress that made me so happy. That dress didn’t deserve to sit in a closet, avoided. That dress would go on for a deeper purpose.

It brings me a sense of healing to donate that dress will, in some form, bring comfort to a grieving family. My wedding dress made me look beautiful at my wedding and lives on in my memories and these angel gowns may be the last (and maybe the only) chance for these grieving parents have to see their child dressed in something beautiful.

I went to google and saw that most of the charities that made angel gowns weren’t taking wedding dress donations. I looked through my google results and saw that there were many other worthy organizations that accept weddings dresses for various uses. But I felt drawn to this particular purpose.

EQ4C2206-533 — Photo Credit: Heidi Benjamin Photography

After searching, I found the Facebook page of a charity made angel gowns and it was local. I sent the charity a message over Facebook messenger to inquire if they were currently accepting and they responded within the hour. They were accepting wedding dresses and I could drop it off at a Ford dealership on the other side of town.

I also learned that they were looking for shipping sponsors to purchase VISA gift cards as these gowns sometimes have to be overnighted free of charge to the recipients. Gift cards to Wal-Mart and Jo-Ann’s were also appreciated as these seamstresses were volunteers and can always use donations for materials to decorate these gowns. I did decide to be a shipping sponsor and a donated a VISA gift card along with my dress.

EQ4C2273-579 — Photo Credit: Heidi Benjamin Photography

It was also requested that the crinoline be removed. Crinoline is that netting-like material that makes up petticoat. My dress had a lot of it.

I took the dress out of the closet. Then I took it out of the garment bag. I looked at the dress one last time. I contemplated trying it on the dress on but I just couldn’t bring myself to do that. As requested by the charity, I removed the crinoline. Then I removed the sparkly band that sat just under the bust of the dress. I decided that I would set it aside for my daughter. She can incorporate it into her wedding, should she choose to do so.

Then I cried. I bawled.

I hadn’t bawled like that in many months. Sure my eyes tear up a little but I couldn’t remember the last time I bawled like this.

EQ4C2308-602 — First date. Engagement. Wedding Day. All at this bar. Photo Credit: Heidi Benjamin Photography

I put the dress back in the garment back and brought the dress downstairs where it hung on a hook on the exterior door of my kitchen.

The dress sat there for 4 days because I did not have the time to bring the dress where my daughter would not have been present. I was afraid that I was going to be an emotional mess and I did not want her to see that. Though part of me dragged my feet because this would be final.

One morning after I dropped my daughter off at daycare, I decided it was time. I put the dress into my car and drove to Latham Ford.

Dropping off the dress was an easy process. The salesman held the door open for me and told me to go over the receptionist. The receptionist took the dress and thanked me.

And then I left.

At that moment I felt nothing and everything all at once.

My dress was gone.

I couldn’t ask for it back.

I didn’t cry.

I know I made the right choice for me.

* * *
All wedding day photos are courtesy of my wedding photographer, Heidi Benjamin. Thank you for being so gracious.

http://www.heidibenjamin.com/

Widowhood: The toughest pills to swallow

Published on April 24, 2018 by kerrymckim2 Comments

I just want to start this out by saying that I am not taking any pills. Only the occasional Ibuprofen or antacid. I am only using that term metaphorically.

But I decided to write about the hardest things that I have had to accept.

Not having closure
I just want to preface this part that there is no easy way to watch someone you love die.

But I didn’t always think that.

For a long time, I was jealous of almost every other widow. I was jealous of the widows who lost their spouses quickly because they didn’t have to watch them suffer. I was jealous of the spouses who had a diagnosis and a life expectancy because they got to chance to say what needed to be said.

I got neither.

Bryon’s illness was unexpected. And he was put on a breathing machine so he couldn’t talk. And he was so weak that he couldn’t write. He could mouth words but I couldn’t always read them correctly.

I had so many things I wanted to tell him when he got better. And I will never get to.

During those months, I did not know if he was going to live or die. Obviously I was hoping for the better outcome. For five months, I lived day by day, desperately clinging to hope.

A friend of mine referred to it as limbo but it was complete hell.

After I was told there was nothing left that could be done, a part of me was relieved that the nightmare was going to be over soon. It wasn’t going to end the way I wanted it to end, but at least it was going to end.
Never getting to that sweet spot
Anyone who has ever been married knows that marriage isn’t always easy. Bryon and I loved each other fiercely but we both had strong personalities which presented it’s own set of challenges. We both struggled with our own vulnerabilities. We were also competitive.

For many years, I was resentful that I had to leave Maine and relocate to New York. And I made sure Bryon knew it.

But we pushed through. We became parents and we settled into our life as a family. I truly believe our last year was our best. We were just about to get to a really sweet spot in our marriage and it was all taken away.
Letting go of the “what ifs” and the guilt
In the early days of widowhood, I kept wondering what if? I thought about all the “what ifs” that accompanied his illness and his death.

I thought about all the “what ifs” that accompanied our relationship. What if I had been a better wife? What if I hadn’t argued with him about XY and Z?

This has been one of the hardest things to accept. That I did everything I could do to and that it wasn’t my fault. I needed to accept that sometimes horrible things just happen. And this one happened to me.
Even if he survived, things would never have been the same
When Bryon first died, I would always think about how much better my life would be if Bryon hadn’t died. Especially when things would go wrong around the house.

I had a jolt of reality and this was a painful jolt.

During those early months, whenever I would wish Bryon were still alive, I imagined him as he was before he got sick. The strong and healthy Bryon I knew. But over time, I began to admit to myself that had Bryon survived, he would have been a very sick and disabled man.

Our life would have been very different. I wouldn’t be living the comfortable married life I once knew. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed between working full time and being a single mother but had Bryon survived, I would still be working full time, taking care of my daughter and I would have had to take care of a very sick husband.

Don’t get me wrong, I would have done it. You know…in sickness and in health. But I wouldn’t have had the life I knew before. My life would have been much harder.
Reconciling the past and the present
One of the hardest things I have had to accept if that there is no reconciling my past and my present.

During the early months of grief, I would have given anything to get Bryon back.

But the further removed I become to my old life, the more I change. And I have to admit to myself that I don’t want to be the person I was when Bryon was alive.

I have memories that I treasure from our life together but I was such a different person back then. And I don’t want to be that person. She didn’t appreciate what she had. She was ungrateful. But I can’t hold it against my younger self. She didn’t know how good of a life she had and how easily that life could change. And there was no way she could know.

I am a different person now. The trauma of widowhood pushed me to re-examine my life and do some soul searching. For the first time in my life, I actually like myself. As time goes forward, the harder it becomes to imagine my old life. Because if I had my old life, I wouldn’t have my new self. But even if I could bring my new self into my old life, would Bryon even like my new self?

I guess there is no point in dwelling on it.

I still get sad sometimes

Published on April 9, 2018April 9, 2018 by kerrymckimLeave a comment

And it’s been 596 days since I have become a widow.

596 days since my daughter lost her father.

596 days since the world I knew ended and my future was taken away from me.

596 days where I have felt lost and broken.

596 days of wondering what I was going to do with the rest of my life.

596 days of guilt. Even though my head knows I have nothing to feel guilty about, I still feel it.

596 days of wondering “what if…?”

596 days of guarding my emotions because other people can’t handle them. Because making sure someone doesn’t feel discomfort for a short period of time is more important than the emotions of a person who deals with or had to deal with this hell every day.

596 days of rolling my eyes when people make insensitive comments knowing that they mean well. I envy their naivety.

596 days of missing what I had and wondering if I will ever be loved again. Though my love for Bryon was unique (as every love is) I wonder if I will ever feel that way again.

596 days of feeling like I am on a deserted island. I know people try to understand but sometimes I really wish I could just be “normal” like everyone else.

596 days of having to work at being happy. I will avoid anyone that makes me feel worse about my current state of life.

596 days since I have changed but people don’t see the real you. They want you to be whatever version of you that they previously knew. Or thought they had. Or they just see you as a broken widow, not the stronger person that you are really are. The old me is dead or on sabbatical until I decide where those old versions of myself fit into my new life.

596 days of protecting my boundaries. People will try to manipulate you. Even people who you thought were friends. People will pretend they are helping you in a public forum but never pick up the phone or text. There are people who think that your private life is their business just because Bryon was popular and I have a blog. But I choose what I write about on my blog and I choose what is private and will continue to enforce that boundary.

596 days of sadness. And while my sadness rarely breaks me down anymore, it still runs in the background, kind of like an app you forget to close on your cell phone. Once in awhile, it builds up and you have to deal with it.

I remember being told that it gets easier. And it has gotten easier. But I still miss him.

Sometimes I wonder if it the grief is subsiding or if I am just getting used to Bryon being gone. When Bryon first died, my whole world was rocked and I was in the “widow fog” for about a year. Now I have gotten some of my footing back and the fog has lifted but I am more likely to miss the little things. I don’t have my fog to protect me from reality anymore.

I am so over this whole widowed thing.

When I really died…

Published on March 29, 2018March 29, 2018 by kerrymckim1 Comment

When I first started this blog, I said that part of me died on August 21, 2016.

That was the day that Bryon died.

And that is true.

But it is also a lie.

The “death” of me really began on a different day.

My death really began on March 29, 2016.

Two years ago today.

It was Bryon’s 5th day in the ICU.

He had spiked a fever of 105F the day before.

And on that day, his kidney’s shut down.

Then his other organs started to fail.

It all happened so quickly.

Septic shock.

“Your husband might not make it.”

I made phone calls to those close to us. Friends dropped what they were doing and rushed to the hospital.

My parents took my daughter, then 18 months, out of school because they decided that she was probably the only person who could bring me any sort of comfort, which she did.

I remember saying to my mother that Bryon couldn’t die because my daughter wouldn’t remember him.

I was told that my husband had to be rushed into emergency surgery.

A surgery he might not survive.

It did not seem real.

How could the strongest person I know, both mentally and physically, be clinging to his life?

My parents left with my daughter because everything seemed too hectic for someone that small.

It all seemed surreal.

My husband might not survive.

He came to the hospital to get better and all he seemed to get was progressively worse.

And now I was told he might die.

He couldn’t die.

I needed him.

I couldn’t do this alone.

Our daughter was too young.

Some of our closest friends sat in the waiting room.

In silence.

With fear in our eyes.

Waiting.

Everyone in that room fell somewhere on the Catholic spectrum and we learned what “purgatory” meant.

After what felt like an eternity, we got news that Bryon survived the surgery but it was uncertain if he was going to make it through the night.

It was during the flu season and only two “visitors” were allowed in the room with him so everyone took turns sitting with me by his bedside.

He did make it through that night.

And the next 145 nights.

And while part of me died 145 nights later, the death began on that day.

I lost innocence.

My naivety.

I lost my sense of safety and security.

The old me is dead.

A new me has emerged.

A wiser me.

A more grateful me.

A person who takes life a little less seriously.

A person who isn’t so concerned about being a people pleaser.

A person who has no trouble telling people who go “eff off”.

But today marks the day that where I was forced give up the safe life I knew.

And I am okay.

I am surrounded by those who truly love me. People who embrace the “new me” and strive to understand what I went through the best they can. All while they mourn the man they knew too.

But I would be lying if I didn’t say that today was tough.

Because it reminds me of all the pain I went through and the loss of a great man.

I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I was having moments.

But it is okay.

I keep those moments to myself.

I only cry when no one is around to see it.

My last normal day

Published on March 22, 2018March 22, 2018 by kerrymckim1 Comment

Two years ago today was my last normal day with Bryon.

It was a Tuesday.

I can tell you that it was the day of the Brussels Explosion but I learned that from Google.

And of course, the 2016 election was going on. But I don’t remember watching the news or talking about it with Bryon.

I probably did mundane things like change my daughters diapers and feed the cat.

I know I worked that day.

I don’t remember what I wore.

I don’t remember driving into work and parking my car.

Maybe I got a French Toast Bagel with plain cream cheese and a medium light roast coffee from Panera for breakfast like I did most mornings.

No clue what I ate for lunch.

I don’t remember leaving work.

I know I must have picked my daughter up from daycare because Bryon wasn’t cleared to lift her yet.

I don’t remember arriving home.

We probably watched some TV that night but I can’t remember what we watched.

I don’t remember what we said to each other before bed.

For the life of me, I can’t remember a single specific about that day.

It was the last normal day of my normal life and I can’t remember a single thing.

I did not know that the very next day, my life would change forever.

Emotional hangovers, the passage of time, and destiny

Published on March 10, 2018March 10, 2018 by kerrymckim5 Comments

In the past week or two, I have gone from being incredibly sad to being depressed to being angry.

It has been a roller coaster.

(And of course, I can’t mention roller coasters without thinking about Step by Step.)

The roller coaster started on the day I realized Bryon had been dead for 18 months and it ended (I hope) yesterday when I realized it was the second year anniversary of Bryon’s original surgery.

I am emotionally hungover.

It was something I had to go through. I had to get those emotions out. I think I am coming out of it and I feel very different about myself and my life.

I have had to take a step back. I didn’t deactivate my Facebook but I am currently what I call “Facebook-lite” right now. It felt like the more I engaged Facebook and all the happiness of others, the more isolated I felt. I had to turn inward.

I am lucky for my friends who knew the exact amount of space to give me. They have been giving me enough space to work through my mood but they know I don’t really want to be alone. My friends also did not take my mood personally. And for that, I am grateful.

Lately I have been thinking about the passage of time.

Widows are very keen on noticing the passage of time. It’s like a widow super power.

We notice it beyond the Facebook memories.

Facebook reminded me that Bryon and my love story began ten years ago last weekend.

I realized that in a period of ten years, Bryon and I spent a total of 8 living years together, almost 4 of those years we were married. And the last 2 of those 10 years were spent in trauma and then grief.

Since Bryon fully entered my life, 20% of that time has been engulfed in sadness.

That blew my mind.

It also blows my mind to think that when my daughter turned three, she has essentially spent an equal amount of time without her father than she had with her father since he went into the ICU when she was 18 months old.

This July she will officially pass the period of being alive longer without him than she had with him. Two months before her fourth birthday.

It also blew my mind the other day when I walked into my daughters daycare. I saw my best friends younger son and he walked over to me. I picked him up. Then I thought about how he was born after Bryon died. He never knew him. And he’s getting bigger every time I see him.

When Bryon first died, it felt like we were still married. His clothes were still hanging in the closet. I still had Bryon’s shows recording on the DVR. I still wore my wedding rings.

Eventually the clothes came down as I needed a place to put the clothes I bought during the retail therapy sessions.

I started deleted his shows on the DVR to make room for recorded Disney princess movies and episodes of Doc McStuffins.

And eventually I stopped wearing my wedding rings because I needed to stop being reminded of what I lost.

Now our marriage feels like it is in the past.

Sometimes I forget what it was like to answer to someone else.

It feels like another lifetime that I had someone to email in the middle of the day to figure out what they wanted to do for dinner. I used to love to cook but now dinner usually consists of some heated up chicken nuggets or if I am feeling fancy, I actually cook spaghetti.

When I see my daughters classmates and all their new baby brothers and sisters, I think about the fact that if Bryon had never gotten sick, we’d probably have a new baby brother and sister for my daughter.

Maybe in some parallel universe that is still happening. Maybe in some parallel universe we are a family of four. Maybe in some parallel universe we buy a bigger house with a real fireplace. Maybe in some parallel universe Bryon’s career is really taking off. Maybe in some parallel universe we have gone on more Caribbean Cruises.

But in this universe, I tell my daughter that a baby sister isn’t happening. Obviously for reasons she doesn’t understand.

The bigger house also isn’t happening either. Nor the Caribbean Cruises. And I no longer have the husband with a successful legal career.

As time marches forward, I have to let go of the life Bryon and I had. At times I do okay but at other times it is a slow and excruciating process that can only be done one day at a time. It can only be done on a timeline that only I can decipher.

I am in a weird place where I am starting to feel distanced from my married life and dead husband yet I cherish the memories and am trying to remember everything I can so I can pass them onto our daughter.

I am emerging to widowhood trying to find my place. I look at my surroundings and see the shell of my old life.

When I see all the perfect little intact families at my daughters daycare, I see my old life.

Now I am a single mom who feels compelled to tell the other parents that I am widow because I don’t want to be judged for being a single mother. I find myself wanting to say “My daughters father isn’t a deadbeat. He’s just dead. That’s why he isn’t at this party. Though he probably is here and we just can’t see him or hear his wise-ass comments.”

But now I am searching.

I don’t know where I belong. I don’t know what is next.

This is new territory for me. Because the old, non-traumatized, pre-widowed Kerry did not know how to live in the present. She only knew how to dwell on the past and worry about the future.

There is no point in dwelling on the past because it is past and there is nothing we can do to change it.

And there is no point in worrying about the future because there is so much of it we can’t control. We can’t control the economy or national politics. We can’t control the housing market. We can’t control other people or their actions. So we might as well not worry about it.

We only need to worry about the present. Now.

That is hard to do when you are working through grief. How are you supposed to focus on the present when you are dealing with sadness, anger and guilt?

That is what I have been struggling with. Since Bryon died, I knew I wanted to live again. I want to love again.

But wanting to live again and actually living again are two different things.

And I don’t even want to think about actually loving again. Not because I don’t want that. I do.

But I haven’t been on a first date in ten years. Yeah…

(And to my next future husband who googled my name and finds this- I am really not crazy. Well maybe a little but really, I am just grieving. Actually I am kinda smart and kinda funny. People tell me that I am a good cook and I will stay by your side should you wind up in the hospital. Sickness and in health…I nailed it.)

This brings me to destiny.

I believe we all have a destiny.

Bryon lived a short life where he made a different and touched so many lives. His time on earth ending with a wake (viewing? I grew up saying wake and I am going with that.) where the traffic was backed up so bad that the police had to come and direct traffic.

My daughter has a destiny that is unfolding. She wants to be a doctor. I told her that’s awesome as long as she makes sure patients get better care than her father did.

As you saw yesterday, she is also an author.

Whether she becomes a doctor, an author or changes her mind completely, I just hope she becomes a productive member of society and that she does her best at whatever she does.

And while I spend a lot of energy fussing about my daughter, trying to be a good mother and fill the void left by Bryon, I know I will never completely fill that void. But I have to believe that the circumstances of her childhood are going to impact her in a profound way that she becomes a resilient and compassionate adult. And she will do great things with that.

And all this late night rambling has me wondering what my destiny is. If Bryon wasn’t meant to be here very long and yet he was still in my life, maybe there is a reason for all this craziness? Maybe it was supposed to happen this way and after I am done wading through this mess of grief, I am supposed to take my newfound resiliency and compassion and do something with it?

That is the real question that I am trying to figure out.

Anger

Published on March 6, 2018March 6, 2018 by kerrymckim1 Comment

It only took 18 and a half months but I am finally ANGRY.

I have felt bits of anger here and there but this is the first time that I have truly felt ANGRY.

I wrote about my sad grief mix a few weeks ago but now I realize I need an ANGER mix.

Please comment with any suggestions.

I have never listened to ANGRY girl music but I have a feeling I am about to start. I only know Alanis.

And I have always wondered- What did Dave Coulier do?

For the record, I want to start that I don’t care what the so-called grief experts (who probably have fancy degrees and learned everything in a textbook and probably haven’t actually experienced grief) say- grief doesn’t come all packaged up in neat little stages.

Yes, at first I was in shock and denial.

But then I jumped over to dialogue and bargaining because I started this blog 5 months after Bryon died.

And now I am somewhere between “anger” and “depression and detachment”.

Except I am not helpless. F*ck that.

The following chart gives a more accurate representation of expectation(left) versus reality (right).

I am ANGRY that my husband and the life I was supposed to be living were stolen from me.

I am ANGRY that my dreams died with my husband.

I am ANGRY that I will probably not have another child.

I am ANGRY that I lost those 5 months with my daughter when my husband was in the ICU. I am grateful for my parents for taking care of her and I know I needed to be with Bryon, advocating for him and overseeing his care but I won’t get those five months back.

I am ANGRY that I had to sit in an ICU room watching my husband cling to his life.

I am ANGRY that I had to watch him suffer.

I am ANGRY that he was hooked up on machines and we couldn’t talk. We didn’t get any closure.

I am ANGRY because in my daughters daycare class there is a chart that lists the kids and their parents name and my daughter is the only one that only has one parent listed.

I am ANGRY because at age 3, she already has a better understanding of death than many adults.

I am ANGRY whenever I hear other parents complain that their spouses are gone for a couple of days. Yes, it’s hard. I remember when Bryon had to go away for work. But it’s a whole lot harder when they are gone forever.

I am ANGRY that the doctors didn’t save Bryon nor did they seem to care. Maybe it would have been different if it had been their loved one.

I am ANGRY at the healthcare system for being so shitty. It’s all about money, not people.

I am ANGRY at God. I was taught that he was a loving God and that was all a lie.

I am ANGRY at all the people who tell me that “God doesn’t hate you”. Um…okay…

I get ANGRY when I see everyone living their perfect lives on Facebook. By perfect, I mean living lives where they don’t have a dead spouse. Because to me, that is perfect. I get no marriage is perfect. Bryon and I did not have a perfect marriage. But even on our worst day, it is still better than the hell I am living.

I am ANGRY that I am turning 40 this year and that I am in this position. So much for playing it safe and making good life choices.

I am ANGRY that I am alone and broken.

I am ANGRY that I am viewed as damaged.

I am ANGRY that I don’t fit into my own life anymore. I am a square peg in a world full of round holes.

I am ANGRY that despite having lots of loving friends, I am still lonely.

I am ANGRY because I have lost my innocence. If I ever fall in love again (which I probably won’t because I am broken and damaged) I will always have that fear that they could die young too. This could all happen again.

I want my old life back.

Why me?

What did I do to deserve this?

Existing

Published on March 5, 2018March 5, 2018 by kerrymckim2 Comments

It’s been a pretty average Monday.

I wake up. I take my daughter to school. I go to the gym. I stop at Dunkin’s and get a medium iced with caramel swirl, cream and a turbo shot. I go home. I shower. I work. I pick my daughter up from school. We have dinner. We watch Doc McStuffins. She goes to bed. I will work some more.

I guess this is the new normal that everyone kept talking about.

F*ck my new normal.

I want my old normal back.

I want my old life back.

Yes, I am strong. But please understand that I am only strong because there is no alternative. I have to do it for my daughter.

I am just a shell of the person I used to be.

At times, my life feels pointless.

Like I am just existing.

I hold back on my emotions sometimes.

Because it’s easier to hold it in then to explain.

People don’t understand that I can just have a bad day. So it’s easier to just hold it all in.

I also hold it back because people don’t understand that sometimes I just need to vent. I don’t want unsolicited advice, especially from someone who has no clue what I am going through.

And be glad you have no clue.

At the end of the day, the life I was supposed to be living was stolen from me.

I don’t know what I did to deserve this.

I followed all the rules. I tried so hard to be a good Catholic girl and then a good Catholic wife and mother. I was raised to believe that God was good and it was all a lie.

While I was not always the easiest person to live with, I was a faithful and loyal wife.

I rarely complained when Bryon’s work got in the way. I knew the importance of his livelihood.

I married a bit late at the age of 34. But that was okay. Bryon was worth waiting for and we had our whole lives together.

And that was ripped away less than four years later.

Life is cruel.

Widowhood is lonely. Everyone around me is coupled off and happy. They have their spouses to talk to and lean on. They have their futures.

Bryon should be here with me. We should be happy. I should have him to talk to and lean on. We should have our future.

My future is a black hole.

I am lonely and want my life back.

I exist and on some days, that takes up every bit of energy I have.

I am so angry.

The healthcare system failed Bryon. God failed Bryon.

Bryon’s death was completely unnecessary.

I tried my hardest to save Bryon.

But the healthcare system and God won out.

But I am the one who get to replay everything that happened in my head, over and over again.

Because watching my husband cling to his life for 5 months and then die once wasn’t enough.

And tomorrow I get to do it all over again.

Why Bryon was good for me

Published on February 28, 2018February 28, 2018 by kerrymckim2 Comments

Last Friday I went to go see Les Miserables at Proctors Theater in Schenectady with some friends. Les Miserables was the first Broadway show I had ever seen.

It was 1996 and I was a senior in high school. My cross country team traveled from Ellsworth, ME to NYC to run in the Foot Locker Regional race. Our coach, Mr Beardsley, was also the sophomore English teacher and taught a unit on theater. We learned about Les Miserables, Phantom of the Opera and Miss Saigon.

Because of Mr. Beardsley, there is probably a whole generation of Ellsworth graduates who love the theater, or at the very least, appreciate it.

28168023_10156525050412841_3445084862071401702_n — Les Miserables, 2018

So I saw Les Miserables at the Imperial Theater on Broadway with my cross country team. I was very moved by the play. I laughed. I cried. I got laughed at because I cried. The experience left an impression on me.

Three years later in 1999, I was studying in England and I saw Phantom of the Opera at Her Majesty’s Theater in London.

I started dating Bryon in 2008 and I learned that he came from a family that was involved in community theater. I shared with Bryon how much I loved Les Miserables and Bryon told me hated it. In fact his whole family hated it. I got mocked for it through the years. I think it was too pedestrian for them or something. Whatever.

Eventually Bryon did give me his reason which was simply that it was too f*ucking depressing. Fair enough.

We only saw two Broadway plays in our years together. One was Pippen (Music Box Theater) and the other was Cats (technically West End, which is the London version and it was on a cruise ship.)

We meant to see more but it was one of those things that we figured we’d always have more time.

Bryon loved Cats. It was the first and last musical he ever saw.

Personally, I thought it was only okay.

12188901_10100147218979133_3979193017637256690_n — Cats, Oasis of the Seas, 2015

Before the show started last Friday, my friends and I had grabbed some dinner, dessert and drinks and we were chatting. I recalled how much I loved Les Miserables and how much Bryon hated it.

And then I told my friends about my list.

Before I started dating Bryon, I had written a list of ten attributes I wanted in a future mate. I guess it was to keep me focused. I kept getting into “pseudo relationships” with men who didn’t appreciate me so at this point, I was focused on myself and what I wanted.

The top three things on the list were Republican, Catholic and had to be a Red Sox fan. I was told by many that that combination was not going to happen. It surprised them that I found it in a New Yorker.

Number 4 was that I wanted my mate to be Irish. Bryon was only 1/8 Irish so that was stretching it.

And I can’t really remember what the other items on this important list were. I mean, probably something about being drug-free, employed and with no criminal record.

But I do remember one thing. I wanted a man who had varied interests. Someone who could go to wine tasting and to the symphony one night and eat hot dogs and drink beers at Fenway the next.

We never did make it to the symphony but Bryon was completely comfortable in a tux. And a kilt too. He loved formal nights on the cruise and didn’t understand why others would not dress up.

We did catch a few evening concerts at Tanglewood. We picnicked on the lawn with our infant daughter.

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We went wine tasting and we were those people who would taste our wine and say things like “It’s light and crisp and I can taste the touch of citrus. Very refreshing.”

We did attend many baseball games. Most were local games. We tried to catch the Tri-City Valley Cats when the Lowell Spinners were in town. We usually went on the 4th of July because never had plans on the actual holiday and we figured nothing was more American than baseball.

Though our daughter’s first baseball game was at Pawtucket watching the Paw Sox.

Bryon thought the clam chowder was wicked good. Okay, that might be my wording. Bryon was not shy at making fun of my New England vernacular.

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Our most memorable game was a month after we started dating. Our relationship still a secret from our friends as we were unsure where it was heading and we didn’t want to create gossip within our political circle. We met up for a secret weekend in Boston. It was also the weekend of my 30th birthday and Bryon took me a Red Sox game.

It was his first and last Fenway game.

But I loved that Bryon was content doing a variety of different activities.

He was a Renaissance man. I told him that once and he proudly agreed.

He liked all sports. Well, except Nascar.

He was a lawyer but he was also really good at math and economics.

He knew theater and music.

He knew how to cook.

He liked animals.

He liked history and was always up for seeing landmarks.

He loved fine dining but he also appreciated the McRib.

Generally he wasn’t into Museums but he always wanted to go to the Jello Museum. That dream was left unfulfilled.

Whenever we went on a cruise, we always went a few days early to explore the departure port. (We also did that to create a buffer in case the winter weather didn’t cooperate.)

Our first cruise was out of Miami and we took a side trip to Key West.

We visited the Southernmost Point, drank margaritas and watched the sunset on Mallory Square, visited the cats at the Hemingway House, found the Southernmost Red Sox bar and Bryon indulged my need to see the start of Route 1.

I have two random anecdotes from that Key West trip.

The first was that there was a chicken crossing the road and Bryon decides he wants to catch it. But he aborted the mission halfway through and said he wasn’t drunk enough for that to be a good idea.

The second was at night when we left the Red Sox bar. We were walking back to our motel and we pass a ghost tour that was walking towards us. Bryon tells everyone on the tour that he is alive and he is not a ghost. They all laugh. Then there were some random people walking behind the tour and Bryon goes up to them and says “Oooooh, I’m a ghost. Ooooooh.” Those people laugh too.

And I laugh at the irony because while Bryon isn’t a ghost, he’s dead and could be a ghost if he really wanted to be. He’d find a way to make it happen.

That trip also took us to Miami where we ate Cuban food, tried Cuban coffee, drove by Elian Gonzalez’s uncles house and had dinner at a tapas bar that was in a gas station (and we were surprisingly under dressed for the establishment.)

Bryon had all these interests and this intense zest for life. Whenever we traveled anywhere, Bryon tried to fit in as much as he could. We ate local food, drank local beer, saw as many landmarks as possible and he would try to squeeze in a local sporting event.

How else would I explain that I saw the Ottawa soccer club (Capital City) play Toronto? I think Bryon might have bought the team scarf. If he did, I will find it someday.

262996_10150263056397841_3810026_n — Ottawa, 2011

Bryon was so good for me because I have always been a restless soul but I never knew how to go out, explore and enjoy my life.

I did not have the confidence to follow my dreams.

Bryon taught me how to really live.

And in some ways, he is still teaching me how to live. Even though he is dead.

I enjoyed all our adventures but I never realized how much they taught me until Bryon was gone. When he was alive, I never had to make choices or plan anything. He did all the vacation planning. He asked for my input, combined it with his wants and came up with an itinerary. He would even plot it all on a google map. Planning always made him happy and I was content to just show up and enjoy the vacation.

But now he is gone. I can’t rely on him pave the way to living anymore.

If I want to continue to live, it’s up to me.

When I booked my airline tickets for my trip to Vegas last year, it was the first time I booked airline tickets since 2009. Because Bryon always did it.

And even though my Chicago best friend was in my Vegas with me, it felt weird to be having adventures without Bryon.

A month after that trip, I drove out to Michigan to visit my Maine best friend and I drove across New York State and Southern Ontario. I couldn’t help but think about Bryon when I drove by the Labatt Brewery. And the Canadian Baseball Hall of Fame. I know Bryon would have been lobbying to stop- “But Kerry, we have to stop. It’s the CANADIAN Baseball Hall of Fame.”

Even though I explore the world with my daughter and friends, I do feel an emptiness because I am not sharing it with Bryon. And a sadness when it hits me that I wouldn’t be recounting the adventure to Bryon because he’s not waiting for me at home.

It’s a fear of mine that I will lose my desire to truly live before I can pass on the desire to learn and see the world to my daughter.

But I must carry on.

Because I am still living.

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