We spent last Easter together in the ICU. You were not able to communicate but I sat with you. Our daughter spent the day with my parents. Your best friend and his wife came. They brought me a plate of food.
This year I have to go to the cemetery to see you.
Easter should have been different. You should have been here.
You should have been with us on Thursday during our daughter’s Easter egg hunt party at school. Since your best friends son attends the same school, you should have been there cracking jokes with your best friend.
You probably would have tried to get her to see the Easter bunny but let me tell you, her fear is real.
You should have been here Friday night when we dyed eggs with our friend and her son. You should have been the one wincing when our daughter dropped a cup of green dye on the dining room floor.
You should have been at the Easter egg hunt yesterday at your best friends house.
You should have been there to see our daughter play with her Easter basket this morning. Don’t worry, your princess got a basket fit for a princess.
If you were here, we would have gone to church where we would have done all that rejoicing and being glad. Our daughter probably would have worn a proper Easter dress instead of her Elsa dress with rain boots. This year Elsa and I opted out.
If you were here, you would have cooked dinner. You didn’t care for ham so it would have been some version of beef. We would have used our wedding china. This year I made ham and used the everyday dishes because I couldn’t bear to look at our wedding china and think about all the holiday meals we would not be having together.
If you were here, you would have eaten peeps and I would have told you that they were disgusting.
But you are not here and if I want to see you, I need to go to the cemetery. Easter went on without you but your absence was replaced with pain. A pain as large as your personality. Since you went into the hospital on Easter weekend, I get to be reminded of that weekend on the date and on the holiday. But all I know is that going forward, I get to think about what should have been.
I always thought I had a strong sense of who I was. And I never questioned my own authenticity. Yes, on the outside I am from a small Maine town but many people don’t realize that I spent the first 14 years of my life in the Boston area. I spent a semester abroad in England when I was 21. Besides Boston, I have spent time in London, Paris, Chicago, New York, Washington, D.C., Miami, Houston, New Orleans, Vegas and many other cities. I am fairly educated and worldly. I just try not to be pretentious about it.
I have always been a rule follower whether it was my Catholic religion or sitting in school. I was not a kid who got in (much) trouble. I did get caught daydreaming a lot but there was a whole world outside whatever window I was looking out of. I can’t say I never broke the rules in high school but I pretty much did as I was told. I did not drink in high school or go to gravel pit parties. I rarely stayed out past curfew (though my parents were pretty lenient as long as I called) though sometimes I stayed the night at my best friends house because she did not have a curfew. This created a kind of late night loophole that I would take advantage of. (Sorry Mom and Dad!)
I stretched my wings a little bit when I was in college. A few weeks into my freshman year I decided to get an eyebrow ring. It was 1997 and it was before they became popular. It actually looked good on me though I don’t think any picture exists. I didn’t think it through because I was heading home the following week and figured I would just take it out when I was around my parents. My parents never saw it (though my brother saw it and he kept threatening to tell them). I realized that I was never going to have the guts to wear it in front of my parents and I couldn’t handle the pressure of living a double life so the eyebrow ring didn’t last.
And of course, there was the road trip my friends and I took to St. Stephen, New Brunswick just so we could go to the bars when we were 19. I remember walking along the Saint Croix River, pointing to the Maine side and laughing because we “couldn’t drink over there but we can drink over here.” I always think of that trip every time I hear “One Week” by the Barenaked Ladies. I wasn’t a saint but I kept myself out of trouble.
I was a very hyper and annoying kid and somewhere along the way, I figured that I had to bottle up my true self to fit in with people. I would just sit quietly because I didn’t want to become hyper and weird and annoying. I chose to only open up to a few. I liked to participate in structured activities so I only had to discuss the topics on hand.
After college, I started dating the guy who would later become my ex-boyfriend. I think of him as kind of an anti-Bryon because he was the exact opposite of Bryon. One could argue that Bryon was the over correction of this guy. I could probably write a whole post on him and what I learned from that relationship. In very general terms Bryon was a Catholic, Republican, manly-man who loved sports while the anti-Bryon was a Protestant, Democrat, non-manly man who preferred science fiction to sports. Another big difference was that Bryon actually liked me while the anti-Bryon did not. I think I was someone who paid for dates for two and a half years. He never embraced me for who I was and I spent two and a half years trying to be the woman he wanted.
After I broke up with the anti-Bryon, I got absorbed into the world of politics and most notably, the Young Republicans. I embraced the lifestyle of Republican politics and I wore suits, heels, pearls and the Sarah Palin hairstyle. I loved politics because it was like I was an actress playing a role. I didn’t have to worry that I was shy and awkward. Politics gave me a way to relate to people. It was also during my time in politics that I learned conversation skills and poise.
Politics led me to the best years of my life. My years with Bryon. The years where I became a wife and mother. And like everything else, being a wife and mother provided me with a role that I was more than happy to assume. Bryon did love me for me but relationships are always filled with give and take. Bryon had the successful career and I pretty much was content to live in his shadow. It might have caused some contention between us at times but I don’t regret it. Especially since he apparently wasn’t meant to be here as long as the rest of us.
I have heard that during widowhood, you begin to question everything you once believed. I thought I had myself and the world all figured out. While I learned that I am much, much stronger than I ever gave myself credit for, I also learned just how much Bryon overcompensated for my weaknesses. I don’t have him to cover for me anymore. I have learned that I can count on my family and I have also learned which of my friends are actually my family. I have learned who I can’t count on (some were surprising) and which friends really weren’t friends. I learned that you can’t put all your faith into the healthcare system and that the healthcare system can fail you. And I learned that God doesn’t care if you did your best to be a good Catholic girl for over 30 years.
All those years of trying to fit into roles and groups has left me with a repressed free spirit. I have always had a free spirit that gets antsy and wants to see the world. It used to drive Bryon nuts when I wanted to day trip to anywhere, as long as it was out of Albany. He usually indulged me. I also have a creative side. I am still in the process of trying to let those parts of me out. I have been running. I have been travelling. I have been cooking new recipes and putting together furniture from IKEA. I have been reading about Buddhism to try to stay Zen. I have been in the process of changing over to natural cleaning and beauty products. I plan to have a garden this summer and learn how to can vegetables. I tried to dye my hair blonde but that didn’t work. And don’t be fooled if you ever see all the books on my nightstand. You might see titles that consist of history, religion, politics, business, memoirs, parenting and grief/self help but the last two books I read consisted of one by the Long Island Medium and the other was Jodie Sweetin’s memoir. Candace Cameron Bure’s memoir isn’t proving to be nearly as exciting as Jodie Sweetin’s memoir.
I realize that I was just afraid. I have been afraid of success and I have been afraid of failure. I have been afraid to let people see the real me. I had a clearly defined past and I have been afraid to stray from the expectation of who I am supposed to be. I have been afraid that if I tried something different or learned about something different that it might change how I think. And if I continue to be afraid, I will never fully live and I must fully live to be an example for my daughter. So my daughter can grow into the woman she is supposed to be.
A few weeks ago I went to brunch with a few friends. The food was delicious and we had a great time. There was lots of laughter and stories and a few mimosas. Both of them were talking about their dating adventures (or misadventures) which I enjoyed hearing about them.
But on the ride home I became really sad. I had one grandmother who lived to be 90 and my other grandmother is 95. I genetically have the potential to be stuck on this planet for another 60ish years and that is a long time to be alone. But I got sad thinking that someday I might have to date again. I started crying and the tears kept coming. I did not ask for this. I was happily married. I don’t want to be alone for 60 more years but I also don’t want to date. Why does life have to be so cruel? Why did my happily ever after have to get ripped away from me when so many other people get to be happy? Why does everyone else get to be happy and not me?
So I get home. I post a sad status on my Facebook because I feel the need to vent and some brave people comment and try to make me feel better and while I appreciate their intent, it never makes me feel better. Maybe I just need to stop sharing my feelings on Facebook. I blast my sad songs list on Spotify (doesn’t everyone have one of those?) and eat some ice cream. I blast Tears in Heaven and listen to it on repeat. Then I do what I do when I am feeling incredibly sad. I put on Sleepless in Seattle which lives on my DVR because I needed to hear Tom Hanks say “Move on. Fine. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll just grow a new heart…I know. But it just doesn’t happen twice.” Tears in Heaven, ice cream and Sleepless in Seattle, are like, my trifecta of grief.
One of my best friends must have seen that status because she messages me asking if I am okay. She is one of the few friends that I don’t feel like I have to answer with “I’m okay. Everything is okay.” I told her I was sad and I was listening to sad songs and eating ice cream. I did not tell her I was watching Sleepless in Seattle because I was nervous that she would have gotten into her car, drive over and delete Sleepless in Seattle off of my DVR and I can’t live without that coping mechanism.
Things have changed in the past month or two. I am starting to come out of the widow fog but the grief certainly has not subsided. I am still incredibly sad. I am still trying to make sense of Bryon’s death. Some days I begin to think that I am used to Bryon being gone while other days I still sit in shock and disbelief that he is actually gone.
When Bryon first died, I tried to come up with a timeline for grief. I have always been a goal oriented person so it made sense that I would set goals for the grief process. But it hasn’t worked that way. The months have just been bouncing by and I have been unable to attain any of these goals. I am still wearing my rings. A lot of our bills are still in Bryon’s name, his stuff is still taking up space in our house and I still haven’t shut off his phone. My friend asked me if the fact that we talk about Bryon so much is holding me back and I said no because most of my thoughts are still consumed by him and his death. I am afraid to stop talking about him because then he really will die. Yes he is physically dead but his story remind me that he actually did live and I am not ready to let go of that yet.
Have I been moving forward? I don’t think so. I think I have been surviving and keeping myself busy by traveling and doing activities with my daughter but I don’t really think I am moving forward. I am distracting myself. I am waiting for time and grief to pass before I start living again. I spend time with my friends and my daughter and I work, usually until the early hours of the morning as I put off bedtime every night because lying in an empty bed is just too painful. I need to stop searching for happiness because I am just not going to find it. I am just getting used to being sad and I need to embrace that because that is my life right now. This is my normal and since I can’t set my own timeline for healing, I need to embrace that I am going to feel sad until the indeterminate time comes when I no longer feel sad.
So for the time being, I will continue to feel sad. I will continue to cry when I think about what I have lost. I will still continue to distract myself. I will continue to go on adventures with my daughter. I will still continue to spend time with those I am close to. I will continue to try to check items off of my widow “to-do” list. I will continue to try to find myself as an individual. I will continue to do all of these things until eventually my grief subsides and all of this just becomes part of me and my story.
So this blog is called “Running Forward” and you may have noticed there hasn’t been much running in it. That’s because I dropped the ball over the winter. I did some running over the winter but nothing over 6 miles. Every time I seemed to pick up momentum, I seemed to get this on-again, off-again chest cold. Plus I had gone back to work after Thanksgiving and it was hard learning to juggle work and single motherhood. I hate making excuses and I am usually very hard on myself but I am trying to cut myself some slack.
I was registered to run a half marathon the weekend I was in Ann Arbor but as the race approached, I knew I was not in any shape to run a half-marathon. At first I thought I could tough it out it. I mean, I ran a half-marathon six weeks after Bryon died. But I was in the most raw grief at the point. Then the chest cold was cycling back around again. My Maine best friend told me that there was no shame in switching to a shorter distance. I have never run a 10k but I decided I wanted to be in better shape to get a base 10k time so I decided I would run the 5k.
My Maine best friend came with me to the race expo. I went to the Half-Marathon table and explained my dilemma. I was directed to another table that was labeled “Registrations and Solutions.” Changing my registration was painless. The woman that at the table assured me that there were lots of people in my situation with illnesses and injuries.
After I changed my registration, I went to the other side of the room to claim my t-shirt. For some reason, I wasn’t feeling checking out the tables for swag. So my Maine best friend and I checked the course map so we could plan the logistics for the next day and then left.
The next morning, I got up around 6:15 am and tried to be quiet as I didn’t want to wake my daughter. But she woke up. I told her she could stay at the house with my Chicago best friend or come to the race and my daughter immediately says “RACE!” So we fed her some breakfast and bundled her up. I ate half of a plain bagel and drank a little coffee and water.
The race was set to start at 7:30 am and it started right in front of the University of Michigan Stadium. We decided to walk because my Maine best friend, and her fiance, the Scientist lived close enough that it didn’t make sense to drive. It was about a 20 minute walk. All four races had the same start. There was a lot of excitement but I don’t know what I would feel about it if I were a marathoner. The start was slow because there was a large bottleneck of runners. It ended up taking me two minutes to cross the start line.
I was not mentally prepared to run. I was not focused, I forgot my inhalor and I forgot my garmin. I decided that since this was just a 5k that I would just enjoy the run since I was anticipating an awful time.
The 5k was one lap, 10k was two. There was a half marathon lap and marathoners did two. The 5k was not well marked but I managed. I had forgotten my garmin and had no concept of how fast I was running. The race was quick. We ran down the main street and we turned onto the campus. We ran by the natural history museum where we were the day before. Before I knew it, I saw the 12 mile and 25 mile markers for the half marathon and marathon so I knew it was the last mile. I was actually feeling pretty good despite not having my inhaler.
Before I knew it, I was running through the finish chute. I was convinced my time was going to be awful but the timer said 45:59 so I knew my chip time was going to be faster. I got my medal and snagged a 5k brownie for my daughter. After the race, I went to a Starbucks for my Venti Iced Americano with cream, sugar and an extra shot and then my Maine best friend, The Scientist, my daughter and I walked back to the house.
My official time was 43:34. I was satisfied. It wasn’t my worst time and it wasn’t my best time. For being under trained, I was content and even a little excited. I had never run a 5k that was in conjunction with a marathon and a half marathon so that was exciting and I am glad I went through with racing. It actually started to rain heavily after we got back to the house so in a way, I was relieved I didn’t run. I don’t mind running in the rain but I wouldn’t have wanted my Maine best friend, the Scientist or my daughter to have to stand around in the rain waiting for me. All’s well that ends well.
Overall, I thought this was a great event. And I will be redeeming myself in 2018.
The following post was not written by me. My friend and high school classmate LeeAnne lost her father when she was 16 months old. She recently shared some of her thoughts about growing up without her father on Facebook and graciously agreed to let me post them here. I always appreciate her input because it gives me an idea of some of the things my daughter might experience.
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What It’s Like Growing Up Without a Dad? I’m not talking about the deadbeats in the world. They piss me off (sorry for the language). I’m talking about growing up without a Dad because he is forever gone. He’s forever gone because he is in Heaven (yes, I believe in Heaven. I have to because if I didn’t, none of it would make sense and I would live my life a very angry person). It sucks. Plain and simple SUCKS. I was 16 months and 23 days old when that tractor pinned my Dad. I was 16 months and 25 days old when he gained his angel wings and left me here on this Earth without him. If he was a deadbeat, it would be better. At least I may have some chance of finding him and seeing him and even being really mad at him for leaving me. But he wasn’t. He loved me. He wanted me. He planned on being there forever and ever for me. He didn’t choose to leave me. Deadbeats piss me off because while they have created a child and then just decided they don’t want to play the role of a parent, my Dad was robbed of something I’ve heard he was very proud to be. I can tell by the pictures I see of us that this is true. You can tell he loved me and wanted me to be happy and safe. When you lose someone at such a young age without memories of your own, you cherish photos. I mean cherish them. My Mom eventually had a boyfriend and they had my sister together which gave me a sibling and for that I’m grateful. However, my Mom’s boyfriend was far from the ideal stepfather figure. He didn’t like me. I didn’t like him. I haven’t spoken to him willingly since I moved out of the house on my 18th birthday. In ways, it sucked having a sibling because every day I got to see her and her dad together. Something I never had and always wanted. Father’s Day sucks. It’s just a 24 hour constant reminder of what you don’t have. As I got older, I’ve learned to try to embrace the day and consider it another day to spoil my Mom. She is my Dad in a way too. January 30th sucks because that was the day my Dad was born. September 8th sucks because that’s the day he left me. Father Daughter dances suck. I mean, as a Mom, I love watching my girls get that time with their dad but, the little girl in me is jealous as hell. Wedding Days suck because the moment your Dad walks you down the aisle and the infamous Father Daughter dance becomes your Mom walking you down the aisle and trying to keep you from melting down like a big baby because you just want your Dad. The dance becomes your Mom holding you and you guys talking about how much he is there but he’s not there at the same time (and trying to make sure our beads on our dresses didn’t get stuck together because that would be humilitaing). Your fatherly advice comes from your grandfathers but you are of course too young and “know everything and anything” to acutally listen and appreciate those words after they are gone. Taking your kids to “meet” their grandfather by taking them to stare at a stone with words and plant some pretty flowers, sucks. They ask questions and you have no answers. I wasn’t the only one he was taken from. He was taken from my kids as well. He would’ve been an amazing grandfather. I don’t have my own memories to hold on to and to comfort me on my bad days. I have other people’s memories and that sucks too. I love hearing about him and I love knowing about him but I’m so damn jealous of every single person who ever met him and knew him. I’m not the friend who you can turn to if your parent passes away because while I had the same thing happen, I don’t remember it. I can tell you how to live without a Dad though and that sucks that I can tell you that. I apologize for the long rant. My birthday is getting closer and it’s another reminder that the older I get, just means the longer I’ve missed out on him. Anytime I hear of a father passing away and has a young child left behind, my heart automatically opens up to that child. I know what they are going to go through for the rest of their lives. I just pray that they at least get a wonderful father figure that can help ease the pain and who can at least be there as someone to turn to. It may have been different for me if I had that. It’s ok though because for 16 months and 25 days, I had The. Best. Dad. On. Earth.
It’s been over seven months since Bryon had passed and over a year since he was in the ICU. I can tell that there are some people who can’t figure out why I am still grieving. I can see the looks and feel the judgement. Surely I should be over it by now. I mean, in the normal world, seven months is a long time. But I am beginning to think that time passes in a very different way in the world of grief. In seven months there have been many milestones with my friends and family. There have been new jobs, engagements and babies. I have managed to function in a 40 hour work week and somehow I manage to remember to pay the bills each month. But for most of that time, I have been living in a fog. The fog is starting to lift which presents its own set of challenges.
The last time I felt alive was a Tuesday in late March in 2016. Bryon had been in the ICU for 5 days and he had gotten an infection and things were going downhill quickly. I called my father and he and my mother did the only thing they could think of that could possibly console me- they took my daughter out of daycare and brought her into the hospital to see me. She was only 18 months old and had no clue what was going on. She wasn’t talking yet, at least not in anything that could be considered part of the English language. She sat on my lap and smiled at me as I hugged her. Things at the hospital got even crazier so my parents brought my daughter home. As my parents were leaving, I remember saying to my mother that if Bryon died then our daughter would be too little to remember him. My daughter’s Godmother showed up. We made some phone calls. Bryon was rushed into emergency surgery and I was told that he might not make it through. I can still remember exactly who was present with me in the private family room as we sat silently in fear while Bryon was in surgery.
My world was literally crashing down. I didn’t know how this could be happening. This didn’t seem real. It was like someone took the floor out from underneath me and I was falling. Bryon was such a strong and healthy person and now he was literally clinging to his life. How could this have happened? And why did this happen? How am I going to live without him?
And at that moment, an emotional pause button was pressed.
From that moment on, for the next five months, I was in complete survival mode. I was just trying to get through each day and do what I needed to do to get to the next day. Some days I lived hour to hour. I lived off of iced coffee, diet soda, those hershey ice cream cones from the hospital cafeteria and whatever food my friends brought for me. I read fluffy literature, taught myself Sudoko and re-organized all my Pinterest boards. I did what I had to do to advocate for Bryon and keep him alive. My only other worry was my daughter but for most of that five months, my parents had pretty much given up their life in Maine and temporarily relocated to Albany to take care of my daughter. For the weeks they went back to Maine, my friends in Albany stepped up and took care of my daughter while I was at the hospital taking care of Bryon.
The button remained paused when Bryon died and remained paused through the funeral. The button remained paused during the weeks following his death. It remained paused as I resumed my running and binge watched all seven seasons of the Gilmore Girls and five seasons of Parenthood. It remained paused that night I drank too much wine and bawled during Jinger Duggar’s wedding. It remained paused after all the countless times I watched Sleepless in Seattle and P.S. I Love You. It remained paused as the United States elected a new president. It remained paused as I went through the motions of “celebrating” the holidays and welcoming a new year. The button remained paused as I left my job at the hospital where Bryon was for four and a half months because going to the same place where Bryon had been sick was too painful and I started a new job working from home for another company.
I was in a survival mode and then the “widow fog”. There is a theory that we are in the fog because the grief is just so bad and that is the only way the grief can be processed. We need to be numb to survive. And now that emotional pause button has been hit again and my emotions are resuming. It’s like I am back in the ICU again and my world is crashing down again. I am left in the same spot. This doesn’t seem real. It is like someone took the floor out from underneath me and I am falling. Bryon was such a strong and healthy person and now he is dead. How could this have happened? And why did this happen? How am I going to live without him?
Now that the widow fog is starting to lift, I am dealt with an avalanche of emotions that I have not been able to process over the past year and it’s like I am feeling all these emotions for the first time. If you somehow wronged me during that time, I am feeling it now. If you made a rude comment about my daughter, I am pissed about it now. I also feel shame because there were people who cared and reached out and I was just too emotionally exhausted to answer all the texts and messages. I hope they understand that I was just too emotionally drained to even have a conversation.
I also am left to process exactly what happened. Everything that happened to Bryon happened so fast and it was one thing after another, like dominoes. I sat in his room in the ICU every day, praying and hoping for the best. I struggled to stay strong, making sure Bryon did not see my fear or the tears. It is now dawning on me exactly how sick he was and what an effect that has had on me. I saw Bryon go through things that no one should ever have to see their love one go through. I think about those hours that I stared at the monitor that showed Bryon’s vital signs while he clung onto his life. I am finally admitting to myself that I should never have had to ever see him suffer like that.
It has been over seven months since Bryon passed and over a year since he went into the ICU. But while that time has passed in the real world, I am left dealing with a year’s worth of emotions in the present. So maybe I should be over it. But I am not.
Last weekend I took my daughter on our second big adventure since Bryon passed away. My best friend from Maine, who had been living in Florida with her fiance, just relocated to Ann Arbor, Michigan. I looked at google maps and saw that it was about a nine hour drive. I ascertained that it would be long, but it was doable. The drive to my parents house in Maine is usually about 8 hours so this would only be a little longer. I decided to make this into a “runcation” (which I will write about in another race recap post.) To make an exciting weekend even better, my other best friend from Chicago decided to drive up with her daughter. In case you forgot, she was the one who consoled me as I sat on the floor in a Las Vegas casino crying a month ago.
I couldn’t seem to get my act together all week so I was packing on Friday morning and got a later start than I had wanted. I kept feeling like I was forgetting something. I had to remind myself that there were Targets in Michigan and if I forgot anything, I could just get it at Target, along with other stuff I don’t really need but I will decide I can’t live without. We finally got on the road around 9 am.
Our trip was pretty uneventful, though we ran into some snow but it was sunny by the time we were in Western, NY. Before we knew it, we were at Niagara Falls. My gas tank was just below a half of a tank but I stopped to fill my tank before entering Canada. Anyone who travels to Canada knows, gas is very expensive and it is wise to fill up on the United States side of the Border.
I was nervous crossing the border without Bryon because I had read on the internet that Canada was careful about children crossing the border without both parents. If you are a single parent traveling with a minor, you need a notarized letter from the other parents stating it’s okay. Well, Bryon wasn’t here to notarize any sort of letter. So I brought my daughters birth certificate along with a copy of Bryon’s death certificate. (We also have NEXUS cards) I was chatting with the Canadian Border agent who was very nice and she said it really was a concern when parents don’t bring any ID and it was clear I was my daughter’s mother. She did look at our NEXUS cards and my daughter’s birth certificate. The border agent said she didn’t need to look at Bryon’s death certificate but told me that it was a good idea to have it on me just in case.
My daughter finally fell asleep in Canada. The drive was long and uneventful with lots of farmland. Bryon and I had never traveled further than the Niagara region so Southern Ontario was all new territory. I found myself wishing he was on the trip with us. For starters, he would have been doing the driving. Second, we drove by so many places that would have excited him, like the Canadian Baseball Hall of Fame. I imagine the conversation would have gone something like this:
Bryon: Let’s stop! It’s the Canadian Baseball Hall of Fame!
Kerry: You don’t even like going to the American Baseball Hall of Fame. You think it’s lame.
Bryon: But Kerry…It’s the CANADIAN Baseball Hall of Fame.
Kerry: But…you aren’t that into baseball and a visit will take up a lot of time and we want to get to Michigan before it get’s dark.
Bryon: You are a Miss No-Fun.
I also thought fondly of Bryon as I drove by London, Ontario and saw the sign for the Labatt Brewery. He loved Labatt.
I was bored with the radio in the car and ended up listening to the CBC news. I decided that would be my cultural activity of the day since I would not be stopping at Tim Hortons, or the Canadian Baseball Hall of Fame or the Labatt Brewery. I drove by a really large wind farm that went on for 45 minutes. Then I was finally in Windsor, Ontario and then I was crossing the Ambassador Bridge into Detroit. The Bridge was beautiful and I couldn’t take a picture because I was driving. There was a very large American flag. I don’t know if it is because I am generally a patriotic person or if it was because I was glad that my long drive was almost over but I started to belt out “America the Beautiful” when I saw that flag. My daughter was not impressed. I can’t blame her as I am not exactly a good singer. Actually my singing is not even tolerable. Poor girl.
We made it to Ann Arbor around 7:15 after google maps took us on an interesting drive in Detroit. I was so excited to see both of my best friends. Since I don’t use people’s names in this blog, I am going to refer to my friends as “my Maine best friend” and “my Chicago best friend”. And I will refer to my Maine best friend’s fiance as “the Scientist” because, well, he’s a scientist. We sat down and ate some Domino’s Pizza (which I learned is headquartered in Ann Arbor) and drank some Aldi wine (not too bad). My daughter was excited to see my Chicago best friends daughter and they wore princess dresses and chased each other until it was time for bed.
Good Night, MichiganAll tuckered out
I woke up early Saturday morning to make my run to Target to buy the items I forgot, along with those other items that I didn’t really need but decided I can’t live without. My Chicago best friend came with me and we decided to do the “divide and conquer” approach and I think we were out of there within 20 minutes. It was quite impressive.
After we returned to the house, we packed up to take the bus downtown. My daughter really enjoyed riding on the bus.
Who knew the bus could be so much fun?
The plan was to take the girls to the Natural History Museum at the University of Michigan. They had a great time running around and looking at the artifacts but they began to get tired and hungry. We had made it through the first two floors and the Scientist went up to check the third floor and said there wasn’t as much there so we decided to leave.
Natural History Museum at University of MichiganNatural History Museum at University of MichiganNatural History Museum at University of MichiganNatural History Museum at University of MichiganNatural History Museum at University of MichiganNatural History Museum at University of Michigan
I wanted to do some shopping so we stopped at The Den to buy my daughter and myself an article of clothing that said “Michigan” on it.
We then had lunch at Hopcat which was delicious and very reasonably priced. I had the tacos which were delicious. And I don’t know what the seasoning was on the crack fries, but they were amazing. My daughter learned the hard way that the hot sauce was not ketchup. There were some tears but I still think she handled better than some adults would have. The hot sauce was really hot.
Hopcat- Ann Arbor
Hopcat- Ann ArborThe attitude ❤
When we returned, I put my daughter down for a nap and my Chicago best friend stayed with the girls while my Maine best friend and I went to the race Expo which I will write about in another post. After we went to the Expo, we needed coffee so we went to a Meijer that also had a Starbucks. In 2007, I lived in Indiana for three months and I forgot how awesome Meijer was. It’s like, one of the seven wonders of the Midwest. Anyway we were in desperate need of caffeine and I also had to get the Starbucks You Are Here mugs. It’s my latest obsession. Anyone else into those mugs?
I was here.
After the girls woke up from their nap, we made plans to go to a Mexican restaurant, Los Amigos. The food was really good and I am a Mexican food snob. I was excited to see Chilaquiles on the menu because I think the only place I can get them locally is at El Mexicano in Saratoga. I was excited that they had a train. It was like Governor’s except it was a Mexican restaurant and we were in Michigan, not Maine.
Los Amigos- Ann ArborMy Maine Best Friends Sampler. I think it took her three days to eat all of it.Chilaquiles- Los Amigos, Ann Arbor
We were all exhausted Saturday night and didn’t stay up late.
Sunday was race morning which, again, I will write a separate race recap.
After the race, my Chicago best friend and her daughter left. My Maine best friend, my daughter and I drove 45 minutes to Dearborn to go to The Henry Ford. It was pricey but I felt like it was something you need to do in area. We were starving so we had lunch at a diner in the Museum. It was an actual diner car from 1946. Jut don’t expect to get a diet soda because when my Maine best friend tried to order one, the waiter informed her that there was no diet soda in 1946. However, the prices were not reflective of 1946 and they did accept credit cards.
The Henry FordThe Henry FordThe Henry Ford
My daughter took a cat nap on the car ride and was tired and was beginning to lose it after the cars, trains and planes so we decided to call it a trip. I didn’t feel too bad because my Maine best friend decided to buy the membership because she figured out that a membership would pay for itself in two trips. She also figured that this would be the place that out of town guests would want to go so a membership made sense.
The Henry FordThe Henry FordIt’s a Maine thingThe Henry Ford
We had a relaxing Sunday night. We ordered Chinese food for dinner and just hung out and went to bed early.
My daughter and I were on the road by 7am. We had a morning stop planned in Windsor, Ontario. When Bryon and I got engaged, I went on theknot.com and was active in the September 2012 board. Theknot.com was glitchy so we moved our group over the Facebook and we are still an active group. There have been so many milestones, babies, new jobs, new houses as well as divorces, illness and now death. I am the first widow of the group (though one of the ladies of the group was a widow who married her second love in Sept 2012) Anyway, one of the ladies on the board lives just out of Windsor (she blogs here) so my daughter and I met her at a Tim Hortons. I have known her online for over 5 years and it was exciting to finally meet her in person.
Friends and Tim Hortons in Windsor, Ontario
After our visit, we had a long car ride back. My daughter slept for about half of the Canada portion and none of the New York portion. We stopped for lunch at a rest stop just outside of Buffalo. The drive was long and uneventful and we made it home around 6 o’clock.
This adventure was still bittersweet. I didn’t miss Bryon as much as I did when I went to Vegas. Maybe that was because Vegas was the first adventure since Bryon passed. Maybe it was because both of my best friends were there which provided twice the distraction. But even though travelling without Bryon may have been easier, I still got sad when we passed the University of Michigan stadium because Bryon was such a sports fan and I knew he would have been excited. I guess I just have to have faith that he comes along with us in his way but I just wish he was physically still here to go on these adventures with us. I miss him so much but I must carry on for him, for my daughter and for myself. But it does make me feel good that I am still fulfilling the promise I made to him in the final hours of his life.
Yesterday my blog reached a milestone. A milestone that I never would have dreamed of ever happening, let alone only after two and a half months. Yesterday my blog reached 10,000 page views. I never would have thought that my words about Bryon would go so far in such a short time.
So why do I do this? Anyone who knows me in “real life” would tell you that I tend to be a pretty private person who takes a long time to open up to people. I usually prefer to keep in interactions with people at the superficial level. Want to talk about the weather? Sure! Talk about emotions and feelings? No way! Before Bryon got sick, I kept all but a few people at an arm’s length.
So what has compelled me to share some of my most private feelings on the internet? If someone would have told me that I would be sharing some of my most personal thoughts for the whole world to see, I would have probably looked at them like they were nuts. But here I am. Sharing my personal thoughts in a place where anyone can see. I am not lying when I tell you that it is one of the scariest things I have ever done. I am most likely ruining my chances of ever getting a boyfriend (in the very distant future) because any potential suitors would likely find this blog during a google search and go running far away after reading this. And I can’t blame them. Run, Forrest, Run!
There are many reasons I pour my heart out on the internet.
I have barely begun to share most of Bryon’s story because it is still too painful for me to share. But I feel compelled to tell Bryon’s story in an effort to help other patients. I want to help people know how to advocate for themselves and I want to empower people to find the right knowledge so they can make educated medical decisions. I want to help people know what kind of questions to ask their doctors and what to do if something just doesn’t seem right with themselves or with the health care that they might be receiving. I want people to know why it is important to know their own health history and, if possible, that of their family members.
I feel compelled to share my story as a caregiver and an advocate because I want to help the family members and friends of the critically and terminally ill. I was thrown into a situation where one day my husband was recovering from a minimally invasive surgical procedure to fighting for his life in the ICU a few days later. I don’t think there is a word in the English language that could accurately describe how overwhelmed I felt during those weeks that my life came crashing down. I have a background in oncology data and oncology was one of the few medical specialties that did not play a role in Bryon’s care. While I had more medical knowledge than the average person, I am not a doctor or nurse and I had to quickly adapt to all the new medical terminology and procedures. Bryon also could not speak for himself while he was in the ICU and he depended on me to advocate for him. And unfortunately advocating for patients is not easy. As a caregiver, you need to be prepared to fight for your family member or friend.
I feel compelled to share my story because I want to help other widows and widowers. Widowhood is a very lonely place. It helps to read that we are not alone and that other people can relate. I appreciate reading blogs and memoirs of widows and widowers, especially those who are further in the healing process because I want some sort of idea of what to expect down the road. Since I benefited from the stories of others, I want to share my stories with the hope that it might help another widow and widower.
I want to share my story to help those who have gone through a trauma and/or have experienced the loss of someone important in their life. Grief is grief regardless of whether it was a spouse, a family member or a friend and we can all relate and support each other.
I write because it helps me process my own emotions. I was in the “widow fog” for several months after Bryon died and the fog didn’t start to subside until I started writing about my feelings and my experience. Before I started writing, I could bottle up my emotions and ignore them for a later time. This isn’t healthy. Writing forces me to acknowledge what I am feeling at any given time and it forces me to deal with my grief instead of ignoring it.
I write because I must preserve as much of our story for my daughter. She won’t have any first hand memories of Bryon and she will have to rely on the stories that are told to her. I can already start to feel that my memories are not as sharp. I feel a huge void that Bryon left but it’s getting harder to remember the little things. I am fearful that if I don’t write things down then those memories will die with Bryon.
I hope to become a patient advocate someday. I want to raise awareness for the issues that plagued Bryon and ultimately took his life. I want to empower the caregivers of critically and terminally ill patients. I share our story to meet others who have been in similar situations and have similar goals. I write with the hope that I can expand my network so that someday I am able to accomplish my goals of helping people.
One Saturday night a few weeks ago, my friend came over. She is newly single and she recently signed up for Bumble. After a glass of wine, my curiosity started to peak. I asked her if it was okay to create a profile just to look. I have no intention of dating. I still wear my wedding rings. But I was curious to see what the market looked like and if anyone would find me attractive.
Spoiler alert: No one finds me attractive.
For those you are lucky enough to not be versed in online dating sites, Bumble is like Tinder where you swipe left to pass and swipe right if you like the person and if they like you, you are a match. Bumble is different than Tinder because only women can initiate contact with men. Personally I am not a fan of the whole concept of online dating. I would prefer to meet a man the old fashioned way. The whole concept of creating a profile to date feels to forward to me and is too much pressure.
At first the whole swiping process was fun. We swiped left when we saw things we didn’t like and right on things that we liked or at least seemed okay. Granted the whole thing was kind of shallow but entertaining. My friend and I laughed quite a bit.
As I was looking at profiles, there were men who didn’t say anything about themselves. Others were extremely well rounded. They wanted a woman to join them on hikes, wine tastings, dinners, travelling, runs, walks in the woods, trips to the beach, cooking a nice dinner, watching Netflix and to have meaningful conversations with. I started to get stressed out just reading these profiles. Some days I barely find the time to shower. There is no way I could keep up with all these Renaissance men. Maybe they are single because they are high maintenance and needy. Really, I just need a guy who likes frozen pizza, Disney Jr. and is willing to carry my luggage.
There seem to be a lot of men out there that play the guitar and I swiped left on them. I admire people who can play a musical instrument because it is a talent I definitely don’t have. But I don’t have the attention span to sit and listen to them play. Sure the first couple of times I will sit and appear impressed to be nice but over time I become bored because I would rather be conversing, or eating, or moving around or pretty much anything else. Those guitar playing men deserve to be with women who appreciate their talents.
I learned that I am not interested in dating guys who want to start a family. I have an amazing daughter. I am not interested in being pregnant again. It’s probably the PTSD talking but too much can go wrong in childbirth and I need to be here for my daughter. Also, I am in my late thirties and I don’t think I want to do any more sleepless nights or pumping sessions. So if a guy wants more than my amazing daughter, then he would have to bring his own children to the relationship.
I learned several things. I do value intelligence and an education. But as much as I am attracted to intelligence, I also am not into men who are pretentious about their education level and intelligence. Bryon was confident about his intelligence and never had a need to be pretentious. I am also leery of men who call themselves entrepreneurs and I am much more likely to swipe right on a man wearing a Red Sox hat as opposed to a Yankees hat.
I also found myself drawn to men who liked the things that my husband liked which was ridiculous. It doesn’t matter if a guy likes rugby or the Buffalo Bills, or Gordon Ramsay. He will never be Bryon. It is as if I am subconsciously looking to try to get back what Bryon and I had but that is not possible. Bryon was a one-in-a-kind. He was amazing and the world will never see someone like him.
I am no longer part of a Bryon-Kerry team. The goals and rules of the Bryon-Kerry team no longer apply. It is all me now. And on top of it, I am not the same. I am broken. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I always prided myself on being true to myself but the more I try to find myself, the more I wonder if I am going through some sort of identity crisis.
I just hate that I am even in this position. I feel cheated of my happily ever after. Almost all of my friends are married or are in committed relationships and my husband is gone. I wasn’t supposed to be in this position. I was perfectly content to be a wife and mother. I wasn’t supposed to be single in my late 30’s. The new rules of dating seem so complicated, full of craziness like dick pics and ghosting and pretending that you are too cool to be interested in each other. I don’t want to date. I want to be a wife but you aren’t supposed to want that or you are desperate. But I know I am not desperate. And as much as I would rather be a wife than have to date, I am not going to settle. I had true love and I know what it is and frankly I don’t want to be someone’s wife if we are not crazy in love with each other. I am not going to jump into any relationship with just anyone.
As the night went on, I started to become sad and the sadness began to intensify. I miss Bryon too much. No one will ever replace Bryon. He is a person worth missing. He is worth every tear and every pang to the heart. He is worth every lonely night. He leaves a void that I doubt any can ever fill. I just hope that living with the void becomes tolerable enough over time where I can move forward.
So after 6 hours, I realized that dating, at least online dating, was not for me and I deleted the app. I am not saying that love will not find me and I hope that if it does find me, I am open to it. But I don’t need to be looking for it online. If I change my mind, I guess the internet will be there.
I was at work. Bryon was at home, recovering from surgery.
It was mid afternoon and my co-workers and I were preparing for a late afternoon meeting.
My phone rings. It is Bryon. He is in a lot of pain and I have to leave immediately and take him to the emergency room.
I am not sure if I even shut down my computer. I remember saying that I needed to tell my boss. My co-workers told me not to worry about that and that they would relay the message.
I rush out of the office.
Life is made up of moments and little did I know that this was the moment where my life was about to change.
Running Forward...My Way 