The mystery of friendship and the meaning of life

Published on by kerrymckim5 Comments

My weekend was a lot like other weekends.  There were social engagements.  There were errands that were done as well as errands that didn’t get done.  I got some cleaning done and there was even more cleaning that didn’t get done.  I wanted to take a nap but that didn’t happen.  On Saturday evening, I was rushing around getting my daughter ready for her sitter and getting myself ready for a birthday dinner.  Embracing a night where I wouldn’t need to be carrying a diaper bag, I grabbed a small clutch purse that I hadn’t used in a long time.  I opened it and inside there was a shiny green toy baby. I looked at it for a second and then I remember that it was from our trip to New Orleans in 2014.  I was nine weeks pregnant and we were going on a cruise (this was before Zika was a thing) and we spent a few days in New Orleans before the cruise.  We had had dinner at Emeril’s restaurant NOLA.  I don’t remember what Bryon ate but I remember that I had the fried chicken because my stomach couldn’t handle much else.  For dessert I had iced cream and Bryon had King cake and this little toy baby was in the King Cake.  Being the sentimental packrat I am, I saved it and forgot about it. There even is some frosting still dried onto it.

Now it is three years later.  Our nine week old fetus is now an active two and a half year old girl and Bryon is dead.  I don’t think this toy baby is a sign from heaven but it was a nice memory I had forgotten about.  I thanked Bryon for that memory.   As I clean out my house, it is likely that I am going to find more memories but I know over time these surprise memory triggers are going to become less frequent.

Our circle of friends always call ourselves “the family that we created.”  Some members of our social circle know each other from college, or from politics or other organizations in Bryon’s life.  Many of us are not from the Albany area and we live far from our own families so we do depend on each other like a family.  Bryon’s sickness has also brought us closer together.   We were there to comfort each other.  They got me through the funeral and those early weeks of raw grief. We continue to help each other and support each other.  Bryon’s death continues to bring us closer each day.  Our souls are on some sort of journey and Bryon was in each of our lives for a reason and there is a reason that we are together now.  We may not know, or ever know, the exact reason but there is a reason.  We are all exactly where we are supposed to be.  

During my conversations with close friends this weekend, we came to the realization that while Bryon might be physically dead, he is not really dead.  He still has us laughing hard when we tell stories of his antics and those stories bring us comfort.  While we share situations when we need Bryon’s guidance, we share the guidance he gave us when he was here.  He truly lives on in our memories.  While we may all be special and one of a kind, Bryon was different.  He completely shattered the mold.

Our friendships have changed since Bryon died.   Most of us in our circle have grown closer.  We take the time to check in with each other more.  We celebrate the events in our lives more and if there is no event to celebrate, we make up a reason.  Being alive is a good reason.  Every brunch together, every birthday dinner, every game night, we are meant to be together.  We are in each other’s life for a reason.  I may never make sense of why Bryon’s life had to be so short but I know that we were meant to be together for the short time we had and that it is because of Bryon that I have these amazing friendships and a whole bunch of happy memories.  I have no idea where my life is going to end up, but wherever I go, it will be a result of the time I spent with Bryon as well as the time spent with my friends now.  I don’t know how but these two factors are going to play a pivotal role in the rest of my journey on Earth.

Some friends have grown apart from our core group since his death and that’s okay.  It’s natural.  We are all moving forward.  Forward doesn’t necessarily mean together.  Just like some of us are in each others lives for a reason, there is a reason that people grow apart too.  We are each on our own path and must follow it.  Coming to this realization makes it easier to let go of any relationships that may be toxic because there is no reason for that to be in my life or my daughter’s life.  Toxicity brings no value.

One thing none of us doubt is that Bryon is still playing a role in everything down here and we could very well just be pawns.  There may be relationships I don’t have yet because Bryon still has it in the works.  He was never one to play his best card right away.  He is too smart for that. He has plans for all those close to him and he’s going to orchestrate it carefully.  We just need to be patient.

I thought of this over the weekend when I brought my daughter to the birthday party of one of Bryon’s law school rugby teammates.  I don’t know his teammate and his wife very well but they are great people and have always been kind of my daughter and me.  They expressed an interest in our daughters being friends as they are close in age.  Only time will tell if they become good friends of ours or if our daughters become close friends.  But it is a good reminder to myself to not to get too comfortable with “the family that we created” and that I need to be open to the other friendships too.  Because Bryon’s work may not be done.  There could be people that are meant to be in my life that aren’t yet and it may take awhile for our paths to cross.  Or maybe the friendships I have now will change and I need to be open to whatever those changes might be.

I certainly don’t know the meaning to everything or anything for that matter.  I will never understand why Bryon had to die young.  But I do think he was given more personality because he was here for a short time.  I also think that maybe his soul was in some way more developed and therefore, he didn’t need to spend 80 years on this earth.  But I know that he is still here and he is still working his magic and it gives me hope that maybe there are good things yet to come for me, my daughter and for everyone in our family that we created.  

Feliz cumpleaños mi amiga

Published on by kerrymckim6 Comments

I am going to start this off with a confession.  Way back in the very early days of our friendship, you missed my birthday party.  I don’t know why you missed it.  I am sure you had a perfectly good reason but at the time, I was so mad at you. I didn’t tell you I was mad at you but Bryon definitely heard about it and he was so annoyed at me.  I have a tendency to hold onto anger.  It’s not one of my more endearing qualities. (How fitting that I am talking about my Irish stubbornness on St. Patrick’s Day?) I held onto this anger until Bryon invited you and your boyfriend, now your husband, over to our place to watch a televised Siena game and I decided I was not mad at you anymore.  

I am not sharing this story to try to make you feel bad.  If anything, I am hoping you are laughing at what an idiot I am.  I am sharing this story to demonstrate that because my own stubbornness, I could have easily missed out on of the best friendships in my life.  I want everyone that is reading this to learn that lesson and to not be like me.

Through the years, we became good friends.  You gave me a wedding planner when Bryon and I got engaged. We were at each others bridal showers and weddings.  You held my daughter when she was a baby.   We attended Siena games together.  We went on double dates, one of which involved dueling pianos and an interesting rendition to the classic “Joy to the World”.

You were present at some of my funniest memories of Bryon.  I wish you could have seen the look on your face when Bryon walked out of your wedding with a six pack of Sam Adams Oktoberfest. And remember that time when we were playing Cards Against Humanity and there was the incident with the Chinese food?  And of course the infamous Christmas Eve Mass where we broke the pew after Communion and Bryon said “We need Jesus the carpenter, not Jesus the baby” and then Bryon marched up to the altar with the long piece of the broken pew over his shoulder, explaining it all to Father Bradley who wasn’t phased at all.

Bryon and I were saddened by your father’s death and attended your father’s funeral.  We were sad that we didn’t get to know your father.  We heard the stories and realized that we missed out on knowing a great man.  Maybe they are getting to know each other now.  I remember Bryon and I discussing how your father’s death was significant because we didn’t have many friends who have lost parents.  Most of us had lost grandparents but a parent’s death was different because it was one generation closer to us and therefore it made our own mortality seem closer.  That conversation gives me the chills now.

None of us were prepared for what was going to happen.  But through those five months of hell, you were there for me the whole time.  I am crying as I type this because I don’t know what I would have done without you.  You just seemed to instinctively know what I needed, when I needed it.  Whether it was baby-sitting my daughter, or an iced coffee, or nachos or just someone to sit with me. You would sit with Bryon when I was too afraid to leave him alone so I could run home and take a shower.  You kept my spirits up which was important because I needed that hope to get through those months.  You also rallied the troops when you organized the “Double Miracle for Bryon” campaign.

You and your husband were the first people to come over to my house the day Bryon died.  You told people to bring food.  The rest of those days are a fog in my memory but I know you were present.  And when the crowd thinned out, you stayed.  You assured me that Bryon is still around and will always be around.  You still come over for #tacotuesday.  We brunch with the ladies.  You cleaned my kitchen and because of you, I can see my backsplash and all my tupperware has lids that match.  You have even offered to help me purge my house and have a yard sale.

Christmas Eve was not the same this year but we started our new tradition of Feliz Navidad Lunch and then we visited Bryon’s grave.  And instead of a broken pew at Mass, we had an epic toddler meltdown.  I don’t know which was worse…

Even though Bryon has been dead for almost seven months, you continue to be there for me.  You have taught me what it means to be there for people and how to be a good friend.  I aspire to be like you.  It’s crazy to think that we are friends because our husbands lived together during college.  And if Bryon were still alive, we wouldn’t be as close as we are today but your friendship is one of the biggest gifts Bryon could have given me.

Happy Birthday my dear friend.  I love you.

Blizzard of 2017

Published on by kerrymckimLeave a comment

After I put my daughter down to bed, I thought to myself that I need to remove some of this snow.  Normally my amazing neighbor plows me out but he was in Florida.  I was going to have to do this alone.  I went to the garage and looked at the snowblower.  I have never used the snowblower.  Bryon bought a high end model and a good friend of his showed me how to use it last fall.  And of course I couldn’t get the thing to start.  It is most likely the fault of the operator.  There probably wasn’t any gas in it. I googled some YouTube videos (because everything is on YouTube) but I still had no luck.  Luckily, I own an old fashioned snow shovel and as I was shoveling my driveway during the Blizzard of 2017, or Storm Stella, many thoughts came through my mind.

First I want to address a pet peeve of mine.  Why are they naming winter storms?  They are not hurricanes.  Naming winter storms is like “Fetch” and they need to stop trying to make it happen.

So during the beginning of shoveling, I was all “I am woman, hear me roar!”  Us younger widows are tough.

Then I wanted to forget the “I am woman, hear me roar” crap.  I need to start taking applications for Husband #2.  Bring on the quasi-traditional gender roles. (I am kidding, of course.  About the husband.  I am a modern woman but having some semblance of traditional gender roles doesn’t bother me.)  At this point, I don’t need any romance or intelligence.  I would settle on usefulness.

I started to ask why did my Bryon have to die? If he were alive, he would be using the snowblower and listening to some online radio station from the Virgin Islands.  At least in our old life.  I always tend to forget that even if he were still alive, things would be very different.  Had he survived, he wouldn’t have been the physically strong man he was.  He would have had some long lasting health problems.  He would be too weak to snowblow or shovel or he would still be in rehab and I would probably be in the same position.  I also began to wonder if he had survived, how would he feel about the new dynamics.  He was always a take charge person.  The last thing he would have wanted was to be dependent on me.  It would have frustrated him but at the same time, he would have been grateful.

I started to think that the Blizzard of 2017 really sucks. Then I remembered what I said to myself at the beginning of the year.  There is no way that 2017 can be as bad as 2016.  Almost half of 2016 was spent in an ICU room and a third of 2016 was spent in the earliest, most raw stages of grief.  Shoveling snow might suck but I would rather be shoveling snow than be sitting in an ICU room.

My muscles were beginning to ache and I started to whine to myself.  Then I remembered the pain Bryon was in during the final months of his life.  It seemed silly to be upset about pain that some Ibuprofen and a heating pad could take away.  I also began to feel grateful that I was alive and that my fat and asthmatic body was able to shovel snow.  It might take me three days to shovel my driveway but I could do it.

At one point I stopped and asked myself a question I ask myself a lot: what would Bryon McKim do?  The answer was simple, Bryon McKim would grab a beer (or several).  I don’t usually keep beer in the house.  I am not a big drinker, usually just wine with the girls.  But when I was grocery shopping, I saw Saranac S’mores porter and I thought it looked interesting so I bought it.  Maybe I subconsciously knew I was going to need a beer.  I rested the beer in a snowbank though it didn’t taste good after awhile.  It was still snowing and snow was getting into the beer.  And the porter started to ice up.  Oh well.

My daughter was inside sleeping and I started to think about what life would be like when she was older.  If she were older, she would have had to help me.  Was she going to help willingly or be a little stinker like I was?  I know growing up I gave my father a hard time when he told me to help with snow shoveling. Though I gave him a slightly less of a hard time when it came to shoveling out my grandmother.  I thought about how it was just my daughter and me and we were going to have to depend on each other much more than we would have if Bryon was still alive.  And she doesn’t have siblings to share the burden.  I began to worry that she might grow up earlier than most kids because of our situation.

I started to think about my retirement dream where I buy an old farmhouse on the coast of Maine.  My retirement home will likely have a long driveway so I decided that I was going to have to purchase a truck and a plow when I retire.

By 10:30, the snow was still coming down and the wind was picking up.  I was really starting to get cold so I figured that the snow will still be there in the morning and surely daycare would be closed.  So I went inside, took a hot shower and then watched the Season Finale of This is Us.  Then I went to bed.

The next morning, I was surprised that wasn’t closed or even delayed.  Half of my driveway wasn’t shoveled.  So I bundled my daughter in the Gap snowsuit that I bought in a large size two cyber Mondays ago that barely fits now. Ironically it was her first time wearing it  because it the snowsuit was too large last winter and we barely had snow this winter.  I was kind of glad it got one wear before being passed on to a friends daughter.  I told my daughter to go be like Elsa while I shoveled.

I shoveled until my daughter told me she was cold.  Then we went back inside.  One of my girls has a son that attends the same daycare as my daughter and she came by to bring her to daycare but there was a huge snowbank in the way.  Luckily, just then my neighbor’s brother-in-law showed up to plow me out and I was able to take my daughter to daycare.  Crisis was over and everything was okay.  

My muscles might still be achy but we survived our first major storm.  Bring on Spring.  I didn’t get to enjoy Spring last year so I am ready to enjoy it twice as much this year.

This one is for the girls

Published on by kerrymckim6 Comments

I have always been somewhat of an introvert and I have never had a large group of female friends.  As a child, I was shy and hyperactive meaning that I talked too much to the few people I was comfortable with and annoyed them.  In high school I kept myself busy with cross country, track and my job at Shop ‘N Save and my circle of friends was pretty small.  I carried a similar pattern in college where I went to track and cross country practice and I did not attend many parties.  During most of my 20’s, I immersed myself into politics where I socialized but in a highly structured manner.  I always felt awkward in conversations and politics gave me a reason to talk to people and contact to discuss with them. Despite my shyness, I made a few friends during my political years as well as an amazing boyfriend.

In 2009, I moved to Albany after a year of long distance dating and I left behind a few close friends in Maine. For years after the move, I tagged along with Bryon to social events but I felt that our circle of friends were really just Bryon’s friends and that his friends barely noticed me.  I was very lonely but over time I began to grow friendships with the girlfriends of Bryon’s friends and some of Bryon’s female friends from college.  Over time I started having the occasional dinner and movie nights with the girlfriend/wife of Bryon’s best friend and a friend of Bryon’s from college.  She would “babysit” Bryon and the guys in college.  She deserves to be elevated to sainthood here on Earth.

Over the years we met up to show off our engagement rings and squeal with excitement.  We poured over wedding planning magazines and got together to watch Say Yes to the Dress and Four Weddings.  There have been bridal showers, bachelorette parties and weddings.  Then came the baby showers, christenings, play dates and little kid birthday parties.  I enjoyed the celebrations, double dates, brunches and occasional girls nights out.  But you don’t realize how strong your friendships are until crisis hits.

You quickly learn who your friends are when you are told your husband might not survive. They are the ones who drop whatever they are doing and rush to the hospital and sit with you.  They immediately step in to take care of your daughter and tend to your very basic needs because you forget about things like basic hygiene and eating when your husband is close to dying.  These are the people who bring you food to make sure you eat and bring you endless iced coffees to sustain you.  Usually when people say you learn who your friends are, it implies that they had fewer friends than they thought but in my case I found out I had many more friends than I ever could have imagined.  I never knew how much they meant to me.

Bryon’s death has brought all of us closer.  Not just to me but to each other.  Life gets busy but we all make a point in checking in with each other more.  It’s been a year of highs and lows.  In addition to Bryon’s death, there have been new jobs, babies, new houses, engagements as well as divorces, breakups and illnesses.  There have been job promotions, new jobs and job frustrations.  There have been vacations and birthdays.  We have all been there to support each other no matter what curve balls are thrown at us.  It is so peaceful to be with friends who are there to listen to each other and offer support.  We are the family that we created.

I look forward to spending the future with you.  I look forward to more babies (just not from me!), engagements, weddings, new jobs and vacations.  I know we will be there for each other for whatever lows there might be.  For those of us with kids, I look forward to birthday parties, play dates and if I have the privilege to live long enough to see our kids grow up, I hope to attend recitals, concerts, and various games and other sports competitions and I hope to celebrate graduations, birthdays and another cycle of weddings and babies.

If Bryon were still alive, we’d all still be friends but we wouldn’t be as close.  There would still be the highs and lows and Bryon would be helping us through them.  We all know that he is still helping us through them in his own way now.  And I like to think that our strengthened friendships are in some way, a gift from Bryon.  He can’t be there for us anymore, but he gave us each other.  

Maine roots and a New York legacy

Published on by kerrymckim4 Comments

I love Maine.  

I love the ocean, the coastline, Maine politics, fried clams, pine trees,  L.L. Bean, Moose, red hot dogs, Reny’s, Marden’s, late night trips to Dysarts, Moody’s, Lobster, Pat’s Pizza, Acadia National Park, Kettle Cove, UMaine hockey, potato fields, Lamoine Beach, going to the shooting range with my father, Jordan’s Snack Bar, Big G’s. Dairy Queen Blizzards in the middle of winter, summer nights in Bar Harbor, the Sea Dog, clam chowder, reading angry letters to the editor in the Ellsworth American, Amato’s, Bob the black bear that lives in the woods behind my parents house, The Mex (even if Bryon threatened to break up with me if I made him eat there again), Coffee Express, seeing Stephen King in public even if he is rude if approached, Schoodic Point, Ben and Bills peanut butter cup ice cream, flannel shirts never going out of style, lighthouses, the fact that everyone roots for the Red Sox and Patriots, Raye’s Mustard, bean and casserole suppers, China Hill, Shipyard beer, and probably a whole bunch of other things I will think of after I hit “publish”.

I even don’t mind the never ending winter, frost heaves, mud and black fly season.  The only thing I don’t like about Maine is Moxie because it is disgusting.  I also think Whoopie Pies are a bit overrated.

I left Maine in 2009 for a guy.  The gamble paid off because I married that guy three years later.  He never had any interest in moving to Maine and while I missed Maine, I never really looked back. I never entertained the thought of returning until he was dying.  The thought of raising my daughter by myself was scary and in Maine she would have two grandparents who love her.

As Bryon was actively dying I started to panic. I was thinking that I could not do this by myself.  I was going to need help raising my daughter and I started to think that the only logical solution was to move back to Maine as my parents are there.  I convinced myself that this was what I was going to do on the car ride back to Albany.

So…why am I still in New York?  Why haven’t I moved back to Maine?

Once I got back to Albany, I began to realize that I was not ready to leave the life Bryon and I had built.

Bryon and I had bought our house two and a half years before he died and we already had so many memories.  I wasn’t ready to leave this house.  This was the house where we welcomed our daughter into our family.  We celebrated two Thanksgivings, two Christmases and two Easters in this house. We hosted two derby parties in our house.  We spent many spring and summer afternoons sitting on our front deck. This house was going to be our starter house and we weren’t planning on staying in this house for more than 5-7 years.  We even made comments about how small the house felt and how much smaller it was going to feel when we had another baby.  While we weren’t going to live our dreams together after all, I wasn’t ready to leave the ghosts of those dreams.

Home is more than a house.  Home also includes those you love.  I depended on so many of our friends during the course of Bryon’s sickness.  Not just for physical help but I depended on them emotionally.  I can’t leave them.  They were with me through the hardest months of my life. I wouldn’t have gotten through this crisis if it wasn’t for them.  Our bonds have only gotten stronger.  My friends here have become my family and my daughter has so many aunts and uncles here who love her and look out for her.

The last and most important reason I am still in New York is my daughter.  She was 18 months when Bryon went into the hospital for the last time and she was 23 months old when he passed away.  She won’t have any first hand memories of him.  She will only know him through the stories she will hear as she is growing up.  She needs to grow up in the place where her father had lived.  She needs to go to the Saratoga Racetrack and Siena basketball games and Albany Law rugby tournaments.  She needs to be around the people who loved Bryon and that were important in his life. To move her to Maine would remove her from all of this and I can’t do that to her.

Until my daughter goes to college, we will stay in New York.  Then I might return to Maine in 2032 and buy an old farmhouse in a coastal town.  Ocean view would be a bonus.  Or I might decide that I have had enough of winter and move to the US Virgin Islands or something.  I’ll figure it out sometime in the next 15 years.

Not quite married, not quite single

Published on by kerrymckim2 Comments

I always envisioned being a widow to being someone that was my grandmother’s age. My Grandma Sullivan was widowed in 1990 at the age of 76 after 44 years of marriage.  (My Grandma Sullivan passed away in 2004 at the age of 90) My Nana Crowley was widowed in 2007 at the age of 84 after 63 years of marriage.  (My Nana Crowley is still alive and will turn 95 later this month) Both of my grandmothers lived or are living the life that you would imagine of a widow.  They play/played Bingo.  They both socialized.  Both of my grandmothers have/had large social networks and lots of friends.  Both of my grandmothers doted on their grandchildren (and in Nana’s Crowley’s case, great-grandchildren.)

My experience has been different.  I became widowed in 2016 at the age of 37 a month shy of our 4th wedding anniversary. The last time I played Bingo was on a cruiseship with Bryon.   And instead of doting on grandchildren or great-grandchildren, I am taking care of a 2-year-old daughter.

The thing about being widowed, especially at a young age, is that you are not quite married and you are not quite single.  I am no longer married but I don’t feel single.  I still can’t bring myself to take off my rings.  I didn’t ask to be here and I don’t want to be here.  It’s like I am in limbo between the two.  I liked being a wife.  I was pretty good at it.  Turns out I am really good at the “in sickness and in health” part.  I used to listen to my single friends talk about their adventures and mis-adventures in dating and I remember feeling relieved because I was happily married and I wasn’t going to ever have to worry about dating ever again.

The one question I get asked the most since becoming a widow is if I ever plan on remarrying.  I don’t blame people for being curious.  I would be curious if I weren’t me.  Neither of my grandmother’s remarried but they were much older than me.  They don’t make a good point of reference to me. To be honest, if you asked me that question every day, the answer would probably be different depending on the day.  What can I say?  I am full of contradictions these days.

Some days I am optimistic that I may love again.  It is referred to as “Chapter 2” in the widow world.  I am a romantic at heart and don’t want to believe that my love story is finished.  I do think my heart will be capable of loving again and some days I hope I do love gain.  I still feel like I have love to give.  I also to hope that I will experience being loved again.  I don’t think to date again or marry again is a betrayal to him.    I truly think Bryon wants me to be happy.  Bryon will always have a piece of my heart but I do think the heart is capable of growing and loving again.

However, on other days I am depressed and I feel that no man would ever love me like Bryon did and I will never have what Bryon and I had.  Of course, I forget that trauma and loss change you, permanently and forever.  I am not the same carefree, naive person I used to be and I never will be.  That version of myself went away when Bryon got sick and she died when Bryon died.  So even if I found Bryon’s clone with the same personality, it probably wouldn’t work.  I have changed.  But I think about the way Bryon used to look at me.  Will I ever find someone who will look at me the same way?

At times I don’t think I will ever remarry because I am not good at dating.  Good at being a wife, yes.  Good at dating, no.  I don’t even know where single people who are closing in their late 30’s go in Albany and even if I did know, where would I find the time?  I am busy enough with my daughter and work.  Also, Bryon was very well known and popular  in our town and will I always be looked at as his widow and not as my own person?  And I am not sure anyone would want to date me knowing that Bryon will always have a piece of my heart and I will always love him.

I don’t know what the future will bring.  None of us do.  I don’t know when I will be ready to date again, if ever.  Right now I am still in pain from Bryon’s death and I miss him too much.  Plus, I am still learning how to be a working single mom.  But the one thing I will say with certainty is that if I start dating again, I won’t be sharing it here.  I am very open about my grief but I feel some things are meant to be private.

If I could have just one more day with you…

Published on by kerrymckimLeave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Condescension and clichés

Published on by kerrymckim4 Comments

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Top Gun Wake

Published on by kerrymckimLeave a comment

Friday 12:30pm

August 26, 2016

 

“Revvin’ up your engine

Listen to her howlin’ roar

Metal under tension

Beggin’ you to touch and go

Highway to the danger zone

Ride into the danger zone”

             ~Kenny Loggins

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The mopey love song phase

Published on by kerrymckimLeave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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