I have no idea where I am going.
I am still trying to figure out the person I want to reinvent myself to be.
I have no idea what the future entails. I am not sure what I want from the future. Bryon’s death has given me the opportunity to really think about how I want to spend the remainder of my days.
Because life is temporary after all.
If it were just me, I probably would have sold my house and would have had plans to go somewhere new. Where I have never been before. On my own. But I probably would have wound up in Chicago or Florida because that is where one of my best friends and my cousin live, respectively.
But I have my daughter and it is important for her to have roots where her father and I had our lives. And to be around those who loved her father and love her.
During my widowhood, I feel like I live in two different time dimensions. The first dimension is the same dimension that we all live in where time moves forward in minutes, weeks, months, years, etc. The second dimension of time is where the past is in the present. The times that I try to cling to a memory for as long as I can because for that brief period of time, I can pretend that I am still in that moment and that Bryon is alive.
I have resigned myself to the fact that I live in this first dimension of time. I am still here on Earth for an undetermined amount of time. I want to make the best of my years here and do as much good in the world as I can. I want to be the best version of myself I can be.
Because I can’t go back and be the older versions of myself. And I don’t really want to either.
Even though my soul feels broken without Bryon, I don’t want to be the person I was before he got sick. I didn’t know what was important. I was selfish. I worried about things that were insignificant. I did not appreciate all that I had and I did not appreciate Bryon. I let my fears rule my life. And sometimes I just went along with things Bryon wanted because I didn’t want to risk an argument. But in the process of not rocking the boat, I wasn’t always true to myself.
Going forward, I must always be true to myself.
Even if it means rocking every boat in the marina.
Death changes everything. The timeline of my life has been broken into two very distinct pieces- the before and the after.
I can never go back to who I was when Bryon was alive or who I was before Bryon came into my life.
I can never go back and be the lonely shy child who grew up in the outskirts of the Boston suburbs.
I can never go back and be the restless teenager in rural Downeast Maine. The girl who knew there was an exciting world out there and felt trapped in her small town.
I can never go back and be the girl who went to college but had no idea what she wanted to do. The girl who had no confidence and was equally afraid of success and fear.
I can never go back and be the 21 year old who was spending a semester “studying” abroad in Winchester, UK.
I can never go back and be the 25 year old girl who had just broken up with her college boyfriend and who was working three jobs to get by.
I can never go back to the 27 year old girl who was involved in politics.
I can never go back to any of these versions of myself. But I still carry something from each version.
The child version of myself represents my Boston Irish roots and my inner child who isn’t afraid to get creative.
The high school version of me represents my restless spirit that I will probably never outgrow and also reminds me that I love to run.
The college version of myself reminds me that I need to be more confident and not be afraid of my dreams like she was.
The 21 year old version of me was proud of herself that she went to England and got to visit London, Paris and Dublin. She got to see places she had dreamed about for years and she got to experience a different culture. Most importantly, she learned that “pants” don’t mean the same thing in the UK as they do in the US.
The 24 year old version of myself taught me that sometimes it is better to let go of something instead of chasing it. You can’t make anyone love you. It is best to wait for real love.
The 27 year old version of myself taught me ambition and how to get over my shyness. This girl also represents who I was before I learned how to love.
And I think about everything I learned from Bryon. He taught me how to love. He taught me to believe to in myself and that I was worth nice things. He taught me how to live like to the fullest. He taught be to not be afraid.
It was because of him I got to be a wife and a mother.
I know that he is a part of me now. But I still wish I could live in my memories with him and not in the present and future.
I haven’t rambled for awhile so here goes.
I want my old life back. My old life was so easy. Bryon took care of everything. And not just for me. He took care of everything for so many people.
My old life was so much easier. And I never appreciated. Now when something goes wrong, I am the only one here to deal with it. Luckily I can usually get help but I hate asking for it. I hate being a burden on people.
I never appreciated my old life. I never appreciated all that Bryon did for me.
I miss my old life even though it feels like a lifetime ago. I feel so removed from my old life even though I live in the same house and have the same friends. I still have my daughter and my cat.
I am a different person. The old Kerry is only a shadow inside of the New Kerry.
I want my old life back because in my old life, I didn’t know this kind of pain.
Some days I like my new life. I like myself better now.
But some days my new life completely sucks.
My new life is lonely. I know what I am missing.
Before I met Bryon, I felt like I was waiting for my real life to begin. Then I got my real life and was always concerned about the next step.
I would be running from the past and escaping into the future even if the future scared me.
And then- it was all gone.
Now I am in a future I never imagined having.
For the first time in my life I am forced to live in the present because the past makes me sad and thinking about the future makes me uncomfortable.
I feel stuck. How do I know the difference between spending enough time grieving versus being afraid of the future?
I am so afraid of being disappointed in the future.
I started to get excited about the holidays but now I wonder if I am setting myself up to be let down. Because my life isn’t a Hallmark movie.
And if I ever date again…am I setting myself up for dissappointment.
I had to call IT for work tonight. The IT guy was nice enough. I am so lonely that I didn’t want to hang up. But I did because otherwise it would have been weird and creepy. At least I ended the call with “thank you” and “bye” instead of defaulting to “love you.” That would have been awkward even if I do genuinely appreciate the help.
I feel Bryon’s spirit so close at times. So close that he doesn’t seem dead. At times I feel like if I just reach out and wish harder that I can bring him back and pretend this was just a bad dream. And then reality smacks me on the face.
Or maybe if I try hard enough, I can move myself to the parallel universe where things played out the way they were supposed to. Where he continued to be a successful lawyer and we had 2.5 kids (he wanted 2, I wanted 3), our cat and a dog.
But none of those things will happen.
Instead, I am alone, awake at 3am and writing a blog post that no one is going to read.
- I have no one to kill bugs anymore.
When everything happened with Bryon, people kept telling me that I was so strong and that was because I had to be. That applies in this scenario, albeit on a lesser scale.
- Car maintenance becomes my responsibility.
Car maintenance is not my strong point. One time when Bryon and I were dating, I half-jokingly said that whenever I heard my car make a noise, I would turn the radio up and hope it would go away. Bryon was appalled by that answer and said that he was going to take care of the car maintenance. I was glad to be relieved of that responsibility and I happily obliged.
- Actually everything is now my responsibility.
I have learned that Bryon did everything. The car maintenance, killed the bugs, took care of the yard and the finances. I pretty much changed diapers, made sure there was milk in the fridge and did a half assessed attempt to keep up with the laundry.
- The empty bed.
Some nights I just hope my daughter crawls in just so I won’t be alone.
Or the cat.
- No date nights with my love.
No more romantic dinner. No more dances at weddings. While I have learned to be a more independent person, I do miss these nights with Bryon. And sure, I could date but I am very “meh” at the thought of dating.
- Being the third/fifth/seventh/ninth wheel.
While I am so happy that my friends still choose to keep me in their lives, I always feel like the odd person out. It could not be any clearer that Bryon is missing.
- Lack of sex.
I supposed I could fix that problem but the thought of some strange guy touching me just isn’t my style.
- Having to troubleshoot any electronic problem by myself.
My cell phone was possessed. I ended up just buying a new one because it was easier. (To be fair, it was overheating too which I took as a bad sign).
- Being an only parent is exhausting.
I know every situation with a single parent is different and some non widowed single parents are only parents and can relate. But when you are a widowed parent, you are the only parent. You have your kids 24/7. They don’t go to their other parent on the weekends. Between parenting, full time work, blogging, fitness, housework, and dealing with grief, I am exhausted. Then you have to throw in the new responsibilities like killing bugs and car maintenance on top of it. I am lucky to get more than 5 hours of sleep in a night. It’s a good thing I don’t want to have sex. I wouldn’t have time for it.
- Single parent judgement.
It doesn’t matter how many stories I read to her, how many places I take her to, how many cute outfits I put her in or the fact that I am able to have her in dance classes and gymnastics. People begin to judge every parenting decision you make and talk to you like you are ignorant and uneducated. It’s like one day I was like all the other parents- married, educated and successful and now I am viewed as “white trash”.
Just to be clear, I didn’t ask nor plan to become a widowed mother. I wish I could have Bryon back. He would put all those Judgey McJudedgersons in their place. (Bryon always did that. If I was being grumpy, he would say “Someone is being a Grumpy McGrumperson”.) Actually he probably wouldn’t have cared what they thought.
I generally process everything okay, but I know that if I ever date or marry again, I will always worry that that man was going to die. It happened once, it can happen again. Will I ever get to be carefree again?
And while I generally stay calm in situations and get ice or ibuprofen or whatever, I worry about cuts. Bryon had one infection after another and went into septic shock many times. So even though it’s unlikely, anytime my daughter or I gets a cut, I bring out the neosporin and the Frozen band-aids because I am paranoid about sepsis.
Daily Prompt https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/identity/
* * *
She was a wife.
It was a role that she was proud of.
She and her husband had eight wonderful years together.
They had a wonderful wedding, a little starter home and went on adventures.
They became parents together.
They full-filled their vows to each other. Till death do they part.
Now she is a widow.
Though she is among friends, she is alone.
She has been open about her grief but few people know the real her.
Her true self.
They just see her as a widow and a mother.
Most people aren’t interested in knowing the real her. It’s easier to just keep seeing her as the person they once knew.
She is too boring. Too ordinary.
She misses her husband. Every cell in her body aches for him.
But sometimes she is tired of just being a widow.
She is no longer the person she once was but she can’t go back.
Too much has changed.
She isn’t sure who she is becoming or where she is going.
All she knows is that she doesn’t want to stay where she currently is and that it is impossible to go back.
It’s a rainy fall day and I usually love rainy days, especially rainy fall days. The dreariness reminds me of when I lived in England. I like the contrast of the brightly covered leaves against the gray sky.
This weather is totally indicitive of my feelings as of late.
The sky represents my losses.
My loss of faith in God.
My loss of faith in the healthcare system.
My loss of identity.
My loss of my future that I planned and the life I was living.
The loss of belonging where I was supposed to be. I was supposed to be a wife, not the odd widow in a group of married friends. My daughter wasn’t supposed to be the kid with a dead father in a class full of kids with two living parents.
But underneath the dreariness is some beauty brought on by all the pain.
I appreciate things more. I am less likely to take things for granted.
I am better able to recieve the love from others.
Underneath all this sadness, there is still hope.
Written on my Facebook wall one year ago.
Names have been edited out.
Last night when I went to sleep on the little couch in Bryon’s room, I wasn’t sure he was going to make it through the night. He did but he was in rough shape. Then I wasn’t sure he was going to make it through the day. But Bryon is a fighter. I don’t know what the outcome is going to be but we all know that Bryon isn’t going down without a fight and he is going to give his all. This morning I told him that if he still had fight in him to please keep fighting. I want our daughter to grow up knowing firsthand how amazing her father is. But I told Bryon that I would love him no matter what even if he couldn’t win this fight. And thank God he is still fighting.
Bryon’s current health status is very critical at this point and we are pretty much back where we started. It was a miracle that kept him alive back in March and I don’t know if double miracles happen. However his labs and blood pressure have improved since this morning. But my friend says if the double miracle does happen it will be awesome because Bryon can become a motivational speaker and he would be funny.
* * *
The minutes crept at an unnaturally slow pace.
I will never forget how I felt as he clung onto his life.
Desperation. Exhaustion. Frustration. Helplessness. Hopefulness. Anger. Betrayal. Gratitude.