I recently bought my daughter a Disney Princess CD for the car.
Yeah…they still make CD’s. I was kind of surprised too. This was good news because whatever part of the brain that understands technology…well mine is stuck in the 1990s.
Actually that is only half true. I embrace modern technology.
I just need other people to set it up for me.
And I need for it to work all the time for me.
And if it doesn’t, I need other people to fix it form me.
So yeah.
My daughter and I have been listening to a Disney Princess CD.
Actually we have only been listening to two songs.
The first is Rapunzel and “When will my life begin.”
Poor Rapunzel. I know what it’s like to feel like I am waiting for my life to begin. Except I am trapped in a tower of my own making and that doesn’t compare to her abuse.
The other sing we were listening to was the Little Mermaid.
As we listened to Ariel, my daughter knowingly says “Ariel is sad because of a boy.”
I was shocked at my 3 and a half year old daughters insight.
She already has something figured out that I didn’t figure out until high school.
I said “Yes…boys have a tendency to do that to us…lots of boys will make you sad…then one day you find the one that doesn’t make you sad…and then you will be happy…well as long as he doesn’t die…”
I am pretty sure my daughter stopped listening to me once I said she was correct. But with her you never know. She doesn’t seem to miss anything. She’s smart.
Last week I talked about how Jerry McGuire and the whole “You complete me” thing is a lie but I also decided that I no longer believe in fairy tales.
Life is never what it seems.
Like, seriously.
Ariel likes a guy. She has to jump through hoops to get him to notice her. I mean, it’s one thing to dress pretty and have open body language but to give your voice to a sea witch seems a bit excessive to me.
Ariel, honey, it’s not supposed to be THAT hard.
And it’s not good enough that she jumps through all these hoops, she has to completely change her life to be with Eric. Eric isn’t putting in any effort.
Seriously Eric. You need to appreciate what this girl has done for you.
The movie ends with Eric and Ariel having a wedding cruise and Ariel is wearing the dress that she said yes too. Interestingly enough, she did not go with a mermaid style dress. Her family is swimming in the ocean which is probably the etiquette equivalent of putting your family at Table 22 or something.
So Ariel is almost completely isolated from her family. I don’t remember seeing Eric’s parents but what if they aren’t nice? Not all people have loving and supportive in-laws. (I plead the fifth!) Needless to say, this could be problematic for Ariel.
So isolated from family…unknown in law situation…what if Ariel pops out a kid or two or twelve and then Eric has a simple elective surgery that gives him sepsis and he dies? And Ariel’s family can’t help because they are mermaids and live in the water.
I don’t think Ariel has thought this through.
Even though she wants to “part of Eric’s world” (whatever that means) she clearly showed signs of confusion when I saw her at Disney on Ice last year.
Is that a mermaid tail or legs? I am so confused…
Ariel is clearly having some identity crisis. She wants to be human but she still wants her mermaid tail?
Looks like she wants to have her cake and eat it too.
Maybe she needs to take a cue from Elsa and leave the past in the past.
I just hope Prince Eric doesn’t die on Ariel and shatter that whole world she wanted to be a part of.
You know what that means…time for some Good Vibrations Gratitude.
These are the Top 5 things I am grateful for this week.
Daylight Savings Time
You may noticed that I have been quiet on the blog this week. The first was that after writing my two most recent blog posts (here and here), I had nothing to say. I keep wanting to say I felt emotionally drained but the term “drained” doesn’t really sum it up well. Maybe I was actually content? I got out what I needed to. If I was feeling content, I am sure it will only last for a New York Minute. Because as the week ends, I am started to feel new emotions and thoughts bubbling up. Periods were I don’t have anything to say don’t happen often and don’t last long when they happen.
My lack of writing is also due to the fact that Daylight Savings Time really screws me up. Every year. For like, a whole week. Each day I have been hitting the later class at my gym because I can’t get my act together to go to the one I normally attend.
But I am grateful for Daylight Savings Time because I love the fact that the sun is out until 7 pm.
It makes this messed up week totally worth it.
Moments of joy
I have been working on feeling the joy of living in the present moment.
And what better example of feeling the joy of living in the present moment than seeing how excited my daughter was to try on her dance recital dress? I couldn’t help but feel joy because my daughter was so happy. I can’t wait to see her dance in her first recital.
For what I do have
It is easy to think about my previous life and dwell on what I no longer have.
I decided to be grateful for what I do have. I have my daughter. I have family. I have friends who are my family. I never spend holidays alone.I have a roof over my head. I have a job. I have my health.
I have it good.
SnapChat
I have had SnapChat for about a year and a half but never used it. I downloaded it shortly after Bryon died. I was at a friends birthday party and everyone was showing me how to use it. I signed up, got some friends and never used it.
Lately I have been turning inward a little bit. I haven’t been on Facebook as much. Partly because it was hard to see everyone living their perfect lives with their alive spouses. (And yes, get no one’s life is perfect but once in awhile I have bad days where I would take my worst day with Bryon over my widowed life.)
I also needed to turn inward because I needed to set some boundaries with my social media presence. I know I am very open about my grief process on the blog and on social media. And that won’t change. I do this to help other people- those who are also grieving as well as those who want to better understand the grieving process.
But there are some people who think that they somehow have a say in my life and are entitled to know things about me that are none of their business. Just because I share my grief journey does not make my whole life public property. So I have been quieter on social media.
I have been enjoying SnapChat because I can still socialize and take pictures but I can choose who receives it. It’s been the same 5-10 people because I am an elitist like that. (Just kidding!)
My friends send me videos of their golden retriever and I send videos back to them of my daughter. It’s a fun time.
A kickass week at the gym.
I got bronchitis in December and felt like I hadn’t rebounded. But I feel like I had good workouts this week and that I am back on track.
(And of course, I can’t mention roller coasters without thinking about Step by Step.)
The roller coaster started on the day I realized Bryon had been dead for 18 months and it ended (I hope) yesterday when I realized it was the second year anniversary of Bryon’s original surgery.
I am emotionally hungover.
It was something I had to go through. I had to get those emotions out. I think I am coming out of it and I feel very different about myself and my life.
I have had to take a step back. I didn’t deactivate my Facebook but I am currently what I call “Facebook-lite” right now. It felt like the more I engaged Facebook and all the happiness of others, the more isolated I felt. I had to turn inward.
I am lucky for my friends who knew the exact amount of space to give me. They have been giving me enough space to work through my mood but they know I don’t really want to be alone. My friends also did not take my mood personally. And for that, I am grateful.
Lately I have been thinking about the passage of time.
Widows are very keen on noticing the passage of time. It’s like a widow super power.
We notice it beyond the Facebook memories.
Facebook reminded me that Bryon and my love story began ten years ago last weekend.
I realized that in a period of ten years, Bryon and I spent a total of 8 living years together, almost 4 of those years we were married. And the last 2 of those 10 years were spent in trauma and then grief.
Since Bryon fully entered my life, 20% of that time has been engulfed in sadness.
That blew my mind.
It also blows my mind to think that when my daughter turned three, she has essentially spent an equal amount of time without her father than she had with her father since he went into the ICU when she was 18 months old.
This July she will officially pass the period of being alive longer without him than she had with him. Two months before her fourth birthday.
It also blew my mind the other day when I walked into my daughters daycare. I saw my best friends younger son and he walked over to me. I picked him up. Then I thought about how he was born after Bryon died. He never knew him. And he’s getting bigger every time I see him.
When Bryon first died, it felt like we were still married. His clothes were still hanging in the closet. I still had Bryon’s shows recording on the DVR. I still wore my wedding rings.
Eventually the clothes came down as I needed a place to put the clothes I bought during the retail therapy sessions.
I started deleted his shows on the DVR to make room for recorded Disney princess movies and episodes of Doc McStuffins.
And eventually I stopped wearing my wedding rings because I needed to stop being reminded of what I lost.
Now our marriage feels like it is in the past.
Sometimes I forget what it was like to answer to someone else.
It feels like another lifetime that I had someone to email in the middle of the day to figure out what they wanted to do for dinner. I used to love to cook but now dinner usually consists of some heated up chicken nuggets or if I am feeling fancy, I actually cook spaghetti.
When I see my daughters classmates and all their new baby brothers and sisters, I think about the fact that if Bryon had never gotten sick, we’d probably have a new baby brother and sister for my daughter.
Maybe in some parallel universe that is still happening. Maybe in some parallel universe we are a family of four. Maybe in some parallel universe we buy a bigger house with a real fireplace. Maybe in some parallel universe Bryon’s career is really taking off. Maybe in some parallel universe we have gone on more Caribbean Cruises.
But in this universe, I tell my daughter that a baby sister isn’t happening. Obviously for reasons she doesn’t understand.
The bigger house also isn’t happening either. Nor the Caribbean Cruises. And I no longer have the husband with a successful legal career.
As time marches forward, I have to let go of the life Bryon and I had. At times I do okay but at other times it is a slow and excruciating process that can only be done one day at a time. It can only be done on a timeline that only I can decipher.
I am in a weird place where I am starting to feel distanced from my married life and dead husband yet I cherish the memories and am trying to remember everything I can so I can pass them onto our daughter.
I am emerging to widowhood trying to find my place. I look at my surroundings and see the shell of my old life.
When I see all the perfect little intact families at my daughters daycare, I see my old life.
Now I am a single mom who feels compelled to tell the other parents that I am widow because I don’t want to be judged for being a single mother. I find myself wanting to say “My daughters father isn’t a deadbeat. He’s just dead. That’s why he isn’t at this party. Though he probably is here and we just can’t see him or hear his wise-ass comments.”
But now I am searching.
I don’t know where I belong. I don’t know what is next.
This is new territory for me. Because the old, non-traumatized, pre-widowed Kerry did not know how to live in the present. She only knew how to dwell on the past and worry about the future.
There is no point in dwelling on the past because it is past and there is nothing we can do to change it.
And there is no point in worrying about the future because there is so much of it we can’t control. We can’t control the economy or national politics. We can’t control the housing market. We can’t control other people or their actions. So we might as well not worry about it.
We only need to worry about the present. Now.
That is hard to do when you are working through grief. How are you supposed to focus on the present when you are dealing with sadness, anger and guilt?
That is what I have been struggling with. Since Bryon died, I knew I wanted to live again. I want to love again.
But wanting to live again and actually living again are two different things.
And I don’t even want to think about actually loving again. Not because I don’t want that. I do.
But I haven’t been on a first date in ten years. Yeah…
(And to my next future husband who googled my name and finds this- I am really not crazy. Well maybe a little but really, I am just grieving. Actually I am kinda smart and kinda funny. People tell me that I am a good cook and I will stay by your side should you wind up in the hospital. Sickness and in health…I nailed it.)
This brings me to destiny.
I believe we all have a destiny.
Bryon lived a short life where he made a different and touched so many lives. His time on earth ending with a wake (viewing? I grew up saying wake and I am going with that.) where the traffic was backed up so bad that the police had to come and direct traffic.
My daughter has a destiny that is unfolding. She wants to be a doctor. I told her that’s awesome as long as she makes sure patients get better care than her father did.
Whether she becomes a doctor, an author or changes her mind completely, I just hope she becomes a productive member of society and that she does her best at whatever she does.
And while I spend a lot of energy fussing about my daughter, trying to be a good mother and fill the void left by Bryon, I know I will never completely fill that void. But I have to believe that the circumstances of her childhood are going to impact her in a profound way that she becomes a resilient and compassionate adult. And she will do great things with that.
And all this late night rambling has me wondering what my destiny is. If Bryon wasn’t meant to be here very long and yet he was still in my life, maybe there is a reason for all this craziness? Maybe it was supposed to happen this way and after I am done wading through this mess of grief, I am supposed to take my newfound resiliency and compassion and do something with it?
That is the real question that I am trying to figure out.
It only took 18 and a half months but I am finally ANGRY.
I have felt bits of anger here and there but this is the first time that I have truly felt ANGRY.
I wrote about my sad grief mix a few weeks ago but now I realize I need an ANGER mix.
Please comment with any suggestions.
I have never listened to ANGRY girl music but I have a feeling I am about to start. I only know Alanis.
And I have always wondered- What did Dave Coulier do?
For the record, I want to start that I don’t care what the so-called grief experts (who probably have fancy degrees and learned everything in a textbook and probably haven’t actually experienced grief) say- grief doesn’t come all packaged up in neat little stages.
Yes, at first I was in shock and denial.
But then I jumped over to dialogue and bargaining because I started this blog 5 months after Bryon died.
And now I am somewhere between “anger” and “depression and detachment”.
Except I am not helpless. F*ck that.
The following chart gives a more accurate representation of expectation(left) versus reality (right).
I am ANGRY that my husband and the life I was supposed to be living were stolen from me.
I am ANGRY that my dreams died with my husband.
I am ANGRY that I will probably not have another child.
I am ANGRY that I lost those 5 months with my daughter when my husband was in the ICU. I am grateful for my parents for taking care of her and I know I needed to be with Bryon, advocating for him and overseeing his care but I won’t get those five months back.
I am ANGRY that I had to sit in an ICU room watching my husband cling to his life.
I am ANGRY that I had to watch him suffer.
I am ANGRY that he was hooked up on machines and we couldn’t talk. We didn’t get any closure.
I am ANGRY because in my daughters daycare class there is a chart that lists the kids and their parents name and my daughter is the only one that only has one parent listed.
I am ANGRY because at age 3, she already has a better understanding of death than many adults.
I am ANGRY whenever I hear other parents complain that their spouses are gone for a couple of days. Yes, it’s hard. I remember when Bryon had to go away for work. But it’s a whole lot harder when they are gone forever.
I am ANGRY that the doctors didn’t save Bryon nor did they seem to care. Maybe it would have been different if it had been their loved one.
I am ANGRY at the healthcare system for being so shitty. It’s all about money, not people.
I am ANGRY at God. I was taught that he was a loving God and that was all a lie.
I am ANGRY at all the people who tell me that “God doesn’t hate you”. Um…okay…
I get ANGRY when I see everyone living their perfect lives on Facebook. By perfect, I mean living lives where they don’t have a dead spouse. Because to me, that is perfect. I get no marriage is perfect. Bryon and I did not have a perfect marriage. But even on our worst day, it is still better than the hell I am living.
I am ANGRY that I am turning 40 this year and that I am in this position. So much for playing it safe and making good life choices.
I am ANGRY that I am alone and broken.
I am ANGRY that I am viewed as damaged.
I am ANGRY that I don’t fit into my own life anymore. I am a square peg in a world full of round holes.
I am ANGRY that despite having lots of loving friends, I am still lonely.
I am ANGRY because I have lost my innocence. If I ever fall in love again (which I probably won’t because I am broken and damaged) I will always have that fear that they could die young too. This could all happen again.
Last Friday I went to go see Les Miserables at Proctors Theater in Schenectady with some friends. Les Miserables was the first Broadway show I had ever seen.
It was 1996 and I was a senior in high school. My cross country team traveled from Ellsworth, ME to NYC to run in the Foot Locker Regional race. Our coach, Mr Beardsley, was also the sophomore English teacher and taught a unit on theater. We learned about Les Miserables, Phantom of the Opera and Miss Saigon.
Because of Mr. Beardsley, there is probably a whole generation of Ellsworth graduates who love the theater, or at the very least, appreciate it.
Les Miserables, 2018
So I saw Les Miserables at the Imperial Theater on Broadway with my cross country team. I was very moved by the play. I laughed. I cried. I got laughed at because I cried. The experience left an impression on me.
Three years later in 1999, I was studying in England and I saw Phantom of the Opera at Her Majesty’s Theater in London.
I started dating Bryon in 2008 and I learned that he came from a family that was involved in community theater. I shared with Bryon how much I loved Les Miserables and Bryon told me hated it. In fact his whole family hated it. I got mocked for it through the years. I think it was too pedestrian for them or something. Whatever.
Eventually Bryon did give me his reason which was simply that it was too f*ucking depressing. Fair enough.
We only saw two Broadway plays in our years together. One was Pippen (Music Box Theater) and the other was Cats (technically West End, which is the London version and it was on a cruise ship.)
We meant to see more but it was one of those things that we figured we’d always have more time.
Bryon loved Cats. It was the first and last musical he ever saw.
Personally, I thought it was only okay.
Cats, Oasis of the Seas, 2015
Before the show started last Friday, my friends and I had grabbed some dinner, dessert and drinks and we were chatting. I recalled how much I loved Les Miserables and how much Bryon hated it.
And then I told my friends about my list.
Before I started dating Bryon, I had written a list of ten attributes I wanted in a future mate. I guess it was to keep me focused. I kept getting into “pseudo relationships” with men who didn’t appreciate me so at this point, I was focused on myself and what I wanted.
The top three things on the list were Republican, Catholic and had to be a Red Sox fan. I was told by many that that combination was not going to happen. It surprised them that I found it in a New Yorker.
Number 4 was that I wanted my mate to be Irish. Bryon was only 1/8 Irish so that was stretching it.
And I can’t really remember what the other items on this important list were. I mean, probably something about being drug-free, employed and with no criminal record.
But I do remember one thing. I wanted a man who had varied interests. Someone who could go to wine tasting and to the symphony one night and eat hot dogs and drink beers at Fenway the next.
We never did make it to the symphony but Bryon was completely comfortable in a tux. And a kilt too. He loved formal nights on the cruise and didn’t understand why others would not dress up.
We did catch a few evening concerts at Tanglewood. We picnicked on the lawn with our infant daughter.
We went wine tasting and we were those people who would taste our wine and say things like “It’s light and crisp and I can taste the touch of citrus. Very refreshing.”
We did attend many baseball games. Most were local games. We tried to catch the Tri-City Valley Cats when the Lowell Spinners were in town. We usually went on the 4th of July because never had plans on the actual holiday and we figured nothing was more American than baseball.
Though our daughter’s first baseball game was at Pawtucket watching the Paw Sox.
Bryon thought the clam chowder was wicked good. Okay, that might be my wording. Bryon was not shy at making fun of my New England vernacular.
Our most memorable game was a month after we started dating. Our relationship still a secret from our friends as we were unsure where it was heading and we didn’t want to create gossip within our political circle. We met up for a secret weekend in Boston. It was also the weekend of my 30th birthday and Bryon took me a Red Sox game.
It was his first and last Fenway game.
But I loved that Bryon was content doing a variety of different activities.
He was a Renaissance man. I told him that once and he proudly agreed.
He liked all sports. Well, except Nascar.
He was a lawyer but he was also really good at math and economics.
He knew theater and music.
He knew how to cook.
He liked animals.
He liked history and was always up for seeing landmarks.
He loved fine dining but he also appreciated the McRib.
Generally he wasn’t into Museums but he always wanted to go to the Jello Museum. That dream was left unfulfilled.
Whenever we went on a cruise, we always went a few days early to explore the departure port. (We also did that to create a buffer in case the winter weather didn’t cooperate.)
Our first cruise was out of Miami and we took a side trip to Key West.
We visited the Southernmost Point, drank margaritas and watched the sunset on Mallory Square, visited the cats at the Hemingway House, found the Southernmost Red Sox bar and Bryon indulged my need to see the start of Route 1.
I have two random anecdotes from that Key West trip.
The first was that there was a chicken crossing the road and Bryon decides he wants to catch it. But he aborted the mission halfway through and said he wasn’t drunk enough for that to be a good idea.
The second was at night when we left the Red Sox bar. We were walking back to our motel and we pass a ghost tour that was walking towards us. Bryon tells everyone on the tour that he is alive and he is not a ghost. They all laugh. Then there were some random people walking behind the tour and Bryon goes up to them and says “Oooooh, I’m a ghost. Ooooooh.” Those people laugh too.
And I laugh at the irony because while Bryon isn’t a ghost, he’s dead and could be a ghost if he really wanted to be. He’d find a way to make it happen.
That trip also took us to Miami where we ate Cuban food, tried Cuban coffee, drove by Elian Gonzalez’s uncles house and had dinner at a tapas bar that was in a gas station (and we were surprisingly under dressed for the establishment.)
Bryon had all these interests and this intense zest for life. Whenever we traveled anywhere, Bryon tried to fit in as much as he could. We ate local food, drank local beer, saw as many landmarks as possible and he would try to squeeze in a local sporting event.
How else would I explain that I saw the Ottawa soccer club (Capital City) play Toronto? I think Bryon might have bought the team scarf. If he did, I will find it someday.
Ottawa, 2011
Bryon was so good for me because I have always been a restless soul but I never knew how to go out, explore and enjoy my life.
I did not have the confidence to follow my dreams.
Bryon taught me how to really live.
And in some ways, he is still teaching me how to live. Even though he is dead.
I enjoyed all our adventures but I never realized how much they taught me until Bryon was gone. When he was alive, I never had to make choices or plan anything. He did all the vacation planning. He asked for my input, combined it with his wants and came up with an itinerary. He would even plot it all on a google map. Planning always made him happy and I was content to just show up and enjoy the vacation.
But now he is gone. I can’t rely on him pave the way to living anymore.
If I want to continue to live, it’s up to me.
When I booked my airline tickets for my trip to Vegas last year, it was the first time I booked airline tickets since 2009. Because Bryon always did it.
And even though my Chicago best friend was in my Vegas with me, it felt weird to be having adventures without Bryon.
A month after that trip, I drove out to Michigan to visit my Maine best friend and I drove across New York State and Southern Ontario. I couldn’t help but think about Bryon when I drove by the Labatt Brewery. And the Canadian Baseball Hall of Fame. I know Bryon would have been lobbying to stop- “But Kerry, we have to stop. It’s the CANADIAN Baseball Hall of Fame.”
Even though I explore the world with my daughter and friends, I do feel an emptiness because I am not sharing it with Bryon. And a sadness when it hits me that I wouldn’t be recounting the adventure to Bryon because he’s not waiting for me at home.
It’s a fear of mine that I will lose my desire to truly live before I can pass on the desire to learn and see the world to my daughter.
Yesterday I put my daughter down for a nap and then I faced a major dilemma-
Do I do something productive or do I take a nap?
The nap won out.
I begin to dream.
Somehow I am at Bryon’s work and people tell me that he is there.
I go into a conference room and Bryon is sitting at a table with his laptop out. He is wearing jeans and a dark shirt, like a long-sleeved golf shirt.
And he was skinny. (This is significant because Bryon died from complications of weight loss surgery.)
I was so excited to see Bryon. “You got better! I thought you were dead this whole time.”
I barely converse with Bryon in my dreams. Usually we just look at each other and smile.
I am so excited to be together with Bryon again. I was talking his ear off. He didn’t say much. He mostly listened to me.
I do express two concerns to him-
First that he needs some new clothes because the clothes he is wearing are baggy. Bryon just looked amused and said he wouldn’t know where to shop.
The second was that he was at work and it might be problematic because I already claimed his death benefit. Bryon told me not to worry about that.
Bryon doesn’t seem concerned about either of these.
I have heard that when you dream about a dead loved one, they are actually visiting you. Therefore it would make sense that Bryon wasn’t concerned with either of these issues.
Because he knew he was dead.
It was my subconscious that did not. And he was humoring my subconscious.
And then the alarm I had set on my phone went off.
I woke up thinking Bryon was alive again and that my life can go on as it was supposed to.
It only took a few seconds to realize that Bryon was still dead.
I know I have come a long way in my healing journey.
I was still sad.
But the sadness didn’t debilitate me like it did a year ago.
I was still able to function and go about my daily business.
I went to the gym.
I abstracted cancer cases.
I took my daughter to a bounce house place because dance class was canceled. She burned some energy.
But I still felt sad.
I was being hit with a grief wave.
But I am far enough into my grief journey to know the best way for me to cope.
My view on grief waves can be shown on this very hi-tech, wicked awesome graph I made. Sadly, I spent more time on it than I care to admit.
Everything is moving forward, as shown in the green.
The black line represents time which moves forward at an even, steady pace.
The blue shows the grief waves which are more turbulent in the beginning but decrease in intensity as time moves forward. (Though beware, you can get a rogue grief wave at any time. I just did not demonstrate that because, frankly, there wasn’t enough room.)
The red line represents healing. It is all over the place.
For me, I have learned that it is better to just go with the grief wave than fight it.
Lots of widows have their own grief mix. And if they don’t- they should.
So I am going share my top ten favorites from my grief mix. Not all songs are about death. Some are about breakups but my only major requirement for a song to be in my grief mix is that it is sad and there are at least a few lines or verses that resonate with me.
I wasn’t going to put them in any particular order but I could hear Bryon tell me that I can’t have a half-assed song countdown and that I need to count down like Casey Kasem.
Without much further ado, here are my top ten songs from my grief mix.
10. Didn’t We Almost Have It All by Whitney Houston
It’s nothing that some Reese’s Peanut Cups can’t fix.
Because…well, Reese’s Peanut Cups.
D’uh.
I assembled 20 candy bags for my 3 year old’s class. That’s right. Gone are the days of cheap paper Valentine’s. We are living in a Pinterest World and I am a Pinterest Mom. And all us Suburban Moms must keep up with each other.
Then add in the fact that I am a widowed mother and that means I feel the need to work harder to ensure my child has a happy childhood since her father is dead.
Now I get to sit back and be bombarded by the emotions that accompany the fact that I don’t have anyone special to love today.
Of course, this is where well-intentioned people remind me that I have a daughter. As if by missing her father, I somehow love her less. Of course I love her. She is my sunshine. But it’s not the same and we all know it. Plus, it’s also not fair for my daughter to have to take up the slack of her deceased father. It’s her job to be a kid.
So today is the second Valentine’s Day without Bryon. And honestly, he and I never did much on Valentine’s Day. He thought the holiday was stupid and I pretended to agree.
Because I knew he loved me 365 days a year.
In fact Bryon usually posted this meme on his Facebook every Valentine’s Day.
I was expecting to have a grief wave and I was ready to go along with it (because I have learned that it is better to swim with the current than go against it.) I was prepared to do all my grief activities. I was going to watch Sleepless in Seattle, P.S. I Love You, Top Gun and the last 15 minutes of the How I Met Your Mother Finale. I was prepared to blast my sad songs Spotify playlist (yes I have one and it is oddly therapeutic at times). I was prepared for waterworks.
But…eh.
I just didn’t feel like it.
Don’t get me wrong.
I still get sad.
But I don’t usually get THAT sad. I was THAT sad for 15 months. Being THAT sad is emotionally, mentally and physically exhausting.
Maybe I am getting used to Bryon being gone.
Or maybe I am just learning to cope.
But I decided that this Valentine’s Day, Bryon doesn’t want me to be sad.
He has sent me a sign.
Let me tell a story. Sophia Petrillo-style.
Picture it- A Suburban Target, 2014ish
Bryon and I would walk into Target.
Bryon: Hey, didn’t you need some Vagisil?
Me: *laughs* no
Bryon (loudly): Weren’t you just telling me that you needed Vagisil?
Me (embarassed): No, I don’t.
Bryon: Don’t be embarrassed because you need Vagisil.
Me: I don’t need Vagisil. Stop it!
Bryon (even louder): I think the Vagisil is over there, Honey.
People would look at us. I would get so embarrassed but I also would start laughing. When I was pregnant I laughed so hard I almost peed my pants because anyone who has carried a child knows what that does to your bladder.
I was also pissed because there was no male equivalent for me to get revenge.
Well all day yesterday, this is the ad that would show up on my spotify. Thanks Bryon. Of all the ways you could send a sign from Heaven, thank for doing it through Vagisil.
I don’t put this past Bryon sending me a sign that he doesn’t want me to be sad.
But it’s hard not to get sad. Or really discouraged trying to figure out my future while surrounded by people who have a life similar to what I used to have (i.e. marriage).
But I often wonder what is in the cards for me for the future.
Will I ever love again?
Will I ever marry again?
I hope I get love again. I know that I still have a lot of love in my heart.
I am not done yet.
But while I want it, I am not sure it is going to happen. I have limiting beliefs about this subject. I will share the two biggest limiting beliefs.
The first is that I feel that I am viewed as damaged. I know I have come out of this experience a stronger person. I know I am a better person now. I have also come out of this situation with a very different perspective of life. While I am not completely immune to having feelings like annoyance and anger now, I don’t get worked up about small things anymore. When Bryon was teetering between life and death, I wasn’t angry about the fact that he left his disposable contact lens wrappers all over the nightstand or that he hogged the remote or the fact that he would embarrass me in Target by publicly declaring that I needed Vagisil when I didn’t.
At the time when Bryon was sick, I was running on adrenaline and functioning in complete survival mode. I would cling onto any shred of hope I could find. After he passed, I was in numbing, raw grief and for the first year of widowhood, I could barely remember what those months sitting next to Bryon in ICU felt like emotionally. Sure I could rattle off doctors names, medicines and procedures but I couldn’t bring myself to even think about the emotions- the fear, the anxiety, the frustration, the anger, the sadness, the desperation. I honestly believe it was my brains way of protecting me emotionally.
But now I look back with a clearer mind at what I lived through and think “Holy F*ck!” because I survived something that no one should ever live through. I wish I could give 2016 Kerry a hug.
If get married again, there is a 50% chance I would have to relive it, hopefully on a less intense scale. I mean, because we can’t all marry Ryan Gosling and die peacefully in bed at the same time as our spouse in our old age. Though we can all dream…
The reality is that I turn 40 this year. And at my age, everyone has some sort baggage. There was a whole episode of How I Met Your Mother on this concept where Ted is dating a girl that he thinks has no baggage and he discovers his ex’s husband wrote a hit movie called The Wedding Bride where the character that is based on Ted is not flattering. (And for the record- I am so not a Stella fan.)
It’s just that widowhood baggage is less common in this age group. And people are afraid of what they don’t know or don’t understand. Most single people are divorced or never married. Divorced people have baggage too but since it is common, people are not afraid of it.
The second limiting thought is that in the town I live in, I will always be considered Bryon’s widow and no one will go near me. I am honored to be Bryon’s widow. I also know I will get judged should I start dating again because Bryon was a well liked guy and so many people miss him. I appreciate the fact that Bryon leaves a hole in so many people’s life. It’s just frustrating that after two years of my life being in complete turmoil, I might be ready to start living my life again and I am hesitant to do that because it may upset those closest to me.
I am not too worried about it at the moment. Even if I wanted to date, I don’t know how people meet. Organically that is. I just can’t bring myself to do the “swipe right, swipe left” thing. I know many people have had success with that but I am just not feeling it.
And lastly I will be spending some time loving myself today. While I do hope to love again, I am actually enjoying getting the know the person I am now. She is strong, interesting, smart and kind of funny. I need to tend to my needs first because I can’t give myself to another person until I have taken care of myself.
So while everyone is enjoying being loved (romantically) today, I will be spending time with my little Valentine.
I will continue to feel “weird”.
And I will be eating a lot of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.
Because…Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.
D’uh.
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For the record, Reese’s did not sponsor this post. All the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups were purchased by me and my opinions of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups are my own.
Running Forward...My Way 