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.
When one goes through a trauma and/or profound loss, it changes every aspect of your life.
It changes your daily routine.
It changes your sense of security.
It changes your health.
It changes you sense of identity.
Everything you have ever believed gets questioned and your life goes into turmoil.
During my time of turmoil, I have decided to question everything I have ever believed and there have been changes to my thought patterns.
I learned not to worry so much. I can’t change my past so I no longer obsess about my past choices and regrets. There is so much about the future that I can’t control, so I don’t worry about that. There was no way I could foresee what would happen to Bryon and it happened. I can’t control what happens tomorrow, next week, next month or next year. I can just live my life and try to make the best decisions I can.
My tolerance for bullsh*t is so much lower, if it even exists at all. I have learned that life is too short to deal with inauthentic people who have no regard for your feelings and are trying to make your life more difficult.
I had always been a rule follower. Bryon used to give me hard time about it. Some rules are meant to be bent, some broken and some are silly and shouldn’t be followed at all.
During this season of my life, I have thrown myself into a period of soul searching. I have learned so much from reading books and blogs, from heart to heart talks with close friends and from watching YouTube.
I am always up for a conversation pondering the meaning of life and how to live one’s life to the fullest.
I am not a guru but if I were to offer one piece of advice, it would be that you need to love yourself.
It might sound cheesy but you can never be happy if you don’t love yourself.
Too often, we are taught that the needs of others should be put above your own. Any mother knows this. Our kids come first and we neglect ourselves.
But we are actually doing our children a disservice by not allowing ourselves to be happy.
If my baseline is to be unhappy, my daughter will pick up on that. She will grow up learning that you are supposed to be unhappy.
People often think that I am a happy person because I have a cheerful disposition.
I had them fooled.
I was never truly happy.
I have always relied on others to make me happy.
Happiness was measured by how many friends I had and who I was friends with. For someone focused on that, I never had many deep friendships.
And when I was married, I relied on Bryon to make me happy.
The whole part of Jerry McGuire where he says to Renee Zellweger “You complete me” is complete and utter bullsh*t.
No one can complete anyone. We have to be happy and complete within ourselves.
I grew up with very low self-esteem. I didn’t date much and I measured my self worth by this.
I had one long term relationship at the end of college. I often refer to this guy as the “Anti-Bryon” because they were opposites on many things. The “Anti-Bryon” did not appreciate me and tried to extinguish my spirit. Though I don’t think he necessarily did that intentionally. I think he just vibrated on a lower level of energy. When we broke up my Grandma Sullivan expressed that she was disappointed that we had ended our relationship. She had liked him. I told her that the Anti-Bryon had no intention of marrying me. My grandmother just said “You’re right. He didn’t have enough zip for you.”
God, I miss my grandmother.
Needless to say, I let how the Anti-Bryon viewed me to affect my self-worth. When I am in love, I like to express it verbally. (Actually, I am told I express a lot of things verbally, not just love.) I would tell the Anti-Bryon that I loved him and he would get annoyed and respond with “random.”
And it was random, but I was expressing my love. Which I feel should be done when you feel it.
If you express your love, the recipient should appreciate it. I mean, as long as you are doing it in a non-creepy manner. If you express your love to a complete stranger in a public place then that recipient would be justified for not appreciating it. But if you are in a committed relationship, then you should be able to tell your significant lover that you love them, gosh darn it!
I began to realize that the Anti-Bryon was with me for convenience.
Eventually, I decided that I deserved better. I deserved to be loved.
The Anti-Bryon and I were supposed to stay friends but that didn’t last long. Our friendship started to take after our relationship. As in, I was doing all the work. I remember chatting with him on Instant Messenger in Late October in 2004. I told him I was volunteering on the 2004 Bush Campaign and that I had just been diagnosed with bronchitis but I was still going out to wave signs. I was excited. I was telling him because we were friends and he barely seemed interested. I mean, he also was a Democrat so that may have played a little bit into it. But it was at that moment that I realized he didn’t even deserve my friendship. That was the last time we spoke.
I dated a little over the next 4-5 years.
Whenever I let my guard down, I was rejected. This took a toll on my self-esteem.
I got strung along. Like on How I Met Your Mother. I was always on some guys hook.
Then one day I said “F*ck it.”
Inspired by one of my favorite movies of all time, Kate and Leopold, I decided to take Leopold’s Victorian dating advice and not give a man my time unless he made a “proper overture”.
Enter Bryon.
Bryon did not string me along.
Bryon did not keep me on his hook.
Bryon made a proper overture and made his intentions known.
And we should have lived happily ever after and in some respects we did.
We loved each other fiercely. We were good for each other.
But no relationship is perfect.
Our relationship was not perfect for many reasons.
One of the reasons our relationship wasn’t perfect was because I did not love myself.
In The Mastery of Love, Ruiz discusses how there are two people in every relationship and we are only responsible for our happiness. The other person is responsible for their happiness.
In order to thrive in a relationship, one must look inward and be happy and complete with themselves first. Ergo, Tom Cruise was full of sh*t in Jerry McGuire because no on can complete you.
So Bryon and I were in a marriage and I was expecting him to complete me.
I wasn’t happy with myself.
I relied on Bryon for my happiness. This was not fair because he was not responsible for my happiness. I was.
He definitely tried to make me happy. He offered me the world and I still wasn’t happy with myself.
I know I frustrated him.
I was unhappy with myself and often, that unhappiness would spill over into our relationship.
Any other guy probably would have left me but Bryon made it clear that I was stuck with him.
I felt so poorly about myself that I never understood what Bryon saw in me.
I felt he could do better.
I can’t speak for Bryon’s half of the relationship and his thoughts. Those thoughts died with him. It is easy to put your deceased spouse on a pedestal but I know he wasn’t perfect. But I would love to be able to discuss this with him.
I wish he could see how much I have grown.
Though if he were still alive, I probably wouldn’t have grown.
But I can’t help but wonder how much stronger our marriage would have been if I had been happy with myself.
Bryon loved me at my worst.
My next husband will have the better version of me because now I love myself.
I just don’t want people to have to go through what I did to realize how important it is for you to love yourself first.
(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.
I had written earlier this week about one of my best friends bridal showers. I am thankful for the happy moments in my life and the friends I get to spend them with.
My Young Republican Friends
This past weekend I had the honor of being invited to the New York State Young Republicans (NYSYR) Rising Star Reception. (Now for those of you new to the blog, this isn’t a political blog. But politics does play a role in Bryon and my story. I have beautiful friends in both political parties.)
Coincidentally this reception fell 10 years after the 2008 NYSYR Leadership Conference in Albany. I know this because Facebook had reminded me. I had met Bryon for the second time that weekend and that was also the weekend that our love story began though it would take me another 6 months to realize it.
March 2008
This organization also generously held a raffle to benefit my daughter’s educational trust. I can’t put into words how much it means to me that an organization that was once a huge part of Bryon and my life hasn’t forgotten about us. Bryon and I never would have met if it hadn’t been for the Young Republicans. My daughter wouldn’t exist if it hasn’t been for the Young Republicans. Some of my best friends come from my Young Republican years. This organization has already given me so much and they still continue to give to us.
This reception recognized all the young talent in the organization and it reminded me of my own youth. When I gave my thanks, I mentioned how important the friendships I made in this organization both in New York and Maine, as well as friends I made at the National level. During those months that Bryon was in the ICU and those early months of widowhood, I received so much love and support from friends from my Young Republicans Days. Politics isn’t always “warm and fuzzy”, I asked them to take a moment to appreciate their friendships and not to wait until they were in my situation to realize it.
Even though I don’t participate in politics much anymore, I do think it is important to bring my daughter to these events because people come up to me and talk about Bryon. And while that makes me sad, I appreciate that they remember him and say kind things about him. But I think it is important for my daughter to hear those nice things being said about her father. He may be dead, but it is nice to be reminded that he had lived.
For everyone local who takes care of me.
My neighbor always plows me out and helps me with problems around the house. Bryon’s best friend is always ready to answer my questions and recommend people. Another friend of Bryon’s mows my lawn.
My house can be overwhelming at time and I am grateful for everyone who helps me.
Old friends
I was having a rough couple of days (as you probably guessed if you read my blog) and one of my high school friends reached out to me to talk. There is that saying that sometimes the best mirror is an old friend and I think that is true. As I examine my life, I seem to have gotten in touch with a lot of old friends and these old friends help me remember that I was a complete person before Bryon and I will continue to be a complete person after Bryon.
Bryon was not one to live in the past and during our years together, I lost touch with my past. But the old me is still very much a part of me. (I think I feel a blog posting coming on about this).
Spring plans
This has been a long winter. Bryon and I used to go away every winter on a Caribbean Cruise but I haven’t been on a cruise since he was alive. Lately I have been thinking about it.
I do have a lot of exciting things going on this Spring and Summer that include traveling, a wedding and…the second annual Bryon C. McKim Derby Party.
More to come on the Derby Party in the next couple of weeks- stay tuned!
And I have a bonus gratitude this week-
My funny daughter
Despite having an epic meltdown when we got home from gymnastics (‘nastics class) tonight, I am grateful for my daughter and especially how funny she is.
The kids in her class all wrote a book and her’s was titled “I Don’t Know.” Her teacher told me she was adamant that that was the title. The whole ride home she kept talking to me about how her book was called “I Don’t Know.” She makes me laugh so much.
It only took 18 and a half months but I am finally ANGRY.
I have felt bits of anger here and there but this is the first time that I have truly felt ANGRY.
I wrote about my sad grief mix a few weeks ago but now I realize I need an ANGER mix.
Please comment with any suggestions.
I have never listened to ANGRY girl music but I have a feeling I am about to start. I only know Alanis.
And I have always wondered- What did Dave Coulier do?
For the record, I want to start that I don’t care what the so-called grief experts (who probably have fancy degrees and learned everything in a textbook and probably haven’t actually experienced grief) say- grief doesn’t come all packaged up in neat little stages.
Yes, at first I was in shock and denial.
But then I jumped over to dialogue and bargaining because I started this blog 5 months after Bryon died.
And now I am somewhere between “anger” and “depression and detachment”.
Except I am not helpless. F*ck that.
The following chart gives a more accurate representation of expectation(left) versus reality (right).
I am ANGRY that my husband and the life I was supposed to be living were stolen from me.
I am ANGRY that my dreams died with my husband.
I am ANGRY that I will probably not have another child.
I am ANGRY that I lost those 5 months with my daughter when my husband was in the ICU. I am grateful for my parents for taking care of her and I know I needed to be with Bryon, advocating for him and overseeing his care but I won’t get those five months back.
I am ANGRY that I had to sit in an ICU room watching my husband cling to his life.
I am ANGRY that I had to watch him suffer.
I am ANGRY that he was hooked up on machines and we couldn’t talk. We didn’t get any closure.
I am ANGRY because in my daughters daycare class there is a chart that lists the kids and their parents name and my daughter is the only one that only has one parent listed.
I am ANGRY because at age 3, she already has a better understanding of death than many adults.
I am ANGRY whenever I hear other parents complain that their spouses are gone for a couple of days. Yes, it’s hard. I remember when Bryon had to go away for work. But it’s a whole lot harder when they are gone forever.
I am ANGRY that the doctors didn’t save Bryon nor did they seem to care. Maybe it would have been different if it had been their loved one.
I am ANGRY at the healthcare system for being so shitty. It’s all about money, not people.
I am ANGRY at God. I was taught that he was a loving God and that was all a lie.
I am ANGRY at all the people who tell me that “God doesn’t hate you”. Um…okay…
I get ANGRY when I see everyone living their perfect lives on Facebook. By perfect, I mean living lives where they don’t have a dead spouse. Because to me, that is perfect. I get no marriage is perfect. Bryon and I did not have a perfect marriage. But even on our worst day, it is still better than the hell I am living.
I am ANGRY that I am turning 40 this year and that I am in this position. So much for playing it safe and making good life choices.
I am ANGRY that I am alone and broken.
I am ANGRY that I am viewed as damaged.
I am ANGRY that I don’t fit into my own life anymore. I am a square peg in a world full of round holes.
I am ANGRY that despite having lots of loving friends, I am still lonely.
I am ANGRY because I have lost my innocence. If I ever fall in love again (which I probably won’t because I am broken and damaged) I will always have that fear that they could die young too. This could all happen again.
I wake up. I take my daughter to school. I go to the gym. I stop at Dunkin’s and get a medium iced with caramel swirl, cream and a turbo shot. I go home. I shower. I work. I pick my daughter up from school. We have dinner. We watch Doc McStuffins. She goes to bed. I will work some more.
I guess this is the new normal that everyone kept talking about.
F*ck my new normal.
I want my old normal back.
I want my old life back.
Yes, I am strong. But please understand that I am only strong because there is no alternative. I have to do it for my daughter.
I am just a shell of the person I used to be.
At times, my life feels pointless.
Like I am just existing.
I hold back on my emotions sometimes.
Because it’s easier to hold it in then to explain.
People don’t understand that I can just have a bad day. So it’s easier to just hold it all in.
I also hold it back because people don’t understand that sometimes I just need to vent. I don’t want unsolicited advice, especially from someone who has no clue what I am going through.
And be glad you have no clue.
At the end of the day, the life I was supposed to be living was stolen from me.
I don’t know what I did to deserve this.
I followed all the rules. I tried so hard to be a good Catholic girl and then a good Catholic wife and mother. I was raised to believe that God was good and it was all a lie.
While I was not always the easiest person to live with, I was a faithful and loyal wife.
I rarely complained when Bryon’s work got in the way. I knew the importance of his livelihood.
I married a bit late at the age of 34. But that was okay. Bryon was worth waiting for and we had our whole lives together.
And that was ripped away less than four years later.
Life is cruel.
Widowhood is lonely. Everyone around me is coupled off and happy. They have their spouses to talk to and lean on. They have their futures.
Bryon should be here with me. We should be happy. I should have him to talk to and lean on. We should have our future.
My future is a black hole.
I am lonely and want my life back.
I exist and on some days, that takes up every bit of energy I have.
I am so angry.
The healthcare system failed Bryon. God failed Bryon.
Bryon’s death was completely unnecessary.
I tried my hardest to save Bryon.
But the healthcare system and God won out.
But I am the one who get to replay everything that happened in my head, over and over again.
Because watching my husband cling to his life for 5 months and then die once wasn’t enough.
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.
Yes, another late night rambling. People seems to like these posts. Probably because I wrote them when I am some sort of state of feeling emotionally f*cked up.
People seem to like it.
Or they are curious.
A small portion are my friends who will likely text me tomorrow to see how I am doing. I love my friends.
When I decided to share my story. I am sharing all of it.
Even if those moments are awkward and involve a little bit of wine.
Widowhood is not glamorous. (Thank you Fergie for helping me get the spelling right.)
So it’s Saturday night and I am sitting at home, drinking wine, eating cookie dough and watching Discovery ID.
But the Chateauneuf-du-pape didn’t taste right, Homicide Hunter is not on tonight (love me some Joe Kenda) and the cookie dough didn’t taste good. Definitely not worth the salmonella risk.
F*ck it.
I actually say that a lot these days.
F*ck it.
I was always a rule follower. A good Catholic girl and then all this happens.
Seriously? This is how God thanks the faithful?
So just f*ck it.
And then I go in Bumble and Tinder.
I don’t know why.
I don’t really have any desire to date.
I was happy being Bryon’s wife. I was good at it.
But I am just as good at being single.
It’s the sh*t in between that I am not good at.
And I have no desire for hookups. Partially because there is still the moral remnants of the good Catholic girl I used to be.
But more importantly, I am not going to parade strange men around my daughter during her formative years.
It’s bad enough her father’s dead. I am not going to confuse her any further.
But when I am doing all that swiping right and swiping left, it feels empty compared that what I used to have.
Should I fall in love again, I want it to be a little more romantic than swiping right and left.
Also, Tinder and Bumble do this thing where they show mutual Facebook friends.
I got freaked out by how many people were in Bryon’s circles. I could tell by the mutual friends if people would know Bryon from politics, college or the Masons.
It also turns out I have just as much of a hangup.
Bryon and I lived a respectable and traditional life with certain values and rules.
But I no longer ascribe to a lot of those rules and I think that would freak people out.
I have come into my own since I became a widow. I have never been so secure in who I am than I am right now.
I don’t even like who I was before.
But somedays, I would give it all up if it meant I could have Bryon and my old life back.
And this hangup doesn’t stop at people who know Bryon. Bryon and I were together 8 years. We have so many memories in this town.
There are so many places I avoid because the memories are too painful.
How long can I do that?
I’m just going to delete that Tinder and Bumble sh*t in the morning.
Because…f*ck Bumble and Tinder.
I don’t even give people a chance to be freaked out that I am Bryon’s widow because I have already decided that everyone is freaked out.
But can anyone blame me?
A widow spends so much time making others feel better about her loss.
It’s kind of f*cked up.
She’s the one who lost her spouse, her identity, her life. It’s her reality that she lives every single day and it becomes her job to make sure people aren’t uncomfortable for the short span of time that her reality makes them uncomfortable.
I dread dating because I hear from other widows that our widow status freaks men out.
F*ck that.
I have been to Hell and back I am not hiding my battle scars. One doesn’t survive what I have without being a badass.
If I ever love again, that man has to love me: battle scars and all.
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 is a continuation of 
which is based on Toltec Wisdom. I highly recommend both. (The link is an Amazon affiliate link which means if you click on it and decide buy it, I probably get, like, $0.04 or something. Why not?)
Running Forward...My Way 