Tag: Healing

This one is for the girls

Published on by kerrymckim6 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maine roots and a New York legacy

Published on by kerrymckim4 Comments

I love Maine.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not quite married, not quite single

Published on by kerrymckim2 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Condescension and clichés

Published on by kerrymckim4 Comments

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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