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.
This spring two of my favorite people are getting married this Spring and I was honored to be asked to be a bridesmaid in their wedding. And my little one will be the flower girl. The excitement is picking up as we get closer to the wedding date.
This past weekend was the bridal shower. The French toast was made by yours truly. I made enough for 30 people. That must be what it is like to cook for the Duggars. I used this recipe and tripled the ingredients. It was very simple and easy.
We all guessed how many Hershey kisses were in the jar. I asked my daughter for her guess. She said 3. Now I don’t want to be a negative mother who crushes her spirit but I told her that there was no way that that was correct. My daughter refused to change her answer. So I said fine, I am going write 103 for your answer.
There was 104 kisses in that jar.
There were cards for all us to fill out where we give the bride advice and cards where we give the couple a date night idea. I asked my daughter what she wanted to say and I wrote it down.
The Ring Bearer and Flower Girl may have stolen the show.
I don’t have any pictures but these two decided to help the bride open her presents.
The bride’s half of the wedding party. And the maid of honor’s brand new little baby.
The Bride works as an EMT (and a pharmacist) and the Groom is a paramedic. The shower was at the headquarters where they had met. After the party broke up, the bride took the Ring Bearer and Flower Girl to see the ambulances.
We got to see an ambulance go out on a real call and save some lives.
And the kids got to sit in the ambulance.
And the kids got to play EMT. First responders to the rescue!
Though none of us wanted to be their patients.
All those hours of watching Doc McStuffins on Disney Jr has paid off. My daughter knows what a stethoscope is. Maybe she will be a doctor someday.
This was part one of our Saturday. You will have to wait until tomorrow for part two.
These are the 5 thing I am grateful for this weekend.
Seeing Les Miserables
I mentioned in my previous post about how I saw Les Miserables on a school trip to NYC my senior year of high school and how excited I was to see it last weekend. I had a great time.I was also intrigued at how sophisticated set design became in 22 years.
Les Miserables, 2018
We did learn a valuable lesson. When you see a show at Proctors in Schenectady, make sure you make reservations if you want to eat at any of the nearby restaurants. We didn’t. None of us thought of it. Ooops. Luckily there was a stand at the theater that sold sandwiches, desserts and there was also a bar.
This whole dinner debacle demonstrated a shift in my thinking. The old Kerry would stress about everything. Bryon used to say that I searched for things to worry about. The old Kerry would have freaked out that we didn’t have dinner reservations. The New Kerry just thought “I am not really that hungry anyway but there is a sandwich stand. If this is the worse thing that happens to me all night, then this is a great night. I am out with friends and I am seeing a musical that I love.”
I know I have grown as a person and it is nice to see evidence of that growth.
My daughter’s first haircut
I had so many emotions watching (and snap chatting) this. This was my daughters first haircut. There wasn’t much to cut off but her hair did grown in uneven so it was evened out. My hairdresser also put the hair in an envelope for me.
So. Many. Emotions. I tell you.
My daughter loved going to the salon and had a great time being “grown up”.
The Princess Party
In a moment of insanity, I decided to buy tickets to the Princess Ball. It was Sunday morning and I had stayed up late the night before.
Ooooops.
My daughter had a ball. (Pun intended).
I was texting Kimmy Gibbler and I told her that I was annoyed by all screaming kids and equally pushy parents. This was the unimpressed selfie I took and sent her. I was over it.
But it was hard to stay annoyed when I saw how much my daughter enjoyed herself. She has been telling everyone about the Princess Ball and in great detail too.
I was actually surprised at the detailed questions she asked each of the princesses. She didn’t just talk about dresses and tiaras. She asked Anna about the speed of Kristoff’s sled. My daughter is one smart cookie.
Avocados
Because they are delicious. I love guacamole and avocado toast.
My job
I had my yearly review at my job. It went well. I am thankful for my job. They hired me two months after Bryon died. Some people told me I should take more time off but I felt it was time to go back to work. Except for three weeks when my FMLA ran out, I hadn’t worked in 7 months. I was ready. That and our health insurance coverage through Bryon’s employment ended so that was also a motivating factor for going back to work.
Before I became a sole parent, I never thought I would like working from home. But now I feel like I couldn’t do it any other way. My schedule allows complete flexibility. I work a lot at night but that gives me the time to go to the gym, make doctors appointments and have the occasional lunch with friends. It also gives me wiggle room if my daughter is home sick or there is a snow day. The flexibility of my job helps me thrive (more like survive) in the other areas of my life.
My employer also provides us with a large amount of educational resources so I am able to keep up the continuing education I need to maintain my credential. That is very helpful because now I can’t go off and attend conferences anymore.
They also have an amazing program that gives each employee five days to volunteer and give back to the community. My company also donate money to grant wishes of employees in need every holiday season. I literally cried when they announced who won the wishes and told their stories. My company has a heart.
I also work with an amazing team. I have only talked to them on the phone and through email but they are great people.
And one last bonus gratitude-
The random 3 Hello Kitty pull ups
My daughter is mostly potty trained but still wears pull ups at night. I didn’t realize that we were down to one last pull up until she went to put it on. I know, I am totally failing at this motherhood thing lately. Actually I am pretty sure I am failing at life in general.I got annoyed at myself because that means I have to go out in the storm today and get a package of pull ups. But really no big deal.
Well my daughter had a big poop in that one last pull up. Of all nights. This story happened literally right before I typed this so it is in the middle of the night (because I don’t sleep anymore). I didn’t want to have to get her dressed and go to the 24 hour pharmacy to get pull ups.
I told myself not to panic. We had to have a random pull up somewhere in the house or maybe the car.
I looked in my purse- none.
Then I see a bag from my trip to Massachusetts for my grandmother’s funeral that I had not unpacked. (I know, a month ago. I told you, I am failing at life. I am a hot mess.) I looked inside and there were three Hello Kitty Pull Ups.
So I am very thankful for those three random Hello Kitty Pull-ups.
I am sure she is going to love reading this when she is older. She is probably going to be so unimpressed. She will probably say something like “Hey Mom, remember that time when you wrote about how I shit my pants and put it on the internet for the whole world to read?” And then I will remind her that we all have shit our pants at one time or another and that the post was actually about princesses and pull ups.
Those are the 6 things I am grateful for. What are you grateful for this week?
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 miss that I didn’t have to worry about the car, the bills or anything really.
But one of the the things I miss the most was his intellect.
I am sure anyone who has a Facebook knows that our country is very divided on an issue.
And anyone who knows Bryon knows that he was extremely intelligent.
He was probably the smartest person they knew.
And possibly the smartest person they will ever know.
Bryon was so smart that he stayed off of Facebook whenever the U.S. Supreme Court made a major decision.
He would always rant to me, “I went to law school. I know more than most. And I am NOT a Constitutional Scholar. But you go on Facebook and everything thinks that they are a f*cking constitutional scholar. Where did they get there law degree from? Legal Zoom?”
The same was true for major trials. There was a very public trial (I am not saying which one) which was televised and Bryon watched a lot of it. I mean, we all watched a lot of it but Bryon was watching it with objective intellectual curiosity. The verdict was rendered and people shared their opinions on Facebook.
Many of his outspoken friends felt that the verdict was wrong. There was this one “friend” and I am going to use that term loosely because no one really likes her and I don’t feel bad about it because she is arrogant. Come on, we all have that “friend”. You know, they always have an opinion about everything and they think that they are the smartest person in the room. Well this “friend” was writing on Facebook about how the verdict was wrong.
It was one of the few times I ever seen Bryon get defensive about his profession. I remember him saying “If she actually watched the trial, she would have known that the prosecution did a sh*tty job. I am so tired of people thinking that they know more about the law than lawyers. I don’t go into *her place of work* and tell *the worker in her position* how to do their job so maybe she shouldn’t tell people in my profession how to do their job.”
It was very similar about debates on Facebook.
Bryon would get annoyed anytime there were major debates on Facebook.
He would normally say things like “Correlation does not mean causation” and he would remind me that statistics are very easily manipulated.
He would say that it was very unlikely that anyone was going to change their minds by reading Facebook debates. He usually refrained from debating on Facebook. He regularly would have to talk me out of Facebook debates.
But as much as Facebook debates would annoy Bryon, he would always have real conversations with me.
I always wanted to know his opinion. Because his opinion was always solid and I could always trust it.
Bryon would look at an issue as a lawyer, a economist, as a Republican, as a Catholic, as a father, as a New Yorker, as a Millennial, as a Bills fan, etc.
I knew his opinion was not based on emotion. He was able to see issues from all sides, even those he did not agree with. He would often say “He/She/They are not wrong, but…”
It wasn’t uncommon for him to argue the side he doesn’t agree with. I admit, that would drive me nuts at times. I know there were many times I got frustrated and would say “Stop! I know you don’t believe that.”
He was one of the smartest people I have ever known, if not the smartest. But Bryon was unique because while he was aware of his intelligence, he would take the time to explain things without making people feel stupid. He was secure enough with his intelligence and did not feel the need to tear people down to prove it.
One of the biggest gifts Bryon ever gave me was that he taught me to be a more critical thinker and that most issues are not black and white.
I used to make self-deprecating comments to him about how dumb I was and he would tell me that wasn’t true because he couldn’t be married to me if I wasn’t smart. He was very matter of fact about it.
I mean, sometimes he would start to lose his patience and he would smile and say “You’re the dumbest smart person I know.” I know I am not the only recipient of that comment and I am sure there are many people who are going to smile at the memory of him saying that to them.
I have many intelligent friends to have discussions with about today’s issues, but I am really missing my conversations with Bryon.
Those conversations would be full of knowledge, insights and humor and there was a sort shared interest in those conversations.
Bryon would start out the discussion by objectively discussing an issue from several angles. I would say my opinions and ask him questions. Then we would discuss what it meant to us and our values. We didn’t agree 100% of the time, but overall, we shared the same values.
And if I didn’t know how I felt on an issue, I would talk to Bryon. I could count on him help me figure it out.
And right now, that is one of the things I miss the most about him.
Despite pouring my heart out over 165 posts and approx 165,000 words, I feel like no one sees the real me.
They just see Bryon’s widow.
It might be hard to imagine, but I am a complete person. Bryon saw me a complete, real person.
I told a really good friend of mine (and Bryon’s when he was alive) that I had a nagging feeling that some people only read my blog because they wanted about happened with Bryon.
As if because I have chosen to share the parts of the story that I feel comfortable about sharing that that someone entitles everyone to the complete story.
I have not told the complete story. I will tell it when I am ready to tell it. Yes, I am aware that I have chosen to share my story on a very public forum. I did that so other widows, grievers and anyone else struggling with the cruelties of life can be helped by reading about my healing process.
I put my story out there so people can feel a little less alone.
If one widow feels a little less alone, then it was worth it.
Just because I share my story does not mean that I give up the right to keep private what I wish to keep private. I share what I feel like sharing, when I feel like sharing it.
No one is entitled to more.
When I shared these feeling with my close friend, she wisely said that she thinks that people forget that I am not just Bryon’s widow, but that I am my own complete person.
I am not just a widow.
I am a complete person.
I understand that life circumstances have made me a widow and since I have to be a widow, I am glad that I get to be Bryon’s widow. He was a great man and I got to be his wife. And I loved being his wife.
Life made me a widow and I am glad I get to be Bryon’s widow.
I have accepted that.
But I am more than just a widow.
I am a complete person.
Bryon died and I had no say in that. Even though I tried to prevent it. I will always think about those 5 months. I will always think about the “what ifs” and I will always be haunted by the dreams of what could have been.
That is a lot of live with.
I have been punished enough.
You are going to have to trust me on that.
Now I am in my 30s and I am expected to resign myself to wear a black veil and mourn for the rest of my life.
It doesn’t matter that I am a complete person and I still have decades more living to do.
I am tired of being viewed as just Bryon’s widow.
It’s bad enough actually being a widow.
I find myself in a place where I can’t move forward because everyone views me as just a widow.
Very few people understand.
Acknowledging that I am a complete person and I deserve to move forward from my husband’s death makes people uncomfortable.
My reality makes people uncomfortable.
The reality that I live with every single day makes people uncomfortable.
So I need to keep being “just a widow” to keep people happy.
Too bad it doesn’t work that way.
When Bryon was alive, he was very popular and well-liked. He was an amazing man. He was the center of my world.
And I lived in his shadow. But that was okay because I knew I was the center of his world. And that was all that matters.
That means it’s time for some Good Vibrations Gratitude.
These are the five things I am grateful for this week.
Brunch with friends
I like brunch. But I like doing it the Mom way meaning we get there right when brunch starts, usually around 10. It’s a good time. The kids are ready to eat and it’s before the hipsters show up.
I also like that I get to brunch my way now. I prefer brunch is establishments that are not diners. Bryon loved diners and I am not a fan. I feel like diner food is not any better than the food I cook. I like to go to brunch and have something fancy that I could cook but generally don’t have the patience to.
Plus, I don’t like diners because many of them are small and I am claustrophobic. Now I know many other establishments are small. But I can deal with my claustrophobia for fancy brunch. Like, I can tolerate being in a small space but not for generic food that I could make at home.
Bryon was always more of the breakfast fan than me so he would win. That and because the issue wasn’t important enough to me. I am glad I went along with it because diner breakfast always made him happy.
I guess of the “perks” of widowhood is I get to do whatever I want. It’s bittersweet, really.
And Kimmy Gibbler has the same attitude about brunch so we had brunch at a local place called Savoy Taproom.
I had the adult ice coffee with aquafaba and creme brulee French Toast. I had no clue what aquafaba was but the waitress explained it to me. It’s apparently a vegan alternatives to egg whites and apparently putting egg whites into iced coffee is a thing now. The egg whites create the froth. I tried it but I made it clear to the waitress that I was not a vegan. For some reason, I felt that that was important and that the waitress wanted to know.
I always considered myself an iced coffee snob and I had no clue. *shrug*
Advocating for MS
For the second year I got the honor of advocating for people living with Multiple Sclerosis at the New York State Capital. I am not going to elaborate on that because I will be writing a post about that. I have several friends with MS and I am thankful that I get an opportunity to advocate for them.
But I have heard that the deceased communicate through songs on the radio. There are certain songs I hear all the time since Bryon died. There was even a period of time I heard Hall & Oates at least once a day and I don’t spend much time in my car. My deceased husband also seems to really like Michael Jackson, particularly “Billie Jean”, The Police- “I’ll Be Watching You”, Earth Wind and Fire; “September” (I think that is because we got engaged, married and became parents in the month of September), and Berlin’s “Take My Breathe Away” because Top Gun was his favorite movie.
I haven’t heard much in the car for the past couple of months. I just figured that Bryon was done sending those signs. He was going to find a new way to communicate with me. But the past three days have been a Bryon McKim jam session every time I have been in car. It’s nice to know that he hasn’t forgotten about me and will still try to spend time with me in the only way he can now.
Having the courage to cut off my grief hair
I had been wanting a change for awhile. I hemmed and hawed over it for months. I liked my hair long but it was so damaged. The ends felt like straw. I also wanted something different and I have never been a blonde so I went for it. I am a new person so my outside should reflect my inside.
This was a big step for me. I have never been a risk taker but I told myself that it is just hair. It grows back. It can be changed back. But it was also hard because I was attached to that hair. I have hid behind that hair for almost two years. But I decided it was time to get rid of it and shine.
Now I just need to lose some weight and maybe get a tattoo and my physical transformation will be complete.
Running Forward...My Way 