He's gone

How we like to remember Kevin
"¡Vivo más!"

My husband died 22 days ago. Yes, he was sick. Yes, he'd been sick for a very long time. But when I drove him to the ER at St. Mary's Hospital in Rochester, MN on Wednesday, May 29th I NEVER thought he wouldn't come home with me. He didn't either. He'd gone to the ER (by my insistence on May 17th) in Northfield because of a raging red foot. He was immediately admitted with cellulitis and put on antibiotics. He was there for a week and then came home with an antibiotic via port we did at home. A week later, he went in to have some fluid removed from his stomach, came home, developed a fever and chills and I drove him straight to St Mary's in Rochester. Once he was admitted there, every day got worse. The teams and teams of doctors never gave up hope on him until his body just gave out. I still can't believe he's gone. 

22 days where each day has seemed to last for 2 weeks but yet they have flown by. It's all a blur. Funeral planning, flowers, picture boards, the obituary, where to post obituaries, food, the last two days of school, graduation parties, graduation, celebrations, sadness, joy, disbelief...

June 2nd. The last time we communicated with Kevin

Last night the boys and I were watching the movie Divergent about a post war society where a teen girl tries to take down an evil leader. In the midst of the fighting, the girl's mother gets shot. She sits down with her and watches her mother take her last breath. I froze. It took my own breath away. I turned to my boys, "That's the kind of thing you see and say, 'I can't imagine what that would feel like.' but for you, it's your reality. You have been in her place. It makes me so sad that you had to experience that." Soren said, "I'm sorry. It happened to you too." Odin said, "It would have been more sad had we not been there". Oh, my kids are amazing. Yet, it's not fair. I know I sound like a grade schooler who's gotten cheated out of something that everyone else gets, but that's how I feel right now. It's not fair that their story is "My dad died when I was 13 (or 18 or 21)". It's not fair that they ask questions like, "Can we still be in sports? Do we have the money for that?".  They have always had responsibilities of their own in the house. Everyone does their own laundry, they each clean a bathroom a week, etc but now its leveled up. They now have to mow and take out the garbage and help with meals and such. Not to learn responsibility but because I can't do it all myself. Their dad is gone. No more #dadlessons. It's not fair. I keep thinking things like, "Oh, I can't wait to tell Kevin that so and so sent a card" or "Did we sign on for another year of pest control visits?" and I think, “I'll text him.” No, he can't get that. “I'll call him.” No he can't answer the phone, and then it hits that there is NO WAY TO REACH HIM, ever again, and I can't wrap my head around that. It's not fair.  

I am so overwhelmed and over my head, trying to think of all the things that I do for the family everyday and now taking on all the things that Kevin thought about and did all the time too. All the while trying to navigate my own grief and hold my kids in grief as well. I am lucky that we are a close knit family, that we all really enjoy each other's company, that we eat at the dinner table together every night. But I worry about them. I worry about how they are processing all of it. I worry about how it will affect them in the future. We talk all the time and I ask questions but we are all still in disbelief. I will find the proper tools and seek answers from the right people. But I still worry.  

AND, we are very fortunate. We are blessed to have dear friends down the block where Greta can just walk in their door and state, "I hear dinner is here tonight" and she is welcomed with open arms. I am so lucky my friends come over and clean out my fridge. Or tackle my pantry. Or throw Greta's grad party for me. Friends pick up my boys to drive them to basketball or have them over for dinner and games. My family checks in on me daily. They answer my questions and help me budget and make sure I'm working on my multiple to do lists. I get texts that let me know that I am not alone. My sister in law calls and we cry together about all the things we are sad about. I know who to go to with questions and people will hold me up and go above and beyond to get me answers or help me down the right path. We are so loved and supported. It's easy to find the glimmers in each day. Those moments of gratefulness. I'm grateful that it's summer and I can sit on my porch and water my plants and watch them grow. I can use my Merlin app while I drink my coffee and identify the birds in my yard. Northfield often smells like maple syrup or chocolate chip cookies from the Post plant. I'm thankful Kevin died at the beginning of the month so we had a lot of time to decide about health insurance and get in all of our appointments. I'm thankful that the school were I teach, just let me leave on May 21st and not worry about the end of the year.  I'm thankful that I can focus on all of the changes and calls and meetings and legal documents and not have to go to work right now. I'm thankful my kids play night games with the neighborhood kids. I'm grateful that Solvei is back in Chile and so happy to be there. Greta and I visited Concordia last week and we both feel so at peace with her being there in the fall. She's so excited and it feels like home. So many glimmers in so many forms.

AND I miss him. I miss Kevin. I miss hearing about his work day. Who he ran into at Target. What the awesome chef at the hospital had that was gluten free for him today. I miss discussing how we each got to the Wordle answer. Reading an email draft aloud to him to a teacher to him to ask if it said what I wanted it to say. He was my math person and a great speller and had the right words to use in every situation. He managed all of our finances. He helped Solvei with her decisions and did so much of the laundry...towels, sheets, kitchen stuff. He unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher, got the branches off the roof, made sure there was gas in the lawnmower, kept a supply of lightbulbs in the house and changed them out when needed, ran to Family Fare for avocados, made dinner a couple of times a week, signed the kids up for activities because I can never figure out what to log into through the school system. He was my best friend. He was my partner. Was he perfect? No, no he was not. But he was my person. He made me laugh. He loved us fiercely. And now its just me. I know I'm not alone, I know it and I feel it. But at the end of the day, it is all me. 

So I hold on closely to my family and those that knew and loved him like we did. I don't like to go out in public. I don't know how to act or what to say. When he first died and I knew that within that first week, we would have a funeral, a visitation, a graduation and a church graduation service, I was in some sort of strange mode where there were things that needed to be done. I knew with Greta's graduation that we would have to see people and we would need to be in celebration mode, so I needed see those classmate's families before graduation so that could be a celebration. I was determined. I was also determined to speak at Kevin's funeral. I wanted to tell people what I wanted them to know. The story telling at the visitation gave me the strength to say what I wanted to say at the funeral. I was on automatic mode of "This is how it needs to be to meet my goals for this celebration of Kevin and this very different and important celebration of Greta". The people who held us up and carried us through all of that are countless and amazing. But now I don't want to see people. I don't even want to walk the dog and run into someone I know. Not today. Not yet. That strange high is gone now. Now I'm sitting in a puddle of bills and accounts and emails, and apps on his phone for Metronet, and student loans that I'm confused about and people asking for death certificates and wondering if social security benefits will be enough for me to keep my teaching job and our house. Wondering how I can carry all I need to carry. There is something about being a new widow, or the child of a recently deceased parent that gives you some responsibility that you have to carry around, when you really have nothing left to give. When you go out into the world and see people you know, you have the burden of setting the tone, receiving that look that everyone gives you, sometimes comforting someone else that is missing or loved your husband. I have nothing left to give. That sounds harsh but it's true. I'm now the lady in town whose husband unexpectedly died. There is a look of pity, sadness that is really hard to receive right now. I have been on the other side of it and I get it. That look comes from a place of love and caring. I know that. But that look also weighs a lot. "What do they want me to say?", I think. "Do they need to grieve with me? Do they need me to hug them? Do they want to tell me a story about Kevin?" I think of how that seems like such a contradiction to how I've said, "Please talk about Kevin. Tell me stories about Kevin". It reminds me of one of our family jokes at Kevin's expense. He was so particular about how the dishwasher was loaded and we'd quote this meme we'd seen. "Please put your dishes in the dishwasher....but not like that." That's what this feels like. I love the love we are getting. I love to hear stories about Kevin. I love knowing that people care about us and that they are missing him too. But it feels heavy.  And that's why I don't want to go anywhere where I will see people I know. My head is so full of bills and health insurance and life insurance. And all my love is being poured into my kids. Right now, I've got nothing left. My load is heavy, my heart is heavy and I am completely tapped out. Our entire world has shifted and yet we need to put one foot in front of the other and keep on keepin' on. I know I won't feel this way forever. But that is how I feel today. Now if you see me, you'll probably run the other way. How about for now, just send me a wave or blow me a kiss if you see me. Send me a text if you want to talk and I'll reach out when I'm feeling more up to it. Because I want to talk to you about it and I want you to share with me about Kevin. It's just so much right now.

AND, we are blessed by you beyond measure. People are feeding us, I barely need to buy food and my meals are planned and prepped by people who love us.  Friends are mowing our lawn, sending me texts, taking the boys where they need to go. We are being coddled in prayer and love. We are so loved. We know that. We feel that. My kids keep saying to me.,"We have a lot of really good friends." Yes, we do. Kevin was very loved and we are too. That is what is holding me up. We are going to be fine. I am going to be fine. We will find a new normal. We will not only survive, we will thrive. Kevin would want us to live abundantly. So we will continue to "LIVE MORE" "¡Vivirémos más!"