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| Christmas Eve 2023 |
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| Christmas Eve 2024 |
“I can’t see a way through”, said the boy. ... “Can you see your next step?” ... “Yes." ... "Just take that”, said the horse. - Charlie Mackesy
Someone gave us this quote from the book The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse by Charlie Mackesy in a card when Kevin died Its hanging on our fridge and I think about it all the time. One step at a time. This journey forward is dark and tough. Since my last post in October, I have had all sorts of revelations and good days and bad days but this holiday season has been brutal. It's just so raw and so obvious that he is gone, he's not coming back and he's missing everything. He's missing out on living the life we worked so hard to build together.
After my last post in October, two things happened that really resonated with me. One was a professional development that some coworkers lead at school about the 5 basic human needs. Once we had delved in and I looked at each, it occured to me that we really have everything we need and in abundance. So, my mindset changed to, "We have got everything we need. We've got this." And that became my mantra. "I've got this". The second was that at the same time that Kevin died, my dear friend, Martha, was diagnosed with cancer. She is full of energy and life and light and hope and has this amazing attitude. Her outlook on life also inspired me to look at things differently and to lift my head up a bit. I had a couple of weeks riding that wave and it felt hopeful and I felt pretty good. These two things brought light in the darkness.
And then All Saints Day hit which falls a week before Kevin's birthday and sadness and darkness quickly crept back in. My sister, Melissa, helped me to gather some Northfield friends to rake leaves, clean out the gutters, put away lawn furniture, and get the outdoor ready for winter. Melissa brought over a box of donuts, just as Kevin would have done because he always got donuts on the weekends, and this team of amazing friends spent a few hours helping us by getting a job that was daunting to me that Kevin has always done. It was the perfect way to spend the day and I am so very grateful. They brought us light.
His birthday has always been the starting block for this season of crazy and I suddenly felt incredibly overwhelmed thinking about all of the things that were happening in November and on until Christmas. I started to imagine doing all of this without him. All of the things he would be missing this season: band concerts, choir concerts, my mom's 80th birthday, Thanksgiving, the boys 14th birthday, Greta's debut on the Concordia stage as Aunt Eller in Oklahoma, Solvei's last Christmas at Luther, celebrating Solvei finishing college early and moving her home, basketball tournaments, gift buying, Concordia Christmas concert and the list goes on. How could we do all this without him? How can I possibly navigate this as a single, grieving parent of four?
But we took one tiny step forward, we did the next thing and then the next and the next. And we did it all. We celebrated and listened to all the amazing music and made the drives to all of the things, and bought the gifts and cheered at the basketball games, and paid the bills, and decorated the tree and took all the pictures and felt the joy and the light and we knew he was there for all of it in spirit. But it was all with this shroud of sadness clouding it and that weighted blanket hanging on my shoulders making life so heavy.
We are held up by the people who are here for us every day whether we see them or not. You are the light. People who are praying for us, hugging us, bringing us food, sending texts, giving rides, giving me days off when everything gets to be too much, babysitting our dog, crying with us, going with us to games and concerts and cheering for the kids with us, hosting us, bringing really meaningful gifts to remember him by, sending a cleaning lady to make life easier, asking the hard questions, visiting us, and just being here for us. The list is endless. We are so loved and it truly feels like this soft, warm hug all of the time that is carrying us through this awful, horrible reality. There is no sidestepping grief, but, WOW, feeling so loved and cared for by so many people makes each day easier. We are so, very thankful for that light.
The hard, complicated truth is that Kevin was not well and had not been for a long time. For the last five years, his health had been heading downhill fast. Two major concussions from falls on stairs, undiagnosed celiac disease and the worsening condition of his liver and GI system was really hard to navigate for all of us. His physical and mental health were declining and his conditions were a major source of worry, weight and resources for the whole family. He was frustrated to not be able to do the things he wanted. He felt so miserable so much of the time. He slept during the day and was up, uncomfortable at night. He wasn't able to engage with the kids the way he wanted to. His light faded and he wasn't the dad or the husband, friend, coworker or person he had once been and wanted to be. So, when we miss him so terribly, we are missing a version of Kevin that had slowly disappeared. The goofy, fun Kevin who was full of life and ideas and adventure. The one who always had my back, who played tennis and driveway basketball with the kids, the man who ran around the house as the big, green monster covered in a blanket with the intent to tickle anyone he could find. The one who wanted to try his hand at every rhubarb recipe on the internet, the one who reached out to friends to plan get togethers, the one who always had the next roadtrip brewing in his mind. That's the Kevin who is in the forefront of my memories. We miss him. We miss his goofiness, his love, his energy in the mornings, the boys miss rides to school, and rocking out to Weezer on the way to Welch Village to ski.
The kids are all grieving in their own ways. They are all fine but I worry about them. I worry about how the loss of their dad affects them in different ways that are unchangeable. The things we aren't able to do anymore because our income has changed. The way they need to adjust their expectations because I can't be two people. There’s no divide and conquer anymore. I’m sad for them for that reason. I’ve got to do all the things that we used to do as partners and it’s so, so much. But we have family, neighbors, friends far and near and we have each other.
I am grateful. I am devastated. I am overwhelmed. I am OK. I am hopeful. I am deeply loved. These are all true. I will take all of these and step into this new year and we will continue to adjust to life without Kevin.
Thank you to all who have supported us in all the ways. May your new year be blessed with hope and light.
Love, Tricia
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| Matching PJs for all the Farners |
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