Lonely, but not alone

I feel lonely. I miss my partner. I miss Kevin. I miss things like another adult at the dinner table to help cultivate conversation. I miss someone else giving ideas on what to make for dinner AND actually making dinner. I miss our little inside jokes. I miss having that person who you can crawl into that cozy place with where you can talk about your kids without a filter: how amazing your kids are, or how cute they are, or what an idiotic choice they made. That one other person who adores your children just as much as you do no matter what they do or how they behave. I miss trying to find a good show to watch together. I miss the driver in our family, the selfie taker. I miss how Kevin was a master at laundry and kept it moving and folded it neatly. I miss him picking up sticks in the yard and cleaning out the gutters. I never once had to think about snow in the driveway. I miss his big arms around me and his smell. I miss his stories about work and what the chef at the hospital had made for lunch that day. I miss how he would ALWAYS take the kids anywhere or pick them up in the dark during the freezing temperatures of winter. I miss planning our next adventure together. I miss him taking care of the dog with so much love and care. I miss him doing FAFSA and paying the bills. I miss his dancing. I miss his singing in the kitchen. I miss his drumming on his knee and the sometimes stupid, sometimes brilliant puns he came up with on a daily basis. I miss him taking care of the insurance and the I miss having someone who is my person and I am theirs. I feel unbalanced, like a part of me is missing and I'm trying to lean into someone who's not there. I miss the sounds of his drumming drifting WAY TOO LOUDLY up the stairs. I miss the sound of ESPN's "Good Morning Football" in the background as we are all getting ready for the day. I miss the soft sounds of the piano playing his favorite George Winston or Billy Joel song. I miss his weekend "big breakfasts" - pancakes AND french toast AND scrambled eggs AND donuts from the grocery store and those big pots of coffee brewing when I came down the stairs. I miss the guy in this picture who found a way to bring us coffee AND milk for the boys in bed on a lazy Saturday morning while the boys watched "Jake and the Neverland Pirates" and we dozed and relaxed. I'm so very thankful for my people, especially my children. Yet, my girls are off doing the things they should be doing and my boys are 15 year old boys. If you know, you know. 15 year old boys are focused elsewhere. They are not known for their conversational skills or their desire to spend quality time with their mom. So, I spend a lot of time in the quiet of the house. I miss him.

Yet, in all honesty, there are things that I do not miss. I won't open the vault on that here and now, but, in general, I do not miss living in fear about his health all the time. I do not miss the unknowns about what was happening in his body and his head. I do not miss watching him suffer and both of us wondering if he would ever be healthy. I do not miss wondering if there was something that was being missed or if a different doctor could be more helpful. I do not miss watching his light dim and wondering if the man I married was still in there somewhere. I sleep better now than I did the five years before he died. 

I have felt more selfish in the last two years than ever in my life. Being selfish feels mean and out of character, but also completely appropriate. When people are sharing about their own situations, on the outside I'm saying, "I'm sorry you broke you arm" and in my head I think, "but I don't care". "What a pain that your car broke down." and in my head, "but I don't care". "How sad that it rained everyday on your vacation" and in my head "I don't care". It feels foreign when my brain reacts that way. It's so harsh, but grief takes over and rejects anything outside of my tiny bubble that I’m trying to protect. It pushes away other’s problems that are solvable and/or temporary. It sounds so cruel but carrying all that I am carrying leaves very little room for anyone or anything else. All I can think of is myself and my family. That is all I have energy for. I have no capacity to think about anyone else. Of course I still love and care about my family and friends. Of course I have love and care to give. I think about, pray for and find time for others going through really tough times. My empathy has heightened immensely for people who are fighting horrible diseases, or caregivers who are watching their loved ones struggle and go through the unimaginable, or people who have lost a loved one. I also can acknowledge that everyday stress and frustrations that are not catastrophic are REAL. I have those too. I just don't have capacity to take on anyone else’s day to day troubles. And THAT is a departure from my nature. I will also say that that voice in my head that says, "but I don't care" is fading, slowly. I am finding that my protective shell is gently and carefully opening to let more in. I assume that will continue as my grief matures. 

Loss is different for everyone. Just looking at my family, the five of us, we all have different needs and processes when it comes to grieving.  Something that brings me great comfort, another family member wants nothing to do with. Something that someone said to one of them that rubbed them the wrong way, I may find comforting. That really stinks for those on the outside. I think for me, people letting me know that they love us feels nice. People sharing stories about Kevin is the best. If someone texts and says, I want to bring you a meal this week, fantastic. 

One way that I've changed is that I get very anxious in social situations, which is such a departure from the norm for me. I have always been an extrovert and love to be out and about as much as possible. "Why are we sitting at home? There are places to explore and people to see and friends to be made!" Now I get really anxious to go out. I'm not scared to go grocery shopping anymore or run errands downtown. I've come far enough to feel comfortable doing those things because it is a brief encounter and I have a task in mind to get done. But going into social situations like a party or church or a community gathering where people are meant to socialize and I don't know who I'm going to run into feels really scary to me. I don't know how to explain it. I'm very comfortable seeing people I see often, like close friends, family, coworkers, because they have been in my orbit as I've traversed these last two years. They have been there for my ups and downs. They know that some days are really hard and some days feel "normal". They know that I find joy and that I laugh and live a day to day life. They know that sometimes, something hits me hard and I retreat and can't pull myself up and I'm crying out of the blue. They are my insiders whether they put themselves in that place or they work with me and are in it involuntarily. I'm fine being with them anytime, anywhere. The unnerving times are situations where I don't know if I'm going to run into someone who I haven't been in touch with. Or someone who knew Kevin really well and I haven't seen. Those run ins are what give me anxiety. By no fault of that person. I just go out into the world not knowing what emotions someone will bring up in me or what emotions I will trigger in someone else who sees me unexpectedly. I know that when people who are not in my inner, everyday circle see me, I am almost certain the first thing they think is "her husband died" or seeing me instantly reminds them of their own grief of Kevin dying and it feels awkward and I don't know how to face it. Yet, beauty comes from unexpected run ins as well. Earlier this week, I went to my niece's tennis match and ran into a friend I don't see very often. We chatted for awhile about our kids and our work lives and then she said, "I really miss Kevin. I hope you realize what an effect he had on this community and how well he was loved." Then she continued by sharing a couple of stories of interactions they had had. That made my day. She was brave and it was beautiful. Did my eyes get watery? Yes. I hope that didn't send the wrong message because the reason I got emotional was that it  feels so good when someone else tells me they miss him too and remember him too because I still think about him every minute of every day. Knowing that others still think about him and he hasn't been forgotten makes me feel like I'm not the only one who still feels his loss.

Over the 4th of July, I was at my parent's house and most of my sisters and their families were there. We'd had a great time seeing relatives, spending time on the boat, playing croquet, doing fireworks, playing games, all of it and on the outside I was perfectly fine. But Sunday morning as everyone is getting ready to go, packing up, washing sheets, putting all the toys away, etc. I fell apart. My family was like, "What happened? Are you ok? What is it?" And all I could get out was, "My husband is dead." It had been building up the whole time we were there. All the memories. The twenty three years we had spent together at that place. We were there when they built it. We helped them move in. Kevin helped put the riprap on the shore. He used to help put in the dock and take out the boat. He shoveled the snow off the long driveway and built igloos in the back with the kids. He spent late nights at the table playing poker with my dad. He played in the lake with the kids. He dropped the anchor off the boat once and forgot to attach it to the boat. He played catch and croquet for hours on the front lawn. We took countless walks up and down the road together at that place. We ate so many Zorbaz pizzas there. After one of his terrible surgeries 20 years ago, in the hospital, he told me that he just wanted to watch the sunrise with me on the dock at the cabin. Months later, we did that. We woke up early, filled up our coffee cups and sat together on the dock, watching the sunrise, so grateful that he was healthy enough and had made it through that recovery. All of those things and more, all of those memories. Both good and bad ones sit at that place. They built up over the days there and spilled out as we left. I can't imagine that that will ever stop. Maybe fade? I don't know. We will see. 

It's hard to find people who really get it. When I lost Kevin, I lost my best friend, my partner, my ride or die, the father of my children. But I also lost our health insurance, our main income, and the person who provided for our four children who are still dependents. I have never lost a parent. I can only imagine what that will feel like someday. I have never lost a child. I CANNOT fathom that unimaginable loss. I've never lost a sibling. All of those are different losses. And unless you are in a very similar situation, you have no idea. I used to think I knew things that I could NEVER know. It's a lot like judging parents before you have kids of your own. "I would never let my child....." or "My child would never act like that!". It's the same with losing a spouse. "If I lost my spouse I would ....(insert judgement here)". You cannot imagine what you would do because you've never experienced that horror. You cannot know. I've been surprised by how it has changed me and I still have no idea how it will affect me in the coming years. I one friend that lost her husband in the same era of her life as me. Her husband died about three years before Kevin and has children around the same age as mine, so she is my "go to" widow friend. I feel comfort in having a friend who knows.

I am putting this out into the world so people know how I'm feeling. So that you can get a glimpse of what is going on in the inside of my world. I write because it feels good and healing to let it all out. It helps me think more clearly and organize my thoughts. I don't want anyone to hesitate approaching me when you see me out. I am dipping my toes into going to more social gatherings with the help of my close friends and family firmly beside me. I am slowly slipping back in because I miss being social and seeing friends and catching up and laughing with people. So, know that if you see me, I'm there because I like seeing you and I want to interact. But it’s scary...the unknown. 

Life keeps moving forward all around us. I am trying to keep up. It feels strange doing things without Kevin. We went to his niece’s wedding without him. That felt strange. It felt like someone was missing. They honored him in such a beautiful way during the service, singing one of his favorite hymns. I know he was there with us. There are big decisions I need to make by myself...I bought a new car without him. I found new insurance. I meet with our lawyer and financial planners. I look at houses that might be a good fit for us. I can't see myself staying in this house alone when the boys go off. Kevin is in every corner. Good memories and hard ones too. We'll see. I'm just feeling things out. I took off my wedding and engagement rings about 6 months after he died. I needed something tangible to remind me everyday that he was gone. But walking around without them on, somehow made me feel vulnerable. Like I was publicly announcing that I wasn’t married or that I was trying to erase those 24 years I wore those rings. So, in June I put them back on and it feels good and it feels right...for now. I love my rings. I missed them when I wasn't wearing them. I'm taking life one day at a time. One foot in front of the other. Doing the next right thing. Deep breaths...

I do feel lonely. But I never feel alone. We have so many people that bless us every day. We love our town, our friends, our family, our schools and the community around us. We live a beautiful life. We just miss Kevin. He is with us....everywhere and everyday. He lives in us and through us. We are thankful for the time we had with him. He made us who we are today.