Everybody Needs a Body, To Be Somebody

Thoughts about relationships...

Another day has dawned, and I’ve already cried significantly more than yesterday. That’s just something that happens to me sometimes. I think that might be tied to the fact that I’m looking at some of her jewelry today. Not getting rid of any of it, mind you—just looking at it. And I guess that’s something that makes me cry now.

I slept just under six hours, and Coco made it through the night snuggled up with me instead of in her crate, which I really appreciated.

My dad moved in with me today, and that’s been fine so far (but we’re only on day one of this arrangement, so stay tuned to hear how it feels to have a roommate that isn’t Kellie).

My sister left town, like I said yesterday, and I miss her being here.

Kindness continues to abound. I wasn’t permitted to pay for my own matcha this morning, and also got an invoice from my lawncare company for $0, letting me know they were praying for me. I just get knocked sideways by how much people are going out of their way to say they see me and my grief and that they want to let me know I’m not alone. Thank you all for making me feel that way much of the time now.

I bought groceries for the first time since she died (well, our students bought me groceries). Either way, it will be lovely to be able to make a sandwich at 1:00am instead of whatever else I’ve been trying to eat.

I also cooked dinner for my dad and I tonight. The first time I’ve cooked for anyone but Kellie, the first time I’ve cooked a non-breakfast meal, and the second overall thing I’ve cooked since she died. It was fettuccine (which Kellie hated) and Mt. Carmel sauce, along with garlic bread and a spinach and kale salad. It was delicious. He’s now washing the dishes, which is a bonus.

I spent most of today trying to get control over some of my grading from this semester. It’s very, very slow going. I’m trying. I’m grateful to some other faculty who are going to help me close out the semester when I just can’t do any more staring at this laptop screen. At this point in time, I’m officially done with two of my three classes (minus the hard work of those incredibly kind professors—you know who you are).

I have my new glasses, and I love them! Speaking of kindnesses, my eye doctor’s office is closed on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. So do you know what the doctor and his staff did? Diverted the shipment from their office to their home in Ashtabula so they could drop them off directly at my house. Incredible, incredible stuff. I’m so grateful.

I’ve been pondering relationships a lot today—not just my own relationship with her, but also the relationships she had with others. Oh, and I also wanted to point out that I’d said she had two best friends in her life besides me, but I inadvertently counted wrong: she had three. Lots and lots of friends, but three that she considered besties. You all know who you are.

It’s hard not to think back through the course of our thirty years together and not blame myself for the times I was impatient with Kellie, or didn’t agree with her on something stupid, or had a fight that meant nothing to either of us except in the moment. I have a really tough time remembering any time I said something to her that wasn’t kind or compassionate.

So yes, of course I realize that we’re all human and that none of us is perfect. I lose my temper more than the average person (or at least I did with her). She would always think it was the funniest thing that everyone thinks I’m so calm and tranquil and measured in my emotions, because she was the only one I trusted enough to be fully myself around. She’s gone now, and so I don’t know what that means for me having an emotional outlet like that. It’s something I’m going to have to figure out someday—add it to the list.

But I wasn’t the perfect husband. I’ve never been that. Devoted and loyal to her? 100%. Best friends forever? Absolutely. But I just wish I had had fewer times when I introduced any stress or strife into her life. Those memories are just as present as the good ones, and if I could consciously get rid of something in my brain it would be those.

Kellie went through a lot in her life. She was the best person I’ve ever known, and she fit with me like fingers in a glove. But people haven’t always understood her or been kind to her. There were times in her life when she had so much love and support from people, and other times that have been pretty lonely for her. I always wished I could show folks who drifted away just what they were missing by not keeping her in their lives. When friendship ended for her, it was usually because someone prioritized someone else or something else, and she never understood what had happened. I’m the guy who goes to extremes to figure out what made that friendship fray and to try to save it, but Kellie wasn’t that way. She respected the people she loved and let them leave her life if that was their choice. That’s one way she and I weren’t exactly the same.

You deserved better than you got

Someone’s got to say it sometime because it’s true

People should have told you you were awesome

Instead of taking advantage of you

I hope you love your life now

Like I love mine

I hope the painful memories only flex their power over you a little of the time

We held on to hope of better days coming

And when we did we were right

I hope the people who did you wrong

Have trouble sleeping at night

People were mean to you

But I always thought you were cool

—John Darnielle

We have had endless conversations over the years wishing that some of our most precious people had stayed closer to us, and those situations caused her pain. She knew that that pain was the flip side of the love, though, and she’s always found it a lot easier to forgive than me.

If you’re one of those people, and have been really here for me these past ten days after not being in contact with us much for weeks or months or years, it’s okay. I’m certain that she is really happy that you’re giving me the comfort that you are, and it’s exactly what she would have wished for. I am getting a TON of comfort from you, and I’m really hopeful those connections will stay just as strong a month or a year or a decade from now as they are today. Because she loved you and I love you and I can’t be alone in the world.

If I can be honest (which is kind of the point of this whole newsletter at this time in my life, right?) I’ve had a hard time with that since Kellie died. Not, I will emphasize, because so many people love her and are publicly saying so and are being incredibly kind to me. But I’ve had a hard time with so much love directed her way in these hard days because I keep wishing with all of my heart that she had been able to hear any of them say those things about her, that she had been able to rekindle any of these relationships, that she had gotten the chance to hug you and cry together and feel the strength of those connections again.

I’ve been seeing this life different
Ever since I let you go
Fragile flowers in a field
Sixty stories made of steel
Birds above and business deals below

And I’ve been thinking bout our lifetime
Like I never have before
A hundred years or a hundred days
A hundred times no difference, babe
Promise you I’d want a hundred more

Don’t the question beg an answer
Don’t the song beg a dancer
Don’t you dare
Tell me that there
Ain’t more to this

And don’t our tears beg for laughter
I promised I’d love you forever
So don’t you dare
Tell me that there
Ain’t more to this
There’s more to this

—Marc Scibilia

Kellie was loved in her life, and knew she was loved in her life. But I strongly believe that connections between human beings is in short supply at this point in our history, and that we’re definitely in a crisis when it comes to our friendships. Everyone wishes they had more friends and wishes they spoke more often or were more closely-linked. And so every time someone tells me she was the best person in the world (which she was), I accept that along with a big dose of regret that she missed a lot of you an awful lot at the time that she died. I can (and do) experience both of those feelings at the same time, and that’s okay.

I wanted to close things out with some of my favorite pictures of some of Kellie’s favorite people in the world—our pups. We didn’t know if we could ever be good dog parents, and had a lot of doubts and fears about being responsible enough for keeping them alive. But Sage and Ivy and Coco gave Kellie and I more joy than I can reasonably articulate here without breaking down all over again. One of my biggest wishes, that I articulate out loud multiple times per day, is that she’s with Sage right now (and her grandma, and her dad, but mostly Sage).

This song has always been one of our favorites when it comes to articulating our relationship. It’s Riches and Wonders, by The Mountain Goats. And I really miss singing it with her and to her.

We are strong, we are faithful

We are guardians of a rare thing

We pay close, careful attention

To the news the morning air brings

We show great loyalty

To the hard times we’ve been through

We are filled with riches and wonders

Our love keeps the things it finds

And we dance like drunken sailors

Lost at sea, out of our minds

You find shelter somewhere in me

I find great comfort in you

And I keep you safe from harm

You hold me in your arms

And I want to go home

But I am home

—John Darnielle

Please, if you have someone who makes you feel like home, tell them that more often. Do it for me. Thanks. They need to hear it, and you need to be saying it.

XOXO,

Matt