One of the things I’ve learned about grief is that there are surprises around every corner. Maybe those are good (or okay) surprises, and maybe they’re primed hand grenades hiding under a very innocuous-looking shrub. An example of the former is how I have discovered that I enjoy living alone when it comes time to decide what’s for lunch (because it’s 100% up to me and what I feel like in the moment). An example of the latter is how randomly devastating it was for me to drive over the Buffalo Skyway while listening to Melissa McClelland’s Skyway Bridge a couple of days ago. That was a rough one, even though I know the bridge in the song is a different bridge in a different country. Still.
The reason this is on my mind today is because I’m grappling with a realization I had last night, and because I’m not even sure of whether to categorize it as a good thing or a bad one I’m just going to present it to you and let YOU decide. For me, it’s probably a bit of both.
As I was getting a late supper ready last night, I left the fridge door open a bit too long, since I’d forgotten it was still open. It started going off with its chime to remind me (which I appreciate). In that moment, I said out loud to myself, “Yeah, yeah, I’m going to get it, don’t get upset!”
And that was when I realized that I’m probably never going to get into a serious argument with someone ever again.
You know the kind of fight you only have with your long-term partner? The kind of fight that is dumb and mostly related to being grumpy or hungry or something? Never gonna happen to me again.
That thought immediately made me very, very sad—and then after a minute, very, very happy—and I’ve been vacillating between those two emotional states of being every time this pops back into my head for the past twenty hours or so.
Of course I don’t like arguments (though don’t ask Kellie this question, because she would tell you that I LOVE arguing with people, especially her). But I don’t like being in conflict with people. Except of course we had plenty of disagreements, even fights. It doesn’t matter how good your relationship is, those conflicts are going to happen (and if they don’t, there’s something odd going on).
John and Julie Gottman are the creators of the Gottman Method, which is one of the best modalities we have for addressing conflict between couples. I’ve done the first level of their training (out of three), and have really enjoyed using their strategies in couples counseling.
But something that the Gottmans mention in their trainings is that according to their data, at least 69% (nice) of conflicts that occur between couples are based on unsolvable problems. These are issues which are based on underlying beliefs and past experiences and strongly-held positions that are never going to change. If I think the sky is red and you think the sky is blue, that is going to cause conflict between us at some point or another. The Gottmans say that since such a small number of arguments between couples are caused by things which can be solved or fixed or gotten on the same page with, we have to learn how to have healthier conflict with each other if we’re going to remain in a committed relationship. That rings true to me, and has been something I’ve seen live out in all kinds of couples’ lives who I’ve gotten to work with over the years.
Kellie and I had plenty of unsolvable problems. Let’s see…right off the top of my head, the way she pronounced “celery” was weird. Also, the way she pronounced “kielbasa”. In addition, Kellie liked sweet things in a salad, like pecans or cranberries or blueberries, and I typically think they’re gross. Also, I love having money so I can spend it on fun things, and Kellie liked spending our money on necessities like toiletries and stocking up on cleaning supplies, etc. so that we’d have them in case of an emergency. We were never going to be able to agree on any of those things, even though they were unimportant in the scheme of things. None of them was cause for a divorce, either, but they have all led to many arguments between us over the years (except the salads one).
So the fact remains that I don’t think I’ll ever be in a serious argument with anyone else for the rest of my life. I know I’ve had disagreements with people other than Kellie, but they just don’t look like big arguments in the same way. I’m okay with my entire history of big arguments being a memorial to my time with Kellie, I think.
We were literal children when we met and got into a relationship, and so neither of us were mature enough to be healthy communicators. I like to think that we were both much better at loving each other and at communicating our needs after all those years, though. We’ve grown together much more than we’ve grown apart or grown as individuals, and that’s a little bit scary to me sometimes.
As I told someone tonight, I don’t feel like Kellie’s necessarily a whole-ass different person than me—she still feels like part of me, and I still feel like part of her, I hope. So being without such a big part of myself is always going to feel complicated, and sad, and pretty terrible sometimes.
I was talking with another friend tonight about her hope that I don’t deny myself joy because of guilt that I’m still here, and I really honestly don’t feel that way. I experience joy, and love, and all those happy emotions. I also don’t feel like I shouldn’t be happy because I’m without her. I don’t need reassurance from anyone that Kellie would want/does want me to be happy, I know without a shadow of a doubt that that’s true. She regularly made sacrifices for the sake of my happiness, and I for hers. That’s a part of love, I think.
My decision to not seek another partner, ever, isn’t anchored in a feeling of frozenness. It’s not that I feel the need to deny myself companionship. It’s also not that I’m not healing or moving forward in a healthy way. If you don’t understand how I feel, that’s okay—you don’t have to feel the way I do about pretty much anything, anytime. That’s not the point—they’re MY feelings. I don’t need to apologize for them.
If I felt that Kellie was just part of my past, I could see a reason to pursue another partner, someday. But she isn’t, that’s the thing. She’s part of my present. Notes that she sang still hang in the air around my head. The art on my walls and the art on my arm both hold so much of Kellie in them. In the case of my arm, literally. Kellie named Ivy, and Kellie chose the couch I’m sitting on. Kellie chose the shirt, shorts, and underwear I’m currently wearing, and gave them all to me as gifts. I am immersed in the very Kellie-ness of the world, and I don’t believe that will ever change. I still share so much of my life with her, every day. I need to do that, and also want to do that. I don’t see that ever changing. It’s not a sad thing for me, it’s the opposite.
I had the chance to teach a workshop today, and my producer and tech support person was someone I’ve worked with many times before. I knew she’d lost her husband about four years ago, but she and I haven’t crossed paths since Kellie died. So today I talked with her about Kellie and my loss, and it was a very positive conversation for me.
When I had to explain the whole situation with Kellie’s death to my doctor a few weeks ago, I was so stressed to go over the narrative with someone new. But my explanation of what I’ve been through with this other widow today wasn’t like that at all. It was a lot easier to discuss than I’d expected, and I was able to hear a lot of wisdom from this person about what life means to her after such a devastating experience. And once again, here’s another way in which I can see myself making progress and moving forward. There are almost too many to keep track of, some days. Like green shoots coming through the mud, right? You see some hints of growth, and then it all springs to life one day, seemingly out of nowhere, all over the place in a glorious burst of joy. That’s my life right now, maybe?
A glorious burst of joy. I think that’s the perfect note to close on.
Sleep well,
Matt