It was a restless day.
I had things to do, so I did them (and got them done) but I still felt like there were big things I was supposed to be working on and was ignoring. That’s not the case at all, so this sense of dread was unpleasant and didn’t really help me be any more productive than I would have in the first place.
Maybe it’s because I know Wednesday is coming tomorrow? Maybe it’s because I’ve intentionally structured my week so that I don’t have a whole lot going on and can get some rest? Maybe it’s because I know Kellie’s birth month is only a few days away? Probably all of these.
I’m trying very hard to go into November with a gentle touch: Not overwhelming myself with a ton of extra things to do, not trying to make a big deal of Thanksgiving or Kellie’s birthday, just taking it easy and taking it slowly.
I’m used to having a pretty massive list of birthday gifts for Kellie already partially done by this point of the year. I’ve always spent far more on her in November than on her Christmas gifts, though we’ve both gone overboard in that way for a long time. I’m also used to having a list of special people we’re going to get together with for her birthday, because reconnecting with folks in November is a tradition for us.
So, yeah. Thinking that through out loud/in a written-out format, that’s probably what it is. I’m starting to think about November. Ugh.
I’m happy about some of the cleaning and organizing I accomplished today, even if it was done under a cloud of something uncomfortable out of the corner of my mind’s eye. You get the good with the bad, though. That’s the deal.
It’s been quiet here. Maybe that’s part of the problem too, although I know I could pick up the phone and get in touch with all kinds of people. I haven’t, yet. But knowing I could and actually doing it are two widely different things.
I saw a post from a guy named Jason today that said:
I am a widower. But please, don’t feel sorry for me.
I wasn’t able to spend the rest of my life with her, but I was blessed with the privilege of spending the rest of her life with her. And what an honor that was. I knew a love that some people spend their entire lives searching for and never find. I knew what it felt like to be loved, to be chosen, to build a life with someone, and to have a person whose presence made the world feel a little less heavy.
Losing her was never part of the plan. Neither was learning to live in a world that kept turning when mine had stopped…
But I would never trade the love we shared to escape the pain of losing her.
I feel that deeply. I would never un-do what we had—what we have. I often see people say that they’re so happy they got to spend all of their dog or cat’s life with them, even if they didn’t get to have them for THEIR entire life. And I feel the same about Kellie. She never had to feel alone. Especially as alone as I feel today. I’m so grateful that I was the one who has to do this instead of her.
Not because I’m doing it better than she would have—I don’t think that’s the case at all. I always told her that I would be the one to die before her, because I couldn’t handle the thought of being without her. And of course I’m not happy that she died.
But I’m so glad and so grateful that she doesn’t have to experience this pain, day after day, without me here to comfort her. She never had to work and pay the bills and vacuum the floor and feed the dogs and herself and take showers and keep breathing and functioning AND also not feel that any of that truly mattered in the grand scheme of things. That’s really good.
If I had died first, and was somehow able to remain aware of how she was doing, it would be pure torture for me to be unable to do anything to lighten the load on her shoulders. Because, man—it’s heavy. It’s so, so heavy.
I’m tired.
I just miss her so much.
That’s it for today.
Matt