Keep on Rocking in the Free World

I was busy today, which in retrospect is probably a good thing for me, but which I was still dreading in advance (because that’s the way our brains work sometimes). It didn’t end up being that challenging, but I had a number of things back-to-back across most of the day.

I had a succession planning meeting with a committee for the library board, an advising meeting with a student, a counseling session, and more work stuff.

That still gave me enough time to get a burger from Evie’s Luau (extremely worth it if you haven’t tried one of those yet, which I hadn’t) and a dirty soda from Mamba’s. This summer, food trucks have been at Smith Field every Monday, if you’re local to me and didn’t know that already. Support local small businesses!

I spent time overlooking the Smolen Bridge and then headed down to vacuum sand out of my car from last week.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what someone online said about his grief experience, and wanted to talk about that today.

He said that he tends to divide his life into two periods of time: time with his wife and time after she died. For me, that rings true, but I’d add one other era in there:

• Childhood

• My years with Kellie

• Whatever comes next

My time as a kid was a significant chunk of my life, obviously. That era lasted until I was 18 and met Kellie. I learned a lot and definitely grew a lot as a person during that period of time, though I didn’t know all that much about myself.

My time with Kellie lasted from 18 to 48, and ended almost two months ago. Those thirty years involved a lot of uncertainty and sadness and confusion. But Kellie was there with me through all of those challenges. Kellie helped me to figure out who the heck I even am. She was my biggest supporter, and we shared every single thing together. I went from being a kid to (I guess) an adult during this era. I found social work. I got my associate’s, a double-major bachelor’s, and a master’s degree during this era, along with an independent chemical dependency and an independent social work license. I discovered my love of teaching and live music and cooking. I got tattoos! And dog! And we bought our house, too!

Now I’ve lost Kellie, and I’m in the third section of my life. It’s become clear to me that I need to recognize and acknowledge and live like I’m in a new phase of my life. I shouldn’t pretend that one thing (Kellie) has changed. Like I mentioned yesterday, many or most things are now different. Yes, I’ve lost things, but it’s not just loss: it’s change.

I don’t think I know anybody who would say that they like change. You’ve probably heard people say that all change is stressful, whether positive or negative. And of course that’s also a part of living, so that presents a conundrum. Do we rage against the change, or pretend it hasn’t happened? Do we embrace the change? Do we sit with the change and try to surf that wave, even amidst our discomfort?

Another piece of the puzzle for me is that embracing the change is also going to carry a great deal of guilt with it, since on some level that symbolizes being okay with Kellie’s death or even being happy about it. Maybe that’s not true, but that’s how it feels, and that means it might as well be true.

There’s also the risk of me spending so much time in my memories of my past with Kellie that I’m stuck living in the past. I don’t want that to happen either. Although those memories are wonderful and many of them represent the best times of my life so far, they’re also not where I need to be all the time, every day, as I try and move forward. It’s such a weird thing to think that I don’ t get to make any new memories with Kellie—that all the movies we’ve watched and books we’ve read and songs we’ve sung along with together and all the road trips we’ve been on are all that we will ever have.

I saw a book in one of the bookstores I visited yesterday that I know was on Kellie’s list. She had been waiting for a while for it to finally get published, and I don’t like the fact that she will never get the chance to read it. I also noticed a couple of books that she had read in pre-release form to review but never got around to writing her reviews for—now that’ll never happen. I try not to dwell on those “never happen” things too much, because there’s no way to resolve that sadness in a positive fashion—it’s just a fact, you know?

So as I enter this new era of my life, I want to do it with a view toward the future—toward the things I want to accomplish and want to experience. I want to continue to make a difference in the world and have a positive impact and keep making tiny changes where I can. But to do that, I need to figure out what I want. What do I need to be happy? What are sources of joy and contentment for me, now that I have to replace Kellie across so many different domains of my life?

She served in those roles for so long that it’s really challenging to consider other sources of support and love and joy besides turning to her for all of those things.

As my parents and I turn our thoughts toward what it would look like for them to head back to Knoxville for a bit and see how things go with me and the girls on our own, I’ve also started to make a list of what I need to be healthy without them here.

I would appreciate it if you guys continue to check in on me. I think it would help me to have actual conversations with people more often, without my parents here, not just exchanging text messages. If I don’t have a human being to talk to in a given day outside of work, that might be a really isolating feeling for me. So whether that looks like a phone call or you stopping by to chat, I’d appreciate that kind of contact as well.

I’m just so used to a constant running conversation throughout the course of each day with Kellie, and so that might be the scariest part of my parents not being here, in terms of the loneliness piece. A counseling session is definitely a time of genuine human connection, but it can’t replace a conversation with someone who loves me.

I’m also thinking about trying to get into some kind of routine for the dogs and I, to help the time go by and make sure I don’t forget important stuff. I’m pretty sure I’ll remember to feed both myself and the girls, but the drinking water part is still something I often forget.

I don’t know what else I need, but I do know that Kellie will still be a major part of my life no matter what this era looks like. I intend to live my life in a way that will honor her and the lessons she taught me, and also (as you’re probably getting tired of me saying) we’re still married, in my brain anyway if not in the eyes of the state of Ohio. I’m always going to love her, and I’m always going to miss her. There just also has to be something else beyond the missing, something to strive for and challenge myself with, something to anticipate and look forward to, and something to be proud of. I can’t live in the last era in my head, when I’m literally not there in real life anymore.

Thanks for listening, and thanks for helping me figure this stuff out. If you’ve had a conversation with me about pretty much anything over the last two months, it’s helped me. I promise.

Love you guys,

Matt