Life, and Its Absence

Another day, another few minutes.

Hey there, and thanks for reading.

I’ve been considering what I want this space to look like over time. I don’t know that I want to keep the burden of a daily public journal (or something) for the rest of my life. At the same time, I’ve felt real value from the writing, in a cathartic sense. I’ve also felt grateful to have other people who are connected to me, even one-way. I’ve shared in the past that I have a real disdain for performativity—insincere attempts to get likes at all costs or portray yourself in an artificial sense, or seeking more to gain validation from strangers than from those who actually know you.

When I post pictures of my life, that is me saying, to myself, “This happened. It was real. I have this memory, both within me and externally.” I’m not trying to make someone else feel jealous or sad or upset through stuff I post, and I think the line is there for me.

So if I want to be an open and genuine person, and my life has changed forever, there is a benefit to my heart if I’m open and genuine about how I’m doing from day to day. That will probably change from a daily thing to some other frequency, eventually. But just as I’m not putting the pressure on myself to write a speech for Kellie’s celebration of life, I’m also not putting the pressure on myself to plan some marketing strategy for this newsletter. I’m just going to do what feels like an honest expression of what I need at the moment, which I would imagine will change over time.

Some friends lit a candle for Kellie’s soul after mass today, which is the picture above. It was lovely. I really enjoy hearing about how you’re thinking of her and loving her, no matter what that looks like.

I slept pretty well last night. Picking up and sorting and organizing stuff in my room in twenty minute increments has paid off for me so far, both because it tires me out so quickly (if tired = sleepy at night, that’s a good thing) and because it feels less-cluttered in my brain when my environment is also less-cluttered. I don’t know how well I truly slept, though, because I took my watch off to wash dishes and forgot to put it back on.

Coco and I took our second walk in two days. It was a great time, and we’re both starting to be able to learn each other’s signals and walk mostly in-step with each other. I might try to make this a habit again. I haven’t taken daily walks since we first adopted Sage, so perhaps it’s been about a decade since those tapered off? Our neighborhood is so perfect and tranquil that it’s a great place for walking, besides not having any sidewalks.

I’m looking forward to my Quaker meeting for worship later on this morning. Seeing people I care about who also care about me is something that’s even more special to me now, and doing that while also honoring my spiritual tradition is even better. I also heard from multiple folks after last week that were excited to see me there, so it was nice to be seen (and missed when I wasn’t there).

After my meeting ends, my dad and I plan to head out town this afternoon for a movie—I’ve read Project Hail Mary several times, and have really been wanting to check out the adaptation, so I thought today’s a good time to check that out and grab some Trader Joe’s snacks.

I keep telling friends that I’m not living one day at a time, because I’m really not. A day is way too long an increment of time for me right now, much the same way as I’m not really having good days or bad ones—I’m just having a few minutes on one side or a few minutes on the other.

I promise you I’m taking care of myself, as I’m able. I’m eating, I’m drinking water (when people remind me to do so), and I’m sleeping as long as I ever did before Kellie’s passing. It’s just the brain stuff that’s the difficult part, not so much the physical body stuff (besides my annoying habit of sobbing randomly for no reason at all). When I cry loudly enough, Coco comes and licks my tears and comforts me the best she can. It helps.

As my dad said in his own newsletter yesterday, it feels like he and I are developing into a rhythm, which has been a positive thing for me. We figure out breakfast, each do our own thing, re-convene for lunch, have a separate afternoon, eat supper together and hang out until he goes to sleep and I figure out how to keep myself occupied until I give up and go to bed. It’s working for me, and I’m really glad he and my mom hadn’t headed back to Morocco before Kellie died.

It would be a million times worse for me right now if he weren’t here. If my sister hadn’t spent a week with us at the start, I would be struggling a lot more. If people who love Kellie and I hadn’t dropped off soup or coffee or hugs or stayed to talk to me or texted me water emojis every few hours or just let me cry, I would be in a lot worse shape. If our friend hadn’t called and notified Kellie’s clients, it would be a lot harder. I can come up with so, so many examples of small (or large) kindnesses that have gotten me through a week and a half of this reality that I didn’t choose.

I don’t know how I’m going to survive weeks or months or years without Kellie here. It’s too hard for me to envision hitting my 50th or 60th or even 70th birthday without her. I do know that I will be spending whatever time I do have left on this planet trying to keep making her proud of me. I’ve never known anyone who was so dedicated to celebrating my wins, and so I think I can honor her memory by not locking myself away and living wholly in my mind. So what does that mean? Not a clue. I’m just talking through my feelings here, a few minutes at a time.

Love you all.

Matt