Saturday? More like Napurday, Am I Right?

Today was a quiet, peaceful, contemplative sort of a day. That’s probably because of how much stress I was under yesterday and last night—I ended up working out the final details for Kellie’s celebration of life around midnight. In fairness, the person who is doing the vast majority of those things is Margot (the officiant), and she’s firmly in the category of “people I can never repay”, especially after these last few weeks.

We went to bed late and then got up slightly before 7, as is our (new) habit. I had a headache all morning, probably due to lack of sleep and the stress of yesterday/the past three weeks. I feel much better this evening, though, thankfully.

This was one of our favorites of us— taken at Kellie’s favorite spot in her favorite town. Chagrin Falls always reminded her of Stars Hollow. Those of you who have visited there with us have done her a great favor.

I’ve been reflecting on the course of my life this week. I think that most people in my situation would be, it’s only natural. Of course I’m reflecting on the course of Kellie’s life, duh. But mine has been intertwined with hers across the years and across every domain that you could possibly quantify. We’ve been together for decades, and have been far closer than most couples for the entire time, so most reflection on my life is automatically going to include Kellie in some aspect.

A favorite thing for me was always watching Kellie teach some of her graduate students. I was totally not listening to her here instead of playing a game. I swear.

My most surprising conversation today came about an hour ago, coincidentally right around the time when I was trying to figure out a way to keep my brain busy for a few minutes. In fairness, that defines a great deal of my time now. But I legitimately was looking for something to do, and so her call happened to be the perfect thing to fit into my afternoon.

As a high schooler, I had a really difficult time. Part of that was because my brain is far from neurotypical. In an environment like a school for the kids of missionaries (such as my high school), there is less space for kids to be outside the norm. The expectation is often—or seemed to me anyway—that everyone needs to go along to get along, and that if you need extra help or a little bit of understanding, you pose a problem rather than being worthy of being looked at as an individual. That was how my experience of high school felt, and still feels.

I’ve rarely been accused of being like everyone else.

My teachers really didn’t know how to approach the task of educating me. Maybe that seems egotistical—why was it their job to provide individualized care to one student, you may ask. And yet, as an educator myself, I would argue that was EXACTLY their job. There needs to be some allowances given to the context those teachers were existing within, but I think even the kindest interpretation of my high school interactions with authority figures wouldn’t paint those adults in a positive light. So yeah, I was not doing well.

Midway through my high school career, the guidance counselor went on a furlough for a year, so they had a replacement guidance counselor that year. And that replacement became one of the first experiences I ever had of being truly seen by an adult. She listened to me for many hours. She met with all my teachers, multiple times. She coordinated with my parents. And she gave me hope that I could be seen with anything other than disdain. My parents cared about the fact that I was struggling a lot, but were outside the system of that school. They fought for me in a number of ways, for years. But they didn’t have the power of someone within the system to make me matter. Lois did.

Lois is one of the main reasons why I pursued social work and mental health as a profession. I often tell people that I became a social worker because my mom is a social worker, and that I ignored her advice for far too many years before realizing she was right all along. And that’s true! But Lois was the person who made me want to walk alongside other human beings and try to help them through hard stuff.

For those keeping track at home, my experiences with Lois are the reason I wanted to make a difference in the first place, my mom is the reason those impulses to make a difference turned toward social work, and Kellie is the reason I have maintained my compassion for people for the past several decades. All three of those women have played an instrumental role in who I am, and I’ve been lucky enough to be able to thank all three of them over the years.

This afternoon, Lois called to check in and catch up from the last 31 years or so (though she’s kept tabs on me from afar). I cannot tell you how nice it was to walk through how Kellie and I met, to discuss the value of social work and my passion for rural practice as well as her own love of hospice work, and to just chat for that half hour. It was a truly special conversation, and I cannot help but feel it was absolutely supposed to happen when it did.

I needed that phone call, and I’m immensely grateful that she called (and also that she had the huge impact on my life that has continued to echo even now, several decades later).

I finished putting together both rocking chairs today—when are you going to come and sit in one of them on my deck with me?

I’ve missed Kellie most keenly in the quiet times and spaces of my life, so far. I’ve spoken about just how tough 10pm and onward is for me, and that’s because of the quiet. When I wake up in the morning, my first thought is often of something I’ve meant to catch Kellie up on—I roll over and she’s not there. When I’m driving a long way to get from here to there, I fall into some of those memories. When I was putting together the rocking chair and the back yard was so peaceful other than the sounds of birds and whatever Coco was chewing on in the flower bed. Times like those are especially poignant.

Unfortunately, prior to three weeks ago, my brain craves those quiet times. I have always sought out the late-night periods of time when only Kellie and I were awake and functioning. Only now it’s just me.

I’m hoping my love of the quiet returns in time, because that matters to me.

A few years ago, we had a really special Valentine’s Day date in an igloo. It was a memory that both of us have always cherished. The following year, I paid for us to do it again. The weather was bad or something, and I cancelled with their promise that they’d let us do it for free next time. We never called back to reschedule, and I very much wish we had.

I took a nap with the dogs this afternoon for a couple of hours. I can’t remember the last time I napped—it was always something that Kellie loved but it’s always been too complicated for me to switch my mind off. But I REALLY needed it, and I feel infinitely better right now as a result. I intend to try napping more often just to see if it’s something I do now. Stay tuned to find out!

Tomorrow will be pretty busy. I can’t wait to share news of the (imminent) construction in my front yard with you all.

Please take care of yourself and those in your orbit.

Hugs to everyone,

Matt