Saturday, Saturday, Saturday...

Saturday, Saturday, Saturday, Saturday.

Happy Saturday. If you hadn’t guessed, I’ve felt better.

I had a really difficult time last night. I think that was due to a combination of things, as it usually is—but the biggest trigger for me was my realization at some point that there’s no longer anyone on the planet who has an entire lifetime of shared music, movies, TV shows, video games, books, celebrations, hardships, triumphs, and challenges which have been experienced alongside me. Sure, it was set off by thinking about a movie, but it doesn’t matter what made me head down that path.

The entire world of life experiences I have had is now a solo journey. There’s nobody who remembers the best concert we ever attended together, or how it felt to buy this house I’m sitting in. There’s nobody who cried with me when my spirit was crushed by a bad boss or who laughed with me when Sage developed an obsession with licking my bald head while I lay in bed every night. I can’t do another re-watch of The Wire with someone who’s been there for our previous conversations about that masterpiece (we just finished it again a month or two ago). I am now a solo repository of a thousand memories, and there is nobody to pass them on to (and I don’t feel a huge desire to sit you all down and force you to relive my past, either).

It’s that dramatic, instant, and complete loss of my entire life’s context. And I don’t know how to come to terms with that sense of dislocation. I wanted to re-watch a movie that popped up in one of my “maybe you would like” feeds, and felt a crushing curtain of dread settle over my heart when I realized that it would be me doing it alone (sure, there are people who would watch a movie with me, but it wouldn’t be what I was looking for).

So I sat and cried for a while. I tried to clean up my bedroom a little bit. I did the dishes. I took out the trash. And at a certain point, I told a couple people that I was really feeling it, and they thankfully gave me enough to talk about that I was distracted for an hour or so, which was long enough for the dread to go back to wherever it usually resides.

After that, I was okay. I’ve been playing a new game, which has been enough to keep my body and brain busy for short-ish periods of time. I tried reading again. I listened to podcasts. I ate a sandwich at some point. And then we went to bed. I had cleaned off the bed enough in my attempt at tidying up that Ivy was comfortable sleeping next to me all night instead of her usual perch on the bench at the foot of the bed. We’re not giving Coco a shot in the bed with me again for now—she just isn’t mature enough to not pester Ivy continually, and that just frustrates all of us. So the crate it is for Coco, and she settles almost immediately. I slept pretty well and woke up without an alarm before 8, as has become my daily tradition. Well, I take that back. Coco getting restless is my alarm. I just wish I was able to set her to let me sleep in once in a while!

Yesterday was a pretty good day. My meeting was interesting, and my two clients were both grateful to see me and also both compassionate toward my situation without crossing any boundaries and making the sessions about me, which I appreciated.

My dad met with the guy we were referred about the possibility of building a cement walkway between my front steps and driveway, to make it less awkward for guests to visit me at home. It’s always been hard to either always have the mud room clean so people can walk through the garage and mud room OR to force them to walk through snow drifts or my yard to come to the front door. If I can make a path happen, it would make it easier for me to keep having people come and see me rather than allowing myself to remain isolated in the future.

And that’s one of my biggest worries at this point—I really, really don’t want my support system to fade away and leave me alone when the novelty and spectacle and tragedy of Kellie’s death becomes less present for everyone. It’s a natural thing to have trauma fade in the rear view mirror, especially if it doesn’t impact you every day. But the effort of staying connected to all of my friends and family is going to take work on my part and on theirs, and it’s something I am committed to doing. Because, like I said, I’m terrified of not having anyone ask how my day is going. Not having Kellie here robs me of my sounding board, my constant confidante, my cheerleader, my partner in all things, and I am often lost without her input on any given situation.

I bought body wash for the first time in my life yesterday. I hope it’s a good kind. I have no idea what I like to use, beyond the fact that Kellie always made sure we had some. It’s running low, and so I bought something random. I hope it works for me.

Someone asked me last night how I’m feeling about the celebration of life today—someone also asked me last night about how I’m feeling about it coming up next weekend. It’s actually two weeks from today, and the answer is that I am absolutely terrified. I want it be over, I am not looking forward to it any way, and I would rather not even consider its reality for another week or week and a half. It’s not going to be a good day for me.

Some of you know this, but for those who don’t: I will not be in attendance at the dinner that’s being planned for after the service. That’s not intended to be offensive to anyone, and I’m not trying to hurt anyone’s feelings. But I am not going to be doing well afterward, and I cannot imagine it being a place where I want to linger. Feel free to go and to grieve collectively and whatever YOU need to do to celebrate Kellie and feel a little bit better. I haven’t figured out what I want to do afterward other than be alone with my thoughts, but I won’t be at any dinner.

In that same vein, two weeks out, I’m certain I do not want to say anything at Kellie’s celebration of life. That could always change over the next two weeks, but I am saying plenty about how I feel about her and her legacy and her memory on a daily basis, right here. I don’t feel the need to do that verbally in front of a crowd. Kellie knows how I feel about her, and me giving a speech will not change that. If it would help you in your own grief process, imagine me giving the most eloquent speech ever. But it wouldn’t help me to agonize over the perfect words to say to convey everything I feel about who Kellie was and what she meant to me. And I’m sure there’s a lot better ways for me to spend my energy than to plan a speech.

So I am choosing to opt out of the discomfort I would feel about attending the after-party and I am choosing to opt out of the discomfort I would feel about speaking at her celebration of life. Right now, anything I can do to make life even a smidge better or less painful for myself feels like a healthy choice. Please don’t read either of those decisions as disrespect or anything—I am comfortable with what I intend to do, and that has to be enough for everyone else too. Thanks for respecting that.

Coco and I went for a walk this morning. It was a beautiful day, and both of us really, really enjoyed the experience. Maybe we’ll start doing it on a more regular basis. Who knows

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We also met my new house cleaner yesterday afternoon. She was a lovely person who spent some time speaking with my dad and I about her own traumatic loss history, which made me feel like it’s an even better fit to work with her. She was also very attentive to the dogs (and Ivy approached her for pets) which gives her even more points. She was kind and compassionate about the fact that I don’t know what my future looks like other than the fact that I am going to need some help to get my house organized and to keep up with it all on my own. She’s willing to start slow, too, which I also appreciated. The first project she’s embarking on is to work on cleaning and organizing my kitchen for me this coming week, which, if you’ve ever been in my kitchen, you know is quite a task. Stay tuned to find out whether it’s too hard a cluttered mess for even a professional to conquer (but I doubt it).

This afternoon was pretty quiet. I thought about taking a nap, but wasn’t tired enough. I tried to read (again), but no luck. I played with Coco until she got too tired and took a nap of her own. I changed my sheets and spent another few minutes sorting random objects in my bedroom. That’s about it. Nothing of huge consequence, and I was more trying to pass the time than anything else. What a strange place to be.

Before Kellie died, the weekend was something to look forward to. But I don’t have a whole lot to look forward to right now—it just feels dark and gloomy ahead, and although I’m trying to change that, I suspect that I won’t be able to feel much better with this celebration of life looming over my head. I would love to skip the whole thing, honestly, and Kellie would support that choice (but everyone else would be mad, and so I guess I’ll go. Probably.)

/There’s no way for me to make this process smoother, and I think that the anger I feel right now is about that fact. I just have to wait and wait and wait, and if you know me you know just how difficult waiting is for my brain.

Sitting in this moment of pain and sadness and loneliness is not a pleasant place to be.

Thanks for inhabiting my world for as long as it took you to read this, and I hope your day was better than mine.

XOXO,

Matt