So How is Matt Today?
(Saturday Edition)
Good afternoon, dear ones.
I’ve been thoroughly touched by the massive outpouring of love and support for Kellie and I since the news of her death got out there. If you have called or texted or sent a Facebook message or dropped something off on my porch or have sent prayers out into the universe or even just thought kindly about me or lovingly about what she meant to you and your life, then you’ve done something that matters to me. And I want to thank you for that.
It’s such a surprise to me how everyone keeps rearranging all their priorities in order to be there for me. Not because we didn’t feel loved prior to this most terrible of weeks, but because I know just how hard this world makes it to focus on anything beyond the here and now. The connections between us as humans are vital and meaningful and incredibly valuable, but just like most of our most important self-care routines, they’re often the first thing that gets left on the back burner when we’re having a bad day or bad week or bad year.
The things on your to-do list aren’t busywork. They’re there because they matter to you, for the most part, and so it’s impossible for me not to feel at least a little guilt when you show up for me in some way. I know that you’ve moved something else aside in order to accommodate me in your day, and that moves me a great deal. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
That said, let me update you on where things stand with me right now. Keep in mind that this changes from minute-to-minute, and that I’m all over the place emotionally-speaking. I expect that to be the case for a long time.
Talk to me, tell me everything you see
The sun that’s shining lighter than a feather
And every day, the moon just sails away
The moon and sun are the keepers of the weather
Don’t know what I’d do, don’t know what I’d do
Without you
Don’t know where I’d go, don’t know where I’d go
Without you
Dragonfly, the clouds are rolling by
The wind across my back, I feel the shiver
Drive around, live from town to town
To the ocean of your love, I am a river
—Adrianne Lenker
Here’s a small snapshot of my day yesterday:
I slept for five hours and forty-seven minutes (on Thursday night)
I physically spent time with five or six people who were so, so kind
I ate food three times (fast food brought by someone, food truck food brought by someone else, and soup brought by a third person. You all know who you are)
I didn’t drink much water and spent most of the day wondering why I was so thirsty (duh)
I texted with around 40-60 people
I worked out the necessary contractual logistics with a friend who I’ve hired to legally and ethically finish notifying Kellie’s counseling clients of the situation
I finalized arrangements for other faculy to take on Kellie’s summer and fall Kent State classes
I completed writing her obituary
I sorted through thousands of photos of Kellie to narrow them down to my favorite 61, and selected my top choice for the newspaper
I worked out some necessary details for our private practice
I lost track of how many people have offered food and a shoulder to cry on and anything I could ever possibly need or want
Some dear friends stayed with me until around 4:30am
At which point, I ate the aforementioned soup and went to bed around 5:30
If you’re wondering about arrangements for the funeral, calling hours and then a service will happen sometime on Saturday, May 23rd, at Zaback-Ducro Funeral Home. It’ll be live-streamed, I believe on YouTube. Our Quaker Meeting will also be having an online memorial service for Kellie, which will be after the one here. I’ll post the info for how to join those remotely so anyone who wishes can do it in-person or online.
Hey, I found the safest place to keep all our tenderness
To keep all those bad ideas, keep all our hope
It’s here in the smallest bones, the feet and the inner ear
It’s such an enormous thing to walk and to listen
And I’d like to fall asleep to the beat of you breathing
In a room near a truck stop on a highway somewhere
Well you are a radio, you are an open door
I am a faulty string of blue Christmas lights
You swim through frequencies, you let that stranger in
As I’m blinking off and on and off again
And we’ve got a lot of time, or maybe we don’t
But I’d like to think so, so let me pretend
These are my favorite chords, I know you like them too
When I get a new guitar, you could have this one
And sing me a lullaby, sing me the alphabet
Sing me a story I haven’t heard yet
—John K. Samson
So that’s the story of the comings and goings from yesterday. There are a million other things that happened, but there’s no way for me to record every hug, every moment of kindness when I broke down in tears, every person who waited for me to regain my voice or breath when I needed to stop talking for a second. If you have extended me this compassion, know that the universe will repay you someday, some way. I’m not dumb enough to believe that I can make it up to you all, no matter how long I live. There are too many acts of love for me to keep track of, and I probably couldn’t keep track of them in my head anyhow.
Something I’d like you all to hear:
I know you love me. I’m not judging you for calling and texting and coming here, and I’m not judging you for giving me space and not calling or texting or coming here. I have witnessed a huge amount of variation in what people want to give and are able to give to me, and none of these ways of offering support is better or worse than any other. Believe me, I’m not keeping track of who’s doing what. If you care about me, I’m pretty sure you’ve shown me that in some way over these last 37 hours since she died. And I appreciate you.
I don’t know what the rest of my day is going to look like, but I can promise you it will be full of a. tears and b. disbelief and dissociation and c. love and support.
Later, taters.
Matt