A common theme has emerged in my life. I’ll get a message from someone, and they’ll ask “How are you today” and I’ll feel the urge to tell them “Pretty sad” battling with the urge to tell them “Actually, probably better to ask how I am over the last fifteen minutes or so, since that changes all the time with me now”.

But regardless of which of these answers I give, I know that I’ll make the person who’s asking (who almost always genuinely cares about how I feel) feel bad themselves. Several people keep telling me to stop trying to care for everyone around me, and I know I should. But that’s a really hard thing to turn on and off.

So if I hesitate when you ask, please know it’s probably because I’m trying to decide how sad to make you, NOT because I was hurt or offended that you asked. It’s also pretty common for someone to ask that question and then immediately apologize for asking, since they feel they should have known I was feeling awful. I absolutely don’t want you to feel bad for checking in with me, though, because I feel bad when you don’t. Just try to not feel bad because I’m probably not doing great. Is that fair of me to ask?

Here’s a picture of Coco this morning, incredibly excited for her single glazed donut hole from Dunkin. That is literally one of her favorite things (she’s a baby though, and so has a billion favorite things.)

Yesterday afternoon was a really rough time in my old noggin. Thanks to everyone who got me through it. Essentially, we’ve been working on planning a concrete path from our driveway to our front door for many years, but just never got around to it (another recurrent theme). I had been feeling pretty sad that the estimate will arrive any day, and that I don’t know how I’m going to be able to afford it. In the midst of my upset, I opened a letter and found the life insurance check had already been processed and mailed to me, and that her celebration of life and other expenses are already paid for. The amount of the check is pretty close to exactly what I believe this path will cost.

Soooo it felt like a gift from Kellie at the exact right time. And like an affirmation that making it easier for guests to visit me in my home is exactly what she would have wanted me to do. And then I immediately crashed and burned emotionally, because she is worth SO MUCH MORE than this check of a very few thousand dollars. She represented the whole universe to so many people, but especially me. And to have her death summed up by a perfectly-timed but also moderately-small check was too much for my heart to be able to handle. I had a really rough hour or so with that, and it’s still tender for me tonight. Again, I will always treasure the responses from everyone I reached out to in the midst of that crisis, because it was rough.

We always tried to take good kissing photos, and by the time she died, we had gotten really good at cracking each other up during our attempts but not so good at actually taking the shot. It was fun anyway, while it lasted.

I slept well last night, except for the fact that Coco has now decided to wake me every day between 6:30 and 6:45am. Which sucks. I have grown more and more used to sleeping in the bed without Kellie, though I’ve turned her pillows sideways so I can feel like she’s next to me. And that has led to me waking in the night, on my side, feeling her there behind me at least once or twice per night. It’s getting me through, so I’m grateful for it. Whether some remnant of her is there or not isn’t worth me questioning, at this point, because it gives me comfort to be half-asleep and feel her presence.

I went and got my updated COVID-19 booster shot today. If you’re planning on spending any time around me, know that I still continue to believe that the data shows we should not be ignoring the virus and pretending that it’s gone. It would be awesome if you got boosted too, since almost none of us are still doing that. If I’m wearing a mask in a given setting, I’ve done a risk assessment and determined that I need to wear a mask. No biggie. If you get annoyed because of that choice, you’re kind of being a jerk. For the same reason, I don’t eat in restaurants. Anyone who wants to spend time with me just has to deal with that. If you were a vegetarian due to your own belief structure, I’d kind of be an asshole to offer you a meat lovers pizza. My belief structure surrounding COVID-19 makes at least as much sense as a vegetarian’s belief structure, but it gets a whole lot less respect. And you don’t get irreparable brain or neurological damage from eating meat, but that can sure happen from repeated bouts with the virus. Well, that’s not true in the case of kuru/mad cow disease/prion disease, which you CAN get from eating meat. But you catch my drift.

The most momentous thing that happened today, though, was that my new cleaner came today for the first time. Her name is Jessie, and she is an absolute angel. Ever since she came to survey the situation (yes, Brothers Creeggan reference there) and see the place last week, I’ve been feeling increasingly embarrassed and guilty about subjecting someone else to my clutter and my mess. Because it’s my fault, on some level, and it isn’t fair to make Jessie deal with it. I even apologized to her today, a few times, before she came over. And she was so kind and so understanding and so willing to take the cleaning projects slowly so I wouldn’t feel bad.

Believe me when I tell you that Jessie is the best person ever at her job. I don’t know how she did it, but this home has never been cleaner. And this was just the first pass, which is mind-blowing. I am so grateful to her, and I have thanked her many more times than is probably normal. Every time I open another cupboard or see another drawer full of perfectly-sorted silverware or see yet another space that is now spotless, it makes me excited all over again. My house feels like a brand-new space, and that’s incredible. All the people that are helping and are planning to help to fix years of benign neglect on my part are amazing. Thank you to everyone!

Here’s a picture of Kellie and Sage—one of literally hundreds I’ve taken over the years. The two of them had a really special bond, even though she would tell you that I was Sage’s favorite. Believe me, Kellie loved that dog. She literally had a Sage tattoo, while I haven’t yet (say it with me) gotten around to it yet.

Obviously Kellie’s stuff isn’t gone. Kellie is more present here, through so many objects, than I ever could have expected. Being able to see the bouquet she made from antique thrifted brooches for our 20th anniversary vow renewal ceremony is such a gift. It’s been in my guest bedroom for the past six or seven years, but it’s now in my living space. It couldn’t have been without some of this cleaning. A painting Kellie commissioned for us on Etsy has been sitting on the floor leaning against the wall we wanted to put it on for at least a year or more, and today my dad hung that painting in that spot (and it is PERFECT there). Kellie bought a piece of furniture my dad assures me is called a parson’s table about a month before she died, to put in the hallway inside our front door. I had let it sit there because I hadn’t gotten around to assembling it, and I put it together in one of those first pretty late nights after she died. It turned out to also be perfect where she’d envisioned it, and also to be the perfect place to put everyone’s shoes so that Coco doesn’t eat them. Kellie never envisioned dying and having all these guests in our home with shoes that needed to be protected, but her legacy of care and planful decorating has paid off over and over again. We’re not—I’m not—ever getting rid of Kellie. We’re clearing space so that Kellie can be felt and remembered more clearly. The distinction is an incredibly important one to me.

I took this photo (a whole series of them, actually) while we were visiting Kellie’s dad not long before he died. She was joking around with him, the natural light was coming through the window, and I was just abruptly struck by the depth of my conviction that she was, by far, the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I started taking pictures of the side of her head, she turned around when she noticed what I was doing, and this picture was the result. It makes my heart sing every time I look at it. Then I usually cry for a while, so that’s a mixed bag scenario, as so many things are.

I spent a really difficult hour today planning a lot of Kellie’s celebration of life with the dear friend who will be driving a long way to officiate the service. I know that it might sound trite to continue to say it, but thank you. Dropping so many of your own priorities to hold this space for Kellie and I and everyone who loves her this summer is a gift that I can hardly even conceptualize, much less ever repay. The time you have spent with me over these last three weeks is another whole huge gift.

I’m so reluctant to name names in this space, lots of the time. I named Jessie’s name because there’s only one cleaner who is as incredible as she is, and also because I’m pretty sure she doesn’t read this newsletter. I feel so much guilt at the thought of saying one friend has made all the difference to me in a given day, when I might be forgetting a second friend who was every bit as meaningful on the same exact day. My memory is not the best part of my brain, and it’s far worse these days than it was before Kellie’s death. So I’m sort of scared to forget to note things that are incredibly meaningful to me in the moment but have since passed into the mists of time because I had a really good sandwich or something. I’m sure that those of you I wouldn’t want to hurt wouldn’t genuinely be hurt by the lack of a mention. But so much of this writing I’m doing each day ends up being a stream of consciousness, and my consciousness is increasingly fragmented. So I guess you get what you get?

(And also, I appreciate everybody and everything!!)

You may have noticed that I haven’t published anyone else’s letters to Kellie yet. I’ve tried, I promise—everyone I’ve asked to write one has been reluctant so far. Give it a shot, people. It could be awesome…

I don’t love being emotionally zapped at the end of a day, especially if by “the end” I mean 7pm.

Tomorrow is the three-week anniversary of Kellie’s death. If you could think about her, and me, and everything the world lost three weeks ago, I’d appreciate it. Especially tomorrow afternoon around 4:15.

Love ya.

Matt

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