There is No "Reason".

Hey there.

I slept just under 7 hours, but don’t feel as rested today. Probably because it’s so gloomy outside, but I’m still in kind of a daze as I sit here.

My process for writing these posts, if you were curious, is that I sit down between 7 and 8 am and begin. I add in a rough sketch of what I’m going to talk about today and then schedule it to automatically post, usually at 9pm.

Since I’ve set my deadline, at that point it’s easiest for me to come back to it throughout the day to add a few lines here or delete a few words there. In the early days, I’d spend a few hours writing nonstop, but with this process it’s a lot easier for me to fit into my day.

Which also means that there’s a possibility that you get something that’s only half-formed and not edited and pretty unsatisfying for all of us, in case I forget to come back to it. That hasn’t happened yet, and the thought of sending something half-baked out into the world has been motivation enough for me to remember to keep tweaking it. But we’ll see!

My thoughts keep returning, against my will, to the idea of this all being worth something. It would be incredibly lazy of anyone to tell me that there’s a silver lining to Kellie’s death. And I’m honestly really glad that nobody’s said it to my face so far, because I wouldn’t yell at them but it would be hard for me to not be demonstrably really upset to hear it (which wouldn’t be a good time for anyone). There is no “reason” for this to have happened which is sufficiently valuable. I cannot emphasize that point vehemently enough. It happened. I know it happened. And there are facts about this event which are deeply painful besides the event itself. It is an insult to Kellie and to me and to the very fabric of this universe to say that she died to test me, or that she died “for a reason”.

The reason that she died is because she died. I will never be certain of the medical reason that she ultimately died, and that is one of the points of uncertainty that I will have to learn to live with. “House” isn’t the real world, and most of the time causes of death end up being undetermined or even random guesses rather than being able to pin down specifics. The reality is that I wouldn’t be satisfied by a pat answer either.

A psychologist that I have a lot of respect for calls the place I’m now inhabiting “The Valley of the Whys”, because living in the liminal space and uncertainty is my reality right now, and maybe always. I’m surrounded by multiple questions of “why”, and there will be no solid answers to those questions. I have the freedom to choose how to react and respond to that uncertainty, but that’s where my freedom in this valley stops. I’m trying to come to terms with that fact.

I believe that the universe, or God, or whatever you choose to believe in, has a plan for my life. I’m not at all sure that it’s a plan so granular that it dictates what I ate for breakfast this morning or even what job I opt to take or a million other details. I think of that plan more like we’re all threads in a tapestry. Individual threads may make a huge difference, but they wind this way and that without a lot of attention to what that individual thread is feeling or experiencing on a given day. I don’t mean that there’s not a higher power who cares about what I’m going through, but I do mean that the trajectory, the greater purpose of my life, is a lot more important in the scheme of things than whether I get to have Kellie here with me for 30 years or 60 years.

In the same vein, please never tell me that it’s a blessing that she died quickly and without pain. There are so many stories about death that include last words, or a long lingering that gives time to express love and commitment and allows for processing of a life well-lived. I was robbed of all of that, and Kellie was too. For such an eloquent and loving person to have no chance to leave me with even a “Love you” feels like a grievous insult. Of course I don’t want her to have experienced pain. But she’s also denied the narrative of the fighter, of the person who struggled against unbelievable odds and eventually chose to lay down that burden and move on to whatever is next. I know how hard she fought her entire life to find meaning and belonging in a cruel world and to ignore the pain that found her no matter what choices she made to avoid or deal with it. So yes, she fought. But she also persisted. I cannot tell you how many days she cared for everyone else in spite of sadness, or physical struggles, or the loneliness and isolation that’s the cost of being alive in 2026.

So. Worth. What makes any of this “worth it”? Nothing. Why did it happen? Because it did. And that’s why it’s so incredibly challenging for me to have all the positive and good experiences I’ve had in these last two weeks. Oh yeah, I didn’t mention this yet, but today marks two weeks since she died. It was around 4:17pm, if you’re wondering. Two weeks of this nonsense down, and a whole lifetime still to go.

When I hear from someone who’s been out of our life for a few years, it’s a happy experience. When someone checks on me for the tenth time in a day, it also makes me feel really good. When someone stays with me and lets me cry, that feels good too. When my dad and I had a deep theological conversation late last night, it was truly wonderful. When a friend brings me cheese or something, I feel both full AND happy.

I haven’t yet fallen into the pitfall of feeling guilty when I have happy moments. I’m not referring to that. I know how hard Kellie worked to make me happy, and have no doubt that she wants me to spend as many happy moments as I possibly can. No, the thing my thoughts keep coming back to is whether that deep theological conversation with my dad, which was truly special, is WORTH Kellie dying for. We would never have had that talk in the same context, at the same time, with the same overtones and the same elements, if she hadn’t been gone. And my brain keeps trying to weigh all the love she and I have experienced over these two weeks, all the delicious (non-hallucinogenic) mushrooms I’ve eaten, all the loved ones who have made me feel seen and heard, against her death, to see if it’s worth it. And no, it’s not going to be worth it. There was no reason this had to happen, there’s nothing that will ever make it “worth it”, and those are things I am going to have to come to terms with eventually.

• It was a pretty good day, overall.

• I had a lot of anxiety about not being up to the task of resuming any kind of a semi-regular schedule, but I appear to have pulled it off. I’m very very grateful to all of you who kept me calm-ish through my fears.

• I’m seeing some friends later tonight, which I’m happy about.

• I made it through two counseling clients, my own counseling session, and some work I needed to get done for my main (Kent State). Didn’t screw any of those up too badly, as far as I can tell, so that’s a positive thing.

• Guess what? My massive final project for the class I struggled and struggled to complete was graded—and after all the heartache and resigning myself to getting a terrible grade in the class, the professor gave me a 100% on it, which boosted me back up to an A- for the course as a whole, looks like. I’m really excited that happened, since I haven’t gotten below an A- in a class since about 2009, I think? Close call.

• Kellie and I had a great conversation last night. Well, I talked and she didn’t. Somehow, I keep going. I don’t think I have good days and bad ones, but I have increments of time in each day that are better and worse to varying degrees. Today was a mostly good one.

I appreciate your support. Thank you very, very much.

Keep it coming.

Matt