Three Cheers for all the Tears

Lots of thoughts in my head today. Many thanks to those of you who listened to me amid my existential crisis over the last twenty-four hours or so. Maybe “crisis” is a more extreme term than where I’ve been, but I’ve been thinking.

You might assume that days when I have a really busy schedule are easier for me, but that assumption would be incorrect. I’ve got so much less energy than I’m used to that busy days are kind of a real slog for me right now. I can make it through, but I’m kind of useless that night. Today was one of those days.

A friend made me cry bright and early this morning (unintentionally) and the tears just kept coming. What really stirred up the most feelings, though, was getting a text reminder just before lunch confirming my dental cleaning in July. If you and I have had a long conversation since Kellie died, you’ve probably heard me bemoan the fact that I have to schedule an appointment at the dentist. It takes months to get on their schedule, and that’s something Kellie always did for both of us. I haven’t had the spoons to bring myself to do that, especially considering the fact that we always went together, never alone. Getting this reminder means that Kellie scheduled dental appointments for both of us before she died and hadn’t had the chance to let me know before she was gone. That act of love from Kellie, scheduling a scary appointment for me so I wouldn’t have to, is just one of the ways she always took care of me. It made me feel so loved, and then almost immediately made me feel utterly bereft, because there can’t possibly be that many things out there that she had set up for me which I haven’t realized yet. This might even be the last one.

There are a finite number of expressions of Kellie’s love left to me, and that is a hard, hard truth to face. I’m crying again just typing these words right now, that’s how hard it is. I’ve been crying off and on all day because of how much it sucks. I know I keep telling people I don’t know how to cope with this, and it’s still true. I keep coping somehow, miraculously, and then the next few minutes arrive and I’m somehow okay for a little bit longer.

The pain is in my heart and in my head and in my chest and in my eyes again (because of all the salt). It’s actual physical pain. Get out of here with your “it’s all in your head” nonsense. The entire world is in your head—it’s very likely that there’s almost no objective truth in the universe—everything is a construct, so shut up.

My pain is even a construct, but it reminds me of what I’ve had—what I have—and so it’s okay, I’ll keep it for now. Maybe forever.

Someone asked me last night if I have a really hard time with ambivalence, in response to my struggles over when I’m okay to see if my parents can head back to Knoxville for a trial run. I’ve thought a lot about that today, and I think that might be the case. I usually know how I feel about a person, or a thing, or a food, or an emotion, or a job, or an ethical dilemma. I can tend to be pretty sure, pretty quickly, about most things. For me to be positive that the girls and I would be fine if my parents went home and also to be positive that that would be a terrifying situation which would be a catastrophic mistake for us all to make is not normal for me. I can’t decide, and I’m uncomfortable when I’m unable to decide things.

Ultimately, it’s going to happen. The girls and I will be alone, or mostly alone, in our house. And we will either be totally fine or totally not fine (or more likely something in the middle). I’ve committed to my parents that I will be honest with them if I need them to drop everything and rush back to Ashtabula, as hard as that might be for me. And I’m willing to make the same commitment to any of my friends who are reading this (or aren’t reading it at all). I’ll tell you if I’m really struggling, even though that is incredibly hard for me to consider doing.

My biggest fear right now is that I won’t have any humans to have a conversation with outside of students, counseling clients, and my therapist. That’s kind of an unbearable thought for me. I’m just so used to talking with Kellie from the time when I wake up to the time I go to sleep that it feels entirely untenable to think about the silence. Would it be too big an ask for me to beg some of you to visit me sometimes, or to just check and see if I want an occasional phone conversation?

I feel a lot of guilt at the thought of being a bother to anybody, especially those of you who have basically put your priorities and lives on hold to accommodate me and my messy situation. I want to tell you all “you didn’t choose for any of this to happen” but then I remember that I didn’t choose for it to happen either. I want to tell you all “your lives are important too, don’t neglect the stuff you care most about so that I can tell you about my silly trip to a bookstore”, but then I get scared that I’ll convince everyone to back off and disappear. There’s that ambivalence again. Argh.

Thank you for making space in your life for me.

I think I mentioned that someone advised me right after Kellie died to start keeping track in a notebook of the meals that people bring and the encouraging texts people send and the nice stuff people say to me so that I can thank everyone once all this is over. But here’s the deal, folks: I couldn’t possibly thank everyone for the kindness I’ve received across these last two months. I am going to have to spend the rest of my life thanking you all. It’s incredibly overwhelming to think of anyone believing that I am keeping track of all of this, and equally overwhelming to believe that anyone could think I’m not constantly blown away by gratitude at everything. I am so grateful.

And I’m also pretty sure that “all this” is never going to be “over”.

But thank you for not letting me be alone (so far) and thank you for making me cry (accidentally) and thank you for ignoring my nonsense when I don’t give myself the benefit of the doubt that I would literally give every other human being on the planet.

XOXO,

Matt