Time, Revisited

Our human perception of the subjective passage of time is such a strange thing. I know I’ve spoken here before about just how much time has slowed down for me since Kellie’s death. I’m used to losing track of time when I’m hyperfixated on some project or something, but time tends to go much faster for me than the other way around. That’s why it’s been so odd to experience the exact opposite in these strange days.

Big news to share: my parents left for Knoxville today. We had all jointly made the decision to give it a try about a week and a half ago, and today was the day. Which means that for the first time since the day after Kellie died, I’m alone with the girls in our home.

I know I’ve spoken with many of you about how I was feeling as this day approached. Having my parents here for these two months has been the greatest of gifts anyone could ever give me. I don’t know how I could have functioned, especially in the early days, if I had to buy my own groceries and do my own laundry, not even considering all of the extra things that fall to a survivor to handle. I don’t think most of us get the opportunity to spend two months with our parents again in adulthood, period, regardless of whether it’s post-tragedy or not. I’ve tried to articulate to them both, many times, how grateful I am for them and all they’ve done for me. I’m very, very fortunate to have had them here.

At the same time, as the weeks stretched on, it has become clear to me that the artificiality of the situation was in some way serving to put off whatever my next step looks like. I love being taken care of, loved, and treasured in the ways that I have been, and yet I always knew that it couldn’t continue forever. Any patterns or rhythms I have fallen into have been temporary, and always would be, as long as we continued in this way.

My parents agreed, and so today they left. And pretty quickly, a new feeling came over me. I’ve been trying to get used to it all afternoon. It’s hard to put into words, but as always, I’m going to give it a shot.

I feel like my life, or at least some part of my grieving process, was somehow put on pause the day after Kellie died. When my family came, I was somehow enveloped in a protective cocoon of their love. I’ve been able to experience life, think about everything that’s going on, and make it through the last nine weeks. But in some way, I was in stasis. But when my parents left in their car this afternoon, I felt a very tangible sense of becoming unstuck in time.

I suddenly feel like I can let out a breath that I’ve been holding onto for these nine weeks. Not because I couldn’t breathe around my parents, but because the unreality of the period immediately after her death has somehow moved to the next step of things?

Maybe that’s because it feels like something normal-ish again? Even though it isn’t, even though everything has changed—it feels normal-ish. And that feels like progress.

I’m not myself. Things are still very very weird. And I had plenty of extremely sad times today. But for those of you who have also been holding your breath hoping that I would be able to muddle through the dark and move to my next step, I’m pleased to report that I think I have. I don’t know how to put it better than that, but there you go.

The house is extremely quiet. It’s really unusual not having anyone else here. I wanted a snack, so I figured I needed to see if they wanted anything—but they’re gone. Any snacks are just about me now. I went and grabbed two avocados from the store because I felt like avocado toast for breakfast tomorrow. It’s very odd not needing to grab food that suits Kellie’s preferences. It’s going to take a verrrry long time before I don’t instinctively pick up the dark chocolate instead of milk chocolate because she likes it better. Things like that.

The house is quiet, but it’s also mine.

The dogs are doing okay, but will probably be confused tomorrow when they don’t get to say good morning to my parents and their Uncle Bruno.

I made a very good pizza in my fancy new indoor pizza oven tonight. I’m proud of it as a first attempt!

So here we go. I’m capable of something else, something new. I’m still in this life, and Kellie’s not (even though I still don’t understand why or how to manage that fact).

My parents will be back, and we’ve already talked several times since they left. A friend brought me lunch, and we had a lovely meal together.

I’m here, and I still need your support, so please don’t forget about me.

Take care,

Matt