We Are More Than What Scares Us
It’s been a couple of days since Kellie’s service, and today was the first time when I had the chance at something like a routine. It’s kind of cheating, because it’s Memorial Day and that meant most people weren’t working. The fact that I wasn’t getting constant messages let me handle everything that’s pressing on my plate at school as well as catching up on some other nonsense to-dos.
The phone calls I tried to make to tie off some other loose ends of Kellie’s affairs didn’t pan out because of the holiday, unfortunately.
I’ll tell you something pretty ridiculous, though—I remembered that Kellie was on our car insurance policy and was curious about whether removing her would change my rate. In case you’re wondering, it did go down—I saved $14.42 on my 6-month policy by not having her on the policy. Apparently she only cost $2.40 per month.
My brother and his wife and my sister and her family all left this morning, and that was a sad thing.
Due to the fact that it has been roughly a decade since my brother, my sister and I took a photo without anyone else in it, this one is pretty historic.
I’ll miss them very very much. Truthfully (why start lying now?), it’s also probably a good thing for all of us for them to head back home. Good for them because they have jobs and lives and all kinds of stuff they’ve dropped for me. And good for me because I could never really establish a rhythm for my life with them all still visiting. So them heading out of town further cements the fact that this is what my life is going to look like, long-term. Sure, my parents are still here, and since I need them right now, I’m glad for that.
I took a nap with Coco this afternoon, and it was incredibly restful. Just amazing. My mom is cooking dinner right now, and let me tell you—it smells so good in there.
I’m benefiting a great deal by having my parents take some of the pressure of daily life off my plate. I don’t know how common it is to have folks who can just move in with you after such a devastating loss and fill some of the space that’s left behind from your person being gone. But they have, and it does help, and common or not, it’s deeply meaningful. I’m fortunate.
That doesn’t stop me from getting irritated because my routines and rhythms are being disrupted by having roommates who are most definitely not Kellie. How could it? Gratitude doesn’t take away minor annoyances. They’re truly minor annoyances, and I would never trade them for the aloneness that’s out there waiting for me.
Everyone has acknowledged that I would be able to continue pretty much as I have been if my parents decided to move on with their lives and plans. I would certainly eat (though not necessarily drink enough water). I’d sleep and work and do my best. I do know, however, that I wouldn’t necessarily be as happy or healthy as I am right now.
I’m trying to figure out what I need in order to convince my parents that I’m going to be okay, but I don’t have the kind of perspective that would give me any of those answers. I really don’t think anything but time might give me that perspective. I do feel a fair amount of guilt about interfering with so many people’s plans. That’s a me problem, not a you guys problem. I’m the person who would buy a dolly and struggle through moving a chair myself instead of asking a friend for help, though. I know that I have the best support system I could ask for, but it doesn’t feel good to be a burden to other people. The fact that they care about me makes me feel even more like I’m exploiting them due to that care for me. I described this recently to my therapist as “friendship imposter syndrome”, because it pretty much sums up this struggle.
I don’t know how many people have offered their help with anything, anytime, and said to call or text them with any requests at all. It’s a high number, though.
The obligation I felt in the immediate aftermath of Kellie’s death was to come up with plausible but random things to ask for, so that I could make other people happy for fulfilling those (fake) needs. That felt disingenuous, though, and I quit it pretty fast. These days, I’m trying to live with honesty and integrity, even if that doesn’t make everyone else immediately happy. If you ask how my day’s going, I’m likely to say “bad”, even though it causes a moment of discomfort in the poor friend who asked. I just don’t have the energy to remember who I lied to about having a great day, so the genuineness is serving a real function in this time.
I think it’s also fair to say that there’s a certain level of fear in me that if I never give my friends tasks to complete, they’ll stop asking if I need help, which will leave me high and dry when I actually do need help with something that matters. It’s probably an unreasonable fear, but I worry anyhow.
“Matt’s Official List of Things People Keep Saying That Do Not Help”
My pain will get worse, not better, over time.
Everyone will abandon me and drift away when they get bored of my grief.
Just wait until (insert milestone here), it’ll be truly terrible for me at that point.
“Kellie’s in a better place now”.
Kellie dying is “all part of God’s plan” and I’ll “understand it someday”.
God needed her more than I did, so He called her home.
She died quickly, so “at least she didn’t suffer”.
Let me run down these for you, and maybe it’ll make you stop saying this complete shit to anybody, ever. If it doesn’t, maybe it’ll at least stop you from saying it to me?
We are uncomfortable with death and grief and loss. It is normal to want to to take away that pain from me and that discomfort from you by coming up with a reason for it or taking the temporal frame from right now to a different time when more perspective exists. BUT STOP IT. I am in the place where I am, and I will be in that place until I’m in a different place. It won’t hasten the process for you to say any of these things.
I think numbers 1 and 3 are in a similar boat. Everyone wants me to be prepared for my birthday, her birthday, our anniversary, Christmas, or whatever. But you don’t have to do that. When you introduce the idea into my brain that I have worse things ahead, I will envision them looming in the distance until I get there, and it will definitely create a self-fulfilling prophecy. So please don’t keep doing that.
Number two is probably what folks have said to me more than anything else. I cannot tell you how often I hear some variation of “it’s going to be awful when everyone stops caring”. I don’t really believe that is a process that has to happen, though. I think I have a responsibility to stay connected to my friends and family, and they have a responsibility to maintain those connections too. That will prevent this from happening, but again, consider the self-fulfilling prophecy effect here. It hurts far more than it helps.
Number four: Saying she’s in heaven or whatever and so I should be okay without her does not give me comfort. She isn’t in a better place—the best place for her is here with me. Do you know what effect it has on me when you say this? It does not lessen my pain—it only makes me feel guilty for wanting her back in my life, since I’d be taking her away from that “better place”. I don’t need more guilt, so please don’t tell me this anymore.
Number five: You do not know that Kellie’s death is a part of God’s plan any more than anyone else does. And let me be clear when I say that it is harmful to tell me my need for her shouldn’t outweigh the supposed benefits to the world of her being gone. It does not lessen my grief to say that God is happy that she’s dead. That’s stupid.
Number six: God can commune with Kellie here on earth just fine. He doesn’t need to kill her to have a conversation with her. You should study some more theology if you honestly believe in a God but don’t believe He can afford the long distance bill or something to chat with us down here.
Number seven: There is not a silver lining to her death. It does not make me feel better to give me flashbacks to the final moments of her life, which I literally experienced here with her. I cannot tell you how many times I have run through those moments in my mind, desperately trying to come up with ways I could have stopped this from happening. I don’t need that from you.
So what HAS helped? What would I love from all of you who care? I’ve been talking for a month about all the kindness that has been heaped on my shoulders, but let me take a quick stab at a short list:
Check on me at random times.
Send me happy memories or pictures of Kellie.
Say hi just because, and don’t give me the obligation of assigning you a task.
Listen to me talk and cry when I need to, and tell me it’s shitty and sucks.
Tell me you miss Kellie, because she meant something in your life.
Don’t get offended when I’m feeling down and don’t engage how you’d like.
Let me arrive at the hard milestones when I do, and be there for me then.
I hope this means something to you, and I also hope you don’t see it as me ordering you around. As I tell my students and my clients constantly, I’m not the boss of you. Do what you want to do. But please try not to be a complete jerk.
Hope your Monday was a good one,
Matt