Category: Holidays & Life Events

The 7 month mark for us is July.

I can’t believe I haven’t spoken to Jesse since before Christmas. I can’t believe he’s been somewhere else or no where else for more than half of a year. What has he been doing? Where is he?

I am still hurting but my feelings are in different places. I know I won’t ever get over it. It will only change. And it has. So I guess I will mark here those changes.

I’m trying really hard to take down my Christmas decor. I have made progress, but I can only chip away at things. To take everything down at once is much too overwhelming. When I move around or put back too many of Jesse’s things at once I always have a melt down.

This means if Jesse left out a pen, it is challenging for me to put it back where the pens go. I am erasing evidence of his existence.

So that leaves us stuck in Christmas.

Take the artwork off of the fridge. Take December’s dinner menu down. Take the garland from the top of the cabinets.

Take the lights off of the front of the house.

People who drive by probably think we are lazy. “Those people still have their Christmas lights up and it’s July!”

But that’s one of the last things Jesse did. Sure the lights are starting to fall off but they are still hanging, for now.

It sounds strange but by taking photos and writing and I am able to take a bit more down. Putting it here is evidence of its existence. I am securing it’s memory.

Evidence that Jesse was here at one point and I didn’t just make him up. Because it certainly feels as though I made him up.

My best friend and I often speak about being frozen on the day he died. She is 30 and I am now 31, but when asked our ages we automatically say “29” in her case or “30” in my case. Our birthdays never happened.

Lately I have been having more secondary grief. I am grieving a lot for things that Jesse is missing out on. Things he should have done but was not able to.

I have a few select memories in my head that I have chosen to torture myself with frequently.

Here’s one of my favorites:

He’s been up all night. He never slept well. He gets up at 5am. Gets ready and leaves. He’s working by 6:30am, all day outside. He’s driving to work and wishing he could stay home. He has an hour drive. He has no idea he’s about to die that day.

Most days he is depressed now, really only the kids and I make him happy. He feels like he is failing. He feels like he cannot take a day off, we need the money. I text him around 11 in the afternoon. I tell him “next year will be good for us. I will graduate, it won’t be so stressful, just 6 more months.”

He’s about to die in 5 hours. He has no idea.

Around 3 in the afternoon he’s headed to the house. He’s North on U.S. 41. He has no idea in about an hour he will be headed South on U.S. 41, back to the hospital he just passed.

He’s driven some now. The AC is out in our old car. It’s really hot. He’s worked all day, he’s dirty, sweaty, and there’s no AC in his car. He is 5 minutes from the house, I wonder if he felt excited to get home at some point?

But in reality he’s about to die in 10 minutes. He has absolutely no idea.

I have the police report. I saw his x-rays. His head. The trajectory of his vehicle. The notes that it was a struggle for the paramedics to get him out.

He has no idea he’s about to snap his right femur clean. That his lungs will fill with blood. That his brain will swell. That his head will separate from the rest of his body. That his car will flip twice. That he will never see us again. Or anyone for that matter.

This grief is strange because I am longing for him to take a shower. To sit in the AC. To have his dinner. Brush his teeth. Something. Lay in bed and feel calm.

He doesn’t get to do anything. He can’t lay in bed after an exhausting day. He can’t play his game or listen to his favorite podcast. He died after working all day. Not rested. Sad. Sweaty. Exhausted. In his Google search history the last thing he looked up was “pain on left side.” I hate how he died. He was uncomfortable.

It really bothers me.

I am envious of those who die in the comfort of their bed. Yet I know so many widows… that I know that brings it’s own unique horrible issues too. There really isn’t a good outcome. I just think. A lot.

I think about this every day. I’m not sure why I engage in this self torture. It is likely my OCD. (That is what OCD is, torturous repetitive thoughts… NOT cleaning!)

The other thing that I am struggling with is anger. I’ve been pretty neutral (and by neutral I mean = namaste bitches) but I feel like I don’t want to do that anymore.

When I try to leave the house and it’s hot as shit outside, Wren is screaming, my back hurts, she has vomited everywhere, I forgot something… I find myself angry with Jesse.

It is super irrational. I know this. He didn’t want to die, but when I am at my wits end, my anger gets pointed to him as in:

“Thanks for fucking leaving me with 4 kids to raise alone! Like really alone! You’re an asshole for dying!!!!”

I had help here and there, but that daily grind? That’s all me. There is no dropping the kids off at Dads on Saturday. Its me. 24/7.

I have no true anger towards Jesse, just heightened emotional states. I wait until these pass because I know he didn’t do anything wrong, it was just life sucking.

I do have anger towards “family” though. It is weird much of my support came from friends. Most of the judgement came from select family members. The special ones.

Jesse did me a favor when he was alive and taught me how to chill out. He taught me how to let it go. Or suppress it. Whatever.

But maybe I don’t want to do that anymore. Theres a fine line between letting it go and letting people treat you like shit. I’ve never been one to be quiet but out of some sort of weird respect for Jesse I learned to be quiet.

Sometimes.

And I’ve been the fan favorite since Jesse died. Not to people with any class though. It seems there is a common theme of mentally unstable people commenting about what I do or don’t do.

That anger is real. It’s not a heightened emotional state. Its more of a be careful because I see you and I will eventually verbally wreck you, watch your damn self state. Be careful I don’t post a blog and tag your asses state.

Do I actually care what people say about me? No. Because it’s either not true… or maybe it is true… but it’s that malicious intent. That desire to kick me when I am already down. That is what doesn’t sit right with me. The fake support to my face and then behind my back criticism.

Let’s hear it:

“She’s not even a widow. Lol.”

“She stressed Jesse out sooo much!”

“She did WHAT with the money! Omg!”

“Her new boyfriend? Yeah. She started seeing him only 5 months after Jesse died. They won’t last. She doesn’t really know him.”

“Her relationship with Jesse wasn’t perfect, yet she is always acting like it is.”

“And evil takes a human form in Regina George. Don’t be fooled. She may seem like your typical selfish back stabbing slut-faced hoe bag, but in reality, she is so much more than that..”

*Okay so maybe that last one is a quote from the movie “Mean Girls.” It just felt appropriate but it is really totally irrelevant.*

Rarely is anything ever said to me. When it is, I gain respect for that person. Like I said, it’s not the thoughts, it’s the intent. It’s the fakeness. It repulses me and always has. Opinions are fine. Gossipy shit talking and weird displays of behavior are not.

I guess it is the human problem. The Freudian “id” if you will. That primitive nature to pin someone as a scape goat. The lack of a higher awareness to not do it. To make an attempt, a poor one, to hurt someone who is already hurting.. that is already so tired.

It is disturbing, yet…

common. Most widows deal with this at one point or another. The criticism.

For now, things have “changed,” as in I obsess over the unfairness of all of it and have allowed my anger to begin to come out. It’s not a stage. I am not in the anger stage.

The “stages of grief” model that nearly everyone knows is inaccurate. I could resolve my anger but it may pop up again in two years or two seconds.

Grief makes emotions go all over the place and frequently at that. I keep them in check but allow them to do as they need.

If your child has a nut allergy schools will at minimum make an attempt to shield your child from it. Even if it’s a poor attempt they ultimately wouldn’t want a physical liability on their hands.

What about if your child has a dead father? Or maybe their father died when they were very young or before they were born? Or while I’m there, an absent father? Or maybe you aren’t too great of a mother and have filled your child’s head with lies about their dad?

What about those kids?

Are there warning signs posted for them? Does the class have to pay attention to this child’s specific needs? No. because these needs are “mental”…except they aren’t because there are physical responses to grieving too.

The physical response is different but nonetheless becomes physical. One child has a potential to suffer from anaphylaxis. This is terrifying, so we pay attention. A grieving child is different. They lash out in ways we don’t understand, like you know, by holding a knife to their throat or laying in the street begging to be ran over by a car or crying in their room for hours or not saying a word.

But fuck those kids, am I right?!

Make them sit among their peers and sketch out things they love about their father with a shitty Crayola marker. Make sure you talk about their father ALL day. Hype them up ALL WEEK for Father’s day crafts.

Make sure you ask them and talk about what they love about their dad and what they are doing for the summer with their dad. Do this in front of the class.

Really rub it in their face and do it every year, please. Do it so much they have to learn to numb themselves so it doesn’t hurt as bad and become emotionally detached adults.

Really give yourself a gold star when you realize they don’t have a dad and you suggest with a smile “oh well I’m sure there is someone you could make a card for? there’s an uncle…or grandpa even? SOMEONE has to have a penis that you know right!?!”

Pat them on the head and feel good about yourself as you walk away because your job is done. That child is cured. Why didn’t I think of the replacement penis idea!? Profound accomplishment.

Can you tell its not the same or should I become more vulgar?

And no, this is in no way similar to a grieving exercise during group counseling. (Because those kids share a common thread=dead parent. They aren’t surrounded by reminders of living parents.)

A father is a special person, no doubt. When my life wasn’t a shitty Netflix series, or a compelling HBO drama, or a Lifetime movie, we did Father’s day crafts too.

But this was always in the back of my head. I just didn’t say anything. I tried to be sensitive when I noticed it, but I was so clueless of the silent chaos.

Since I am well aware of the chaos that ensues behind those little faces when they return home, I must say:

Fuck father’s day. Really fuck this day. Maybe year 5 of grieving for us we will do something cute and “remember the good times” but for us, in year one. Fuck it.

Here’s a crazy idea. It’s wild but hear me out. Respect and honor your father, if you have one, every day. Be thankful if he dotes over you, protects you, or hell, even says hi to you.

At this point we would take anything. This post won’t eliminate father’s day from the world and I am so ignorant in my grief that I don’t have a better idea on how to go about that day for my kids. But I guess I’ll learn how to navigate that one too.

Learn all this shit I really don’t want to learn.

I feel as though some people struggle to understand why some people don’t get married immediately- if at all.

Jesse and I were not legally married. If common law marriage still existed here we likely would be. I am not sure why it was taken away.

We held each other out to be the other’s spouse. We owned property together. We shared accounts. Had 4 children.

We just delayed getting married because it wasn’t about what other people needed- it was about what we needed. It wasn’t a rush. We were already together.

When you are not married but you are in a long term committed relationship it does not mean you don’t love each other or its a pass for cheating. To my friends in this similar position of being “unmarried,” there is no shortage of love or loyalty in the relationship.

Actually, I sometimes think there is more, because what is holding you back from leaving? Certainly not marriage, or being afraid of losing assets. It shows you are there purely because you want to be. You are loyal not because of consequences- you are loyal out of love.

Cliche standards of what love is don’t matter. Love is what you and your person agree it to be. If it works for the two of you, it works.

Jesse and I always intended on getting married, but we didn’t get the chance. We figured after I was done with school perhaps. Just he and I somewhere- like Transylvania (yes, we are referencing back to Dracula)…or Ireland. Then maybe some small party back home to appease family.

When I told Jesse I was pregnant with Chloe at 19, the marriage question immediately followed. He asked if we should. I said no and shrugged. Not because I didn’t care or didn’t want to, I just didn’t want to be married “just because” we had a child. I’ve seen this so many times and it drives me crazy. I’ve also seen people get married just because they are lonely. I’ve seen people get married just to settle or to get married just to be able to say they are married. I told him if we really love each other we don’t need it, not yet anyway. He agreed and we nailed down this philosophy together. Being intensely dedicated to each other without paper or societies view of what love should look like. It ended up working out well. Everyone around us could see it.

Practically speaking, I also didn’t want a court house wedding. I am kind of an all or nothing person.. give me the best or give me nothing. A $100 court house wedding just didn’t appease me. A $200 ring didn’t appease Jesse. The ring thing I wasn’t too concerned about- I ended up getting a ring from him, but he always said he wanted my wedding ring to be “1/3 his salary.” I don’t know where he came up with this concept and cant judge it because I wanted a wedding in a different country. But with all of our children and college- that wasn’t doable just yet. So no big deal, we just wait right?

Wait until after law school.

Except he fucking died 6 months before I graduated.

All of our hard work… and nothing.

He should be here to reap the benefits… but nothing.

All of this waiting… for what? So I can be alone and if I become an awesome attorney- maybe one day cry by myself in a Bentley? Go home to the 15 cats I own and quiet house? This pisses me off so bad.

The original goal was that I’d be a lawyer and we would save money and start traveling places.

Now I do realize this could be opposite.

Jesse and I had our first child at 19. We did things “backwards.” While I am upset to a degree I will never be married (weird saying that because I literally didn’t care), I am glad we picked kids first because otherwise maybe we never would have had them.

Unfortunately it did matter that Jesse and I were not married because it has effected the control I have over things.

Working at an attorneys office I had a will, power of attorney, etc and Jesse was named. Jesse didn’t work for an attorney- and I never pushed him getting documents done because who the hell thinks they are actually going to die at 32?

I know this would have upset him- if he wanted someone else to control things he would have listed them as his beneficiary as well right? But he didn’t. I am his beneficiary, because he wanted me to have and control everything- but I digress.

Us not being legally married has caused issues for Wren too. Again, my main thought being pregnant wasn’t “oh Wrens dad will die before shes born.”

While in the hospital, the woman came in to do Wren’s birth certificate. She was very distraught. She said she had been avoiding me all day because under “father,” she legally had to put “unknown.”

Wren and I both have his last name now, but neither of us are legally recognized. I recently changed my last name to his, which was bittersweet. I wish he could have seen it- he would have been so happy.

For Wren I am fighting this- via a dna test. When that gets cleared she will be recognized but until then she isn’t. This won’t change anything financially, but it is important to me that she has a father listed on her birth certificate.

That sounds absolutely crazy when I type it.

I suppose the whole thing frustrates me because at the end of the day- I know of couples where the woman is pregnant by another man, husband has no idea, but the state will recognize the baby as the husband’s simply because of the “presumption,” that it is his because they are married. Even couples that have separated are acknowledged. But Jesse and I? 13 years? Nothing.

I am pretty sure that Jesse and I have enough to support a presumption too. But they won’t change it without a fight.

At the end of the day, I still hold these same values about marriage. That it is not the marriage title that makes the couple it is the couple themselves.

I have seen and continue to see many hollow marriages. Marriages that give up when it gets too hard. Marriages that do not have open communication. Marriages that don’t broach uncomfortable subjects. Marriages that do not have growth because God forbid you call your spouse out on their bullshit. Marriages that don’t forgive. Marriages that are not accepting or understanding.

I suppose this may be why I have a hard time taking marriage seriously in the first place?

If Jesse didn’t pass, I still wouldn’t be rushing for the paper. I’d still be casual about it. Because I knew how much he loved me. I didn’t need others confirmation. I knew how we spoke to each other. How we always got through things… and how we always called each other out on our bullshit.

All widows should be recognized. Married or not. The pain doesn’t decrease because of a legal status.

For 10 years we have done the same thing, but today will be different, like all days are now.

I will probably clean afterwards. That’s all I really do now. I will wait to go to my mom’s then your moms for lunch and dinner. Even though we are all your family, I am the only one that shows up alone and leaves alone. Sits alone. Thinks alone. I am spoken to, but it is not the same.

I will fill plastic eggs at night with candy, but you won’t be watching the door to make sure no one sneaks in. I will wake up at 7 and instead of distracting the kids while you put the eggs in the yard, I will have to do both.

I will watch the kids open up their Easter basket alone. Only two pieces of candy right Jess?

I want you to split the work of getting the kids plates with me. I want you to sit next to me at dinner. I want you and I to walk away from everyone and be by ourselves at some point. I want you to hug me or at least smile at me. I am tired of locking my eyes into my phone at every event because I am so hollow.

I will then drive 4 children back to our home alone. Walk in alone. Get them ready for bed alone.

When the kids are asleep, I will take my zoloft and go to bed, alone. I will stare at the ceiling alone and think of you alone until I am too tired and finally fall asleep.

I hate that we are both alone and there is a barrier between us. A permanent one that I cannot find. One where you are in complete isolation alone and I am surrounded by people alone.

I am glad the kids have each other, so they are not as alone.

Today is my birthday. I am 31 now. You are still 32.

It is also 3 months since you passed.

You knew me as strong headed 30 year old woman about to graduate law school with three kids and pregnant.

You don’t know me as this Rochelle, who is 31. In the deepest parts of sadness I have ever known. Not pregnant. Single mom to 4. Hoping to graduate still. Writing away and trying to figure out what the hell happened.

That hurts.

When October comes. You will still be 32. Nothing about you will ever change, but I will change every day.

Next year my birthday will come. I will be 32.

We were about a year and a half apart in age.

Today we are now a year and 3 months apart. Every day I get closer and closer to your age until I will eventually pass you. Your kids may even pass you.

I wonder how I will reflect on this if I live to be 50. You will still be 32. You will look 32. I will have wrinkles. I will sag. You never will. I may know what its like to complain of old age. Yet you wont.

I might get an “over the hill,” birthday card one day. Something you will never have. Maybe my friends will laugh when I get my AARP card one day- but I won’t laugh. It will just hurt.

When I hear people complain about their age now I shudder. I wish you could complain. I am not mad at them, I just wish they knew. I wish you could have been old.

I have no desire to celebrate my birthday. Like most other things, it only brings me disgust now. How disgusting I live on another year but you are frozen in time. I am here in March on my birthday but you still think Christmas is 3 days away.

I long every day to make sense of this chaos and nothing. I never get anywhere. I spend every second thinking of you and wondering. I make no progress figuring out where you are or why. It’s just a death sentence I did not deserve, nor did you.

Like everything else, my birthdays used to be great. Not because we had a lot of money or something, we didn’t. But Jesse made sure it didn’t feel any different.

We couldn’t afford a sitter, spa day, and resort with all the works. This always bothered Jesse so much. But it was okay, it was not our time for that yet. I was fine with it.

I did not need those things though. Jesse was such a good cook and brought me breakfast in bed. He always gave me a massage, not just for my birthday. All the time. His gifts were not costly jewels that cost thousands… they were gifts from his heart.

I do not know anyone else that would put in the labor to a gift of mine like he would. If he did buy me something that was not handmade- it was the best version of that item. He spent so much time reading reviews and comparing things to make sure I had the best blender or coffee pot there was, if that happened to be my gift.

I just miss his effort. It was unmatched. If we didn’t have money for mail ordered flowers or chocolate covered fruit that wasn’t going to stop him. He would grab the things he needed and make it himself or go on a search in the fields for the perfect flowers.

It is easy to swipe a card. It is hard to replicate these items without money because they take time. Something most people do not want to give. Jesse was a time giver. I had these things whether we had money for them or we did not.

I am sitting in my bed and it’s completely silent, besides the fan. I haven’t heard “you are going to have the best birthday tomorrow! I couldn’t get you everything I wanted to but I know you’re going to love it.” He said the same thing every year. I don’t think he would have ever been completely satisfied with whatever it was he was going to give me.

Today was pretty awful. My friends came and brought me lunch. I received tons of messages. But I hurt all day. I cried all day. I am mad I get a birthday and he doesn’t. I am mad my house was silent. I am mad we wont be going to a dinner this weekend or he won’t be cooking me one tonight.

Birthdays when your loved one is gone is just a nasty slap in the face. Salt in a wound. Life giving you an extra kick when it’s already beat the shit out of you.

Let me first start off by saying my entire life this holiday has met close to nothing for me.

It’s a day to embrace love, but there is and was so much love in my house this holiday did not stick out to us. Also I dislike “hallmarky” holidays. I’m just not a mushy person and men get left out a lot on this holiday and I don’t like it. Jess always laughed at this.

Jesse would still grab things for the kids and I- and I didn’t complain- who doesn’t want chocolate covered strawberries? But the fact was that he would bring me a dessert like that at random through out the year anyhow. He would buy me something special here and there anyhow. Special breakfast and special coffee? I got those on the weekends, the only reason it wasn’t served to me in bed was because I told him that was ridiculous.

Our dynamic was very interesting and I miss it a lot. The way I showed love to him and to our children was in a practical way: making them healthy lunches, ensuring they went to the doctors, working on a career so we wouldn’t struggle, buying a home so we would have equity and not be tossing money away, making sure everything was clean, organized and in it’s place so there was less stress. Jesse showed love by making some extra fancy dinner or breakfast- one that would destroy how clean the kitchen was but taste so amazing. An example of this is his scrambled eggs. I guarantee you never had them like this and you won’t want it the other way once you have them like this, but here’s how you cook them:

Jesse showed love by making sure we had fun doing things. By fun I mean the kids had fun and I had a heart attack. He did all of the things that I did not think were a good idea because someone could get hurt.

Jesse loved by listening to what I had to say, not on a surface level, really trying to grasp the depth of pain I felt and look for a solution or understand my interest in it’s entirety. He loved by taking care of our home with such care and diligence. He never half-assed anything. Anything he was going to build or repair he spent hours making sure he did it the best way and the right way.

Anyways, now this holiday hurts. I spent so long not caring about it. Now, I care because it just reminds me of how much he loved all the time and that we wont be getting any of that ever again. He also won’t be getting it. It’s like a barricade has been set between he and the kids and I.

As much as I dislike cliche holidays, Jesse was the opposite to an extent and always had to get cards. He insisted each of us needed a separate card for each holiday. That means 4 valentines day cards, 4 Christmas cards, etc. I told him it wasn’t necessary we knew he loved us. Obviously now I am wishing I kept my mouth shut but at the same time he didn’t listen to me either most of the time so we have quite a few. I’m glad we have them now.

I am glad for writing. If we were silent to each other I wouldn’t be able to have *some* solace here and there. Since we wrote a lot and in various ways- I can almost always find something to answer an insecurity of mine. Valentine’s Day is a good example of this, because I can kind of replicate what he would have said to me so I don’t feel as weird.

Half of the time I find myself wishing he would have just signed the card “Love, Jesse.”-Like most men do. Instead he would jot down a small essay about how I was the best thing in the world. I find myself hating the effort he put in, when I once felt special by it. At some point during the day I am looking for ways to get mad at him. Anger feels better than sadness. But even if I think about our worst fight, it does nothing. I don’t have real anger, just sadness.

On the other hand, I want my old life back. Constantly. I’m stuck between all of these shades of gray instead of it just being black or white. I hate it. I hate that I cannot make fun of this stupid ass holiday anymore. I hate that everything is so different and there is no end in sight. There could only be an end if I stop loving him. Since I know that wont happen- I’m stuck. The feeling of being stuck is so horrible. No matter what has happened in my life at some point I would know “it can’t be like this forever.” But for this it is and I know it is. For someone to say it will be better one day tells me one of three things:

1. You are not a widow. Period.
2. You are a widow, but you are 87.
3. You are a widow, but your relationship lacked passion and authentic love.

“Better,” is subjective. Anything that is “better,” perhaps years from now is really a form of coping. An attempt to cope. That scares the hell out of me, knowing that if I am “better” one day it won’t be very authentic in my core. How can we be better missing one of us? It’s literally impossible. I’m not sure why this is so hard for people to understand. Actually, I do know why. Sadness makes people uncomfortable. I hope I am not always like this. I hope it more than anyone hopes it for me. But some things cannot be fixed. I won’t lie to myself.

If I lost both of my legs, I would hope everyday to grow them back. It doesn’t matter how much I hope- at the end I still don’t have legs and I never will. Maybe I’d put on a brave face. I could get a wheel chair. People would help to push me from place to place but then use their own legs to walk away from me. Eventually maybe I would get a prosthetic, but nonetheless, I am still permanently disabled. Essentially that’s how I feel now. I can never walk again. My “brave” face is doing things for my kids. My wheel chair is distractions I make up for the kids and I to get us through another shit day. People help us, but then they go to their home where life is normal. Any other relationship I may ever have in the future is a prosthetic, its not my real legs. I suppose these things are better than nothing, but they do not replace being able to walk on your own.

I guess the take-away here is go big or go home. If you love really hard, it will suck, really hard one day. Yes, you will get to experience something that little 90’s Disney girl dreams are made of- but if its ever taken away you will hurt so bad you won’t want it.

The alternative is not knowing a real love. You wont have the intense pain, but you may not have the protection either. Even though Jesse isn’t here I can confidently say that I know I am beautiful. I am smart. I am a pure person (or rather a paladin as he would say). I am all these things because he convinced me of it eventually, even if it took a long time. He said it so much my self doubt slowly but surely chipped away. This part cannot be taken from me and this is a small example. He did leave me with some form of protection I do not think I would have had. However I cannot clearly say which is better. I am not sure the pain is worth certainties.

Did you see me return to school today and not do a good job? I tried. At least I signed in. I even took some notes. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Did you see me fall to the floor twice now like I had been shot in the chest, but it was just pain and tears?

Did you see Oraia wake up last night, from her millionth nightmare? She would always find you at night to make herself feel better and now she comes to me. Do I hold up? I am trying really hard. The kids are exhausting me but I am trying. They are trying too.

Do you see my anger? When I go to counseling do you hear me curse your name? I shouldn’t be there. It’s not for our family. Grief counseling is for other people. Not us. They are the “other,” not us. We don’t want to be apart of that group. Why can we not pity them together like we used to? Why is it us now?

Did you see me think for hours about what to do with the new baby? I am having a c-section, it hurts to cough….how do I avoid hysterically crying? I don’t want physical pain too. Or maybe I do. Maybe the burning of the surgery would actually feel better than what I currently experience mentally every fucking second. Do you see me panicking as I try to figure out how to raise a child and explain to her that Daddy wanted to be here but he couldn’t? How do I make sense of that? How do I make sure she is treated like you are here, when she has never met you?

I ask why she doesn’t get to play dolls with you, she doesn’t get a special tuck in, or your perfect little swaddle you would put them in to get them to stop fussing. I won’t wrap her as snug. The photos spread out around the house of the five of us, what do I do with those? She isn’t in them. Do I keep them up so she knows you or do I take them down so she doesn’t feel left out? I have no idea. Do you hear me screaming at you how could you leave us like this?

I wonder if you heard our friend when she came over the other night, talking about her dad passing when she was young. She told me about things that always hurt. Did you hear her or did you hear your own kids? I heard our children’s voice through her. It’s painful, she is in her 30’s. She did tell me something else though. She brought up that quote “it is better to love and have lost than to not have loved at all.” She said she used to think that was a cliche post about breaking up. She said now she knows the author means they actually lost someone. Someone died. She and others have said to me that they still do not know what it’s like to be loved in that way. It’s flattering but I also hate it. Ignorance is bliss. If I just had a regular relationship where we were married but nothing super serious, I wouldn’t be in this much pain, right?

Did you see the text to your phone today from Oraia that she loves and misses you? Did you see the show Chloe wanted me to watch with her? I couldn’t handle it. I am so sensitive to even the silliest of things. Do you see me thinking that that if I write until my hands hurt you might come back?

I read that since your death was sudden, my grieving process is severely delayed. This sucks because I want it to be done with. I don’t want to be stuck here, it’s too uncomfortable. I cannot take any medications to numb myself. I cannot do anything to ease the pain, I have to feel every second of it. Why would you do this to me? Or to the kids? I know you didn’t actually know. But it’s confusing nonetheless. My brain is logical and wants to make sense of something illogical.

Everything is so arbitrary now. There is no meaning in anything. I am just turning into a robot that keeps my kids doing “well.” Purpose is pretty lost. There’s a lot of negativity here but I wonder if people really want the truth or if they want to “feel better.” I am not nor was I ever in the business of just making someone feel better. You loved that about me. When the cashier ask me how I am, I do him a solid and just nod my head once. It’s either that or he’s going to get a mouthful he didn’t ask for. But like I said, we want to hear that things are okay because to acknowledge certain aspects of reality is way too painful, so we pretend like all is well, until it’s not.

We are no different than animals. I said that prior to this but God do I feel it now. There is no hierarchy, we made it up. I am no different than a gazelle being chosen by a lion. Today our family wasn’t successful at the waterhole. There is nothing special about it. The lion didn’t choose us because of a reason, he chose us because he was hungry. That’s it. To argue that the gazelle was eaten by the lion because of a reason, or purpose unbeknownst to the gazelle is a coping mechanism. It would be cool but I believe it’s highly unlikely. The ant that we accidentally step on while walking out of our house wasn’t chosen by us. It just was.

Is that too uncomfortable? I suppose. Maybe I will find some beauty in things one day, but right now it’s bleak and to undo that would mean bringing you back, which isn’t happening.

I remember how we felt when each of our children were born. Totally the opposite of what I just wrote, we were definitely lions on those days. But we did discuss reality after the euphoria wore off. That we were just a splurge of random chemicals. We obviously hoped we were wrong, but how do I solidify that we were wrong after experiencing this?

It makes me wonder why we do anything pleasurable to be honest. I used to sing a lot. Why do people sing? I guess they are happy and blissfully unaware of what lies ahead. How did people get through times of war and famine? Or maybe a tsunami that kills millions? We shrug it off. We feel bad for a few days when we hear that children were killed at school, but then we return to normal life because we can’t do anything. It is interesting we spend such little time discussing concepts like these when they are the most interesting and complex (i.e. “never discuss religion, sex or politics,” who dared to even suggest such a thing? We should discuss it all.) A Facebook post of angry rants isn’t a discussion. So those don’t count. That’s just anger and confusion. Apparently something happened at the capitol a few days ago? It’s funny I normally would have had slight interest in this and now I have none. When your most important things are taken from you, you really realize how many things don’t matter.

Ouch. That probably stings as a title but God do we need grief reform in our world. I mean, I think we need a lot of reform in a million different categories but since this is my current experience this is what I will be ranting about.

I do think everyone has the best of intentions. I generally have always thought that, but so far I have just noticed a few things that are disturbing.

1. We are not on a timeline- This will impact myself and my children. Forever. If we cannot handle an event, we can’t handle it. If this makes people upset or angry, our relationship is terminated. I will not make myself or my kids more uncomfortable than we already are. We already suffered so much, I will not add to it. It’s about us now and I am not sorry for it in the slightest. If it’s been two years and you think we are behaving oddly, then that’s too bad. Unless you are exactly in our situation, you won’t get it. You can be as empathetic as you want- just as I tried to be for my friends who had loss someone prior to this, but I didn’t know.
2. Don’t tell me I have to be strong- Literally the worst thing I can even fathom (besides losing the kids) just happened. I’ll do what I want. My house isn’t going to catch fire, my kids aren’t going to starve, I’m not going to live in a box in the street. But I am going to feel like I don’t want to exist most days. I am going to repeat myself, constantly. I’ll probably talk about Jesse more than some people want to hear, but listen or don’t. What does it even mean to be strong? It means nothing. There is no strong, there is just existing.
3. I won’t apologize for making you uncomfortable- These things need to be said. Not because I expect anyone to be a widow at 30 but because we all have to deal with death eventually. Either we will be the ones who die early or we will lose someone unexpectedly and be ill-prepared. We will need support and if we hide ourselves from words that hurt we will be ill-equipped. Remember that when you are done reading my blog, you probably get to go back to your normal life. We don’t. But one day, you will be in my shoes in some form OR someone you care about will be experiencing the loss of YOU. Don’t make it harder for yourself or others.
4. Perspectives are different and that needs to be understood- I am not the only one suffering. Jesse was a son, brother, best friend, etc. These people are suffering too but in different ways. People naturally want to compare grief because they try to relate. I think that’s just human nature, but sometimes it’s very damaging. At the end of the day, if you didn’t spend a lot of time with him, it naturally is not going to be as painful for you. It may be painful sometimes, but I can assure you it’s nothing like what I, his mother, sister, etc is going through. I think a good example of this is family dinners. Jesse and I had family dinners at his parents house about once a month. We are about to have a family dinner on Sunday, except for the first time, Jesse will not be there. While this is painful, this is the “first” time they have to go through this. For the kids and I, it is the 63rd time he has missed a meal. Likewise, there are elements I can not understand either from his family members, such as child loss, which is notoriously known as the worst kind of loss there is. I think it is important to discuss how the loss impacts us in different ways, but to be very careful when comparing and contrasting.

While this has been said, I can say that ultimately my experience, despite some very nasty bumps in this horrible road- has been rather okay. I do feel as though for the most part people have been understanding and sympathetic to us. I feel currently that whatever resource someone had to help us they offered. I will forever be appreciative of that. Even though I can say 95% of people have been helpful, the 5% that have not really feel like 200%. This is because I already have an open wound and they are pouring salt in it. Obviously these people aren’t thinking clearly- but it’s not my job to fix them or fight to make them understand. Hopefully they do that on their own. That’s what makes me want to make a blog post about the 1-2 that have appalled me rather than the 98 people who have helped. Grim outlook I know. But when you are in a situation as such, things are not handle as easily as they once were.