I wish it wasn’t us.

This is my third post for today. To me, it feels like 3 days have passed, but it has literally been the same day. When you are up all night the lines are so blurred.

Funny enough my three post have wildly different emotions, much like what I experience all. day. long. My kids and I are pretty much tortured every second. We are all feeling this despite the help. I think it’s just hard for people to truly fathom what our days used to be like and how tightly knit our family was. Like our home is no longer a home, it’s a house. Actually, maybe it’s a prison now. A weird prison that none of us want to leave because it’s uncomfortable but at the same time Jesse is in every centimeter of the house. Those shelves? he hung those. That couch? he placed that there. Those photos? His face is plastered all over them. The hot sauce in the fridge? Oh he loved that one, he was on a hot sauce kick. The stain on the floor? Ugh, yes he spilled something not paying attention. That recommendation on Hulu for 60 Days In? He was obsessed with that show.

Not every day, but for a long time I was up with Jesse at 5:30 a.m. trying to make him some healthy vegan breakfast because he needed to eat better. He agreed for a bit but then became complacent and wanted something unhealthy. So at 5:30 a.m. while someone is sleeping, my internal alarm is going off- just to be disappointed. After making sure he has breakfast, I would double check with him if he had his phone, wallet, etc. I did this every morning. He would go and gently either wake-up (if it was requested) or just hug and kiss all three kids good-bye. By now it’s 6:00am. On his drive to work, we would talk on the phone for half an hour. I would make coffee and do yoga or try to clean up left over messes. We would talk about crazy things, life stresses, events, whatever. He would get to work and I would do go do something else. By 7:30am he would probably send me a text saying he loves me or he can’t wait to see my beautiful face. Around 8:00 he would talk to the girls and R on the phone while they got ready for school. I think it’s pretty clear by now that we are all in constant contact with each other. By then we would have class and he would have to focus on work, but by lunch we would all talk again, and then periodically follow-up until he got home around 3-5.

Most days neither one of us went out. We would discuss dinner plans and he would ALWAYS have some objective to accomplish with the kids. Every day he would say “today I need to build the marble machine with R when I get home,” or “today I need to watch that show with C when I get home,” or “today make sure I play Roblox with O.” He would always designate time to them everyday. His tuck ins for the kids lasted 30 minutes to an hour. He had to put the girls hair up in a special way, hug R very tight, maybe read them a book, get them special water with special ice, special blankets, do secret handshakes. Excessive I know, but he enjoyed it so much. Then by the end of spending time with them he would always reserve time for us to watch a show or if I was too busy with school I would read caselaw next to him and he would play a game or find something to watch. Many times I would go on some intense legal rant and he would patiently listen to the entire thing. I could tell him literally anything. This is probably one of the hardest things for me, because something I see or heard about, I can’t tell him. If I am mistreated or someone is great to me, I can’t tell him. If I pass my classes, fail them, go to the store, it doesn’t matter. It’s just constant loneliness and this is with my phone being blown up. Literally the dynamic of feeling lonely in a crowded room is how I feel a lot now. I cannot tell my person anything. I can’t even fight with him or argue about the kids. Literally nothing. Good, bad. All gone.

Almost every weekend we tried to plan some sort of family thing out. Are we taking the kids to the park? A hay ride? Are we having family over for games? Are we just doing chores and watching a movie tonight? Jesse wasn’t out with friends. He was home with us nearly all of the time. If we did decide to hang out with someone, I can assure you the kids and I would likely be coming. Sometimes I would ask him if it was ever too much. Did he feel overwhelmed? He would say no and say he actually wasn’t doing enough. I don’t know what standard he had in his head for being a good father, but I know to him he didn’t meet it. Which I still think and will always think is just crazy. I know no one will be able to replace him. Luckily since we spoke so much, he knew all of this. But besides me knowing that he knows, there is nothing else. All the new things that have occurred since his passing, while I know how he would react and I know what he would think, he doesn’t actually know of these things. I am in a new year that he never made it to. I have to experience things alone that he will never know about. It’s seriously too much. I have lost my husband and my best friend. Period.

Waking up.

Here was one of our more recent favorite things to do, go get breakfast together on Sundays ❤️

I am trying so hard to feel okay, but I wake up and I am in so much pain all over again. I don’t understand why you are not here to cuddle me and have coffee. I have plenty to do. I have 3 children, 4 cats, a hamster, a now disgusting house and this blog. Oh. And law school. But I am so empty. It feels pointless. The house is so messy and at bedtime last night R mentioned to me how messy it was. Mind you, comparatively I know it isn’t that bad, but to the standard we held the house to before you passed, it is filthy “to us.” R asked me “Mommy, why don’t you seem to care anymore about anything?” And I told him it’s hard. I told him I just spend most of the time thinking about Daddy and that makes me not care. He replied and said “Me too. I don’t care about anything anymore. But if Daddy was alive I would care about everything.”

If my husband knew what his son had just said to me, he would have shattered into a million pieces. Jesse couldn’t handle the kids being upset over basic things. He wanted to protect them as long as he could from the cruelness of the world. I find this ironic piercing in my heart every day watching them suffer, knowing how conflicting that is with what was so important to their Dad.

Things That Cannot Be Unseen.

I am usually someone who prepares, thoroughly. I do this with everything and while it stresses me out I also enjoy it in a weird way. Nothing could prepare me for certain events that unfolded, no matter how much I previously speculated death.

C came into the room where Jesse was intubated. She used her mask to cover her eyes. When she peaked at her dad, I heard a whimper of horror. She kept saying “I don’t want to see him like this.” So we had her turn around so she could speak to him. She began crying and asked “Daddy, are you going to be at my birthday,” which was in a few days. I cannot tell you how many painful things I have experienced but that is definitely one of them.

Categories of Grief.

I’ve always heard there are “stages” of grief. This is so untrue, at least for me. My therapist also says this is kind of a misconception. I’d prefer to call it “rapid cycling.” Basically this means that I feel 16 different emotions all very intensely within a matter of 10 minutes and this continues on repeat. There are emotions that stick around longer than others, such as disbelief. That one is pretty constant. But here is a summarized version of my rapid cycling:

  • Anger: This one is generally pointed at my situation, not a particular individual. I have anger that this has happened.
  • Sadness: This one is where I basically realize things that are no more. This could be from drinking coffee on Saturday morning by myself, waiting for a text, realizing plans we had are over, etc.
  • Unfairness: This one is where I draw comparisons to why us and not someone else. I know plenty of absent fathers, why is my kids stellar father not here? I know tons of men who are insensitive and indifferent to their wives, why mine and not theirs? Why did Jesse’s car accident result in death when thousands just get a scratch? No one deserves this. Period. But I cannot help it.
  • Hysteria: Crying and acting crazy. So maybe I am sitting on the tub crying as loudly as possible and yelling at the ceiling. I hate hysteria because I am generally reserved and practical. Maybe it is falling to my knees in the yard at random or laying in your dirty clothes crying.
  • Heaviness: This one feels like someone has tied 20 pound weights to every centimeter of my body. Not to kill me, just to make the pressure unbearable.
  • Uncomfortableness: This one basically feels like my skin wants to turn itself inside out. I feel like my body is going to internally combust in a matter of seconds.
  • Indifference: Not to what happened, but to life. Cat vomits in front of me? Oh. Think we will leave it there. Coming from someone diagnosed with OCD/OCPD, I cannot stress how abnormal that is for me.

I may come back and update this list or make a new post as my feelings change, but at the moment this is what I am experiencing.