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To the Future…

2023-05-11T10:02:00.002-05:00

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud... It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always endures. Love never fails." ~1 Corinthians 13:4ish - 8ish

When we lost Kerry, I believed I'd lost the only great love I'd ever have - because who gets more than one?! That seems almost greedy to believe I even deserve it.

Christmas 2022

I was wrong. And this isn't about Kerry. (But I had to get that out of the way.)

This is about Kyle.

Right around the time I quit being mad at God, I ran into an old friend from my college days. He stopped me as I was walking by - we talked the rest of the night - and we haven't missed a beat since. He'd tell you that he knew within minutes that we'd be together. I'll tell you that it wasn't that fast. Either way - the outcome was the same. We fell in love, and he is more than I probably deserve.

I gave him at least 100 reasons to run away. From my irrational concerns about moving too fast to my hyper independence, I don't think I was really a catch. For all my tough talk about moving forward, when the real deal was standing in front of me, I was terrified. And I am sure I reacted poorly more than once.

You don't believe me, do you? Let me give you a great example.

I went for a walk with my dogs. Kyle arrived at my house at around the time he was expected. But he sat outside, where I found him as I walked up (sweaty and gross). It set me off, and I launched into a Ted talk about how I needed space.

Not enough? How about this? One time he asked me to tell him one thing that Kerry did that annoyed me. (There is context, but it's too much to type.) I burst into tears and didn't stop for 30 minutes, because thinking about Kerry ripped my heart out, regardless of the fact that I constantly tell him stuff all the time.

Oh - and he probably feels like he knows Kerry at this point. Because he's heard all the stories. In fact, his joke is that he wishes Kerry was his spirit guide for living with me. (We all know that the advice he'd get is "GOOD LUCK, BUDDY!")

All of that to say, the man has earned some serious stripes in the Smith house. And most of all - he loves me right where I am all the time.

My kids love him. My dogs love him. And I love him wholeheartedly. It's amazing and seems almost impossible. But if you meet him, you'll love him too.

I do think entering my world with friends galore, Pie Breakfast, and all of my gypsy "pack and go" ways changed his life. He'd tell you that he's never been happier and that he loves it. I think he has to feel overwhelmed sometimes. But he's handled it all perfectly, of course. If you were a fly on the wall, you'd hear him say, "I'm just here to make you happy."

He does make me happy.

He also makes me laugh. I think the man will do anything just to get me to that "laugh till you can't breathe" phase. If you'd told me even a year ago that I'd find pure joy and laughter again, I'd have thought you lost your mind. But I have both in spades.

Life is good. I'm good. And Kyle is a very good man.

I am excited for you to meet him. Trust me, he was worth the wait.

(And for those who have, thank you for bringing him into the fold without reservation.)

Drifting Home

2022-10-08T14:40:00.003-05:00

"But Noah found grace in the eyes of the Lord." Genesis 6:8

I've sat on this one for a few weeks, but I decided to finally get the words out because I'm not even sure I can adequately describe my feelings anyway.

It's going to require a bit of homework for you though.

A friend send me this song, and to fully appreciate this blog entry, I need you to go listen to it. I'll wait.

I think the song hit me right between the eyes because the last three years have changed me in ways I'd never have understood had I not lost Kerry.

I lived my whole life believing that I understood pain and suffering. That I fully understood God's love for me; that I would never question my faith because I could believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that God would always save me.

And I think I believed that saving me meant protecting me from gut wrenching heartbreak.

I know. I know. The Bible is full of stories of people who had to learn their lessons in the valley. But somehow I forgot all of that in the cess pool of my own valley. All those stories about Moses, Job, Esther, Ruth, etc. left my brain. I couldn't even think about God's promises because I felt he'd broken one to me.

I also somehow thought I'd had my one happy story. That I'd met the happy quota early in life, so I didn't get more. I just had to learn how to live through the rest of the storm until I could make it to Heaven and see Kerry again.

Then I heard this song. And of all the stories from my childhood, it's Noah's that seems to speak to me the most.

When I lost Kerry, I started building my own ark. I gathered all the most important people and things, and I started weathering the storm - only I didn't bother to talk to God about it. I just started sailing.... determined to out run the rain. But no amount of running really worked. And it wasn't until I looked inward that I figured out that my method was all wrong because I misread the entire situation. (You can read about that HERE.)

And, from that moment on, things began to change for me.

Then my friend sent me the song. And I felt such a connection to Noah. I could just picture him sending that bird out every day, using every ounce of his faith while he had all that burden and responsibility on his shoulders. Because that's how I've felt.

I've carried the responsibility of my family's happiness around just waiting for something to make it easier. I've stared into the storm every day and waited for some sign that we'd reach land. I wanted to keep my faith and truly feel hope. I wanted to believe that God was going to deliver me from the unending rain. And He did. In more ways than one, He has shown me that the other side of the storm is beautiful.

My heart swells when I think about how hard Noah must have worked to be sure everyone had what they needed - and how he carried the burden of safety. And the pure joy he had to feel when he got the sign he needed. Because I too felt all of those things.

"I hope everyone forgives me because this took a little longer than I planned" hit me right in the gut. I've thought that so many times with my kids and my friends. Everyone had to be holding their breath waiting on me to get it together. I know I was. What a crazy journey.

I know it isn't over, but I do feel as though I'm on the other side of the deluge.

My 'bird' wasn't really one big sign, but rather an awakening. It was a realization that everything was going to be okay, and everyone was going to be okay. That I didn't have to do it alone - spiritually or physically. That I was allowed to find happiness.

In the song, he says,

"If I ever get to heaven

I'll admit I doubted some

I'll tell them everything that happened

And ask them why it took so long

And if they find my tools and timber

That I used to build her strong

I hope the fools that do remember

How on a sea of faith and hope

We drifted home."

I just love that.

I'm drifting home, and the rainbow is in sight.

But I'll save that for another day.

I hope you put this song on repeat for a while, and appreciate Noah as much as I do now.

And thanks, Matt Munoz. Your song choices are epic.

The Write Stuff

2022-07-24T10:34:00.000-05:00

There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.

~Maya Angelou

Are you good at keeping things to yourself? Not necessarily bad things - just anything?

I'm not. I suck at it.

I'm an open book and always have been. If I think it, I say it. If I feel it, I share it. If it happens to me, I tell the world. But somewhere along the way, in the last few years, I've found myself not wanting to share as much. I've tried to hold things close for fear of losing more of myself than I can spare.

Most of what I've kept to myself wouldn't probably matter to anyone else. Or if it did, I'm sure that interest would fade quickly. And unburdening myself feels a little bit like walking outside with no clothes on. (If you know me, you know that is literally the most terrifying thing that could happen.) I've also found the satisfaction in having thoughts and moments that are mine alone. It's like keeping a little surprise inside you - not something I experience very often being the loud mouth that I am.

I've been reading back over some old journals I kept when I was young(er). A friend from church got me hooked on journaling in 9th grade, and I've really never looked back. Until college, my daily routine almost always included writing down my thoughts right before bedtime.

Once I graduated from high school, I didn't have as much time - or didn't take as much time to do it - so the entries became less frequent and probably a lot less detailed. I hit the highlights and moved on.

Recently I've revisited some of the older ones and cringe at my lack of maturity or my single-focus mind of youth. (There's nothing like a teenage or young adult journal to remind a girl how stupid she was about boys. Wow. Just wow.) And Gracey has given me an amazing idea that I plan to work on over the next few months. (It's a surprise.. don't ask.) Anyway.. my journals remain a huge part of me and how I process things.

I've used a million different methods of journaling since then. Notebooks, looseleaf paper, phone apps, journals with prompts - I've tried them all. And I've got so many that have a few things in them - then months of nothing. But since Kerry died, I've found a rhythm that would make no sense to anyone else. I have one that I handwrite about my sadness that I only use every so often. Handwritten journaling is so much slower, and it always gives me a chance to really feel. The tears can flow while I write, and I still have time to stop crying before I finish the entry.

The 'new' stuff I've experienced has been more electronic. I get on my computer and just type it all out. The exciting, scary, weird, or even bad new experiences make their way into my file. (Funny story - I got paranoid and put them into a .dmg file that is password protected. Forgot the password...so a lot of that material is probably gone forever. Typical me.) It's quicker, and usually even the complicated feelings I pour out through my typing is a stream of consciousness that helps me process the situation and reach a conclusion.

And the stuff I think would benefit someone else goes here onto my blog. Sometimes this blog has pieces of the others, but not always. There are just some things I want to keep for myself - at least for now.

Speaking of that - do you ever have something you want to share but you just want to keep if for yourself a little bit longer to keep that magic or feeling or whatever intact? You don't want to spoil it by shouting it out, so just keep it? Those are REALLY hard for those of us who bare our souls.

I'm in one of those places right now. Things in my life are shuffling around and feeling different. I want to make some changes and take some chances - but I'm just not ready to talk about them yet. I want to hold tight to this new energy until I know it's right to share it. Somehow it just feels so right while it's safely tucked away from the world and outside stress. So, I'm just going to savor it a bit longer.

I hope you can spend some time today thinking about things you haven't shared with anyone - or maybe with only a few. If they are hard things, I hope you find a healthy method for getting them out. If they are exciting things, I hope you savor them before you share them. I know I am.

I Opened the Gate

2022-07-16T09:58:00.002-05:00

Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live.

~ Dorothy Thompson

I can always tell when my life goes into a transformational phase, because I don't blog. I seem to go straight to my private journal and don't remember to come share aallll the things I'm thinking that might help someone else. I'm trying to be better about it, so you may start to hear a lot more out of me.

Fear.

The last three years have given me more anxiety than I've had in my entire life. Everything I knew to be true about myself went up in smoke. And while I must put up a great front, because everyone seems to think I've handled it well, I can tell you that it was pure grit that has kept me taking one step in front of the other. (Well - and my amazing tribe... my incredible kids...etc. too!)

I've always kept a cool head in an emergency - and truly felt calm. Now, when something "moves my cheese", I feel this dread in my gut. I think I still roll with the punches, but inside I tremble. My bravery doesn't eliminate the fear - it's just a sign of me overcoming that fear to move forward.

Decisions I used to confidently make without much input now are made with votes from any number of trusted friends. I was always an open book, but I think I'm even more transparent now. I bare my soul to those whom I trust, and I really listen to what they say. And when I jump, I only worry about any consequences that could hurt those around me. It's worth overcoming the fear to see what could happen.

But then, my sense of spontaneity is at all time high. Quick trip planned a day, a week, or an hour in advance? Sign me up. I almost never say no to an adventure because it's an escape from the loneliness and drudgery that settled in after that first year of sheer avoidance.

I might have to plan everything out in most areas of my life - but I've become the girl who always says, "Ok, let's do that!" when a good idea floats by. (Oddly, I wrote about some of this year ago too. You can read that one HERE!)

Last month at brunch in Dallas my friends and I bought tickets to a concert just because we could. Not the first time I've done that in the last couple of years.. and it always gives me that thrill of something to look forward to.

We celebrated my daddy's 80th birthday a couple of weeks ago, and there's a sign hanging in their house that says, "Live like someone left the gate open". That's my new plan - every day. And I anticipate there will be some shaking of heads and misunderstandings about what the heck I'm doing along the way. But I just have to live.

That's all I've got today. I know this is much shorter than my normal discourse, but I hope it inspires someone to take a leap. I know I've got my jumpin' shoes on.

Sing Me a Song

2022-07-11T21:06:00.004-05:00

“Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.”

~Berthold Auerbach

I'm sure I've said it before, but music is the backdrop to my life. When I'm sad, it either helps me cry or lifts me up. And when I'm happy, it helps me laugh and dance. It only takes a few chords of a song or a phrase from something to transport me back to an exact moment in time

This last weekend my friend and I helped a local spot called OHMS celebrate 30 years of business.. all of which we've spent going there. It's a special place for so many reasons. It's the place we went in college to listen to our friends' bands - and the place we started going for grown up lunches after we graduated. As we grew up, so did it. The decor got fancier, the food options expanded, and the bar became a great place to hang out for happy hour. Now we go most Thursdays and try to hash out this weird existence we were dealt when our husbands died.

We've celebrated birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, and personal successes in that place. We've cried over loss, cried over love, and healed wounds there. So getting some of those old bands together and helping them celebrate was a no brainer. We had to do it - and we were lucky to have some great friends ready to play the night away.

Let me tell you - a walk down memory lane was exactly what I needed.

One of the bands that played was The Cleavers. Not only did I go to college with them, but they were my people. We spent so many hours together at parties, hanging out, and watching them play. They literally provided the music that plays in my head when I think of those years

And it only took getting them to come to town and play for allll the people of our past to show up. Every time I turned around, there was another friend I hadn't seen in ten or more years. Somehow I remained astonished every time another blast from my past came around the corner or stopped me to say hello.

Each friend I saw made my heart just a little bit lighter. Any problems or anxiety I might have had just went away. (One of the hardest things in the last few years is managing how people might react when they see me. It's stressful!)

We stayed up WAY too late, drank enough to make us pretty punchy, and reminisced while making a few new memories.

We me each other's children (some) and a few of them met each other, and for just a few hours I was 23 again....without any real care in the world.
I remembered who I was then - and I was thankful that I had people around me who also remembered. We definitely missed quite a few key players - but overall it was an incredible night of all the old crew.

Live music always makes me happy. But live music by the people I love makes it even better. I hope we all do a better job of staying in touch now - and maybe make a whole lot of new memories we never saw coming.

In the meantime, I'll give you a playlist of songs that are high on my list right now.. go listen!

Charee's Current Playlist:

Good Ol Boys Like Me by Don Williams - For my daddy.

I Remember Everything by John Prine - Somehow this one gets me every time.

Oh L'amour by Erasure - For Kerry.

Just Remember I Love you by Firefall - I mean...I was a young child in the 70s and love this one.

Feathered Indians by Tyler Childers Sadie said everyone loves this one. She almost shamed me for adding it.

Naked by James Arthur - Pretty much anything he sings speaks to me.

Own Roses by Nikita Karmen - For Sadie

Where I Find God by Larry Fleet On repeat for months.

Fire of Time by David Ramirez - A new one in my collection (Thanks, Kyle.)

Do You Believe by The Cleavers - Listen to all their songs!

The Choice is Mine

2022-06-26T11:44:00.008-05:00

"That's when you're brave. When there's a choice to be made."

~ Diana Gabaldon, Outlander

It's been a while.

I think getting caught up in figuring out who I am now and where my story will take me swept my words away for a bit. And the last recap of my world was amidst excitement and newness that I hadn't felt in a long time. I'm glad I jumped off that ledge and that I opened myself up to new possibilities, even if they weren't what I ultimately wanted. They kept me swimming through this crazy river of life rather than drowning.

But I have been sitting in the stillness for a bit lately. Just taking a break from my quest to find happiness in my future while I contemplate the past three years. We definitely grow in the difficulty. This week I grew some more when I realized that June may always be a tough month for me. It's the last month of the year when my former life was normal. The calm before the storm began - not to mention Kerry's birth month. My emotions have just been all over the board, and I can feel my anxiety rise as we get closer to July.

But I did have an epiphany the other night while talking to some friends. All the time I've spent frustrated with God for not answering my prayers when Kerry was sick, I've failed to realize that He was answering the prayer I wasn't praying. The one He knew needed answered but didn't even know to pray: let me make the decision so that I can feel in control of something where I have none.

I have been SO upset that God made me choose to stop medical care for Kerry at the end. So frustrated that He wouldn't just take him and not make me feel like I had to do the letting go for us both.

And if you knew us as a couple or know me at all, that's exactly what I needed. I needed to be able to gather those around me to help me say goodbye. I needed to find some organization and order to the chaos that my life had become. I needed a plan.

If God had taken him when I wasn't there - or when I couldn't have been firmly planted in what was coming - it probably would have been so much worse. I just didn't see it. And I've just been too stubborn to acknowledge it until now. That's when my bravery kicked in. When there was a decision to be made, I was able to plan for it. THAT is the prayer that was answered. And my anger has been misguided.

Today it's overcast, cool, and calm outside. I spent some really quality time with some close friends the other night where we did some good ol' soul bearing, and I came home realizing just how lucky I am to have a boat filled with the best of the best. I'm not sure I've been worthy of them either.

I haven't shown the appreciation any of my close friends deserve these last few years. I've been so consumed with my anger at God and my sheer determination to be ok that I haven't given credit to those who have held firm and helped steer my boat.

That changes today. Bear with me - and know that this is a drop in the bucket of those to whom I owe so much. I'm going to name some names here.... and these don't even begin to touch the surface of who deserves my gratitude. I'm also putting them in alphabetical order because... well.. if you've met me....

Cathy - I love you. I love you. I love you.

Doug - The irony of this is that you probably won't even read it, regardless of the fact I'll send you the link. You're the calm in my storm - even when I bet you want to jump ship. But you have extra jewels in your crown for putting up with me, and I love you. As you'd say, "Thanks, man!"

Duane and Amy - New to the list in some ways, and not new at all. What would I do without your authentic love and honesty? Old friends are truly the best friends. Thanks for your love and your love of my family.

Isaac - You know my love for you is strong.

Kimmie - Oh, the love I have for you. Thank you for not hating me when I crawled in my hole and didn't come out. What would I do without you?

Lisa - Ride or die. 100%. Thank you. I love you more every day.

Margaret - I do NOT know what I'd do without your unfailing love and loyalty. You can never know how much I love you. No words are even needed here, because you know.

Mindy - Always my rock. I love you.

Pete and Pennie - I miss you more than I'd miss Mexican food if I couldn't have it. Gosh it's been tough to know y'all aren't just a couple miles away. But I love you and am so thankful you are mine.

Randi - You have let me be awful, terrible, no good, and bratty. And you have loved me all the way through it. I love you and am so thankful for all you've done for me.

Raquel - You've probably heard me whine the most, and you've held me accountable when I get ridiculous. Who knew living across the street from each other in middle school would be so important? Hola, bestie...te amo!

The Shelleys - Yep... there are two of you. And you don't even know each other. But you are both loyal to the core. I wouldn't make it without you! I'm sure I didn't thank either of you enough in the storm.. but I am now. xoxoxo

Stephen - Without you and your honesty, I think I'd have fallen all the way apart. Being my confidante and my sounding board can't be easy. I love you.

Tiffany - I know I can't be your person, but I sure am glad that by Kerry being yours, you are one of mine. I love you.

Wendi and Todd - Holy crap. There will never be enough time to thank both of you. And my love can't even touch the love you've shown me. But I am here for you as you are for me. *muah*

Today I am grateful. Today I see the sun shining over the calm waters where I've stopped to enjoy some stillness. And today I have let my anger go. I was brave. The choice was made. And I am loved.

So I Did a Thing.

2021-08-29T12:47:00.001-05:00

“If you can’t fly then run, if you can’t run then walk, if you can’t walk then crawl,

but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward.”

Martin Luther King Jr

I went on a date.

Those are words I never dreamed I'd say again, and the details of who, what, when, and where are secondary to the fact that it happened. It was scary. I cried when I got home partly because it felt so unfair to have to go on a date and partly because I had a good time. All the emotions just swept over me - and it confused me.

But I resolved to being open to another one if asked. I got asked. I said yes. So, I guess I should say I've now been on dates - plural. (Spoiler alert: the rest of this blog will not include any details about the dates.)

So many things have gone through my mind while deciding how and when to blog about this. If I'm honest, I'm still wrapping my head around the whole thing. However, I'll say this: I will FOREVER be thankful to the friend who took a chance when she told me that she had someone she wanted me to meet. Regardless of what the outcome could have been or actually was, she took a chance. She asked the question and crossed the bridge. And if I've learned nothing else about being a widow, I am 150% sure that people are afraid to say or do the wrong thing when it comes to us.

I'm sure there are a million opinions about what to do when it comes to moving forward and bringing someone new into your life after losing a spouse. If I googled, there are probably thousands of other people offering advice or sharing the experience of how to "jump back in" or "find love again" or even "don't do it". But the reality of wearing widow shoes is that they are your shoes. And there are no two pair exactly alike. Hell, some of us might be barefoot!

I know I'm okay with moving forward - and my family is okay with it too. My friends are supportive - and I'm in a great head space now. That one small leap gave me the courage to know that I can do it. And I can want to do it without feeling guilty - and that there are men who aren’t going to run from the idea of going out with a widow. (I think the strongest men are the ones who can sit at the widow table! Hats off to all of you boys who do it!)

I do know that there are no easy answers to when or how to make any moves in life - let alone when it comes to matters of the heart. That person who I bounced the most mundane decisions off is gone, and I've spent almost 2 years feeling like a huge burden when I ask others to listen to me hem haw around about choices. It doesn't help that most days I find more questions than answers! So you can imagine how hard this whole dating stuff feels to me!

I don't know what the future holds in this realm. But what I have learned through this new experience is that I'm still brave. And I'm not as pitiful, depressing, and ugly as I feel sometimes when I'm having one of my bathtub cries. I can laugh and smile with someone - and even feel attractive. I can find someone new attractive and still love Kerry. And I don't have to compare anyone to him or his memory.

I had the great love of a man who gave me everything he had until his dying breath. And I get to see what the future holds and maybe find another love that will be just as amazing. That's got to be a good thing, right? Lemonade out of lemons, maybe?

This post certainly doesn't have any words of wisdom or any great epiphany about my future. But it's where I am. I've hesitated to even write about it - and even rereading it feels almost too "surface" for a whole post. And yet.. it's all I've got. I did it. I went on a date.

I did something new. It was scary. I survived.

Story of my life.

Happy Birthday, Kerry.

2021-06-30T06:00:00.039-05:00

We are always the same age inside. ~ Gertrude Stein

Today Kerry would have been 53. If you’d told me when I planned a huge surprise party for his 50th birthday that I’d be writing about him in past tense, I would have said you were crazy. I also would have lost sleep thinking about it because you even suggested it. I wouldn’t have believed I could live even one day without him.

The lead up to big days always gets me. I started feeling jumpy last week. I couldn’t figure out why at first. Father’s Day had come and gone. Gracey’s birthday went ok. Then, I realized. His birthday was next. Ugh.

It’s not the bad days that are going to hurt the way they did last year. If anything, all those days that marked the end are days I’d just as soon forget. No sense in memorializing those and remembering how sick he felt. I won’t revisit them if I can help it. In fact, I may stay as busy as possible from July to the end of October from now on.

It’s the good days that sting. The ones when things went right. Damn it, I miss those. I want to sit with him and reminisce about the birthdays and anniversaries of years past. I want to pull out the old pictures of us celebrating and try to recall details while he fills in the blanks of my memory. I want to go to bed exhausted from celebrating and laugh about things that happened.

It’s not often I let myself wallow in self pity or even allow others to show me they feel sorry for me. I was raised to pull up my bootstraps. As I’ve said many times, I told myself I could cry in the tub and in bed… no in between! (I have failed miserably some days, but it’s a goal!) The sad days are really few and far between. I always look to the future.

But today I really feel sorry for me… and him. Not to mention feeling sorry for my kids and all the rest of the family. We didn’t get enough time. Our story ended before we were ready, and that isn’t fair.

As you can imagine, he never wasted fanfare for his birthday. Many years we went to see my daddy because he and Kerry had birthdays one day apart. We’d hang out in Missouri, pop firecrackers, pick blueberries, and just have fun. Some years I’d plan something fun for us to do by ourselves. But we always had fun. He was always game for whatever crazy idea I presented. But they were ALWAYS good days. And I am thankful for the memories of them.

I sure hope he’s found some friends to celebrate with in Heaven. Maybe he’s riding his mountain bike and drinking a few cold ones with Chad. Or fishing with his dad somewhere beautiful. His grandmother might have his favorite cake for him. And then again… he might actually be taking a nap and resting - something he never did often enough.

Whatever he’s doing, I sure wish I could be with him to do it too.

Happy birthday, Kerry. I still love you so very much.

I Need a Plan.

2021-06-25T18:50:00.009-05:00

“Human beings, like plans, prove fallible in the presence of those ingredients that are missing in maneuvers - danger, death, and live ammunition.” ~ Barbara Tuchman

DISCLOSURE: I know I will have friends who read this who will take all my words to heart and begin to internalize. This blog post IS NOT calling anyone out - or meant to make anyone feel convicted. Again, this blog post is IN ABSOLUTELY NO WAY calling someone out or pointing fingers.

Ok. On with my widow musings I must go....

I'm a planner.

If there's a party to host, I host. If there's a trip to organize, I organize. If there's a get together, by gosh, I get everyone together. I was my high school class secretary, for goodness sake. If you want something done, pick me!

So, imagine that a planner has her life's plan ripped out from under her. The plan wasn't changed - or revamped - or even tweaked. The plan - her life with her husband with whom she has built said plan - disappears. What does she do? How does she function?

I'll tell you.

She freezes in place. She doesn't know what to do. She sort of keeps planning - and she tries to keep on moving. And everyone tells her how great she's doing because they can't see she's paralyzed from the inside out. She's on her little planning treadmill fighting for normalcy and hoping that nothing else changes. But that's the thing about big life stuff - in my case becoming a widow - NOTHING stays the same.

The first year was such a shock that I'm not sure I realized how things like my free time and my social calendar would change when I stopped being part of Kerry and Charee. Then the ugly Covid monster came out and stopped all socializing, so it didn't seem any weirder for me than anyone else I knew. After that, as the world began opening up, I started to realize that nothing will ever be the same.

Oh, my friends are still my friends. And I'll still have happy hours with the groups of girls I did before here and there. But gone are the days of all the couples getting together. Gone are the days of Kerry and Charee hosting a dinner. And gone are the days when I don't make people feel uncomfortable simply because I either talk too much about Kerry or my weird life - OR I just bring the mood down because my mere presence reminds everyone that my husband died. I'm a reminder that bad things can happen - and you too could be the unlucky recipient of widowhood. You too could find yourself alone on the weekends wondering what to do with yourself and eating alone again.

I know how harsh that sounds. I know that it sounds really "poor me" to talk about, but I'm nothing if I'm not real. So.. there it is. I feel like the ultimate fun sucker simply by existing. The mundane chores around the house now all belong to me. The 'having a built-in dinner decider' is no longer a thing in my life. While I used to come up with things to do with others for fun, now it's often the only way I do anything with others.

In fairness to my friends, I think when the planner of the group falls apart, it's hard to find a replacement. Having a "connecting" personality isn't something everyone is born with, so it's a big loss. And, even worse, when the planner stops being fun because she's cranky or sad or shuts down, that's horrible.

Those who have tried - whether you succeeded or failed - at getting me out and about, please know how much I love and appreciate you. Your effort isn't unnoticed. The ones who don't say "call me and let's get together", but instead call first - thank you! I seem to lack much ability at making the first move.

I honestly don't know what I'd do without my fellow widows. Now I know how badly I sucked at being your friend when you were in this desert. (Maybe not with all of you.. I think I did a damn good job with a couple of you. Ha! Ha!) Thank you for putting up with me and letting me have the bad days, the good days, and all the complaining days in between. Thank you for supporting me while I try to figure out who the heck I am now - and what my future is going to look like going forward.

Also, thank you to my friends who don't hold it against me when I'm ridiculous. Because I know that I am likely ridiculous a lot.

Anyway, back to the issue of the planner who lacks a plan. It's been a road that I know was paved with tears of others who did this long before I had to do it, and yet it's also my own lonely and scary road. This one is leading to a new plan I didn't ask for, but I know will be good too. It scares me because I know it'll be new people, new experiences, and new growth - all that I didn't ever think would happen. (Some would say this is exciting, and I don't disagree. But today - it feels scary.)

I tried early on to plan my grief away. I still try that approach pretty frequently. However, it never works. There's no plan for this. And I'm learning to cope with that. It's just a rough thing to do.

Please know I'm not writing all this down because I want or need anything from anyone. I just hope that by being honest about all of this, someone else will be able to say, "Oh! It's not just me. Others have those same thoughts and feelings."

And... if that someone needs a friend... I'm here.

PS. Click up top to subscribe to my blog. I think Facebook and other sites are really messing with what people can see or find. So, if you are a tried and true reader of my musings... that's the best way to get them consistently.

Who me? Spoiled?

2021-06-09T20:00:00.005-05:00

We cannot become what we need to be by remaining what we are.

~ Max de Pree

I am a certified spoiled brat.

Raised primarily by a single mother whose father raised her like a son meant that I knew how to be independent and strong from an early age. She can diagnose a car problem with just a short description, and her tool box would have made many men jealous. Don't get me wrong - my grandpa came to the rescue a lot, but she was very handy. And watching her do it all herself made me never want to do any of it. I knew I COULD, but I just didn't want to do it.

Oh, and did I mention that my daddy did it all too? I might not have lived with him, but I watched him do all the things too. Mowed the lawn, repaired stuff, loaded the van, you name it... he did it.

So, I grew up to be spoiled. I married someone who could do it all. He fixed the cars, painted the house, built furniture, remodeled rooms, ran errands, and thought about what I needed before I knew I needed it.

It. Was. Glorious.

I never once took it for granted, and I loved him for letting me and my girls reap the benefits of his energizer bunny personality.

Since his death, I have had to relearn (and newly learn) a lot. Don't get me wrong... I'm still spoiled. I have a lot of help, and there's no shortage of people I can call if I need something. But I find myself often thinking, "I can do this. I don't need someone to do it for me." With a little advice - ok, a LOT of advice- and so many phone calls or texts asking "how do I....", I have managed to do things for myself. Granted, I've cried through some of it, but I've also stood back and felt really accomplished when I finish a project.

Last month I repainted my bedroom, trim and all. Billy came over to paint the ceiling - and Sadie did the floor - but I did the walls and trim. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be - and I love the color. In fact, I'll be painting a couple other rooms soon.

This month I repainted my porch swing and and fixing up the porch with some lights and new outdoor chairs. I've called repair people, negotiated sales of items, and put gas in my car for almost two years! That's a record, people. Thankfully I also have an on-call person (or two) who does the things I can't or don't want to do, because I definitely don't WANT to do it all.

The new version of me is slowly taking shape. As the kids all say, "nothing shocks Mommy anymore". I react much slower and deliberately. I'm slow to anger - and impossible to shock. Surely those are good qualities. Being alone doesn't terrify me the way it did at first. It's not my first choice, and I don't want to be alone forever. But I'm not afraid of it anymore. I'm comfortable making decisions and changing things in this big ol' house - not to mention in this big ol' life.

I've also realized that it really is ok to ask for help. That was never something I had to do, because I had someone do it before I needed it. I didn't have to request help. I just added what I wanted to the list and it magically appeared. (Yes. I know. Spoiled.)

This new me refuses to let life pass by without finding happiness. I've been given amazing children and loyal friends. My family is staunchly in my corner. My job is secure. I have every reason to be thankful for what I have, and I try really hard not to dwell on the things taken from me. No looking back and wishing I could change things for the new me.

So, as June rolls in and we get closer to the 2-year mark, I am choosing to focus on the things I can fix - literally and figuratively. Spoiled or not, here I go!

If you see me struggling to do something, though, stop and give a girl a hand.... I didn't sign up for this! ;)

Hope Springs Eternal... Literally

2021-04-02T19:10:00.006-05:00

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Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out. ~ Vaclav Havel

Easter is upon us. And today, we Christians recognize Good Friday, which wasn't good at all. In fact, it was probably terrible, because it's the day when Mary, the Disciples, and all of Jesus' followers were in shock with devastation and fear.

But as followers who don't live in the Biblical times where, we weren't there for the uncertainty and blind faith. We already know how the story ends. Instead, Good Friday is when we begin to celebrate the Resurrection. With that comes celebration and hope.

Last year I don't even really remember Easter. I know the world was closed down because of the pandemic. And I think our family was in that weird foggy place that seemed real but now seems very unreal. We were doing as well as we could be expected to do - maybe better by some crazy standards written in some stupid grief book. But, I definitely have no memory of Easter.

Thankfully, this year the world is slowly getting back to normal around here. We can go to church this year rather than huddle in our homes. We're going to dye Easter eggs, and Sadie came home for the weekend. There's more hope and more happiness.

Going to church is really hard for me though. I love God. I really do. He makes me really mad - and I still struggle to understand this plan for my life. But, as someone told me recently when I said I am still upset with Him, "sometimes arguments make relationships stronger". How true! It felt so good to hear that and not be told that I need more faith or know that "it's not for us to understand God's plan". It doesn't mean that I have walked away. Nor does it mean that I stopped believing.

I can be upset and still have faith. I can be mad and still love.

I can grieve and still have hope.

And Easter is the perfect time to see that hope. Everything about Easter speaks to my soul. It may not be a mere three days until we see those who are gone, but we know God will prevail and we will see them again. This earthly life isn't the end.

God's plan hasn't ever been very popular here on Earth, if you think about it. I bet He's frustrated everyone along the way. Famines, floods, death, crucifixion... you name it.... the suffering parts suck. But He always provides in the end.

Of all the hurting and suffering in my life, I can see where the path was laid to take care of me along the way. Nothing made sense, and yet things fell in place when I was torn into a million pieces. God's love is full of hope. It's just not always easy to see when you're standing in the muck and mire. But it's there. And Easter, for me, is a great reminder of that.

As much as I abhor change, I think I'm learning to accept, even embrace, it more than ever before. Thinking about Easter and how it signifies a new beginning and redemption, I can see that I am living in a time of new beginning and redemption too. Unexpected change still chokes me up sometimes, but I've started pushing myself to do new things. Spending more time looking toward the future and getting excited about that future has been really good for me.

Life is good. It's hard, but it's good.

So this Easter I am taking the time to embrace all that is good and new and hopeful. I'm setting my frustration with God aside - for now - and being so very thankful. Thankful for renewal and redemption. Thankful that God does keep His promises, even when I don't understand the path to keeping them. And thankful for my future.

He is Risen.

He is Risen Indeed.

The Fire Inside

2021-01-29T15:55:00.006-06:00

"Even the darkest night with end, and the sun will rise." ~ Les Miserables

Today I was sitting in the quiet of a car wash, of all places, and had a burst of self reflection. Prone to be in my head more than not these days, I think most of the time it's running scenarios and overthinking things. But today, amidst the colorful bubbles and mindless movement of my car, I realized that the fire our family has walked through the last 18 months or so has cleansed and refined who I am more than any other time in my life.

So often I've told friends that once you experience trauma, things aren't the same. I'm sure any therapist would say the same thing. And I'm not saying I haven't had trauma before Kerry's death. But trauma that tears you to the core of your being is... well... different. At least it has been different for me. Everything else pales in comparison. This one dulled the feelings about any of the rest.

While I've stood on my soapbox and preached about bravery, there's been a steady flame slowly burning my edges, making me softer on the outside. (That is not a fat joke....let's not talk about how soft I am physically!)

I find that my reactions are softer; my anger is slower; and my general temperament is calmer. There isn't that quickness about things that used to be indicative of me. For a while, I thought it was because every movement I made felt like moving through water - some resistance that kept me from my normal speedy response. There's less sense of urgency about me; and, while it may have been grief that dulled me for a time, I don't believe that it was really the feeling of water. It was fire getting rid of some of the rough spots. (I can still offer up a zinger or two if pushed. Don't test me!)

In the meantime, that same fire has forged a strength inside that has kept me brave. I might react slower and walk softly, but I am tougher than I ever thought possible. If you are reading this and have known me a long time, I'm sure you would say I've always been tough. I didn't lead a charmed childhood and have earned what I have. I love my family, and I have never once sat around blaming others for my misfortune. (Well, I've been pretty "judgy" of God lately, but that really belongs in another blog post. And I think I get to do that for a bit. He gets it. He saw it coming.)

The refiner's fire has given me unexpected strength. I haven't fallen completely apart. I didn't take my last breath when Kerry took his. I didn't walk away from life and give up. So much of that has to do with my tribe. Those who prop me up daily and let me be vulnerable. Those who answer an "I need you." or a "What are you doing? Can you please....?" without hesitation - and those who let me cry and complain when it all becomes too much.

The rest of it came from sheer determination to get to the other side. To walk through the fire, coming out on the other side strong enough to show my kids that it's possible. That it's not being fortunate enough to miss the storm, but how you weather it. (I know I changed metaphors. Sorry.)

My newly found tough interior hasn't negated the new reality that I need people to be gentle with me sometimes. So do my kids. We need that hug or that calm understanding. We need to know we can tear up about something and not see the "feeling sorry" look in return. Hurt with us; laugh with us; be gentle with us. I guess it's part of the soft exterior. You'll see more soft responses and fewer angry ones. I know....such a dichotomy. And we are thankful for the patience around us!

My love is stronger and fiercer than before. I hold on tighter and fight harder for my people. And I'm definitely not afraid to make sure to tell them I love them. I'm trying to seize new opportunities and not sit still waiting to see what comes my way.

But, most of all, I'm realizing that the fire is now within in me. I might still be walking through it, but I own it too. I am better for it: softer and stronger.

Love fiercely. Because this all ends.

2021-01-02T15:04:00.000-06:00

“Set fire to the broken pieces; start anew.”

~Lauren DeStefano

Happy New Year!

That's what we are all supposed to say, right? New beginnings. Clean slates. Or, as made famous in Frozen, "let it go.... let it go...."

I've never been one for new year's resolutions, but I've always liked the feeling of starting fresh and not rehashing past transgressions - if I can help it. I'm not going to sit here and say I'm above holding a grudge or that I don't learn from my mistakes by remembering them. But I do love beginning again without dwelling too much on the failures of days gone by.

This year I've adopted a motto. It's actually the title of this post. I guess it might seem a tad morbid to some, but it's a reminder that everything around me is fleeting. It all has an end. Even when it's hard to love someone, and even when I don't even want to love myself, I intend to love fiercely.

I hope this pandemic loses steam so that I can travel more. Seeing my friends who don't live close by renews my soul. Spending time reminiscing and laughing might be my very favorite thing to do. Having been blessed to grow up in the same small town my whole childhood afforded me some relationships that not everyone gets. I don't take those for granted. They are the people who I can be 100% authentic with and can always count on to make me laugh. (As usual, I have a song for this... I'll put it at the end.) I want to see more of my people and less of my living room. It's time to kick up my heels a bit and enjoy the company of others. Especially enjoy the company of those who have known me forever!

Another part of my plan is to make effort. Sadie and I talk about this a lot. Making an effort goes a really long way in showing others how much you care about them. It doesn't even take a lot. Just a quick authentic text - or a "hey, come over" does wonders. I want to be better at that; and, I've committed myself to saying yes when someone else makes the effort. You should join me. Make effort. Ask the question or suggest the activity. Say yes. We'll all be glad we did it!

And, not the last of my plans, but certainly one that will follow my motto: I'm letting go of more of the broken parts. I just can't hang on to the things that don't work. Change is really hard for me, but I know that making room for better things is the right thing to do. I've been slowly clearing out the basement and getting rid of things I don't need. I'm through trying to make people or things or situations fit into my life that has also changed so much. Just as my motto says, I will love fiercely. That doesn't really leave room for lukewarm affection for some lamp that came out of some grandma's house 30 years ago or for someone who only wants to be around when it's convenient. It's a decluttering, I guess. Keep what works and add things that make life happier!

Who knows if I'm ready for 2021. Hell, I don't know that I'm even ready for tomorrow. But here we go. Day 2 seems pretty good so far. Dinner plans with some friends - and most of the Christmas decorations are down. That's a start.

I wish you an abundance of love. Remember, this all ends. So, love fiercely.

Silver Linings and Golden Opportunities

2020-11-30T21:57:00.004-06:00

“Gratitude turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance,

chaos into order, confusion into clarity...it makes sense of our past,
brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.” ~Melody Beattie

I know 2020 has been rough. So many people have fallen ill and lost those they love. So many businesses have struggled. We've all seen the memes. It's not been the prettiest of years. Pandemics are rough. But for us, the Smiths in our little bubble, 2020 has been healing. It's given us the pause we needed to regroup and refocus. To spend time intentionally with those closest to us.

Don't get me wrong, we've also faced some unexpected challenges (because that's just how we roll). But we have found so many moments of peace and joy along the way that I can only feel a sense of gratitude. Yes, we lost a lot in 2019. And that will forever be part of our stories. However, we have found a lot in 2020's silver linings.

If you think I'm brave, you should meet my kids. Seriously, the resilience I have seen in them has given me a glimmer of hope that somehow we got it right when we raised them! (And trust me when I say that I could fill a book with all the Parent of the Year awards we did NOT get for doing the wrong things.) I've seen it more clearly in 2020 than I ever thought possible.

Gracey has been such a rock. She's been strong when I've been weak. She's been calm when I've been stormy. And she's been soft when I've been hard. We've decided she's the kid who handles emergencies and stress of others the best. (But if it's her emergency.... Katy bar the door... she'll lose it.) She's a firecracker, and she's all mine. I am thankful for her every day!

Sadie's growth and maturity knows no bounds. She didn't let last year's "worst freshman year ever" stop her from going back to college with vim and vigor. She joined Zeta Tau Alpha right before she came home for the COVID crap, and she jumped in with both feet. She's an officer now and has found her tribe. Three of her sorority sisters are in the "Dead Dad Club", and the rest of her close friends in the house are the best support system she could ever find. The spring and summer really gave her a chance to adjust to the shift in storyline. I'm amazed at how well she's coping and moving forward. She's an inspiration and wise beyond her years.

Billy moved back to town, excels at his job, and makes being a daddy look easy. He's always ready to help me when I need something and has shown such growth this year. I know his heart aches to ask his dad questions, but he has been amazing. AND they welcomed Oliver Martin into their family last week. He's all of 4 pounds, 11 ounces - but he's already a fighter like his daddy. We are in love! I am so proud of the man Billy has become. His little family is finding its way, just as we all had to find our way when we became adults.

As for me, I have settled into my work-from-home life and learned that I have to take control of my life. This pandemic gave me the space I needed to see that I can't sit and wait for others to reach out to help me fill my time. That's on me. If I want to go to dinner with a friend, I call or text. If I want to talk through something, it's my job to reach out. No more sidelines or pity parties unless it's in the bathtub or bed! I want to live. I intend to love. And I certainly plan to laugh. I'll meet new people and find adventure....look for the golden opportunities. I won't sit still and wait for things to happen around me.

I hope as you read this you reflect on the things 2020 did RIGHT for you too. I know we aren't done yet. There's one more month to endure before we can close this year out, but 2021 has fresh pages in its chapter. We have no way of knowing what will fill them, but they will no doubt be full of memories. As for me and mine, we plan to fill them with fewer tears and many more laughs.

The Glittery Part

2020-10-03T12:35:00.006-05:00

"See grief, it's just like glitter
It's hard to brush away
Bright light and it still shimmers
Like it was yesterday
And it falls like confetti
All of the memories explode like a hand grenade
And it's sweet and it's bitter
Grief, it's like glitter
Oh, what a mess it makes
What a mess it makes" ~ Patrick Droney

Kerry always called glitter the herpes of arts and crafts. I think it's the herpes of grief too. This song so perfectly describes what it feels like to live after trauma. (I'll link the song at the end of this, because you definitely should listen to it.) It just creeps into everything at the weirdest times. Thank goodness my tribe is used to it. At any moment, something can make me cry - just for a second - then I'm back to normal. So weird.

I was going to wait till D day to blog, but I've realized that I just can't. Maybe that's because I was barely hanging on this time last year. I remained as hopeful as I could, and I was still fighting like hell for Kerry; yet, I just knew in my heart that we were losing the war. His body just didn't respond to anything, and he was wasting away.

As devastating as October 20, 2019 was to our family, the weeks leading up to it were gut wrenching and awful. They had me begging God to just make a move - whatever the move might be. I still feel let down by Him letting my precious, kind husband suffer - and for making us choose what to do at the end. And, if you finish reading this and decide you want to give me some preachy advice about faith, understanding, etc. - please don't. I don't need your Godly wisdom about this part. I don't write this blog to get advice or to explanations about why I’m alone and why Kerry suffered. I write it because sometimes I just need to word vomit and let my friends know what's going on in my head.

A few weeks ago I decided to start walking to get out of my house and to exercise. It started with taking both dogs, getting really sweaty, and feeling a sense of accomplishment. I think I spent more time worrying about the dogs criss crossing in front of me than I did contemplating life. As with all things in my life, it took a weird accident and some time for me to realize what my walks are really designed to do for me. (Scarlet tripped me - right in front of a house with people outside - so lovely. She now stays home.)

My widow walks (as I call them) are now 3 miles long and are my designated crying times. I can walk, cry, reminisce, exercise, make decisions, or just check out of life for bit. (Usually about 45 minutes... I'm not a fast walker. haha) I feel badly for the people driving past me thinking ,"Why is that crazy chubby old lady crying?" or, "I wonder if that fat girl needs a ride? Looks like she hates exercising!" (That last statement's not wrong. It's a love/hate.) A lot of time I don't necessarily think about anything in particular. I just let myself feel the hurt of being alone and of not having Kerry with me. We had so much fun together. I miss having that certainty of love and comfort. I never wondered where I stood with him. I never doubted myself. I loved marriage. My children and my marriage were my greatest accomplishments in life - and I just miss what used to be.

Don't get me wrong. Some exciting, fun things have happened in the last year for sure. My story continues; my future isn't written; and I don't spend all my time reliving the past. It's just those glittery parts that hurt. It's those moments of realization that this is permanent. My future is in front of me, and I need to find the excitement in that instead of the fear. I won't be alone forever - and I know that eventually the giittery parts will take on a sense of nostalgia rather than a sense of dread.

No one can really prepare you or explain just how traumatic loss is - and I can see how it really reshapes people. The framework of your life just changes, and not everyone knows how to navigate those changes with you. I am thankful to those who have stuck with me and let me work my way through it. There are some who check on me every day and some who just pop in with humor or wit when I cross their minds. Those who let me vent and/or obsess about every little thing have been invaluable - and that's not even mentioning my fellow widow friends who get it the most!! I love having friends who don't insist on making every conversation about my grief - and having those who let me make the conversation about it when I need to.

I'm thankful for those friends who knew Kerry well and can reminisce with me and stand beside me while I do brave things. And I'm thankful for those who didn't know him very well at all and are able to walk with me as i navigate my future without remembering how it was before, because they lift me up in a different way. They remind me that I still have a lot to offer.

So.... here we are. At the very edge of that year marker, I am still sad. But I am also still brave. And October 21, I'm going to "celebrate" surviving the whole Year of Widowhood.

And if you see some crazy girl walking her big black dog and crying, just keep driving. She's work
ing some stuff out in her head - and she's going to be just fine.

As promised, Here's the song:

A Lifetime isn't Long Enough

2020-09-06T06:13:00.001-05:00

"I've come to know that love's not only

The best days or the worst days

Love is the Tuesdays

Yeah, love is the Tuesdays" ~ Jake Scott

I met him when I was 22. He was this polished, reserved guy who wasn't sure what to think of my loud, outspoken personality. (I'm sure my purple dyed overalls and wild, curly hair didn't help.)

I married him when I was 27. He was still this polished, reserved guy who was 100% sure he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. (I'm sure my long legs, short skirts, and wild, curly hair helped.)

I spent our 22nd anniversary by his side as he came off the ventilator when I was 49. He was still a pretty polished guy who was apologetic that he was in the hospital. (I'm sure my determination to see him get well was zero help.)

Today, on our 23rd wedding anniversary, I sit alone in the home where we raised our family. I sit here wishing there was something I could do to bring him back, even if it's only for a few hours. I need his polished style, his kind heart, his soft hands. I need his arms around me and his absolute love. I need that sure thing. That feeling of knowing exactly where I stand, what he is thinking, and the certainty that I am the priority.

We were really good together. We weren't perfect, and we didn't go through 28 years of knowing each other without some big stuff. But it really did feel pretty easy most of the time. Marriage suited each of us really well. Fights were few and far between. And our level of commitment was high. We were determined to make it work. There was never a moment that I doubted his love for me. (I even carry a lot of guilt that his devotion was so strong. I'm not sure I deserved that kind of love, but I am thankful I had it.)

Just like the song I quoted above says, we knew that love is the Tuesdays. The best days of love are the ordinary ones where everything just falls into place. The huge crescendos are really fun and exciting, but they aren't where you find the comfort of knowing everything will be ok. The decrescendos bring out big feelings, but they don't prove that you're in it for the long haul. It's on the Tuesdays when you are rushing from one kid's event to another or quickly fixing dinner and running baths. It's falling into bed with the exhaustion that only parenthood and adult decisions provides.

And the ordinary days are the ones when I miss him the most. My heart aches to call him after work and ask what he wants for dinner. My soul cries out for him to call me or text me just to say hi and see what I'm doing. Some days it's just too much. Today is undoubtedly one of those days.

I am so thankful for all the years we had together. I know that I am truly blessed to have experienced the love we had. It just seems like it wasn't long enough. We didn't get to be old together, and do all the old people things we joked about. (Ok.. that I joked about. He swore he never wanted to be old. Guess he won that argument!)

We raised a beautiful family together and never took each other for granted. We loved with all we had. We were good even when we weren't good. For all of that, I am thankful.

Happy Anniversary to the man who made me into the woman I am today. A lifetime isn't long enough. I'll miss you till we meet again.

The Beginning of the End

2020-08-22T09:41:00.002-05:00

"When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight." ~ Kahlil Gibran

Ten months is such a long time when you miss someone. And it's such a blink of an eye when you look at a life. I waiver between shock that we've hit the year mark of Kerry's final hospitalization and relief that we're going to pass the year mark of all the hard things. I just wish there was some amount of distraction that could pull me through these next couple of months.

There was a bit of time where I didn't cry every day - or even get teary. And all the things I've written up to this point are true. I do know I can be happy, move forward, love, laugh, etc. But I think there was a false sense of security in that too. I thought I could skip the part where I drag myself through the muddy parts of the river. That I wouldn't have to stumble in the muck and mire or feel insecure and sad.

I was wrong.

Many hours have been spent talking to my children and walking them through their bad days. Even

more hours included talking to myself. We're all working out the details of our own stories. Many friends have heard me say that once I realized my story has to go on - and that Kerry's active role in that story is now finished - I knew I had to help the kids realize that too. Inserting him into our futures when we sit still and think just makes the hurt worse. We look for him in those moments, realize he isn't there, and the disappointment sets in again. Knowing this has been helpful when I've been floating in the calm spots. It's comforting to define it and face it - even though it also hurts so much.

I miss him.

The low points are really low. And allowing myself to actively miss him ends with a lot of tears and a headache. But tomorrow looms, the beginning of the end, and I know that I'd never want him back for that misery again. I have to just miss him and know that it's better than having him suffer. Better for us to claw our way to the clear water than sink in that terrible quicksand. Because, while I didn't write about it or talk about it to many, the quicksand was cruel. It was deep and treacherous. Those of us who were in it fought like hell. If anyone could have been loved well again, it was Kerry. I didn't have energy for anything except loving him as hard as I could while I looked for any tiny rope to pull us all out of that danger. No one escaped unscathed, and we lost the one we wanted to save.

I am exhausted.

A year of doing all the heavy lifting has really taken its toll. I am SO thankful for the friends and family that have worked so hard to help me - and even done some of the lifting for me. But, at the end of every day, I am still exhausted. I still have to crawl into bed alone, make plans for the next day, and wake the next morning to do it all again. I still have to answer the questions, put on a smile, and move forward alone. Alone isn't really my thing, and I've never pretended to want it. But here I am! And coming to terms with it has definitely exhausted me. I'm ready to float again. I need the cleansing, easy water back. I need to spend more time with my tribe and less time in my head. It's time to get out the floating cooler, the happy playlist, and the inner tubes. But I just have to get through these next few muddy spots and hope I can find fun again.

I am ready for happy.

Trying to figure out what I really want out of life at this point is so scary. Not being one for change, I am terrified to make any more changes! But I know that happiness is on the other side if I'm willing to make the effort. It's time to take chances and get ready for it. If you see me struggling along the way, just know I've crawled, waded, paddled, swam, and drifted for almost a year. I've been weak, strong, brave, content, sad, angry , frustrated, exhilarated, and even sometimes happy. You'll see insecurity, fear, confidence, and maybe even foolishness - all within minutes of each other sometimes. Or, if you don't see any of that, just know it's all in there. I'm hoping alllllll the things don't paralyze me as I begin to paddle. I hope that I am strong enough to find open water and recover that peaceful feeling I had a while back. Because I really am ready for happy.

Closer to Fine

2020-07-18T10:32:00.003-05:00

“It’s not about the ashes, for they tell a tale of what was. It’s about having a vision sufficient to understand that the tale that lies among the ashes stands ready to build the dream that will rise above the ashes.” ~ Craig D. Lounsbrough

It's been an exciting week!

With the exception of few touch ups, new decor, and some window painting, it's done!! The first phase of Charee's "This is Home" renovations are complete. It feels really good to have something fresh and new while maintaining all the amazing memories we created here. I won't lie - it's definitely been more emotional than I expected. The excitement, trepidation, and grief all rolled up into one project was exhausting. (Part of that may be the frustration involved with having to rely on others to do it! I was really spoiled with a handy husband who did things to perfection.)

I love it!

But now I have a beautifully painted house and a gorgeous new kitchen! Plus I was blessed to have a lot of support along the way from some pretty amazing tribe members (you know who you are).

So, once again, I am reminded that change is good; and, out the ashes of loss, happiness can be found. I don't have to let go of what was - but I need to step out of the smoke and fire to see what possibility lies ahead. And I have to remember to be brave. I have no doubt that Kerry would love the changes and be super proud of me for doing it. He'd also have a bleeding ulcer by now, but let's focus on the positives!

In progress

The girls and I went to the mountains earlier this month with some of our favorite people. A change of scenery was so good for my soul. We hiked to a waterfall, sat on the back deck of the house and drank coffee, watched the deer and marmots, and just relaxed. Getting out of town and feeling normal was good. There was no construction zone there, and it was a fresh, new place that didn't hold memories that take my breath away. It was a chance to make new memories. And we all know I love making memories! It was good to see the girls have fun.

When we came home, everything kicked into high gear. All three kids have some big change coming their way too. Billy and his family are moving back to town - HALLELUJAH - so preparing for that is big. Between buying and selling their houses AND getting ready for a new baby, their change is big! Gracey and her precious boyfriend are moving to a new place, and Sadie will return to college in a couple weeks, which entails a LOT of change on top of the normal college move-in angst. (Social distancing in a sorority house is a major oxymoron.)

So, I'm not sure any of us will have time to even think about last July and August. Being busy definitely helps, I think. We don't have time to dwell on all the stress that started last year at this time because we have new stress.

Life is good. It's different but good. Those differences come with new beginnings and new things to make us smile. I can't wait to snuggle a new baby and get those exciting phone calls from OSU. Watching Gracey grow into such an amazing, confident lady makes my heart swell with pride. And I look forward to cooking dinner in my new kitchen and spending time making some new memories too.

It's ok to build above the ashes. It's acceptable to sit in them and cry too. I get to do both. But I won't let the ashes steal my future. So, here we go.

Phase 1 is complete.

Hold on. I think Phase 2 is going to be interesting!

And go listen to this song. It'll take you Gen Xers back to college....but it's just so good.

A Shift in Perspective

2020-06-27T08:18:00.002-05:00

“What you see and what you hear depends a great deal on where you are standing. It also depends on what sort of person you are.” ~ C. S. Lewis

Wow. What a world we live in today. So much turmoil that everyone argues so loudly and stands so firmly on his or her own truth that no one is listening. It hurts me to watch all this madness and all the self righteousness. I have to tune out just to get a sense of normalcy. And I find myself thinking, "Kerry was the exact opposite of all this. So steady and kind, stern in his beliefs yet never starting big arguments to get them across. He'd hate all of this chaos."

I miss Kerry's gentleness. I miss his quiet way of moving around me and just handling the little things that needed to be done. He brought this sense of calm with him when he was near. (I know many of my faithful blog readers - all 3 of you - know what I'm talking about.) It may be a temperament achieved through raising girls, because I see it in a lot of the men who I term "girl daddies". But I even saw it in him when we first met. He was just so gentle, and his gentleness was what kept me on steady ground.

This month has been very loud. June is busy in our family because of birthdays, Father's Day, summer kicking off, and a bunch of other random things we always do this month. I guess my subconscious thought it was also the right time to get crazy with my house. I knew it was time to do some things I can see as mine and not ours. But I wasn't thinking about the fact it would happen the same month as so many big firsts.

Kitchen in progress!

As I mentioned last month, I decided to remodel the kitchen and paint the exterior brick. (There are a few other things on the horizon for later as well.) Clearly, I didn't consider the nervous energy these things bring along. People in and out of my house interrupting my newly created telework routine and the obstacles in the way of deadlines and promises have woven their way into my already stressed out brain.

Two out of the three big days (Father's Day, Gracey's birthday) proved to be a bit easier than we'd expected. The emotional build up to them was probably terrible for those around us, but the actual days were good. Tuesday will be a rough one though, because it would have been his 52nd birthday. (Also my actual due date for Gracey, but she joined us early.) Why does it make me so sad to think about his birthday? UGH. Probably because I know he'd be getting excited about riding his bike or getting his favorite meal to celebrate. Because I'd hear him chuckle at cards we gave him and read all the Facebook messages, commenting back with his sarcastic, silly replies.

But Tuesday will mark the end of a month that brought a lot of emotional ups and downs and make way for July, the month everything started going wrong. I think that's what is weighing on my heart so heavily. I know what's coming. The really awful firsts loom over me. The first 'anniversaries' of the hospitalizations, multiple diagnoses, ventilations, phone calls, feelings of helplessness.

It all wells up inside me because I'm standing outside it now. I'm not swirling in the middle, taking notes and asking questions. I'm not using all the strength in my body to love him well and pray him back home. Now my perspective is looking back at all we endured for four months. I can tell you that it hurts worse when you look back this first year. I didn't have time to hurt when I was living it. Because I'm a fighter. I had my head down and gloves on. I wanted to win for him.

The other night we were eating dinner and a family's name came up. They lost a family member quite a while back in an accident, and we were wondering how they were doing. I turned to explain to someone else what happened, and I stopped right in my tracks. It hit me that our story is one of those stories now. Someone brings up one of our names, and another has to explain. Everyone has a story. I know that. But I guess I never felt my story, any part of the one I had before losing Kerry, was tragic. Maybe there were parts that were not good. Maybe some chapters of my life were worse than others. But I think I was pretty charmed in general. Life hadn't kicked me in the gut all that hard. I was able to be a strength and help to others with caring born from love without the wisdom of actual experience.

My favorite picture.

My perspective shifted a year ago. What I see and what I hear feels different, and the way I react within myself carries bigger meaning. Checking my emotions is the norm. Wanting people to come together and get along remains in the very top goals of each day. The people I spend time with are the ones I cherish. My little day-to-day conversations with those closest to me have even more importance. What I see and hear now has much more intention than it did a year ago. And, honestly, I think that's always how Kerry was when he lived. He was intentional. He cherished us. It's just who he was. It's not that I haven't had those qualities too, but now they are amplified. I feel them more deeply the way I think he probably did.

I plan to cling to the idea that maybe I've been given the gift of a little bit of Kerry's essence. Maybe as we climb to the peak of the painful firsts, I'll see the beauty of all that lies below. The great things we've done this last year despite the pain and the sense of achievement in the survival can only bring happiness and peace going forward. I look forward to both.

Well Loved and Still Living

2020-05-17T15:07:00.001-05:00

”When we lose someone we love we must learn not to live without them, but to live with the love they left behind.” – Anonymous

Well, here we are.. on the verge of another month. It's getting closer and closer to the year anniversaries of it all. A year since he got sick; a year since he was put in the hospital. A year since he was on the ventilator. Ugh. I dread it all. Being a year into all of this seems surreal to me. Sadie and I talked about how when we say "a year ago" there will be some who think that everything should be fine now. It's old news. That we should be okay with his being gone. Somehow as we near those markers, my waves of grief are hitting more frequently.

I don't spend all my time wishing him back anymore. And I don't compare events in my life now to what it was like with him here. I just miss his voice and his company. I miss the easy intimacy that being together for so long brought me. I miss how he made me feel beautiful - so I never cared what others thought of how I looked! And I miss the confidence I felt knowing he was behind every decision I made. (Thank goodness I have a council of friends to help me with that part.)

I also think talking about him helps. We mention him all the time. We tell stories and probably make people uncomfortable when we do. But by talking about him, we continue to live. And we feel the love he left behind in everything around us. We aren't going to let him go. We are going to keep him close to our hearts and continue to grow too. We can have both.

This virus stuff has been such a blessing on the grief front too. Sadie has been home longer and able to work through some of her grief among family and friends. She is ready to go back to college, but I definitely think this is giving her a chance to heal. She's working at a flower shop for the summer (something Gracey and I are sure we could never do) and brings home fresh flowers here and there. I think it keeps Kerry close to her in some way. And the flowers in the house definitely feel normal.

We also decided to plant a garden. Here's what it always looks like:

Every April/May, we gear up to garden and beautify around the house. Sadie starts asking about the garden. I start planning as many unreasonable projects I can think of, and Kerry ramps up his energizer-bunny mode of getting things done. I post pics on Facebook, and everyone oohs and ahhs over all his hard work. Then I bust my rump the rest of the summer with weeding, etc. It's a cycle.

So, as we've proven to ourselves over and over since the beginning of this journey, we moved full steam ahead. Unfortunately, we didn't have our energizer bunny. Needless to say we've been winging it, and I'm pretty proud of us! It wasn't easy. It's been stupidly emotional for me. But we did it!

This year's gardening included planting some flowers in the bed out front - and we threw in some Forget Me Not seed that my good friends, the Desai family, gave me. So far everything is on par for veggies and flowers this summer.

I'm also doing some home improvement projects. My kitchen remodel will hopefully get started in a few weeks, and I'm having the brick on the house painted. A few other things are in the works for the fall too. These are things we knew we'd do someday. We just didn't know I'd be doing them alone! It feels good to make some changes and start to own my future. Fear can't keep me paralyzed, and grief is just going to have to weave itself into the happiness I'm determined to find!

Kerry's love is in us and around us everywhere. His friends, my friends, our friends... everyone sticking with me through all of this plays a vital role in our lives. You may not think your text is important or realize that Facebook comment mattered. But I can promise you we are grateful. I think I really stink at showing it, but PLEASE know how much it means to me to not be forgotten.

So, if you find me getting weepy, don't be scared! It'll pass. You can either cry with me or tell me a joke. Both would be welcome. But if you see me laughing as if I have no care in the world, know that it's been hard fought to get there. I am thankful I have been well loved.

And, if you find yourself craving squash this summer.....hit me up. I have a feeling there will be a bumper crop.

A River of Peace

2020-04-19T12:52:00.002-05:00

“Something quite unexpected has happened. It came this morning early. For various reasons, not in themselves at all mysterious, my heart was lighter than it had been for many weeks.”

~ C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

Oh, 2020. You are a jerk. Perhaps not quite the jerk 2019 was for me, but still a jerk. Sadie spent weeks lamenting "the worst freshman year of college EVER", and now we are all quarantined - awaiting the great escape to our favorite restaurants! I'd hoped that we'd catch a break this year - but it looks like this is just Rough Year 2.0 for the ol' Smiths.

And amid all this uncertainly going on with a global pandemic (COVID-19, aka "The Rona"), I find myself more at peace than I was last month. I'm still sad. It still hurts just as much every time a memory or realization stabs me in the heart. Yet I'm somehow at peace. We have a lot of "firsts" coming up with birthdays and celebrations, so I'm just going to rest in the peace I feel right now. Rough waters ahead - but TODAY my heart is lighter.

I've narrowed it down to a few reasons for my peace - although I'm sure there's some therapist out there who would give me a thousand more.

I know where he is. For some reason, I can't take myself back to the time before Kerry was sick. It wasn't a long illness, and it wasn't straightforward or uncomplicated. But, I just can't think of him in today's present with a whole, healthy body. And the thought of him sick with all of this virus stuff gives me immense anxiety. Thankfully, I KNOW where he is. And I know he's whole and healthy, probably waiting for me to get my crap together. I trust and believe that while we are hurting, he is not. I can promise you that I'd rather hurt than watch him hurt.

My children are strong, resilient, and still brave. We've moved to a place where my kids can come to me when they have a sad day. I think for a while they hesitated to say it to me. There was more introspection - maybe even talking to each other. Now, it's not uncommon to get a text or call - or just a conversation in passing - saying, "It's a sad day for me." To know that they are able to verbalize their grief and talk about it gives me comfort. My worry for them is less even though my sadness for them will never cease. I can't give them back their daddy, nor can I fill that void. But to be able to sit with them in their moments of sadness gives me hope that we will all be okay!

Being alone isn't as scary. For so long, I felt completely overwhelmed by everything. The mere fact I own every blade of grass at my house gave me a panic attack. Then, once I decided to visit friends, take some small road trips, I was able to breathe. It's funny how just a change of scenery and a little adventure will give you perspective. Now, I know I can be alone. And I can make decisions about this little Smith kingdom without completely freaking out. (Thank you to the people who let me bounce ideas of you, and those who serve as my advisory team. haha) I don't enjoy being alone, but I know I can do it. I am capable even if I'm not terrible willing! Bravery isn't always fun, but the reward of realizing that I can be along without feeling terrified helps a lot.

My support system is better than yours. (HA!) But really... I don't know what I did to deserve the people in my corner. I am forever grateful every day that I have the help I need. Without a doubt, a simple phone call will solve any problem I've got. The number of people that just check in, drop me a quick text, or stand ready to help amazes me. Knowing that, while I am alone, I am not IN THIS alone has kept me sane. I love my girlfriends who don't stop talking about their own spouses because they are afraid it'll make me sad. They keep it real, and they love me right where I am. They let me brainstorm all the scenarios of my life without judgement. And my guy friends love me right where I am. They let me be needy and insecure, but they don't try to take over and do things I need to do myself. My "advisory committee" helps me make the big decisions, and no one has shied away from my moments of uncertainly. Even my kids are part of this system. We collectively decide things and bounce ideas off each other. Life is less daunting when you have a support system. (And it seems to take a WHOLE system to make up for Kerry's support. We should have known it along, right? He sure did shoulder a lot. You just thought I was the strong one...)

So, there ya go.

Peace really IS like a river. It's both narrow and broad, shallow and deep. Some days I have more peace than others. And when I'm standing in the streams instead of swimming in the deepest part, I will remind myself that if I just keep moving, I'll get back to the spot where I can float again; where I can appreciate everything I have.

I miss Kerry. I want him back every day. But I have found peace while we are apart. For that, I am thankful.

Stepping Out of the Fog

2020-03-16T19:44:00.001-05:00

"Sometimes, only one person is missing, and the whole world seems depopulated. " –Alphonse de Lamartine, Méditations Poétiques

Five months. This week will mark five months since I held Kerry's hand, heard his voice in person, laughed at something he said, or told him some story about the kids.

It's also been five months since I saw him wasting away in a hospital bed, lying confused and scared because of medication, suffering in silence in order to lessen my worry, or told me some story about something in the hospital room that isn't there.

Now you can imagine the crashes of waves that hit me. They are sometimes selfish, because I want one more day, one more moment, one more hug. Those waves feel like I'm drowning over and over as I know I won't get those things this side of Heaven. Then they become tall and painful because I'd never wish for him to experience one more of ANY of the things he endured for two months in the hospital - and an entire month prior. Those waves are much harder and hurt more as I know letting him go was the right thing to do - and I have to accept God's (terrible, in my opinion) plan.

This past month, since The Great Thank You post, has been an awakening for us all. I think the fog is lifting more with each week, and we as a family are realizing how much we just existed on autopilot for a while. It's like waking from a dream and not being knowing where you are.

I realized it when I was reading back through cards and letters we received. I kept getting surprised by who they were from because I didn't remember reading what was written. And yet I KNOW that I read every single one. When the kids and I started talking, we all agreed that we could remember bits and pieces, but most of the day-to-day things are gone. Even some of the weeks leading up to his death are a blur. I don't know if it's from sheer shock and dismay, pure heartbroken grief that felt like it would never ease up, or just the way we protect ourselves in times of trama.

Some days it feels like five years. Some days it feels like five minutes. Mostly, it just feels like forever. And coming to terms with that is a work in progress.

Austin with some HHS friends!

There are fewer moments of taking my breath away, though. And driving home for work is really the only time I find myself crying out of nowhere (almost every day). My friends are AMAZING when I just need a minute to catch my breath when I'm telling a story or remembering something that chokes me up.

I've taken time to travel and reconnect with people, and by doing so, I've found laughter and happiness. It doesn't mean I've lost my grief, but I've been able to live. I'm finding out who I am now that I'm alone. Scary most of the time - but exhilarating to see that I'm truly braver than I ever thought possible.

We had to..

The kids and I make points to do random things for fun and not be afraid to joke around about what Kerry would be saying or doing. We miss him, but we keep his spirit alive by talking about him. He's part of my every day conversations, and I'll never hesitate to speak his name out loud or mention something about us. Because it IS still "us".

We are still a thing. Not even a new person in my life would ever take about the "us". We were so good together, and we loved fiercely. I know I will love again someday because I know what it feels like to be loved perfectly and to love perfectly. (I also now know what it's like to be left with all the stuff a pack rat spouse leaves behind. Who knew someone could prepare me for the Coronavirus scare with all his extra cleaning supplies with zero knowledge it was coming?!) Those lessons can't be wasted.

Five months.

I wonder what the next five will bring. I hope they bring more laughter, more memories, and more healing. I believe they will bring a lot of new experiences and probably a lot of tears. But without a doubt, they will come.

I can make it. My kids can make it.

If you see us smiling and laughing somewhere, know we're making it.

Thank You

2020-02-17T17:49:00.001-06:00

Grief is like a long valley, a winding valley where any bend may reveal a totally new landscape. ~ C.S. Lewis

Thank you. I know this blog post may feel less personal than a handwritten thank you note, but the daunting task of writing “thank you for the **insert gift, card, or meal here**” so many times really made me stop and think first. I know so many people took time to reach out to our family, and I just think that deserves more than a quick handwritten, but impersonal, note of thanks. I wanted to print it and mail it to everyone. But, again, that overwhelmed me too. And I just think waiting longer isn't really plausible because a lot of things overwhelm me these days. That led me to this.

Pardon all the words. I’m verbose.

Thank you for the cards, letters, meals, gift cards, money, phone calls, texts, pumpkin spice items, groceries, flowers, wreaths, plants, and prayers. Our family marvels at the outpouring of love from so many people. The funeral, while sad, was such a blessing to us. Kerry would NEVER believe so many people came to tell him goodbye. He’d also be completely shocked at how generous everyone has been to our family, and we know he’d be thankful for the support system of people walking with us through this unexpected tragedy. More than anything, I hope he’s in Heaven with the knowledge that we are cared for deeply.

My amazing kids (and niece)

How are we doing? No one wants to ask because the answer is complicated and, frankly, scary. You want to know, but you don’t want to know, because grief is scary and ugly. There’s no magic potion to make it easier to face – either as the person who runs into us at the grocery store or as us. THANK YOU to those who have just offered a hug or a quick hello. And if you were scared to speak to us, don’t be. There are no right words to say, and even the wrong ones show you care. But in answer to the question, I’ll tell you that we are on the road to figuring it out.

We are strong. Kerry and I have raised amazing children, and every day they amaze me more with their strength and love for me and each other.

Billy and Meg have been incredible through this ordeal – and shown a lot of maturity when it isn’t always easy to swallow the notes of sympathy about me and “the girls”. – He’s been a Smith for 10 whole years, but not everyone is quite as aware of the adoption! Billy misses his dad and wishes he’d had more time to learn from him, but I think he’s got the basics down pat!

Gracey is a pillar of strength. She has shown maturity beyond her 21 years, and been in charge of cheering me up when I know her heart is breaking too. She looks to the future and has the optimism we all need. I am thankful for her absolute support and love.

The "Team" whom I'll never be able to repay.

Sadie, our Dean’s Honor Roll OSU Cowboy, shows me every day that hard work and perseverance can pull you through even the toughest of times. She’s got her big girl panties on and is kicking her freshman year in the butt even though she aches to hear her daddy tell her how proud he is of her accomplishments.

We are sad. That story circulating about the old man comparing grief to waves is spot on. It comes in waves, sometimes tidal waves, but it seems to hit us all at different intervals. I’m thankful our bad days are staggered, because it lets everyone else hold up the one getting knocked down by the wave that moment.

I find myself crying less, but having a dull sense of sadness lingering just under the surface. I find I get my feelings hurt about silly things and have to stop myself from taking things personally. (All new to me as I’m pretty thick skinned.) Sadie said we are like cats. We know what we don’t want, but sometimes what we want isn’t what we want either. She’s not wrong. Mostly we all just want Kerry back, and with that possibility taken off the table, we just struggle.

We are brave. On our worst days, we still stand together ready to face whatever comes our way. It’s exhausting and scary. It’s not easy. And it’s definitely not without tears. But, by gosh, we are determined to be brave. We make the hard choices. We make the not-so-hard choices. And we face the really scary, awful feelings with as much grace as possible.

Billy is helping make a list of things we need to do around the house, which makes me less stressed knowing someone is thinking ahead. Gracey stands ready to handle anything she needs to, and Sadie always stops to analyze feelings with me while we (the talkers of the family) work through all the complex emotions of being with Kerry.

It’s hard to be brave. I won’t lie. But I am SO proud of our bravery.

We are grateful. Those who text or call just to say hi are invaluable. The friends who stop to invite me to dinner to make the days and nights shorter, and I am very grateful! Having support and unconditional love even when we haven’t been all that loveable has been amazing. (Ok – mostly me – not so much the kids…I’ve been a bit salty here and there. But thank you to those who have weathered it and not been offended or walked away. Particularly those who just loved me tighter and kept coming around.)

So many chapters of our books aren’t written, and we weren’t ready for this plot twist. I wish I could see each person who gets this letter and say something in person, but that will likely take years.

Thank you for your prayers and your love. We wouldn’t make it through this without you.

Love,

Charee

Sometimes Life is Hard

2019-10-11T15:35:00.003-05:00

"Healing takes courage, and we all have courage, even if we have to dig a little to find it." ~ Tori Amos

I've struggled with writing this. Not because I'm a super private person. And not because I couldn't find the words. (Let's be honest here. I'm NEVER short on words.)

I've struggled because the topic isn't my struggle alone. It belongs to my husband, my children, my family, and my inner circle. And it's big. It's messy. It's scary. And it's so sad.

My precious husband is really, really sick. Because all the explanation would be enough for a book, I'll just say this: his body is not playing nice and his GI tract is worn out. We don't know where this battle will end, and our deepest prayers are that he will rise from his sick bed and find good health again.

We've been battling illness since mid-July, and it's just hard. Kerry has viewed life from a hospital bed for 7 weeks and counting. He's lost weight. He's been on a ventilator at one point. He's had every orifice of his body poked and prodded, not to mention his dignity has been stripped away because he can't do things for himself.

The number of hours I have spent at the hospital may very well equal the number of hours I've spent at my office. I can't lie. It's been brutal. He's fighting for his life, and I'm fighting for OUR life. Our wedding anniversary was very lonely while he lay in a bed on a ventilator. Taking our baby to college was excruciating because Kerry didn't get to go along. Living in our big house alone was too much to take, so my precious niece moved in with me. This has been the biggest battle I've ever fought. It's sucked.

I've been asking myself what God is doing here. What am I supposed to learn while we battle illness? What is the right way to handle all of this? What does our future look like? How do I support my children as they grieve for their daddy who is too weak to have a long conversation with them? How do I support my family with our income reduced? How will I pay the bills from all of this? What will the end of this chapter in our lives look like? Why does this have to hurt so much?

So many questions run through my head, and answers seem to elude me. I wake at night worrying. I sit in the quiet of the hospital room worrying. I eat lunch worrying. There isn't a moment of the day that I don't worry. And, worse than the worry, I have found that I'm not nearly as good at receiving help as I am at giving it. I'm also a full-on wench when I think someone isn't caring for my person the way I want him cared for. Don't test me. He is my priority, and I am fighting like a mad woman for him while he can't fight for himself.

When this all started, I closed ranks. I put on my big girl panties, dug in my heels, and decided that Kerry and I could handle anything life threw at us. I didn't see any reason to raise the alarm. If anyone asked questions, I'd stress out and shut down. I just wanted my husband to feel better. I didn't WANT to talk about his bowel movements or his belly or anything else. I just wanted it go away. I could feel myself pushing back. The anxiety was terrible. And yet I couldn't stop myself.

Y'all, the thought of taking one breath on this earth without Kerry there to breathe one too is more than I can bear. I went to dark places in my heart and mind. I had to stop and remember to live hour by hour, day by day, and pray harder than I've ever prayed.

As days turned into weeks, I have slowly begun to realize that I can't fight this battle alone. Shutting everyone out when help is offered isn't the right way to do this. And, recently, a coworker said it best: I have to surrender. He meant surrender my will to God, and I agreed. But this week, I realized that it's even bigger than that. I have to surrender my pride. And I have to surrender my anxiety and fear.

Lately I've been opening up more. I'm more receptive to offers of help. The care packages that arrive from my out-of-town friends have been incredible blessings. My lawn staying mowed - and meals showing up on my porch - were more needed than I realized. The help fixing my air conditioner and heater, family coming to stay with me (and Kerry at the hospital), friends coming in town to spend time with me, and people helping keep Kerry's business intact overwhelm me. Did I mention the friends who have sat for hours with me and helped me make really hard decisions? And the friends in the medical world who are standing with me to help with all of that?

When I have a panic attack, I have someone to call. When I need to cry, I have someone to hug. And I have so many offers of support. My friend Wendi is right... when things get hard, cream rises to the top - and it's not always from those you thought would bring it. (I can ALSO tell you that it is easier to be the cream! I love to help, fix, and do.... but I'm the worst receiver ever.) We sure have a lot of cream in our bowl!

So, alllll of this to say that we are in a battle that is not won. Kerry is slowly rebuilding his body. I am slowly finding a new normal while trying to be more open to help and open to talking about the struggle. Life is hard. I'm super sad and super scared.

And I am SO THANKFUL to have a support system to help me through this. I have the greatest kids ever, and the strength they show every day as we stand in the battle and surrender to God's will makes me think maybe we did something right with them.

I know this blog post doesn't really have an ending. It leaves more questions than answers. But that's just where I am right now.

I have more questions than answers.

The ending is uncertain.

But I do know that I am surrendering. The plan is out of my hands. I can't even fight the fight for Kerry. I have to surrender while he does all the hard work to get well. And I have to realize that surrendering doesn't mean stop fighting. It also doesn't mean I can't be brave and courageous. It just means stop pushing back. Stop trying to do it alone.

Thank you. Thank you for all the help. Thank you to those for making me accept the help. And thank you for standing in the gap.

Those Summer Nights....

2019-07-06T20:34:00.001-05:00

"I love how summer just wraps its arms around you like a warm blanket." ~ Kelle Elmore

June has been so much fun! I'm not sure I've ever eaten as many snow cones in one month. Our Ice Hole adventure gives us time to stop and enjoy the summer evenings (even when they are sweltering), plus we get to recap our day and talk about all our summer plans.

I won't lie. Sometimes I'm tired and just want to plop my rear on the sofa. But I haven't regretted going on a snow cone run yet! It's fun - even when it feels like a job. And our followers make it even more fun.

The last group of stands were definitely varied in quality and style. Here's our take:

MeMe's Arctic Sno in the Drug Emporium Parking Lot (45th & Western)

This was the first stop of this set of stands, and it was possibly the windiest day to go! We blew into the parking lot ready for some sweet deliciousness, and found a friendly staff member who took our orders. The prices were higher than we'd seen elsewhere ($2 for a small that is the same size as kiddie at most other places) but the flavor selection was good.

They have 50 flavors and keep a really clean trailer. They had plenty seating, but the chairs are kind of short for the tables. It felt like we waited a long time to get our orders, but the wind could have played into our patience.

As I've said before, I've never met a snow cone I didn't like, and the flavors were good. Sadie joined us, and I think she was surprised at how seriously we take this adventure!

We tried the following flavors:

Salty Dog (pickle/margarita)

Daquiri

Bubblegum with cream

Raspberry

Yellow cake batter with cream

Some of our comments:

"Nice seating area."
"Flavor is good."

"Customer service was friendly."

When we were leaving, a gentleman that sat at the table next to us said, "Write nice things about us". It seemed odd to us that the owner or owner's spouse didn't stop and say hi if he knew we were there. Was he trying to listen to our conversation? (I'm sure that was disappointing. We talk about pretty mundane things.)

The Pop Stop on Western (close to American Vengeance Tattoo)

So, in all fairness, this little place is a year-round store that sells snacks and soft drinks. It advertises that is sells snow cones year round, so we decided to try it. Because it's not the main purpose of the place, we suspected it would be a different quality. We weren't wrong. These remind us of the older style, childhood snow cones. They have 175 flavors, a lot of seating, and a great location. But if you're looking for that super smooth ice, this won't fit the bill. Prices weren't high, but the quality wasn't either. I bet it's a great place to grab a drink though!

We tried the following flavors:

Banana split

Tangerine

Tsunami

Irish cream

Some of our comments:

"They need real spoons."

"Flavors don't match the names."

"Nice seating area."

"They don't seem very prepared for snow cone business."

I think if I got a hankering for a snow cone in November or December, I might stop by, but maybe not.

Uni-Cones at Shoot the Moon Fireworks on Coulter (This one is mobile.)

So, as a special request, we ventured out to Shoot the Moon Fireworks to try a Uni-Cone! We were NOT disappointed. They have our favorite kind of ice, and their flavors were delicious. It was even MORE fun because we had some friends join us AND it was Kerry's birthday

We tried the following flavors:

Watermelon with skittles

Red cherry with a snow cap

Dreamsicle with ice cream

Red Velvet

Cheesecake

Georgia Peach

Some comments:

"This ice is great."

"I love the flavor."

"Sizes and prices are good."

"Since they are mobile, it might be hard to find them each time."

The presentation was awesome. The service was quite speedy for the complexity of the orders, and the flavor was amazing! I'd follow this trailer around to get their deliciousness!

P.S. SnoCone at 34th and Western

We happened upon this little neighborhood stand when we were realized the next one on our spreadsheet wasn't open. It's an older stand, that has a lot of great flavor choices. With 140 different flavors, you'll probably find something you like. They serve shaved ice, and would be an awesome place to sit and enjoy a good snow cone if they had seating.

Their customer service was good, and the stand was clean. If I lived in the Paramount area, I'd run by there every day for a quick treat!

We tried the following flavors:

Orange splash
Candy apple
Caramel apple
Butter pecan
OSU with cream

Some of our comments:

"I wish they had seating."
"They need to update their menu into one big one."
"I'd eat this again!"
"The flavors are good."

We all agreed that we'd try it again, but seating is a must for us! We like to hang out and enjoy our snow cones.

Stay tuned for our next set of stands! We'll be back on the road tomorrow. (And go follow our Facebook page: Don't Be an Ice Hole!)

Blah Blah Blog

To the Future…

Drifting Home

The Write Stuff

I Opened the Gate

Sing Me a Song

“Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.”~Berthold Auerbach

The Choice is Mine

So I Did a Thing.

Happy Birthday, Kerry.

We are always the same age inside. ~ Gertrude Stein

I Need a Plan.

Who me? Spoiled?

Hope Springs Eternal... Literally

The Fire Inside

"Even the darkest night with end, and the sun will rise." ~ Les Miserables

Love fiercely. Because this all ends.

Silver Linings and Golden Opportunities

The Glittery Part

A Lifetime isn't Long Enough

The Beginning of the End

Closer to Fine

A Shift in Perspective

Well Loved and Still Living

A River of Peace

Stepping Out of the Fog

"Sometimes, only one person is missing, and the whole world seems depopulated. " –Alphonse de Lamartine, Méditations Poétiques

Thank You

Sometimes Life is Hard

Those Summer Nights....

“Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.”

~Berthold Auerbach