Two years, just like that

I never know how to start these blog posts sometimes. In my mind, I jokingly hear something, like, ‘Hi, my name is Kim and I’m a hot mess.’ I guess I’m not alone with feeling like that. Everybody’s got stuff in their lives that they are dealing with. And it doesn’t always show. And we tend to keep that to ourselves because it can seem like it may be embarrassing to think you’re a hot mess.

But most likely, you’re not really a hot mess, you just have life going on. You’re just a normal person with normal problems. The kind of problems that for some reason we’ve been made to believe are better to keep private so people don’t judge you. So, we’re always fine. Great! Perfect. Nothing to see here. Mind your business.

Tonight marks two years since Robby passed away. Some people tell me it gets easier as time goes on and some say the second year is the hardest. I don’t know, honestly. I think every day is what it is. That’s the thing about grief. You never know when it will hit you. It could be a moment at work when someone asks how your day is going, and when you go to say, “Great,” you end up in tears and you don’t know why because you’ve gotten so comfortable saying everything is fine, you push those hard feelings out of your mind.

Rather than focus on the things that Robby has missed the past two years, I try to focus on how far I’ve come. I have an awesome job, super amazing friends, and a loving supportive family. For the first time in my life, I own a home in my name, I bought a car by myself, and I have slowly created enough financial stability to build for the future.

As for the ‘break-up’ I wrote about last blog? Turns out, it was a ‘wake-up’ and not a ‘break-up.’  The wake-up? For me, I realized I was sabotaging the chance to have an amazing relationship with an amazing man. It’s hard for someone to love you when you are holding back and not allowing them to love you the way you want to be loved. And I'm grateful for the wake-up, because there's a lot of love there and it's pretty awesome.

Someone pointed out to me that you have to be vulnerable or else you’ll never have a really deep and connected relationship with anyone. Yuck, who wants to be vulnerable? But vulnerable is good. Cutting to the chase is good. Even bad is good because you never know what’s possible if you aren’t honest. It’s what moves you forward. Even when it hurts, and you never want to feel sad again.

And moving forward is the best choice when you’re still alive. Robby’s death made me realize how short life can be. And I don’t want to spend the rest of my life spinning my wheels because I’m scared of being hurt or worried about what people think about me.

Robby would be proud of me. I know that because we talked a lot about what would happen when he died. He was always very clear that he didn’t want me to withdraw from the world and be sad. He told me he wanted me to find love again because I deserved to be loved and I was too young to live alone, closed off from the outside world that I love so much. He said, “Just promise me that when you do fall in love again, it’s with a man that realizes how amazing you are and loves to laugh and enjoy life as much as you do.” And that’s a promise I plan to keep.

And while I try to focus on how far I’ve come, my real focus is my kids. They haven’t weathered the loss of Robby the same as me. They had a different relationship with him. He was their dad. And he was a great dad. Great dads are missed—like a lot. Like every single damn day. When a parent dies, there is always that spot missing in your life because you want to tell them you made a new friend, you graduated, you started college, you fell in love, you got dumped, you got a new cat, you drove to Atlanta by yourself, you discovered a new comic book, you need advice, you need to talk about life, you need a big hug.

I don’t know how today will go with the kids. I’ve done a few pulse checks to see how they are feeling, and I get the same response--them nodding their heads, eyes watering up, telling me they are OK. They’re fine. Great. Perfect. Nothing to see here. Mind your business. I wonder where they get that from?

I’m sure we’ll have some people reach out and say they are thinking about us today. We always do. And it’s nice to be remembered. It really is.

So, what I’ll ask for this year, don’t worry about me. I’m good. I’ll always be a little sad, but I knew this was coming at some point and have made my peace. I spent that first year after Robby’s death working on myself and getting to a place where I felt like myself again. Like I was ready to take on the world, by myself. Unstoppable. And I kept hearing that voice telling me I needed to get out and live my best life. And I am.

But the kids aren’t in that same place. I honestly don’t know if they ever will be. So, send them your love. Find a way to let them know you haven’t forgotten about their dad or them.

I know we all get busy with life, and it can be awkward to reach out sometimes. I’m not mad about it. But, vulnerable is good. Cutting to the chase is good. Even bad is good, right? Because it’s OK to be scared and sad and not know what you are doing. There isn’t a rulebook for life. All any of us can do is try.

And while even bad can be good, trying is better than nothing. Nothing isn’t going to move you forward. Everyone else will find a way to move on without you when you do nothing. Because life moves on even when you don’t want to--even when it hurts, and you never want to feel sad again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Noise In My Head

 A friend asked me the other day why I wasn’t blogging much these days. Truth is, I got busy, and then I just didn’t really feel like it. Made me realize I need to get back to it. Mostly because writing helps me process my feelings and the noise in my head. And right now, there’s a lot of both.

So, the busy part? My son Jude graduated from high school at the end of May. I kind of got obsessed with that. Like soccer-mom obsessed. After being on lockdown and then quarantine, virtual school, and then his dad dying, I wanted to make sure his senior year was as close to perfect as possible. I spent prom, his last music performances, the last week of his senior year, and all of the graduation events in tears. All I could see when I looked at him was that little boy that used to jump up and wrap his little arms around my neck and give the biggest kisses.

I even took him on a trip to Boston after graduation to go to the Boston Calling music festival. For a kid that’s never been to a concert, he finally got the full music festival experience. We had the best time ever. We staked out our places out front for both nights of Nine Inch Nails. Run the Jewels. Weezer. Cheap Trick. But stayed in the back for Metallica after Jude got a bad ear infection that I stuffed with an ear plug and later won the award for ‘worst mom ever’ from his doctor. But totally worth it.

We walked all over Boston and ate something amazing at almost every stop. Took the subway everywhere. And talked a lot. Which isn’t always easy with Jude. He reminds me so much of me it hurts sometimes because I know how he’s feeling. Likes to be quiet in his thoughts. Easy going. But when something excites him, he can go on and on and that’s when I stop and enjoy a chance to talk. The rest of the time, we just moved around in silence, enjoying the time together, but respecting each other’s space and not asking questions. I hope we can always do that.

Then I took a trip to Manchester, England, all by myself. I planned the trip after I decided on the spur of the moment to buy Foo Fighters tickets for Old Trafford. I had always wanted to go to a big rock concert at one of those giant stadiums in England and just decided, what the hell? I hit the ‘buy’ button and the concert later sold out in less than five minutes. Obviously, that was canceled, but my family got me tickets to see Red Hot Chili Peppers in Manchester, so I stuck with my plan and boarded the plane in June and set off on my own with a hotel reservation, backpack, passport, and no idea what I was going to do aside from the concert. I hit the concert the first day there and it was just like I imagined it would be.

I spent the rest of the week wandering around the city, eating my weight in pies and cakes, checking out museums, shopping, and people watching. I made a promise to nap every day and stuck to that. It was probably the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever allowed myself to do and worth every penny. I highly recommend solo vacations if you are brave enough. And if you aren’t, just invite me.

The rest of the summer was spent navigating Veronica’s depression, work problems, and hoping I had enough money saved to pay for Jude’s college. I finally bought the house from Robby and became a solo house owner for the first time in my life. Bought a car that I love to drive. Spent a lot of time with my besties doing cocktail nights and long brunches, and got some good time in with my family.

And then, this week, I ended a relationship with a man I was very much in love with. And that’s the ‘I really didn’t feel like it’ part of not writing much. Because I knew the end was coming, but I just didn’t know how it would end. I kept waiting for him to end things because I knew something was off, but that never happened, and things would be great. He would assure me things were fine and to just enjoy what we had, and I’d ignore that tiny voice in my head saying something was wrong and chalk it up to hormones or being tired. I kept thinking he would get to where I was, but then I finally got the confirmation I needed to know, and he wasn’t. So, I angrily walked away. And that was it. Just like that. Heartbroken.

Break-ups are always hard no matter how old you are, but luckily they get easier with me as I get older and hopefully wiser. I know it hurts a lot at first but if I keep focused on myself and stay busy, then in a few weeks, I’ll be back to my new routines without that feeling that something is missing. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again so the people in the back can hear, it makes no sense to survive traumatic experiences and not learn from them so you can do better as life moves on—and therapy helps, a lot. Because life does move on. Even when you don’t want it to. And you never know what great adventure will happen next so it’s worth it to stick with life and keep moving forward, even when you don’t want to.

It's better to board that plane to a place you’ve never been, all by yourself, than sit at home and wait for life to happen or change. It’s hard. But worth it. I haven’t given up on love or finding someone I can happily spend the rest of my life with, but I’m not going to settle for half-way. It’s all or nothing for me. And to some, that may seem like I want too much. But we all deserve happiness. Even me. Even you. Why waste any more time on crumbs when you can sit at a café by the water in Manchester all by yourself and eat the biggest slice of Victoria sponge cake while reading a great book and listening to the entire Foo Fighter’s Sonic Highways album while people-watching? Yes, I know, oddly specific.

But that can be that moment where you realize life is too short to settle for crumbs. To settle for ‘I do love you and I’m sure I’ll get all-the-way in love with you one day.’ And if I’m honest about the recent breakup, I don’t hate him. I am angry at him, but I feel like people come into your life to get you to that next step and that’s what he did for me. I wish it could have turned into what I thought it could be because we had more in common than anyone I’ve ever dated, but it didn’t, and I’m actually fine with that. You can’t make someone love you. I learned that a long time ago, the hard way.

With the gentle pushing hands of my family and friends, I somehow keep moving forward to this life I know I was meant to live. I don’t know when I’ll get there, but for now, I’ll turn up the music Jude and I shared together, savor the times Veronica feels like spending with me, let my friends and family love on me, and keep taking crazy adventures by myself.

Because the music isn’t over until it’s over and I’m still out front, singing at the top of my lungs, to my favorite bands, with the people I love the most, right by my side. Even with that guy that is somehow no longer on this planet but finds time every day to shout out to me when I least expect it, “Hey, Texas, you’ve got this.”

Yes, I'm OK

Yesterday was a tough one. I woke up to a few texts asking me if I was OK and I had no idea why. I was immediately worried something bad happened to someone in my family or a best friend. Or something. Something bad. I scrolled down until I found a longer text that said Taylor Hawkins, drummer of the Foo Fighters, had died. I got online and found the article and was stunned. As I read the article, I knew that most likely meant no more Foo Fighters. No more concerts, no more new albums. The last time I saw them live would most likely always be the last time I saw them live. 

I’ve written about my love of the Foo Fighters several times in this blog. It’s usually the same theme. A lyric hits me a certain way. A song inspires me somehow. Dave Grohl does something awesome.

I find peace in their music. I find hope in their music. I find myself in their music. I’ve made connections with other fans that love their music the way I do, and for music lovers, those are the kind of connections you can’t always have with people in your regular day-to-day life. 

Music is personal. Why you love something may not be obvious or shared by other people. And it’s fine. If you like it, then like it. If you love it, then love it. And I do love the Foo Fighters. 

I was a little late to the game on their music and didn’t discover it until I just happen to be going through a very difficult time in my life. Maybe that's why I love them so much. Their music became that soundtrack for what I would call my daily therapy. I was in a bad marriage. My ex was in Iraq. I was home alone with two small children and my only release each day was my daily runs. I didn’t exercise to lose weight or stay in shape. I exercised because I had to for my own sanity. I would turn on my music and just start running until I didn’t feel so sad anymore. 

I first listened to their music after I found a Foo Fighters CD at the library while I was there for story hour with the kids. I thought, I’ve heard good things and should probably give this thing a listen. It was There is Nothing Left to Lose. I was hooked and over time, I went on to get the rest of their music. 

Every day I’d shuffle through my Foos playlist, run my heart out, and then be ready to take on the day. Their music got me through all the tough times in my life from then on. A horrible divorce, Roni’s surgeries, grad school, stressful jobs, being flat broke, the death of my second husband. Really any bad day. I’d put in my earbuds, turn up the volume and just let the music wash away the bad until it didn’t hurt so much. And when those songs come on during a good day, it’s just as good. Even when the kids were little, they knew the rule of the car was no one talks when the Foo Fighters are playing. The kids still walk into the kitchen when I’m cooking and the music is up and they can instantly sing just about every line to whatever Foo Fighters' song is playing and they probably have no idea why they know it. 

After Robby died, I decided I would start a special savings account just for concert tickets and traveling around to see the Foo Fighters and meet up with other fans. I have two upcoming trips to do just that and now I have no idea what will happen except I won’t see them. And let’s be honest, in the big picture of life, that’s not so bad. I’ll miss a concert, but there are kids and a wife and family members and a really close band that lost their everything the day Taylor Hawkins died. 

And that’s the thing with death that sucks so much. It’s final. No second chances. No more having someone walk through the door to say hello. No more smiles. No more hugs. 

But the thing about life is there are second chances, new memories, new opportunities, big hugs, and hopefully something to smile about. Something to hold on to—even if it’s just for a minute before it’s also gone. 

So, am I OK? Of course. This isn’t my tragedy. Nothing will ever replace my love of the Foo Fighters for getting me through the toughest times of my life. But that’s just how life works. It goes on even when you don’t want to. Because life doesn’t stop until it does, and until then, I’ll keep moving forward, soundtrack on full blast, trying to live my best life with the people I love.

Maybe I'm the asshole

 I love a good lazy Sunday. Catching up on housework for a bit and then spending the rest of the day relaxing or eating brunch with friends. Doing a little day drinking.  Practicing self-care-Sunday. Taking a nap. It’s usually on days like this when I get to see how much we’ve put off during the week. 

For example, we have a fun game in our house that we like to play where we see how many times we can open the lid of the trashcan in the kitchen and smash down the garbage as far as it will go in an effort to hopefully repeat that same maneuver enough times during the week that you only have to take out the trash twice—once a week if you push down hard enough. I mean, like get your back into it. Jude is really good at this game. It could possibly be the only exercise he gets each week. He’s even perfected his move by using a clean paper plate to cover the top of the trash so his hands stay clean. We have a lot of fun games like this—like cover up the clean clothes on your bed with your bedspread so you don’t have to fold them, or hide dirty dishes in your room so you don’t have to load the dishwasher, or move the table in the kitchen over so it covers the spot where you dripped your chocolate milk and didn’t feel like cleaning it up right then because you’re playing video games. But then on Sunday, all of these games have to come to an end and actual cleaning has to take place so you can do it all over again during the week.

Speaking of coming to terms with your Dumpster-fire life on a Sunday, it seems my last blog post about depression stirred some feelings for people. I was surprised by the number of people that reached out to me via social media, messenger, or text and told me what they were going through with their children or themselves or a family member. It’s been eye-opening for me because writing about what it’s like to live with someone with severe depression helped me realize why so people have sort of disappeared from my life after Robby died. For a long time, I was really mad at some people because I felt like they turned their backs on the kids and me. I thought after Robby died, I’d have people over here checking on us and making sure I was invited to their parties and events. But then I’d see crap on social media about how they were out living life and seeing other friends or whatever and I’d say something to Veronica about it. Usually, it was after a glass of wine and it would go something like, “Fuck those people.” I know that’s not very nice, but it’s the truth. And she’d tell me I was over-reacting and that she didn’t feel that way. She’d say, “They are probably still sad about Robby, and they don’t know how to be around us. It’s hard to be around people when you are sad. I know. And I’m not mad and you shouldn’t be either.”

Well, damn. She’s a smart girl. And I’d like to take a little credit for all the thousands of dollars I have spent on her therapy except when she ‘reads me,’ she’s usually 100% correct. And it’s humbling.

After she calmed me down, I’d feel a little bad for feeling that way. A little bad, lol. I’m still angry sometimes and I never know what will bring it on. And some of you are probably reading this and wondering if I ever said, “fuck you” about you. Honestly, there is no telling. That's how emotions work. Sometimes they make no sense to anyone except you. 

It’s kind of funny what we think about but especially what we think others think about us. And like my mama used to tell me, they probably aren’t thinking about you as much as you think about them because they are thinking about themselves and trying to survive like the rest of us. 

Why do we waste so much energy creating these scenarios in our heads where we wonder who is mad at us? Who is talking about us? And it’s a vicious cycle with depression because you’re too depressed or you have too much anxiety to see people or reach out to them, but then you feel guilty and like the worst friend in the world and that makes the distance even greater because you don't even know where to start once that fog lifts a little. But we never tell people that. We never say, “I’m a fucked up mess right now so please listen to the music while I try to get my shit together.” We put on a smile, post our obnoxious things on social media, and just hope everyone thinks we are fine. We’re fine, right?

I never really put a lot of thought into why people were keeping their distance from me. That’s a lie. I put so much time into it. Like a stupid amount of time and I can tell you, I was wrong every time I tried to guess why I wasn’t hearing from someone. And now I know the answer was there all along, and I didn’t listen to it because I think I’m smarter than my daughter. I think I have the world figured out and it’s my job to teach her how things work. But she gets it. She knows why people keep their distance. Why they sit in their homes and close the shades and never pick up the phone to check in but spend a crazy amount of time on social media posting memes and being funny. Now I can see that behind that Wordle post for the day, is most likely a very depressed person, barely capable of being able to get out of bed in the morning. They have the energy to hit 'like' on your post about finding the best grilled cheese sandwich in town, but they can’t find a way to ask you how you are doing, let alone put their arms around you and hold you while you cry a little. They can’t say they love you, but they can post a photo of their dog on the couch wearing glasses and get all those laughing face emojis to feel somewhat normal for the day. They can wave and smile when they drive past but they can’t stop the car and roll down the window to have an actual conversation. They’ll turn down your offer to meet for dinner because they say they are tired, but what you don’t know is they are tired because they haven’t slept for three entire days because their anxiety is off the charts and every time their head hits the pillow, a million thoughts come in and keep them awake all night. 

And I guess it’s none of my business what you are going through and what it does to your relationships. Your day is bad enough without knowing that I’m at home saying “fuck those people” to my daughter. But being honest about her depression helped me see that something she said one night during one of my wine-infused pity parties was pretty spot on—maybe you're the one with the problem? Maybe I am. Damn you, overpriced therapist. 

Maybe my friends that I have felt abandoned by are just trying to survive through the week and rather than take the time to address what’s going on, I’m taking that clean paper plate and smashing down on their problems in an effort to keep my hands clean and avoid the hard conversation. I keep smashing it down but at some point, the trash gets to the top and you have to address it or lose those relationships. Because if I wanted to know, I guess I could always ask. I mean, that’s what I would tell my children and my friends to do. Just ask them. Pretty simple. Maybe I am the asshole. Maybe not. (I totally am, BTW). 

But who really cares who is right and who is wrong in this situation? We are all just trying to survive in our way. We all need love and I’m sorry if I was an asshole to you. If it makes you feel better, sometimes I’m an asshole to myself and I should probably give myself more hugs and forgiveness on a lazy Sunday as part of my new self-care routine. And you should do the same. Starting now. 

Broken hearts, smashed glass, and dealing with depression

 Alright, another week down and things seem to be going pretty well right now. Or course I know I shouldn’t say stuff like that out loud because that’s when things start not going so well. Like the other day, I was getting a suitcase out of the attic for Veronica so she could go away for the weekend with her new boyfriend. Yeah, I know. I’m not sure how I feel about that either, but she is 21 now and she really needs to get out of the house more, so if grabbing a suitcase out of the attic helps, I’ll happily do it.

She followed me to the garage to retrieve the suitcase and I looked over at her and said, “This is going to be a great trip, sweetie.” Then of course, when I pulled the rope to open the attic hatch, I noticed a box of Christmas ornaments had somehow fallen and wedged itself in between the slats of the wooden collapsible ladder that I have to pull down and unfold to access the attic. Veronica was standing beside me and noticed it as well. She handed me a nearby mop and as I tried to hold the box still with the mop handle, while unfolding the ladder, the top of the box opened up and the ornaments rained down on my head. I closed my eyes and ducked my head and listened to the sound of glass breaking all around us. And when I looked back up, I opened my eyes just in time to have the ladder swing out and smack me in the face. And I thought, yep, that’s so on brand for my life right now.  

Veronica just stood there with her mouth open and then finally asked, “Mom, are you OK?” I kind of laughed and said, “Yeah. Just get the suitcase and let’s get out of here.” We left the pile of broken ornaments on the garage floor and walked back inside the house. I quickly decided I’d deal with it later. I didn’t even want to start looking at what was ruined and what survived. Veronica told me to just leave the broken stuff for her and she’d fix it when she got back from her trip. If you know Veronica, aka The Duchess, you know an offer like that is pretty rare most days. But I could tell she meant every word.

I guess out of the three of us, she’s taken Robby’s death the hardest. If I’m being honest, she wasn’t exactly doing well before he died. She had dropped out of college near the end of 2019 and was later hospitalized for her depression. Rather than sitting in class and walking around a college campus like most people her age, she spent her days at a mandatory outpatient program to try to get a handle on her depression. She then started volunteering her time at a local wildlife rehab facility and seemed to finally find her place in the world taking care of animals that were in worse shape than her and things seemed to be getting better for her. Then Robby died. And I felt like we were right back where we started. Staying in bed all day in a dark room. Isolating herself from everyone. Lots of crying. Lots of anger. But I guess the silver lining of experiencing how death affects a family, she no longer wanted to kill herself and put her brother and me through that trauma. She didn’t invent grief or depression, so I know she’s not alone in how she deals with things, but it’s hard to watch. It’s especially hard for a mom to watch. And trying to help is overwhelming. Everyone is quick to offer suggestions and advice--and most of it sucks. You can’t kick out your adult daughter when she’s down no matter what Dr. Phil says about tough love.

Robby had become her dad. She even asked him to adopt her so she could have his last name. They had a close relationship that could be very complicated at times since they were both the most stubborn and outspoken people I’ve ever met, but they loved each other very much. He was a good dad to her, and she was his little girl. He took her to her first father-daughter dance, sold Girl Scout cookies at her booths, and protected her at high school every day. And to make the loss of her dad even worse, a lot of Veronica’s depression stems from the bad relationship she had with her bio dad—the same guy that turned his back on her many years ago. Sometimes she’ll say something about how she’s lost two dads. I’m not really sure how anyone is supposed to cope with being dealt that hand in life.

Every once in a while, I’ll have someone reach out and ask how the kids are doing. With Veronica, my answer is usually one of two responses: This is a good week or this is a not so good week. I try to be honest about it even on the days when I don’t feel like talking about it because I’ve realized how many other people are struggling with their own kids her age or even struggling themselves as adults. It’s comforting to know you aren’t alone. The amount of depression and anxiety among young people is staggering and sometimes as adults we don’t get it. And if you don’t have sympathy for it, you may just blame phones or bad parenting or social media or a lack of exercise or some kind of crap like that.

And as a mom, you can be a super-mom and give your kids all the love you have to give along with boundaries, a good therapist, and the occasional surprise of Kispy Kreme on a rainy Sunday, and they still turn out not OK. And for some moms, that’s just not acceptable and they feel like complete failures. I know I have. It’s like this idea that if you work hard, good things will happen for you. But the truth is, you can do everything you think is right and give your children all the love and time and money you have to give and still fall short. They’re still depressed. They have no interest in working or going to college. They don’t take care of themselves the way they should. They are angry at you and blame you for their problems. And sometimes they hug you and say they love you and they don’t know what is wrong with them. They would rather sit at their computer talking to people they’ve never met than sit at the dinner table with you and make small talk. But it’s not personal even when it’s coming from the people you love the most in this world.

And you know what? It’s OK. Sometimes you can do everything you think is right and you still end up with chaos. Just like how you can take a box and pack away your precious Christmas ornaments and put them up in a safe spot. But that box can somehow get bumped when your back is turned and find its way to an open hole in the ceiling of your garage and rain down on your head and break all around you—and when you think the worst is over, a ladder pops out and smacks you in the face to remind you, but wait, there’s more. And sometimes you don’t have the strength to deal with the mess and you have to walk away and close the door until you are ready to sift through the pieces and figure out what is still OK, what can be glued back together, and what just needs to be let go of because you’re going to spend too much time trying to fix something you can’t fix right now, or maybe ever.

I’m hopeful Veronica will keep moving in the right direction so she can live a life that is full of happiness and fun memories. I’ll continue to do everything I can to help make that happen. But for now, she’s gotta figure this stuff out and keep working on it. I can’t fill that void she feels right now, and I don’t know if that void will ever be filled, but all I can do is love her. That’s all any of us can do. Love these kids and the other people in our lives that are suffering with all our heart and hope that one day is better than the last and the next is something they look forward to, and maybe one day, they’ll love themselves as much as we do.

Dating apps, quicksand, and merry-go-rounds

I’ve been meaning to write a new blog post for a while, but to be honest I didn’t really have anything that I thought was worth talking about. Life is just clicking along. Same stuff. Different days. I stay busy working, taking care of my kids, and going out with friends, and now that I’ve added in dating for the past several months, my dance card stays pretty full, as they say. And if you’re wondering, dating still sucks as bad as it did when you were doing it. And if you are still in the dating scene, then you know. You get a bunch of texts from a person and then nothing, ever again. Poof. They just disappear even after they’ve sent you ‘good morning, beautiful’ texts for the past 6 days in a row. And you don’t know their last name, so it’s not like you can check to see if something bad happened to them. You just have to imagine things like, they must have fallen into quicksand on their way to the coffee shop. Or my favorite, you start texting someone back and forth for a while and then make the crazy suggestion to have an actual phone call or meet for a drink, and then the quicksand must have made its way to them because it’s total radio silence and you have to eventually go back to the app and see who the next possible date/quicksand victim will be. Sometimes it works out. You meet a nice person. You have dinner and a few laughs, and they somehow are able to avoid the quicksand that is apparently taking over Savannah-area coffee shops.

I’ve made a few new friends. We enjoy each other’s company, but we also know the relationships aren’t going anywhere serious—because we’ve had that conversation already. I’m not ready for that and most of them aren’t either. I would like to eventually meet someone I can travel with and go to concerts with or just meet up to check out a new restaurant, but right now, I like my space. It's just fun, quicksand tragedies aside.

I guess what makes the difference between being able to make life fun is being able to get to a place where you are not consumed with loneliness. Something I wasn’t sure was going to happen for me. I think it’s obvious I was consumed with loneliness, but maybe I did a good job hiding it. I spent most of the first year after Robby died hating to come home except to see the kids and hug them. If it wasn’t for the kids, I probably would have gotten rid of the house and found a place that reminded me of absolutely nothing. It suffocated me. And sitting on the couch alone was the worst part of it. I did it every night and I hated it. I would just sit and watch TV and feel so lonely. I would watch my phone and see if anyone was going to check on me and the kids, and when they didn’t, I would try to come up with excuses to call people just so I had someone to talk to.

I had my monthly tele-therapy session the other day and I said something out loud for the first time. It was a little shocking because I had not realized what had changed in my life these past five months until the words came out of my mouth. My therapist said, it sounds like you’re doing really well right now. And I said, yeah, I’m just in a good place where I’m happy to be alone at home. She gasped and said, what did you just say? You’re happy to be alone? And I started laughing. I said, yeah, I really look forward to getting home after work and being able to be alone on the couch and watch TV by myself. I actually get a little annoyed when people are calling to check in on me—especially when it was the season finale of Dexter!

It doesn’t mean I don’t ever feel a little lonely. I just don’t have that heavy weight in my chest all the time, wondering if I’ll spend the rest of my life sitting on the couch alone. I think one of the hardest things about losing someone is you feel like everyone else’s lives just keep going while your world just stopped, and you worry it will be that way forever.

I picture it like one of those old metal merry-go-rounds at the city park--the kind responsible for multiple bruises in grade school and causing second degree burns in the summer. Any way, you are standing there on the ground while all of your friends are going round and round on the merry-go-round. They are laughing. You’re yelling to them to stop or slow down so you can jump on, but they just keep spinning and laughing. Your feelings get hurt because you think they don’t care, but really they are just having fun and don’t realize how you feel standing there alone. Then you finally get the nerve to start running alongside the merry-go-round until you finally reach out your hand and grab the metal bar and jump on with everyone else. It takes a minute to get your feet under you and steady yourself enough so you can look around and feel the wind in your hair. And then you smile and take a deep breath because you made it and it wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be. And it doesn’t seem like a big deal to anyone else. They are still laughing and spinning.

There are still days where I wish I could take a small timeout in life and disappear into that quicksand that seems to be devouring the men I meet on dating apps, but those days don’t happen as much. Luckily there are more days where I just fall into my couch at night, turn off my phone, and sit alone in the dark listening to my record player. And it’s not because I’m depressed this time. It’s because I’m finally finding that peacefulness that comes when you decide to stop standing in the grass and you make the decision to run alongside that merry-go-round until you can grab hold of that metal bar, jump up, hang on tight, and feel the wind in your hair.