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.”