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.