April Fools, for sure

 Dear Kerr,

April 1st.  April Fool’s Day.  And life’s cruelest joke was played 3 years ago.  I only wish it was all a terrible prank.  I’ve wanted to write for a while, but I avoid it (just like going to the gym) because sometimes it’s easier to avoid what’s hard.  Writing to you means taking time to feel and not just shake the thoughts aside or shove the lump of tears down.  And feeling my true feelings is a hard thing to do so I work everyday to keep living alongside the feelings instead of through them.  Duh I’m in therapy… so this is not bad.  It’s not avoidance.  It’s living with grief.  But it is important to let out what’s really inside some times so … here I am.  Why today?  Because I can’t just shove the feelings aside today.  THAT’s too hard on this day.  So, I might as well write to you.  

What to say that I haven’t already said before?  Nothing really.  So here are some of my wishes:

- I wish Simon could’ve seen hope through the pain

- I wish I could’ve helped him.  I still believe I could have.  I don’t know if I’ll shake that feeling or the guilt.

- I wish, despite all of the many beauties life has blessed me with, that I wasn’t also cursed with so many cruelties

- I wish you could’ve had the chance to show off what I know would’ve been the best Aunt in the world skills

- I wish my brain didn’t replay April 1st and the weeks following on repeat

- I wish my brain didn’t visualize Simon’s final moments

- I wish I could hug you (and smell the cookie perfume)

- I wish I wasn’t the one to tell mom and dad about Simon (not that I wish anyone else did… just don’t like being a part of that memory or even having it myself)

- I wish I could talk to Simon

So what will I do with all of these wishes I can’t find a genie to fulfill?  I’ll lean-in.  Maybe today.  Maybe not.  But I do try most other days.  I’ll lean into the beauty of my girls, the big boys, all of our family, friends I’m so lucky to have, joys at work, sunny days, puffy clouds, hippos, bulldogs, a hot fresh cup of coffee with vanilla creamer in the morning, the perfect song for the moment, a great hug…

I try to find the moments of joys most days.

Today I’m letting myself do the hard thing.  I’m letting myself feel.  Feel the sadness, feel the wishes, feel whatever comes. It’s like I can literally feel my heart breaking or having a harder time pumping.  Because… how could it not?  You’re all gone.  And that’s terrible!  All of the loss hurts me beyond belief.  But Simy?  It does feel like constantly being broken without a fix.  Maybe it can be a sick April Fool’s prank we all wake up from some day.

Until then… I hope you’re together.  Smiling, joking, laughing, and enjoying Passover around bubby’s table.

XO

Me

Uncle Marlow

 Kerr,

Today marks a year without Marlow.  Are you with him?  Is Bubby making cake?  Sadly, it’s like her dining room table is almost fully back together… the scene brings a smile and a giggle, though.  The yelling… the chatter… the good food.  FAMILY

The week Marlow went was really hard.  Visuals I hope to lose but probably won’t.  He had gotten quite thin (an understatement, but I’ll spare you a true description).  He still had his mind … on Sunday he told Mom to come over the next day because he needed a gallon of milk.  The month prior, he wouldn’t let us see him.  It was the point at which he knew the end was near and could feel it, and see it.  He made it clear he wasn’t going to put any of us through that.  Just a week before he passed, we had an hour long call.  Not because it was a ‘Marlow’ call but because it took all of his energy and lung capacity to get through a call.  So it was slow, but I cried through begging him to let me in, to help him.  He cried telling me he appreciated it, but he needed to do it his way and I needed to be okay with that.

Welp… that Sunday night, he knew he couldn’t do the rest alone.  So he called mom for a gallon of milk.  My mom didn’t know what she was walking into, but she went.  He didn’t need the milk.  He wasn’t eating or drinking.  He needed to get his last wishes down on paper with her.  Who would be the pallbearers, etc.  Mom let us know the end would be near.  I made my way over that day.  It was Kenna and Harley’s first day of school.  I had Lorna watching Dakota.  Mac was out of town.  I told Marlow all about their first day and what they were excited about.  He nodded, tried to engage.  I was glad we had the chat.  1 more after the hour long, emotional one.

Ultimately, he agreed to go to the hospital so he could get the right pain management.  The next 36-48 hours were hard.  Hard to see him in that pain… hard to see him take his last breath.  I’m glad I was with him, despite the hard visuals.  He was always, always there for us.  

Knowing us, though, there’s a funny story in all of it … you’d get a kick out of it.  That Monday, I had to leave the hospital to get home to the girls and get them to various activities.  I asked Lorna if she could stay so I could go back and advocate to have him transferred.  It was a long, heavy day.  But I had to stay positive and strong for the girls.  They were in the car, and we were on the way to dance class.  Blue and red lights and a siren came on behind me.  I thought ‘great… this is what I need added to this day’.  Immediately, the conversation went as follows:

Girls: ‘Omgosh you hit someone?!’

Me: ‘no! I didn’t hit anyone!’

Girls: ‘you crashed a car?!’

Me: ‘no!  I didn’t crash a car.’

The police officer comes to the window… my plate was expired.  I swear, I never got the reminder and nope… I hadn’t looked.  So he goes back to his car to run all of my info, etc.

Me: ‘it’s okay girls, I just didn’t buy the sticker for my license plate.’

Girls: ‘you don’t have money?!?!’

Me: ‘oh my gosh yes, I have money.  I just didn’t do it. All is well.’

The girls told everyone I got pulled over.  You’d be cracking up.  I could imagine the boys doing this to you when they were young.  The best is, I got off with a warning.  You’d say - oh sure… if it were me, I’d be arrested. :)

I like having this funny moment tied into the hard days.  It’s the only way we get through, right?  The parallel of pain and joy, of a breaking heart and the reality of life continuing.

I miss Marlow.

I miss you.

I miss everyone we’ve sadly lost.

Thanks for my dime yesterday.  I’d like to think it was Simon :) I need more signs from him.

XO

Love you,

Me

Golden Birthday

 Dear Kerr,

It’s Simon’s golden birthday.  As I type that, I can feel my heart race and sink, I absolutely hate having to think ‘he should be turning 21’.  No one SHOULD be turning that age… you should make it to that age.  Our world has been flipped upside down so many times … but if I let myself play the what-if game, if I let my mind pretend our world is right-side-up again, I think we’d be out of town this weekend.  I think we’d be in Vegas.  Maybe we’d have corny shirts again like at my messy-with-Tessi 21st Vegas bash.  You’d for sure plan 1 big dinner for everyone who came, and I think we’d decorate the heck out of a cabana.  I can see him being both embarrassed and also loving the big celebration… pool ladies with sparkling bottles, DJ shouting out Simon’s birthday, and all of us living our best lives with Simon, who for so long, was the baby nephew.  

How different would life be… if this was a TV show, a big cloud bubble would come over my head and we’d jump into an episode all about what it would be like if you and Allan and Uncle Aaron and Uncle Marlow and Simon were all still alive.  I’d add Bubby and Papa in there, but at this point, they’d be well into their hundreds :) I would’ve loved to have shown papa a smart phone, though, and get his takes on world news while Bubby cooks up a storm…

Writing to you allows my mind to wonder where it wants.  I try hard not to do that in my day-to-day.  It takes a lot of energy, but I have to do my best to be mindful of what I think about everyday.  It’s too hard to wonder what life would be like.  It would be better… sure, I can’t know what it would be, but having you all back would for sure be a scenario I’d love.  It can be exhausting, and hard, and distracting, but I try all day everyday not to think about how the girls were robbed of the best aunt and 1 of the 3 best big boy cousins, and a kick-ass super-fun full-of-advice brother in law.  

The bottom line is, I miss you all.  I feel like so many of these losses were out of my control, and while mental health can be too, I still feel keeping Simon alive was controllable.  One day, maybe, I’ll let that go.  Maybe it’s because I wish with every fiber of my being that he would’ve held on, that I feel and wish I could’ve changed it.  But for now, for today, I’ll let myself drift sometimes to that heavily decorated cabana, busy pool, loud music, good food, and incredible fun.

Thinking of being near you and Simon is both sweet and incredibly heartbreaking… there goes the fast-paced sinking heart feeling again…

I miss you.

I love you.

Happy summer solstice, Simon!

XOXO

Me

What would we be doing?

 Dear Kerr,

I think about writing you a lot.  I sometimes talk it out in my head, but putting the digital pen to paper feels harder than it used to.  And right now, I wonder so many things… can you really see this life?  And if so, do you have any ability to puppeteer it, per se?  I imagine, no.  But if you can see it all, then can you see the good and the bad?  That has to be hard to see the good and not be able to celebrate, but also just as hard to see the bad and not be able to help.

I feel blah.  I hate when I’m blah.  It’s a hard thing to shake.  The grey cloud that hovers … and you know the only clouds I like are the big bright white puffy ones.  Sometimes finding the joy through that cloud seems nearly impossible.  But I keep going.  It’ll shine.  It has to.

Tomorrow is my birthday, but you know that.  We’d have lunch.  Where would we go?  Here’s the thing, I could use some of that bright light to shine through.  If you can send me a sign (and maybe make it a birthday gift :-)  Just let me know you’re there.  That it’ll all be okay.

I love you.

I miss you.

Hug Simy for me.

X

a decade

 Kerr,

I logged on and was genuinely shocked I haven’t written to you in a whole year!  I’ve thought about it, but I don’t know what to say.  I used to fill you in on life… what’s become of mine and your kids’ lives and such since you left, but then it just felt too sad after Simon died.  I still have new things in my life and in the girls’, but it just sort of seems silly … like making small talk and discussing the weather (although! It is my least favorite kind right now - dreary and wet).  The only thing I can think to tell you which carries the same kind of weight as death is that of Marlow’s.  What a whirlwind.  The first week of February to august 21st.  So damn quick and awful and unfair.  3 months for him and 10 years for you.  But I imagine you know that.  I still imagine you all together at Bubby and Papa’s house.  I told you that’s how I picture Heaven, right?  You’re all at Bubby and Papa’s.  The familiar holiday scene… kitchen table, dining table, yelling, serving, and now Marlow is using his wrench to open the pop.  I guess Simon is getting to experience it all since he hadn’t before, and Allan, too.  Did he ever experience a holiday at Bubby and Papa’s?  I know they were certainly alive and well together, but I don’t know if he ever went there for one.  Maybe my idea of heaven is a childhood memory (I can actually remember) and one that felt good, and wholesome, and solid.  Maybe it’s my brain’s way of trying to bring me some kind of theoretical peace amongst this super fucked up reality.  Bubby, Papa, Allan, Uncle Aaron, You, Simon, Marlow… the list is far too long.  And now it’s been a decade without you.  Truth is, it’s not easier; it’s harder.  Sure, you get more used to it (although sometimes I do go to call you), but it’s just the norm now.  But the norm isn’t easy.  It’s awful and difficult and sometimes near impossible to live without you and without Simon.  My life continues, a lot of amazing things do continue to happen, but you and him… you’re not there to share it with.  The truth pops up in every moment of joy or happiness - how would this be different if… I was cuddling with Kenna and Dakota on the couch tonight (Harley was in bed already) and I said - do you know who would’ve just loved you so much?  And Kenna said, with a smile, Simey.  I said yes! And he did, he knew you! But who else? And she said, Aunt Kerry.  She didn’t get to know us.  It’s true. You never got to know my kids.  Or see your boys as their big cousins.  Simon was so freaking good with them.  So proud.  So capable.  And you’ve would’ve spoiled them rotten.  I told mom I could hear it … a few years from now one of them would yell - you’re horrible!  I’m going to live at aunt Kerry’s.  It would’ve happened.  They would’ve known you were the best and you would’ve been their happy place.  Oh how they’ve been robbed.  Of you and of Simy.

I always said I’d never be able to live if I lost one of the boys.  I’m managing … my grief and my will coexist.  I live for those boys and for my girls, for Mac, for mom and dad, for our family, and for my clients.  I do love what I do, I do love my friends, I do love our family.  I just wish, so deeply and terribly and desperately with all I have that I could have you and Simy back.

I cannot believe it’s been 10 years.  Although, it feels like forever - 10 years without you is forever.

Goodness do I love and miss you.

XO

Me

9 years

Kerr Bear,

It’s been 9 long years since you’ve been gone.  9 years… such a long time.  It didn’t fly by.  It’s been very long.  It’s funny because the 5.5 years of having kids has flown by, the work, the trips, the milestones… they’ve flown by, but the hardships make every second and every minute last.  They drag on.  No matter how much you don’t want them to.  It’s the secret, it seems.  Once you know real loss, you know time does not heal. Your life just grows around pain.  Your life has a new appearance.  A wound may become a scar, but many moments and many days it tears back open.

My letters to you are not cheerful, lately. There have been times I fill you in on recent good news, but right now, I mostly just feel broken.  The news I have doesn’t feel like what I want to share with you.  I just want to share my sadness with you.  I don’t feel strong.  I know I get told it and called it, but I just feel like I’m living 2 congruent lives - loss and life.  That doesn’t feel like strength to me; it just feels like … what? I’m not sure.  I guess I don’t have a word for it.

I have moments of joy again.  I wondered if I’d ever feel them.  I do.  They don’t last as long as they once have, but they happen.  They usually end with the glimpse of ‘what would it be like if she were here or he was here or they were here’.

I do have hope still.

Hope you see all of this.  Hope the family is together.  Hope you’re with Simon.  Hope he’s out of pain.

I have to have hope.  I have to.

This year seems harder.

So much grief.  So much ‘but why’. So much ‘why so much’.

I have hope there will be a day we get to laugh together again.  The good laughs.  The we can’t talk laughs.  The laugh till we cry laughs.  The make fun of mom laughs.  I have hope I’ll get an Allan bear hug again.  I have hope I’ll hear Simon tells me he loves me.

I asked Mac if he believes you can see us.  He said he’s not sure about that, but he does think we bring you and all those we lose into every day.  We are pieces of you and them.  And it’s true.  

The EE Cummings poem is what comes to mind - I carry your heart with me.  I carry it in my heart.

I try to carry you with me; in my mind and heart and actions, every day.  But even so, I hope there’s more than that.  More than me carrying you on.  I hope you can see us.  I hope you walk beside us.  I hope sometimes you’re what’s carrying us through.

I love you beyond imagine.

I miss you.

Please hug Simon for me.

XO

me

How to go on?

 Kerr,

How do I go on writing to you and not write to you both?  How do I go on writing to you, period?  What do I say? Do I go on with our usual updates?

I find myself saying, many times throughout the day, how is this all real?  How is this true?  And then my brain starts to replay it all - finding out, telling Lance, telling mom and dad, various phone calls, telling the girls, seeing him, giving a eulogy, the shiva, etc etc.  My therapist and I discussed it’s possible my brain is just answering the question.  It’s real because … [insert awful moment and memory].  

Day in and out I still feel like I’m just going through the motions.  I do because I should.  I do because what else is there to do?  I’m surviving but some days it just feels like wading through time.  

But here are some of the updates - I used your china for Rosh Hashanah.  As I put it away, I chuckled.  I used to say I didn’t like the china you picked out.  Almost the same way I used to tell mom I didn’t like her engagement ring.  But I got a similar shape, and I designed a black and white modern home which perfectly matches your china dishes.  I could feel you snickering at me :) The dinners were nice, even the services, but I miss your wit.  My partner in crime.

I try to remember times when Simon and I were good.  There were so many more years of good than bad - 15+, in fact, but it’s hard.  But I remember holidays together precovid.  He had so much pride carrying the girls.  He was so happy around them.  Kenna said she misses him.  I wish they didn’t know such loss already.  Their lists are so long.

And so I ask again, how is this all real?

I miss writing to you.  I just don’t know what to say.  I read this back and it sounds so pitiful… 

I’ll write again soon.

I love you.

I miss you.

Give Simon and Allan hugs for me.

Send signs.

XO

me