A Belle Abroad

Can I just be honest?  Just really, truly, brutally honest?

Besides the revolting pain of losing Chris, the thing that hurts almost as much is being the girl you’re afraid to talk to.  Being perceived by my situation, rather than by my persona.  Being perceived as “the girl who’s going through something horrible”, rather than just Katie.  I know that’s tough for some to read.  But I have to be blunt on this one.

I’m the girl that works to make everyone else feel at ease.  I’m the girl that adapts to be the missing piece in a group.  If there’s too much talking, I become a listener.  If there’s a lull in the conversation, I fill the void with self-deprecating humor.  If the group is a little too rambunctious, I shift to be the responsible one.  If a little more fun is needed, I’ll throw out “chubby bunny” as an option.  If I’m leading a workshop, my first priority is making sure we all feel comfortable, appreciated, and that we can speak freely.  It’s kind of “my thing”.  Along with excessive amounts of color-coding.

And I get this feeling that for some, your perception of that person has changed.  And I hate that.  Because I think others want to put me at ease, and others want to say the right thing for me.  Others want to build the bridge back for me by acknowledging their feelings for what I’m going through.  But without offending me.  Like they’re walking a delicate tightrope.  That kind of stinks.  For all of us.

Bad news, friends:  There is no “right” thing to say.  No words can be offered that will ease the pain, provide peace, or ease the burden like you intend.  Only time can do that, but you can’t provide that either.  I know everyone wants to say “the perfect thing”.  But take it from our eloquently spoken pastor:  there are absolutely no right words to say to a widow.

So I’m feeling the need to put the world at ease again.  I know, I know, I hear you out there saying, “That’s not your job, Katie!” and “Just do you!”  Well, I’m doing just that.  I’m going to put us all at ease, because that’s me doing me.  And I’m going to tell you exactly what to say to me when you don’t know what to say.

Please know that many of these may only be appropriate to say to me, and not necessarily all grieving widows.  Pick what works for you, the scenario, and our level of friendship/acquaintance-ship.  Also, if any of these come across sounding like pick-up lines, you’re reading them wrong.

• “It’s great to see you again!”

• “We’re going to dinner.  We’d love for you to join us if you’re free.”

• “So glad to see you back at work!  We missed you!”

• “You look great today!  I love that top!”

• “Seeing you always makes me happy.”

• “Do you have enough wine?”

• “I’m around this weekend.  Do you need someone to watch your dog for you?”

• “I have an extra Oreo milkshake here.  Would you like it?”

• “I’m headed to the shooting range this weekend.  Want to come?”

• “Nice job on….  It really made a difference.”

• “Those yoga pants are simply stunning on you.”

• “But seriously, do you have enough wine?”

• “I found an awesome kickboxing class.  You should try it with me!”

• “Do you need someone to check your smoke alarms?  I have a ladder/I’m freakishly tall.”

• “Want to see how many marshmallows I can fit in my mouth at one time?”

• “Have you laughed today?  If not, let me tell you this awesome joke I just heard…”

• “Let’s go get a pedicure.”

• “I just went ahead and assumed you needed more wine.  Here you go.”

• “My spiritual gift is power-washing.  What’s a good day for me to come power-wash your house?”

• “I see you have plenty of wine.  Do you need someone to split that bottle with?”

• “This song/article/book/blog reminds me of you…Now that I’ve given it to you, I’m going to go away.”

• “I’m headed to Target.  Can I grab you anything?  Paper towels?  Dog food?  An extra shower curtain?”

• “You.  Look.  GREAT!”

• “What kind of smoothie can I get you?”

• “That pony-tail/no make-up look is so flattering.  You should do that every day.”

• “Ribs?  5:00pm?  Manning’s?”

• “Wanna see this cat/dog video?”

• “Can I give you a hug?  And then not linger after?  Is that cool?  I understand if it’s not.”

You get the picture.  When in doubt of what to say, start with the list above.  Because I don’t want to be the girl that you avoid.  That you’re afraid to say the wrong thing to, or afraid to offend.  I want you to feel at ease.  I want you to still talk to me.  And neither of us want to sit and wait while you drum up something “perfect” to say.  It gets awkward.  And I have enough awkward for a while.

And if none of the above fits our acquaintance-ship/friendship, we can always just start with a wave or a high-five.  Or a side-hug.

The following I drafted a few weeks before our 10-year anniversary trip.

Nope, not a clue.  All I know is we’re leaving Friday morning.

I’ve joked with Chris for years about surprising me with a trip: not telling me where we’re going, just tell me how to pack.  His response has always been the same:  rolling of eyes, reminders of what a “joy” I am in the days before departure (as evidenced by my packing behavior here), how he can’t keep a secret, etc.

But it’s happening.  He told me a few days I needed to take off, explained we were celebrating our 10-year anniversary a little early, and that’s it.

Over the past few weeks I’ve pulled the following out of him.  Some of these could actually be to mislead me, so put your faith in them as you would like.

• “I’m considering cancelling- it has Zika virus.”
  • Last count of affected states was 30, and everywhere south of NC.  You should also know that he hasn’t cancelled yet.
• “You probably will want to bring a swimsuit.”
  • So somewhere warm, maybe beachy, or a resort…
• “We could drive or fly there from Raleigh.”
  • Most likely within 6 hours of Raleigh…
• “I don’t think you’ve ever said you want to go there.”
  • Hmmm.  Rewind in mind every conversation we’ve ever had about future destinations.  This may take a while.
• “It’s going to be a weekend to relax.”
  • So probably not a bustling city scene with a lot of tourist attractions.  

So with those sketchy hints, I’ve it narrowed down to…

Savannah, Georgia.  Of course, all of his hints may have been completely false and just a ploy to mislead me.  In any event, we’re leaving in a few weeks, and I have outfits to plan and shirts to roll.

And yes, it is just as exciting as it sounds.

The following was written one week after the proposed date of the trip, and 3 weeks after my husband passed away.

On April 23, we realized we would not go on his surprise anniversary trip for me.  We realized he would still be on crutches, he would still be struggling, and it just wouldn’t be the same.  So, because we could never keep secrets from each other anyway, he told me where we were going to celebrate 10 years of blissful marriage.  To celebrate June 3, 2006.

Photo credit here.

On one seemingly random 4-day weekend, my husband was going to whisk me away to Puerto Rico.  A perfect, no-passport-required, paradise island.  Specifically, we were headed to the resort pictured above.  I had absolutely no idea.

When he told me his original plan, it felt like my world had just imploded with the perfection of this man.  I burst into tears.  I just couldn’t believe he was going to take me to such an exotic location on a whim.  It was perfect.  For two weeks, we had been dealing with his recovery, day-in and day-out.  His mobility was limited, my patience was wearing, and a long weekend on a Caribbean island could not have been more perfect.  I cried for his perfection in planning.  And then I cried for the irony that we couldn’t go.  But mostly for his perfection.  Why did I deserve this wonderful man?

After my miniature pity party, we took  a moment to regroup.  We danced, hugged, and kissed in the kitchen, as I was busy washing dishes and preparing dinner.  I remember being annoyed at first with his persistence in wanting to make-up.   But I eventually gave in, because his PDA was such a rarity; and in the moment, such a gift.

We could only go so many hours apart.  So after he walked away to lay down, I eventually came to hang out with him again.  Given the choice between doing nothing together or doing things apart, we always chose the nothing together.  And I felt compelled for us to name things we were thankful for.  We had done this before, but with the recent “woe is us” moment, I felt like we needed to regroup and get a little perspective.

We took turns:  he named something then I named something for which we were each grateful.  He named silly things:  the ceiling fan, my shapely backside.  I attempted to name more serious things:  his sense of humor is the only thing that comes to mind.  And then, out of the blue, he gave me a sincere compliment.  For the first time in maybe years, he complimented me.  See, we knew the other had an excessive amount of self-esteem.  It was both an attractive attribute, but also a point of contention for each of us.  So our marriage grew from pointing out areas of improvement for the other.  Harsh, at times, I know.  But for two people always running on a full tank of self-confidence, a challenge was sometimes more beneficial than wasted praise.  We raised the bar for each other.  We strived for constant improvement.

And in that moment, a moment we never realized would be one of our last together, he gave me a priceless compliment.  His fifth and final point of gratefulness was, as he worded it, that I “take up my cross every day”.  I am difficult, I am selfish, I am flawed, and I am a sinner.  But my husband’s observation was that I take up my cross, serving his needs, and being a Godly wife, every day.  If there are higher compliments a man can pay his wife, I have no interest in hearing about them.  I was paid the greatest of any for me.

It still makes me tremble to think of his words.  I feel humbled, proud, grateful, and relieved, all at once.  I don’t know that I felt the same way – that I take up my cross every day.  But the fact that he did, that he felt my love for him and that he saw me as a Godly wife, will stay with me forever.  Because what else could you possibly want from your life partner?  From the man you dedicated your life to?  From the man who always raised the bar?  From the man who brought you back to Christ?

I don’t know where my path will lead me now.  I have no idea my destination here on Earth.  But I will continue to take up my cross, every day, just for you.

I love you.  Happy 10-Year Anniversary.  And as always, I cross my heart…

I get this one a lot too.  “How are you okay?” or  “How are you even standing?”.  The problem is that we have this idea in our heads of what this should look like.  And I think for some, I just don’t fit that pre-conceived picture of how this particular walk should appear from the outside.  I may even be on the receiving end of some judgement.

It’s not that I’m “okay”.  I’m not, actually.  But let’s look at this from two perspectives, and maybe we can make our way to the best answer I have.

The Spectrum of Dispositions

In the grand scheme of personalities, there is a spectrum of dispositions.  And, in commonly known personality terms, the spectrum spans from Eeyore to Dory.  Eeyore is one extreme of dispositions.  Incessantly sad, clinically depressed to people who like to over-analyze and ruin cartoons, Eeyore embodies a “pit of despair” disposition.  There is never a time when Eeyore is happy, and there’s nothing you can do to change his gloomy, negative attitude towards the world.  “Woe is me” is his forever mantra.  At the opposite end of the spectrum, you have Dory.  With absolutely no long-term memory, Dory can’t remember anything long enough to hold a grudge, never mind be sad about it.  Every moment is a happy adventure, and she has never met a stranger or enemy.  She is upbeat, bubbly, and excessively optimistic.  Her mantra, in contrast, is “Just keep swimming”.

Depending on where you are on this spectrum can sometimes determine your full range of emotions.  Those that are more towards the Eeyore end tend to face every obstacle, no matter the size, with the same sad, defeated attitude.  Good news for them only means their attitude is less likely to get worse, but doesn’t necessarily guarantee it.  Their span of emotions ranges from “not as sad, but still down” to “crawl in a hole and die, but complain because no one visits them in the hole”.  Jaded, they are.  Those that lean more towards the Dory end, however, face everything with a rosier perspective.  There is no danger, there is no obstacle that cannot be overcome, there are no enemies.  To them, they will always come out of it on the other side.  In comparison, their range might span from “it’s going to be a great day” to “Oh, wow, I’ve never seen a charging buffalo this close.  How exciting!”

I would put myself somewhere near the Dory end.  My disposition is typically upbeat, with a generous dose of realism mixed in.  In general, every day is a new opportunity, every experience provides a lesson I wouldn’t have otherwise, and if someone has beef with me, well then, I’ll just facilitate my way through it until they at least tolerate me again.

This is reason #1 I appear to be “doing okay”.  In my range of emotions, I am not “doing okay”.  I have felt more sadness in the past month than I have my entire life.  There are moments I feel painfully alone.  It simply looks different to the world, because my disposition still seems reasonably… okay.  I still greet people with a smile and I still make jokes at my own expense.  In my disposition range, I’m still pretty low.  But in the grand scheme of dispositions, I appear to be somewhere between “okay” and “Dory”.  Sorry?

Fight or Flight

My dad once explained the “fight or flight” theory to me as a kid.  For some reason, maybe because I was a teenager, I associated the “fight” with actual fisticuffs.  And knowing that I was petrified by even the thought of being in a fight, I decided I must be a “flight” person instead.

Over the years, I’ve learned that there may actually be other, less literal definitions of “fight”.  For example, one may be willing to stand up for their own opinion when, say, they’re talking to their boss.  In fact, this may have happened with 83% of one’s bosses.  Multiple times.  Or maybe, when faced with a problem, one works diligently to solve it, rather than give up and no longer pursue that particular path.  Or maybe when faced with a very large task, one faces it with a to do list, breaking it into smaller chunks, rather than decide it’s too hard and ask someone else to tackle it for them.

And after 33 years, some of those as a legitimate adult, I have concluded that I am, in fact, a fighter.  Faced with the darkest walk of my life, I began by creating multiple to do lists.  I decided what pieces I could handle, and what pieces I could hand off.  And I delegated, quickly and without regret.  In fact, on Day 2, we actually ordered a guide to being a widow from Amazon.  Because I wanted to progress through this, so that I could eventually get to the other side.  I started a list of short term goals, a list of long term goals, a list of things people could do if they dropped by, etc.  And I still am working from those lists.  Some grow, while others get shorter.  But it is my momentum.

I think my pastor picked up on this when we met.  I shared with him the support I had, what was next on my to do list, and where I thought I was in the grief process.  Seeing that I grieve by “doing”, he shared his prediction that things were eventually going to get “very, very tough”.  Unsatisfied with the lack of specifics, I asked for clarification.

“How tough are we talking?  Give me a measurement.”

He explained that I would see them coming:  birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, etc.  And advised I make a game plan for them.  Fantastic!  A game plan!  Yes, this is my language!  I walked out, satisfied with some insight, and him maybe scratching his head at my “grieving”.

Strange things to think a few weeks after, I realize.  But this is me.  I move forward.  I may get knocked down, like we all do sometimes.  But I stand up, look at my path, look for obstacles, make goals for myself, and move forward.  I may even ask others to help me check my blind spots, to ensure I can continue the momentum forward.

And frankly, it helps that I know exactly where Chris is.  And that he planned ahead for the unexpected.

So, yes, it may appear that “I’m doing okay”.  And maybe, in the grand scheme, I am.  But that is a perspective.  From my perspective, I’m just barely surviving.  I’m laughing, but less than normal.  I’m greeting others with a smile, but not necessarily asking how they are.  I’m making plans with friends, but to ensure I don’t get stuck in lonely-ville too long.

I’m surviving this the only way I know how.  Dory-style.  “Just keep swimming…”  But in a slower, more subdued tone.  Maybe with Waylon Jennings singing instead.

Heads up:  Garth isn’t going to be happy with where this is going.

When I say there is an army surrounding me, I mean an army.  Hundreds upon hundreds.  College friends, high school friends, neighbors, his work friends, my work friends, our small groups, our church, his clients, former students, former colleagues, our volunteer groups…the love has poured out in almost over-whelming amounts.  And I only say “almost” because every card, meal, text, visit, and invitation is so needed and appreciated.

I’m not sure how we deserved such wonderful people in our lives.  My gut says it was Chris:  the giver, the heart, the better friend of the two of us.  I’m a horrible friend.  I don’t call, I hate the phone, I don’t bring over meals, I don’t send birthday cards.  In fact, I typically do the lazy thing and just post a “Happy Birthday” on a Facebook page.  I am happy, friendly, and witty, but Chris was the better friend.

And at the moment, Friends in Low Places has three meanings:

1.)  I am in a low place.  And the army of both his and my friends have surrounded me during this otherwise lonely walk.  I have friends as I walk through this low place.

2.)  After hearing one mother and three men cry giving his eulogy, I realized I’m not the only one in a “low” place.  We are all struggling to lose a friend, a neighbor, advisor, mentor, brother, son, and husband.  And as we know where he is, we are quite literally his friends, on Earth, in lower places than he is.

3.)  Last, during a moment when I desperately needed a laugh, it was the (inappropriate) song my step-mother suggested for the memorial service.  I bet Garth didn’t see that coming when he wrote the lyrics.  And a (small) part of me kind of wishes we’d played it.

And however undeserving I think I am, our friends, in low places, have shown radical acts of friendship.  Truly profound acts of love, support, and compassion have poured over me during this dark time.   I wish I could name every single act of kindness, friendship, and sympathy, including those by our families.  But here is a short summary of the most amazing acts of friendship:

• Some of our best friends had just given birth to their third child just a few weeks earlier.  Struggling with time management and sleep depravity themselves, they selflessly set up and managed a meal train for me to ensure I had meals for the next two months.  The baby still isn’t sleeping through the night, but I have meals, and leftovers, and a schedule of visitors for weeks because of them.

• Friends we met too briefly a few years before had moved back to their home-state of Michigan.  But they flew back to NC, just to provide support, pray with me, and reach out to be here in person.  Because, unfortunately, they knew the pain of loss a little too well themselves, and knew the best they could do was be here.

• His coworkers from all over eastern North Carolina came to his visitation.  And after, they gathered at a local brewery, taking up an entire room, reminiscing and toasting in Chris’ honor.  Amazingly, at the exact same moment, in the room right next door, a group of Chris’ clients had gathered to do the exact same thing.  Two toasts to my husband, happening at almost the same time, in the same place.  I sure hope he caught that moment as he looked down from his “pull-out cloud”.

• Our college crew agreed they should organize a celebration.  As the family greeted hundreds in the receiving line after Chris’ service, our friends came to my house to set up tents, tables, chairs, and a pig-cooker in my backyard.  They handled the drinks, the meat, the sides items, the parking, the communication, the ice, the furniture, the set up, the clean up…so that no one in our families would have to lift a finger on this horribly difficult day.  One, with a newborn baby in tow, came over the night before at 10pm to begin setting up, then spent the entire morning making 60 hand-pattied burgers.  That afternoon, we toasted to Chris, told stories, threw around the football, and just hung out on my lawn, to celebrate the life of Chris in the most perfect way, his favorite way:  a tailgate party.  A perfect celebration of his life, organized completely by friends.
  • Sidenote:  These are the same friends that serenaded me on my wedding day with “Honkytonk Badonkadonk”, in front of my grandmother, then turned around and covered our car with an abominable mixture of cake icing and vaseline.  Go big, or go home, they said.

• A friend and professor from Virginia was in the middle of her final exams.  She found someone to cover for her and came down to spend the week, just to be at my beckon call.  She became the “point man” for Chris’ tailgate.  And at one moment, as we sat alone on my porch, she even joined me – not judging me – as I requested, “Can we talk to Chris like he’s here?  Can we say all the things we’d want to say to him?”

• My childhood best friend, a Kindergarten teacher, was about to give students their end-of-year assessment:  a task by far best performed by their beloved teacher.  Without question, she called in a substitute and drove up, just to be sure I could cry on her familiar shoulder for a few days.  We hadn’t spoken in months, maybe even years.  But it didn’t matter, as I’m sure it never will.

• Two of our best friends, a couple struggling as much as I was with the loss, dropped everything to be there for me no less than five times.  Once, the night of, to be with me.  Twice to sit with me and figure out every detail of our finances and bills.  Once to be my Uber driver and do my grocery shopping.  Once to go with me to financial appointments.  And they continue to offer to drop everything.

• My step-sister (and friend) was about to celebrate her 10-year wedding anniversary in New York City.  But somehow, without hesitation, she and her husband cancelled their perfect days of celebration, so that she could be with me almost every night the week of.  She missed Jimmy Fallon to sleep and cry with me.  The night of her 10-year anniversary, they ate pizza in our kitchen and she still slept by my side, while her husband spent the night on my very uncomfortable couch.

This doesn’t include the dozens of meals that have been fixed and the constant flow of messages of love.  I cannot explain these acts of radical friendship.  And again, I’m truly not sure I deserve them.   I know I am lucky, and this is not what every widow experiences.  But somehow, through the grace of love and friendship, here they are.  I know Chris is smiling, tearfully looking down, at our friends in low places.