Getting Through (Kara)

I just never thought it would be like this. Any of it. I never thought I’d be a widow at 47.

I never thought I’d be raising my three kids on my own.

I never thought I could miss someone so much. 

I never thought parenting would feel the way it does.

I hate hindsight because it is like a slap in the face. Where was that smack in my face when I was living a seemingly perfect life? Where was the smack in the face that said, “Wake the hell up!?”

How could I have been so stupid and selfish and ungrateful for the life I was living? How were the worries and concerns that filled my head ever really worries or concerns? How many hours did I wish away waiting to “get through” this or that? How many of my days did I spend stuck inside my head insecure, seeking perfection of myself and my marriage when it was simply impossible? Why did I have to lose my best friend and amazing dad to my kids to learn that nothing is perfect and realize that being healthy, loving others, being loved, laughing, touching, holding and being held, is as good as it gets and damn near perfection?

So now I have all this knowledge...live in the present, love your people, be grateful, so very grateful, and guess what, I still find myself “getting through.” I still spend hours, days, desperately replaying how good we had it and how awful the reality of losing our Drew truly is. How catastrophic it has been for all of us. I’ve spent so much time wondering and fearing how this will play out for my children. I am constantly worried about everything from our broken hearts, mental health, and financial future, to my kids leaving and my life being exactly as it is now, only without the distractions and beautiful chaos of having kids at home.

It all just goes so fast. When I think back about the carefree days of my being home with the kids when they were little, I cannot comprehend how quickly it all went by. There were thousands of cuddles and wiping away tears to make everything better. The days when my kids wanted and needed me were so very good. I truly loved them. But they were hard too. They were filled with worry. Are we teaching them what we need to teach them? Are they behaving this way or that? Are we doing enough? Are we doing too little? How can we steal away time for our marriage with littles everywhere? How can we live in the moment when we can barely stay awake? How can we appreciate the innocence and pure joy of those chubby cheeks, impossibly cute toddlers, and fun loving kids who do what we say and love us always? 

Parenting is hard. So damn hard. Everyone tells you this, but like everything else, we think we know better. Everyone told us that marriage was difficult, but we knew our love was special enough, deep enough...sure we’d have to compromise and communicate, but we weren’t like everyone else. We were different and it wouldn’t, couldn’t possibly be THAT hard. Anyone who has ever been married will tell you, it really is THAT hard. Real life sneaks in...there are expectations we don’t even know we have until we think they aren’t being met. Commitment and love must be fierce when the love of your life is chewing gum in a way that makes you want to pull out your hair. Turns out, when your person, this person you adore, is your life partner, they see and know your everything and vice versa. It can become a bit of a challenge to even like each other some days. Throw a child or three into the mix and, well...it ain’t easy. Once again you can find yourself “getting through” even when you know you shouldn't.

Max is a senior this year and here I sit knowing how fleeting this time is. Again, I cannot comprehend where the time has gone. I never anticipated the way it would feel as I try to pull him closer when all he wants to do is push me away. Where is my little boy? Where is Drew in all of this now that he’s gone? If I’m not careful and intentional, I count it as “just another loss” in the life I have found myself living. 

Drew died. He isn’t coming back, and that changes everything. Now, every breath, every moment is affected because he’s gone. Every milestone, every laugh or embrace to which we know we should cling, is often consumed by grief. We can fight it, and that we do, all of us in our own way, but the present is forever tainted and I find myself stuck inside my head “getting through” so many moments.

My sister Jody, my best friend, my saving grace, rides this roller coaster right along with me, always careful to say, “I know it’s not the same because I have Chris, and you lost Andy,” …But she sees it too. She knows it and feels the ache when your child is growing up. You want ONLY for them to be happy and successful. You want ONLY to guide them and encourage them. You really only want to LOVE them, but they make it awfully tough sometimes. They are convinced they don't need you. Maybe deep down they know they do, but they aren’t going to tell you that and it feels like another slap in the face. What’s worse is that you WANT them to fly. You WANT them to leave because it’s what we do as parents. It is our job...but it hurts like hell. 

I am lucky that my sister is going through all of this at the exact same time as me. Our sons turning 18 and beginning the college application process has not been easy. I am so grateful that I have her, my brother-in-law, and many friends who have survived this and are willing to help me along the way. It’s hard for everyone involved. I know so much of this is normal, to be expected, but that doesn’t make it easier.

I remember wondering about how this time would feel when it came to pass. I knew I’d be sad. I knew I’d be scared, but I also knew I had my whole life with Drew yet to live. Our lives wouldn’t end because our kids had lives of their own. That’s what we wanted for them. That was our goal. We would work through any sadness and adjust because we had each other. We had our own futures to look forward to living together. But now that’s gone. For me, it has become painfully clear that I feel like I am losing Max, and that feels a lot like losing Drew all over again. My kids getting older and Max leaving stirs up the haunting and familiar feeling of 4 years ago when Drew died and I know he’s never coming back. When I think of loss and change I don’t see much beyond never coming back. I don’t know how to do that anymore when the future I had planned disappeared without saying goodbye.

On a recent college trip to the University of Oregon I had an aha moment. Max was walking  ahead of me on the campus tour when suddenly, I had a realization. Max isn’t my life and he isn’t leaving forever. His going away to college isn’t about ME and how I feel. It’s about HIM, and as his parent, I need to be damn sure I don’t make it about me. 

One of my counselors (I have a couple) asked me a little bit about what message I’m sending my kids. As I reflected I realized I’ve been pretty hell bent on keeping it together. My focus has been to keep the wheels in motion as we try to move forward. Another aha moment... this isn’t living, this is “getting through.”

People talk about how difficult it is to move forward in grief because you feel like you’re leaving your person behind. That is exactly how it feels. It hurts my head to think about and breaks my broken heart yet again. In my mind it’s like there’s a line drawn between where I am now and what lies ahead. For me, the line is dark and permanent, like a black Sharpie kind of line. I can’t get beyond it. It’s as if I've had my arms stretched out gently protecting my kids, keeping it together, trying to take little steps forward. Because of the thick fog of grief, it’s what we all did. But slowly the kids have walked ahead of me, pushed my arms away, turned a corner and seem to be finding their own way. Their line isn’t that of a Sharpie. I see each of them pushing through and moving beyond.... just like they should. The problem is me. That’s not what I’m doing. 

Granted much of what you do early on after losing your person is about surviving. Getting your sea legs as Drew would say. I think it’s taken me 4 years to get here and I’m definitely at a crossroads.

For me, it’s always been less about being and more about holding onto. I was in love with Drew from so early on. All I ever wanted to do, for years, was hold onto him. I often looked ahead, neglecting BEING in my life. Since losing Drew I realize I have been holding onto the past, neglecting the present and negating the future… Getting through.

When I was in college the song “Hold on Loosely” by 38 Special always made  me think of Drew. We were 4 years apart and struggled to find that balance between holding onto, while at the same time giving each other freedom. “Hold on loosely but don’t let go. If you cling too tightly you’re gonna lose control…”

Funny how that song means something completely different to me now. If I cling too tightly to my past and Drew, to my children, our old life, the life that was supposed to be... I will lose control, or at least any sense of control I might assume to possess. 

It occurs to me now that this is really what it’s all about. We get through, hold onto, and maybe the hardest of all, we have to let go. It’s what we do and will continue to do for the rest of our lives... over and over again. We go from one to the next, on to the next and back again. It’s unending and ever changing.

You can’t hold on too tightly to something or someone that isn’t here anymore. You can’t hold onto someone when it’s time for them to go.

Drew keeps teaching me lessons. Every time I turn around he’s here. I see him in Max, Addi and Reese without even trying. He is ever present, yet I still long for him the way he used to be. How can’t I? It’s the day in and day out with Drew I miss the most. I miss him so much some days I think it can’t hurt any more than it does in that moment. But it can and it will. The difference now, 4 years later, is that I know when it does hurt like hell I can feel it, and if I hold on just loosely enough, the awful subsides again. At least for awhile.

I guess parenting is the same way. In the throws of worrying, questioning and the unending frustrations of parenthood, I can’t hold too tightly to what I know has to change as the kids bravely seek new lives of their own. Not only will I lose control, I could lose them all together.

This life is hard no matter what stage you’re in. The notion that it will be better or get easier in time is false. No one EVER said it wasn’t going to be hard. There will ALWAYS be a struggle. There will ALWAYS be hard and difficult. Get through, hold onto, let go, and ALL the in between make up the dance of living. But it’s that in between that adds up and keeps us going. It’s the aha moments like I had with Max when we visited Oregon. It’s the laughter I hear when all 3 kids are home and they’re joking around. It’s the 12 cars parked outside my house when Max has his friends over, the voices I hear when the kids are face timing their cousins. It’s the way it feels when we all miss the same person but laugh at the best of stories. It’s the countless, too often taken for granted, tiny, day to day moments that really matter most. 

The reality is that sometimes we are going to hold on when we shouldn’t. We’re going to catch ourselves going through the motions, we are human after all. But each turn around the sun teaches us something. What tiny joys will there be this time around ?

I have to learn to hold on, just loosely enough, without clinging too tightly. Not to Max or Addi or Reese. Not to my past and what could have been. It doesn’t mean we forget. It doesn’t mean it won’t hurt or that it will be easy. It just means it's okay. 

With all the pressure and stress of his senior year Max has led our family forward. For that I will always be grateful.