I know, that sounded a bit pessimistic. I’m not really thinking about my life as some sort of drudgery or something I merely have to “get through” somehow. I do sincerely love living, love this life of mine I get to experience, even with the hard parts. But today has felt both like it has been such a long time since March 24, 2021, that a lifetime of things has seemed to have happened since then, yet still unreal that it has been an entire year. All while at the same time making the years ahead and this separation feel so very long, stretching forward for an unknown length of time. (I mean, is it really possible that I could still have a half a century AHEAD of me? All of my grandparents have lived into their 90’s, after all. After the last year and a half I feel like I have already lived an awfully long time, even though I know I’m really not that old.)
I had thought a great deal about what I wanted this one year anniversary day to look like. (Of course – I nearly always overthink things and I am definitely a “planner,” at least when I have a functioning brain.) I had talked about it with my children, trying to ascertain what they felt they would need or want the day to be. And leading up to today, many people have asked me about what I may need, how I wanted Kenny to be honored and remembered. (More than anything, I have been so hungry for memories, stories, pictures, etc. of Kenny, knowing that other people remembered and missed him.) My hope is that going forward March 24th will become a day for celebrating Kenny and his life (and we will be doing just that this weekend with extended family). But for whatever reason, this first year mark, at least for me, was a lot about thinking through everything that happened on that day that he died. And so much bottled up sadness and grief that simply had to spill out (yes, even more – how in the world can one person have so many tears? I tell you…). So I allowed myself to hold space for that and tried to offer my children the comfort they needed as they experienced their own grief.
And it was OK. Sad, yes, but at least for my children the build-up was probably harder. I kept them home from school today and we spent the day doing things that held memories of Daddy, or things he enjoyed. We also had a long, but cathartic, visit to the cemetery. Many tears, but that was OK. Really. Certainly the texts and other messages that came throughout the day, treats or flowers that were dropped off, even the large card signed by school friends and brought to my daughter, helped US feel loved and remembered. Really, this whole week has been much better than I could have anticipated. No question a large part of that is because of my college friend who flew out to be my “grief doula” of sorts (I love that title, ha ha) and support me and my family, as well as other friends who have helped me through this week in various ways (including helping me remember how to LAUGH, and hard – really, old friends are so great :). How have I been so blessed to be this incredibly spoiled throughout my life, to associate with truly amazing people who have been so good to me?
In thinking about that day a year ago, I’ve worked through some of those emotions tied up with everything, as well as finally talked about some of the things that happened (while keeping others near and dear for just myself). I think that more than anything, aside from the sadness, I’ve been left with a profound feeling of gratitude for the sacredness of that day. That despite the sheer impossible-ness of those decisions and conversations and experiences that had to happen, things were able to work out for my children to be there in time to say good-bye, for extended family members to be able to “speak to” Kenny on the phone in moments of peaceful quiet that occurred. I’ve also been remembering the happiness (yes, happiness) and relief I felt when I could finally tell Kenny that it had been enough, he could be “done” and the pain would be over, and it (and we) would be OK. And really mean and believe that, even with the almost crushing grief that was already there, the inability to really imagine what life would be like without him. But also realizing that at least for me, it really was the ultimate act of love I could give him to let him go. Even if being left behind has been so very hard. And if anything, the missing has only gotten more acute, the pain sharper. I’m sure that will ebb and flow with time.
“MY Kenny” has felt very far away lately, as I have been wading through the trauma associated with everything that happened during the seven months of Kendall’s illness, as well as fielding and being burdened with SO. VERY. MUCH. this past year without him (so much more than would ever end up on Meal Train). But I really do believe that when I get to finally see and be with Kenny again, that connection will be there, it will just feel right and normal and natural, and be even better than it was before (which was pretty dang good). Much like my experience was of finally getting to see and be with Kenny after he got home from his mission, even though in the few months prior I had felt so distant and disconnected from him. Because if it was so instantaneous and wonderful then, surely heaven will be exponentially better. I’m counting on it.
