New year, lots more to say

I’ve mentioned before that I’ve always been a writer. When I was young, I wrote my parents letters when they would go out for the evening. I corresponded by snail mail with my grandma in upstate New York for years, sent cards to a family friend on all the random holidays (think Flag Day), and wrote to an elementary school pen pal for close to forty years. I penned poems in high school and song lyrics in my twenties. And now I’m coming up on 150 blog posts since I lost my husband in the fall of 2023.

Apparently, I have a lot to say.

Fifteen months and so many emotions laid on paper, published for the world to see. Of course, “the world” consists of my forty-eight subscribers and my friends on Facebook and colleagues on Linkedin. I don’t write to update people on my life. No one is interested in that. I write because it’s healing for me to put my emotions down on paper, to get them out of me. I know I don’t need to publish any of it.

But what if it helps just one person who is grieving?

If this loss has taught me anything, it’s that no one can tell me how to grieve. Everyone’s journey is different. And because of that, this path is mine alone. I know some think I should put down the pen and move forward. What they can’t see is that I am moving forward. Slowly, carefully, in the general direction of forward. And I choose to write my way to whatever healing I can find.

Some may wonder why I don’t include my parents every time I speak of my loss. I miss my parents desperately. But losing them, while so hard for us, was a blessing in some ways for them. My mom had been battling dementia for longer than any of us realized. Once dad left us, she was lost without him. She didn’t want to go on without him, and the dementia took hold even more fiercely. My dad fought bladder cancer for over a year before his passing. He was so tired. Not just from being ill, but also from spending years compensating for mom. He took such great care of her, as he promised, for all sixty-seven years they were married. We had a lifetime of memories with them, and their deaths were terribly sad, but also somewhat expected.

Losing my Joe came right out of left field just five months after my mom died. My life with Joe was filled with over two decades of joy, laughter, rough times, and so much love. But in recent years, it was filled with hope. Because we were finally living again after beating cancer. Hope because he was feeling better than he had in years. Hope because we knew how precious every single moment was. And then he was gone in a moment.

I came across this song recently thanks to the YouTube algorithms. The lyrics made me cry and smile all at the same time. This was who Joe was to me:

“You are the only one
The only one that sees me
Trusts me and believes me
You are the only one
The only one that knows me
And in the dark to show me”

I trusted him with every single part of my being. I trust that he would say “keep writing Kell.” I hope my writings convey the beautiful love we had. I can feel the pieces of my shattered heart mending themselves with each blog post.

As the new year falls into place, I know my life will continue to evolve. I look forward to spending more time with family and friends, making new friends, maybe finding new love. Hopefully finding new love.

Joe can no longer “break in”, but I’m carrying him in my heart always. Someday he’ll put his “lighter in the air and lead me back home”. Until then, I’ll just keep writing it all down.