The one thing I have heard daily since Mark died is…..
You are so strong.
I am not strong. I cry for that day, for the past, for a future that absent of Mark feels empty. I cry for my kids, for feisty, adorable Mabel that he was crazy about, and the new baby boy to come. I cry for his Saturday morning biking and breakfast buddies. I cry for his colleagues who continue to reach out to me. For his graduate school best buddy, Tom, who called me and said, “I didn’t call earlier because, frankly, I was too chicken to pick up the phone and talk to you.” I cry for his dear friend who knew him since middle school and found out a month after the fact, because in those shocking, early days I could not for the life of me recall his last name. When I think of his graduate students that he loved like they were his own, I cry. I cannot imagine what they are going through. Mark was their boss, the director of their future, the mentor they chose to work for and to get to the finish line of their PhD. He was demanding and had high expectations and they delivered in spades. “These kids,” he’d say with so much pride, “these kids are so smart.” Today I cried about a car repair that is NO BIG DEAL but it’s another weight piled on and there is so much piled on right now.
So strong I am not, but I might be brave because I have managed to push through. I have things I have to get done. Financial things that only I can take care of, and if you have ever dealt with the death of a loved one you would know that there is a ridiculous amount of stuff to do and none of it is easy. Today I called a business about an automatic charge to our credit card for a periodical that was posted to our account a month after Mark died. They told me they would refund it to the card and the credit would show up in 3-5 days. This is the first time something got taken care of with one call and without sending a death certificate. I cried when I hung up the phone because finally something was easy.
I don’t even know what being strong looks like from the outside looking in but I do know what it looks like to me since this happened.
It looks like you.
It looked like you coming to our door with stunned grief and ringing the doorbell. It looked like you with a catch in your throat telling me, “I don’t know what to say.” It looked like you with the weight of your own sadness and fear and nothing in the adult toolbox to fix any of this. It looks like you sitting in the uncomfortable silence when I stop mid-sentence because loss has choked the words out of my mouth. It looks like you with the cards and messages and flowers and plants and food that keep coming. It looks like you showing up when you have nothing to gain, nothing to offer, no words to break the unbroken.
In these days that overwhelm me at every turn, it looks like love and there will never be enough days in my life to thank you for choosing to walk this path with me.
We are brave in numbers and empathy. We are going to be okay.
As an old graduate student and friend…the grief involves not just the loss, but feelings of unforgiving guilt regarding every time I drove past his office and was “too busy” to stop in and visit.
Please do not feel guilty. Mark would never, and I mean never, want you to feel that. His life and death were complicated by the past and not by slights that we all experience every day. There wasn’t a single person he encountered in his career that he disliked or held grudges against. The exception would be anybody who he thought was doing sloppy science but I bet you already knew that. xo
I spent time in a ward for people who tried but were unsuccessful at taking their own life. Everyone said they were so glad they had failed. I know your husband wishes he would have failed. I’m glad I did. Your words continue to remind me.
Brave is the perfect word to define you right now! I can’t begin to put myself in your shoes and I’ve wanted to comment/message you so many times, but I’m one of those who are left speechless. I know I only know you through Jen, but she speaks VOLUMES about you. She always has. She tells me the funny stories and the sad ones. Sometimes I forget that I don’t know you personally because she paints such a vibrant picture. All this to say, I want you to know that your story touches me. I read every post, I cry like a baby, and then I think about how brave you are to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Keep being brave for all of those around you, but more importantly for yourself. Future self will be so proud of you! xo, Jen’s little sister 😉
These are the hardest days Kathy, but somehow we get through them. I am ok until someone asks about Mark then there is that choked up answer and I get through it, just like you. Because I am so far away I can still believe he is riding his bike and teaching and playing with Mabel, then reality sets in and sadness overwhelms me. But thank God he had you Kathy. So reach out to family and friends when the grief overwhelms you, you have a great base of family and friends and you will be able to get through these dark days. I love you and could not have asked for a better wife for my son.