The past 11 plus years (since I was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer in 2010) have taught me to expect the unexpected. And, most of the time, I have learned to roll with the punches.
But March sucker punched me.
J.R.’s mom, Betsy, passed away after a very brief (comparatively) illness in late January. Betsy was 84 years old. Before she got sick, she was a very active, vibrant person. She was still active in a family business. I often referred to her as the Energizer Bunny. Her illness surprised all of us.
As mentioned above, I have learned to roll with these punches. Watching her decline was hard, but I’ve been through hard times before, and God knows, I am sure there are still hard days ahead.
But (seriously) March sucker punched me.
As I’m writing this post, I am also listening to a new to me podcast I recently stumbled upon (My Person Died Too) and the episode is titled “Those Griefy Days.”
So much of it rings true. Apparently, John, one of the hosts, lost his wife about five years ago, and the other host, Carolyn, lost her husband about six years ago. Given that J.R. will be gone six years in July, I can honestly relate to so much of what they are saying.
You might think that closing in on six years, the grief may not feel as raw as it did in the beginning. I thought so too, honestly. But I was wrong.
The nerve that grief clings to can be irritated at any time, and transport me back to 2016 like a time machine. I was not expecting March to make me feel like Marty McFly when he stepped out of the Delorean. I felt like I was standing in the middle of the hardest time of the early days of grief. Why has March been so hard?
Our wedding anniversary is March 6th. This year wasn’t a milestone anniversary (next year will be a milestone – 30 years), but it hit hard this year.
As I’m listening to the podcast they talk about having a plan for those griefy days. Especially those expected griefy days. And in the past, I have had a plan for those days. In fact last year, I went sky diving on our anniversary. It was a great celebration. Not because it was something J.R. would have wanted to do, but because I know he would have been very proud of me for doing something outside of my comfort zone and I know that he would have applauded (and called me crazy)
.
This year I did not have a plan. In fact, instead of coming up with a plan, I wallowed in self-pity. Not because of the anniversary and being without my person, but because of my broken femur and my limited ability to do much of anything.
It wasn’t until a few days later that I realized the self-pity had turned to anger. The raw anger I felt after J.R. died. I was MAD. So mad. At what?
Not what. Who! I was mad at J.R. (and God).
Twenty-nine years ago, J.R. and I stood in front of family and friends and before God pledged to take care of each other in sickness and in health.
[Note: We both took this vow seriously. J.R. took great care of me during my original diagnosis and again when I was diagnosed in 2010. And I would like to think that I took good care of him while he was sick, at least I did the best that I could at the time.]
I was FURIOUS that he was not here. Not only was he not here, but this was not the first time he had let me down – he wasn’t here when I had surgery for an infection in 2017. He wasn’t here when I broke my femur in December. He wasn’t here when his mom passed away.
HE WASN’T HERE! AND I WAS HOPPING MAD (literally since I wasn’t able to put much weight on my leg).
This weekend we will be hosting friends and family at the farm to Celebrate the Life of Betsy. We are celebrating on her birthday at a place she loved. Although Betsy has been passionate about soil biology for the past 20 years (Sustainable Growth and Betsy Ross Grass-Fed Beef), we have been reminded about all of the things she was passionate about over the years.
March has been a sucker punch. Betsy’s illness and death were unexpected. I think we all expected her to outlive all of us. I have cried more in the past two weeks than I have in a very long time. Tears for Betsy, for J.R. for my dad, for all my friends who have died too soon from cancer, and (selfishly) I have cried for me, for all of the unexpected that has become routine and expected in my life. These tears have been unexpected.
Maybe I got too comfortable expecting the unexpected. I am genuinely exhausted from always anticipating the unexpected.
Bless you, Kim! I think it is just fine to be angry and acknowledge it (very honest & healthy of you). You HAVE had to and still continue to deal with a lot. I am sorry these trials have come to you. I know JR, your dad, Ms. Betsy, and other loved ones would be very proud of you for handling everything. Six years does not sound sound like a long time to me in my middle age. I pray next year, you are well enough for an adventure to dampen the emotional pain near your anniversary. Prayers for you as you continue your mourning journey. What great love you have given and received from these wonderful people. Thank you for sharing your feelings so others may know what they feel in times of loss and after is normal – that grief is not fleeting as portrayed in movies – that deep love doesn’t just disappear. You are an incredible person. Take care & hugs –
I know that I don’t have the right words, but I love you and I admire you! Please know that we all love you, Lizzy, Kaci, JR, your dad, Betsy and everyone that you have lost here in this earthly life. I am grateful that you are here! We all love you and need you! Even if it’s that you need us 💜