Two Years

Kim on October 10, 2021. Photo by Natalie Keeton/Wondery Photography

As of today it’s been two years since Kim passed. Many people have asked (especially at the beginning) how I was doing. I’m sure in general I appear to be doing okay - I stay busy with work, with home projects, and with various other things which function as a form of both distraction and therapy.

However I do admit it has been rough. There are a lot of constant reminders, as more than half my life was with her and I have a houseful of items that either she bought or we bought together. Why do I even bring this up? Because there are people out there that have no idea some of the depths of grief one might reach when they lose someone, and I wish I’d had a list of these things myself to kind of brace myself up a bit. Yes having a will helps, understanding the paperwork part of it does help. I’ve even talked about that in a previous blog post. And even though we had gone over it and I thought I was going to be able to handle it, there are these odd reminders that surface constantly.

Something to keep in mind if someone has experienced loss and you’re talking to them, they might react oddly to something you say, a gesture, an old reference, or even something else in the environment that reminds them of that loss and you’ll have no idea what triggered it. If you’re good enough friends with them and it seems appropriate, ask about it. A simple “are you alright?” usually works for me from a friend.

A part of me is doing this blog post as a form of self therapy, part of me also knows some people are wondering how I am doing, and still others could probably learn some perspective about grief and loss if I’m open about it. So here it goes…

The Triggers

This is the odd thing, the triggers that bring on a sad memory. Bear in mind these happen to be my triggers, and they won’t apply to everyone. There are the usual ones one might expect, but there are others that are not all what a lot of people might think.

• Sirens. I remember when the ambulance was called on that fateful night, as both an ambulance and some vehicles from the fire department arrived in the middle of the night. Basically every time I hear an emergency vehicle siren, I remember that night. This is a bit rough at times, as I live a few hundred feet from a fire station - the same station that responded with the ambulance that fateful night two years ago. Every call they go on triggers the memory. My house is close to a very busy main thoroughfare here in Arlington and a mile from a hospital, so plenty of ambulances go by. Add in police cars in this suburban area, and there are several siren events every day.

• Rock music. I already had certain pieces of music I could not listen to because of other events, such as George Harrison’s All Thing Must Pass. Kim had a massive heart attack followed by emergency surgery back in 2002, and the odds of her making it through that hospital visit were low. Before the emergency surgery she had technically died and had been dead for over 3 minutes but they brought her back. There were a few of her favorite CDs I’d take up to her room in ICU and play while she was in a medically-induced coma to help recovery. Now, pretty much the Beatles’ entire catalog as well as a few specific albums I simply cannot listen to now. I couldn’t watch the last season of the show Stranger Things because I found out that a Kate Bush song figured prominently in one of the episodes, and Kate Bush was one of the musical acts we discovered we had in common when we first started dating.

• Piano music. Kim was an excellent musician, and she played her Steinway daily. In her youth she competed in and won a few regional piano competitions. She also played violin, but the main thing was the piano. She played a lot of music, but the stuff that really gets to me now are pretty much anything by Chopin, Beethoven sonatas, and a few other composers. I also play, but so far I’ve only touched the Steinway to dust it off. Maybe someday, but not now.

• Dreams. I’ve always had rather vivid and detailed dreams, and she is in at least one per night. Depending on whether her dream role is a supporting role or as the focal point drives the impact. I wake up after every vivid dream (and have done so since a child) and sometimes the intensity is so strong I cannot get back to sleep. As a result I sleep with a light on, so I can clearly see that I am alone in bed and not try to instinctively wake her up to either tell her about the dream or check on her.

All of this might seem like a nightmare for some people, and I can assure you that in many ways it still is. But there have been plenty of good memories as well, so not all remembrances are painful, in fact most are helpful.

We Had No Idea

I don’t mind the statement many people have made which is a variant of “we had no idea.” Neither Kim or myself really talked about our medical issues with others, in fact there was a lot we didn’t share with others. The kids knew, as they really couldn’t help but know - they lived with us. But her passing seemed to catch a lot of people by complete surprise. Even many of her close friends knew she had issues, but as she never shared a lot of the day-to-day discomforts with others, very few people seemed to realize exactly how serious things were. I heard from more than one person that they’d received jokes or a cheery text message reply from her literally hours before she passed. Had she told them about every instance of pain, some other medical discomfort, or even a minor annoyance, they’d have heard about it several times per week.

I think because Kim’s first marriage ended in divorce and she was instantly struggling as a single mom raising three kids, she didn’t shelter those kids from the truth, but she just didn’t burden them with details they couldn’t do anything about. After we met and got married, we had another child together and the tradition continued. Those first few years we were quite poor, and we didn’t want the kids to worry so we never told them, and they had no idea how broke we were.

Don’t get me wrong, if there was a question asked we answered it honestly, often to our children’s horror. And we encouraged them to ask questions about anything, and they did.

I remember one time after our adult daughter came to visit and we were telling stories and reminiscing, Kim and I were joking about how poor we were. My daughter tried to correct us. “We weren’t poor, I remember we went and ate pizza sometimes two or three nights in a row” she said. We then explained that I was working at that pizza place, I would earn “food credits” in addition to my horridly low paycheck, and we’d often have to use that food credit to eat dinner until one of us got paid, even if it was two or three nights in a row. She had no idea, and that was fine, there was nothing she could do about it and she didn’t need that worry hanging over her head. The kids loved pizza and it created a real party a few nights in a row.

Our various trying situations, be it financial or medical or whatever, well… Kim and I both grew up in families where you didn’t share that information with others outside of the household, and you even lied. “We’re fine, no problems.” We heard it constantly while growing up, and that did have an influence. However, the one rule we had was if someone asked, we didn’t lie.

I’ve included this section of this blog post to explain and really respond to the comment “we had no idea, we didn’t know it was so serious.” Many of our friends were shocked and surprised when Kim passed. I was surprised (her symptoms came on fast in her last few hours), but I was certainly not shocked. As I mentioned before, we had discussed this multiple time between ourselves - with my family medical history involving previous generations living well into their 80s and 90s and her family elders often not making it into their mid 40s, we both knew she would pass first. I’m just thankful medical advances got me that extra 19 years after her 2002 near death experience.

What Helps

Like I mentioned earlier, it truly is those good memories that really seem to help. My family and friends love sharing funny stories involving Kim, who had both a wickedly sharp and dark sense of humor as well as just being a very caring and thoughtful person. Most of the time when I’m with family and friends we talk about how things are going in each of our day-to-day lives, and this of course triggers stories to tell and retell.

I find it inspiring that someone can have a lasting positive impression after they are gone. Yes, she had a large number of medical issues going on, but most of her family and friends knew nothing about it, because she focused on laughter, the positive things, and genuinely cared deeply about family and friends.

Closing Thoughts

I don’t even remotely think I’ll “get over it” as much as I will continue to learn how to deal with it. She had no fear of death after her 2002 heart attack, and based on her extremely positive near-death experience she actually looked forward to it in many ways - particularly towards the end of her life as she dealt with a large amount of medications, insulin shots, seeing multiple doctors, constant complications, and side effects. Her comment to anyone who would ask was “Dying is easy, you just ‘pop out’ and you’re fine. Coming back, well that’s hard. That fucking hurts.” Did she mean physically or mentally? According to her it’s both, but truly the physical part of returning for her was much worse.

At least now she isn’t dealing with that pain, and I do find a lot of comfort in that.

Late addendum: Yesterday my fourth grandchild - my first granddaughter - was born. She’s Evelyn Ripley Eloise Loveless, already known as Evie. She’s a wonderful reminder of how the circle of life continues, and has surprisingly lifted my spirits during this normally trying time of the year. Kim would have loved her, and I just know Evie will grow up to be a strong woman in the spirit of her grandmother.