We were strangers, starting out on a journey, never dreaming, what we’d have to go through…here we stand unafraid of the future, at the beginning with you….
Lyrics from our wedding song.
I played it for him from my phone, just the two of us, him in an unconscious state as he laid in his hospital bed. Right after I was lucky enough to have a few uninterrupted minutes with him to tell him everything I wanted to. I got to say good bye.
He didn’t get to say goodbye. Not in the way you think.
I do think, he DID say goodbye in ways I look back at and go, “Oh, … yeah. That was it.”
It brings my mind peace. When he felt really good, like, back to ‘practically normal’ good in August through October 2023. I miss that high that I had, of optimism and the short break of having to juggle it all. He was alive again, I could breathe again. That was a way.
He had survived his six month driving restriction (due to his seizure after his first surgery) and he was able to take Emma on small adventures. He couldn’t wait for those days. That was his way of saying goodbye to her.
Another way were the times I’d come home from work and he’d be making dinner. His mouthwatering meatloaf, which if you knew, he made it different every fucking time and it was still so delicious. I haven’t been brave enough to try to make it myself. He made so many dishes for us that I just loved so deeply: unwrapped eggroll, his homemade mac and cheese (the aftermath of the stove… I could have killed him myself), and then anything on the grill.
The Grill. I haven’t even touched the grill. I have never needed to when Brandon was alive. But now, I’m embarrassed by that. And it makes me really sad that he won’t be the one to teach me.
He said goodbye to me in so many other ways too. Ways that only Brandon could. He loved me deeply, and only wanted me to be happy.
Looking back, I believe that the first way he said goodbye was the night he was diagnosed. It keeps haunting me recently. He was laying on our couch in the living room and I walked in to check on him. I knelt down on the floor next to him and looked right into his big brown eyes.
He said to me, “If and when this takes me, I want you to promise me, … that you WILL move on, because I want you to be happy.”
He took a slight pause as I held back my tears really hard. I was so happy with HIM.
He continued, “And don’t date any of my friends because you are WAY too good for them!”
I let out a huge laugh with those now released tears falling down my cheeks. He was right. But he set the bar pretty high too.
He bought me teas from around the world for Christmas that year, and I loved it. He was so proud that he did good. He did good.
He bought me poppy pins for Valentine’s Day 2024. Poppies aren’t my favorite flower, but I knew exactly why he got them without having to say a word. I made sure to wear one at his funeral. It was my honor to do so. I have one perched on top of his urn box.
********************************************************************************************************
Days before he died, I thought about how I would react when it happened. Weird to think about but I guess I wanted to be prepared. I didn’t know if he’d go in his sleep, or if I’d be in the shower or at home or ….. if I’d be there at the hospital for 13 hours, sitting right next to him, holding his hand the entire time, refusing to leave his side, running on only adrenaline.
Would I cry and weep silently? Would I be dramatic enough for an Academy Award? Would I scream because I knew I had finally failed at not loving him enough to keep him alive?
It was a mixture of all three. I was standing, yet my legs gave out. My brother in law Jacob had to physically hold me up. I was staring at Brandon, crying and screaming, yet no sound came out because I was hyper-ventilating so much. First time I ever did that. Jacob tried making eye contact with me but I couldn’t focus. When I finally caught his eyes, he firmly said, “Kelsey! Breathe!”
I feel so much guilt for robbing him of that moment. Whatever he could have experienced with his best friend and instead, he caught me as gravity took me out and held me tight and upright to keep me going. I can’t appreciate him enough.
The moment he died, I will never forget watching him lose all the fucking color in his face, it literally drained down his body, and he turned yellow and his body stopped moving. It’s totally not what your see in the movies and TV. My sister in law Sarah, in her majestic calmness, purposely felt his last few heartbeats. She was incredible. She was strategic. He meant so much to her.
I finally regained some sense of stability, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. I still refused to let go of his hand, I wanted, no, NEEDED, to keep it warm. He couldn’t be gone. He had to stay warm, he was always warm. I didn’t want to let go. It was hard to breathe but I had to. I just kept staring at his face. My mind frozen. Holy fuck. My husband was dead. It was weird. Is there an undo button? Could he just pop back awake for a minute? Would he? Could he? Please…. I had these thoughts in my head. I needed him. This was surreal, but this was it.
As we stood next to his limp body, I felt something physically new in my chest.
It wasn’t pain.
It wasn’t pressure.
It was a broken release. My heart had actually,…physically, shattered inside of me.
It’s been empty ever since. Like a hollow stone in my chest. He fucking filled it. I knew EVERYTHING about that man. I knew what was best for him. I knew what he enjoyed and what he hated. I knew what clothes fit him and how many sunglasses he had. What his favorites food were and which cigars were his favorite.
I wished someone else would have had this and not him. And I know that’s horrible to say. He was too pure, too genuine. Everyone adored him. And now, he was gone. I felt responsible.
It’s been hard. The past year has had it’s ups and downs, but it’s also shown me that there’s life after death. Yeah, I’m sad that I had to go through milestones without him. It sucked. But I did it. And I was never alone.
I would have loved to have thrown him a huge, over the top, whatever he wanted, 40th birthday party this year. But I can’t. And he won’t be here for mine.
Everything will be okay.
I’ve made it one year. “You did the thing.” My widow coach told me the other night. I sure did. I keep doing the thing too. I’m showing the world that there is life after death. I’m living for him. I’m showing our daughter that happiness can be found in the darkest of times. Kindness can still be spread, even when you’re sad and feel broken inside.
It was hard walking out of the hospital room. Knowing he was right there but at the same time wasn’t.
It was hard walking into the funeral home. Knowing he was in there but at the same time wasn’t.
Saying goodbye and letting go isn’t easy, but because of the person he was, he’s made it just a bit easier for me. I’ve learned acceptance, my reality, self love and most importantly, what true happiness is and how to choose it everyday.
I loved him during his lifetime, and I’ll miss him for the rest of mine.
Great grief is only born of great love.
“Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.”
– The Princess Bride
You Can Do Hard Things 