And Now She is Gone

My journey through grief

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about

I am a 50+ widower living in VA with two cats and my father. I lost my wife of 20 years, Katy, to cancer in the fall of 2024. I entered into therapy for help navigating my grief and journaling was suggested. Through journaling I discovered that I enjoyed writing and I began to experiment with various styles and format until a friend, after reading some of what I had written, suggested I share some of what I was writing and here we are. While I am not sure what this will be, or if I will even keep up with it, I can assure that what I post here will be genuine. At times I will share stories from my life with Katy. Some times it may be my stab at fiction or poetry. It may not be good, but it will be honest. And I encourage your thoughts and ideas regarding what I post, I walk to chat. Anyways, I do appreciate the time you are taking to visit my blog. Matt
  • Self Gaslighting is a thing. Right?

    Self Gaslighting is a thing. Right?

    Today I would like to share a journal entry from last week. I revisited this entry today after I accepted a new contract position. I GOT A JOB!!!

    Therapist: Who are you?


    Me: A 52-year-old, unemployed, depressed widower.


    It scared me how fast the answer came. No thought, the answer just rolled out like marbles from a jar. Was that me? Is that truly how I see myself?


    Yep.


    I’ve had some trouble with that. Perception. The outside perception to more specific. I am obsessed with what the world thinks of me. It eats away at my confidence. I can feel the doubt trying to plant roots.


    Katy was my support, the hand on my back kept me steady. She is gone now. I must learn to support me.


    So yeah. Here I am. Matthew Jordan, a 52-year-old, unemployed, depressed widower. I watched my mother and wife wither away. And, if I may mention, I also had to put down BOTH family dogs due to sickness within that time frame.


    You are dam straight I am depressed.


    The unemployment aspect only makes everything feel bigger, but you are making progress. Quitting my previous job may have been a rash decision, but I would not have been happy there for much longer. Go easy on yourself. I will find a job.


    So, as I call upon the strength of Stuart Smalley, I say to myself.


    I am depressed. But I am trying to get better
    I am unemployed. But I am looking for work, and it will come.
    I am a widower. I was married for 20 love drenched years with my best friend. Not everyone can say that.


    I am 52, well…nothing I can do about that aside from remaining youthful in my heart.


    So, stop gaslighting yourself Matthew. This is your world now, start accepting it or it’s gonna be a long hard road to feeling safe again.

  • Sit With It, Matthew!!

    Sit With It, Matthew!!

    “You need to sit with those emotions”-My therapist tells me this at least every third session. Supposedly, facing the myriad of emotions left behind by the death of my wife is necessary. And while I understand the purpose behind the words, I don’t like them. The experience makes me feel uncomfortable, sometimes forcing me to pay attention to that part of me that needs it.


    I am very good at avoiding.


    Wait—I should be honest. I have been IGNORING a lot of what has been tumbling around my brain for the past year. If you avoid something, there is some presumption of tackling the issue later, maybe at a better time. To ignore the issue means, well, out of mind, out of sight.


    I spent the past year wandering in a cloud of THC. I turned away whenever the pain pounded. If it is an action that causes the pain, I stop. If the destination was a trigger, I do not go.
    The memory ambush is the hardest. When I see a coffee mug she favored, or hear her voice in a recording from the past, these are the moments that hit hard, and they hit low. How can I be expected to sit and hold hands with dark and uncomfortable things?


    It’s easy to just get high and zone out on X-Files, but eventually it catches up. And when this type of clog breaks, it’s often messy. Like congealed grease in a clogged drain.


    It’s taken some time, but I see that the emotions I’ve been ignoring are a part of me now; they are a part of the experience that was my life with Katy. I don’t want to forget any part of it, even the bad.
    One of the last things Katy said to me was- “You have more story to tell”. It was the inspiration for my tattoo, and what I am hoping will drive me to better days.


    So, I am going to sit with the emotion when it hits. I’m gonna see where it came from, and I’m gonna look at it until it’s not as intimidating anymore. It will shrink to a more manageable size, and then I’ll tuck it away, someplace neat and out of the way. It will still be there, and maybe one day I’ll need (Or maybe WANT) to look at it again, and I’ll know where it is.


    And eventually I’ll have more room for my new story.

  • If you see it, let me know?

    If you see it, let me know?

    Losing my wife has plagued me throughout the past year; Sadness, anger, confusion and fear have clouded my every move. Every decision feels bigger and more intimidating. I question everything I do. If that wasn’t enough, each of these emotions affects the part of my psyche that I’ve struggled with my entire life.

    Self-confidence.

    Before I met Katy, I was a mess. With no self-esteem and no direction, I bounced from job to job, torching bridges along the way. When Katy came along, she accepted me for who I was, neurotic quirks and all. The more at ease I was with her, the more self-assured I became. It didn’t matter whether her boosting my confidence was intentional or not. It worked.

    During therapy, they asked me to share the last time I felt confident. I sat pondering and realized it was when I found out she had cancer. My wife needed me. I had no choice but to be confident. So for the next four years, I shoved all the shit that would get in my way deep into a closet and pushed forward. This was not just something I was trying to fake on the surface. I felt that I was ready for this. And when I look back on that time, I am proud of what I was able to do for her.

    That was it — That was the last time I was 100% sure I could handle something.

    I have not felt comfortable in this world since she left. And a big part of that is because, at this time, I do not believe I can do this without her. I spent nearly 20 years of my life in a very comfortable and secure relationship. Katy always knew what to say and when to pick me up.

    After completing a huge presentation for work, she gives me a hug and says, “I knew you would crush it!”

    Before I leave the house to audition for a play, she says, “No worries, you’re awesome!”

    She even took the time to learn and understand the Spiderman lore so she could throw in a “go get em tiger” now and then.

    All the sudden my cheering section was gone.

    So how do I replace what I lost when Katy died? Is that even possible?

    Maybe not. However, when I look at my current situation, I see my dad. He lives with me. He and my mother moved in so Katy and I could help take care of Mom, who had dementia. And then Cancer. Having Dad here has been nice, especially in those dark days just after she died. So, I need to continue to ensure Dad is okay and has a roof over his head.

    Okay, I can do this…?

    And what about Gandalph and Mirren? I essentially have free in-home pet therapy. Katy loved them and fought hard to adopt them when I said the timing was’nt right. During her chemo days, they would both cuddle close to her as she slept on the couch. When she moved to the hospital bed, neither of them would go into the room. I don’t know why; maybe something about the bed freaked them out. Mirren would often sit in the hallway just outside the room and meow, and Katy would talk back, trying to assure her she could enter. Mirren still does that sometimes. Gandalph would always show up when I was crying myself to sleep, a slight nudge on my back to ensure me I am not alone. He misses her as well.

    So let’s make sure we can take care of them. Food, Vet, shelter, all the important stuff that keeps Sarah McLachlan from pestering me for $18 every month.

    Deep breath..you got this.

    My therapist would say that the most important thing to remember in this is to be kind to myself. During my decision-making process and after. Bullying myself into believing i’m a fuck-up will not help. I am human, I will make mistakes. If I am careful when approaching the decision, and ask for help if I need it (that one eludes me), it will be fine.

    I am not alone in this.

    Katy did not give me confidence. She saw it in me and helped me to see. She created a connection for me, whether intentional or not; it worked.

    It’s up to me to reestablish the connection.

  • What’s In The BOX!?!?!

    What’s In The BOX!?!?!

    I’ve been struggling lately, especially with letting go. For three months, four boxes of chinaware for Goodwill and one box of Katy’s things for a friend have sat untouched—I keep making excuses instead of dealing with them. Usually, I’m good at procrastinating, but this feels different.

    How might you ask? I was scared; these boxes held items important to my wife. The chinaware was among our first purchases after moving in together. Katy loved hosting and always had creative party ideas. One Halloween at work, she made “Texas-Chainsaw mac and cheese” for the potluck. COME ON!!!

    Unfortunately, she never got to use her chinaware, and I am NOT the hosting type, so I took it to Goodwill. The box going to a friend contains the dessert cups Katy used when she made the Guinness Pub Pudding for one of our gatherings along with some shirts I didn’t want to share with just anyone and some Tomte related items, Katy and I both had a love of Scandinavian lore and history. 

    I dropped off the items at Goodwill and mailed off the package this morning. 

    Whew.

    And now I’m sitting here feeling good. The empty spaces the boxes once occupied make the room seem larger, not empty. It’s a satisfying sense of accomplishment.

    With the support of my therapist, I recognized that it is a normal response to feel apprehensive about this process. Each item had significance from my time with Katy, and parting with them at Goodwill raised concerns about relinquishing connections to those memories. There were a couple of ways in which I approached the process. 

    First: What am I afraid of? If others can enjoy owning a nice set of china even a little as much as Katy did, that’s positive. I imagine a young couple finding it at Goodwill, feeling proud to afford a nice set. She would appreciate that.

    Second: The material is not the memory. Yes, a material item can trigger the memory; but the memory, the images, smells, and sounds of the moment tied to the item will always be within you. She is not IN them. If I am honest with myself, she is in the urn on the bookshelf, surrounded by her Stephen King Books. Just the way she wanted it. All the memories I have of her are tucked safely away in my mind. 

    Have I lost a part of me? Yes, but what I am missing now is not in any of Katy’s former belongings. I’ve lost a part of me. I recall something my mother frequently said when Dad was deployed while we were children. “It is not easy being a mom without your father here with me, try playing baseball with only one arm.” I did not get it then, now I do. When Katy Died, a part of me died as well. It’s that simple. I feel like I’ve lost one leg and I am learning to walk again. 

    This morning was a step in the right direction. A small step, but an important one. Next up…her books.

  • Its Just a Name. Right?

    Its Just a Name. Right?

    I had to go to the DMV today to have Katy’s name removed from the title of the Jeep. This allowed me to renew the registration for a couple years. It was not a bad experience, but it was not my favorite moment of the year by far.

    I arrived fully prepared to complete the task set before me, having anticipated any emotions that might arise. Although I initially approached the process with a sense of accomplishment for addressing another challenging responsibility, I began to experience a wave of emotion as the young woman behind the glass went through the procedure for removing Katy’s name from yet another document. My head started to feel light and my knees were shaky. I gripped the edge of the counter, closing my eyes as I lowered my head and tried to collect myself. I focusing on not losing my cool, or my cookies, in the middle of the DMV. In my attempt to maintain my focus, I looked up and observed my surroundings. I was trying to find an object that I could focus on when I suddenly noticed there was a police officer standing next to me. He was in a ready position in case I was gonna pass out.  Slightly embarrassed, I steadied myself against the counter and gave everyone a reassuring smile. The young lady behind the glass appeared relieved, and the officer returned to his post as I started to appear more steady on my feet.

    Right about this time I looked down to see my wife’s name staring at me. Her death certificate was still lying open on the other side of the glass, and it was suddenly the only thing I could see.  The bold black font popped against the light blue background, with perfect type and spacing that Katy would have appreciated. She enjoyed using classic typewriters, once spending five minutes punching keys and laughing in an antique shop. She was so happy in that moment, and I tried to take it in. I tried to touch the moment. Tried to smell the shop, hear the keys, her laughter again…

    However, the moment was interrupted by a young lady behind a thick sheet of glass, just trying to do her job. “SIR! Do you have any other questions about removing your wife’s name?”  As she asked this, she passed my documents back to me. She had placed them in a nice little pile with highlighted notes on the most important pieces. I still looked through to the pile to ensure I had everything, and then I held up the death certificate and studied her name again, and I said, “Wish you had some knowledge on how to remove it from this one?” The poor girl sat there, her mouth was open and her face had gone white. She was terrified and I could see was actually trying to come up with the answer. This was when I noticed the “EMPLOYEE IN TRAINING-please be patient” sign right taped to the glass directly in front of me.

    I thanked the young lady for her time and sat down to fill out the required paperwork. Once I received the new title, I put it away in the important folder and went about the rest of my day.

    Later that evening, as I reflected on what had happened, I recognized how silly my reaction really was. Valid, mind you. But silly at its core. It’s a piece of paper issued by the government for some reason or another.  Her name being removed from the title of the car, or the bank account, or the Barnes and Noble account, will not erase her from my memories. i.e., silly.

    She will always be a part of me, and I will never forget her or the time I had with her. No matter how many documents or accounts I must remove her name from.

    I am sure there are some still out there waiting for me.

  • Got Kind of Dark Last Night.

    Got Kind of Dark Last Night.

    I was on the fence about sharing this. It’s heavy and I don’t want to scare any of you. Also, because it contains some triggers regarding suicide, so this is your warning.

    Still with me….are you sure?

    Last chance to turn back.

    Okay then. First, please know that I am okay. I am working through a lot these days and I just got overwhelmed last night.


    Here is what happened…


    Remember that game as a kid where someone would yell “DOG-PILE!!” and everyone would pile on top of some random kid?-Boys are dumb-Were you ever the unfortunate soul that was at the bottom of that pile of adolescent BO and arbitrary boners?


    Currently, I feel like the kid at the bottom of the pile.


    Last night I sat down to watch a movie, The Electric State on Netflix (not bad), it has an emotional ending, and I lost it. I can’t tell you what happened during the last 10 minutes of the film because I was watching it through a curtain of tears.


    And I couldn’t stop. For the next 20 minutes I was a slobbering mess. As I sat there trying to pull myself together, my angst driven mind decided this was a good time to bring up the fact that I am currently jobless, and that I am responsible for two cats and my 73-year-old father. Oh yeah, and your wife died…let’s not forget that.


    I ended up in the ER. I did not know what else to do.


    It felt like everything was closing in. I was having trouble breathing through the seemingly unstoppable crying, and I was shaking so badly I think the cats could feel it through the floor as both came into the room and were staring at me with concern.


    With everything that was running through my head at that moment, there was one thing that hit me like a brick-it is the reason I asked my dad to take me to the ER. Out of nowhere, the following idea formed.


    If I was to find myself in a life-or-death situation, I would choose death.


    This thought ran through my head in NEON like some kind of news warning flashing across the TV screen. It was a form of thought that I have never experienced. Not out-right self-harm, but the willingness to just…give up. It scared me. I have NEVER thought of harming myself in any way. Has this always been here? If so, when did it start to root itself into my mind. Was it just waiting for the right time to make itself known? It suddenly felt like the words of that statement were alive and they were trying to push their way to that part of my brain that would make it all real. These words were strong, and in my current state I was not sure how long I could fight them. So, I asked my dad to take me to the ER.


    Again, I’m okay. I promise. They would not have let me come home if i was a danger.


    All of this from a 4-minute scene in a movie.


    The point of me sharing this is to remind everyone that grief will always be with those of us that have lost a loved one. That grief will affect us differently, but we all feel it. I know it will get better, easier to think about her. But the pain of losing her will always be there-that is something I will live with. There is no preparation for this. There is no map to help navigate grief. That is why it is important to have a support network. A group of people you can trust that can make sure you are okay, stay healthy and in some cases help with bills or cleaning the house.


    If my father had not been a shout away, I am honestly not sure how the night would have ended. I do not believe I would have harmed myself, but I probably would have worked my way into some level of cardiac event. Having him take me to the ER last night was a good decision.


    I miss my wife. So far, the pain has not lessened. There is a part of me that is missing now that she is gone. And that is okay, I gave here that piece. I wanted to her to have some of me with her during her next chapter.


    Again. I am okay. I promise.

  • Talking Cats and Ghost Stories in Walmart.

    Talking Cats and Ghost Stories in Walmart.

    Katy and Mirren-our female cat- bonded immediately. When she turned that corner in Pet Smart, she was eye to eye with Mirren, almost like Mirren knew she was coming, and it was love at first sight. Most of the pictures you see of Mirren as a kitten are with Katy. Mirren would sleep with Katy on those nights she had to sleep on the couch because she was too weak to walk up the stairs. Mirren would lay on the hospice bed with Katy, until she couldn’t. Ever since Katy passed, Mirren has become very talkative. I will hear her upstairs in the hallway chittering. She will sit outside the downstairs bath and cry, like she used to do when Katy was vomiting in there on the worst days.


    Last night I had to make a quick Walmart run for kitty litter. I made a stop in the toy aisle, just to browse, and bumped carts with a lady browsing as well. She was cute, but way too young for me. I apologized, she smiled and said it was fine.


    I started looking at the scratch pads when she suggested one that gets for her cats. This sparked your typical cat person conversation, we shared pictures and discussed those little quirks that annoyed us, but we put up with it. And then I shared the story that I shared with you in the opening. She gave her condolences and then shared something with me that made me cry.


    Her family is from the Philippines, her grandmother was a very spiritual person and firmly believed that not only do cats have a connection to the dead, but they can also communicate with the dead. Her grandmother’s house was always filled with cats and after her husband died, she would regularly have conversations wither her husband via the cats. This young lady said that Mirren is talking to Katy.
    I lost it. She hugged me and apologized, and I pulled myself together and refused her apology. She had nothing to apologize for. Her story was beautiful, and I will think about it next time I hear Mirren’s cry coming from somewhere in the house.


    This morning as I brewing my coffee, Mirren came walking into the kitchen. She started rubbing up against my calf. She gave me a few little chitters and then started walking toward the patio door. She sat and looked out the back door and cried out.


    “Good morning, my love.”

  • Boobs and Blood as Therapy.

    Boobs and Blood as Therapy.

    This blog post is gonna be a little bit different than what you are all used to.


    As I navigate this scary new world I now inhabit, I take pleasure wherever I can find it. Most of the time that pleasure comes in the form of music. New albums and concerts have been a big part of my therapy. Films have been a nice distraction as well. This year marks the 45th anniversary of my favorite horror franchise, Friday the 13th. These films have been a part of my life since I saw Part 2 at the age of 9 and I have been hooked ever since. If Halloween opened the door for the “unstoppable” slasher genre film, Friday the 13th used the heads of horny teens to prop it open. My wife Katy HATED these movies, but she would sit and watch them with me from time to time and the couch would quickly become The Satellite of Love from MS3TK. I have always been aware of how ridiculous these films can get, that is part of the attraction for me; I believe that if I had had more time Katy might’ve grown to appreciate their entertainment value.


    The franchise has had some classics-The first film and FT13: New Beginning are often recognized as modern horror landmarks-and there have been a few forgettable entries-Jason Takes NY is kind of lame-but even the worst of these films entertain on some level, if you can’t enjoy the sleeping bag kill in New Blood, I can’t help you friend.


    Friday the 13th also introduced me to the concept of “less is more”. My introduction to the franchise was in the form of made for TV cuts. All the boobs and blood were removed. There is something more intense about these films when they were cut properly, they are more effective without the gore and jump scares. To this day, I prefer NOT to see the monster until the last possible moment, and I like my kills in the form of some well mixed sound from off screen. As I got older and was able to watch the films in their original cuts my love of them grew. As the kills became sillier, the “jump scares” became more obvious and the plots just disappeared each of the movies became more comforting to me. Now they often play in the background as I’m building a LEGO set or doing a crossword. I still line up for theatrical re-releases; and yes, one is playing as I type this. And every Friday the 13th weekend I randomly choose two to binge.


    Find what makes you happy and embrace it. Comfort yourself in your own way, particularly when grieving. And my thanks to Jason for offering a distraction as I navigate life without Katy. Your support is appreciated.

  • No gifts this year

    No gifts this year

    With my birthday coming up I’ve been thinking about Katy a lot. Birthdays were never a big thing for Katy and I; we did not throw parties or buy lavish gifts for each other. We preferred to play hooky from work and spend the day together; that was a gift. Sometimes we would catch a matinee and other times we would treat ourselves to a daylong session of retail therapy at IKEA and Potomac Mills. Each followed by dinner at Red Robin. We had joined the Red Robin club early in our relationship, she did love a good burger. One of the perks was a free burger for your birthday. She was always so excited for that burger. For number 43 we had to stay home because I was sick. She went out and bought a movie that I had been talking about, and she brought home Red Robin.


    She was a gift.


    Katy did have one tradition on my birthday; it is one of those small things I took for granted. And it is something that I will miss immensely. The first time I slept over on my birthday she performed a gesture of her connection to me, and she would continue this right up to the last one. Just in case we have any readers that lean to the pervy side (not saying there is anything wrong with that); it’s nothing X-Rated. PG-13 maybe. You be the judge.


    On the morning of my birthday, and every Christmas morning I should add, she would somehow wake up before me. Katy was not a morning person. So, the fact that she would make an effort to rise before me makes this all even more special. She would get up, walk over to my side of the bed, lean down and whisper in my ear “Happy birthday, my love”. The “my love” did not come until later; in the beginning she would say “you sexy ape”. Then she would gently kiss my ear and head downstairs to take care of the dogs, which was my typical morning duty. Some years she would make me breakfast. Other years she would order Bob Evans. That little gesture was a gift. Katy’s love language was affirmation and quality time. Mine are, if you’re interested, acts of service and physical touch. I miss my cuddle buddy. Katy would do things like this throughout the year, but her birthday kiss was the one I looked forward to the most, and it will be missed.


    If there is anything I regret, it’s that I never told her how much I looked forward. I never told her how that kiss would make my cheeks feel hot and wake the butterflies in my stomach. I didn’t thank her for getting out of bed much earlier than she is used to, to take care of the dogs so I could sleep in. I never told her how much I appreciated her sitting through some weird or gory or boring for her kind of movie because I just “had to see it in theaters”. I never told her how sorry I was for dragging to a different record store every year, sometimes several in one day, and make her wait as I flick my way through ever album in the store before deciding they have nothing I want and ask her to go to another one. I like to think that as I write this she is somehow watching, or listening, or picking up my mental waves in some Star Treky kind of empathy way, and knows how sorry I am.


    This year I will not be celebrating. At least not from my end. I will not shoo away anyone that comes to me with birthday greetings, or bring gifts (nudge, nudge, wink, wink). But from my end it’s just another day. I am even working this year, and will be driving into the office, and I will be blowing some money at Mobius Records in Fairfax. It’s gonna take some time for my birthday, any holiday for that matter, to feel special again.


    I will forever miss her gifts.

  • A connection via Sticky Notes?

    Grief has made me recognize little things that I took for granted in the 20 years I was with Katy.


    In a marriage, at least in my experience, there comes a point when your partner develops into something more than just a partner, they become the eyes in the back of your head, or a 2nd pair of hands. If you are lucky this connection comes naturally, no work is required, like it did with Katy and I. Sometimes, you have to work at it, but either way, once that connection is established, it can become so normal you don’t even realize how important it has become. In my case, I became so accustomed to the connection I did notice how easily it fit into my life. 


    I lost count how many times Katy would stand behind me in the bathroom and say “Hold on, you got one of those little pimples on your back.”-Before you start twisting your face in disgust, if you are in a “serious” relationship and your other person does NOT pop the hard-to-reach zits for you, than I am afraid you are doing it wrong-There were a few instances when brought me a fresh towel while I was in the shower because she knew I had forgotten to grab one. 


    At times, we would put ourselves on a financial lock down, during these periods we only bought what we needed versus what we wanted. These periods were typically inspired by a vacation or home repair. During the lock down, Katy was that voice in my head that would tell me to put it back, it’s not a necessity. Other timed, she would be the devil on my shoulder saying “Fuck it, let’s buy it” When ordering dinner at one of our regular restaurants, she was there to remind me that I don’t like the way this particular restaurant fixes their masked potatoes, or the French fries are always soggy. 


    My point is, once your person is gone, you find yourself at a disadvantage; Last night as I was stepping out of the shower, I looked to my left where my towel should have been hanging, only to realize that I had not grabbed a new towel before hopping in. Driven on pure instinct, I took a breath and started to yell out her name. I stopped myself and stood there thinking through how I was going to get a fresh towel. I honestly did not know what I was going to do. This wasn’t the first time this had happened to me, I just had not recognized it until that moment of emptiness.


    Eventually, I snapped out it and just grabbed an older towel to dry off. As I venture deeper into this new world, I am slowly and cautiously learning how to navigate without her by my side. I still have her voice in my head

    that will NEVER leave, but the physical manifestation of her voice has transformed to sticky notes. I have them pinned around the house to ensure I don’t forget those things that she used to remind me of. 


    I never thought at 51 I would find yet another use for those little yellow pads.