And Now She is Gone

Author: OldManMatt

  • This Is Me Editing the Noise

    This Is Me Editing the Noise

    A Small Shift

    If you’ve been following this blog for a while, you might notice things feel a little different going forward. That’s intentional.

    This space is slowing down and narrowing its focus. Less reacting. More revisiting. More reflection.

    Going forward, this blog will adopt the same structure and sensibility as Rewatch / Replay (my Face book page) using movies, music, and pop culture as fixed points. Things I’ve already lived with. Things that meant something once, and mean something else now.

    Some posts will be about the work itself.
    Some will be about memory.
    Some will sit quietly in the overlap.

    This isn’t a pivot so much as a convergence. The writing is still personal, still honest. More intentional about where it lingers. Think fewer hot takes, more second looks.

    If you’re here for that slower pace and deeper pass, you’re in the right place. If not, no hard feelings. Archives don’t demand attention. They’re just there when you’re ready to return.

    Thanks for sticking around.
    Let’s press play again… carefully.

    https://www.facebook.com/RewatchReplay

  • Talking Grief

    Talking Grief

    I’m not a therapist—just someone navigating grief and a job search out loud. If you’re in need of help, please use professional support channels designed for that care.
    Crisis Text Line: Text HOME to 741741 (24/7).

    Heads up, friends—this is a long one.

    Grief talks to you.
    It has a voice.

    If left to its own devices, that voice will guide you down the wrong path. It disguises itself as safety. It creates a false sense of comfort as you sink deeper into the couch.

    My grief is most aggressive when I’m faced with new decisions.

    This morning, I opened an interview invite for Monday. For some, that email would bring excitement. Instead, I stared at the Zoom link as grief began slipping self-doubt into my thoughts:

    Am I actually right for this job?
    Did I misrepresent my experience?
    What happens when they realize I’m not who they think I am?
    Is it kinder to bow out now than to disappoint later?

    These questions don’t arrive as panic.
    They arrive dressed as reality.

    Grief has a way of turning curiosity into interrogation. It reframes opportunity as a potential mistake. It takes a normal moment of self-assessment—something every job hunter experiences—and stretches it into a judgment of your worth.

    Instead of asking what I bring, grief pushes me to inventory everything I lack.
    Instead of wondering how I could grow, it asks why I haven’t already arrived.
    It convinces me that readiness must mean certainty—and since certainty is impossible, the safest answer is to step back.

    This is one of the quiet struggles of job hunting while grieving: your inner dialogue stops being a coach and becomes a cross-examiner.

    But the truth is this—being unsure doesn’t mean you’re unqualified. It doesn’t mean you don’t belong. Often, it means you care deeply about doing the work well.

    I accepted the interview.

    Not because the questions stopped, but because I’ve learned to recognize when grief is asking them on my behalf. I can pause, acknowledge the doubt, and return the question to where it belongs:

    Am I willing to show up and try?

    If you’re navigating grief while job hunting and asking yourself these same questions, you’re not failing. You’re carrying something heavy—and still moving forward. And that says more about your readiness than certainty ever could.

    Sometimes progress isn’t confidence.
    It’s choosing not to let grief answer for you.

  • You Look Brighter

    You Look Brighter

    Today, my therapist told me that I “looked brighter.” As I sat down in my usual spot, I kept thinking about that—about what it meant, and how it made me feel. In perfect Dr. Melfi fashion, she asked me:

    How do you feel about looking brighter?

    It felt like a kind of confirmation. Maybe I’m doing this right. Or at least, right for me.

    Over the past year, I’ve been stumbling through everything. Without therapy, a week in the mental hospital, and my father being in the house… well, I’ll just say it got dark for me.

    So when my therapist opened the door and said, “You look brighter,” it literally brightened my day. It told me I was moving in the right direction.

    Losing Katy hurt in a way that still feels like a shadow. That pain will always be with me.

    Every new day still scares the hell out of me. But I’m visiting the garden less and less. I haven’t woken up at 3 a.m. crying in a while. And according to my therapist, I look brighter.

    Baby steps.

  • 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.”