Kardashian Tales of, like, Whoa!


A staircase, yesterday.

Tomorrow evening marks exactly two years since Mark and I went upstairs together for a quick husband-and-wife congress, and only one of us came down again. (Alive that is. The other was in a body bag. Does that count?)

They tell me it gets easier. Even people who have lost their spouses tell me this, and they are generally the only people I am prepared to believe.

In fact, I had a text from one of my widow phone-a-friends last night testifying to this very fact.

“It gets easier with time. Honest.”

But my response was:

“I know you’re right. But it doesn’t feel like it should, though.”

What I meant, of course, is that it feels disloyal, somehow, for ‘things to get easier.’ This is a pointless sentiment, I know, yet I find it tempers almost everything I do.

Because certain things have got easier.

I am no longer wandering about in the mist of disbelief – I’m living again. I can feel the rush of the wind, the warmth of a tentative north-east sun, the pot-holes in the pavement beneath my feet.

I am enjoying the occasional, sometimes difficult-to-reconcile, company of another man.

And surely the barometer of whether things are improving: I am able to get affronted about trivial shit again. (Did Khloe Kardashian REALLY blow Kanye’s engagement surprise for Kim? I mean, like, what is her problem??)

But each time I have these moments of reprieve, it’s as if grief’s thumb reaches out from behind the silver-lined cloud and lodges itself into my forehead.

I guess this is because the reality of Mark’s death – the fact that He is no longer here, and never will be again – doesn’t, and shouldn’t, get easier. Unlike Kardashian tales of, like, whoa!, His death is a genuine fucking affront.

And be it two years or twenty years from the moment we climbed those stairs, it always will be.

10 thoughts on “Kardashian Tales of, like, Whoa!

  1. dear lucie,

    I am sending you every good thought I am able to muster to offer you comfort. I can’t say I know just how you feel, as I have not yet had to go through what you are facing as the date of Mark’s death approaches. but if I could be with you, I would hold you, and hug you tight, and ask you to tell me all the best stories about you and Mark, and say his name, and just sit with you and hold your hand.

    I do believe that we never stop grieving, just that it evolves; we don’t move “on”, but perhaps just move a bit “forward” when we are able to think we would like to be happy, then actually get a taste of happiness – and if we are lucky, we savor each and every moment of happiness, of gratitude, and of hope in the in-between times when there is respite from the grief monster.

    each time happiness has sprung up, I feel it is a message from Hugh, that, of course, I honor him when I grieve for losing him, but that he feels much better when I honor him by being able to feel happiness. I tried to imagine how I would feel if I were dead and Hugh was alive. that really helped me when I felt guilty about even having fleeting episodes of things like actually enjoying a little solitude (vs. fall on the floor I am so lonely I could die on the spot), or when I cooked for the first time since he died, and I relished being able to add dill and curry to the soup and thought Y-E-S!!! – he hated dill and curry. but he loved me. I think Mark and Hugh are our two biggest cheerleaders; but they are on some ethereal side line, and it’s so fucking unfair we can’t hear them or see them – we can only imagine and call upon our memories – all the ones when we knew for absolute certain they cherished us (and the ground we walked on!). and so it goes…it’s all we have to go by, to believe they want us to move forward and be happy. and that’s another really unfair thing – they have the benefit of seeing the BIG PICTURE from where they are, and most of the time all we see are squiggly lines of confusion and angst, and of time, way too much time, stretching ahead of us – and what the hell are we ever going to do with THAT???

    much love and light to you, Dear Lucie, I hope you can feel those hugs!

    Karen, xoxo

    • I am a long way off that time line but I feel your words strongly. What Karen has just said is so wonderful, its words like this that make each day worth getting up for because someone else out the knows what I am going through. I believe my Neal is looking down over me and wanting me to carry on as best I can. You have been so honest with us about your feelings along this journey, you are a wonderful inspiration and your Mark is very proud of you for all of your feelings, of course you have to move forward, its important for you & for your child, but he would want you to as well. Oh hey listen to me being all positive, whag do I know? im only 7 months along this road!

      Donna x

      • What do you know? You know a lot more than most people! You’re in it, with the rest of us on this shitty ‘journey’, which makes you absolutely qualified to be positive, then negative, then positive again. I am so grateful for your comments and support. 7 months…and you’re slowly moving forward. Each day, inching, inching. Yesterday was disheartening for me, because I felt that I had been thrown SO far back, but I’ve resumed the road again today. Feet are weary, but I must keep going. Love and strength. XXX

    • Lovely Karen, I indeed felt those hugs, and do feel them every day. You’re wonderful. I love the image of our men being our cheerleaders. I definitely feel this strongly with Mark, in everything I do. Yesterday was…well, I’ve described it in my post. It was hard, but that was probably my own fault as much as anything else. We’re feeling our way with every step of this, and yesterday was another lesson learned. Moving forward…X

  2. I’m only 5 months ( on valentines day) into this journey that is widowhood. Bryce would be devastated that he left his 2 sons and me so prematurely and would understand our grief but he would want us to make the most of our lives, not only for us but for him and the time he missed out on.
    That is what I try to keep in my mind when the tragedy of his death hits me randomly for a minute, or an hour, or a day ………..
    I will be thinking of you on the 11th and sending kind thoughts from Australia…be kind to yourself.

    • That comment has really helped me today Carmen, thank you. I too feel that Mark would be devastated to know that he had left us – in fact this is one of the big things I have grappled with in counselling – but I like the thought that he would champion us living our lives as best we can in honour of the time he missed out on. A great thought-antidote for those dark moments. Thanks for the thoughts and the support. Back atcha. X

  3. People who think that “You should be over it by now!” rarely realise that those we have lost are ALWAYS – at every moment – not here any more. As Iris Murdoch said: “The bereaved cannot communicate with the unbereaved,” …. I read you because you understand this.

    • That’s a great quote by Iris Murdoch. I guess it holds true for anything – if you ain’t experienced it first hand, you can’t really comment – well, you can, but how valid is your opinion? Thanks Bernie. For reading, commenting and understanding.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s