I Have Lost My Mind (and my Pants)

When you wake up one morning and your husband is randomly dead, there is a long period of time where you feel as if you may have lost your mind. There is a “fog”, a cloud of vagueness and “what’s happening?” that covers you and protects you from the unbelievable reality that is your life now. This fog keeps you in a constant state of “Huh?”, and you tend to forget things over and over, repeat yourself, not recall entire conversations or even weeks of things you did or said, and just generally behave much like someone with memory loss or no brain cells. This must be how it feels for Kim Kardashian every single day. Empty.

Today is exactly 10 months since my husband died, and I am still in that fog. It has lifted a bit, and on some days, the sun peeks out for a few minutes or an hour, but the fog always returns. It is always there, lurking. This is one of the many huge misconceptions that most people have about grief and losing someone. People who haven’t been through this are starting to say things like “I hope things are easier for you now”, or “I hope you are finding some peace now that some time has passed”, or my favorite one that an older person said to me the other day: “So, are you better yet?” For most people who cannot grasp this life and cannot understand, there is an acceptable amount of time they will allow you to not be normal before they begin judging you or making assumptions based on nothing. What they assume is that because 10 months have gone by, I must be getting better, whatever the hell that means. What they don’t realize or will never understand is that when you lose your soulmate, your life, your love – in an instant – your heart and brain and mind and soul take a few months off. Your soul cannot deal with the shock, so it goes into the cloud for awhile. It hibernates. It usually starts to return and deal with the tremendous, unspeakable loss maybe 6 or 7 months later, just as most people are no longer asking you how you are anymore. Just as most people have stopped calling and texting and checking up on you. Just when you need people the most, the people start to scatter. Just when you finally begin to feel the real, frightening emotions of what this is, the world around you continues spnning. How dare it? There have been plenty of people in my life who have been nothing short of amazing and wonderful and caring over the past 10 months. But this piece isn’t about those people. It is about the other ones. And it is about trying to figure out who is crazier – me, or them?

 The first few months, people are all around you with love, and they offer to do things for you like pick up groceries or do your laundry. You come home and you have 47 private Facebook messages, 24 texts, and multiple voicemails that you can’t possibly comprehend or sit through. Maybe you listen to them, perhaps you glance at one or two of the nice things people have written. Anything you do read goes right out of your head. Nothing sticks. You remember nothing. Your grief fog makes it difficult to accomplish much of anything. You are like a robot, just getting through each day on autopilot. You cry and you scream, but the real, raw, scary emotions don’t happen until much, much later. You keep yourself busy. Your friends keep you busy. People tell you that you are never really alone.

Fast-forward to today. 10 months later. I went through and finally read some of the lovely messages that various people left me days and weeks after Don’s death. People I barely know leaving me their phone numbers and saying “Call me anytime!” People telling stories of someone they lost, in an effort to relate or find common ground. People offering their help and letting me know that they will always be around for me. I haven’t heard from 90% of these people ever again. After that initial “reach-out”, that was it. Most of the phone numbers I’ve been given are people I would never in a million years call up at 4am sobbing uncontrollably. Can you imagine? “You said call anytime!!! I really need you right now, random Facebook friend! Wait – what was your name again?” A harsh reality of losing your husband is that everybody else moves on, but you don’t get to. They get to say “You have my number!”, feel heroic about their good deed, then climb into bed and say goodnight to their husband. They all get to go home to their families and the lives they have built together. I get to come home to our apartment filled with stuff that gives me anxiety, fear, and sorrow. I get to sit here in silence and wonder: What the hell do I do now?

When you lose your marriage and your love and it’s not through divorce, people treat you differently. All of your other relationships change. It’s not fair and it really sucks, but it’s what happens. Some people treat you as if you have a disease; as if you are death itself, and your loss is contagious. They no longer look you in the eye when you talk to them, or they avoid you completely. This has happened to me on several occasions when I went out to different parties or gatherings. If I didn’t mention Don’s name, people would look at me like I’m an alien and I have no heart. If I did mention his name, people start acting like THEY are an alien; moving their heads all around, coughing, clearing their throats. Some people get extremely awkward and uncomfortable when I talk about him. I don’t understand what that is. Am I supposed to act like he never existed? Is that what is expected of me? Sometimes I don’t know how people and their crazy-ass weirdness with death want me to act, so it’s just easier to stay the hell home.

I have had a handful of very close friends just disappear. Some pulled their disappearing act immediately after Don’s death – others waited until after the funeral and those first initial weeks before never speaking to me again. They have left my life because my husband died. What the hell is that anyway? I didn’t kill him. Why are you running away from me? Do you think that if you hang out with me, your loved one might die too? Believe me, I wish I had that kind of power. If I did, it wouldn’t be my husband who was dead right now.

I am trying like hell to integrate myself back into the world again; to not isolate myself from friends and people and life. But it’s extremely difficult. I no longer fit anywhere. I no longer have anything to add to most discussions. Do you know how many times I have found myself out with friends, in the middle of everyday conversations about habits of their partners or finances or children or dating or buying houses or starting a family or ANYTHING really, and I just have to sit there and shut down? How many times I have gone out with the intention of having a good time or at least escaping for an hour, only to come home early in tears or just numb? I should be in the peak age of my life right now. This is the time when everyone around me is getting engaged, getting married, buying homes, starting families, beginning new jobs, having a second child, starting their own business together … you name it. Everyone’s lives are springing forward while my life, as I knew it, is over. The act of simply existing is so damn hard and exhausting. It’s bad enough dealing with the harshness that my husband is gone. Now I also have to handle everyone else and their “CRAZY!” People are nuts. They are nuts, and they get really strange around the topic of death. Gee, I’m so sorry if my very presence makes you uncomfortable for ten minutes. I will try to conjur up some sympathy for your troubles on my trip back home to WIDOWHOOD!  Bottom line; If you want to know who your real friends are, or who can and cannot handle life at it’s darkest – having your husband die is the best way to find out.  

So who is crazier – me, or everyone else? That is still up for debate. That grief fog that I mentioned was starting to clear? Yeah, well, maybe not. In the first few months, when the fog was still very heavy, I was scatterbrained beyond belief. I would leave the house for work 5 times, forgetting something new each time. I would get out to the parking garage, and realize I didnt have my phone. Then I would realize I didnt have the remote for the garage. The third time I made my way across the street seconds later, it was because I had forgotten my phone AGAIN!!! I walked inside, grabbed my phone, and walked back outside. Realizing I didnt have the remote, I went back inside the apartment to get it. When I picked up the remote off our entertainment center, I put down my phone and walked out of the apartment without it. On a completely different day, my toothbrush somehow ended up in the freezer for an entire afternoon. There was another day where I thought I lost one of the cats, and was looking everywhere for him and sobbing, only to realize he was sitting on my bed in plain sight, looking at me like I had finally lost my mind. He was wrong. Yesterday – I finally lost my mind.

It was 6:45am, and I was just about ready to leave for work. The first class I teach is Stand-Up Comedy at 9am, and the morning commute traffic can be insane, so I leave myself at least 2 hours to drive out to Long Island. Before I left the apartment, I double-checked my hands and my shoulder bags to make sure I had everything. Purse, teacher bag filled with paperwork and worksheets, garage remote, cell phone, keys, water bottle, cats are fed, lights are off, TV/computer off …… okay. I think this time I’ve got everything. Time to go.

Please keep in mind while reading the rest of this story that I am someone who has just been through a sudden and traumatic loss, and I don’t sleep much anymore. I probably get an average of 2-4 hours of sleep per night, and most nights it’s closer to the 2. So, perhaps my brain is not functioning properly most of the time. This is important to remember as I continue …

I walk into the elevator, go down to the lobby, and walk outside. It is a really nice day. A bit cooler than usual, somewhat brisk. There is an older man who walks by me with his dog. He looks at me, then he stares at me strangely. I wait to cross the busy street. He looks back at me again as he walks away. I think nothing of it and mutter to myself: “asshole.”

When I cross the street to where the parking garage is, there are about 8 or 9 people standing and waiting at the bus stop there. Most are busy on their phones or not paying attention, but a couple of them start laughing. One woman points at me. I click the remote, walk into the garage, open my car door, and sit down in my car. It is at this point and only at this point that I finally realize why people are looking at me.

I’m not wearing any pants.

Let me repeat that, just in case you thought it was a misprint or some bizarre error. I’m not wearing any pants. No pants. Somehow, impossibly, I had left my apartment, went outside, crossed the damn street, and gotten into my car WITH NO PANTS ON! I had on a bra, a brown shirt, and some lovely cotton underwear that approximately 12 or so people just got a good look at. How exactly does one leave their place of residence without realizing they are not fully dressed, you ask?  How does one not FEEL that their legs are, in fact, naked, and that they are, indeed, sans pants? THAT, my friends, is the grief fog. Here I was, under the impression that I was improving. I thought the fog was starting to lift. And then I looked down and saw no pants. The worst part of this story (or the best part, depending on how sick your sense of humor is), is that I now had to take the same exact journey across that same street, back up that elevator, and into my apartment so that I could GET said pants and then put them on. I had to embarass myself a second time, this time with full knowledge of what was about to take place, before this nightmare would be over. I don’t think I have ever been so humiliated in my entire life. Actually, I know I haven’t. And as I take that shame walk back across the street, I take my chance at perhaps being run over by cars and buses. Suddenly I’m a marathon runner, a sprinter with no pants. I have never run so fast in my life. This is what they should do to help fat people like me lose weight. Make us stand outside almost naked and the only way we can get to clothing is to RUN and receive the attire. There’s my idea, NBC. Go with it.

After finally putting on my pants, and double and triple-checking myself to make sure nothing else was missing, I left the apartment once again, my head hanging down and defeated. When I got inside my car, I started leafing through the big shoulder bag that I had put a banana in for my breakfast. Most days, I try to put either a piece of fruit or a protein bar of some kind inside a large ziploc bag so I can eat it while driving or when I get to campus before class. So I reached inside the large shoulder bag, pulled out my ziploc, and opened it up. Inside the ziploc was not a banana, but my toothbrush. Later that afternoon, when I got home, I went into the bathroom, and sitting there on top of the bathroom sink … was one lonely, confused banana. Ladies and gentlemen, it is official. Like my husband used to always say to me: “Boo, I think you’ve finally lost it.”


Everyone Else: Crazy

Me: Certifiable


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26 thoughts on “I Have Lost My Mind (and my Pants)

  1. Kell –
    officially tears for all seasons with this post. there is a story of my great grandfather leaving to go to work without his pants. as a man who lost his son, I suppose now I understand what was really going on. though the whole thing is unbearably hilarious, its also difficult to know that you, and others are in this much pain regularly. xx

  2. I wanted to laugh at the pants part, but I just couldn’t. My heart remains so sad for you. It seems so shallow to tell you how much I wish you never had to experience this horror, but I truly wish you didn’t. If I were in NY, I would call you up, pick you up, take you to a wonderful restaurant for a wonderful meal, and through it all, I’d be looking you straight in the eye.

  3. Kelley,

    I agree with Melissa above, the story is both tremendously heart breaking and at the same time unbearably hilarious. I am so sorry for the pain you have to endure each day, and I am happy that you are able to share your feelings and thoughts in the real, raw and honest way that you do. ps, I wondered why you were selling dick meds and body wraps. Asshats…

  4. So for the record, I do not believe you are crazy. I know forgetting your pants (totally embarrassing but funny) doesn’t support my statement. I do believe other people are the crazy ones myself included. I think if people just loosen up and treat you like a person instead of an alien they may seem less crazy and more genuine. Like myself having never lost a significant loved one, we are too worried about what or what not to say. I love reading your blog. I think you are an amazing writer. Oh and why would no one tell you that you were missing pants…..so rude!

  5. My heart aches for you and I know it is little comfort to hear that things will get better but, believe me, it will. When I lost both of my parents within 5 days of each other, I was in a state of grief and numbness. After some months had gone by, the numbness wore off and the real grief set in so when people thought I was “over it,” the pain was just beginning. Hang in there, sweetie, your love will get you through this. He is there in your heart, loving you always.

  6. Well I wanted to laugh. Started to, but then my heart broke. It’s terrible that you’re going through all this, and the others are the crazy ones. Maybe you need to put a checklist on your door, and make sure each item of clothing is listed. Thank you for sharing. I love your posts.

  7. Kelley, you made me laugh so hard I almost had tears running down my legs. I am also a widow and what you think and do reminds me that I am “normal” among certain people. Much love and laughter to you!

  8. Kel…thank you, thank you, thank you….I have tried for years to put into words what ‘the fog’ looks like and how heartbreaking and awful it was/is when everyone left my life or couldn’t be bothered to pick up a damn phone or write an email and you have nailed it!!! I laughed at the no pants story, only because 1) you painted a fantastic picture and I could imagine it being a stranger and not you and 2) because I get it and you just made it all real for everyone that doesn’t or can’t get it because they haven’t experienced our loss.
    Bravo lady…you’ve done it again!!
    YW Sista:-)

  9. Kelley, I’m sorry the fog is so heavy and so hard. I’m sorry you forgot your banana, but I’m sure the toothbrush enjoyed the field trip.

  10. Kelley, Only you can write a humiliating story in a funny way. I’m sorry you are going through all this. You are not crazy. Grieve has long you need. Thinking of you. Hugs.

  11. I think the main reason close friends pull away after the death of someone close to you is that they don’t want to cause further pain. Maybe they’ll say the wrong thing… maybe they’ll bring up a painful memory… or maybe they’re bothering you while you’re in the middle of crying or making arrangements. Or maybe just their presence will remind you of your lost loved one because they were there to comfort you at the time it happened or they were a large part of your OLD life, your HAPPY life. I know I go through all of the above thoughts when I think about a friend who has lost a husband or a child. I desperately want my friend back, but I don’t want to cause further pain. You may be surprised by the number of people who will be SO GLAD you were the one to reach out. It’s not fair to you, you are the one who suffered the loss. But before you think people have given up on you or left you to mourn alone, please consider that they have your best interests at heart.

    I’m so sorry for your loss and I sincerely hope that your life can return to some sense of normalcy.

  12. Aw. Just so you know, you are the third person I know who has done this, so you are either not certifiable or there is a group of who needing to meet each other :)

  13. Kelley, you are not crazy, and there is no “correct” amount of time for mourning. In September, it will be 10 years since my Mom passed at the age of 59. It was not sudden. She had cancer. We saw it coming, and yet, because she never got to be old, I will NEVER be okay with it. It just doesn’t make sense. I resent people whose parents are still alive, people with grandparents, great-grandparents even. WTF? These people get to get old, and my Mom doesn’t? They get to be grandparents and my Mom doesn’t?

    Furthermore, my life has been on pause for the last 10 years. I have been lost, depressed, stagnant, and stuck in inertia. I am furious with myself for letting 10 years get away from me. But after she passed, I really didn’t know what to do. I am desperately trying to move forward…not just because “society” or anyone else wants me to (and they do), but because I need to. I am going to do the best I can. But it’s hard. I’m not saying your situation is the same…but I am saying that grief is a butt-fucker that will steal your life if you let it. Take what you will out of this, leave what you don’t need. <3 ~Ivy

  14. This is wonderful and sad. Glad to see that you are continuing to find humor. I do not know what it is like to lose my husband. I do know what it is like to have Cancer, go through chemo, lose my hair, have everyone staring at me, have people saying all the wrong things (don’t worry, my Aunt had Lymphoma three times), have an outpouring of support, disorientation as I attempt to resume my life, and once my hair grew back, have no one ever bring it up again. In the mean time, it is not over for me. Still getting screenings, and maintenance chemo, and my life is forever different. When I bring it up to people, they get this look on their face, and I always feel stupid. I related to your observation that there is this externally imposed period of time to return to normalcy (whatever that is). You can’t return to your life before your husband died, because he is no longer there. It is that simple. We are hit with all kinds of shit, and then move on to the next, new, harder stage of life, because what choice do we have? We are still alive. And worse yet, we know it will get worse. The challenges will get harder. But here we are. So we might as well laugh. I loved this blog. I know you don’t know me, but I will keep reading.

  15. I was torn on whether to laugh or cry and was relieved whe you said “feel free to laugh and enjoy.” You are amazing and I know you are helping people everyday to find their way in the midst of tragedy. By helping others it will also help you to heal and life your life because it is what Don would want for you.

  16. Fuck all those pants-wearing freaks. Who needs ’em anyway? There’s absolutely nothing wrong with using a banana for a toothbrush either. You’re just fine. Everyone else has got the crazy hang-ups.

  17. Brilliant as always Kelley. I’m sorry I had to laugh at this … but I hope since you’re sharing it, I’m laughing with you. Your stories are always so touching, even the hard ones to read. (and thanks for addressing those adverts….I was about to ask what the heck those were about)

  18. You have ruined seeing people with no pants on for me.

    Now, every time I see someone looking crazy, I’m going to think “maybe their husband just died” and get sad. I prefer it the old way, just thinking their nuts.

    What if this is true for everyone? What if all those half-dressed girls that I always assume are trying to look sexy, and I make fun of them because of it — what if they are widows?

    Thanks Kelley. You’ve ruined everything!

  19. I love reading your blog. It describes me perfectly:) I just can’t find the words to say it. Thank you for sharing that I am not alone!

  20. kel- as i was reading a while bunch of thoughts were going through my head. mostly like, “i hope i didnt say anything that made her uncomfortable that pm i saw her.” but…i know i was me. i can sometimes say stupid shit i know- but kel…you are free 2 say whatever u need to around me. i dont clear my voice (unless i really need to), i dont get uncomfortable…u can say whatever u need to. Just know, that i may not know what to say nor say the best things or respond a certain way- but my heart is in the right place & im reallllly here if you need me. dont be afraid to reach out. My life may be hectic as HELL…yes…and hours and minutes fly by where its nighttime & i havent done half the things i need to- so my mind is scattered…but if you call when you need to- ill be here. I have to admit- i did laugh at reading about the pants…because it IS funny. and the way you right is hysterical because i can SEE how you are saying it. I was disappointed when bill’s dept. decided not to go with a night of comedy/sit down event (instead they ended up going where you are standing for 4 hours in heels listening to a dj play alot of loud music as people walk around a porsche/audi dealership trying to win raffle baskets) because i want 2 c u perform live again. let me know. please. because i want to see you in your happy place. let me know what i can do. you have to be willing to reach out & let us know.

  21. Thank you for clearly explaining to the world what I have been living for 27 months. I wish I could print this out and distribute to all in my life as a primer on widowhood. It’s phenomenal. Thank you so much.

  22. WOW just WOW…you are incredible. My boyfriend lost his wife suddenly a few years ago, and 3 of my children their mother. I met him a year after she passed, and although he usually had pants on, he seemed “foggy” at times. I didn’t get it then, and now I feel like an asshole. Even after almost 5 years of her passing, 2 new children, a new woman in his life, I bet there are times that he feels lost. Thank you for helping me understand.

  23. I just shared this with my great friend this morning as we were having morning coffee. Bless her heart, she is one of the friends that has really been here for me that listens and cries with me. We are still discussing how awesome your writing is and how you so clearly described this widowhood experience. It’s only been 19 weeks for me without Richard and this is such a yo yo process and it’s good to know that I’m not crazy! I catch myself doing the oddest things. The kids and I have had some good laughs at my bizarre behaviors. Thank you so much.

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