The random keys. Junk drawer.

I was going through our junk drawer and came across the same bowl we've had for almost 2 decades filled with keys. Moved from my husbands apartment 20 years ago, to his first house and then again 2 years ago to our new home now. I've cleaned it out multiple times. The keys have dust on them and haven't been used in years. I am not sure if they are extras, if they are left behind after said item was tossed or broken or lost, heck they might even belong to someone else. I don't even know how we got this many. As many times as I seen this bowl when I open the drawer, I can't remember once placing a key in there. Why do I have them? How do I keep accumulating more? I should just throw them out. But then I hesitate. What if?

What if I need a key and it's in here? What if, in the future I figure out what the key goes to (like I find my missing bike lock) but I've thrown out the key? What if I come across something locked - that by the way I must not have tried to unlock in the last decade - and I don't have the key anymore? There is even one marked "Emergency Key"...and I NO IDEA what it goes to! Essentially rendering it useless in any emergency! This key literally has no purpose.

Have you ever tried to throw out your keys? Keys are almost impossible to throw out. It goes against your every intuition in your body. I feel I'm hardwired to keep every key, "in case of an emergency". I've thrown out a key before, then reached down and gotten back out of the trash because I just had a feeling "I might need it someday". Not someday soon apparently.

I don't even use keys anymore. I use a garage door opener, I have key card at work and an electronic fob for the car and my new lock on my bike is combination. I should just throw them out, but I cant!!

One second at a time. A widows exspeience

A widows experience as written by Kathy Worrell:

The door bell rings and wakes me. I sit on the bed for a second; are the kids up? Is 'dad' home? Yeah he's here, I think? I would of gotten a text right? What time is it? Ok, moving towards door and yawning, taking the stairs easy. It's dark. I see through the window police lights. Police? I look through the peep hole and confirm it's a man in uniform. Wait, I know him. I say "just a minute" and unlock the top of the door and open it. Now squinting at the light of the porch. He begins to speak.  I try to think of his name...last name, last name? Wait. What?  It's my husbands supervisor and standing back is another two officers I know well. He can tell I'm not listening. Where is my husband, why didn't he answer the door? He begins again. I say "No!".
He shakes his head as if he doesn't even believe what he's saying. And I yell "No!" Again.
He put his hand up, his eyes close, he bites his lips and and comes towards me. I attempt another "No" but it's inaudible, my raised hand is clinched and he hugs me as I both hit his chest and barley stand with the weight of the realization of why they are here.
As additional people arrive, they've helped with a small bag of things. Someone takes my cell phone and makes some calls. I neither remember telling them who to call, or what I was wearing. Or if I dressed at all. Someone hands me shoes. What time is it? Someone offers to stay with the kids.
I'm driven to the hospital. Before I know it, or how, I'm there. In a scene of blurry faces, white hallways and incoherent voices I'm lead to his room. He's hooked up to tubes, monitors and wires.

There's a series of different people, nurses, doctors, the EMT, other officers that speak to me, but I hardly hear any real words. I'm offered food, a glass of water and chances to "take a break" or go for a walk. But I refuse with a couple nods and half hearted smiles and glances that say "I can't" or at least that's what I heard myself saying in my head. 

I'm spending every second I can here. I'm holding his hand so he knows I'm here. I'm frozen. I'm waiting but I'm dreading the inevitable. And as inaudible as the voices around me are so are the sounds until I hear it. It's the beep. I'm suddenly deft but I hear it. Time has instantly slowed and the beep is all that exist and although it seems like nurses and doctors are busy in a hurried attempt to save his life, I'm frozen again. Merely a spectator and everything is in slow motion. I still only hear the beep. Is my heart still beating? Did I remember to breathe? Can I move? Tick. One second. Tick, another second. Time has not stopped, but I have. I can't think, I can't move but my heart drops as the gravity of the pain starts to rush over me. Heat rises through my chest and up my face, as tears run down my face one a time, one after another. Tick. I can hardly swallow as it seems every tear is coming up through my throat at once and pour out my eyes. Tick. Every second is horrible.
I'm still holding his hand and as they tell me it's time. The time. The time of death. Tick. And although the beep has stopped, I still feel it, I still hear it. Tick. Just one second at a time is all I can face next. Tick.
I can't comprehend what's just happened. I'm still holding his hand and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. Tick. Facing anything after this is impossible to imagine. So I'm just going to stay here now. Breathe. Tick.
Just take it one second at a time. Breathe. Tick. They need me to let go of his hand. Breathe. Another second. Sign a paper. Tick. Breathe. Tick. Tears. Tick.

He gone but he's still physically here for a minute. Tick. Before they take him. Just take it one second at a time. Tick. So I look him over carefully again and again and again. Tick. A nurse hands me a bag of his belongings. Tick. Others are there. Tick. Hugs bring no relief. Tick. Gentle touches on the shoulder. Tick. With out the strength to say anything. Tick. I lean over and kiss the sheet covering his forehead and whisper I love you. Tick. And I hear in my mind what I always heard in return...I love you more. Tick.

For days or what might have a just been hours, I take it one second at a time. Tick. The ride home. Tick. Hugging my children. Tick. Changing my clothes. Tick. Tears. Everything I did, every move, physically hurts for awhile. Tick. Everything was like doing everything for the first time again. Tick. Shower. Tick. Eat. Tick.

People are still in the house. Tick. It helps. Tick. It's easy to become consumed by the outpour of support and seconds turned into minutes. Tick. Just take one minute at a time. Tick. Planning the funeral. Tick. Choose pictures of us. Pictures of him with the kids. Our wedding day. Tick. Someone takes the kids shopping for what their going to wear. Tick. I sit in my closet. Tick. It seems nothing is worthy of wearing. Tick. Last call. Tick.
I became more functional, I could plan in blocks of an hour. Just take one hour at a time. Tick. Pack up a couple of his things. Tick. Tick. I have kids. I had to function for them. Just take it one day at a time. Tick. They'd have to go back to school. Tick. Just take it one week at a time. Tick. Every news cast of another officer killed brings a flood of emotions back. Tick.
Everything we would do from now on would be different. Tick. Would be without him. First holidays. Just take it one month at a time. Tick. First birthdays. Tick. And then there was his death date. We had made a year. Just take it one year at a time. It literally felt like we were surviving sometimes. It never gets easy. Tick. If I allowed it I could easily fall apart at any given moment if I thought about it. Tick. For my loss, for my kids loss and for his parents loss. For his loss. Every time I experience something with our kids, I sense his loss. Tick. Tears. Just take it one second at a time.

*a special thanks to the women who shared their experiences of loss, for which I based this on. It was hard enough to write and I am fortunate not to know this kind of loss. However, the pain, emotion and grief pulsed through me as I tried to recreate a compilation of some of their experiences. No experience is the same. My thoughts are with them and their families.     

Journaling journey

Here it is. I dug up all my journals - 34 in all, two I'm currently working on and including two "originals" with locks and everything. If you're counting there is 6X8.5 inch booklets with a hundred to two hundred pages each, I typically only write on one side of the page...not front and back. With an average of 125 words on a page, that's a whopping 400,000+ words of wisdoms. Or something like that. Ha ha ha.
They began in 1989 where I roughly wrote 8 pages of "Dear Diary, nothing happened. Love Kathy"... then I erased 23 pencil written pages with an eraser! Whatever it was, only two to three hand written lines on the page, I was committed to it being gone! I begin again and 1990 with another random 8 pages about a fight with a friend, a trip to my dad's house, then I don't return until March of 1991 when I'm in the sixth grade and had my first kiss, I also happen to mention the Desert Storm and Iraqi War. But in case something happens to all the history books and the internet, don't count on my diary's to rewrite history or anything. Ha ha ha. Then I'm MIA until 1994 when looking back on what I had wrote 5 years ago, I quote "I knew nothing back then!" I tell myself. I'm sure you can hear the laughter from my closet now.
I can't wait to read more. I don't know if I'm happy I wrote it down...because I obviously forgot it all and may be that was a good thing. Among my journals were roughly eight books I had half started since my teens. As a child I wrote, illustrated and finished three books; one about babysitting, one about having my own band and the last one was about a romance.
The only 3 I liked out of the 8 I started later in life were all as well, all fiction and all very different. One as a romance novel, one is a thriller and the other is a comedy. I sure am eclectic! Motivated yes, creative yes, focused...I struggle with that. Once I have an idea the door opens and everything comes out at once. Hence the reason for half started books laying around. I have since determined to finish my last three favorite and most promising books. So stay tuned!