It can be difficult to look at the lives of happy families, friends who married around the same time you did, and now have wonderful mommy blogs showing their beautiful children and seemingly perfect life.  It’s easy for me to think that their life turned out just the way they wanted.  They have the “perfect” setup, something I once dreamed that Kevin and I would have.

But I know some of their backstory.  Surprise babies.  Complications at birth.  Financial struggles.  It’s not all perfect.  I know this, yet, I wonder how I missed out on that.

My complications in life weren’t supposed to be death of a husband.  It was never expected, anticipated, and certainly not planned.  I knew there were bumps to be had.  I knew that the minute I met Kevin and we had to deal with a 2500 mile distance.  Then we had to deal with the U.S. Citizen and Immigration Services.  Then we had to deal with a backlog of bills.  Then we had to deal with cancer.  It was a never ending life of bumps for us.

When I think to the night that I said goodbye to Kevin, when I let him go, I don’t know that I knew he was going to die quite yet.  I always KNEW there was that possibility when he was sick, but I never accepted that it would happen to him, to us.  I never thought it would happen when he was being shocked back into rhythm.  Or when he was on the ventilator and unconscious.  Or even when he was in a radical esophagectomy surgery.  The chance was there yes, but it couldn’t happen.  I had faith.  I had prayer.  I had support.  It was Kevin for God’s sake, he wasn’t gonna let himself die.

But I told him it was O.K. to go.  I released him, and hours later, he released himself.  We both “gave up” on the fight, on the pain, on the agony of treatment and waiting for answers that were not there.

I write this fairly numbly because I have had time (and therapy) to cry it out and to face the letting go.  The unexpected.  The bump that wasn’t something I ever contemplated could even occur.

Today in my vastly different life, in a second floor apartment with our cat, an older boyfriend with a grown child, a first time adoring aunt, a close knit tie of people who have helped me to survive, and a bitter excuse for faith, I have come out the otherside of the big bump.

I kind of hoped that the bumps would subside, which is frankly just a dumb way to think of life.  Life without bumps because you survived the big one?  PSH, who do you think you are?  You see, I thought I was special.  I had survived the big bump, so now I could live in a smooth and happily controlled environment.  You see my naivety don’t you?

Cancer then hit both my parents, Alzheimer’s took my Grandfather, Old age and disease took my Grandmother.  Big ass bumps.

And now I’m here, kind of “stuck”.  I feel so-so, mediocre, and I’m unhappy with it!  Brenda, seriously, your life is mediocre.  We should all be so blessed to have mediocrity!  No crisis to deal or avert, no catastrophic disaster or illness stealing all of your emotions, no grand events planned to zap all of your energy.  Medi-friggin-ocrity.

*smirks*  Ya know, I want to like this place.  This place of simple boring calm.  Nothing REALLY wrong.  Some unhappiness here, some joy there, but overall a good balance of getting to breathe every day without having an anxiety attack.

Ok, so mediocrity ain’t so bad.  *looks through binoculars* I can’t see the big bump yet.  I guess that’s for the best.