Dad vs. Daddy

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The other day, Steve overhead the very thing that most blended family parents hope they never hear from our 7 year old:

“I love my daddy, but I don’t like my dad.”

Ugh. I hate that it was him that overheard it, and not me. She was talking with her cousins, I don’t know what about, but I know how deep those words can cut. Now, I feel ok sharing this because I know that she doesn’t really feel that way. She and Steve have a great relationship and she is always writing him notes or making pictures for him, playing and teasing with him…and one of the last texts she sent to him from her ipod was “you’re a great dad.”

Nonetheless, it hurt my heart. When I addressed it with her, I know she felt terrible, and she did confess that she didn’t really mean that and there was nothing she was upset about….but it got me thinking that perhaps she’s got her daddy on a pedestal. In fact, I think most people do. That’s kind of what happens with the dead – we elevate them to an inflated ideal of who they are, and forget the flaws (as it should be).  So I felt the need to remind her that when her daddy was alive, he did all the same things her dad does (discipline when she’s not acting appropriate, or get frustrated when she misbehaves) not because either of them are mean, but because they love her and want to make sure she grows up to be the best girl she can be. I never want my daughter to see her daddy in a bad light, because he loved her with everything he had, but I also want to remind her once in awhile that he was human. She also needed the reminder that her dad loves her and would do absolutely anything for her. 

There will be days like these. There will be days when my daughter isn't fond of me, either. But a little perspective goes a long way, and I want to make sure she remembers her daddy that same way I do....the good AND the bad. Cause that's the man I loved and the man who loved her dearly.

Juggling

....and the sole parent.


I always said that when I was pregnant, it would make evolutionary sense that I also grew an extra set of arms .... I know I could have used an extra pair of hands when my children were small.

....and then this week, I haven't needed more arms, I really need a clone. So many places that my children and I need to be, so few minutes during which to be there.

...and its times like this that I feel overwhelmed by this sole parenting gig*. 

I never planned to do this parenting thing alone.
I never realised how oriented our society is to families with two parents (and apparently, endless other willing aunts, uncles, grandparents who are all fit and healthy and ready to help).
Between school excursions I can't get my child to and am almost begging for someone who can drop them at the meeting point,  to music camps that I have absolutely no hope of ever being on time to collect a child from, I get the tut-tuts of those who say that they are sad that my children are "missing out". (Like I have a choice?  Like they aren't already missing out on having a father? Like I haven't asked for help already?)


When I explain that it Just Me doing everything, nobody gets it.  I've tried variations of the following to try to explain....

Feeling seedy yourself and a child starts vomiting? Guess what, you're up on vomit duty.  All night if needed.
Fighting through a mountain of work and a child is not dealing well with their grief? Guess what, you're up for endless hugs, backrubs, hours of listening and calming and worrying about just how messed up they are.  Your work can just sit there and wait.
Fancying a bit of "me" time with a glass of wine and a good book? Someone is bound to require you to drive them somewhere and you forgot that you promised to drive them.
Too tired to make dinner?  Tough luck, it's you cooking or the kids eat toast for dinner for the third night in the week.
Child needs surgery in hospital and you are falling apart at the thought of it?  Suck it up and be strong, this isn't about you right now.

They nod, look concerned, then offer me no help whatsoever.



So now I think that since I never grew that spare set of arms and I can't convince the local scientific institute to clone me, I guess I am going to have to learn how to juggle.




* - I am not looking for anyone to offer me "solutions" on what I "should" do, I am just sharing in the hope that someone else says "yeah, I get what you are saying.  Sole parenting IS hard".

"Read, Daddy"

Jeremy in the sailor suit, and his other mini-me, Carter bearing the same sweet features.

Now the school is in full swing and we've kinda (and I use that term loosely) got a routine going, I've been able to spend a lot of one-on-one time with my man cub. I haven't had just one child with me in over 5 years! It's been nice to just play with him, talk to him, and watch him grow. His life thus far seems to have gone by in the blink of an eye and I know I was checked out for the first part of it. I feel like I've missed a lot.

Spending more time with him has made me face a lot of grief associated with his life, though. Watching him learn new things and knowing that Jeremy will never get to see him grow. The ache that comes with the understanding that Jeremy never got to hold his son. Thinking about the day he was born never ceases to make me emotional. Sometimes I think that day was harder in some ways than the day Jeremy died. We talk about 'daddy' all the time - he associates my necklace with Jer, the pics of him around the house, the tattoo on my arm, even the Toronto Maple Leafs logo he recognizes with his daddy. It's so incredibly bittersweet.

Last week, I sat down and showed Carter the video I have of Jeremy reading "Barnyard Dance" to Faith and Caleb. He was mesmerized. And I was full of tears and smiles. We went about our day and week until the other day, Carter was pointing to the table throwing a fit because I couldn't understand what he was wanting. When I finally figured out that he was pointing to my computer and saying "read Daddy, read Daddy" I burst into tears. 

He remembered.

Not only did he remember, he wanted more. More of his daddy. He wanted more of this presence he hears referred to all the time but hasn't met him or touched him yet. To hear his voice, see his face, and see him snuggle up against his big brother and sister made an impact on that little 19-month-old heart. He watched it again and again. 

For all the times I worry that Carter may not understand or I might share enough....I realize that Jeremy really is a presence in our hearts and in our lives. And he's in the heart and life of a little man cub who's never met him face to face, but who lives out his legacy as the spitting image of his daddy. 

Meet Melinda McDonald

 

 

First, I would like to thank Wendy for filling in for me last week.  I was at my girl’s annual Girl Scout camping trip in WI (you know, the one where men are not allowed in the cabins and have to sleep in far away tents or in their cars.  I choose the car.).  I thought I would have access to Wi-Fi and found out when I arrived, that was not the case.  So thanks Wendy.

 

I am finding as the girls get older, free time becomes more of a premium.  I’ve always assumed that once they learned to walk, dress themselves, and pour a bowl of cereal, that my life would become easier.  Not the case.

 

There are now more time demands at looking at homework, more time when I come home from work, and more time on the weekends.  I recently watched a Ted Talk (go to ted.com if you are ever looking for inspirational messages and amazing speeches) where the topic focused on the idea of gaming and how studies show that the more parents play games with their kids (yes, video games totally count), the better groundwork you are laying down for them.  So yes, now more Donkey Kong Jr. and Mario Brothers have to be added to the list – if I must.

 

I am happy to be able to find more time with the girls.  I am making progress with them. If this was last year and Kelly said to me in Target – as she did a few weeks ago - after seeing that I bought a new backpack for Haley, if she could have a new one.  Not only would I have bought her a new backpack, but probably would have stopped at the local pet store on the way home and bought her a puppy. 

 

This is why the following simple conversation was a huge progress point for me.

 

“Dad, Haley is getting a new backpack.  Can I get one?”

“No. You still have your Hello Kitty backpack that is in good condition.”

“But how come Haley gets a new one?”

“Because Haley’s is three years old and it’s broken.”

“Please.  I really want a new one.”

“No.”

“Daaaddd.  Pleeease.”

“No.”

 

That’s huge for me!  Not only that, but when I put them to bed, I didn’t go to my room and beat myself up on how I should have gotten her a backpack and a puppy.

 

I am getting better at this.  My relationship with Cheryl has helped a great deal and has given me more confidence as a father/person.  She has been an inspiration to me that life can have challenges and yet there is still life to be had, still room to grow.  With all the sadness, this has always kept me going the most, that there is time and room for growth. 

 

All this being said, I am giving up my blog spot; it’s time to let others speak. I am honored Michele has given me a voice (forever grateful), so honored to have followed Dan in Real Time, and honored have our newest blogger take over Sundays.  Melinda will bring a powerful voice to this blog – I will let her share her life with you on her own time.   However, here is a quick introduction from her:

 

My name is Melinda McDonald.

I am 31 years old, and a suicide widow. I was widowed at 29 years old. My husband was 31 years old when he took his life.

 

Seth suffered immensely emotionally for 3 years, before ending his life. Watching what he went through is worse than anything I have ever seen.

 

From the day I met Seth, I knew we would be together forever. We were rarely apart, and were together for 10 years. He died shortly before our 5 year wedding anniversary.

We had a great relationship. He was my best friend, lover and soul mate. He taught me what a true relationship is like, what true happiness is, and what true love is. He even taught me how to make homemade beer.

 

As for me, life is getting back on track. I spent my whole “adult” life with Seth, so I am learning who I am, what I want out of life, and what my next journey will be. Because of Seth’s death, I am more true to myself, am a better friend, and eventually, will be a better wife.

 

I am accepting that I can have two soul mates, and hope one day I will find soul mate #2.

I enjoy photography, blogging, cooking, dancing (Zumba!!), my family (I wouldn’t have lived through this without them). I find great enjoyment in helping other suicide widows, especially letting them have a safe place to talk, and knowing they are not alone.

 

Thanks Melinda, best of luck, you’re in good hands. 

 

Thank You WV community, it’s been an honor.

 

Matthew

 

 

Haley Checks In

(love this photo of Haley and Lisa compared.  Same smile.  And no, that is not me next to my wife.  I am standing behind her, that's my brother-in-law)

I’m in the middle of writing my blog when my twelve-year daughter, Haley, walks in my room,

“Dad, can we buy The Hunger Games on DVD?  It's out now and grandma and grandpa said we can watch it after the girls go to bed.”

“I’m writing my blog right now.  Let’s talk about when I’m done.”

“You should write about your wonnn-derrr-fulll daughter.” She says. 

“I wrote about you guys last week.  Why, do you have any thoughts?”

“What is it you need to write about?”

“Who we lost and what it does to us.  How is it not having mom around?”

“Well, it’s different because there’s not a woman adult around.  It’s harder to talk about puberty to my dad because men have different versions of puberty.”

“What about when mom died. How was that for you?”

“I don’t remember much about my childhood. I know what she looks like, but not a lot of memories, not a lot of memories of anything when I was eight.”  She says.

“Does it bother you, you don’t remember mom?”

“No. Not really because I can’t remember a lot of things.”

“Does it feel strange growing up not having a mom?”

“A lot of my other friends don’t have both parents, don’t forget I have two kids in my class who had their dads die.”

“But does it bother you not having a mom and dad?  And let me rephrase, you of course have a mom, I meant a mom who was still alive.”

“I know what you meant.  Umm, that’s a difficult question to answer because I don’t know the difference.  I love her, but I don’t know the difference.”

“What about growing up with a dad who has to be the one always enforcing the rules?”

“Like I said, I don’t know the difference of any other way.  But it is different with the dad issuing the discipline because I heard I heard that mothers are more sensitive about punishments.  Can we go to target now and get Hunger Games?”

I’ll have to reflect later on this conversation, but I find it interesting that for her, this all seems normal.  The rough couple of years we all had to go through haven’t retained many memories for her.  Hmmm, so many questions I have.  I always assumed that having such young girls would be difficult, but maybe the kids who are already teenagers have a more difficult time because they do know the difference.

I don’t know.

I am constantly amazed of how resilient kids are. 

Back to School

It’s Saturday night and I watch my two oldest girls go through their newly purchased school supplies like it’s Halloween candy.  Still in the plastic bags, they go through one by one, taking out the pens and markers, pulling out the nine folders I bought of baby animals and like a draft, selecting one by one which one they want – Haley selects the bunny rabbit which was a bit of surprise as the kitten hanging out of a basket was the odds-on favorite to win.

The only reason they are still in bags is because I came home and just threw them in the closet.  School doesn’t start for another few weeks and I assumed they wouldn’t even care.  As a matter of fact I also assumed I would have to be the one to go and organize.  However, Haley came up to me while I was sitting on the couch and asked when we were going to go through the items.  I told Haley they could go ahead and do it themselves if they really wanted to.  I was confident my response would leave to a “never-mind”, but instead they both ran downstairs to begin their organization. 

If I remember correctly, they’ve been complaining about school starting soon, so this joy in anything school throws me off.  I put my paper down and walk downstairs.  There they are with all the bags on my bed.  Haley has her new backpack almost filled and tries it on with every new supply put in and walks around to give it a test run.

Kelly sees me and asks if I still have her back pack, now I feel bad as I only bought a new one for Haley, Kelly’s is still in good shape.  I am about to tell her I will pick her up a new one, but they seem to be having so much fun that I walk to the closet and pull out her pink Hello Kitty pack.  I get a “Bonus! I still have this!” and off she goes back to the bed to put in her supplies and –like her big sister, at this age always like her big sister – puts in an item or two and give it a test walk from the edge of the bed to the doorway, a whole four feet of walking.  Kelly nods her head as she gets to the door - she has given her approval that these number 2 pencils I bought will do just nicely in her Hello Kitty bag – and then back three and a half steps back to the bed to begin on the markers.

I am now in full dad mode as I hide behind the door and peek in so they can’t see me.  I watch the organization of this grand event – “Kelly tell you what, want don’t you take my, pooh bear pencil case, if you will let me your puppies notebook?” Haley says, holding the pencil case in front of Kelly to make the trade seem more desirable. “Deal!” Kelly says immediately, as she grabs it from Haley and begins to put in her scissors and glue sticks without handing Haley the folder, but seems satisfied with the exchange.

I like seeing my kids be kids.  I love these reminders that life is good and there is still so much to enjoy.  They force me to get out of my head of how difficult things can be, how much sadness is in the world, how much crap there is to deal with.  They don’t have time for all that over-thinking; there are pencils to be sharpened and flash cards to put rubber bands around.

It’s infectious, I think I put those bags in my closet because I don’t want to have to deal with the fact that school is starting in two weeks.  Is there anything more annoying that summer is ending and school is starting?  I don’t want to even think about all the details that school for three kids will involve.  But the kids didn’t even give me an hour, they pulled those bags right out of the closet and started their little party.  I can’t believe that I am thinking this, but I think I’m now excited for school to start also.  Damn the details, there is a year of new possibilities and wonder ahead for them.  Thanks girls, I owe you one.

The Widow Yoda

     Niles, IL may not be the swamps of Dagobah, but on Osceola Street lives one of my best friend’s mom from grammar school.  Growing up, we were always at their house.  Kenny had an awesome dad and a very funny mom.  When we were seniors in high school, his dad died and it was difficult for all of us.

 

After high school, we went our separate way to college. I can count on one hand the times I have seen his mom.  But when I sold our house two years ago and I move in with my parents, it put me back to within one block of his house and right in the middle of treat-or-treating territory. 

Last Halloween, with some families from our school, we were going door to door and came to Kenny’s old house – Kenny has since married and lives out of state.  The second the doorbell rings, out comes Mrs. Thompson, bursting through the door like best friends have stopped by to chat, big green bowl full of candy, and she looks down to the sidewalk to get a glimpse of the parents.  I wave hello and announce who I am.

“Hello. Mrs. Thompson, it’s Matt Croke.”

“Matthew? Is that you?” she says.

 Forgetting all about the kids, she starts to walk down her sidewalk to meet me.  I walk up and meet her halfway and the group of kids and parents head to the next house – my presence for my kids irrelevant for the conquest of obtaining candy.  After a quick hug, she comes right out with it.

 “Are you dating anyone yet?”

 Only Mrs. Thompson could blurt out such a statement that makes me smile before it makes me wince.  It was the same tone and aggressiveness she used on us over 30 years ago when we were all playing in the backyard with 4x4 trucks and she would come home, “Have you boys had lunch yet?  Come on, you need some food.”  You normally had very little dialogue with Mrs. Thompson.

 I laugh as I shrug, “No, not yet.  Just taking care of the kids.”

 “You need to date a widow,” she said, not having the least amount of interest of my thoughts on this topic.  I was half expecting her to tell me that I need to eat and go into the house and fix myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“Listen to me, will you listen,” she continued. “You need to date yourself a widow. They know.  They understand.  It would be a good fit for you.”

"Okay Mrs. Thompson, I’ll think about…”

 “You’re young, you have time, find yourself a widow and enjoy life.”

I pointed to my children four houses away, thanked her for the advice, and said goodbye.  One of the mothers asked me what that was all about and I told her she wants me to date a widow.  We both laughed.  I had no intention of dating a widow. 

I didn’t like the idea.  Too many deep wounds on both sides, not to mention, what if it didn’t work out?  How painful would another loss be for each person?  Mrs. Thompson means well, she’s been there, but not sure she gets it.

I met Cheryl at a camping trip the Good Mourning program puts on for our kids.  I remember seeing her once or twice in our group sessions, but really didn’t sit down and talk to her until this camping trip.  We had a nice conversation: both had three girls, both had spouses fighting brain tumors, both had spouses with outgoing personalities.  It was nice to talk to someone with common ground.

We went out as friends about once a month – great being on the same schedule.  One of my biggest fears of dating would be to explain to someone why I sometimes couldn’t go out on a Saturday night at 7pm because the kids needed more “dad” time.  Cheryl is in a situation where her girls need more “mom” time.  Most nights we would go out past 10pm for a few hours. Kids first, us second.  I think it was this common view point we both had that brought us closer.
 
Although, on paper, there were many reasons we should probably stay friends, we decided a few months ago to start dating.  There’s been way too much over thinking the past few years on how I’m managing my grief, so I decided for this relationship, to let it be what it is.  It is what it is.  And right now, we are getting along; all the obstacles on paper will have to wait.
 
Mrs. Thompson nailed it.  Even when I thought she was wrong. “Listen to me, will you listen.  You need to date yourself a widow. They know.  They understand.  It would be a good fit for you.”
 
Maybe I should go back and ask her, now how do I manage a relationship while living in my parent’s basement?

The small things

When Michele asked me to write here, there is only one thing I clearly remember her saying in the brief - write as honestly as I can from where I am NOW.

So that's what I try to do each week.... write my now.
my truth.
As honestly as I can.
My soul stripped bare.

Some weeks, I am OK.  Good even.  But other weeks, I am not so good.
This is one of those weeks.

I am sick.  My chest rattles as I suck air in and out. My head pounds.  My eyes leak. My energy has evaporated and I am light headed whenever I try to do anything.
I am tired.
I am sick of the petty squabbles over who farted on who's pillow.
I am tired of cooking and cleaning when I am not working or preparing for work.
I am sick of being in charge of everything.  All the big things and all the small things.
I feel like I'm sinking under the weight of a life that was meant to have two parents involved in bringing up the children.
I am angry at a God I no longer believe in (I said I was being honest - I didn't say my thoughts had to make sense to you).
If anyone had told me I'd still be feeling this aching pain 26 months later, I think I would have given up right then and there when I first heard the news that he was dead.

I feel like I am going backwards into my grief when I have been trying so long to move forwards through it.
This is not like me at all.
I am a do-er.
A pick-yourself-up-er.
A set-your-goal-and-go-for-it-er.
A great believer in the almighty I CAN do it.
And I always achieve what I set my mind to.
Except when I don't.

Early this morning, I sat on our my bed and the tears just ran in rivers down my face. I wanted to be held by his arms.  I wanted someone to look at me like I was the most beautiful and precious jewel they'd ever seen.  I wanted someone to tell me they loved me above all else.

....and then my kids came in with their hilarious home-made Mother's Day gifts.
The small things they had painstakingly made out of bits and bobs they had collected.
....and they hugged me, and told me I was the best mother in the world (they are easily pleased).
...and I realised....
I am loved.

Life still sucks beyond the telling of it, but I am loved.
These two little souls are here, in front of me, looking at me like I am the most precious jewel they have ever seen.
Holding me in their arms.
Telling me that they love me so much.


....and I say a silent prayer of thanks to the God I no longer believe in.
The God of small things....

Handmade jewels

Balloons, Python, Mothers

            One of the ways I like to torture myself is to do useless comparisons about the different aspects of being a widower.  One of my favorites, and I’ve even brought it up while hanging out with my widow friends, is which is worse: sudden death or a long drawn out passing?

There never seems to be a definitive answer, nor do I think one exists.  For some reason it’s just a topic I like to delve into to when I want to go to that dark place.  Not sure why I like these topics, I’ve never been much of a masochist.  The closest I come to abusing myself is to eat a half box of Cap'n Crunch until the roof of my mouth is bleeding – I’ve never done a full box yet, but I’m only in my early 40s.

            Another topic I like to go over and over and over in my mind as I lie awake at night,  thinking of ways to make myself feel like crap, is which is worse for the girls growing up, no mother, or no father.

            Of course I’ll always convince myself it’s no mother.  The bond of a mother and her children are priceless, growing up without the loving touch, the nurturing hand, the sympathetic voice of reason, are tangibles no child can live without.  I lie there looking at a dark ceiling I can’t see and convince myself that no matter what I do or no matter how hard I try, my kids are screwed.

            I’ve tried to make up for no Lisa around the house.  I thought if I could make mom still very much part of us, the kids won’t really notice she died.  Last Mother’s Day, we all made cards and I bought helium filled balloons to tie the cards to and release them to the sky.  I made a big production about it and oversold the benefits of this to my girls, “See, by making cards and tying them to balloons, we still do have a mom to do things for, she’s not totally gone,” the thoughts race in my mind. 

We get outside and the wind is blowing so we move to the front of the house to avoid power lines.  I make a much longer than needed speech and we release the balloons and watch them, as the top of the tree acts like a magnet and all three balloons fly right into the branches.  Kelly breaks the silence by stating the obvious, “I don’t think Mom is going to get those.”  I say something overly nice about how mom can still see what are in the trees – or something stupid along those lines.  The kids walk back in the house pleased of the launch while I’m obsessing about how better their life would be if Lisa were here.

            Although embarrassing on how I sometimes arrive at validations of my parenting, I will still share with you my latest train of thought on the topic.  I was watching TV, flipping through channels, when I came across Monty Python’s The Holy Grail - one of my all time favorite movies, and yet a movie I haven’t sat through in almost 20 years.  As I sat and watched, I was amazed at one aspect of this film; it's a slow movie with no ending – they totally punted on the ending.  But it doesn’t matter because there are so many great bits and catch phrases that it more than makes up for any of its poor scene transitions or lazy ending. 

            My kids won’t remember every moment of every day we live.  Heck, I clearly didn’t remember how slow the entire move of The Holy Grail is and I’ve seen it like 100 times when I was younger.  We remember highlights and good moments, and I do give my kids those.  I can honestly say that I don’t need to revisit the topic of which is worse, not having a mother or not having a father, because the answer is, not having someone at all who can give you those good moments to help you forgot the slow and difficult parts of life. 

            We’re going to do the balloons again today, but I will skip the speeches and overselling of the meaning of the day. The fun part is watching balloons go up towards the sky.  I don’t need to fill an entire day of importance; I just need one good moment.  I’m going to make Mother’s Day just like Monty Python’s The Holy Grail, except I will leave out the fluff and get right to the good stuff;   after all, it’s all they’ll remember anyway.

                                    __________________________________

King Arthur: I am your king.
Woman: Well I didn't vote for you.
King Arthur: You don't vote for kings.
Woman: Well how'd you become king then?
King Arthur: The Lady of the Lake, her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite held aloft Excalibur from the bosom of the water, signifying by divine providence that I, Arthur, was to carry Excalibur. THAT is why I am your king.
Dennis: [interrupting] Listen, strange women lyin' in ponds distributin' swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony.