A Really Bad Night ......

...... and day.

I wrote this post for my blog yesterday.
I don't have the energy to write anything else at the moment.
So you get to experience what I experienced.
Buckle your seat belts.

I'm staying in NY an extra day, though I'd much rather be on my way to Texas than sitting here, feeling what I'm feeling.

Last night, at some time after midnight, Daughter #1's cat made his way into my bedroom, which I almost always keep shut so that he can't come in.  I was in the rest room, getting ready for bed and I suddenly heard the window shade make a loud noise.  I looked over there and immediately knew what had happened.  Jack had come in, jumped up on the window sill and either jumped or fell out of the window.  I couldn't see him down there, but a guy was looking up at me, not saying anything or pointing at anything, just looking.
I started praying out loud, grabbed my shoes and my keys and flew out of the door, down the elevator and outside.  I looked all over but couldn't see him.  Then I started to hear his meow.  I couldn't tell if he was in a tree, or down on the ground.  The more I called his name, the louder is meow became.  I finally dropped to my hands and knees and crawled around and between newspaper machines and parked cars and there I found him ...... underneath a car.  He wouldn't' come to me but just kept meowing.  I could tell that his mouth was hurt and that he was bleeding.  I spoke soothingly to him and petted him as I crawled as close as I could under that car.  Then I managed to grab his tail and started gently pulling to try to get him to back out.  All four feet were clawed into the ground as much as he could manage, so I had to pull harder on his tail, hoping that I wasn't causing any further injuries, and hoping that he wouldn't turn on me and use those claws and his teeth.
He didn't and I was able to get him out.  I cradled him close to me and went back into my building and up into my room.  I grabbed a soft towel and wrapped him in it and then walked into Daughter #1's bedroom to do what I dreaded doing ..... waking her up to tell her what happened.
That's when I started crying.

She held him and talked to him while I got on the internet and searched for a nearby 24 hour vet hospital.  I called one, left a message and was told that a dr would return my call in 15 minutes.  We both felt that was too long to wait so after a few minutes I got back on line and called the next place.  A woman actually answered the phone because they really were open all night.  So we got the address, jumped into a cab and headed over.

D1 turned Jack over to the nurse who let us in and said the dr would be up as soon as he'd examined him.
D1 and I sat in a small exam room and cried and cried, saying very little to each other, other than the "I'm so sorry" that came out every 5 minutes or so.  She wouldn't even meet my eye.

The vet came in pretty quickly and said that Jack's jaw had been broken in several places. Part of the bone under his cheek had broken and it seemed to have gone behind his right eye, which explained the bleeding we had seen there.  He said that he didn't seem to have any other orthopedic problems, so that was good.  He was breathing very rapidly, which we had known, but that could be due to the pain and the stress and hopefully not a lung injury.  He said that there may be neurological  damage but that we wouldn't know that for another 24 hours or so.  They had sedated him, and given him pain meds, which makes it hard to assess his neuro condition.  But at least he was out of pain.

Then he started talking about the cost that it would take to fix him.  He was a very, very nice man.  He said that it would not be inexpensive, but that there are programs we could apply for to see if we could get financial help for this.  The problem with that was the time it would take and he needed help that night.  The hospital didn't want to start spending a large amount of money on him if the treatment could not be continued.  He said that he'd work up an estimate for the cost for overnight and then we could decide what to do after that.
He also said that, if we could not afford it, another choice was to go ahead and put him down.  It would be humane and painless and he'd support that.
I think that's pretty much when D1 stopped looking at me altogether.
The dr. left to go get the estimate, leaving us alone in the room.
And even though we didn't have eye contact I assured her that Jack would not be put to sleep.

I paid the estimate for the overnight bill, we went down to see him for a bit.  He was asleep and pain-free, but still a difficult site for D1.
Then we caught a cab back to the apartment and still managed to not look at each other.

I just bought window fans that day.  I had installed 2 in the living room and one in my bedroom.  The one in my bedroom fits perfectly and leaves no room for a cat to get out.  The two in the living room are less fitted, but they seemed secure enough to me to not let a cat over them.
It wasn't one of those windows that he jumped from ..... it was my window that was open about 4 inches.
D1 had expressed her fear of the cat falling when I had told her weeks ago that we weren't going to run the AC when the air outside was cool.  It would be too expensive and just crazy.  She wanted me to install screens on the windows, which would be astronomical and isn't all that easy to find around here.  So I opted for opening the windows a crack, except for in my room, because the cat wasn't allowed in there and the door was always (usually) kept shut.

Then I saw the window fans at Beth's house and thought that those would work.  We could have the window open, yet blocked because a fan was set in it.

This morning, after D1 left for work, I removed the fans from the living room windows and went back to opening them a crack.  I'm sure that they'll be completely shut if and when Jack comes back.

So hopefully you can see why I completely see this as my fault.  As I'm sure she does.
Which is why, when she stopped by the hospital this morning to get the astronomical estimate for what the surgery and after care would cost, I said, "OK."
Because what else could I say?

I haven't stopped crying since this happened.  It's unbelievable how much guilt a heart can hold.

But you want to know the kicker?  The real heart-splitting thing that I canNOT get out of my head? The thing that causes just as many tears today?

The doctor said this: "We need to wait for the swelling to go down before we can operate."

And though this is in NO WAY the same ...... and very very INSANE ...... those are the exact words I was told 5 years and almost 9 months ago..
EX.
ACT.

And those words are killing me all over again.

It's not about the cat.  Or whether or not he lives.
It's about D1, and what this will do to her, and her partner, whom I care for very much.
And what it will do it us.

But more than that ..... it's about Jim.  It's about waiting all that damn day before taking him into surgery.  It's about not being able to wait, in the end.
And it's about none of that mattering ...... in the end.
Because it was the end.

It's about some things that never end.
No matter how much you wish they would.

I'm Hoping ......

                                                     source

...... that the worst is behind me.

I wouldn't put money on that hope, but I'm hoping nonetheless.

I have parented 6 children.  Jim was here to fully parent 3, almost 4, of those children.
All three girls had made it through high school and were firmly ensconced in college (the oldest was doing an internship while waiting to get into grad school).

Our oldest son was half way through his senior year in high school.

The "easiest" kids were pretty much on their own.
The biggest challenges were yet to come.
And boy, they came with a vengeance.

I'm sure that we would have had our challenges, even if Jim had been alive.
But I have no doubt that the challenges that faced me, were much worse because he was not.
There were many times when I doubted that we would all survive their journey to adulthood.
There were some times when I would've told you that one of us would definitely not survive.

But on Saturday, Son #2 turned 21.
He is an adult.
And though he is not at a place in life where I had hoped/dreamed he'd be ...... he's doing ok.
Trust me ...... after 5 1/2 years on this path as an only parent ...... "doing ok" is pretty damn good in my opinion.
Especially after everything he ...... and I ...... have been through.

In less than one month, Son #3 heads off to college.
In spite of all we've been through.
In spite of all he's put me through.
In spite of ...... so much.
And because of ...... so much.

My children are survivors.
I doubt that they look at themselves that way, but I sure see them that way.
They have survived more than any child should have to survive.
They have survived far less than some children have to survive.
They have survived the loss of their father.
And they have survived me.

They have survived losing the mother they knew.
They have survived living with a mother who didn't want to live.
They have survived watching their mom grieve harder than anyone thought possible.
They have survived watching their mom get knocked down, slowly pick herself up, redefine herself, change her priorities ...... and grow stronger than they ever thought possible.

They have survived watching her stumble, make mistakes, and yet keep moving forward.
They've heard her apologize to them, tell them how much she loves them, and admit that she'll always be fallible but that she will always be there for them.

They've watched me grow stronger ...... and they've seen me make decisions that they might not always agree with, but they always support.

The seven of us have grown closer over the last 5 1/2 years.
In spite of so very much.
Because of so very much.

And though parenting never really ends ......
I really am hoping that the worst part of being an only parent to 6 grieving children ...... is behind me.

I'm excited to watch them as they encounter their futures.
I'm happy that they've all made it to "adulthood" ....... in spite of everything, and because of everything.

I'm excited to see what the future holds for each of them ...... and for me.
It's been a long time coming.
To say the least.

Fighting the Old Fight ......

...... of feeling like a failure.

I have struggled with this battle off and on during the past 5 years.
In the beginning it was a constant feeling.
I was in such shock, depression and deep, deep grief ...... that I could barely function during that first year.
The second year started off with a diagnosis of cancer in January and major surgery in February.  The depression only worsened during that second year, as I spent most of it recovering from that surgery and the pain it left behind.

Add that to the horrendous grief ...... and everything else I kept getting thrown my way ...... and I still didn't function very well.
I felt like I had failed everyone, but most of all, my children.
I still had 3 teenage sons living with me and they were grieving the loss of their father.

Now even on a good day, with no grief to deal with, teenage boys are not known for their eloquent communication skills.
Throw in the death of their father and you can imagine how much less they communicate ...... even with constant encouragement.

There were many days when it felt like I was the only person in my home who was grieving Jim.  And I hated that.
I also hated crying so much and so often during that first year.  I felt badly for the boys, having to see me like that most of the time.
I knew early on, as did they, that they lost both parents that horrible night in December.
But there was nothing I could do to change things.

I tried taking two of them to counselors, but boys will not communicate if they don't want to communicate (nor will anyone).  The good thing that came out of that was that I continued to see the first counselor after she decided it was useless to continue to see him.
So she helped me learn how to deal with him, and how to deal with living through my grief.

There was a time when I felt horrible for how hard I had grieved, and how much I had not done for my children.  I apologized to each of them, more than once, for that.  I also told them that if I had it all to do over again ...... I would most likely do it exactly the same.
I lost my best friend, my husband, my lover, my protector, my confidante, my partner, the father of my children, the first and only man I'd ever loved and the love of my life.  We loved each other "hard".  And very, very much. And we liked each other a lot.  Not every couple can say that.  Heck, I don't think even 50% of couples can say that.
Unfortunately.  That alone depresses me and makes me sad for them.

We were just approaching the time in life when we could do more things with each other ...... and plan trips we wanted to take after the kids were "out".  The future looked wonderful.
And then there was no future.
At all.

But sometime last year I stopped feeling guilty.  I stopped feeling like a failure.  I refused to let myself go there because I knew that I had not failed and that I was not guilty of anything ...... except loving Jim with all of my heart.  And showing our 6 children what it takes to have a great marriage.  Not a perfect one, by far, but still ...... a great one.

So I stopped apologizing and told them, again, I had done the best I could with what I had.  And just the fact that I'm not dead right now is proof of that.
The seven of us have survived ...... in spite of how each of us grieved.  Or maybe because of it.
I'm not a failure.  Even if a so called "friend" told me that I was.
Fortunately by the time I heard those words I knew better.  And didn't own them, but completely rejected them.  And her.

But this past week I felt Guilt trying to rear its ugly head again.
I was involved in a study that talked about how hugely important "the family meal" is.  And how fast the practice of families gathering at the same table for meals is being lost.
And how that correlates with the rise in problems our young people are having.  Fewer and fewer families spend time together at the dinner table ...... or anywhere.

I thought about how firmly Jim and I believed in the family eating together.  He wasn't always able to make it home in time for dinner, due to the demands of his job, but he always made it home every Wednesday night in time.  Everyone who worked with him knew that.  They knew they couldn't schedule meetings late on Wednesdays, or he'd be absent.
He made it home for other nights, too, but Wednesday was set in stone.

And then he died.
And the family dinners have been few and far between.  Granted, it's mostly been just 2 of us here.  And one of us is in school full time, has a part time job after school and on the weekends, and also has a decent social life.
In case you're wondering ...... that would not be me.

So I went to this Son last week and sat next to him to ask him a question.
"You remember the family meals we had when Dad was alive, right?"  Of course he did.  Why did I ask?
"I just wanted to make sure you remembered.  And that you remembered how important it was ...... and that you'll remember how important it is when you have a family."
These last two sentences were said with tears running down my face.  I'm sure he thought I was losing it ...... yet again.
He assured me that he not only remembered, but did indeed plan to make sure his family ate together.
Which made me feel much, much better.

So even though guilt and failure tried to worm their way back into my head ...... I kept the door firmly shut.  And then locked it.

I did the very best I could.  It may not have been much, but it was all I had.
I had no handbook.
I had no warning.
I had no clue.

And I have no guilt.
If you do, please try to let it go.  Don't take ownership of that horrible feeling.  You don't deserve it.
You're doing the best you can ...... with what you have ...... and who you lost.
Keep breathing.

trying

I am going to start by apologizing that my post for today is so late. I'll admit that I am frazzled and busy. I can also tell you that I tried to post last night but after an unexplained computer shut-down, I was sceptical that my article had posted. So at 5 AM, I checked. No post. No post and I had to get up to get the kids ready for school and get myself ready for work. I felt like crying. Actually, I felt like swearing and crying. So I did. Started the day with tears and obscenities.
This is the reality for me lately. Over-stretched and trying to get as many things done as I can. Attempting to patch up things needing repair. Hoping to provide all my kid's need and desire. Trying to live as "everyone else" does....
But I am failing. I feel overwhelmed and on the verge of tears much of the time. I am living moment to moment and stumbling through life hoping that in the years after my kiddos finish their youth, they can say they had fun, happy, love-filled childhoods. But I truly don't feel like it is working.
My kids used to be homeschooled. I was a stay-at-home mom. We lived on organic and home-grown food. We did crafts and played in the mud. They had two parents to love and provide for them. They had someone to spell off the frazzled and tired parent.
Now, they attend public school. I often work hours after school and on weekends. At times, my kids have prepackaged food in their lunches. I no longer spend hours in the backyard with kids and chickens chasing each other through the mud as I can just imagine the laundry these types of activities will burden me with. At the end of the day/weekend/morning, I am beyond frustration and am a crabby/crazy/erratic parent. A lone parent.
I am now known by my children from my cries of "I am TRYING!!!! I only have TWO hands!"
I feel guilty and tired. I am wondering if this is just the life of parents in general? Or is this exhausting situation that does not seem to let up or alleviate in anyway a symptom of living/parenting/grieving after the death of a spouse?
Again, I apologize for the late post. I am sorry that I have let those of you who rely on a voice through this path to be here when you need it. Please....bear with me.

Tis the Season ....

                                           picture from here

.... to be jolly.
Ho, ho ..... oh whatever.

I mostly loathe this Season.
I really do.
And that ticks me off.

Because I didn't "before".
I loved Christmas and everything it entails.
It was a wonderful time of the year for me spiritually, emotionally .... the older kids came home from college for several weeks, and physically .... loved the parties, the goodies we only eat once a year .... I basically loved Christmas.

And then came my "after".
And it just so happens that my "after" began on December 18th, which is not only one week (exactly) before Christmas, but it's the birthday of my sister, my brother and my step-dad.
Oh yeah ..... it ranks right up there.
Well, it ranks anyway.

I keep thinking that this will get easier with each year that passes.
So far I have been wrong.
It has not become any easier.
I've tried .... I really have.
I've tried the whole "mind over matter" thing .... if I just don't think about it, if I just don't let myself go "there" ..... then things will be better.
Ummmmm .... not so much.
It seems that my body has a mind (and a clock, AND a calendar) of it's own.  It doesn't need me thinking about the time of year in order to feel it coming.  It pays no attention to my mind.  Sigh .....

I've tried the "distraction" method ..... if I stay really busy and make a lot of Christmassy plans, things will be better.
All that's accomplished is to make me really exhausted ..... as well as depressed.

I don't want to feel like this.
I really, really don't.
I want to make this a happy time for my kids.
It used to be.
And it sucks that it suddenly wasn't.
And that I can't seem to make it better .... or at least can't make myself feel better.

But the truth is .... I've been starting to resent this time of year .... and what has become a very huge part of it ..... the giving of gifts.
Again .... used to love it.
Used to be on top of it.
Used to have my shopping done before December 1st.
I know .... that's so obnoxious.
And SO pre-2007.

We are now past the 1st .... and I really haven't done much.
I think about it every once in a while, but then just stop thinking.
I resent having to buy gifts.
I resent some of my children for seeming to want nothing but gifts. (Note that I did not say ALL of my children .... in case you just happen to be one of my children .... and are reading this.)
I resent the feeling of being a human cash machine (to be fair, that's not just this time of year).
I resent that I seem to make some people happy if I spend enough money ..... or buy the right gift.

And I resent like hell when I hear women complain about what their husband did .... or did not .... give them for Christmas.
There.
Are.
No.
Words.

So yeah .... you can call me Grinch, if you'd like.
I'm ok with that.
Because I feel pretty Grinchy.
And I wonder if I always will?
Or will there ever come a  year when I will not feel depressed in December?
Is there some magic number of years?  Is it 5?  Because I'd totally love it if it were 5.  Then at least I'd know there's a light at the end of the tunnel .... in one more year, to be exact.

But I know there's no magic number.
For anything.
It is what it is.
Until it isn't any longer.

I will be very glad when that time comes.
And if it doesn't come .... please don't tell me.
I should have something to look forward to.
Doncha think?

P.S.  Sorry that we seem to have a running theme going of how hard December is (again, we don't contact each other about our writing, and I didn't realize it when I first wrote this a few days ago) ..... I really would've liked to have written a cheerier post, but I'm not there ..... yet.  I hope to be ..... one day.  In the meantime, I hope that each of you isn't drowning in depression from our posts.  :(

It's Not My Fault ....

                                  picture from here



.... that my children became orphans on December 18, 2007.

OK, they didn't literally become orphans.
But technically .... they did.

They lost both of their parents that day.
Yes, I was here in body, but only in body.
My body was empty of any resemblance of me.
All it held was the cold, black grief that enveloped every part of me .... grief moved into every space, every cell of my being, and took over.

I was not, could not be,  the person I had been.
So there was no way I could be the same mother.
There were many times when I beat myself up over that.
In spite of .... many things.

But I have moved past a lot of that.
My grief no longer occupies my body.
My grief is no longer in control.
It no longer makes me believe that my children would be better off if I, too, were actually dead.

And I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I could no more have altered my grief, my grieving, than I could have reached out, touched Jim's body, and brought him back to life.
I did not choose my grief.
I did not want that grief.

But I got what I got.

And so my children managed to somehow keep growing and moving forward, without a parent to guide them.
That was something they had never, ever done before.
And I was powerless to change anything.

Then.

I am no longer powerless.
Now.
I am very much mostly back to the parent I was "before".
Not all.
I will never be all of the same person/parent I was "before".
But that comes with pros and cons.

Last week was one huge con.
Last week I experienced the incineration of the wall of trust that had encircled one of my children and myself.
The wall was built out of my trust.
That wall no longer exists.
Yes, it can be built again, but that's up to my child .... and it will have to be built one brick at a time.
I think it will.
I hope it will.

But until that time .... here I am .... left to deal with the fallout.
And the consequences.
And all of the crap that one must deal with when a mistake has been made.
And I deal with it .... alone.
Very much alone.

And I hate it.
There are no words for how very much I hate it.

I hate that Jim's not here to share the good times, the big events .... with me.
With us.
But I hate even more that he's not here to help me navigate the storms .... the crap.
The crap that I had nothing to do with, and yet impacts me .... a lot.

A couple of years ago I would have been out of my mind with thinking that this "mistake" was my fault.
Because I was no longer the same.
Because I could not parent the way I did "before".
Because I had somehow failed them.  My children.

But now, here in this place I've fought tooth and nail to arrive at, I know differently.
Crap happens.
And it happens no matter how many parents a child has.
Or how many he/she doesn't have.

Yes,  I am (mostly) back.
Much to the chagrin of my child.
And I am no longer going to the be the only one dealing with consequences.
I am strong.
And I am pissed.

I'm pissed that Jim gets to miss out on all of the crap.
I'm pissed that I can't play "good cop, bad cop" with my kids anymore.
Because there's only one cop.
I'm pissed that, in dealing with this kind of crap, I am very, very alone.

But .... on the flip side .... I'm good.
Because now I know .... no, now I remember ..... that in the same way I could not alter my grief, I cannot alter the minds and decisions of my children.
And truthfully, I never could.

And then there's this:  I asked one of my other children if he/she thought that this choice might not have been made if their dad were here.
To which he/she replied, "Ummmmm, no, Mom.  Teenagers are just .... teenagers and I know this would've happened whether or not Dad was here."
And now, looking back on things .... I realize that my child is 100% correct.

Mistakes would still be made ..... whether my children had two parents or one parent .... or no parent.
And so I am less .... pissed.

Which is a very good thing.
Because I doubt that there's anything scarier than a pissed-off widow.
Trust me.
:)