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".

Disappointed kids

 

.... and the furious Mama Bear.

I wasn't going to blog about this today. 
I was going to think of something else to blog about but I am So. Damn. Furious. right now I have to write it out.

You see, today my darling kids were excited to go to a special holiday program for gifted and talented kids* and K was especially excited about going.

She got her invitation to attend last Monday and I immediately wrote to the event provider to enroll her.  I got a message back, thanking me for her details and telling me how to pay..... but no further information.

My son H didn't get his invitation until last Thursday (the day before the entire nation shuts down for the four-day Easter break) and I frantically sent off another e-mail.  I got no response so sent 2 more e-mails and 4 phone calls .... no reply to any of them.

Based on the pathetic response we received to the first e-mail, I assumed that since this program was run by G&T teachers, that perhaps organisation might be an area they lacked skills in, and we drove to the other side of town thinking that both children were enrolled and all would be OK.

When we got there, neither were enrolled and the staff had no paperwork.  I demanded to see "the boss".  She fobbed me off, blaming the school for not sending the notes home in time.  I asked how much time the school knew before I did.  She said "3 weeks". 
Ummmm - sorry??? 3 weeks??? 3 weeks during a school term is as good as writing a letter and flushing it down the loo in the hopes the message will reach the target.  School terms are hectic and the last three weeks can be absolutely frantic as testing is done and staffing shuffles are made.

So we turned around and came home - two very disappointed kids and one Mama Bear who is absolutely furious.
....I'm just not exactly sure who to be furious at but I suspect that both the school AND the G&T organisation can shoulder a big lump of blame each.

.....and "why" you may ask, am I so damn mad about this and what exactly does it have to do with a widow blog?

The short answer is that I am mad that my kids have had more disappointment that could have been avoided with one single phone call or e-mail.#

I am mad because they were looking forward to it and missed out through no fault of theirs or mine.

I am mad because there is that extra straw of disappointment added to the pile on their backs

I am mad because I forced myself to get into the car and drive further and longer than I amcomfortale with.

I am mad because I had to drive along roads that I have avoided since the accident.

I am mad because of the grief and "woe is me" feeling that this has brought up in all of us.

I am mad because I suspect that if Greg were here, none of this would seem like such a big deal.

I am Mama Bear and I am FURIOUS.



* My kids are not technically G&T - they are just very bright.  Well ... maybe they are mildly gifted in academic areas (mostly maths) but they are not baby Einsteins.

# I am aware that life is full of disappointments, but this could have been so easily avoided if the organisers had bothered to respond to any of my e-mails, phonecalls or texts.  Kids with dead dads already miss out on lots of things in life and sometimes even tiny disappointments can add enough to the already large burden and result in the floods of tears we've seen today.

....and yes, I have already sent a letter of complaint to the event organisers and will send a carefully worded one to the school as well.

"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. 

Child of a Widow

My dad, my cousin and me about 2 years after my mom died

When I was five, my mom lost her fight with cancer and my dad was widowed at almost exactly the age I was when  I was widowed. The Universe has a really strange sense of humor, by the way.

The two of us had to navigate this new life we didn't plan for. He never got us any professional help and he didn't have much of a support system that I know of.

At school I was the only kid who'd lost a parent. I felt utterly alone and Mother's Day was torture for me as I tried to pretend I had someone living to make a card for.

At Camp Widow West this weekend, I was a part of a panel of amazing widowed people who came to a session to hear from adult children of widowed people. The facilitator and I were the two of us who were both widowed AND children of widows. As each parent took their turn to share their story, a common theme revealed itself. They just wanted to do their best to make sure their kids were okay.

Then I was asked to talk about what helped me when I was a kid and I realized that what would have helped me tremendously is if my father had reached out for help more often like these parents were doing.

Regardless of how he handled his grief or my grief, I turned out okay, though. I'll grieve the loss of my mom my whole life, but I'm okay.

I wanted so badly to reassure these parents that their children would be okay, too. Showing up at Camp and reaching out for help on the journey was a step my father didn't and couldn't really take advantage of. I can only imagine what it might have been like if my father and I had had the resources that SSLF and other grief groups offer.

He needed support for the Herculean task before him and he didn't have it. I can't imagine what it must have been like for him, but I do know what it was like for me. I needed to talk about my pain and my loss. I needed to be with other kids who'd lost their parents. I needed female figures in my life who would take me under their wing and provide some mothering. I needed my teachers to know ahead of time that I didn't have a mommy so they could help soften the blow of Mother's Day. I needed to see a counselor. I needed to keep some things of my mom's. I needed to keep her memory alive as much as possible. I needed to feel loved and wanted by my remaining parent.

Most of this I've managed to either find or create for myself as an adult, but ideally I would have had them as a kid, too.

If you're raising kids as a widowed person, I want you to know (from the other side) that it will be okay. Reach out for help as much as you can. You can't do this alone. Please don't hesitate to have you and your children seen by professionals. If you can, find a camp or a support group for your kids so they have a community of children like them to be a part of. Reach out for help whenever and wherever you can.

And come to Camp! There will be so much support for you there. So many people are out there, doing their best to raise kids after widowhood.

I won't tell you that my childhood wasn't difficult, but most of what made it so was my father's inability to reach out for help, not my mother's death. You are not alone. Please remember that. Reach out for others who are traveling this road, too. We need each other.