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.

The Things I've Done ......

…… without him.

In a little over three months I will have been without Jim for 5 years.

Unbelievable.

In those 5 years I’ve had to do many things without him.

Things I was supposed to do with him.

Or things I wasn’t supposed to do …… at all.

The first thing that he should have been here for was the news that Daughter #1 made it into Harvard for grad school.  I was so excited for her, yet so sad that her dad didn't hear the results of those applications.  Nor stand with me to put her on a plane to go.

It was very bittersweet.

Four months after Jim died, I stood next to his mother, our mother, and held her hand as she died.  He should've been the one holding her hand.  But actually, if he had been there, I don't think she wouldn't have been in that hospital ..... dying.  She would have had the "fight" in her that she needed.

The next month he missed Son #1’s high school graduation.  As the president of the school board he would’ve stood on the platform and handed a diploma to our son, and to the children of our friends (as he did when Daughters #2 and #3 graduated).

Instead, I stood in his place and did his job. 

Though not nearly as well, since it was an emotional evening.

But the hardest thing I did during that first year, by far, was taking Son #2 to military school. 

Against his will.

Jim should’ve been there so we could’ve been there together, one unit of authority, making it much easier on each of us.

I have done many, many things without him.

But not all of them have been emotionally draining.

In this month alone I managed to put together my first Power Point presentation.
Without the help of my very computer-literate husband.

Then there was the day last week that I jumped my car …… by myself.

I’m pretty dang proud of that one.

And then, just a couple of days later, I cut down and uprooted a tree/bush. 

Me, myself and I.

It wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t tiny, either.

I cut/sawed off all of the branches, and then the top part of the bush/tree.  And then I used all of my strength, which is more than most people think, to uproot the trunk.

And I think I only received 2 mosquito bites (West Nile inhabits my community, so each bite is noticed) and I didn’t break a nail.

Or anything else.

I have traveled, bought two cars, sold a boat, bought a boat, hired an accountant, fired said accountant, watched my children graduate, stood my ground, alone, when I didn’t think I had the strength (sometimes I surprise myself, too), stupidly bought a time share, hired a real estate company to sell said time share (still not sold….sigh), attended court (more than once) for a child, given my children financial advice (!) and killed/gotten rid of every single bug, lizard or spider that’s dared come into my personal space.

I know that I can add hundreds of things I’ve done by myself.

As can each of you …… or at least you will be able to before long.

Even though we all have hated hearing the words, “You are so strong”, we really are.

I know I’m not the only one who has surprised her/himself.

It’s funny (not as in “ha ha-funny”, but in “isn’t-it-ironic-funny” …. just to be clear), but when I was in that room (many of you know which room I'm referring to), with the surgeon sitting knee to knee with me, holding my hands, all that I could think, over and over and over again was, “God, what are You thinking?!  What the hell are You thinking?!!  I cannot do life with him!  I can’t parent these kids without him!  WHAT ARE YOU THINKING??!!”

But I was wrong.

I didn’t want to do life without him and I’d still rather not do it without him, but here I am.

And here are you.

We’ve made it one more year, one more month, and/or …… one more day.

Heck, there were days when I wasn’t sure I’d make it one more minute.

There will be many things we’ll do alone …… and we’ll wish they were here.

But there will be many more things …… that we’ll do alone …… and we’ll be proud of ourselves.

And proud of each other.

You dads are not only combing your child’s hair, but you’re even managing to put it into a ponytail!

And you women are probably killing/getting rid of any critter that dares invade your personal space!

You are stronger than you think you are.

And though I’d rather be weak with him here, I, too, am stronger than I think ……

without him.

Crocodiles and other absurdities

Photo from here....

I live in our little house physically alone aside from my two young children and our pets. All the belongings in this home are ours and paint a vivid and accurate picture of who is housed within these walls. But if you were to dig deep enough within cupboards and closets, you would items and articles that seemed at odds with these inhabitants and their actions. It would almost seem as if someone was hiding another person's things. Things that don't match. Things that come from another time or place. Random odd articles. Misplaced and mismatched items.

Buried deep in my deep freeze is a package of crocodile....er, maybe alligator meat. I never plan to eat it and never set out to eat it from the moment it entered said freezer.

It was Jeff's. He had bought it to feed our daughter. He was determined to have his children not be picky eaters. I remember he and three-year-old Liv sharing a chair in the kitchen together eating from a jar of pickled herring or dining on a dinner of rattlesnake meat.

As with most things, he didn't face the issues of childhood sustenance halfway. Instead of insisting that our daughter dine on asparagus or cauliflower, he would thrust something at her that was barely food in my eyes. But she trusted him and she ate it.

So many of these odd and mismatched things that line the backs of closets, shoes boxes and freezers mark who Jeff was and what he stood for. His beliefs. His idiosyncrasies.

I have thought about giving the freezer-burnt crocodile/alligator meat to the dog. But I have refrained. It is a reminder of a man who was funny, loving and passionate about his little family. As all the remaining small and possibly seemingly insignificant items he left behind, they hint at who he was and how strongly he loved his little ones.

Although I have donated many of his clothes or shared some of his more memorable belongings with his family; it is these small items wedged in the corners that speak of him most and remind me while I dig for dinner at the bottom of the freezer of who he was and how much he is missed.

sex, death and Santa

Photo from here...

There are some topics taboo in childhood. Topics which we attempt to ignore and gloss over for children. We feel they don't need to know....yet.

But when a child has had to bear witness to the truth, then what?

"I told Ryan all about how Daddy died," my five year old son, Briar, proudly told me as he sat on the toilet behind me. "That way, he'll know how it feels when his daddy dies."

I froze, mid-mascara stroke, attempting to come up with an appropriate reply. I was pleased that he was so comfortable communicating about such an emotion-filled topic. But I was also worried that his actions would concern Ryan's family when the little boy had multiple sleepless nights filled with angst imagining the death of his own father.

"Wow, honey," I answered after a long pause, "that was very.... thoughtful of you.....What did Ryan say when you told him about it?"

By now, Briar was absentmindedly staring at the pattern in the lino on the bathroom floor. "He just listened and didn't say anything much."

I was struck with the thought that, much like sex and Santa, death or mortality is a topic that parents want to have with their own children. They don't want some kid announcing it nonchalantly on the school bus or while playing Lego. It's hinted at in our culture...But rarely stated so bluntly as my sweet little boy did.

I can and will assure Ryan's parents that Briar's topic of conversation came from a kind and innocent place. And I know from knowing Ryan's parents that they will most likely be completely fine with this....But what about next time?

Will other parents shift in their chairs and glance at each other uncomfortably across the dinner table when their son or daughter comes home from school with questions about the imminence of their death? Will they be upset that the cat is out of the bag? Or will they be pleased that the topic has come up? Should I explain to Briar that this is something that parents want to talk to their little ones about when they are ready? Or should I just let Briar's well-meant lessons on life show others that families come in all shapes and sizes and backgrounds?

The F Word

Amanda is closing out the school year in Australia this week, and guest writer Wendy Doyle Diez is filling in for her on WV today...thanks Wendy!

F…A…T.

I’m a fat widow. 

Yes I am. 

You don’t need to give me an awkward smile and insist that I’m not a fat widow. 

I am and I own it.

I give other widowed people a bad name. I shatter the image of the grief-ridden widow/widower by eating and actually enjoying it.  And I’ve been doing this for nearly three years now.  I feel guilty not just because I should have better eating habits to begin with but because somewhere in my subconscious, I believe that I should have lost interest in anything food related when I became a widow.  This seems to be the norm for others I know.  And some still have trouble eating even after a couple of years.  Who are these people?!  I know.  They are the ones who insist they are full after eating half an apple.  I apologize if you are one of them but I need a minute to be truly confounded by you.

Don’t all widows drastically lose weight in the beginning of the grief process?  For the love of chocolate peanut butter ice cream, why didn’t I? 

As someone who has struggled with weight issues for a good number of years, I must confess that a small part of me searched for the silver lining when Chris died.  I thought I would for sure lose my appetite and shrink down a few sizes.  Never did I think that my new normal would include 40 extra pounds. 

To be fair to myself, I had just had a baby when Chris died and I knew I needed to eat because I was nursing a newborn.  I don’t recall the pediatrician or any of the baby books suggesting that I eat several meals a day of chocolate products to ensure proper nutrition for Claire.  But I do remember feeling like nothing in the world made me feel better than snuggling up with a candy bar late at night once my kids were in bed.

What this all comes down to is that I’ve realized I have been judging myself and others on this one particular aspect of widowhood.  

Skinny = proper widow/widower for grieving correctly by not being able to eat.

Fat = widow/widower who must not have cared enough about their spouse since they indulge in whatever food is pushed in front of them (and sometimes even aggressively go after it).

Our community is often outraged at the unreasonable judgments that those who’ve never walked in our shoes cast upon us.  And yet, here I am casting those same judgments not only on my peers but upon myself.  I think I need to give our community and myself a break.  Because defining what is an appropriate widow is, um, a weighty issue.  

At this point in my grief journey, I am actively working on being healthier (with some stumbling along the way).  But I’m also working on letting go of the stereotypes that are holding me back.  Now if I could only let go of the chocolate bars too, I’ll really be on my way.

to me....three year ago me.

I will never be able to deliver this letter to myself three years ago in the past. But I can post it here and hope that it will offer some comfort and solace to some of the widows/widowers who come after me ....

Dear Me (and You),

I know you feel that you died in the moment that you lost Jeff and that you will never have the desire to live again.

I understand that you don't know which end is up and you are searching for answers anywhere you can find them.

I get that you just want something/someone to soothe the hurt and fear inside you....and that you have trouble fathoming that it cannot and will not ever be Jeff again.

I want to tell you that you will live. And one day, if you allow yourself, you will again cherish the life you have been given.

I promise you that although none of us, while alive, will ever know concretely what happens after death and why our lives evolve as they do, life will one day make sense to you again and if you manage to remind yourself that there are miracles and wonders unseen all around you, you will be able to guide yourself through.

I know that it breaks your heart that you cannot lean into Jeff and cry deep into his shoulders with his arms enveloping you within his safe embrace, but you will learn to care for and comfort yourself. And the memory of his love for you and who you are will stay and remind you of the good within.

You will grow. You will stumble...but you will get up again. You will find those who understand your loss and although they may not live close by, they will laugh and cry with you and form unbreakable bonds with you. You will smile again. You will find joy again.

This will all take time....but you will make it. I promise.

You have lived through this....everything else is cake.

if wishes came true

Written one month after Jeff died in 2008...

I overheard Olivia wishing on a fallen eyelash yesterday, "I wish my Daddy would come back."

I tried to get her to 'tell' me the wish so I could talk about it with her...the fact that he is never coming back. But she insisted that if she told me, then her wish wouldn't come true.

I so wish he would come home too. I sometimes fantasize about it. I imagine that I can hear the roar of his truck and the thump of his boots on the front steps. I hear him slam the door and laughingly bellow, "Honey, I'm HOOOOoooome...." I launch myself at him and he embraces me while I bury my face in his chest. I laugh and cry and tell him that I love him so very much (We used to say, "I love you the whole pie!") and that I am sorry for not saying so when we were arguing and that I'm sorry for not picking him up from the boat a few days earlier and that I have missed him so immensely that I sometimes think I'll never recover from this terrible nightmare.

I've started seeing a therapist...actually, it's a therapist that Liv will start seeing next week but I went to talk to her. She does play therapy, art therapy and has a therapy dog. I think this is the ideal situation for Liv as she is not one, most of the time, to just sit and talk about how she's feeling...Hell, she's five. What five year old can articulate how they're feeling the majority of the time?

Anyhow, I was trying to put into words how I feel much of the time so the therapist could get an understanding of my state of mind. The analogy that I came up with it that I feel like a toothpaste tube. I am so full of all this sadness, angry, frustration and fear but I only have this small neck and opening to squish it all out of. When I cry, it hurts so physically and painfully but gives me virtually no relief. It's plugged or stuck and I can feel this giant amorphous blob of pain just fermenting inside and I CANNOT get it out....Maybe a ping pong ball stuck in a water pipe would have been a better analogy. Some water can seep around the ball but the majority of it is pushing the ball further and further into the pipe.....I hope this all makes sense....Who knows anymore?

The Smell

I didn’t mean to.

I was only trying to help,

to help him,

because he missed you so much.

He was in your closet.

He came out and said,

“It doesn’t smell like Daddy anymore.”

He looked so sad.

He looked so forlorn.

So I showed him my secret.

Your cap.

The one I keep folded up

tight,

in a Ziplock bag,

stashed in my

bedside table.

I unzipped it.

We both inhaled.

It smelled like you.

And then his face crumbled.

Mirroring mine, I think.

Your smell.

Your smell reminding us,

of how it no longer surrounds us,

how it is not just part of the background of our lives,

how it is fading,
from your cap,
from us.

We didn’t remember what you smelled like

till that moment.

And after we remembered,

me and Ezra,

Ezra and I,

sat on the floor
holding each other,

sobbing like ….

the people we are.

A wife,

a son,

missing you.