Remembrance Candle

            I know the holidays are way over, but I wanted to share a Christmas experience I had with my children, when we lit a candle in remembrance of Lisa.

            The monthly grief group my girls and I attend has a holiday service where the family lights a candle for the person we are remembering.  Our family was not able to make the event this year, but a one of the widows thought of us and took Lisa’s candle and dropped it off at our house. 

            On Christmas Eve, I always let the girls open a couple of gifts as a way to get Christmas started –  truth be told, I basically get the night off as they are busy playing with new toys.  It’s a win win for both the girls and me.  This year, I sit them in a circle with their gifts to my left.  I pull out the candle and let them know that tonight we will be starting the holidays by lighting this candle to symbolize mom.  The holiday music behind us sets the perfect tone as Bing Crosby croons "Silent Night".

            I pull out the matches as the girls sit on the floor looking at me.  I put match to box and strike.

            “Tonight, we will start Christmas remembering our Lisa,” I say and light the wick.  “As we light this candle, let it be a symbol….”

            “Oooh, can I blow out the match?” Haley asks.

            “No Haley. I’ll blow it out,” I say and try again.  “As we light this…”

            “How come she gets to blow it out?”  asks Kelly.

            “She’s not. No one is blowing it out, let’s focus…”

            “Me me me me me.” my three-year-old, Molly, joins in.

            I blow out the match to end the discussion. “Girls, please, this is about mom.”

            “I wanna say something about mom.” Kelly says.

            “Sure Kelly… I was… talking first though, trying to say some…”

            “Are we done? Is it time to open presents?” Molly asks.

            “Hey Dad, If I say something first, can I open up a gift first?” Haley asks.

            “No! That’s not fair! Dad said I was going to say something first.  Right Dad?”

            “Girls, everyone stop,” I pick up the candle.  “Can’t we just focus a little for the sake of mom?” I pause, holding the candle, waiting for them to self realize their insensitivity.

            “Dad, careful, you shouldn’t hold that candle so close to your face.” says Haley.

            “Hey can I at least blow out the candle.” says Kelly.

            “No, me me me.” says Molly.

            I watch them fighting and bickering, so I decide to try a different approach. 

“Who wants to open up presents?”

            A chorus of “I do” explode with hands shooting into the air, accompanied by three of the sweetest faces and a look of… well, of kids about to open presents at Christmas.

After the girls are playing with their new toys, I go into my bedroom and redo the candle ceremony – party for one.  About 20 minutes later, Kelly comes wandering into my room holding Tinkerbelle, flying her through the air.  She sees I have re-lit candle and there’s a new burnt match on the side.

“Shoot, you blew out another match, I wanted to try it.” Kelly says.

            “Here,” I say and reach over and light a match.  Her eyes widen and a big inhale is followed by an even bigger exhale as she blows enough air to knock out 50 matches.  She picks up Tinkerbelle and flies her out of the room.  I sit back and watch the candle when Haley and Molly come running in.

            “Kelly said she was able to blow out a match to remember mom.  Can we do it also?” Haley says.

            “It wasn’t to remember…yeah sure.”  I pick up the box and strike the match for Haley.

            “Love you Mom, miss you.” whwhwhwwhhhh

            Next match for Molly.

            “Misssss you.” pthpthpththh  “Another one, another one!”

            “No Molly, just one,” I say, as they both leave faster than when they came in.

            My remembrance candle ended up reminding me, not to try to have the kids grieve like I do.  It also reminds me, I need to go with the flow, as where I think I may be failing, it might just be that I am creating a different tradition that could end up being better than what I originally had in mind.

To Be Happy Once Again

Well, yesterday was a step into the next phase of my relationship with Abel, and the beginning of my family getting used to seeing me with another man.

It was the occasion of my niece and her husband baptizing their newborn baby boy. I drove up with two of my kids, and a new person at my side. It was not a surprise to them, as I had broken the news of this new relationship with them one week ago. Each of them were surprised to learn that I had been dating, and that I had chosen not to share the news with them for well over a month.

I let my family know that I needed some time to feel secure in being part of a new twosome before having to deal with the looks of confused emotion on their part. My family loved Michael, and they, like me, continue to grieve his absence from their lives.

Abel himself was a nervous wreck. I suppose it's always a big occasion when the new love gets introduced to the extended family members, and he wasn't quite sure how he would be received. He knew that my family had grown used to seeing me either as Michael's husband, or later, as Michael's widower. For the past two years they grew used to seeing me in a continued somber state of mind and emotion.

Once at the house, most of Abel's concerns began to melt away. My brothers and parents were very gracious in introducing themselves to him, and each spent some time getting to know him and wanting him to feel comfortable in their presence. At one point Abel leaned over to me and pointed out that my mother kept glancing our way. I reminded him that this is the first time that she has seen me with another man. It has to be both pleasing and bittersweet. Around this time my mother told me that my decision to move to San Diego has been the best choice I made for myself. She reminded me that I now have "a lovely home, a good job," and looking at Abel, then back at me, she said, "and now you have this."

On the long drive back to San Diego from our day in Thousand Oaks, I received a text from my older brother telling me that his day was great. Among those events that made his day was seeing me happy again. After reading the text to everyone in the car, my kids both chimed in, saying "Abel, we are so happy that you and my dad are dating."

Oh, to be happy once again.

Bedroom Conversations

I have never reposted anything here, as I prefer to speak in the present, yet I wanted to share something I wrote on my own blog a few days ago. It's something that is still very much on my mind, and something that is likely on the mind of those around me.


Funny how lying on a bed can bring about soul searching, or heart wrenching, conversations. My bed is no different. It has been host to many discussions in the past, and continues to host myself, and various people I love, as we explore our intimate thoughts and feelings.

Earlier, after coming home from work, and getting out of my work duds, I was lying alone on my bed, looking at Michael's urn, and feeling a variety of feelings. I wanted to smile, and I felt like crying. I'm in a good place right now, and yet my grieving continues. As I began to bury my face into the pillow, and allow myself to give up control, there was a knock at my door. It was my 13 year old son, who asked if he could lay on my bed with me. We lay there, in silence, with my arm across his body.

"Dad, can we talk?"

Yes, Remy, whatever you want to talk about.

He wanted to talk about my developing relationship with this new man in my life. He expressed, as well as a 13 year old boy can, how conflicted he feels about how quickly things appear to be moving for this person and me. He said that it is clear that I am happy, and he is happy for me, but what must Michael be feeling right now? Before I could answer, he said that he knows that Michael would be very happy for me, because Remy knows that Michael wanted me to be happy, and to love again. Yet, Remy wanted to know, "Don't you think Michael might be just a little bit mad?"

It's been two years, two very long years. And yet, it also feels like it just happened yesterday. In the two years that Michael lived with his death sentence he would speak of my next boyfriend, and what my life might be like. I would ask him not to talk like that, but he never would stop. He was very clear with me. He wouldn't be happy, if he knew that I wasn't happy. He wanted to die knowing that I would find love and happiness once more. He believed that I deserved that.

One day, long ago, my older son Dante was having a conversation with Michael. He told Michael that he worried that I wouldn't survive after Michael died. Michael told him, in his usual humorous way, that he certainly hoped that I would be heart-broken, and that I would miss him, but that he had no doubt that I would survive. After all, Michael was there with me when I went through many a trial in raising my kids.

Today, while lying there with Remy, I reminded him that we are all so capable of loving. I love him with all my heart. I love his brother and sister with all my heart. I love Michael with all my heart. And, I can love someone new with all my heart.

One love does not negate another.

Tonight, lying in my bed, I spoke with this new person in my life, his name is Abel, and we too spoke of Michael, of Remy, of Dante, and of Arianne. We spoke of my journey as a widower. We spoke of my heart-break and healing. We spoke of the time needed to grow into love, and we spoke of how we can carefully navigate all this while being mindful of younger minds and hearts.

This has become a part of my nightly ritual. The nine o'clock hour arrives, I pick up the phone, I call him, we talk, we listen, we laugh, and we smile.

I have the ashes of my husband to my right, and I have the voice of a new love interest to my left. Is this balance? Is this chaos? Is this right? Is this wrong? Will it last? Will it not? Will I be happy? Will I be sad?

There are no easy answers, but then, I'm not looking for easy answers. I'm looking, and planning on, more work ahead. I'm expecting struggle, and I'm expecting ease. My life is a journey that I often have little control of. At this point in my life, I no longer seek to control it. I choose to experience it, and to embrace as much of it as possible as it unveils itself to me.

I consider myself gifted by this new person in my life. I am experiencing hope once again. I'm feeling like I have much to offer, and I feel like someone is extending a gentle hand my way.

After an hour of intimate conversation, it was time to say goodnight. There was a longing there, which we both verbalized. It gave me a feeling of anticipation when I will have this person before me once again. I rolled over on my bed, and looked up into the brightly lit night. I thanked Michael for his love. I thanked Abel for his open heart. And, I smiled.

Bromance

Well, I'm dating.

Okay, maybe I'm not really dating. I'm just not quite sure what to call it. It's been awhile since I dated anyone, and, it's been awhile since I have felt the need to qualify exactly what I am doing with another person.

It's kind of odd, going out with someone, talking, and texting several times throughout the week, wondering what he is doing when we are not together. Wondering who he is talking to, texting to, having dinner with, when I don't see him during the week.

Am I being vague enough? I don't exactly know what to call it, this thing we are doing, because, he isn't gay.

What?

You know, I put a profile on Match.com awhile back, and have corresponded with a few guys, but none of them led to any type of date. Then one day I get an email from this guy, who says he read my profile, and liked what I had to say. He was interested in talking about the book I am reading, and thought maybe we would hit if off. He was right, we did. The complicated part, or maybe the uncomplicated part, is that for the most part, he identifies as straight. So what was he doing roaming the pages of gay guys in the area? I'm not completely clear, but I have really enjoyed having a guy to hang out with, to talk to, go walking/hiking with, and potentially to start cycling or running with.

So, what do you call this? Funny, it feels like dating. Well, of course, without the heavy petting that is often expected after a nice evening out. This weekend my son finally met my new friend, and as soon as he had the opportunity to ask, he did. "So Dad, are you guys just friends, or what?" It's a fair question. I'm sure that he remembers that last time that I brought a man home that I had been spending time with. Actually, I ended up marrying that man, didn't I?

Earlier I had a very nice telephone conversation with my brother in law. After we spoke about everyone else in our families, he wanted to know truly how I was doing. He mentioned that he had been keeping up with my Facebook page, and was pleased to hear that I would be starting my new job. He said that it seems that I am doing well, but wanted to know if the appearance matches my reality. You know, I have not been asked that in a very long time. I let him know that life has been considerably better for me these days, and that many good things are happening for me. Yet, and there is always that "yet," I told him that I miss his brother more than ever, and that my life feels far less than happy. I acknowledged that I still cry more than people would expect, and that I am still unpleasantly surprised by my reality every now and then. He told me that it is still that way for him, and that if he is missing Michael that much, he can only imagine how I am feeling each day.

During the writing of this last paragraph I took a very short break, as my new gentleman caller Instant Messaged me. We chatted about how the rest of our weekend went. He gave me props for all the hard work I did on my yard, and he joked about my being a big strong guy. I responded that I was more like a not-so-big very sore guy. I was able to laugh, and to feel good that someone was thinking about me, and taking the time to keep involved in my day to day life.

Two men, reaching out to me, making me feel like I matter. You know, they may not be the types of relationships that will ultimately fulfill me like the one I had with my husband, but they are men that are here, playing a part in keeping me tethered to this life, and this world. And for that, I am feeling quite blessed.

expectations

Painting from here...

As humans, it seems that we all expect to have more than we do. More possessions. More time. More love. More help.

I don't know if it's just my human-ness that makes this desire for more so prevalent...or if the fact that I am a widow makes this expectation almost obsessive.
I have quite happy having few possessions, however (or at least I think I am until I want a new pair of jeans....).

But I had expected life as an adult, a parent, a wife to be different.
And even after finding myself widowed, I had expected that I would be able to hack it with grace, strength and alone.

But really, I had expected more. More time with Jeff. More help in the yard. More rest. More money to be able to fund dance lessons and hockey practise.

I have expected myself to be able to give everything of myself to my children - I mean, face it, they didn't expect to here with only one parent who often does a losey job in the patience and time department. So I let them sleep with me even if this means I lose my sleep. I let them eat my share of the dinner occasionally if they are still hungry and I have food left on my plate. I forgo a night out with friends because of the guilt I feel for leaving them with someone else when I could certainly be home.

And then, often, I begin to feel worn out. Frustrated and sorry for myself. Poor me.

I wish I could get to a place that I always could not expect anything. To just "be". And to exist in what has unfolded in front of me without regrets or expectations. Because maybe the energy it takes to imagine life "as it should be" just takes the energy out of enjoying it as it is.

they are okay

There are days or moments that I watch my little ones and think, "Bloody Hell. They are going to be so messed up after all they've been through." Then there are times that I see them blossom and bloom with smiles, laughter and play where I think, "If you didn't know what had happened, you would think these two had a 'normal' life."

All I know for sure, is that no matter how our lives unfold, they are stronger because they have eachother.

They still know how to laugh and be silly without guilt or remorse.

And that these two little ones are the most amazing teachers of living after your life has stopped.

I am practising seeing the world through their eyes....It isn't as dark as it is through mine.

Originally posted 7 1/2 months after losing their daddy on our personal blog.

The Positive Side of Awful

Today we have a post from our guest blogger, Mattew Croke. Thanks Matt for sharing your thoughts with us!

I hate that I have learned so much, and have become a better person, because of Lisa’s death. And I am not patting myself on the back, I truly hate that I am better and have learned so much because of her death. I want her back more than ever so I can show her how much better I am. We would have a better marriage, because I now understand the value of a partner. We would be better parents because I am more in tune to my children and their needs. And I’d be a better friend because I have matured.

As far as I can tell, after someone dies there is no coming back, so here I am left with my better self, and Lisa not around to enjoy it. Damnit, she is the reason for it, she should benefit. So not only did she die and not get a chance to raise her three daughters, she didn’t be get the best part of me.

I look back on my life and wonder, how did I ever let something like a football game so consume my life? This past Halloween, someone had to tell me that the "big" Bears game was fell on Halloween, and if I went out with the kids I would miss it. Yet, if Lisa was alive, as ashamed as I am to admit this, I would probably try to get out of treat or treating with the kids to watch TV. But now with Lisa gone and the three girls solely my responsibility, there was no question about what I would do...definitely spend time with the kids.

I was a good Dad on Halloween. A real good Dad, including the party on Friday night with Girl Scouts that I took the day off work for, the costumes we bought, the trick or treating, the dumping of all the candy on the floor at night for sorting and trading between the girls. It was a good day. And yet, I lay there in my bed at night, feeling like crap. I wish I was this way when Lisa was around. But I wasn’t, and now she’s gone.

So, Thank You Lisa. I know I missed out on the potential of our lives together, but I will continue to raise these kids and do my share in this world because of you. They will get the best of me and I will try everything to get the best out of them.