She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named

Special thanks to our regular guest contributor Matthew Croke who is filling in for Jackie today!

The first day of pre-school was minutes away.  You could see the parents glide into the room as if on hover shoes, their little ones following closely behind.  My Molly, holding my hand tight and almost hugging my leg, walks in the room with me.  She sees the sand table, pulls away from me like my hand is on fire, and I am quickly forgotten.

The teacher, Mrs. Linda, is a woman in her sixties, but possesses the energy of a twenty year old.  She bounces from parent to parent collecting all the mandatory paperwork and vaccine records.  She bounces her way over to me and I hand her the papers. “Anything we should know about Molly that is not in here.” she blurts out, catching me off guard.  From the tone of her voice I could tell she is expecting a “No.” and then off to the next person.

“You should know her Mom died when she was only 3 months old.” I said, watching her face make the same expression when I tell people the news; cheeks drop, eyes slightly close, and lips held in a forced half smile.  “Thank you for telling me. I am so sorry. Don’t worry, when Mother’s Day comes around, I will make sure we make a card for grandma or an aunt.” she says.

I have gotten better at this, and a few years ago I might have acted awkward which would make the situation more awkward.  But I place my hand gently on her arm, “Thank you so much for looking out for her, but I do want Molly to make a Mother’s Day card for Lisa.  She has a Mom, she’s just in heaven.”  The teacher’s forced smile relaxes into a natural one. “That’s good to know, I sometimes don’t know what the parent wants.

There is something about a death, where the instinct of others leans towards the “the person never existed” phenomenon.  I have a good friend who once brought up Lisa, and at the end of the conversation actually apologize to me for talking about her. “Don’t apologize.” I said “It’s not like you’re bringing up some night in Vegas where hookers were involved.  This is Lisa; she was my wife, I’m proud to talk about her.”

Trying to keep the name alive of the one we lost is a challenge.  But for today, at least I know Molly’s very first teacher will support my wishes of letting her know she does indeed have a Mom, we just can’t physically see her.  

Holidays...

....are not the same without Greg there with us.


Two weeks ago, the kids and I holidayed at a little island just to the north of where we live. It's a cheap and cheerful sort of place and only an hour away from home.

We've always holidayed at this island.
Greg taught the kids to ride bikes along its many bike paths, and he showed them how to use a shovel to make enormous sand castles.
I taught the kids to boogie board on the little waves on the surf-side of the island.
We stayed in the same house every year and made more and more memories.

This year, we holidayed in a different house. My parents came with us - Dad brought the fishing gear and Mum just made things happy.
We went fishing: the kids both caught lots of fish.
We went walking along the trails and the kids rode their scooters to new parks.
We examined strange animals washed up on the beach and we spent an entire morning at the new island museum.

But it wasn't the same.

It wasn't completely awful though ... we just made new memories and reminded ourselves that it is OK to relax even if it isn't the same as before.....

Waiting For the Other Shoe ....

... to drop .... and land right on my head.
Or, rather, on my life.

That's where I find part of my mind these days.
Not a large part, but still ....

Funny (or really, not funny at all), my mind rarely, if ever, went there in my "before".
I enjoyed my life, our life, without wondering when it would go to hell in a hand basket.

I felt blessed that our children, all six of them, were healthy .... and didn't wonder when that would end.
I made plans with my husband about our future .... never once doubting that there would be one.

I could give my children a kiss and send them back to college .... or just off on an errand .... and not consider that it that might be the last time I see them.

I could watch a young couple playing in the park with their small children .... without wondering if they realized that could be the last day they were a family.

I could see a father with his daughter .... and not question whether he's going to be there to walk her down the aisle.
I could attend my son's football game alone .... never once thinking that I'd really be doing it alone one day.

There seem to be an infinite number of times I enjoyed my life .... without waiting for that other shoe.

I don't think about it every day.
And I am able to enjoy life again, without wondering when the next wave will knock me down.

But there are moments .... quiet, sneaky little moments that creep on on me ..... and make me look over my shoulder to see if my past is repeating itself.

Moments when I'm enjoying an evening with someone new ..... and then suddenly wondering how much longer he's going to live.

Adventures Not Taken

Shoes. We take for granted that these little bits of leather, plastic and rivets will be ready for any adventure that pops up. We assume they will support and protect us as we walk over hot sidewalks and soft carpets. And at the end of the day, it's nice to take them off and place them next to another pair of still-warm, well-traveled shoes. Shoes are at the start and the end of every adventure.

Maggie loved shoes. Her eyes would light up when she saw a pair that tickled her fancy. She’d be so excited to bring them home that she’d walk around the house wearing them like she was a model putting on a show. I don’t know for certain but I imagine that in each pair she saw a lifetime of adventures to be experienced. She loved adventures, large and small. I loved seeing her happy. Ergo, I loved her shoes.

Sunday I packed up 118 pair of adventures not taken and put them into boxes to be given away, or rather, set out on adventures that wouldn’t include she or me. The careful process of moving each pair from the closet where they’ve sat for more than two years frozen in time was painful. Each pair represented a thousand adventures we’ll never have together and a million memories we’ll never create.

Some shoes looked pristine as though they had never been worn. The mysteries surrounding these shoes made me wonder what grand adventure she was dreaming about when she bought them. Where was she planning to go or what was she planning to do while wearing these shoes? I am sad that she never got the chance to walk a mile in those shoes. I’m sad that each of these pair of untouched pumps, flats, boots or heels represents so many unrealized dreams and adventures not taken. For each pair, I mourn the loss of what we didn’t have. I’m sad because she was sad that life was cut short too soon. She definitely wasn’t done living. She, rather, WE had miles and miles still to go together, hand-in-hand.

The others, obviously her go-to shoes, showed her love with well-worn soles. Touching those shoes hurt because so many of those scuffs and scratches we made together and I miss her and those moments dearly. I suppose now is the time to be reminded of the sage advice of Dr. Seuss: "Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened."

Crap. Why is it that the shoes hurt so much? They are just f-ing shoes.

Crap.

Because it happened… Yes. I’ll smile. I’ll keep smiling through my tears.

The business of change presses on.

A Very Nice Day

I hate to share too much, as it's something very new, and something that is going very well.

I am dating.

Yes, I decided to try it once again. I attempted to re-enter the dating world at the beginning of the summer, and had a rather quick go of it. At the time I felt like I wasn't connecting well with the guys I was out with, yet at the same time enjoyed being out. It was fun to be out with another adult, and to feel like I was back in the game. But just as quickly as I tried it, I decided to put it on hold. Shortly after that I fell into a bit of a depression, as I'm so easily prone to.

Recently I started an online chat connection with a really nice guy. We chatted for a couple of weeks, almost daily. It was going rather nicely, but at the same time I was not wanting to get too caught up in an online relationship that might just go no where if and when we met. I did my share of Internet dating many years ago, and it never went well. Yet this time, I found myself really connecting to this guy. We exchanged photos, and both seem pleased. Our talk was about the type of things we enjoyed doing, or how we were spending our days. Then one night we started going much deeper. We spent about 90 minutes talking about our family histories, and past relationships. After listening to his stories I decided it was time to share more of mine. I told him about my husband Michael who had died two years earlier. I told him about my three kids and their special needs. He had many questions, and responded very well.

Last week we met for a walk downtown, had a nice dinner, and listened to a cool blues band. It was a very nice evening. Today he came by my house at 8:30am, and we spent our day at the zoo, out to lunch, then back to my home to hang out with kids, and have dinner. What can I say about today? It was wonderful.

It has been so long since I sat across a table and saw someone staring back at me with such romantic interest. It has been so long since I walked through a park, and ever so slightly brushed arms against another person with such excitement. It has been so long since I had my arms around another person, and felt their strong embrace in return, one with no rushed separation.

All this, with no hesitation to speak of Michael on my part. All this, with no hesitation to question about Michael on his part.

A very nice day.

Tired

This is a re-post from February.

I can't write.
I'm tired, so, so, so fuckin' tired.
I don't know how I will get up tomorrow and begin another day.
I am tired of putting on my battle armor every morning to go through my day.
I am in over my head, raising my kids and trying to earn enough for us to survive.
I feel my energy being leeched, drawn out, mercilessly sucked from me every day.
I just don't see how this can keep happening.
I can not replenish as quickly as it is drawn forth.

So, I re-post.
in an effort to give myself the tiniest of breaks: to suck in, a small portion of what has been sucked out.

-------------




I’m tired of being a widow.
I’m tired of bringing the car to the mechanic when the red maintenance light visually screams at me.
I’m tired of running out of food and being responsible for getting more.
I’m tired of waking up by myself.
I’m tired of being solely responsible for:

Bringing in all the income
Paying all the bills
Making sure the kitchen is clean.
Preparing the kids for their car pool.


I’m tired of not hearing “Daddy?”
I’m tired of hearing “Mom?” from three different voices in 13 seconds.
I’m tired of being interrupted while I am trying to hear what the first "mom" yeller (or was it the second) call was about.

I’m tired of telling people I’m a widow.
I’m tired of using it to help me get what I need
Or don’t need (like that traffic ticket).
I’m tired of the look that people give me when they find out I’m a widow.
I’m tired of that fucking gentle touch on the arm which really means “I’m so sorry for you and I’m so glad it’s not me.”
I'm tired of my widow story.

I’m tired of explaining that widowhood is not all doom and gloom
I’m tired of talking about the growth, the joy, the fun it is too.

I’m tired of going to teacher conferences alone.
I’m tired of teachers asking me to do that one more thing for one child or another, not realizing that it will break me.
I’m tired of taking the kids to doctor’s appointments, dropping off the prescriptions and picking them up and administering them by myself.

I’m tired of listening for that horrible cough in the middle of the night by myself.

I’m tired of holding our children as they cry because they want you to come back.
I’m tired of my powerlessness to fix it.
I’m tired of telling myself that they will be better people for your death.

I’m tired of my over reaction to the Legos on the floor.

I’m tired of not knowing what will trigger sobbing.

I'm tired of the guilt I feel because Langston, as a teenager, doesn't have a father.

I’m tired of being awed by all that they are doing and then, in the next breath regretting that they won’t ever know the joy of looking up and seeing you smile at them after they did it.

I’m tired of the irritated sound of my friend's voices when I need to talk.

I’m tired of the shallow “OMG! You look so great!” as if there is a direct correlation between looking good and feeling good.

I’m tired of admiring my body…by myself.

I’m tired of deciding to: break the cell phone contract, buy a new couch, and enter that cycling race with you not here to discuss it.

I’m tired of being lonely.

I’m tired of writing about widowhood
I’m tired of crying.
I’m tired of missing you.
I’m tired of loving the person I have become since you have been gone.

I’m tired of forgetting, in very brief moments, that you are dead.

I’m tired of planning each day, a closely choreographed dance, with dancers who want to go their own way on a tiny stage.
I tired of remembering drinks for the team, that Langston is sleeping over at ___'s house, that Ezra needs cleats and what color Pallas wants to paint her room.
I’m tired of asking:

What is your homework plan?
Did you write that thank you note?
Will his parents be home?

I’m tired of forgiving myself for the missed phone calls, forgotten plans and skipped lunches.

I’m tired of fearing dates:
6 months,
1 year and now
two years dead.
Your birthday or
Langston’s or
Ezra’s or Pallas’s.
Or mine.

I’m tired of discovering that the reason I have been feeling so crappy for so many days is because I have been in a death march (Susan, such a great and accurate phrase!) because one of those dates is coming.

I’m tired of crying in Trader Joes (I am sure they are too).

I’m tired for trying to remember if something occurred before you died or after.

I’m tired of looking forward to the weekend, only to realize the weekends offer no break from the kids, from the grocery shopping, from being an only parent.

I’m tired of the men I date not even trying to understand what it is to be an only parent, not just a single one!

I’m tired of not having someone to tag team with.

I’m tired of not having anyone to look horrible in front of but still be loved.

I’m tired of your parents who can’t take ONE damn step out of their comfort zone to see your children.

I'm tired of hearing them say how important family is but backing it up with NO action whatsoever.

I’m tired of not having someone to talk about the car or the stupid pedestrian I almost hit on my bike ride today.

I’m tired of having no one to discuss my day with.
I’m tired of thinking about the energy and time it takes to get into a new relationship.

I’m tired of craving sex.
I’m tired of wanting to be held, of needing to be touched.
I'm tired of wondering if my sagging breasts are a turn off.
I'm tired of wondering if I'm good in bed.
I'm tired of waiting to have sex.
I'm tired of wondering if I can give a good blow job.
I'm tired of worrying about diseases!

I’m tired of wanting someone to take care of me, so I can have the energy to take care of everything and everyone else.

I’m tired of clean sheets and a clean body and no one to enjoy them with.

I’m tired of wishing I could see you just one more time, just one more fucking time, healthy.

I’m tired of watching the anguish in our kid’s eyes as they miss you.

I’m tired of writing about you.
I’m tired of talking about you.
I’m tired of telling stories about you to our kids so they can know you.

I’m tired.
I am so, so, so fucking tired.

So honey?
When the fuck are you coming back? Cause I’m tired of this shit.

Immortal

I've been traveling a lot...all for good and great things, but it still takes its toll.

Luckily, I've noticed that it takes much more weight from life to throw me off-balance, as I try to find relief in the little things...mementos surrounding me, waiting for me to find peace and relief in what they hold.

This week it was in a quote from an in-flight film. It was some actor reciting lines that I felt embodied my baby...and helped shed light on the facts my heart already knew...the reasoning behind my love's service and sacrifice.

It's these things that help tip the scale a bit towards the center...helps me remember why my husband is the man he is and will immortally be...for I share his heart...the heart he so vulnerably and excitingly offered me to carry forever.

"All men fear death. It's a natural fear that consumes us all. We fear death because we feel that we haven't loved well enough or loved at all, which ultimately are one and the same. However, when you love a truly great woman, one that deserves the utmost respect in this world and one that makes you feel truly powerful, that fear of death completely disappears. Because when you are sharing your body and heart with a great woman the world fades away. You two are the only ones in the entire universe. You conquer what most lesser men have never conquered before, you have conquered a great woman's heart, the most vulnerable thing she can offer to another. Death no longer lingers in the mind. Fear no longer clouds your heart. Only passion for living, and for loving, become your sole reality. This is no easy task for it takes insurmountable courage. But remember this, for that moment when you are making love with a woman of true greatness you will feel immortal." -"Midnight In Paris"