Okay, so one of the things I said I'd do when Uncle Sam paid up was make some changes in my house. There'll be at least one change to almost every room: kitchen, family room, and all 3 bedrooms. Some of it is to replace old and nearly broken furniture like my kitchen dinette with the loose legs. Other things are to put my personality on the house.
Main thing? My son would finally get a nursery/bedroom. My husband was using the 3rd bedroom as a TV room and as time went on and his night-time choking fits and nebulizer use left me sleep deprived, it was also a place to sleep. We hoped to find a solution and bring him back into the master after the baby was born, but he died.
Several things including that room have stayed how he left them last year. I only recently moved his keys from the spot on the counter he last dropped them to the area in front of where his burial flag is displayed.
I scheduled an appointment with a furniture removal company. They'd come and remove several items including everything from that room except the chest of drawers, which will remain for me to build my son's room around and the 42 inch flat screen, which will be moved down to our family room to replace the huge, heavy 27in tube television that is also schedule for removal.
I wondered how I would feel. My husband spent most of his time at home in that room. He died in there as well. I found him nestled in his recliner when I came home from work. He appeared to have sat down for a nap and just stayed asleep. I particularly wondered how I would feel when they took that recliner out. I told myself it couldn't be anything close to watching the medical examiner staff take him out, but there was still an uneasiness about the whole thing.
I can admit though, I'm looking forward to the room having new purpose. It was always a place of illness then death. After the furniture is removed and some friends come and take the rest of dh's clothes, I'm going to paint the walls baby blue, add a wall paper border, order my son's crib and some other things I need to do his room in a "Cars and Trucks" theme because he loves them. I've been trying to keep a vision of my son playing and hopefully sleeping in the finished product.
Similar changes planned for my daughter's room. On the list for the company is her heavy broken part of her bed and one of her 2 chest of drawers, which is also broken. Planned on yellow wall paper, but she wants pink walls, so top half of walls will be painted a faint pink, a border a little over half way down with that same light pink and dark pink flowers, then bottom with dark pink wall paper. The bottom half of her walls already had paper and removing it tells me they will look better if I put more paper on her walls. But unlike her former paper, this paper will be peelable and washable. Part of me hopes that once I paint, her walls will look good enough and won't need paper.
These and all other changes planned are all needed to make the house safer, more energy efficient and just to make my personality the dominant one in the place including my own bedroom.
Each person's room will hopefully reflect their personality. My daughter: Pink, happy flowers. My son: Movement and Me: serenity. My husband often called the house his sanctuary. Now, I want the house to be our sanctuary and I want each bedroom to be the owner's sanctuary. Can't do that though without removing a lot of things from the house that reflect Thomas.
But he will get a wall. I'm redoing the wall where he displayed his awards from the military, church, the Post Office and the local prison where he volunteered. I'm getting some lamination paper to enclose them and will add the one the postmaster sent after his death with some pictures.
My goal is to have the project complete by the end of the summer. I'm ready for it to be over.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Making the Transition from Caregiver to Widow. Wear Comfortable Shoes. It's a Long Walk
I remember those first few days after Thomas died. As soon as the funeral home got him from the medical examiner I went to see him. They'd done the embalming and they let me see him after asking if I was sure.
He was covered from the neck down laying on a table. I stood there staring at him trying to let what had happened sink in. I went back several times for various meetings with the funeral home staff. It was a long walk down the hallway carrying a baby carrier, but it still seemed like I was watching this play out from somewhere else.
Finally the day before his funeral after he was dressed and put in his casket I went for a private viewing. I sat on a bench outside the viewing room and watched the video they made with the photos I'd given them first with tears streaming down my face still trying to let it sink in. Holy crap this had really happened to us. Then the guy opened the door to the room he was in.
I got up, put my hands on the stroller (my son was with me), gave it a push and went inside. I remember how heavy my feet felt. I took it slow, noticing they'd used the right casket, that the burial flag had arrived and was draped over the end. The guy turned on the lamp on the casket lid and left the room.
I hesitated to look down at him. I checked the bible verse I'd paid to have inscribed on the cloth inside the casket lid. It was fine. II Timothy 4:7. I have fought a good fight. I have kept the faith. I have finished my course. I allowed myself to look down. There he was…my husband-what was left of him, dressed in his favorite suit. His beard had been groomed like I asked, his hairline shaped…it was all done. I thought to myself…my God, it's really over…all his struggling...all his pain…all his suffering. Then I thought…my God, he's really gone. His smile, his laugh, his way of telling a story, the little sayings he used everyday…my husband, my children's father…he's gone. I have to bury him tomorrow.
Then Elijah began to cry. I picked him up. He was so tiny. He was just 2 months old. He'd just gotten here and his father was gone. How in the world did this happen? Elijah stared at his dad for an amazingly long time. I'd never seen a baby that small stare at anyone or anything for that long when the person or thing wasn't engaging them in some way. I held him there until he turned his head. It had to be well over a minute.
Thomas looked about as well as anyone can look in that state and that was a relief. How he looked when he was dressed up was very important to Thomas. Not sure if it had anything to do with how messed up his insides were, but looking good, especially wearing a Sunday suit was extremely important to him. And he was known for it. Several people when informed of his passing confirmed who they thought it was by asking, "You mean the guy who wears all those fancy suits?"
I looked at the door. I knew that in two hours they'd be opening that door to the public. His co-workers, fellow church members, people from the community where he delivered mail, people from the community where we lived, people from his past and his present, his mother, biological and adoptive father, his sister, brother, his older children and several other relatives would all be coming through that door. I'd be at the salon getting my hair done as people began to come in to see him. As I'd done several times during his life when he couldn't do it himself, I gathered myself and inspected him for detail.
I opened the door to find the guy who had let me into the room was still waiting. I asked for a few more adjustments to make sure everything Thomas did during his Sunday morning routine was done before that happened. Then I gave the stroller a push and walked away. Dang that hallway was getting longer and longer.
I returned that afternoon with both children. My daughter was walking this hallway for the first time and the walk seemed longer than ever holding her little hand and pushing the stroller. The room was full of friends, aquaintances and family members.
We funeralized and buried Thomas the next day without incident. That is unless you count the blow-out diaper my son had just as my pastor began the eulogy. That was it for him and his first suit. I'd painstakenly purchased our clothes the day before. Apparently we were lovely color-coordinated in pink, gray and white. I'm told we were the perfect picture of a grieving family resting on faith. I'm told I looked heart broken but was the picture of strength and hope.
Was this the look I was going for? Hardly. I just found a lovely pink dress for my daughter and saw the suit my son would wear a few feet away. It was mostly gray, but the pink shirt was the exact same shade as my daughter's dress. When it came time to get my own outfit, I thought…why not. How I looked during the funeral was the result of who my husband had required me to be during his illness. Cry if you need to, but stay on your feet and get this done. It was another long walk into the church that day. Stoic as I may have seemed, I felt like I was carrying the weight of the world. I was wearing high heels for the first time in almost a year because I'd just given birth 2 months prior and to take precaution against falls, I don't wear heels during pregnancy. They were a bit tight. I was exhausted. I was nervous. I just didn't want to drop my son. I also could not bring myself to hand him to anyone else. I'd purchased a sling, but he hated it and all well and good as it was recalled the next day. His Godmother did keep him with her after she and a friend changed his clothes and my daughter had laid her head in my lap and stayed there the balance of the service.
The end was coming…the last. At the final viewing I walked up to him. I bent over him for the last time. I stared at him for the second to last time. I touched his face for the last time. I held his hand for the last time. I rubbed his hair for the last time. I nuzzled his face for the last time. I felt his beard for the last time. I stared at him again. I remembered all the other times I did those things…how his breathing would change…how it would calm if it was ragged. I remembered how he would respond by just moving one finger to touch me back or by telling me to go to bed if we were at home or by telling me to go home if he was in the hospital. None of that was happening no matter what I did. We weren't at home. We weren't at the hospital. We were at his funeral. He's gone. I straightened up, asked my daughter if she was okay to go and sit back down. When she said yes, I turned, and walked away. I watched the funeral home staff as they situated everything inside before they closed the lid. I let out a deep breath. I told myself again, "He's gone."
Leaving the church I got my son back and we followed them as they pushed my husband out to the waiting cars. We moved slowly on yet another long walk. How many times had I walked from the front to the back or from the back to the front of this church in the 13 years I'd been a member there? I didn't know. The last time I'd done the walk this slowly was my wedding day…wow.
That's what this journey has been. Both life as a caregiver and my life as a widow can easily be described as a series of long walks. My life as a caregiver was 10 years, 2 weeks and 3 days. It was 10 years, 2 weeks and 3 days of loving, fighting, praying, crying, parenting, laughing and learning. It was 10 years, 2 weeks and 3 days of frightening nights, hopeful days, moments of anger and frustration with periods of understanding and peace. It was a walk of faith…unyielding faith, shaken faith, unyielding faith, wavering faith, unyielding faith, shattered faith, unyielding faith.
In preparing for marriage I thought I knew who I'd be. It was 10 years, 2 weeks and 3 days of something much different than I expected. Thomas seemed to see me as someone much more independent than I wanted to be and he had no problem telling me that. Half the time, I didn't want to hear about that. I didn't want to be in charge. I wanted to be taken care of like the other wives. A large portion of those 10 years, 2 weeks and 3 days, I wondered why. Why him, why me, why us. But who were we really. We certainly were not the only ones with these types of issues.
It felt that way sometimes though. I spent a lot of that time feeling alone, isolated, like I didn't fit in with the couples we knew, like we'd never have what our friends had. And hardly anything hurts like feeling alone in a crowd of people who love you. But Thomas pushed me. For most of those 10 years, 2 weeks and 3 days he pushed me. He expected me to rise above it all. I got tired of rising above it all a few times. A few days I stayed under it, in a corner refusing to come out. He did too, but by the grace of God, most of the time one of us was able to pull the other one out and back into the game, sometimes with tenderness, others with verbal force.
Then he died. Care giving was over and I was widow. I was a widow with two little children, one of whom was still attached at the breast. If I got into that corner now, I was going to have to reach inside myself for God and pull myself out of it. I'd have to do it without even Thomas' prayers going up in the background.
Over the past 14 months, I've had ample opportunity to hit that corner. The ups, downs, surprises, exhaustion, and the of emotions that go with widowhood…the lonely parenting without even an ex I normally can't stand available to call when I need help..total responsibility for 1900 square feet of living space and the grounds and appliances that keep things running. It's been 14 months of loving, fighting, praying, crying, parenting, laughing and learning. It has been 14 months of frightening nights, hopeful days, moments of anger and frustration with periods of understanding and peace. It has been a walk of faith…unyielding faith, shaken faith, unyielding faith, wavering faith, unyielding faith, shattered faith, unyielding faith.
Only now, the challenge is to love myself without him. The fight is with my own occassional thoughts of inability as a widow rather than my inability as a caregiver. The praying is about the unknown future rather than the strength to face the unchanging challenges of the present. I cry because of his empty chair rather than because he can't get out of it. I'm finding the adventure in parenting as opposed to wondering how I will find it and be a caregiver at the same time. I'm still laughing to keep from crying. I'm also still learning who I am and in the process, seeing that in order to do this, I really need to be who Thomas was trying to get me to be for a long time. He's become to me like that coach the athlete doesn't understand. The coach rides him or her relentlessly and almost coddles the others. The athlete is frustrated to the point of quitting until one day it becomes clear. The coach did that because he or she believed in the athlete more than anyone else. Thomas used to say I was the right wife for him because even when all hell was breaking loose, I could stay calm. With ever step I take on this walk I try to remember what he said. Cry if you need to, but stay on your feet and get this done.
He was covered from the neck down laying on a table. I stood there staring at him trying to let what had happened sink in. I went back several times for various meetings with the funeral home staff. It was a long walk down the hallway carrying a baby carrier, but it still seemed like I was watching this play out from somewhere else.
Finally the day before his funeral after he was dressed and put in his casket I went for a private viewing. I sat on a bench outside the viewing room and watched the video they made with the photos I'd given them first with tears streaming down my face still trying to let it sink in. Holy crap this had really happened to us. Then the guy opened the door to the room he was in.
I got up, put my hands on the stroller (my son was with me), gave it a push and went inside. I remember how heavy my feet felt. I took it slow, noticing they'd used the right casket, that the burial flag had arrived and was draped over the end. The guy turned on the lamp on the casket lid and left the room.
I hesitated to look down at him. I checked the bible verse I'd paid to have inscribed on the cloth inside the casket lid. It was fine. II Timothy 4:7. I have fought a good fight. I have kept the faith. I have finished my course. I allowed myself to look down. There he was…my husband-what was left of him, dressed in his favorite suit. His beard had been groomed like I asked, his hairline shaped…it was all done. I thought to myself…my God, it's really over…all his struggling...all his pain…all his suffering. Then I thought…my God, he's really gone. His smile, his laugh, his way of telling a story, the little sayings he used everyday…my husband, my children's father…he's gone. I have to bury him tomorrow.
Then Elijah began to cry. I picked him up. He was so tiny. He was just 2 months old. He'd just gotten here and his father was gone. How in the world did this happen? Elijah stared at his dad for an amazingly long time. I'd never seen a baby that small stare at anyone or anything for that long when the person or thing wasn't engaging them in some way. I held him there until he turned his head. It had to be well over a minute.
Thomas looked about as well as anyone can look in that state and that was a relief. How he looked when he was dressed up was very important to Thomas. Not sure if it had anything to do with how messed up his insides were, but looking good, especially wearing a Sunday suit was extremely important to him. And he was known for it. Several people when informed of his passing confirmed who they thought it was by asking, "You mean the guy who wears all those fancy suits?"
I looked at the door. I knew that in two hours they'd be opening that door to the public. His co-workers, fellow church members, people from the community where he delivered mail, people from the community where we lived, people from his past and his present, his mother, biological and adoptive father, his sister, brother, his older children and several other relatives would all be coming through that door. I'd be at the salon getting my hair done as people began to come in to see him. As I'd done several times during his life when he couldn't do it himself, I gathered myself and inspected him for detail.
I opened the door to find the guy who had let me into the room was still waiting. I asked for a few more adjustments to make sure everything Thomas did during his Sunday morning routine was done before that happened. Then I gave the stroller a push and walked away. Dang that hallway was getting longer and longer.
I returned that afternoon with both children. My daughter was walking this hallway for the first time and the walk seemed longer than ever holding her little hand and pushing the stroller. The room was full of friends, aquaintances and family members.
We funeralized and buried Thomas the next day without incident. That is unless you count the blow-out diaper my son had just as my pastor began the eulogy. That was it for him and his first suit. I'd painstakenly purchased our clothes the day before. Apparently we were lovely color-coordinated in pink, gray and white. I'm told we were the perfect picture of a grieving family resting on faith. I'm told I looked heart broken but was the picture of strength and hope.
Was this the look I was going for? Hardly. I just found a lovely pink dress for my daughter and saw the suit my son would wear a few feet away. It was mostly gray, but the pink shirt was the exact same shade as my daughter's dress. When it came time to get my own outfit, I thought…why not. How I looked during the funeral was the result of who my husband had required me to be during his illness. Cry if you need to, but stay on your feet and get this done. It was another long walk into the church that day. Stoic as I may have seemed, I felt like I was carrying the weight of the world. I was wearing high heels for the first time in almost a year because I'd just given birth 2 months prior and to take precaution against falls, I don't wear heels during pregnancy. They were a bit tight. I was exhausted. I was nervous. I just didn't want to drop my son. I also could not bring myself to hand him to anyone else. I'd purchased a sling, but he hated it and all well and good as it was recalled the next day. His Godmother did keep him with her after she and a friend changed his clothes and my daughter had laid her head in my lap and stayed there the balance of the service.
The end was coming…the last. At the final viewing I walked up to him. I bent over him for the last time. I stared at him for the second to last time. I touched his face for the last time. I held his hand for the last time. I rubbed his hair for the last time. I nuzzled his face for the last time. I felt his beard for the last time. I stared at him again. I remembered all the other times I did those things…how his breathing would change…how it would calm if it was ragged. I remembered how he would respond by just moving one finger to touch me back or by telling me to go to bed if we were at home or by telling me to go home if he was in the hospital. None of that was happening no matter what I did. We weren't at home. We weren't at the hospital. We were at his funeral. He's gone. I straightened up, asked my daughter if she was okay to go and sit back down. When she said yes, I turned, and walked away. I watched the funeral home staff as they situated everything inside before they closed the lid. I let out a deep breath. I told myself again, "He's gone."
Leaving the church I got my son back and we followed them as they pushed my husband out to the waiting cars. We moved slowly on yet another long walk. How many times had I walked from the front to the back or from the back to the front of this church in the 13 years I'd been a member there? I didn't know. The last time I'd done the walk this slowly was my wedding day…wow.
That's what this journey has been. Both life as a caregiver and my life as a widow can easily be described as a series of long walks. My life as a caregiver was 10 years, 2 weeks and 3 days. It was 10 years, 2 weeks and 3 days of loving, fighting, praying, crying, parenting, laughing and learning. It was 10 years, 2 weeks and 3 days of frightening nights, hopeful days, moments of anger and frustration with periods of understanding and peace. It was a walk of faith…unyielding faith, shaken faith, unyielding faith, wavering faith, unyielding faith, shattered faith, unyielding faith.
In preparing for marriage I thought I knew who I'd be. It was 10 years, 2 weeks and 3 days of something much different than I expected. Thomas seemed to see me as someone much more independent than I wanted to be and he had no problem telling me that. Half the time, I didn't want to hear about that. I didn't want to be in charge. I wanted to be taken care of like the other wives. A large portion of those 10 years, 2 weeks and 3 days, I wondered why. Why him, why me, why us. But who were we really. We certainly were not the only ones with these types of issues.
It felt that way sometimes though. I spent a lot of that time feeling alone, isolated, like I didn't fit in with the couples we knew, like we'd never have what our friends had. And hardly anything hurts like feeling alone in a crowd of people who love you. But Thomas pushed me. For most of those 10 years, 2 weeks and 3 days he pushed me. He expected me to rise above it all. I got tired of rising above it all a few times. A few days I stayed under it, in a corner refusing to come out. He did too, but by the grace of God, most of the time one of us was able to pull the other one out and back into the game, sometimes with tenderness, others with verbal force.
Then he died. Care giving was over and I was widow. I was a widow with two little children, one of whom was still attached at the breast. If I got into that corner now, I was going to have to reach inside myself for God and pull myself out of it. I'd have to do it without even Thomas' prayers going up in the background.
Over the past 14 months, I've had ample opportunity to hit that corner. The ups, downs, surprises, exhaustion, and the of emotions that go with widowhood…the lonely parenting without even an ex I normally can't stand available to call when I need help..total responsibility for 1900 square feet of living space and the grounds and appliances that keep things running. It's been 14 months of loving, fighting, praying, crying, parenting, laughing and learning. It has been 14 months of frightening nights, hopeful days, moments of anger and frustration with periods of understanding and peace. It has been a walk of faith…unyielding faith, shaken faith, unyielding faith, wavering faith, unyielding faith, shattered faith, unyielding faith.
Only now, the challenge is to love myself without him. The fight is with my own occassional thoughts of inability as a widow rather than my inability as a caregiver. The praying is about the unknown future rather than the strength to face the unchanging challenges of the present. I cry because of his empty chair rather than because he can't get out of it. I'm finding the adventure in parenting as opposed to wondering how I will find it and be a caregiver at the same time. I'm still laughing to keep from crying. I'm also still learning who I am and in the process, seeing that in order to do this, I really need to be who Thomas was trying to get me to be for a long time. He's become to me like that coach the athlete doesn't understand. The coach rides him or her relentlessly and almost coddles the others. The athlete is frustrated to the point of quitting until one day it becomes clear. The coach did that because he or she believed in the athlete more than anyone else. Thomas used to say I was the right wife for him because even when all hell was breaking loose, I could stay calm. With ever step I take on this walk I try to remember what he said. Cry if you need to, but stay on your feet and get this done.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
We are Still a Family. We Won't Be the Same, but We'll Be Fine
While we were getting ready to go this morning my daughter was watching the family channel. Full House was on. It's amazing how the shows we watched are catching on to our children in syndication. For anyone who may not have heard of it as it was popular in a previous decade, Danny is a widowed father of 3 young girls DJ, Stephanie and Michelle. They live in California in a home they share with Danny's brother-in-law Jesse and Danny's college friend Joey. The three men are raising the girls together. When the show first aired, DJ appeared to be around 9 or 10 years-old, Stephanie was 5 and Michelle was 9 months old.
Anyway, it happened to be the episode a few years into the series where Michelle (now a kindergartner) tries to match Danny up with her teacher because she wants a new mommy. One of her little friends (TJ) tells her everyone should have a mommy and since she didn't, that her daddy needed a lady to fall in love with and marry. So Michelle (unknown to Danny and her teacher) set up a lunch date to get them together.
When her plan is revealed, Danny tells Michelle that there's no chance he and his teacher will fall in love and Michelle runs off to her room heartbroken. Danny assures her that she had a mother who loved her very much. Then he has the "there are all different kinds of families" talk with her and they work through it as these sitcoms often do. When it ends, Michelle is suggesting another lady for her father, but all is right in her world. We were late getting out of the house staying to see the end. I looked at Ariana and asked her if that looked familiar. She said "You and me," as we have on occasion had the "there are all different kinds of families," talk. She gave me a hug.
Then I looked at her brother. Elijah is the Michelle in our family. She was an infant and has no personal memories of her mother. Elijah was 2 months old when his father died. I noted that this issue was coming up as Michelle entered school and I remembered how I'm dreading that point in time when Elijah realizes something is amiss. I fear sometimes it will be like losing their dad all over again. I’m attempting to strengthen my faith in my own words. We are still a family. We won't be the same, and we'll always miss and remember daddy, but we'll be fine as long as we stick together here, work as a team and love each other.
I'm reminded of the name of a chapter in a book I'm trying to read, "Single Parenting that Works" by Kevin Lehman. He says, "You can't do it all, but you can do what is important." In the long run, that is what I want my children to see that I did. Children in two parent homes don't all get to do and have everything that they want and I know I cannot do the work of two people in every single area of our lives. And I can't change the fact that their father died. But I'm fortunate in that Thomas and I discussed at length the important things we wanted to do for any child(ren) we had. And even though he isn't here, I can follow the basic plan.
He left us surrounded by people who love us, loved him and are well aware of who he was and what path he'd want his children to follow. All four of his children can walk the path he laid out and not go wrong. That is a real blessing for them. Those of us still here to love them can give them the constant assurance that they are important and the constant assurance they are great despite what's happened and that they can be great in their future. My stepchildren's mother will no doubt stand with them as they go forward. And I'm still here too. I can stand beside Ariana and Elijah in their endeavors and adventures and while there is no doubt we'll feel Thomas' absence, when those important things happen, I can say, "These are the plans your daddy and I made for you. He is still our hearts and he would be so proud."
Anyway, it happened to be the episode a few years into the series where Michelle (now a kindergartner) tries to match Danny up with her teacher because she wants a new mommy. One of her little friends (TJ) tells her everyone should have a mommy and since she didn't, that her daddy needed a lady to fall in love with and marry. So Michelle (unknown to Danny and her teacher) set up a lunch date to get them together.
When her plan is revealed, Danny tells Michelle that there's no chance he and his teacher will fall in love and Michelle runs off to her room heartbroken. Danny assures her that she had a mother who loved her very much. Then he has the "there are all different kinds of families" talk with her and they work through it as these sitcoms often do. When it ends, Michelle is suggesting another lady for her father, but all is right in her world. We were late getting out of the house staying to see the end. I looked at Ariana and asked her if that looked familiar. She said "You and me," as we have on occasion had the "there are all different kinds of families," talk. She gave me a hug.
Then I looked at her brother. Elijah is the Michelle in our family. She was an infant and has no personal memories of her mother. Elijah was 2 months old when his father died. I noted that this issue was coming up as Michelle entered school and I remembered how I'm dreading that point in time when Elijah realizes something is amiss. I fear sometimes it will be like losing their dad all over again. I’m attempting to strengthen my faith in my own words. We are still a family. We won't be the same, and we'll always miss and remember daddy, but we'll be fine as long as we stick together here, work as a team and love each other.
I'm reminded of the name of a chapter in a book I'm trying to read, "Single Parenting that Works" by Kevin Lehman. He says, "You can't do it all, but you can do what is important." In the long run, that is what I want my children to see that I did. Children in two parent homes don't all get to do and have everything that they want and I know I cannot do the work of two people in every single area of our lives. And I can't change the fact that their father died. But I'm fortunate in that Thomas and I discussed at length the important things we wanted to do for any child(ren) we had. And even though he isn't here, I can follow the basic plan.
He left us surrounded by people who love us, loved him and are well aware of who he was and what path he'd want his children to follow. All four of his children can walk the path he laid out and not go wrong. That is a real blessing for them. Those of us still here to love them can give them the constant assurance that they are important and the constant assurance they are great despite what's happened and that they can be great in their future. My stepchildren's mother will no doubt stand with them as they go forward. And I'm still here too. I can stand beside Ariana and Elijah in their endeavors and adventures and while there is no doubt we'll feel Thomas' absence, when those important things happen, I can say, "These are the plans your daddy and I made for you. He is still our hearts and he would be so proud."
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
A Woman, A Teenager, A Child and a Baby on the Road
When I woke up on Monday, April 25th, I was relieved when I realized the day had arrived...the start of the vacation. My son woke me as usual with a gentle tap to the side of the head. I much prefer it to the alarm clock.
I got myself and the children ready like usual, but at a much slower pace. The plan for the day was to leave home around 7:55, pick up Jessica (Godparents' daughter) at 8:00, stop for breakfast at a nearby restaurant and be on the highway between 9 and 9:30am.
We were about 10 minutes later than I planned, but unlike every other day when being that far off schedule would have me grinding my teeth together, it didn't bother me. Jessica was ready and waiting so once her suitcase was in the van, we were off. We stopped at a Chick Fil-A and lingered over breakfast. We were on the road by 9:30 and we'd make up ever more time later.
The last time I did this drive, I stopped after two hours so we could get out of the van and I could do a diaper change and allow Ariana to visit the restroom. Well, Jessica fell asleep about 45 minutes into the drive. That was my first reminder of how teenagers like to sleep. Elijah went to sleep about an hour and fifteen minutes into the drive. Ariana went to sleep about an hour and a half into the drive. So, when the magical two hour mark came, I looked around at everyone and just kept driving. Before long, Virginia Beach was a mere 30 miles away, then I saw a sign that said ocean front was 9 miles away. Ariana woke up, then Elijah, then Jessica. I still can't believe we were able to drive straight through with a woman, a teenager, a child and a baby.
I found our hotel without incident and parked in the area in front to check us in. Here's where having a teenager along came in handy for the first time. I jumped out and walked in alone to check us in, got the key and a luggage cart and had everything in the room in two trips. The last time? I strapped my 5 month old baby to my chest, grabbed the luggage cart and with Ariana in tow got everything into the room in 4 trips. Of course at 5 months, Elijah required a bit more equipment for travel as well. I was also a little better at packing this trip.
The room was as expected, a two room suite with a living room and a bedroom that contained 2 queen beds. The kitchenette had a mini-fridge (waist high), a counter, sink and a microwave. The living room had enough space and a table for four. There's a flat screen in both rooms, a set of drawers in each room (but we opted not to unpack). There's a desk and chair in the living room and that's where I'm sitting to write this entry. There's ample lighting, and a really large bathroom. The shower turned out to be large enough for me and both children. Finally, one nice thing I see that I have not seen in a previous suite. There's a balcony outside the living room and outside the bedroom.
I really want to get some time in out there. First night we didn't leave the hotel. When we got settled we had lunch. Once our lunch was settled, Ariana, Elijah and I hit the indoor pool. Jessica opted to relax in the room. After we returned and got cleaned up, I ordered dinner to go from the hotel restaurants and we ate in our room. One other thing that attracted me to this hotel was its three restaurants. Two of them serve lunch and dinner. The other serves breakfast. And there's three words that may actually mean Holiday Inn has my heart for quite a while. Kids eat free.
I got myself and the children ready like usual, but at a much slower pace. The plan for the day was to leave home around 7:55, pick up Jessica (Godparents' daughter) at 8:00, stop for breakfast at a nearby restaurant and be on the highway between 9 and 9:30am.
We were about 10 minutes later than I planned, but unlike every other day when being that far off schedule would have me grinding my teeth together, it didn't bother me. Jessica was ready and waiting so once her suitcase was in the van, we were off. We stopped at a Chick Fil-A and lingered over breakfast. We were on the road by 9:30 and we'd make up ever more time later.
The last time I did this drive, I stopped after two hours so we could get out of the van and I could do a diaper change and allow Ariana to visit the restroom. Well, Jessica fell asleep about 45 minutes into the drive. That was my first reminder of how teenagers like to sleep. Elijah went to sleep about an hour and fifteen minutes into the drive. Ariana went to sleep about an hour and a half into the drive. So, when the magical two hour mark came, I looked around at everyone and just kept driving. Before long, Virginia Beach was a mere 30 miles away, then I saw a sign that said ocean front was 9 miles away. Ariana woke up, then Elijah, then Jessica. I still can't believe we were able to drive straight through with a woman, a teenager, a child and a baby.
I found our hotel without incident and parked in the area in front to check us in. Here's where having a teenager along came in handy for the first time. I jumped out and walked in alone to check us in, got the key and a luggage cart and had everything in the room in two trips. The last time? I strapped my 5 month old baby to my chest, grabbed the luggage cart and with Ariana in tow got everything into the room in 4 trips. Of course at 5 months, Elijah required a bit more equipment for travel as well. I was also a little better at packing this trip.
The room was as expected, a two room suite with a living room and a bedroom that contained 2 queen beds. The kitchenette had a mini-fridge (waist high), a counter, sink and a microwave. The living room had enough space and a table for four. There's a flat screen in both rooms, a set of drawers in each room (but we opted not to unpack). There's a desk and chair in the living room and that's where I'm sitting to write this entry. There's ample lighting, and a really large bathroom. The shower turned out to be large enough for me and both children. Finally, one nice thing I see that I have not seen in a previous suite. There's a balcony outside the living room and outside the bedroom.
I really want to get some time in out there. First night we didn't leave the hotel. When we got settled we had lunch. Once our lunch was settled, Ariana, Elijah and I hit the indoor pool. Jessica opted to relax in the room. After we returned and got cleaned up, I ordered dinner to go from the hotel restaurants and we ate in our room. One other thing that attracted me to this hotel was its three restaurants. Two of them serve lunch and dinner. The other serves breakfast. And there's three words that may actually mean Holiday Inn has my heart for quite a while. Kids eat free.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
A Woman, A Teenager, A Child and a Baby Take a Break
It's spring break and it never seems to arrive too soon. Unlike a lot of other schools, my daughter's school scheduled spring break for the week after Easter. The plan was to escape the local digs and obligations for the week. The stesses of those was wearing on me. Changes need to be made at the homestead. Cleaning needs to be done, furniture needs to be removed to make way for new furniture that hasn't been purchased yet.
Work has its own pressures and I feel like I'm right in the middle of it, although I may not be in the middle of it at all. I have a lot of responsibilities at work although I'm not in a position of any real importance. I've been back there since a week after Thomas' funeral and at times the exhaustion is overwhelming. In fact I'm likely foregoing a long summer vacation in favor of this long spring trip.
But sacrifices must be made. I needed a break and so did Ariana. She's been working really hard going to school and going to Sylvan Learning Center twice a week for tutoring. She's shown significant improvement in her reading and didn't have an anxiety episodes during the week of testing last week. And the amount of work required for me to keep up at home, keep her up at school, get her back and forth to the learning center, take care of both her and Elijah, work everyday and everything else was wearing on me. And finally, if his reactions to being dropped off in the mornings was any indication, Elijah needed a break too. He'd begun to whine at drop-off and was trying to follow me out the door as I left. He loves daycare and would not actually cry, but it was different from the usual kiss and walk away routine I was used to.
The plan was slow to develop. The budget was perused constantly in my deciding what I could afford and what I could not afford and what would be fun and give us some nice memories. Ariana would also have her 8th birthday during the week. The news that she wasn't having a party for the third consecutive year did not go over very well. But what was I going to get? Likely a load of "Sorry we'll be out of town" responses whether it be in notes, emails, phone calls or a quick verbal in the school hallway. So I figured the best thing for us to do was to go out of town ourselves.
The location? Virginia Beach. We'd spent our summer vacation there in 2010 and there were enough activities available for me to make a spring break work as well. Ariana loves animals, fish, science and nature. So we'd visit the zoo, aquarium and science center. She loves nice hotels, so I picked a good one with an indoor pool and lazy river. To celebrate her birthday on Thursday, we'll hit the local mall so she can do "Build-a-Bear", which is such a rare treat, she's only done it once. I'm also getting an oreo cookie ice cream cake from the local Cold Stone Creamery, after we do a little additional shopping. The mall is perfect for her actual birthday because thunderstorms are predicted and she loves shopping.
Friday is predicted to be a clear day and that's what we need. That is to be the highlight of the trip. I've planned a day trip to Busch Gardens. It's a bit of a drive from our hotel, but not nearly the drive from our house. There's a lot of additions to the place since I was there last. There are a lot of rides Elijah can get on and an entire area based on Sesame Street complete with character interactions. Fortunately even though she's into Hannah Montana, Selena Gomez and Justin Bieber, she still loves Nick Jr. Disney Jr. and yes, Sesame Street. We have a reservation for a character lunch at noon where we should get some nice pictures like we did on our Disney World trip last November. She is very excited.
And this trip won't be as much work for me because Elijah is a toddler now. He can walk on occassion. He no longer has to have formula, he eats regular food and can now drink from a straw. I also have some nearly grown up company on this trip. My children have Godparents and their now 17 year-old daughter babysits for me on occassion. She and Ariana go to the same school so her father asked if she could go with us. I agreed without hesitation. She's a good girl, the children adore her, I adore her and the best part...her parents can afford to send her. I did opt for a suite instead of the regular room I had originally reserved for us, but her tickets to activities, her meals and such, her parents took care of it. Her parents can't get away until June, and she's been working hard in school and everything that goes with being a junior in high school, so it worked out well. We'll fully achieve that mix of her being able to relax and giving me a little help. So I'm luvin' me and my 3 this week. I'm sure it will be great. As I say, time off from work is well...time off from work. I'm grateful for a break.
Work has its own pressures and I feel like I'm right in the middle of it, although I may not be in the middle of it at all. I have a lot of responsibilities at work although I'm not in a position of any real importance. I've been back there since a week after Thomas' funeral and at times the exhaustion is overwhelming. In fact I'm likely foregoing a long summer vacation in favor of this long spring trip.
But sacrifices must be made. I needed a break and so did Ariana. She's been working really hard going to school and going to Sylvan Learning Center twice a week for tutoring. She's shown significant improvement in her reading and didn't have an anxiety episodes during the week of testing last week. And the amount of work required for me to keep up at home, keep her up at school, get her back and forth to the learning center, take care of both her and Elijah, work everyday and everything else was wearing on me. And finally, if his reactions to being dropped off in the mornings was any indication, Elijah needed a break too. He'd begun to whine at drop-off and was trying to follow me out the door as I left. He loves daycare and would not actually cry, but it was different from the usual kiss and walk away routine I was used to.
The plan was slow to develop. The budget was perused constantly in my deciding what I could afford and what I could not afford and what would be fun and give us some nice memories. Ariana would also have her 8th birthday during the week. The news that she wasn't having a party for the third consecutive year did not go over very well. But what was I going to get? Likely a load of "Sorry we'll be out of town" responses whether it be in notes, emails, phone calls or a quick verbal in the school hallway. So I figured the best thing for us to do was to go out of town ourselves.
The location? Virginia Beach. We'd spent our summer vacation there in 2010 and there were enough activities available for me to make a spring break work as well. Ariana loves animals, fish, science and nature. So we'd visit the zoo, aquarium and science center. She loves nice hotels, so I picked a good one with an indoor pool and lazy river. To celebrate her birthday on Thursday, we'll hit the local mall so she can do "Build-a-Bear", which is such a rare treat, she's only done it once. I'm also getting an oreo cookie ice cream cake from the local Cold Stone Creamery, after we do a little additional shopping. The mall is perfect for her actual birthday because thunderstorms are predicted and she loves shopping.
Friday is predicted to be a clear day and that's what we need. That is to be the highlight of the trip. I've planned a day trip to Busch Gardens. It's a bit of a drive from our hotel, but not nearly the drive from our house. There's a lot of additions to the place since I was there last. There are a lot of rides Elijah can get on and an entire area based on Sesame Street complete with character interactions. Fortunately even though she's into Hannah Montana, Selena Gomez and Justin Bieber, she still loves Nick Jr. Disney Jr. and yes, Sesame Street. We have a reservation for a character lunch at noon where we should get some nice pictures like we did on our Disney World trip last November. She is very excited.
And this trip won't be as much work for me because Elijah is a toddler now. He can walk on occassion. He no longer has to have formula, he eats regular food and can now drink from a straw. I also have some nearly grown up company on this trip. My children have Godparents and their now 17 year-old daughter babysits for me on occassion. She and Ariana go to the same school so her father asked if she could go with us. I agreed without hesitation. She's a good girl, the children adore her, I adore her and the best part...her parents can afford to send her. I did opt for a suite instead of the regular room I had originally reserved for us, but her tickets to activities, her meals and such, her parents took care of it. Her parents can't get away until June, and she's been working hard in school and everything that goes with being a junior in high school, so it worked out well. We'll fully achieve that mix of her being able to relax and giving me a little help. So I'm luvin' me and my 3 this week. I'm sure it will be great. As I say, time off from work is well...time off from work. I'm grateful for a break.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Cleaning Up My Act..A Widowed Parent Makes Some Tough Choices
Cleaning was always an issue for me even before my husband died. As a child I was not the best at keeping my room clean. I got better in college when I had less space. I kept a small apartment so I wouldn’t have much to clean. During my marriage, whenever I got depressed about my husband's health, cleaning the house, much to his frustration was the first thing to go. Energy is required for me to clean and if I had any it was very little and I spent it elsewhere.
I'd vacuum twice weekly, do laundry weekly and clean the kitchen when I used it and that was about it. Now, without him here to stay on me about it, on top of grieving him, well you can imagine. Grieving is exhausting and grieving as a parent is an up and down road. My children are both the light of my life and the most pressure on my heart. They energize me and drain me. My son has a healing touch, an amazing smile, likes to get kisses and gives them back. He has also had some health issues that have taken a lot out of me physically and emotionally. My daughter is the funniest person I know. She's witty and smart and will love you to the end of the earth. She has also had school issues that despite her being only in 2nd grade have me on edge. Got help with her at Sylvan, and even though they are earning that money, they are far from free. Just trying to figure out how to keep everyone sane, work everyday and oh yeah, grieve, I had so little left. You also have to shop to clean and cook…more energy I didn't have.
Then add to it things breaking, like my vacuum cleaner and my steam mop. The vacuum cleaner I wanted cost $180 so time kept going and going and other expenses kept keeping me from getting the vacuum cleaner I wanted. An immediate mess I'd get the dust buster out and I'd go over the carpet with an older vacuum I had that only half worked. I mopped the non-carpeted floors, with a regular dip and wring routine, but it was far from efficient.
Laundry also became an issue. I'd buy more underwear and socks for us to avoid doing it. I did laundry every week, but just the new stuff I bought and as soon as we took clothes off, I'd wash and dry them, while 7 loads of laundry sat upstairs.
Then, there was take-out food. I've been in and out of control of the drive-thru monster for a long time. There were months where I put dinner on the table 5 of 7 days and then months where my daughter would be shocked and disappointed when I said we were going home to eat.
It's not uncommon. I have a friend who was widowed 7 years ago and she said her dad eventually hired someone to clean her house. Speaking of dads, another widow said her dad simply said to her: “Eventually you will get tired of it and clean it up.” Her dad is right. I got tired of it, especially when my son got 2 respiratory viruses in one month. Then I started noticing my daughter doing things like leaving her backpack right in the middle of the floor literally dropping it as soon as she got inside the front door or leaving her shoes at the bottom of the steps on her way to her room and her bedroom just being a big mess and I got scared.
I knew I couldn't tell her to clean her room when I wasn't cleaning the rest of the house. Plus she started letting go of other good habits she had and talking with her revealed she saw no need to continue those things in our house, but would at her Godparents' house, which was much more organized than ours. She was also getting very used to the take-out food to the point that whenever I said I was going to cook, she'd cry and it was becoming very hard to get her to eat anything other than a cheeseburger, pizza or chicken nuggets, things her pediatrician assured me her body can handle and burn off since she's active, but my body at 38 years-old, not so much. In short, I was already tired, so how much more difficult was life going to be if I didn’t change things. It’s difficult to get a 7 year-old to cooperate. How much more difficult would it be with a 10 year-old.
I thought to myself, how tough is this? How unfair is this? My reaction is totally normal, yet if I don’t try to do something different I could be setting myself up for a more difficult road ahead and not necessarily but possibly putting a bad stamp on my child’s future or at least her teens. My daughter is 7 years-old. She doesn’t see the house is a mess because mom is tired and grieving. She sees, “Whoopee, mom is messy so that must mean I can be messy too.” What was I going to do. Oh, crap, where are the big girl pants?
I'm starting to come out of it, but unlike the other times I tried to come out of it, I'm being more patient with myself. I'm doing it more slowly…kind of like we're advised to break most habits, that is, in moderation. My husband had a real sweet tooth and every now and then he'd try to quit sweets "cold turkey". Well, just by me saying he quit cold turkey every now and then is indication of how well that went for him.
I'd already proven I couldn't make these changes cold turkey so I'm going slowly. Eventually said "Screw it" and got a $40 vacuum cleaner. One journey over the downstairs and had to empty the container. Instead of the $100 steam mop I wanted, I got a $20 Swiffer wet jet.
Over a period of weeks, I got caught up with the laundry. I used to joke to myself that it was too bad we couldn't go around naked until it was all done. Instead of trying to do 4 loads on a Saturday, I started doing a load every other day, even if I didn't get it put away or even folded. When I finally got caught up on the laundry, I found clothes my son outgrew while they were dirty. My daughter now has 50 pairs of undies, 30 pairs of socks and I've duplicated some of my son’s pjs. I have too many pairs of socks and underwear to fit in the drawer they go in now. There's still a big pile of dry-cleaning, but after taking in a large amount one week and not going back for it for 3 months, I'm thinking maybe 2 to 3 pieces at a time would be better.
I'm going to work my way back to cooking most nights a little more slowly this time. We had spaghetti last night and it was comforting, the sounds our forks made in the plates, sitting at the table with them. I felt a sense of accomplishment. Took what I had left to clean up afterwards and I wanted to stop several times, but something else helps. After not using it the entire time I was married (not sure why) I started using our dishwasher. So after wiping away the left over sauce, and putting the leftover food in the fridge, I put everything in there. Then was able to wash the tray for my son's high chair, wipe off the stove and table before plopping into a chair in the family room.
I've also bought that daily shower cleaner spray and taught my daughter to shower so I don't have to clean a tub every night and I either bathe my son in the sink or take him into the shower with me. I know he's a boy, but he was nursing just 3 months ago, so this will work for a minute or two.
I do need to call a furniture removal company to take some things away so I can set up my son's nursery. To keep me from taking too long to do that, I'm going to a local store to put his bed on 90 day lay-away. That way I put myself on a timetable to clear that room for his stuff.
To help with the energy I need for all this, as mentioned in another entry, I'm working a wholeness plan for us. I just started, but my daughter is already sleeping better and having better dreams and I'm feeling more capable. I do know I am not alone in this. I'll probably be taking a combination of paths I’ve read about to make one for myself, but unlike some other things, this particular part, might not be in my own time. Maybe that’s for the best. One thing my pastor’s wife says to me a lot is, “Don’t beat yourself up over anything”. And I’m trying to apply that. I can admit that (not beating myself up) is an area where I consistently failed over most of my life so far; but, I can clearly see that I do much better when I try to be kinder to me.
I'd vacuum twice weekly, do laundry weekly and clean the kitchen when I used it and that was about it. Now, without him here to stay on me about it, on top of grieving him, well you can imagine. Grieving is exhausting and grieving as a parent is an up and down road. My children are both the light of my life and the most pressure on my heart. They energize me and drain me. My son has a healing touch, an amazing smile, likes to get kisses and gives them back. He has also had some health issues that have taken a lot out of me physically and emotionally. My daughter is the funniest person I know. She's witty and smart and will love you to the end of the earth. She has also had school issues that despite her being only in 2nd grade have me on edge. Got help with her at Sylvan, and even though they are earning that money, they are far from free. Just trying to figure out how to keep everyone sane, work everyday and oh yeah, grieve, I had so little left. You also have to shop to clean and cook…more energy I didn't have.
Then add to it things breaking, like my vacuum cleaner and my steam mop. The vacuum cleaner I wanted cost $180 so time kept going and going and other expenses kept keeping me from getting the vacuum cleaner I wanted. An immediate mess I'd get the dust buster out and I'd go over the carpet with an older vacuum I had that only half worked. I mopped the non-carpeted floors, with a regular dip and wring routine, but it was far from efficient.
Laundry also became an issue. I'd buy more underwear and socks for us to avoid doing it. I did laundry every week, but just the new stuff I bought and as soon as we took clothes off, I'd wash and dry them, while 7 loads of laundry sat upstairs.
Then, there was take-out food. I've been in and out of control of the drive-thru monster for a long time. There were months where I put dinner on the table 5 of 7 days and then months where my daughter would be shocked and disappointed when I said we were going home to eat.
It's not uncommon. I have a friend who was widowed 7 years ago and she said her dad eventually hired someone to clean her house. Speaking of dads, another widow said her dad simply said to her: “Eventually you will get tired of it and clean it up.” Her dad is right. I got tired of it, especially when my son got 2 respiratory viruses in one month. Then I started noticing my daughter doing things like leaving her backpack right in the middle of the floor literally dropping it as soon as she got inside the front door or leaving her shoes at the bottom of the steps on her way to her room and her bedroom just being a big mess and I got scared.
I knew I couldn't tell her to clean her room when I wasn't cleaning the rest of the house. Plus she started letting go of other good habits she had and talking with her revealed she saw no need to continue those things in our house, but would at her Godparents' house, which was much more organized than ours. She was also getting very used to the take-out food to the point that whenever I said I was going to cook, she'd cry and it was becoming very hard to get her to eat anything other than a cheeseburger, pizza or chicken nuggets, things her pediatrician assured me her body can handle and burn off since she's active, but my body at 38 years-old, not so much. In short, I was already tired, so how much more difficult was life going to be if I didn’t change things. It’s difficult to get a 7 year-old to cooperate. How much more difficult would it be with a 10 year-old.
I thought to myself, how tough is this? How unfair is this? My reaction is totally normal, yet if I don’t try to do something different I could be setting myself up for a more difficult road ahead and not necessarily but possibly putting a bad stamp on my child’s future or at least her teens. My daughter is 7 years-old. She doesn’t see the house is a mess because mom is tired and grieving. She sees, “Whoopee, mom is messy so that must mean I can be messy too.” What was I going to do. Oh, crap, where are the big girl pants?
I'm starting to come out of it, but unlike the other times I tried to come out of it, I'm being more patient with myself. I'm doing it more slowly…kind of like we're advised to break most habits, that is, in moderation. My husband had a real sweet tooth and every now and then he'd try to quit sweets "cold turkey". Well, just by me saying he quit cold turkey every now and then is indication of how well that went for him.
I'd already proven I couldn't make these changes cold turkey so I'm going slowly. Eventually said "Screw it" and got a $40 vacuum cleaner. One journey over the downstairs and had to empty the container. Instead of the $100 steam mop I wanted, I got a $20 Swiffer wet jet.
Over a period of weeks, I got caught up with the laundry. I used to joke to myself that it was too bad we couldn't go around naked until it was all done. Instead of trying to do 4 loads on a Saturday, I started doing a load every other day, even if I didn't get it put away or even folded. When I finally got caught up on the laundry, I found clothes my son outgrew while they were dirty. My daughter now has 50 pairs of undies, 30 pairs of socks and I've duplicated some of my son’s pjs. I have too many pairs of socks and underwear to fit in the drawer they go in now. There's still a big pile of dry-cleaning, but after taking in a large amount one week and not going back for it for 3 months, I'm thinking maybe 2 to 3 pieces at a time would be better.
I'm going to work my way back to cooking most nights a little more slowly this time. We had spaghetti last night and it was comforting, the sounds our forks made in the plates, sitting at the table with them. I felt a sense of accomplishment. Took what I had left to clean up afterwards and I wanted to stop several times, but something else helps. After not using it the entire time I was married (not sure why) I started using our dishwasher. So after wiping away the left over sauce, and putting the leftover food in the fridge, I put everything in there. Then was able to wash the tray for my son's high chair, wipe off the stove and table before plopping into a chair in the family room.
I've also bought that daily shower cleaner spray and taught my daughter to shower so I don't have to clean a tub every night and I either bathe my son in the sink or take him into the shower with me. I know he's a boy, but he was nursing just 3 months ago, so this will work for a minute or two.
I do need to call a furniture removal company to take some things away so I can set up my son's nursery. To keep me from taking too long to do that, I'm going to a local store to put his bed on 90 day lay-away. That way I put myself on a timetable to clear that room for his stuff.
To help with the energy I need for all this, as mentioned in another entry, I'm working a wholeness plan for us. I just started, but my daughter is already sleeping better and having better dreams and I'm feeling more capable. I do know I am not alone in this. I'll probably be taking a combination of paths I’ve read about to make one for myself, but unlike some other things, this particular part, might not be in my own time. Maybe that’s for the best. One thing my pastor’s wife says to me a lot is, “Don’t beat yourself up over anything”. And I’m trying to apply that. I can admit that (not beating myself up) is an area where I consistently failed over most of my life so far; but, I can clearly see that I do much better when I try to be kinder to me.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
So Now We Don't Have a Father? A Widowed Parent Answers the Hard Questions
It's amazing what they think of.
My daughter is the typical 7 year-old in that she asks a lot of questions. And there is a lot in her life to question. We had a baby last year and she wants to know how that happens. She saw me go through pregnancy, the changes in my body, and had the waiting experience. She heard his heartbeat more than once and felt him move inside me. Still, at 6 years-old, I imagine it's strange to go through all that only to be brought to the hospital one day and told, "Okay, he's here and have this tiny person just appear. She adores him. He's her best friend. She still has questions about not so much where he came from, but how he got in there. Not a conversation I'm ready to have with a 7 year-old. I told her that God helped her father and I make them. Although she did see an animal planet special on the subject. It included talk about the egg and sperm. I did let her know that people made babies the same way. That's as far as I've gone.
Then we weren't settled into life with her little brother when her father, whom she loved dearly, and who was sick most of her life died one day while she was at school. He wasn't terminal. I didn't tell her he was dying. I didn't tell her he wasn't. She asked. I just told her that she'd be taken care of no matter what happened.
She was always concerned for his comfort and that has not changed since he died. I think she worries just as much about him as she does about me. I remember taking a significant amount of time letting her know how soft the pillows inside the casket were and how he was wearing his favorite suit. Still death is a huge mystery to anyone who hasn't been there no matter what their age. At the age of 7, there's another whole level as far as an inability to understand the concept.
It took her a while to realize it was permanent. After about 6 months she asked me continuously for weeks if he really was going to be gone forever. But I didn't mind. Whatever it takes. I mean I hate for her to have to deal with the reality, but I imagine it is better for her than expecting that after a certain length of time he's going to come bouncing through the front door like he did before he died.
I have a friend who lost her husband when their daughter was the same age as my daughter is now. She found out later that the little girl just thought he was going away for a while to get better, that she didn't know when, but thought he'd eventually come home. It was 3 years later she said when the reality set in, and it hit her so hard she started lashing out at friends she'd had since preschool because they still had both of their parents. She said it was so bad she had to change schools. And I've read this is normal, that children grieve in cycles, so I'm still on guard. But with counseling that little girl has blossomed into a beautiful teenager who has helped other girls who have experienced the loss of a parent. I expect she'll help my daughter at some point. And I expect at some point my daughter will be helping others.
This past weekend, she began to voice some concerns. Some were repeats, but still I sit in wonder as to the inner workings of a child's mind.
Doesn't he need food? No
Is he okay? Yes because he's not sick anymore.
Is he our angel now? I'm not sure, but I believe you have always had one or more. (another story). If he's not one of them, I'm sure all the praying he did for us has sent us some.
Can he see us? If he's one of our angels yes. If not, no. (on my angry days I hope not).
Then…
Does he still snore in that bed? Absolutely not.
Oh, because he doesn't breathe? Right.
So, is he bored? No
Why did you marry an old man? Huh? He was 45. That's not old.
Well, only old people die right? Um…no honey. Anyone can. It's sad, but anyone can no matter how old they are.
I shake my head at her having to deal with such harsh realities at this age. I worry it will make her grow up too quickly. I remember the day it happened. I remember thinking of telling everyone I had to tell, how it was going to hurt them. For her I felt I was going to take part of her innocence. My heart began to beat faster when Ariana's Godmother left our house to bring her back home. And it progressed to racing when they returned and Ariana came bounding up the steps to our front door. I was about to turn her world upside down. How could I do this?
She was the calmest person I talked to that day. But her quiet tears tore through my heart in those moments and still do. And I'll never forget her words...
So, now we don't have a father?
But I continue to be inspired by how she handles not having a father. And I pray that God continues to equip me as He has been faithful to all the way to now, to handle my children not having a father.
My daughter is the typical 7 year-old in that she asks a lot of questions. And there is a lot in her life to question. We had a baby last year and she wants to know how that happens. She saw me go through pregnancy, the changes in my body, and had the waiting experience. She heard his heartbeat more than once and felt him move inside me. Still, at 6 years-old, I imagine it's strange to go through all that only to be brought to the hospital one day and told, "Okay, he's here and have this tiny person just appear. She adores him. He's her best friend. She still has questions about not so much where he came from, but how he got in there. Not a conversation I'm ready to have with a 7 year-old. I told her that God helped her father and I make them. Although she did see an animal planet special on the subject. It included talk about the egg and sperm. I did let her know that people made babies the same way. That's as far as I've gone.
Then we weren't settled into life with her little brother when her father, whom she loved dearly, and who was sick most of her life died one day while she was at school. He wasn't terminal. I didn't tell her he was dying. I didn't tell her he wasn't. She asked. I just told her that she'd be taken care of no matter what happened.
She was always concerned for his comfort and that has not changed since he died. I think she worries just as much about him as she does about me. I remember taking a significant amount of time letting her know how soft the pillows inside the casket were and how he was wearing his favorite suit. Still death is a huge mystery to anyone who hasn't been there no matter what their age. At the age of 7, there's another whole level as far as an inability to understand the concept.
It took her a while to realize it was permanent. After about 6 months she asked me continuously for weeks if he really was going to be gone forever. But I didn't mind. Whatever it takes. I mean I hate for her to have to deal with the reality, but I imagine it is better for her than expecting that after a certain length of time he's going to come bouncing through the front door like he did before he died.
I have a friend who lost her husband when their daughter was the same age as my daughter is now. She found out later that the little girl just thought he was going away for a while to get better, that she didn't know when, but thought he'd eventually come home. It was 3 years later she said when the reality set in, and it hit her so hard she started lashing out at friends she'd had since preschool because they still had both of their parents. She said it was so bad she had to change schools. And I've read this is normal, that children grieve in cycles, so I'm still on guard. But with counseling that little girl has blossomed into a beautiful teenager who has helped other girls who have experienced the loss of a parent. I expect she'll help my daughter at some point. And I expect at some point my daughter will be helping others.
This past weekend, she began to voice some concerns. Some were repeats, but still I sit in wonder as to the inner workings of a child's mind.
Doesn't he need food? No
Is he okay? Yes because he's not sick anymore.
Is he our angel now? I'm not sure, but I believe you have always had one or more. (another story). If he's not one of them, I'm sure all the praying he did for us has sent us some.
Can he see us? If he's one of our angels yes. If not, no. (on my angry days I hope not).
Then…
Does he still snore in that bed? Absolutely not.
Oh, because he doesn't breathe? Right.
So, is he bored? No
Why did you marry an old man? Huh? He was 45. That's not old.
Well, only old people die right? Um…no honey. Anyone can. It's sad, but anyone can no matter how old they are.
I shake my head at her having to deal with such harsh realities at this age. I worry it will make her grow up too quickly. I remember the day it happened. I remember thinking of telling everyone I had to tell, how it was going to hurt them. For her I felt I was going to take part of her innocence. My heart began to beat faster when Ariana's Godmother left our house to bring her back home. And it progressed to racing when they returned and Ariana came bounding up the steps to our front door. I was about to turn her world upside down. How could I do this?
She was the calmest person I talked to that day. But her quiet tears tore through my heart in those moments and still do. And I'll never forget her words...
So, now we don't have a father?
But I continue to be inspired by how she handles not having a father. And I pray that God continues to equip me as He has been faithful to all the way to now, to handle my children not having a father.
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