A Son's Perspective

I was sitting in the living room, warmed by the fire, with my boyfriend Abel to my left, and my son Remy to my right. I was trying to think of what to write about, then saw a perfect opportunity to find out what my son thought about his dad, a widower, newly dating again.

My husband, for those who do not know, died a little over two years ago. He and I had only been a couple for 18 months when he was diagnosed with brain cancer. My kids learned to love and accept him, then soon learned that they would also have to say goodbye to him. It was nothing I ever expected to go through with a new relationship, and nothing I ever expected my kids to experience while they were still young. But here we are, two years later, many bereavement groups later. Many changes, and many nights of grieving through tears, laughter, and stories.

A couple of months ago I met someone. We began to date, well, we began to have a relationship from the beginning. It didn't feel so much like dating, as we were relating to each other daily, talking, sharing, and growing close, quickly. I introduced him to my kids, well, teenagers, and we went from there.

Here is a brief discussion that occured while I sat here. It began with a simple question to my 13 year old son.

What's it been like having your dad dating someone new?

Remy: Well, at first I felt like Abel was taking away my dad's love for Mike. And I thought, well, like you guys have already done stuff together, and I feel very different now. At first it felt like it was going too fast, it was coming on too strong, because I thought you didn't give up Mike yet, and I thought that he was taking away that love of Mike. But then later on I realized that he was a person you really love, but I thought you still loved Mike, and Abel was really new, and I didn't know Abel like a father. It felt like with Abel you were ready to move on, and I wasn't ready for it. Now I understand that you are ready, and that you want love again.

Abel: I would never try to replace what Mike had with you guys.

Remy: I told my dad that this is confusing for me, and now I feel like maybe you aren't the same father as Mike, but I know that you care about my dad, and you care about all of us. I hope that my dad does care about you.

Abel: I do love your dad, and you and Arianne. You all have a special place in my heart Remy.

Remy: (turns to me to say) I feel like you guys are going to be together for a long time. I feel like if you are dating Abel, and if it's been going on for a long time, it's already like he's a dad to me. I know Abel would do anything for us as a family. I know Mike would be happy for you dad. I know that he would be happy for Abel to have a great guy like you. I think Mike would be very happy, and he'd be happy mostly that you moved on, and found love again.

I then asked Remy if there is anything else that he worries about.


Remy: I might worry that me calling Abel dad, that Mike might not like that, but that's just how I think. I'm still worried about what if Abel is not going to stay, then I think about negative stuff, like what stuff could happen.

Remy said he worries about possibly losing Abel, then was unable to continue to talk. I spoke to Remy about how all parents who begin dating again worry about their kids getting attached to someone when dating, then having to let go if the relationship doesn't work out. I told Remy that with a widowed parent that becomes an even deeper concern. I reminded him of how he and the other kids learned to love Mike, and how they came to accept him as their second dad, only then to lose him.

Remy just told me it was okay to say that at this point he cried.

Do I worry about this? Yes. Does Abel worry about this? Yes. I suppose these are the conversations we should be having. These are the things that go through the mind of our children. Do they want us to be happy again? Yes, but it is so much more complicated, isn't it? There are so many feelings that our new relationships bring up for them. There are so many insecurities that get tapped into. I have always known this, but I think I need to remind myself of this more often.

Happiness is not an easy matter. But it is something worth striving for.

Bedroom Conversations

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

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

"Dad, can we talk?"

Yes, Remy, whatever you want to talk about.

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

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

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

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

One love does not negate another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Cost of Moving Forward

I've been feeling quite stressed out these past few weeks. Stressed over money.

First a disclaimer, I'm not broke, and I have a regular check that arrives every two weeks.

I've forgotten how expensive summers can be when you are a single working parent. My son is now thirteen years old. Old enough to spend some time on his own, not old enough to always make the best decisions when on his own. I didn't want to be at work all summer, wondering, worrying, about what he was getting into while I was away. I also didn't wanting him sitting at home alone, bored, with the depression that still surrounds our home and lives.

I look at the distant years past, and our household was filled with many people. We had two parents, three kids, and a host of friends that visited on a regular basis. Now granted, we were dealing with Michael's tumor, and impending death, but we had a full and active life. For this reason alone, I wanted my son to have a summer where he was active, involved in many fun outdoor activities, and not focused on the fact that there are only our two faces around the house.

Today it hit me why I as feeling stressed about money, and why I have been feeling somewhat depressed as I pick him up from camp each day. I have not had to rely on such camps for several years. When Michael was around, Remy only went to camp when we felt he would enjoy it. Back then there was always one of us around if it got too expensive, or if Remy just wanted to be home with one of us. Last year, the first summer without Michael, I was not working. I had just quit my job, moved to San Diego, and the boys and I would hit the beach every afternoon. This year is quite different.

So, my realization? This is my life now. This is the aftermath of the tragedy of losing my husband. This is the emotional, and financial, cost that it takes to keep moving forward. The cost means that I have gone through a significant amount of money to provide myself, and my son, some sense of normalcy, some peace of mind, and hopefully, some a little joy.

The cost is emotionally taxing. The cost is financially destabilizing.

Super 8

For those that did not read my post on today's Widow's Voice, you might want to follow the link and read before continuing.

A Child's Grief.

For those that have read it, you will see the irony in finding myself in the theatre, watching this film.

I picked up my son from his summer day camp this afternoon, and was eager to hear about his first day. His initial comment was that it was kind of boring, but then he quickly shifted gears, and said that he did enjoy getting to know this younger kid. They both attended a Skateboard/Scootering Camp, and he came home with all the expected scrapes and bruises.

On the way home I mentioned that I wanted to stop and have dinner, as I don't usually cook at home but a couple of times a week. He quickly noticed that we were by one of the local malls, and suggested we eat dinner at the food court. I made a quick and abrupt right turn, and parked the car. After we were finishing our meals, his a hot dog on a stick, and mine, Mediterranean, he asked if we could see a movie, as the theatre was conveniently right next to the food court. Hmn, was I just had? I laughed at his clever ploy, and said that I was quite tired from work, but he reminded me that I have taken many a nap in other movie theatres.

Because we didn't want to be out too late, we chose a film that was just about to start, Super8. I didn't know much about the film, other than it was a bit of a retro sci-fi. I thought, okay, it looks like fun. I had never been much of a sci-fi fan, but that changed when I met Michael. He was the biggest sci-fi freak. I remember the kids looking at me strangely when Michael would first start coming over to the house for dinner and a movie. Eventually the kids walked into the living room to announce that "our dad must really like you because he hates sci-fi films." Oh how poetic kids can be.

Anyway, yes it is a sci-fi, and a fun one at that. The part I had no idea about was the back story. As the film opens, the boy, who happens to be the same age as my son, is sitting outside on a swing, as guests fill his house. He is sitting there in a black suit, and as the camera winds it's way into the house, it is clear that this is a funeral reception. The boys mother died, and he is left alone with his grieving dad. The film them quickly moves forward four months later. The kid is at his friend's house across the street. His friend comes from a large family, which includes five other siblings, a mom, and a dad. The house is loud, chaotic, with kids running and laughing throughout. Quickly we hear the mother calling her kids to the dinner table, which is filled with a big home cooked meal. The mother looks to the main character, and lets him know there is plenty of food if he wants to stay. He thanks her, but says he needs to get home, as he has dinner waiting for him there as well.

The boy walks across the street, and you begin to see his body language change. It's as if he is suddenly carrying a heavy load. He opens the door, and enters his house, which is quiet, and still. He walks through the kitchen, which has an obvious layer of dust throughout. He walks down the hall, and calls out for his dad. As he comes to the end of the hall way he sees his dad, sitting alone in the bathroom, his eyes, and face, filled with tears. The father quickly wipes the tears from his face, and with a quick closing of the bathroom door, he announces that he will be out in a minute.

Loss. It's everywhere. It's in my life. It's in my son's life. And, it's on the screen in this harmless sci-fi movie. I won't go too far into the plot, but it's your basic alien, trying to get back home. Near the end, the boys says to the alien that he understands. He tells the alien that “Bad things happen, but you can still live.” It's corny, yes, but spoken from one who knows.

Throughout the movie we see the father and son at odds. They are both grieving, and are joined by their loss, but they grieve in very different ways. They are separated mid way through the story, and in the end are reunited. When they do find each other, the father holds his son so tightly, that you know he doesn't want to lose him again. He then whispers into his ear, “I’m just doing the best I can to save you.”

Isn't that what we are all trying to do? I know that is what I am trying to do. I'm not always good at it. I sometimes get angry, and lose sight of the fact that my son is also grieving, and in a way that is not my own. I need to remember that he too fears that we may not find our way back, but I was reminded last night, and I am reminded again tonight, that I too am doing the best I can to save him.

Emo

"Dad. I don't think I would have been emo if Mike hadn't died."

-says my 12 year old emo son.





"My friend's house is just like ours was right after Mike died. Everyone just takes care of themselves."

-says Remy in response to my question about how meals are handled at his friend's house.

In Denial

Recently I have come to realize that I am in a bit of denial when it comes to how my children are dealing with their grief. Most of the time they don't say much about how they are feeling, but then I have to remember, they are pretty much all teenagers. They aren't supposed to know what they are feeling anyway.

This past weekend I had some good friends over for the weekend. We spent a good amount of time reminiscing, and also sharing where we find ourselves in our lives. My 19 year old daughter was with us for most of this. At one point the conversation turned to a discussion about the various ways people can feel about their spouse. Some people consider themselves kindred spirits with their spouses, other's say they are good friends. Sometimes spouses will say they have grown apart, some have found deeper love with time. Some have shared honestly about compromises made to make a marriage work, and others share that they loved their spouse whole heartily.

During one of these type of discussions, I could see that my daughter was getting quite teary eyed. She then turned to me and asked how I loved Michael, and how did we relate to each other in private. I assured her that I loved the hell out of Michael. I also let her know that while we were mostly in sync with each other, we both really appreciated, and enjoyed, our differences. Those differences often became something endearing to each other. With these words, my daughter's face relaxed, and a peacefulness found a home in her eyes.

Yesterday afternoon I was driving my 12 year old home from school. I could see that he was in a deep, and thoughtful, place. I asked what was on his mind. He said that his class had watched a movie about bullying, whose main story line was about a gay teen. This story really cut him deep, and made him feel sad and emotional. He then said that sometimes he feels like life is not always worth living. Of course I have felt this way at times as well, but got very concerned hearing this from my son. When I questioned him further, he said that he feels that he has gone through so much more than other kids his age. He has lost Michael, his step-father, lost his birth mother, and has experienced the emotional, and physical, challenges that have plagued our family. Before I could respond to this he then said that at the same time, he feels very good about our move to San Diego. He loves that he has developed some really good friendships in our own neighborhood, and that I have given him some increased freedom, which makes him feel like I have recognized that he is almost a teenager.

Each of these recent situations have really caused me to look beyond my own personal grief, and get in better touch with the grief that my kids continue to struggle with. I have sometimes wondered if they were feeling the loss of Michael as strongly as I have, as their relationship to him was different than mine, and that the must have at some point pulled back a little from him as a way to self protect when he did die.

I love each of my kids, and try to always be mindful of the fact that loss has always been with them. Even at a young non-verbal age, they began experiencing loss, especially when they were removed from their birth mother. It's hard enough when you are an adult, and have words, and some wisdom, to attach to your experiences. It's another matter when your mind has not yet fully developed, and you are trying to make sense of something that will never truly make sense.

Now just as quickly, and unexpectedly, as my kids' recent sharing of their sorrow arrived, they have moved on to their other daily activities. They seem better able to just shift here, and shift there. For me, I need to not allow myself to get too far into my own denial of their grief. I need to remember that even though they are running around with their friends, laughing, and making plans, they too carry a considerable amount of grief with them everyday.

A Good Day

My day at work went well. It was a very busy, but quiet day. In the late afternoon my daughter called to let me know that she was bringing over dinner, and a birthday cake, to celebrate Michael's birthday.

I love my daughter, and am so grateful that she chooses to always commemorate the important dates that mean so much to me.

We had dinner, talked about Michael, then sang happy birthday to him. Even our two dogs, Ranger and Fido, got in on the act. I think they thought it was their birthday. I picked up Fido so he could help blow out the candles. Some have commented in the past that perhaps Fido is Michael reincarnated. After all, he did arrive the day after the first anniversary of Michael's death. I told the kids Fido could help blow out the candles just in case he is Michael, but that I highly doubt that Michael would be pleased coming back as a Chihuahua. Then I did have to admit that Fido loves to be spooned at night, just like Michael. This gave us all a good laugh.

After dropping off my daughter back at her home, I stopped by the store to buy Michael some flowers. I placed them by his urn, and lit two candles. I stood there talking to him, reminding him of my love. I then came out to the kitchen, poured me a vodka and pomegranate drink, and sat to write. I did for a moment think that the Margo would recommend coke with my vodka, but I'll save that for the next time I sit and have a drink with her.

My daughter commented that I appear to be doing much better recently. I explained that I do feel a change in the last couple of days. I think having my parents around this weekend really helped to boost my feelings. Celebrating Michael's birthday was also a reminder about how blessed I was to have him in my life. I won't lie and say I didn't shed some tears today, but it's all good.

If nothing else, I can say I truly knew love during my lifetime.

sign here

October 2009-mounds of paper work.

sign here.

sign here.

provide us with a copy of the death certificate.

provide us with a copy of your marriage license.

sign here.

sign here.

Finally gaining enough strength to pick up the phone, make the calls that begin the business of death. Life insurance policy. Pensions. Closing Accounts. Mounds of paper work.

the end of a life.

the end of a chapter.

what's the point?



October 2010-mounds of paper work.

sign here.

sign here.

provide us with copies of bank statements.

provide us with verification of income.

sign here.

sign here.

Finding the courage to move forward. Quit the job. Move the family. Sell the house. Buy a house.

starting over.

beginning a new chapter.

well worth it.

Resounding Approval

Another good day for me and the kids. We started our day out early, as we were off to have a visit with my parents. The morning started out just like any other, with the boys doing absolutely nothing they were supposed to. Me being the most patient dad, okay, that's bullshit, me being the most impatient dad, got the troops moving in the right direction by channeling my inner drill sergeant.

We drove across town, and picked up my daughter, for this short road trip. What was supposed to be a quiet visit between us and my folks, became a loud and very active visit with each of my brothers, and a few of their kids. It was complete chaos, but it was family, and we all loved it. Let me tell you, one of the best reasons to be here in southern California is that we are now able to visit my family more often, and it is truly wonderful. On the drive back to San Diego my kids were commenting on how great it is to see their cousins so often. This tells me I made the right decision to uproot our family, and it tells me that we will do well in putting down new roots as well.

Part of today's excitement was that the kids and I were meeting our realtor, Jonathan Olow, at the prospective new house. Did I mention that I found one I liked? Well, it meets all of our requirements, and I wanted to get feedback from the kids before making a formal offer. It's not that they will make the decision, but I wanted them to feel that their interests are taken into consideration, and I wanted to feel a sense of ownership as well. As we arrived, Jonathan was great about engaging the kids, and encouraging them to look around and give us their impressions. And believe me, they had their opinions. I'm beginning to think I have allowed them to watch far too many HGTV shows, as it really felt like I was on an episode of House Hunters.

I tried to carefully observe each of the kids. I wanted to see through their excitement, and watch for the subtle messages they might feel uncomfortable discussing. I need to keep in mind that they have also suffered a big loss this past year. They lost their stepfather, who they loved dearly. They lost something in me as well. We can't pretend that I am the same person, or the same kind of parent. I'm just not. What I saw in them while in the house, and while walking around the neighborhood afterward, was that they so desperately want us to be happy. They were careful to include each other in the discussions, and were direct with each other about what thoughts came to mind. My youngest son, Remy, carefully chose his words when addressing a concern with Dante. He could hear the sound of kids in a nearby house, and told Dante that he would have to watch his behavior, meaning how loud and out of control he can get. He looked Dante in the eye and said, "you know that the way you talk is not appropriate for small kids to hear." Surprisingly, Dante seemed to understand this. I found this both touching, and refreshing.
The other part that I find interesting, is the voice of restraint and common sense that keeps emerging from my daughter, Arianne. When she hears me talking about changing this on the house, or adding that to the house, she stops me in my tracks, and says, "dad, do you really think you need to spend so much money on changing something that looks perfectly fine as it is?" The voice of reason. From my daughter?

In all, I must say that this is happening at a good time. It is keeping my mind busy with numbers, and with future plans. When I stop to slow down, I can feel the anguish that is surfacing about this Tuesday. If you take notice of the important dates that are listed on the right, you will see that it is our wedding anniversary. Honestly, I feel better saying it is the day that Michael and I got married. It somehow doesn't feel right calling it our anniversary when we never actually had one together.

I really don't mean to sound melodramatic. It's just me being honest, and speaking once again in real time.

House Hunting

Today was another milestone step in my moving forward plan. Now that my San Francisco house is closing escrow next week, I will have the cash in hand to purchase a home here in San Diego. I'm not waiting a moment to move forward with this. I really want to have some permanence here, and a big part of that is having our own home.

I have a realtor helping me out, which has been fantastic. He's really nice, and is very focused on helping me find the type of home that I have envisioned for us. This morning the realtor and I did some house hunting in a gated community that I am very interested in. The community is very nice, and offers quite a bit of luxury amenities. My boys are very excited about the prospect of living there, and eager for me to seal the deal.

Walking from house to house, and talking to the realtor about the feel I was getting for each individual home, was a bigger task emotionally than I thought it would be. It was the realization that I needed to project my future life into these homes. I had to anticipate where I would be, how I would live, and with whom I would live. And while I had definite ideas about each of these factors, part of me didn't want to focus too much on them. I just wanted to have a place that I can call home. Now. The later part, can be filled in later.

While out, I did find such a home. I got a good feel for it, and it seemed to meet all the particulars that I had identified. My realtor dropped me back off at my current home, and said that he would begin to do his magic, the wheeling and dealing phase I imagine. I called up my daughter, and went to pick her up from her home. She had the whole day free, and wanted to spend it here with us. I took her to the condo community where I plan to buy, as she had not seen it yet. She too was equally impressed as the boys. Although her take was that it was a bit too much like Wisteria Lane, of Desperate Housewives. We both had a good laugh about that. She then commented that this was exactly the type of place that Michael and I would have loved to live together. I was able to hear this with a smile. Yes, he would be quite pleased with my choice, and happy that I would be in a lovely, and safe, neighborhood.

I rounded out the rest of the day hanging out with my daughter, talking and watching a movie together. We then forced the boys out of the house, and all enjoyed a dinner out tonight. All in all, a beautiful day. Not beautiful in weather, as it was rather cloudy, but beautiful in the texture, mood, and feeling of life.

Perhaps you can call it a hopeful day.

Yes, that is what I will call it.

Hopeful.

Keep Going, Growing, Change.

Today I was receiving some supervision time with my current supervisor. We went over all my new cases, talked about how my training was going thus far, and discussed questions that I had about the job. When we were done talking shop she asked how things were going at home. Before I could come back with some quick response, doing my usual deflection of my reality, she told me she really wanted to know.

One thing that has really struck me with a few new relationship that are building at work is that people genuinely want to know who I am. They all understand that my being here in San Diego is a direct response the the loss I have suffered. I have felt quite respected for how I am living my life, and I have felt genuine care for how I am doing.

Today I used this opportunity to discuss the difficulties that I have been having with my 16 year old son during this past month. For the most part, well for all of the part, I have not had the chance to speak to anyone about how challenging life has been for us at home. I'm not sure if he is going through a manic cycle, or if he is just regressing from the strides he seemed to have made during the past 6 months, but life for all of us here has been less than pleasant.

I know that as a family we will get through this. The outcome may not be exactly how we would like it to be, but I have to trust that it will get easier, or a decision will be made in order to make life less complicated. My main point here is that I need to have an outlet. I need to find a way to make up for the lack of having a second parent around. This is definitely not a new revelation, merely a reminder that it doesn't have to be something I always carry alone. And while talking about these difficulties with a friend in no way compares to having Michael around, it is clearly better than going it completely alone.

One thing that came out of the talk with my supervisor was this. Clearly I am tired, and frustrated, with how my son is behaving, yet I need to see life from his perspective as well. He has had many challenges in life. He had to experience all that we went through as a family these past couple of years, and try to integrate it all into this experience of life as he understands it. His ability to understand is compromised in general, but more so during times like this. On top of all of this, the one person he relies on the most for his own stability has been less than stable himself.

I think about how many times Dante has called me out regarding my thinly veiled emotions. I think about how uncomfortable this always makes me feel. I think about how often he has told me that I am no longer the same person, that I have changed so much. I think about how unsettling this must all be for him. I think about how I can reach him in a different way. I think about how hard all of this is. I think about how much I have gone through during these past few years. I think about how I have landed on my feet. I think about finding new ways to help him do the same.

Beauty Shop

Today I was thinking about all the times I would accompany my mother to her Saturday morning hairdo appointments. This was of course when I was a young boy, maybe around 9 or 10. I consider these years my formative years. They definitely contributed to my well appreciated 'queer eye' for things, but more importantly, they were the beginning of my appreciation for how women turn to each other for support.

The first thing I noticed about the beauty shop was that nothing was sacred. You could talk about anyone, and anything, and I believed that for the most part, it stayed there. You could talk about your lovely husband, and how he surprised you with a special gift or dinner, or you could talk about what a piece of shit he was for not taking out the trash. You could talk about your son's standing on his sports team, and you could talk about your daughter's new boyfriend.

Sometimes the discussions were light, and there was lots of laughter, and sometimes more serious, and you might get a hug, and some supportive advice.



I loved walking into the shop and listening to the many women. I think there was something magical happening. They were there to have their hair done. They were wanting to walk out changed. There was a process going on in which the aesthetics of being themselves was being transformed, if only for that week. It gave them the sense of rediscovering their beauty. It provided them with strength, and given the amount of hairspray used in those days, it gave them their armor as well.


















Today I had my day at the shop. I went in also wanting some kind of aesthetically pleasing change. I wanted to walk out wearing something beautiful. I also sought this change as a way of giving me inner strength to return to my world, and I wanted to wear this change as my armor.



I'm sure all of you know where I was today. No, not the beauty shop, but yes, the tattoo shop. I couldn't drag either of my boys with me, which is surprising, as you would think they would jump at the chance to watch their dad get tortured for hours. But my experience at the shop was really no different than my mother's some 40 years ago. My mother always had her usual 'girl' who did her hair. I had my usual 'girl' in San Francisco, and now have my usual 'guy' here in San Diego. Granted my appointments cost a hell of a lot more money than my mother's did back in the 60's, but I imagine with inflation, her hair appointments would likely cost close to what I pay for my ink work.



My appointment was not just a time to get more ink done, but it was another opportunity to spend the afternoon talking with my 'guy' Keith. We talked about general things, like the weather, what was in the news, and our addiction to Starbucks. We then quickly moved to more important subjects, such as our kids and families. During my visit I received a text from my brother in law. It was one of those chain texts where you need to forward them to 10 people in order to receive some type of benefit. Today's text was about "I Love You Day." When I got the text I laughed, which quickly got Keith wondering what it said. I shared with him how far Michael's brother had come with sharing his feelings, and especially accepting, and celebrating his brother's gay marriage. I shared about how much my brother in law values the relationship I had with Michael, and how much love I shared with the whole family.

This naturally led to a deeper conversation about death. Keith carefully chose his words, and let me know that he did not know what it must be like to go through what I am going through. He talked about how different it must be to lose your spouse, as oppose to another type of loss. He often wondered how he would survive without his wife should he lose her. It was once again, one of those rare opportunities for me to talk about my experience, and to have a very active and interested listener. I have now spent close to 10 hours spread over three appointments, talking to Keith, and allowing him to understand the connection I seek between my tattoos and my loss of Michael. This is similar to the experience I had with my 'girl' Kelly back in San Francisco.

It makes me appreciate the type of person who chooses to enter the field of aesthetics. They offer us the chance to sit, and to enjoy each other's company. They also provide us with the aesthetic beauty we seek in going to their shop.

We walk out with strength and confidence. We walk out with our armor reinforced.



On a funny note, we also walk out, or end the day, with a household product covering our renewed beauty. Once my mother returned home, she seemed to immediately wrap her new 'do' with toilet paper and a bobby pin. This was supposed to preserve her 'do' for as long as possible. I left the tattoo shop with my arm wrapped in saran wrap. We spend all that time and money creating beauty, only to cover ourselves with a cheap household item found on isle 3 of our local grocery store.

I Want to Hold Your Hand

Our hands.

Mine, holding his.




Lately my real time life keeps getting intersected with my blog writing. I don't know what it is, or why it is happening, but it seems that suddenly people are talking to me about my writing. Friends, family, and new acquaintances, are mentioning that they are reading my blog, then reach out, in words, to support me.

Comforting. Yes. Yet, I am also aware of this making me feel quite vulnerable. For the first time since beginning my writing, I am feeling quite exposed. People have asked me at times during the past year, if I felt too exposed. Many stated that they could never do what I do, as to much of what I write feels too private. This kind of conversation makes me come back to the reason why I am here.

Why am I here?

In about 10 days it will be my wedding anniversary, and it will also mark the one year anniversary of the beginning of this blog. It is making me stop to ask myself, why am I writing? I know why I began writing, but why do I write today? I have never gone back to read any of my past posts. It is something that I don't really want to revisit. I have a cognitive memory of the pain and devastation that I felt, and my heart it not ready to remember those days. Yet one thing is clear to me, I don't remember wondering what people thought. I don't remember feeling over exposed, and I don't remember giving it a second thought.

I'm now realizing that I was so very numb at the time. I was in shock, as my whole being had been traumatized. These days that layer of numbness is disappearing, and I am feeling things at a whole new level. I am feeling extremely vulnerable, and I find myself in deep tears at the most inopportune times.

I will say that it has been lovely to hear people speak to me of my writing. On each occasion there has been the immediate offer of sympathy, which has always been hard for me to accept. I have heard myself say it many times to others, Gosh, I am so sorry for your loss. I don't know if others are saying it differently recently, but I do know that I am accepting it differently.

You know, I hesitate to speak so openly lately. There are so many ways in which I have moved forward with my life. There are so many day to day challenges that require me to be strong, and to keep myself, and my family, moving forward. Yet, and I do realize I am saying yet an awful lot, I am hurting on a whole new level. The pain does not last as long, but cuts deeper than before. Today at the gym, I was meeting with a trainer. She asked what happened to change my work out habits during the past couple of years. I looked up at her and said, my husband got sick, and died. I must have looked pathetic, but she responded so sweetly. Right there in that moment, I wanted to just fall apart.

What harsh words.

What a harsh reality.

Tonight I was watching a taped episode of Glee. The storyline dealt with issues of faith and religious tolerance. The subtext for the episode was that Kurt's father had suffered a heart attack, and was in critical condition. He didn't know whether or not he would lose his father forever. He sang this song, "I Want to Hold Your Hand." It hit me like a ton of bricks. I so need to touch Michael's hand. I so need to feel him here with me. And, I so know that it will never be.

I don't want to be a person that dwells on the past. I don't want to bore people with always whining about losing my husband. I don't want to waste my time, and possibilities, by yearning for something that just can't be. But right now, I don't really know what else to do. This is where I am at.

Part of me really wants to meet someone new. Part of me really wants to lay in bed holding onto someone, or having him hold on to me. Yet, here it is again, I worry about the flood of held back tears that might fall when that first happens. I worry that I will completely overwhelm him with my response.

I have had people reach out to hold my hand. I have had plenty of hugs along the way. I know that when it happens, that someone reaches out for me in a romantic way, that I will feel, and receive, this touch in a very different way. I don't think I will be that strong person anymore. I think I will crumble to the floor.

I know that this will be the case, yet it is still something that I will seek.

I want to hold his hand.

Food for Thought

I just got off the phone with one of my brothers. He and I have a lot in common, as
we are both raising special needs kids that we adopted. He and his wife lovingly chose to open their hearts and home for their kids, and now are living a life that most cannot imagine. Unfortunately for me, I can.

My brother is experiencing what many would say is a very difficult time with his kids, mainly his 7 year old son. His kids are fraternal twins, a boy and a girl. They are both cute as can be, and full of love and life. Yet they, like my kids, suffered from a very traumatic entry into this world.

When my brother first called me tonight, he asked how I was.

I'm doing okay.

It was a flat out lie. I knew it, and he knew it. We quickly went into the topic at hand. He is struggling with the day to day challenges, and trauma, that goes along with raising children like ours. I give him a lot of credit. He is hanging in there. I also give my sister in law a lot of credit, as she is hanging in there as well. And as my brother said to me tonight, other people can admire, and respect, the choices we made to adopt and raise these kids, the reality is that they have no fucking clue what our daily life is all about.

At one point in the conversation my brother began sharing with me how the daily challenges affect their marriage, and how difficult it is to make time to deal with the relationship issues when there are already so many fires to put out. At one point I was trying to stress to him how important it is to give the relationship priority, even when it seems that the kids should come first. At one point he said he understood what I was talking about. At that point I stopped him, and sternly told him that he has no clue what I am talking about.

My tone through my brother for a loop. He didn't see it coming. But he immediately understood why I said it. I told him that although he has always been very supportive of me, and has always given me love and respect, he has no clue what my life is like anymore. I told him that all the people who love me think they know, but fortunately for them, they are clueless.

I then told my brother this. When you asked how I was doing, and I said I was okay, I was lying to you. When you asked how the kids were doing, and I said they were doing fine. I lied to you. When you hear strength in my voice, and you tell yourself that I seem to be doing well, you are lying to yourself.

I then found myself fighting back tears as I explained how important it is to work on your relationship. He could tell that my voice was quivering, but he seemed a bit uncomfortable with this. He then told me that even though he and his wife have had a much more difficult time parenting than they ever imagined, or that they have challenges within their relationship, he knows that he would not be the person he is today without his wife. He told me that it is because of her that he went on to college, and began his career. It is because of his wife that he has the self esteem that is present each day in his work. I stopped him, and asked him to please stop talking for a minute. I then said that there is one thing that he can do today, that can bring such new life into his relationship today, and that is to tell his wife of this revelation, not me.

Tears rolled down my face as I reminded him not to take life for granted. I explained that no matter how difficult his life is today, it will be difficult beyond his imagination, or beyond his worse fears, should he lose his wife. I explained that I didn't want that for him, and to please take my words to heart.

In the end my brother thanked me for giving him of my time, and for sharing what I did. Before hanging up he said, well, it is all food for thought.

My response was, then, feed yourself.

Off Guard

Don't call me out.

Observe, but don't ask.

It's always the same, I get caught off guard.

We were sitting at an outdoor restaurant in Old Town. They boys were enjoying their huge drinks, and their delicious food. Then Dante looked up at me and caught me in the act.

What was I doing? Missing Michael of course. It was a moment of weakness, where I had some how let down my guard. There were happy people all around me. At the table next to me were two elderly couples enjoying chips and margaritas. They were all smiling and having a good time.
There was a pang in my heart. I took a deep breath, and looked away. That's when it happened, Dante asked me once again, "What's wrong Dad?"

He was doing it again, calling my emotions out, and I needed to respond better this time. I said to both boys that it is often very difficult for me to be out in public. I then started to say that I miss Michael terribly when I see older couples together. I didn't get very far into my response when the wave of grief hit, and tears filled my eyes. I could see that the boys were not prepared for my emotional response. I took a deep breath, turned away, and then reminded myself to breath.

What I really wanted to do was just walk quickly out of there, but I couldn't do that to the boys. I needed to hang in there.

I really hate when this happens. In typical form, I try my best to not get caught off guard.

I'm okay now.

On Guard!

Dorian Gray

Today my office coworkers organized a lunch gathering to welcome myself, and another worker who will be joining us on Monday. They had ordered sandwiches, and we all rolled our desk chairs out into the common area for the lunch. It was the first time I had the opportunity to meet some of them. After we each settled into our chairs to eat, our supervisor suggested we go around the room, introduce ourselves, and say something about who we are.


As we sat there, with our chairs in a big circle, the gathering began to take on the look, and feel, of a 12 step meeting. Each person would say who they were, how long they had worked there, and something about their marital status, and children. I had the opportunity to talk with most of these people individually throughout the past week, so many already knew much about me. Yet when my turn came up I hesitated for a second. Should I mention the fact that I am a widower?


I decided that I would want everyone to know of my loss, as I would want to know about theirs. Those that have learned of my situation during these past few days, have been wonderful in their response to my sharing about Michael. I thought it was only fair that everyone heard it from me. My only hesitation was about how this might bring the mood down. Yet, I was able to to state this matter of factly, and segue into something lighter, probably about the kids and animals.


Anytime I am in the position to introduce myself to new people I have had to decided how to share the fact that I am gay. I am always aware that not everyone will have a positive response to this disclosure, but I must say that times have changed. And, how funny that at this point in my life, disclosing my sexuality comes second now to my disclosing about being a widower. It was actually a very nice way to put it all out there, saying "my name is Dan, I am a widower with three kids, and my husband, Michael, did a year ago." There you have it, all in one fell swoop.


Something that feels strange lately, is that when I disclose that I am a widower, I begin to feel very old. Let's face it, it's an old role. Yes, we all know that widows, and widowers, are made every day, and that many of them are young. Yet the word, "widowed," still has a very old sound to it. And as I sat there, looking rather hip in my Levi jeans and close fitting striped shirt, I felt like each person's impression of me aged considerably in that moment.


After lunch I made my way to the men's bathroom to wash my hands. Above the sinks are very large mirrors, which are brightly lit, and quite complimentary. I stood there and saw a rather young looking guy. His hair was cut and styled nicely. He was in good shape, and had a cool-sophisticated look about him. Yet when I stepped away from the mirror, the image I had of myself was a very tired, emotionally drained old man.


I kind of laughed at my observation, as I seemed to have come across a reverse Dorian Gray reflection. The guy in the mirror looks young, vibrant and put together. But close my eyes and I see the old widower.


Who do I have to make a pact with to merge these two individuals?

We're Always Glad You Came

It's late, so I'll make this short and sweet.

Tonight I took all three of my kids out to dinner. It's been so long since we have had a night like this, and it was like a nice boost of renewed energy. I wanted to take my daughter, Arianne, to a Mexican restaurant that the boys and I ate lunch at last month. We all love the food our first time there, so I have been wanting to make time for a return engagement. Right off the bat, the owner saw us walking to our table, and he stopped to say hello. After greeting me, he said he remembered my previous visit with just the boys. He was very excited that we chose to return.

It felt nice to know that this person saw me as a new part of his community. It also made the kids smile to realize that the owner remembered me. Funny how some outings can become so magical. Everyone was in a really good mood, and each of the kids had so much to share with each other about their week. Infused throughout the conversations, and laughter, were memories of Michael from each of the kids. We each gorged on so much food that we all had that look of being overly intoxicated by all the good food.

As I sat there, and carefully took in the mood of the table, I realized that this meal was feeding me in so many ways. I was laughing, and I was smiling with each story of Michael. I sat there with the kids, loving them all so much. I could even feel like Michael was there with us, just smiling and laughing at each of the kids' stories. Just thinking of this puts another smile on my face, and helps me find more peace.

These are the things that are important. That the week had many challenges is of no concern right now. Tonight each of the kids were a gift, and they are a gift that can keep on giving. This is the type of joy that I would like to embrace on a regular basis. When I have nice times, such as this, I often wonder if these lighter, and loving, feelings will begin infiltrate the rest of my life.

Maybe there were other opportunities like this that have definitely come my way. Perhaps I wasn't able to see, or appreciate them at the time.

I can feel that I am becoming more open to outward expressions of joy. I am allowing myself to lighten up, and just embrace these good times. Life can be brighter, and it has the power to heal me.

Good stuff.

Fido

Today is turning out to be a good day. It started out slow, and took a turn downward as far as my emotions go, but since this afternoon has been going great.

For those that are not on Facebook, and haven't already heard, I named the dog today. It's Fido. These past few days my kids have been asking when we were going to stop calling the little guy "dog" and start calling him by a name. I hesitated to do this because I didn't want to get too attached to him in case his owners suddenly appeared. But it doesn't seem that anyone is going to come forward, and besides, the little doggy has fallen in love, with me.

I can't make a single move without this little guy following me. If I leave the house I can hear him crying at the door. Wherever I am sitting he is right there, and constantly pushing his little head under my hand to remind me to give him all of my attention. And I can stop buying napkins, as he is constantly licking my face. Now this alone would make Michael cringe. He hated to see anyone being licked by a dog. He was a bit of a germ freak, and always had something to say about how unsanitary this was. I can still see the look of disgust whenever our other dog, Ranger, was giving his wet kisses to any of us. I tried to stay away from receiving any of these canine kisses, because one lick and I was not going to receive any Michael kisses for the rest of the night.



I'm sure I have shared on here before, but Michael and I loved our zombie movies. I in particular, love satire, and this movie, "Fido," is definitely one of my favorites. It's a really sweet film about a boy and his flesh eating pet zombie, aptly named Fido.

All morning I was trying to come up with an appropriate name for the little dog. I needed to get our other pets new tags, as the old ones had our San Francisco phone number. I thought that since I was buying new ones for the other two, I should buy one for our new guest. Just in case he ran out of the house, I would at least want someone bringing him back. And, of course, if nobody comes looking for him, then he will need a tag, as I know I will not be able to part with him. Damn, just what I needed, another mouth to feed, and another of God's little creatures that depend on me.

Anyway, since he did arrive the day after the one year mark of Michael's death, and he did seem to arrive just in time to distract me from going down a potentially dark path, I wanted to name him something that tied him to Michael. After coming up with many tangentially related names, none of which felt right, it came to me. Fido.

From there my day began to shape up. My son Remy and I went out for a late lunch. My daughter Arianne came over to meet little Fido. Dante brought home a new friend from school. Then my best friend, Peggy, called. I had so much fun talking to her. Every time we talk we always laugh so much. Even when we talk about serious issues, we always find ways to see the humor in it. And since we have been friends since we were 12 years old, we know each other very well.

From there I got onto Facebook, and started posting pictures, and interacting with friends and family members. It felt so good to have so many people responding to the things I was posting. Many of the messages made me smile, and many had me laughing. Such good energy.

Bitchy Old Queen for a Day.

I'm feeling very disconnected today. It's like my mind and body are not in sync. Or is it my heart and soul?

Some things are coming together, like reining my older son back in, and feeling like were headed back on track. Like making significant progress in building trust and affection with the stray dog, who has now become my shadow. Like having the presence of mind to get my younger son focused on his homework for the week. Yet other things have me feeling completely different.

I went to my younger son's Back to School Night. It was more difficult emotionally than I had anticipated. I sat there in the auditorium feeling like I have no connection to anyone in the room. There were plenty of parents there who were alone, but I had a sense that their spouses were at home tending to the children. I looked around the room, and wondered if I would ever get to know any of these people. We then had to follow a very short schedule of each of our kids classes, listening to presentations by each teacher. It dawned on me that none of these teachers knew Remy's academic, or emotional, challenges. I started worrying about my inability to get them all informed, or to keep up with all that will be required of me to help my son along this school year. I came home and found that my son Dante had gone out on a run. I panicked because it was dark out, and I don't feel like I can trust his decision making ability right now. I kept telling myself to calm down, that Remy had said that Dante just left, and I knew that he never lasts too long while running. Yet this logic didn't do much to calm me.

While at the school this evening I found myself fighting back tears. It's not like Michael participated much in school events, it's just that I am feeling so alone without him, and worrying that I no longer have what it takes to be a good parent for my kids. I rarely cook anymore. The laundry has really piled up, and I haven't followed through with some fairly important correspondences that have been piling up on the table. Maybe my emotional response to the one year mark is starting to hit me again. After all, I had to quickly pull it together with the various teenage crises this week. And because of the problems this week, and the school event tonight, I haven't been to yoga in over a week.

Tomorrow's my last week day of "freedom," since I start work on Monday. I had previously been looking forward to this, but now I'm wondering how I am going to manage. To be honest, all day my mind has been drifting back to thoughts of what this life is all about. I started to ask myself if it is even worth the effort. Funny to say, as I haven't seemed to be putting much effort into my life lately anyway.

I feel bad that I haven't returned the few calls I have received in the past few days. I feel bad that I haven't responded to Facebook messages from concerned friends either. I also have to say that it has been difficult to accept that the anniversary of Michael's death has gone by seemingly unnoticed by those that knew him. I received so much support from all of the grieving community, and from a few friends that reached out to me, but I kept waiting to hear something from more family members, or old friends of Michael, and it didn't happen. I know that there is no reason that people should remember the date. While many definitely felt his loss last year, his death didn't change their everyday life. And even though I get this, it still hurts.

I sit here looking at the little stray, lying in the bed I provided for him. He is fast asleep, looking so comfortable and vulnerable at the same time. Each time he opens his eyes he immediately searches for me. He sees that I am near, and that I am focused on him, so he closes his eyes once again, and goes back to sleep. He and I are a lot alike, only when I open my eyes, no one is there.

I start to wonder when this will change. When will I feel like my life is worth living again? Oh, I know. I was doing so much better not that long ago. What happened? It would be so nice to have someone come by and say, okay Dan, lets get busy doing...whatever.

It's scary how quickly my mood, and outlook, can change. I'm not feeling like a whole person right now. I'm not feeling like a very good parent right now.

Maybe I just need to hurt some more. Maybe my one year anniversary mourning got side tracked, and now I'm actually back on course. My father left me a message last night asking how the anniversary went for me. I immediately realized that after this month, I have our wedding anniversary to get to. Last year I celebrated our one year wedding anniversary without Michael. I never really got to have a wedding anniversary because my husband was dead.

How fucked up is that? Now I look at all the wedding anniversary cards in the stores, and realize that I never got the chance to even receive one. I likely never will. I've been cheated.

What's the first year anniversary gift anyway? Paper? Well, I did get a death certificate. So maybe I should stop complaining.

Sorry, I'm being a bit dramatic now. Feel free to roll your eyes, and wonder why the hell you are reading this anyway. I sometimes wonder why the hell I am writing this. Okay, I'm going to shut up now. I don't think I am getting anywhere with this. I'm just acting like a bitchy old queen.

Wham Bam Thank You..sir?

First off, I was never really an animal lover. Oh, I was never "a hater," as my kids would say, but certainly not one that goes weak at the knees for a four legged friend.

Last night after writing my post, I decided to get to bed early. I figured I could use the extra sleep, and I could tell the little doggy needed some attention. Well, little doggy decided I was his best friend, and he was all over me. Sound familiar ladies?

All I wanted to do was sleep. I had been busy all day long cleaning house, running errands, dealing with homework and messy room situations, and dealing with a very obstinate teenager. When my head hit the pillow it was for the purpose of turning over and going to sleep.

Well, this little guy had much more in mind. Every time I moved my hand away to settle into sleep, he would push his head under it, subtly telling me that he wanted to be pet. Okay, I understand that we guys have our needs, and I am willing to give him a little attention. But in typical guy form, give him a little, and he wants a whole lot more. Suddenly his ears needed rubbing, his back was a bit sore and it could use some attention as well.

Alright, here you go. Now go to sleep.

"Oh come on, just a little more around my big ears."

Okay, but then you need to let me sleep.

Little doggy lays on his back. "How about a bit of a rub here on my belly?"

Well, I don't really know you that well. Not to long ago you were growling every time I got near you, now suddenly you are flat on your back waiting for me to give you a nice rub?

"Please. Look, I'm licking your fingers just the way you like it. I'm now giving you the cute little puppy dog eyes look. Please, just this one time?"

Well, needless to say, there was a lot of petting going on last night. That was the most action my bed has seen in quite some time. But it must have been good for me, because I did fall asleep, and didn't wake up until early this morning.

I remember those times of late night passion that happens in a relationship. I remember how the worst day can lead to some really loving and tender moments with your spouse or lover. I remember what it is like to lay there, and cuddle with someone who really cares about you. And I remember what it is like to wake up the next morning with that smile still on your face.

Good morning doggy. How was your night?

"Growl! Who are you?"

What? What do you mean who am I? Don't you want to come back to bed for some more cuddle time?

"Grrrrrrr, where's my breakfast?"

"Can you at least say good morning, and come give me a little lick?

"Listen buddy, last night was fun and all, but let's not get too far ahead of ourselves. Yeah, you give a nice body rub, but don't be calling the preacher too soon. Got it?"

Well, have I got a lot to learn. And, I have a lot to prepare for. I do plan on dating again, and I do definitely plan on sharing my bed with someone again one day. What I need to keep in mind is that my expectations are definitely going to be colored by where I am in my grief. I may want to hang on to someone solely because he is a warm body to lie next to. I may want to push him away too quickly because I wake up and realize he's not Michael. I'm going to need to sort this out ahead of time, and feel comfortable talking about this if I do meet someone.

With grief, or without grief, dating, and new relationships, are difficult to navigate. We all come into each potential relationship with a history that the other is not aware of. Rather than playing a guessing game I prefer to just lay things out ahead of time, so that he, and I, both have some understanding about who the other is.

And, if this little doggy is going to be staying around awhile, he's going to need to learn that there is definitely some give and take that needs to addressed before the next night's needs get put out there again.