Are You Sad?

Last night was a nice evening. My son and I arrived home from our day at work and school a bit early, which made the evening feel less rushed than usual. Abel was there, and had done some cleaning, which made me smile. After checking in with the my daughter, her boyfriend, and a visiting friend, I went to my bedroom to have a bit of quiet time with Abel.

Those of you who are parents know there isn't too much quiet time when arriving home from work. There is homework to be supervised, dinner to be made, mail to be read, and whatever chores you had planned. While my son was at the table doing some reading, my daughter, Abel and I were busy getting dinner started. In between checking on the food I was running outdoors installing more landscape lighting which needs to be done in the dark to know what I want to highlight.

At some point I came back into the house, finished preparing dinner, then sat with my family to eat. When we were done there was the usual kitchen clean up, then back to my bedroom to change out of my work clothes. It was at that point that Abel asked, "are you feeling sad?"

My children know my moods very well. They are also very protective of me since Michael died. They have seen me at my worst, especially those early days when I would be down on the ground crying with no end. Those severe days of grieving are far behind me, but what continues are the various layers that continue to be experienced. Sometimes those days of sadness are clear to me, and I can pin point the reason. Other times my sadness goes unrecognized by me or others. Yet, my sadness is always clear to my children.

No dear, why are you asking if I am sad?

"Arianne said you looked sad tonight."

I responded that I just had many things on my mind, and was likely preoccupied with many concerns. I told Abel not to worry, yet he still put his arms around me to show that he cared, and that I had someone there to support me.

What came to mind wasn't whether or not I was truly sad, but how much all this loss has affected each of us. Driving home yesterday my son Remy was talking about how the kids as school joke about things. He said they often play a game where they call out that someone has died. Remy said that while he gets that they are just playing, and that they obviously have not been touched so closely by death. He said that if they knew what it was like to have their father die they would be less likely to find this type of humor funny.

Death has greatly impacted my family. Death has brought each of us a deeper sorrow than we had ever experienced before, even through the death of many extended family members. When death comes to your door, and takes someone from their bed at home, you are never quite the same.

I don't think I was sad. I think my daughter recognized a pattern of behavioral responses by me, and attributed them to sadness. I believe it will take some time before my kids see me with a host of expressions and moods, and not connect them to grief. Loss has been with our family since my children's birth mother was taken away by circumstance, and then by death. Loss has been with us since Michael was diagnosed with a brain tumor, and then by death.

Loss is being experienced by us with a new person in my life, who is now sharing a space in my heart with Michael. Yes, even with the joy that Abel brings me I am always aware that his presence is because Michael was taken. Even though the kids see how happy Abel makes me, they experience loss by seeing a new man occupy the space in our lives that Michael used to occupy.

No, today I am not sad.

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.

To Be Happy Once Again

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, to be happy once again.

Bedroom Conversations

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.

Back To School Night

Okay, so I haven't felt much like blogging lately, and I'm really trying to rely on the support of folks at the office these days. Anyway, yesterday I have a bit of a tragic evening, that I now realize that other widowed parents might appreciate the opportunity to see their reflection here today.

Now when I say tragic, I have to tell myself that it wasn't all that bad, but perhaps a vulnerable evening. Anyway, it was back to school night at my son Remy's school. I wasn't really wanting to attend, yet if I did'nt I'd spend the rest of the school year feeling like a lazy shitty parent. Times in the past always felt horrible, so I just should have given myself a break, and not attended.

I attend not just out of guilt, but because my son has so many special needs, all of which are significantly more apparent this school year. He is now in 8th grade, but being in the 4th percentile for his size, often gets mistaken for a 5th grader. And since he has many new teachers this year, I needed to know what they expected out of him, and to allow them to meet me, as we will definitely be conversing through email a lot this year.

My son has multiple diagnoses. He has ADHD, a mood disorder, and a behavioral tic disorder. The tic disorder has been there for awhile, but mostly went unnoticed by most people in the past. It is similar to Tourettes, only there are only physical tics, minus the verbal ones. Unfortunately the tics increase dramatically during puberty, which is now in full force. My son has very little control when he body decides to jerk to the left or to the right. And when his body is not making uncontrolled movements, he is focused on trying to control them when they do arrive. Throw in the ADHD, and staying focused during class becomes almost impossible.

Anyway, with all this in mind, I attended. Now, during the past few weeks my son has been struggling with one of his new teachers. His resource specialist recommended that we switch him to another teacher, as she seemed to have more experience working with kids like my son, and personality wise, seemed more like better match. This too was another reason to attend.

So we parents are given a copy of our kids' schedules of six periods. We follow along, and go to each class every 15 minutes or so. As I sat in each class, while waiting to the teacher to speak, all the parents were either with their spouses, or openly talking about how their spouse was at home with the kids. I on the other hand, sat there alone, knowing nobody. I began feeling quite sad having to see myself in light of all the other coupled parents.

With each period that I moved through I became more and more sad. It was just another clear reminder of how different my life has become. When each teacher spoke about their expectations for the students I couldn't help but think to myself, my son won't be able to meet that expectation. After having to think about this over and over again, I felt more sad. I realized that not only do I immediately begin thinking these words, but how my son must do the same each day.

By the middle of the schedule of announced periods, I realized that the next period that parents were headed toward classrooms, I didn't have one to go to. My son goes to the resource specialist room during that period, and receives help organizing his work for the day. On the schedule of directions my son gave me about what classroom to attend each period, he had put a question mark next to this one, as he didn't know where to send me. I walked over to the resource specialist's room, but it was dark. Obviously there was no need for her to attend last night, as she doesn't teach classes like the others. Now keep in mind, the specialist is the most wonderful teacher I know. She has been a god-send for my son, so I have no ill feelings about her not being present last night. But what it meant was that I had no where to be, and ended up sitting on a bench in the dark, as there were no outdoor lights.

How depressing is that? I sat there wanting to cry as I realized that this is likely what my son feels at times.

The last class I attended was the one my son was recently transferred to. The very nice teacher began sharing with all the parents about how wonderful their children were, and gave an example of how caring they are. She was telling them about a recent student transferring into the classroom, and how all the kids were very welcoming, and wanted to know all about him. The teacher wondered out loud if this student's parents were in the room, and as I, and all the other parents began looking around the room I realized that the parents she was referring to was me.

No, there are not two parents, just one. I began to realize that she has no idea that Remy's other parent died. Something I need to address I suppose.

Well, let me tell you, by the time it was the hour to go home, and I found myself walking back to my car alone in the dark, crying. As I got into the car, and began driving away I wondered, who am I crying for? Me, or Remy?

It's easy to fall into the trap of feeling sorry for yourself. All the more sad to feel sorry for your baby.

Tears

You know, I have avoided writing lately. It's not that I've been busy, as there have been many quiet evenings. It's also not like I'm just sitting around doing nothing, as I hosted a fun gathering with friends last weekend, and have been quite busy transplanting two magnolia, and one palm, tree from the front yard to the back. I guess you could say my life has been quite normal.

Then why am I so depressed?

I can't shake it. My mood has been terribly low. Actually, extremely low today. I feel like either I'm very sad, or I'm not feeling anything at all. It wouldn't be so bad if I only had myself to worry about, but that is so not the case. I have a 13 year old that needs me, and needs me to be something beyond depressed.

I felt so bad tonight. I picked up my son from camp, and took him shopping for new shoes. Afterward we stopped for dinner, and that's when I realized that I had nothing to say, and I wasn't really focused on what he might be trying to share with me.

Is it time to get back on antidepressants? Last week the pharmacy mistakenly filled an old prescription for an antidepressant I was on in the past. It's sitting there on the table, ready to return when I get a chance. Now I'm wondering if it was just meant to be. Are there really mistakes in life? I don't know what to think.

I do know that I have really avoided my emotions for awhile. It's not that I have been in denial. I know what I'm feeling at any given moment. It's just that I have avoided tears. Yes, there has been no tears for quite some time. I needed a break from them. I was past the point of daily, even weekly tears. I was...shit

Tears.

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.

Can I be honest with you?

I feel like it's a "come clean" with my reality time once again.

I have been terribly unhappy. Okay, no big surprise.

I'm so burdened by my grief these days. I feel like I am carrying an enormous piece of baggage, and I'm getting so tired of the excess weight. I can feel the weight bearing on my heart, and on my shoulders. It makes any type of movement all the more strenous. And, for the most part, I only carry it around while at work. The rest of my time I come home, sit it beside me, and choose to take the easy way out, meaning go nowhere with it.

I am alone.

Yes, I do have my kids, yet only one at home at present. He is twelve, and at this point that means forced meals together, and some side by side computer time. He is quite content to be out with his friends, and that is the way it should be. As for me, I just want him to be busy enough to not notice how depressed, and stagnant his father is.

I feel like a cloister.

I live in a world of silence these days. There is little person to person interaction in my life. The whole world has moved on, yet I am still here, mourning, and somewhat giving up. I go to work each day, and do my job. I have a little interaction here and there, but most of my opportunity to talk with another person happens on the phone, or in person, with clients. I tend to work long days. Not because I have a lot of work to do, quite the contrary, I have too much time on my hands at the office. I'm finding that it is not as challenging as I would like it to be. But it, like me, is a work in progress. I don't rush to leave, as there is no real pay off in returning home.

The days go by painstakingly slow. Lunch time comes, and though I may be hungry, I'm in no rush to do anything about it. I quietly walk out the building, and get into my car. Most of the time this too is in silence. I sit in my car, then realize I have no where to go, and no one to go there with. I think that because my position is that of a floater, it makes it hard to connect with other folks at work, and more difficult to maintain friendships. Just when I think I'm getting to know people, or them me, well, it's time to move on once again.

You know, people may hear this of me, and think that I should just stop dwelling on the past. Most have no idea that my life feels so empty. I don't know what others think I am filling my time with, but all I can come up with is empty space.

That's it. My life feels so empty.

This is not a cry for help. Lord knows I did enough of that in my car today. It's just me, trying to be real with my readers. 18 months out, and I'm a real fucking mess. I've thought about getting back into therapy, which I most likely will do, so nobody needs to leave me a list of shoulds. The reality here is this. Life is shit. You give your heart to someone, and that someone is taken away.

Oops. I think he took my heart with him. Maybe I should have asked for it back before he left.

How do I explain this. I was very happy. Even after the devesating news that he would die of a brain tumor. I still had him, so I managed to find happiness while I battled that damn tumor. Now I have nothing. About now most are scratching their heads. Nothing? Well, yes. Nothing. Nothing has replaced the pain and emptiness that placed upon me 18 months ago. And, remember people, 18 months is not that long ago. So many people expect me to be different at this point. What point? My husband died. Wouldn't you be different if your spouse died? Of course you would be, and not for the better.

Last week my mother gave me a gem. I don't even know is she realizes it. My brother is having a birthday party for my sister in law. I love my sister in law, in fact I just call her my sister, as that's who she is to me. Yet, I can't see myself at a party with a bunch of couples, laughing and having a good time. What they don't realize is that one of Michael's most happy memories together was having party/gathering at their home. It was the first time he was meeting all of my family together, and my brother and sister made him feel so much at ease by their joyous nature. I can still picture him smiling, and laughing in their patio.

Back to the gem. My mother was talking to my sister, and explained that it would be unrealistic to expect me to go to such a party. My mother reminded her that while the rest of them have kept moving forward, life for me has moved extremely slow. She said that the rest of my family just doesn't realize this. She is so right. If they did, they would realize how slow, and quiet, my life continues to be.

Well, this was not meant to be a woe is me type of post. I just don't want my newly widowed readers to think that at 18 months, Dan, in real time, is doing exceptionally well. It just doesn't work that way. I know what people want to hear. I know what people don't want to hear. And, I know what people would prefer for me.

Sorry folks, that's not my reality.

My reality is that it is a hard and difficult road. It's also a very long, and lonely road. Sometimes I wish it was a dead end, but it's not. I know that I must keep walking. And, I know that I will to continue walking. Just not as fast as you might think.

Things Are Not What They Seem

I tell you, my experience of parenthood has definitely been an interesting one. I must also say, that my experience has been a difficult one.

During the past week, my 12 year old has been once again obsessed with reading. He has always been the type, that once he finds something of interest, he gets completely lost in it. Recently it has been The Hunger Games book trilogy. To my amazement, he read all three books in only 7 days. Now, there were two competing, or contributing, factors here. For one, he found himself loving the first one. About the same time, I mistakenly ordered two Kindles online, and really didn't want to go through the trouble of sending one back. I initially offered it to my daughter, who always has a book in her hand. But she is a die hard paperback reader, and said she could never give up actual books. Remy, on the other hand, simply saw the opportunity to own yet another electronic gadget. I suppose he gets it from me.

To prove his point, that he would make good use of the Kindle, Remy began reading his books on it night and day. Of course, when ever I walked by his bedroom I would stop and make him turn out the light, and get some sleep. I suspect that he waited for me to go to bed, then just flicked the light back on.

Yesterday morning Remy was very tired. He said he was so tired that he felt sick. That didn't go far with me, as I just instructed him to get ready for school. He then went down his usual litany of symptoms, that were meant to prove to me that he really needed to stay home, including having a hallucination.

"Right Remy. Nice try."

I arrived home from work last night around 6pm. Remy was sitting on the couch, looking catatonic. "Hey, did you do your homework?" These words were met with the slightest eye movement, as if to say, of course not. I then firmly told him to get to the table and get started. That is when I began to see that something was very wrong.

At first I thought he was just acting silly, or trying to work my last nerve. He kept looking around the room. He would mumble words that I couldn't understand, and he would get up, and walk around the room without any purpose. At one point I turned to him and asked what he was doing. He responded the "she" needed to use the bathroom, and he was showing her the way. He then turned, and began talking to "her."

From that point on I began to see that he was completely out of touch with reality. I was in the room, but I don't think he really knew who I was. Every time I asked him a question he would begin to answer, then get lost in thought, as if his mind's course got disconnected. I started looking into his eyes. I looked around the kitchen to see if he had mistakenly, or not mistakenly, took some medication. I began asking if he took any pills, or if someone gave him something to ingest. He just kept looking at me as if I were far, far away.

I then explained to him that we needed to go to the hospital, because something was very wrong with him. He said okay, but didn't know what the reason was. In fact, he was more compliant than I have ever seen him. As if my words were his thoughts. I would say stop, and rather than ask why, he would just stop in his tracks without any response. At the hospital emergency room, everyone was watching him, as it was clear that something odd was occurring. Almost immediately we were escorted to the triage nurse, who attempted to take all of his vitals, but we had a difficult time getting him to stay put, as he just kept wandering. She then had us wait in a different waiting area than the rest, as we didn't know what he would do. Our wait was very long, and I had to constantly redirect him from walking away.

Eventually we ended up in a private room, where they drew blood, took a urine sample, and ran an EKG. During our very long wait, he was constantly interacting with characters from the books, and it was clear, that I was not always dad, but some friend of his. After awhile I began to really worry. Would he come out of this? What was the cause? I didn't know if I wanted there to be a cause. It would be simple for the cause to be drug induced, right? But then, did I want to learn that my 12 year old had taken some kind of drug? Then I thought, but what if it isn't drugs? Then it could be something much more serious. What if he had some kind of psychotic break, and what if he doesn't come out of it.

Well, we were there for over 7 hours, and in the end all of the test results came back negative. Eventually the doctors and nurses just looked at me, and asked what I wanted to do. It was obvious that I knew how to handle the situation, as I remained so calm and focused during the entire night. Occasionally my mind kept gravitating to Michael. I kept wondering what else lied ahead for me in life. What other challenges would I have to face alone. Then I just paused, prayed, and also asked Michael to be with me so I wouldn't feel so alone.

Finally, about 3am we headed back to the parking garage for our car. I didn't know what was ahead, and he didn't know what was happening, but he did seem to trust me. We drove home, had something to eat, then both climbed into my bed. I wanted to wrap my arms around him, and hold him close to me. But then I had to remember that I wasn't "Dad" at the time, I was some dude. He just looked over at me, and with a quick lift of the chin, he said in a very 'guy to a guy' way, goodnight.

In the morning, I was awakened by the sound of our animals, who were at my door, wondering where their morning meal was. I started to get up, then looked over at Remy. He sat up, looked at me, and walked out of the room. I sat there wondering if he was back, and if not, who I would be this morning. I walked out into the kitchen, and said good morning. He looked up, and smiled, good morning Dad.

After breakfast, Remy wanted to go to school. I explained that we needed to stay home today, as I needed to watch his behavior. Throughout the day he has been piecing together his whole evening. He says he felt like he was awake in a dream. It is all coming back to him, and he can even remember who he thought I was, and why he was responding to me in certain way. I looked up his symptoms online, and found that the lack of sleep can certainly bring on hallucinations. We have an appointment tomorrow afternoon with his psychiatrist, and hopefully he will agree that it was because of the sleep deprivation.

All I know is that he is back, and I am thankful. It's nights like last night that I can truly recognize the gifts that Michael left with me. He left me a good helping of his calmness. He left me feeling like I am more than capable of taking on what life puts in front of me. I wish my life, or the life of my children, didn't have to be so complicated. But, if it need be, then I am grateful to all that contribute to my being able to respond to their needs.

That Which Is Broken

This afternoon my 17 year old son dislocated a finger while playing basketball at school. I met his school counselor at the hospital E.R., and waited while they got the finger back in position, and took some x-rays. Turns out he had a chip fracture.

On the drive taking him back to his group home he turns to me and asks,

"Dad, have you ever had something broken in your body?"

Hmm

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.

Beauty

I sit here surrounded by beauty. I love beautiful things. I have carefully selected each item to bring into my home. Each possesses a quality that brings me to peace. Each has a aesthetic that blends with what ever mood I am in.

Tonight I am feeling pensive. Is that a feeling?

I went to a cocktail party tonight. It was a client appreciation event given by my realtor, Jonathan. He is a wonderful guy, and puts so much effort into bringing each of his clients into the fold of his family. I got to meet a few new people, and was especially excited to meet Patricia, the loan officer for my new home. We had corresponded by phone and email, and even shared some thoughts on grief along the way. It was nice to put a person, a face, to the voice.

Going out like tonight is such a stretch for me. It is quite far beyond my comfort zone. I was thinking about this on my way home. I kind of have two distinct persona's these days. At work, as a professional, I am very self assured, and find a way to connect with people everyday. At home, in my personal life, I am much more reserved, and feel more vulnerable.

I went tonight, as I think Jonathan would have been disappointed if I didn't show up, but it was so tempting to find a reason not to go. You see, I am very uncomfortable in these social types of situations. I was also more filled with anxiety, as the room would be filled with many happy new home owners, which I assumed would translate to many happy couples. I was right.

I realize that it has been 17 months that I have been single once again, but I still feel like I am wearing a sweater that doesn't truly fit. It feels stiff, and unlived in. I know that the more I wear it out in public, the more it will soften, and in time it will be an old familiar and comfortable fit.

As I stood there, smiling at everyone at the party, I couldn't help but think about the person missing to my right. He was also a bit of a wall flower at such events, so we were perfectly matched in that way.

You know, this road has been quite difficult. It has introduced me to a level of pain I never knew existed. It introduced me to a life I never wanted, nor was ready for. But I must say, I have come a long way. When I drove up to my home, I sat in the car, and decided to check my email on my phone. There was a message that was left on a blog post from last year, entitled Gay Grief. It is the one post that usually comes up quickly in a Google search, which is exactly like I wanted it to.

Back when all this started, 17 months ago, I sat there on my bed, in the middle of the night, and tried to find someone out there, someone with a voice like mine. I didn't find it. I was looking to something for this heart broken gay husband, who had just been transformed into a widower. I felt so alone, and could feel myself sinking deeper and deeper into despair. Those feeling didn't get any better for quite a long time, but I just kept on writing, as it gave me a reason to wake up the next day.

Tonight a new gay widower found my blog, and poured out his heart. He too knows despair. He too is feeling so alone. He too wonders why he is here. I share this to let him know, and all others that need to hear it, we are here. There are many of us here. We know your pain. Some of us have wondered how we will survive without the person we love. Some of us have come close to making a choice to end it all. I was one of those people. I am pleased to say that I survived one very scary night, and I continue to survive. Is my life easier these days? Yes. Do I still feel the deep pain of my loss? Yes, again.

I do believe that there will be beauty again in my life, and in my heart. I do believe that I will slowly become more comfortable away from my own home. I do hope that my nights will not always be so quiet, and so alone. Until then, I will continue to stretch my wings. I will continue to draw peace and comfort from the beauty that I surround myself with. I will continue to find joy in the little things I do each day.

Today I worked on my backyard. It is lined with very tall, and out of control, bamboo. It grows faster than I can keep up with, and takes a great amount of strenuous work to maintain, but it is quite satisfying. I do like hard work. I love to look behind me, and see all that I have accomplished.

When I was done working, I got myself something cold to drink, then sat on a chair out on my back deck. The sun was shining brightly, and there was a lovely cool breeze. I looked up at the sky, and saw beauty. I smiled, and felt joy.

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.

What If's

Okay, as is my usual, I have done nothing about getting some, but I will do something about it soon.

Tonight I'm having one of those anxious evenings. I can't figure out what is making me anxious. I keep having this nagging feeling like I should go somewhere, but I have no where to go. Anyway, I have a child at home, so it's not like I can be out having a good time.

It's often evenings like this that I end up just needing a good cry, which is likely how tonight will culminate. I think my grief just gets built up, and for the past few days, I haven't given in to it. I kept myself busy all weekend with purchasing, and putting together, inexpensive patio furniture. It was actually quite an adventure. Target was having a sale, and I found these cool white metal chairs that had nice clean modern lines. I paired them with some sand colored cushions, and bought four small matching side tables, and put them together to create an outdoor coffee table. Now, for some reason, each of the local stores purchased only two such chairs in white, so I was using my GPS to find all the local Target Stores, and went from store to store to make a complete set. My kids thought I was nuts, and whatever I saved in the price, I likely spent in gas, but it was something that gave my weekend purpose. I enjoyed it.

Just a minute ago my 12 year old started walking over with open arms to give me a hug, then turned away at the last minute, trying to be funny. I groaned so loud that he came back for a real hug. I hugged him so tight, and planted a big kiss on his cheek. I told him that I really need regular hugs, as they just don't come my way much anymore. He smiled, and gave me another.

Then I made the mistake of calling my 17 year old to see how his day was going. He began by complaining about how the staff at his program were giving him consequences for things that were not fair. Quickly he began saying that he was just going to move back home. I explained that moving home was no longer an option, as he has proven over and over again that he does not want to listen to me, and is unable to be safe. That went over real well. Suddenly it wasn't the staff's fault, it was mine. While it was an unpleasant exchange, and my blood pressure has just shot through the roof, it is a reminder about why he no longer is at home. My role now is to see that he has the best treatment, but also that my younger son, and I, can live our daily lives feeling safe. This is not an easy thing to do, as in my daily fantasies, I still wish for a time when my older son is "normal," and we are all able to live together harmoniously.

It all brings me back to those times when I allow myself to think about all the what if's.

What if my kids were not born with all these problems?

What if my husband Michael hadn't died so young?

What if I was living the good life?

What if?

This is all pointless of course. "What if's" won't change anything. I know that I have to learn to find happiness with what I have, and with what I find in the future. It's a real struggle, but this is the way I'm trying to live. I refuse to allow myself to wallow in the past. I have to be stern with myself. I have to tell myself to feel the pain of letting go, grieve my loss, and be mindful of moving forward as I do this.

I am going to get through this. Even if it kills me. Okay, a bit dramatic.

My son just came by with another hug. Lucky me.

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.

Open House

It's midnight, and everyone has gone to sleep. One of the unfortunate aspects of having my oldest son back in therapeutic placement is that I now have this big house, with only myself and my 12 year old, Remy, in it. I know that eventually my older son will begin visiting on weekends, and eventually my daughter's life will slow down a bit so that she can start visiting more often, but for now, it's rather quiet.

This weekend I have five days off in a row. Due to big cuts in the state budget, the agency that I work for has had to resort to eight furlough days without pay during the next 6 months. While it's nice to have more time at home, it does mean less money, and less time to get the same amount of work done. Oh well, I can't do anything about that.

What I can do is find ways to not feel too lonely in my own home. The prospect of sitting here for five days, feeling low, was too much for me. The first couple of days I found some fun decorating activities, but now I'm spent too much money, and the projects are done with, so life starts moving slowly once again. I decided that it would be a perfect time to have my parents back here for a visit. I really loved having them with me during the Christmas holiday, and since they no longer drive long distances, if I want them to visit, then I need to go get them.

I gave my folks a call, letting them know that since I was not working, I would love to have them visit. They also thought it was a great idea, so I drove the two hours to their home, and now they are here. We sat and talk most of the day, cooked our dinner together, then talked some more late into the evening. I love my parents, and greatly appreciate the gift that they are to me. And, because my parents are here, one of my brothers called and said he and his family would like to come visit tomorrow as well.

This is the gift that keeps on giving!

Tonight I realized that I have only used my oven on two occasions, and both times have been because my parents were here. I love catering to them, and cooking for them. I love discussing my job with them, and explaining how I came to decorate my home in certain ways. I love sharing my world with them. Because I made the move to southern California, I am able to do this more often. Having these types of visits have really helped fill a big void in my life. I get to sit in my home, share it with other adults, and have adult conversations. I get to talk about Michael, about my grief, and hear of their feelings about the man that I lost.

And because of the loss that I have experienced, I don't take any of these opportunities for granted. Just like I knew that I would not always have Michael, I know that I will not always have my parents. I want to enjoy my time with them as often as possible.

I'm realizing that my home is just like my heart, if I open it, they will come.

A Painful Day

A couple of days ago I had my yearly physical. While there my doctor had the brilliant thought that I should have a tetanus shot, especially since I work with infants and toddlers. While they are cute and cuddly, apparently they harbor deadly germs and viruses. What do I know?

Anyway, whenever we get these helpful shots, like the flu shot of the moment, there is always the chance of possible side effects. My doc said not to worry, as my flu shot from last month went without a hitch. Well, last night I got deadly sick. Aching muscles and bones. Shaken nerves, headache and nausea.

Lovely.

I ended up going to bed early, choosing to just sleep through it. I had some crazy dreams, but mostly slept well, and felt enormously better this morning. In fact, I decided to get out the vacuum, and do some light house cleaning.

Bad decision.

While moving the very light vacuum, I pulled a muscle in my back. I let out a very loud scream, and found myself, tears in the eyes, descending toward the floor. I had all the animals around me looking traumatized, and my youngest son running out from his bedroom to see what had happened.

Well, that pretty much stopped me in my tracks. Nothing much was getting done today. Fortunately for me, I had stored up quite an arsenal of past prescribed medication, and found myself popping some expired Vicodin, and some helpful Motrin. Within a couple of hours I was beginning to feel better, yet had to make every move with caution.

It's quite scary when you become so sick, and you realize how alone you are. Now, I did have my son, but a 12 year old can only do so much. I also didn't want him to worry too much, so I told him I was much better than I actually was.

I took a seat on the couch, and tried to entertain myself with the television and computer. I read each email as soon as it arrived throughout the afternoon. At one vulnerable point in the day I received an email from the Musella Foundation, which does research on brain tumors. I don't know how to unsubscribe from their mailing list, so I always take a deep breath when these messages arrive. Today's message annouced a lecture titled "Practical Suggestions For Brain Tumor Families" which was to be held on January 18th, Michael's birthday.

I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. Punched real hard. I sat here, and began to sobbed.

As the day has gone on that deep emotional response to this email has stayed with me. Each time I think about it, the sobbing returns.

My body, and soul, certainly knows pain. Pain such as this has the powerful ability to lodge itself deep into my memory bank. With each of these painful deposits, I suppose I could be considered quite wealthy.

No worry. This will pass. As each of us has learned, while pain doesn't always completely go away, it does become less intense with time. We become familiar with it, and we come to have our individual ways of getting through it.

I will get through it.

You will too.

Enough

Today has been a very difficult one. Although I have written in the past about my teenage son's emotional problems, I have not addressed them here for awhile. I think I wanted to pretend that it wasn't truly happening, or that my life could suck any further than it does.

For the past couple of months life at home has been very unpleasant, and very draining. I feel like I rarely have a moment's peace. It's tough enough getting through life after losing your spouse, but it gets amplified when you are being attacked emotionally, and sometimes physically in your own home.

Mental illness is a crazy thing.

I know that statement is funny, and there is little to laugh about these days, but having a son with mental illness makes your own life crazy. You know longer have a good grip on your own reality, or the reality that most enjoy. I sometimes wonder what my life would be like if I had more sanity around me. I wonder how I would be adjusting to Michael being gone if I had the opportunity to live each day feeling emotionally safe, and stable. I don't have those things, and for the most part, never did.

I gave it my all, and tried to make it work with my son living at home, but the final straw hit today. That was me. I have been his punching bag for far too long, and I have now decided I can no longer live this way. I don't want to live another day with any type of violence in my life. I no longer want to question my own sanity, well, anymore than any normal parent does.

I'm okay, but a little sore. I was hurt this morning, and my son was placed in a psychiatric hospital. I have spent the day talking to police, school personnel, therapists and doctors. With each conversation each wanted to know why we moved here, and if there have been any other major changes in our household.

We moved here to make a change.

We needed a change because my husband died.

Because my husband died.

Condolence. Condolence. Condolence.

I know I'm writing about crazy stuff. I know that I'm trying to deflect from the trauma of the day. I know that life will get more sane. Soon, I hope.

In a way I am used to this type of trauma, and all that will unfold from it. At least now there will be the appropriate services put into place for my son. At least there will be a plan of care which will include emotional and physical safety for us at home.

I will be fine.

Can we talk about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?



As a side note. People are funny. Today the cops were very helpful, but very young. There were three different ones who came into my home at different times, and within 5-10 minutes each would say, "hey, nice house, did you remodel it?"

Don't Take It Personally

I'm not sure where to start, but this title was with me throughout the day.

I keep having this nagging feeling that I am disappointing people. I have definitely sort of dropped out. I haven't been to my yoga class in many weeks, haven't seen the gym in ages, haven't visited anyone, haven't called anyone, and haven't really left my house other than to go to work, or to pick up my folks for Christmas. I didn't call anyone to wish them a Merry Christmas, and completely flaked out about Chanukah.

There have been calls sent my way that never got returned. There have been cards received without a response. I'm sure many have wondered if I have been abducted by aliens. I think that is what I would like them to believe, then I would have no responsibility for my lack of action.

I'm sorry. Please don't take it personally.

I just don't feel like participating in life right now. I don't want to have fun. I don't want to make polite conversation. I don't want to wear a smile. I don't want to be challenged. I don't want to be cheered up. I don't want to be told what I need to be doing. I don't want to see that worried look. I don't want to hear the overt concern. I don't want advice. I don't want sympathy. I don't want human contact.

I'm sorry once again. And please, don't take it personally.

I'm not proud. I'm definitely not where I would like to be, but at the same time I don't really desire to be anywhere else right now.

Maybe I'm hibernating.