Damn December 22nd

Two years ago today, I took Chris to the ER because of his headaches.  Expecting a long wait once we got there, I packed us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and brought along the crossword puzzle.  He was eating his sandwich and doing the puzzle with me right before they called him into the examining room.  The nurse that escorted him asked me to wait until he got situated before going back.  So, I sat with my friend, Katie, who works at the hospital.  We talked about Christmas plans, our sons, our average everyday lives.  I wasn't at all prepared for the flurry of events that came next.  


Blood work, CT scans, family converging on the hospital at the advice of doctors, talk of "masses" on the brain, grave looks on the faces of the medical professionals around me, consults with neurosurgeons, immediate admittance to the ICU, holidays destroyed, lives turned upside down, dreams up in flames.


I think I will carry around the dread of this day with me forever.  The day I first realized "widow" would soon be my new title.

THE Conversation

While driving home from lunch with the kids yesterday, an ambulance passed us with its sirens wailing.  This prompted an unexpectedly emotional conversation between Ian and myself starting with Ian saying,

“Maybe that ambulance is going to the hospital.”  He has a new understanding of the purpose of ambulances.  This education was provided by a ride in one over the weekend to take him, Granny and his fearless sister to the hospital after Claire fell onto the floor head first from a restaurant booth.  She is fine and, if possible, Ian is even more obsessed with emergency vehicles than ever before.

“Yep.  Maybe that ambulance is going to the hospital,” I said. 

“Maybe someone is sick,” he stated, sounding slightly sympathetic.

“Maybe,” I replied again.  Then for some reason unknown to me, I said, “Do you remember what happened to daddy?” 

“Yes.  Daddy died,” he responded matter-of-factly.  The wind was momentarily knocked out of me.  I only started saying the words, “daddy died” about one month ago.  We have talked about daddy many, many times before and looked at lots of pictures of him.  But until recently, I hadn’t told Ian that Chris died partly because he was so very young when it happened and naturally doesn’t understand what this means.  I hated the thought of bringing Chris up just to tell my little guy that his daddy died.  And, I freely admit, I also took so long to tell him because I knew saying the words out loud would cement the reality of the situation.  No more turning back the clock and pretending you still live your old life once your child knows his father is dead.

“That’s right.  He died in a hospital,” I said after I caught my breath.

“He died in a hospital?  I thought he died at my house.  Was it a tall hospital?” he pondered.  Wow…does he remember being at the hospital the night Chris died?  It was in fact a tall hospital.  What made him ask that question?

“It was a tall hospital, honey.”

“Why?  Why did he die in the hospital?” Ian wanted to know.

“Well, he was in the hospital because he had an operation on his head…because there was something in his head that was making him sick,” I stammered.

“What?  What was making him sick?”  Shit, I thought.  Do I really have to use the words “brain tumor” already?

“He had a brain tumor.”  (Technically, he had two but no need to throw that into the mix yet).

“Why?” Ian said again, posing the million-dollar question.  Wouldn’t we all like to know the answer to that one?

“I don’t know,” I said.  “Sometimes people just get sick.”

“Did daddy like water?” Ian asked, shifting gears a bit.

“Um, he liked water.  He liked to swim.”

“Did the water put that thing in his head?” Ian asked.

“No, honey.  Sometimes people just get sick.  It wasn’t from the water,” I told him.

“He’s my daddy,” Ian said proudly.

“Yes, he is,” I said, just as proudly.

“I need my daddy,” he announced.  And now the tears start.  Not Ian’s but mine.  Shit again.  Why exactly did I start this conversation?  Let’s just go back to pretending daddy is on a very long business trip.

“I know, honey.  I need him too,” I said softly.

“I want to talk to daddy,” he said excitedly, as if he had just come up with a great idea.

“Well, you can talk to daddy.  You can tell him whatever you want.  He just can’t answer,” I said, surprising myself a bit with my creativity in answering these questions.  The websites, books and grief counseling must be doing some good.

“Why not?” he demanded.

“Because daddy died.  When people die, they can’t talk to us anymore and we can’t see them anymore.  But we can still talk to them as much as we want.”

“No!  I want to call daddy.  I want to call him on the phone!” Ian half pleaded, half yelled.

“Um…well, I can give you my phone when we get home and you can call him.  He just won’t be able to answer you,” I said again, hoping he wouldn’t take me up on this offer.

Suddenly...silence from the back seat.  No more questions.  No more demands.  Just a defeated 3-year-old soaking in the harsh facts of life.

Silence and muffled tears from the front seat.  No more answers.  No more creative suggestions.  Just a somber nearly 40-year-old mommy reluctantly soaking in her little boy’s newfound grief and thinking, “THE conversation has happened.”

Damn Spot

I decided to clean our carpets today. Actually, I decided to do it months ago but kept procrastinating because cleaning the carpets was always one of Chris's jobs. I finally accepted the fact that he really does have a good excuse for not doing it this time and got down to business myself.


I borrowed my brother-in-law's carpet cleaner and went to work in the toy room. It really wasn't that bad. The machine is a little heavy but I could handle it. When I was done, I took the cleaner upstairs to Claire's room because I knew her carpet was in really bad shape. I pulled her crib away from the wall and gasped when I saw a giant brown spot on the carpet. This was not the first time I saw this spot. It was there when the room was a guest room before Claire was born. In our preparations for turning this room into her nursery, Chris and I had removed the double bed that was in there and bought the crib. When the bed was moved, we saw the stain (and a few others throughout the room).


During the first few weeks of December of 2008, I frantically tried to finish decorating the room and asked Chris to clean the carpet and especially focus on that spot. I noticed that it took him longer than usual to start this project. He was more tired than usual and, frankly, not as helpful as I was used to him being. By the time he finally did clean the carpet, he did a really half-assed job of it.  It almost looked like he hadn't cleaned it at all.


I noticed that some of the smaller stains on the carpet hadn't really come up but didn't pay attention to the status of the huge stain for some reason. I think I was too distracted with keeping Ian away from the carpet cleaner, being hugely pregnant, and feeling too exhausted to notice or care. I remember saying something like, "Well, that didn't do much good.  Is that thing broken?". And Chris just--very uncharacteristically--shrugged. I dropped it knowing there were other important baby tasks to complete before Claire's birth.


So, when I saw that stain again today, I was determined to get it out. To my surprise, it wasn't difficult to remove at all. In fact, it nearly disappeared. So, why hadn't it done so when Chris tried, I thought. Then I realized...he probably didn't put any soap in the cleaner. The day he cleaned that carpet was a mere 48 hours prior to our trip to the ER for his headaches. Looking back on the few months leading up to Chris's illness, I can identify incidents of confusion, apathy and fatigue that I know now were signs of the glioblastoma. They were all incidents that could be explained away by the chaos of having a 17 month old and a baby on the way. But I was reminded again today how cruel a brain tumor is especially when it resides on the part of your brain that controls your memory and personality. It robs you of who you truly are before you are gone. And it robbed my brilliant husband of the simple ability to put soap in a carpet cleaner.


So, today I say, "Damn you, spot and damn you, glioblastoma."

What I Did This Summer: Camp Widow

Laura and I at the banquet

I have taken much too long to write about Camp Widow. Please don't take that as sign that I didn't enjoy my time there because I certainly did. It just feels like I got thrown back into the shark tank immediately upon returning and haven't had any time to really process my experience.

Laura and I flew to San Diego on Wednesday. I only grabbed her in fear one time--when we landed (it was a rough landing). The city is beautiful and the weather was perfect. 70s and sunny everyday with NO humidity. Ahhhh...it was worth getting on a plane just to experience that for a few days. We took advantage of some sightseeing, some fine dining, some wine (make that slightly more than some wine), some shopping and some pampering before the conference started.

The conference kicked off on Friday night with a welcome reception. I was looking forward to finally meeting Jackie since we follow each other's blogs. We found each other quickly and she introduced Laura and I to Jennifer. They are both from California, drove to the conference together and roomed together even though they only knew each other through a mutual friend before this weekend. The four of us also connected with Irene and Mike who presented a workshop at the conference on remarriage. This brought my internet support group full-circle since Irene's blog is the other one I have followed since the beginning. The six of us spent a lot of time together during the weekend.

Irene McGoldrick and Mike Hogan

Saturday started with a keynote address by Michele Neff Hernandez, founder of SSLF. The rest of the morning and afternoon were packed with workshops. I attended workshops on the developmental stages of grief in children, anger and God, and finding a new path after your spouse's death as well as a panel presented by people who have written books about their experiences. Saturday night ended with a banquet and dinner. Some brave souls (I was not one of them) rose early Sunday morning to walk or run in a 5k in honor of their spouses and then the conference ended with a buffet breakfast. Needless to say, it was a busy few days!

During the weekend, I noticed that every conversation seemed to start with, 

1) "So, how long ago did your husband die?" and

2) "What happened?"  

The answers ranged from,

1) 3 months to 18 years and 

2) accident, murder, war, heart attack, blood clot, ALS, and every type of cancer you can name.

Many of the 200 people there looked to be under 45 and most had children--often very young ones. There were about 10 men in attendance and many of the workshop speakers had been widowed themselves.   

Jackie Bartak, Irene, Laura, Mike, Me, Jennifer Wilberding

I also took note of some of my blessings while I was at Camp. First, Laura and I were an anomaly within the group. We are so lucky to know each other, to live in the same neighborhood and have kids close to the same age. We didn't meet anyone else who had an in-person widow friendship like this. What a gift!

Second, I was able to take stock of the progress I've made since Chris's death. It was clear who the newer widows were. You could just see the recent pain on their faces and feel the intensity of their loss when speaking to them. I wanted to help them find a way to hibernate for the next year so they wouldn't have to deal with all the crap they will encounter. It was difficult to see and I recognized how hard it must have been for my friends and family to see me in that state. 

Third, typing the words, "young widow" into Google over a year ago was the smartest thing I have done since Chris died (well, that and buying life insurance). This internet search led me to the Widows Voice blog and SSLF. If I hadn't used technology to seek out others like me, I would have missed out on so much. The bonds that I have formed with widows far and wide have helped sustain me on my toughest days. And seeing what some of these people have done with their grief has been truly inspiring. Michele, just for an example, has made one giant glass of lemonade out of her batch of lemons.

All in all, this was the best camping trip I've ever been on. And I've been on....none. I think I could handle this again next year:).

Leaving on a Jet Plane

My widowed friend, Laura, and I are off to San Diego today for Camp Widow!  The conference starts Friday so we are going to sight see for a couple of days.


Those of you who know me know that I hate flying.  To put it more accurately, I'm scared to fly even though I have done it many times.  Throw in the anxiety of leaving the kids for four and half days and the rainy weather and I'm sure to be a basket case by the time 12:20 p.m. approaches.


Please send your prayers and well wishes my way for a safe and life-giving trip.


:)

Dear Chris (part 2)

Dear Chris-


People tell me that you are looking down on us from Heaven. I hope that is true but it doesn't change the fact that I'd prefer you were here, looking us in the eyes instead. I would have really loved for you to celebrate Ian's birthday with us today. Lovely as your current accommodations surely are, I'm pretty confident that you'd like hanging out with us too. We've become a tight knit little threesome but we'd happily make room for you in our lives, honey.


Since you were only blessed with 17 months of being Ian's daddy on earth, I want to catch you up on the comings and goings of your sweet little boy.  


Ian is like YOU.  
He loves trains, books and all types of music.
He makes a good pirate. 
He doesn't like vegetables.
He observes situations before jumping into the action.
He has a silly sense of humor and loves an audience.
He is stubborn (or as you liked to call it, "strong willed").
He is particular--about where his books go, where his toys go, what he eats for breakfast.
He is one smart cookie.
He has your eyes and eyebrows (you can imagine how I like to look into those eyes). 


Ian is like ME.  
He loves chocolate.
He is very expressive.
He loves to sing.
He overanalyzes things.
He likes to meet new people.
He is good at turning on the tears.
He has my mouth and my sun-adverse, fair skin.


Ian is uniquely HIMSELF.
He makes up songs with crazy lyrics.
He has to give me several kisses and hugs, a high five and say, "good luck" and "carpe diem" every time I leave him.
He has an incredible memory.
He likes to ask me if I'm happy and if I have a smile on my face.
He thinks he can speak Spanish and Polish.
He is afraid of thunder.


Most importantly, Ian is the best GIFT you ever gave me. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for embarking on this adventure of parenthood with me. I'm so sorry you didn't get to experience it for very long. You would be so proud of how Ian is growing up. And I do think there is a chance he may read before kindergarten:).  


I love you-

Wendy

Dear Chris (part 1)

Dear Chris-


Tomorrow, our little boy turns 3 years old.  A mere 3 years old and he already has experienced more monumental loss than most people.


Do you remember the day he transformed us into Mommy and Daddy?  Do you remember how the first thing the nurse said when she cleaned him up was, "He has a chin dimple!" and I said, "Just like his daddy?"  Do you remember how proud and excited you were when you found out we were having a boy?  Do you remember threatening to name him Horst?  Do you remember planning to teach him to read before he got to kindergarten?  Do you remember buying him Bears onesies and registering for a baby Cubs t-shirt (the only contribution you made to the process of registering)?


Do you remember waking up with him just to change his diaper before handing him off to me to feed him in those early weeks?  Do you remember marveling at his early smiles, his obvious physical strength and his undisputed brilliance?  Do you remember those three months you spent on family leave when I went back to work (I'm forever grateful that you had that time with him)?  Do you remember how your face lit up every time you came home and saw your little man excitedly waiting for you?


I remember and I will make sure that he knows.  He will never doubt how much you loved him, how long you waited for him to come into your life and how you so badly hated to leave him.  


We will always remember.


I love you forever-


Wendy

18 months ago today

at about this time, I watched my husband take his final breath.  I was lying next to him (as best I could with a fresh c-section incision) in the hospital bed.  It happened so subtly I almost couldn't tell that he had actually died until the nurse said, "He's gone."  I still remember her name...Natalie.  She was so sweet.  You could see her whole body deflate when she learned that Chris was not only the father of a newborn but a 17 month old as well.  There was a moment where she seemed to think that Chris was reacting to stimuli and she paged a doctor.  I felt a flicker of hope even though I knew it was highly unlikely.  Sure enough, as quickly as the flicker of hope was lit, it went out as she realized he was still non-responsive.  You could tell she really, really, really wanted him to live.  Almost as much as I did.


I woke up this morning with an almost physical aching for Chris.  I had a dream about him but I can't remember the specifics.  I forgot that today was 18 months until my mom reminded me.  I guess my body remembered.  


This is us without you, Chris.  18 months...we miss you.

Guest Writing

I'm the guest writer on Widows Voice today.  


I appreciate the opportunity to share!

Countdown to Camp Widow

One month from today, I leave for San Diego to attend Camp Widow, a weekend long gathering of widows from around the world.  This is the second annual widows conference sponsored by the Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation.  You can learn more about it by clicking here.


Aside from the fact that I have to get on an airplane (I hate to fly), I am super excited about this trip.  It will be a great opportunity to actually meet a lot of other widows who I have connected with online.  The weekend will be packed full of activities including workshops, an awards banquet and a 5k walk/run in honor of our spouses.  And it is held in beautiful San Diego!


I will be attending the conference with my friend, Laura, who lives in my neighborhood and lost her husband last August.  She has two young boys and is also a stay-at-home mom so we have a lot in common (some things we'd rather not).  We are heading to San Diego early so we can spend two days checking out the city (if anyone has suggestions of places to see, let me know).


The countdown is on.  San Diego, here we come!

June 28

I just realized that on this day 6 years ago, Chris proposed at the Botanical Gardens.  We went to dinner afterwards at La Sardine, our favorite French restaurant and site of our first date.


It seems like yesterday and a lifetime ago.

17 months, 22 days

That is how old Claire is today.  That is exactly how old Ian was the day that Chris died.  It is so strange the milestones we mark as part of this process.  


There are days when I think Claire is growing up so fast--seemingly so much faster than Ian did.  I'm sure part of that is because she is trying to do everything Ian does.  And I know part of that is because I want to bottle her up the way she is now and keep her like that forever.  No terrible twos, temper tantrums or dinner time battles to contend with (I'm talking to you, big brother!).


Then there are days when she seems like such a tiny baby.  She is in full blown separation anxiety mode and chants, "Mommy" incessantly.  She cuddles up on my shoulder before she goes to sleep.  She clings to her blanket when she is upset.  She still has adorably chubby thighs.  Can this really be the age that Ian was when Chris died?  He has now lived longer without his daddy than with him.  That is so unfair.


Today is a painful reminder of what my beautiful kids have lost but also of how far we have come.  I hear them playing with Tante in the living room right now.  They are giggling like crazy. The blessing of them being so young is that they don't realize they are different from anyone else.  They just live.  It is me who knows the real story.  But today I'll try to just live too.

Father's Day

Father's Day...yippee.  


There are the commercials, the sales and the restaurant specials. There are the blessings in church, the messages to dads on Facebook and the articles about celebrity dads. For crying out loud, there is even a "Happy Father's Day" message when you call directory assistance. Seems there is no escaping this thing called Father's Day. 


This was our second Father's Day without Chris. That is twice as many as we had with him. Yesterday was a tough day for me. As with most significant dates and holidays, the anticipation of the day is usually worse than the actual day. I didn't want to make any plans for today (sorry, dad) because I didn't know how I was going to feel. Turns out, it was bearable.


I decided this morning that we should take a picnic lunch to the cemetery. The kids haven't been there since last Father's Day and, obviously, they didn't remember that visit. I wasn't sure how to prepare Ian this year since he still doesn't understand who daddy was or that he is dead. I was a little nervous that this could start a flood of questions. I haven't faced this yet and am very anxious about the day when he will start putting the pieces together. So, I told him we were going to a place called a cemetery and that it was like a park where we could remember Daddy. His response..."ok." Whew...that was easy.

We stopped to get flowers for the grave along the way. As luck would have it, the florist had musical instrument Christmas ornaments on sale and, most importantly, this included a tuba. This might seem random and off topic, but that is because you haven't heard that Ian is currently obsessed with tubas. He "plays" the tuba a lot while "marching" in his band (in case you are wondering, he is obsessed with marching bands too). So, we left the florist with flowers, a DAD balloon and a miniature tuba. He pretended to play that tuba the whole way to the cemetery.


The weather was beautiful when we got there and the kids had a blast running around in all the grass. We spread our picnic blanket out right on top of Chris's grave so that it sort of felt like he was joining us for lunch. It was going great until Ian said, "Mommy!  Spider!" and pointed to my shoulder. After three furious attempts by Granny and lots of hushed swearing by me, the creepy creature was finally removed from the premises.


Once we were done eating, we put the flowers and balloon next to Chris's grave marker. "Do you see that name here?," I said to Ian. "It says Christopher Diez. Do you know who that is?"

"Yep.  Me!"

"No. You are Ian Diez. Daddy is Christopher Diez."

"Oh. Yes!," and he skipped over to a tree.    


I then attempted to have a moment alone with Chris while my mom took the kids back to the car. Ian, who doesn't like to go anywhere without Mommy, came running back to the grave and sat in my lap.  


"Why you staying here, Mommy?" 


"I'm praying for Daddy."


"Oh." And then he went back to playing his tuba.  


So much for the pieces coming together!  The kid barely knows his own name!


This is us without you, Chris. Happy Father's Day.

Comfy

Today, I had the pleasure of meeting another widow blogger.  My Sainted Dead Husband was one of the first blogs I started visiting after Chris died.  I can't even remember how I stumbled upon it at this point but I am certainly glad I did.  


Irene McGoldrick's widow story has a lot of parallels to my own which made me return to her blog again and again.  Her husband, Bob, was diagnosed with Lymphoma when she was pregnant with their second child.  He died one year later and Irene was left with two small boys to raise.  That was six years ago and Irene is now remarried.  Her second husband, Mike, has three children of his own so together they run a very busy household.


Irene and Mike also read my blog and we comment back and forth to each other once in awhile.  I have come to "know" a lot of widows this way.  There are actually quite a few blogs and other online resources out there for people in this unenviable position.  I have met many in my community through these resources and have garnered a lot of encouragement from reading about their journeys.  So, I was extremely excited when Mike emailed me a few weeks ago to suggest that the three of us meet for lunch.  Irene lives in a suburb of Milwaukee so we are reasonably close geographically.  We picked a restaurant in between our homes and met today.


A warm embrace from each, followed by, "So, is this your first widow blind date?!" from Mike kicked off our time together.  We spent the next two hours talking about the circumstances of our husbands' deaths, our support systems, our kids, Irene's remarriage, and her memoir about Bob and their life together which will be published at the end of August.  I have to say, there is something about talking to someone else who has also lost the love of their life that is so...comfy (sorry, Irene, to imply that your life experiences make me feel good!).  


What I mean is that there is no pretense in meeting with such a person for the first time.  You can right skip over the traditional niceties of a "first date" and slip right into the messy details of life.  There is a shared vocabulary, shared emotions, and shared fears and concerns.  You can discuss things you might never discuss with others who haven't walked this road.  It can be quite like talking to one of your best friends.  It is just...comfy!  And trust me, I look for comfy wherever I can get it these days!  


Thanks, Irene and Mike, for a lovely lunch.  I'd say I look forward to getting comfy with you guys again soon but that would just sound weird!

We Are Blessed

One thing that I have been assured of over and over again since Chris died is that I have an amazing support system.  Between my family, Chris's family and both sets of friends, we have managed to do more than just survive the last 17 months.  While I won't go so far as to say we have flourished, I would assert that we are doing better than expected.


The past two weeks proved to me yet again how lucky I am to have all these wonderful people in my life.  As I mentioned a couple of months ago, my mother is moving in with us.  She is going to continue to work full-time but it will be so helpful to have her here in the evenings.  She likes to cook which will ensure that Ian and Claire eat more than chicken nuggets and grilled cheese and that I eat more than take out food.  It will also be nice for me to be able to leave the house at night to run errands or do something fun without always arranging for a babysitter.  Granny Donna moves in next Friday and we are all looking forward to this!


In the meantime, in order to prepare for this change, I finished off my basement.  The husband of one of my friends is a contractor and he did the work for me.  He built a bedroom for my mom and a play room for the kids.  Last week, Chris's siblings and friends helped me with the grueling job of priming and painting both rooms.  These are the same siblings who have helped us out in numerous ways over time.  They regularly cut my grass, tend to my garden, help with the kids by babysitting, by sitting with them at church, by assisting at bedtime, etc.    These are the same friends who have acted as handyman way too many times, made "emergency" Dairy Queen runs and showered the kids with gifts.


And then there was the SWAT team that deployed this week when I got a sinus infection.  My head was under so much pressure for a day and a half that I thought it was going to explode.  In swooped Chris's sister, Vickie, and my mom to watch the kids while I rested.  Oh, and lets not forget the 80 year old diabetic mother-in-law who watches both kids at her house once a week (with the assistance of the diabetic, legally blind brother-in-law...you know, the one who cuts the grass.  Doesn't have the ring of an ideal childcare situation I know but it works!).  


The bottom line is that I feel extraordinarily blessed this week.  Honestly, it feels strange to say that when my husband is dead but it is true.  I chose Chris to be the one I shared my life with for many reasons not the least of which being his selflessness.  It has been illustrated for me once again recently how he wound up that way and what good company he kept.  I know he would be so grateful to this cast of characters for taking care of me and his children and I am too.  I am too.

Another One Joins the Ranks

Someone I know joined the Widow Club yesterday when her husband died as a result of head injuries from a fall.  I knew both her and her husband in college.  We weren't close friends--more like acquaintances introduced through my roommate.  They dated all through college and married soon after graduating.  They have three children.


Why does it feel like so many of the good guys--the good husbands, the good fathers, the good men--are the ones who leave this world too early?  There are so many things I'll never understand.

Seeing Red

Warning:  This post may contain language unsuitable for small children and sensitive adults.

I'm pissed.  


I'm pissed that Chris is dead.  
I'm pissed that he barely got to know his kids and that they'll never know him.  
I'm pissed that I have to make all the decisions now.


I'm pissed that I lost my gourmet cook, my gardener and my wine expert.
I'm pissed that I still have so many questions I want to ask him.
I'm pissed that he'll never beat me at Trivial Pursuit again (because he did every time).


I'm pissed that the only ones sharing my bed these days are a middle aged cat who snores and a clingy almost three year old.
I'm pissed that I don't have a hand to hold when watching a rented movie.
I'm pissed that I may go through the rest of this life without a partner.


I'm pissed that my mom is moving in with us (happy that she is willing to come but pissed that I need her to).
I'm pissed that I have to renovate a basement that wouldn't need renovating if Chris were alive.
I'm pissed that I don't have a clue about buying paint supplies for said renovation and the person who could advise me can't take phone calls where he is at.


I'm pissed that Chris is dead.


Did I mention that I'm....PISSED?!


Ahhhh...that feels better.


P.S.  And isn't that an incredible likeness of me above?

Path to Progress

Tomorrow is the Path to Progress walk/run to raise money for the American Brain Tumor Association.  The event is held at Soldier Field and starts bright and early at 8:30 a.m.  I will be volunteering at the event along with my sister, Julie, and her three oldest kids, Jimmy, Molly and Erin.  We have to be there at 6:00 a.m. so I am especially grateful for their willingness to volunteer with me!


Keep your fingers crossed for a successful event!

Root Canal or Dinner with a Toddler? Root Canal, Please.

If you know of one parent, just one, who claims to have a peaceful meal with a toddler, I urge you to demand proof.  I need some concrete evidence that such a toddler--one who happily eats a balanced or even partially balanced or even more than three bites of a meal--actually exists.  


You see, eating has always been an issue for Ian.  When he was a newborn, he would leisurely alternate between nursing and snoozing at the trough....for an hour.  I kept listening for the swallowing sounds you are supposed to hear to know that you are breastfeeding correctly.  Never heard them.  He rarely seemed very hungry and, as he got older, he would easily get distracted while nursing.  In contrast, I could not only hear Claire swallowing when she started nursing in the hospital, I actually heard slurping and gulping.  Girlfriend has yet to meet a meal she doesn't like (ribs anyone?).  


When it was time for Ian to start baby food, I excitedly prepared his first bowl of oatmeal and watched in disappointment as he spit it back out.  I know what you are thinking.  That baby cereal does taste like cardboard.  But I watched this same scene play itself out over and over again as I fed him pears, carrots, peas, applesauce, peaches, etc.  It took him six weeks just to tolerate eating baby food.  And then when it came to solid food....forget about it.  He literally subsisted on Cheerios and milk (because dairy is the one food group he will eat) for weeks.  And this has just gotten worse over time.


Now that he is a strong-willed two (almost three) year old, meals are just downright painful.  On a daily basis, I hear some assortment of the following all interspersed with the oh so pleasant sounds of whining, crying and screaming:


"NO MEAT!!  NO MEAT!!  NO MEAT!!"


"NO FISH!!  NO FISH!!  NO FISH!!"


"NO FRUIT!!  NO FRUIT!!  NO FRUIT!!


     "CHEESE STICK, MOMMY!!  CHEESE STICK, MOMMY!!"


     "GOLDFISH, MOMMY!!  GOLDFISH, MOMMY!!"


     "TEDDY GRAHAMS, MOMMY!!  TEDDY GRAHAMS, MOMMY!!"


          "NO EATING DINNER!!  NO EATING DINNER!!"
          
          "NO LIKING BROCCOLI!!  NO LIKING BROCCOLI!!"


          "NO WANTING SAMWICH!!  NO WANTING SAMWICH!!"


Add to this mix the negotiating, the creative coercing (I actually claimed that Mickey Mouse made his meatloaf the other day to make it more appealing) and his frequent attempts at escaping from the table, and we have a recipe for the not-so-perfect meal.  And to top this state of affairs off, the rules change quickly and without notice.  Yesterday he loved hamburgers, today he won't touch them.  Last week he hated sweet potatoes thereby prompting me to not buy any more.  This week, guess what?  A meltdown occurs when there are no sweet potatoes to be had.  And this is why, more days than not, I'd rather sign up for a root canal than share another meal with my little darling.


I simply don't understand this whole phenomenon.  To my detriment, I consider eating one of my favorite past times.  Chris enjoyed many a good meal as well.  So how did we wind up with this kid who considers two bites ("TINY bites, Mommy?) of a minuscule chicken nugget a full meal?  Am I destined to fight with him at the dinner table for years on end?  Will he ever be able to choke down items from each of the food groups in one sitting?


If you have any suggestions on how to solve this looming crisis, I beg of you to share.  You can find Claire and I in the kitchen eating ice cream from the carton.

"For the Young(ish) Mother Whose Young(ish) Husband Died"

I stopped in Hallmark on Saturday to buy some Mothers Day cards and gifts. As I stood amongst the procrastinating dads scanning the quickly depleting selection of cards, I noticed that none of the inventory seemed to apply to me. Sure, there were the "Happy Mothers Day, Mommy!," "To My Daughter on Mothers Day," "To a Wonderful Sister and Mother" cards. But, not surprisingly, there weren't any cards that were addressed to ME. Not one category of cards "For the Young(ish) Mother Whose Young(ish) Husband Died." Damn...can't escape the feeling of being different (and alone and cheated) even on a day that I am fully entitled to celebrate.  I mean, I did bear two children so why can't I just enjoy the day?


Because, that's why. Because the person who made it possible for me to be a mother--just when I was beginning to think I might not ever be one--is gone. Because I only got to celebrate one/uno/1 stinking Mothers Day as part of a complete family. Because I have now celebrated more Mothers Days as a mother without Chris than with him. Because I'll never know what kind of card Chris might have purchased for me this year. Would it have been a serious and sentimental one or a sarcastic and witty one? I know one thing. It would have been addressed to My Wife as opposed to My Widow. And that is the part I just can't get past today.

May 1st: A Big Day

Today would have been Chris's 50th birthday.  Ironically, it is also the first day of Brain Tumor Awareness Month.  


Per the American Brain Tumor Association (ABTA), this month alone, more than 5,000 Americans will be diagnosed with a primary brain tumor; another 20,000 will learn that cancer in another part of the body has spread to the brain.  All in all, there are more than 600,000 individuals living with a brain tumor diagnosis and its devastating impact on their physical, emotional, social and financial well-being.


This month, the ABTA is encouraging people to take a personal pledge to spread the word about brain tumors and the need for more research by going to this link.  Why not take the pledge as a birthday present to Chris?

We will be celebrating today with a family mass at our house said by our former pastor, Fr. Carl Morello.  Some of Chris's friends are also coming by tonight to celebrate.  We are going to drink some of the good wine from Chris's wine collection and share stories about the man we all loved.  Although this is not the way his birthday would have been commemorated if he were still alive, I know today will have moments of joy nonetheless.  


This is us without you, Chris.  Wish you were here for your big day.


P.S.  Today is also the birthday of my sister, Julie.  She has been one of my biggest sources of strength since Chris died.  I couldn't ask for a better sister and I'm so glad she is in my life!

Daddy Clothes

There is a particular variety of children's clothing that I ignore. I don't do it very successfully but I try anyway because it stings too much. I call this clothing, "Daddy Clothes" and it is all the adorable shirts and onesies that say things like:

     Daddy's LIttle Helper

          My Heart Belongs to Daddy

               Daddy's Angel

                    If You Think I'm Cute, You Should See My Daddy 

Today, I was confronted with Daddy Clothes for what feels like the 1,000th time since Chris has died. I am never prepared for this type of assault (a strong word to describe the experience but, oh, so appropriate). No matter how many times I see clothing of this type, it hurts just as much as it did when I opened a baby gift for Claire right after Chris died that said, "Daddy's Girl" on it. The person who gave it to her probably bought it before we knew Chris was sick and didn't think to remove it from the package. And, thinking about it now, should they really have removed it? Claire is Chris's little girl. Nothing can change that. Still, that sweet, tiny, size 0-3 month onesie felt like a two ton dose of reality in my hands. Its simple and charming message taunted me....and continues to do so.

I saw some adorable little boy pajamas today with diggers on the pants. I excitedly began looking for Ian's size because I knew getting him these pajamas would make his day (he LOVES diggers). As I rummaged through the pile, I realized that the top of the pajamas said, "Daddy's LIttle Helper." My heart sank and I walked away from the latest version of Daddy Clothes...again.

Maybe someday I'll be able to see the kids in this type of clothing.  But for now, I just can't do it.  Pajamas with monkeys on them will have to do.

April 16, 2005

Five years ago today

Happy Anniversary, Chris

Dad Season

Now that the weather is warming up, it seems like I see dads with their kids everywhere. The biggest dad draw is the park, especially in the afternoons. Today was no exception. We headed to the park after naps and came upon several dads pushing their kids on the swings and helping their babies down the slide. Some of the dads were still dressed in their work clothes as if they had hurriedly rushed off to the park after work in order to enjoy every possible minute of daylight.  


There must be something magical about the park experience for dads. I know Chris loved taking Ian there (sometimes a couple of times a day). Grown men are transformed into little boys at the park as they relive their childhood adventures. Of course, I see plenty of moms enjoying the park with their kids and I have a lot of fun when we visit. But nothing can replace the joy of playing in the sandbox with dad or being tickled in the grass by him after he has chased you around teasing, "I'm going to get you!" Or maybe those experiences just seem irreplaceable now that I know Ian and Claire won't have them.


Thank goodness kids say the cutest things to bring levity to the day. A small tan cat has been hanging around our house this past week. I think it might be a stray but it is very friendly and likes to play with the kids when we are outside. She (I think) made an appearance today while we were in the backyard and rolled around in the leaves and dirt for awhile. This elicited squeals of delight from Claire and plenty of laughter from Ian. Later in the day, as we were on our way to the park, Ian asked me if we were going to see the kitty from outside. I told him we probably wouldn't and he asked me what her name was. I said I wasn't sure but we should come up with our own name for her. He suggested, "Luna." When I reminded him that we already have a cat named Luna, he promptly replied, "No.  Luna In The Backyard." Of course, why didn't I think of that?!


This is us without you, Chris.  We missed you at the park today.

Pictures

Just a quick update with some recent pictures of the kids. Enjoy!

Progress?

I went to Target earlier this week and decided to buy an ottoman.  It was kind of a spur of the moment decision but I had been thinking about getting something to replace the deteriorating coffee table in my living room.  I really wanted something with storage in it and I saw one at Target that opened up.  Perfect for storing toys, DVDs, stuffed animals, etc.  You know, all the things that I swore would stay in the play room but somehow still manage to make their way into the living room.

The ottoman I wanted was on the top shelf of the store, way above my head.  So, I asked a man who worked there to take it down for me.  As he was taking it down, I asked him if it was heavy (knowing that I was most likely going to bring it in the house by myself).  He said, "Just leave it in your car until your husband gets home."  And my first thought was, "That could be awhile."  Really, that was my first thought.  Not, "Oh no, he mentioned a husband and I don't have one and now I'm going to lose it."  Not, "My husband is dead so I'll never get this ottoman (or anything else heavy) in the house by myself (ever again)."  Not even, "How dare he assume everyone has a husband?"  My first reaction was to almost, dare I say, crack a joke to myself.

Hmmmmm....is this progress?  Is this healing?  Or was it just a good day? 

P.S.  I DID get it in the house by myself.

Ready...or NOT

Another two months have gone by since I have posted an update.  And I said I was going to post something about the one year anniversary of Chris's death.  I guess I just wasn't ready. Strangely, feeling ready (or NOT) seems to be a theme in my life these days.

Presently, I'm feeling...

Ready to start thinking about and planning my future;

NOT ready to picture a future where I don't see Chris again..ever.

Ready to feel healthy and look better;

NOT ready to take the steps to get there...yet.

Ready to start going through Chris's things and decide what to save, donate, give away;

NOT ready for the emotional roller coaster ride that will come with this.

Ready to start thinking about what type of work I want to do going forward;

NOT ready (in the least) to actually start working.

The biggest change coming my way in the next couple of months is that my mom is moving in with me.  We have talked about doing this for months and the time now seems right.  A lot has to happen before this transition takes place not the least of which involves construction in my basement to create a living area.  I believe this arrangement will be beneficial for both my mom and us in the long run.  I think we are in for quite an adventure but I DO believe I'm ready for this one.

I promise to be better about updating!  I will post some new pictures of the kids in the next week.

Hope you are all doing well.

365 Days...

have now passed since Chris died.  Yesterday was the one year anniversary.  I don't know how it is possible that it has been that long since I have seen him.

I know a lot of you were thinking about me yesterday and sent me your prayers and kind thoughts.  I will write a longer post this weekend regarding my feelings about the last year.  I need some more sleep and more mental energy in order to do that.  So, for now, I'm going to bed:).