A Widow's Voice Post

I am the guest writer on Widow's Voice today.  Check it out if you are interested!

A New Venture

You'll notice I still haven't posted the update I promised over Thanksgiving weekend.  Please forgive me.  I think you'll understand why after this post.

I have been working on a very special project with my friend, Laura Dennis, for about six months.  We decided we wanted to reach out to other young widows in our area since there really aren't any organizations that do this locally.  It has been a time consuming but very rewarding process as we brought our organization to life.  As you can imagine, I'm very passionate about helping others who are in this situation.  And Laura and I also feel this is a wonderful way to honor the memory of our spouses.

The organization is called Chicagoland Young Widowed Connection (CYWC).  We have lots of great ideas and plans for the future. We are in the process of incorporating as a non-profit and will soon start the process of applying as a tax-exempt organization.

Please check out the website and let me know if you have any feedback.  And also please pass this on to anyone who think may benefit from our group. 

Thanks for your help!

P.S. One of these days, I'll get around to writing that update!

Its Been Ages...

I know it is has been ages since I've posted an update.  Life keeps getting in the way:).  I promise to post an update on lots of things over Thanksgiving weekend. 

In the meantime, check out my guest blog on Widow's Voice today.

Have a great Thanksgiving!

And Guest

Not long after Chris died, I received a wedding invitation addressed to "Wendy and Guest."  It was one of the first visual affronts to my newly-acquired widowed senses.  I remember looking at the envelope and wondering, "Who the heck is Wendy and Guest?" 

I certainly sympathize with the couple who sent the invitation.  I'm confident that they struggled with how to address it as well.  They really couldn't win.  Address it to just me, making it obvious that my husband really was dead, and expect me to endure the beginning of their happily-ever-after all alone?  Or address it as they did, making it obvious that most people attend weddings as one half of a pair, but allow me to make the decision as to whether or not to drag some poor soul along.  I wound up not attending the wedding at all partly because I couldn't bear the thought of how painful it would be (regardless of how honestly happy I was for the couple) and partly because I had no idea who I would bring.  My mom?  My sister?  My 2-year-old son? 

Part of the sting of this situation is that I got married at the age of 34.  I went to many a wedding as "Wendy and Guest" and a lot of times it was just "Wendy."  When I married Chris, I thought my "and Guest" days were over.  It never occurred to me that I would be relegated back to this god forsaken place of no guaranteed dance partner so soon.  I don't like being in this place (can you hear the temper tantrum starting?).  This place is filled with uncertainty about whether I will ever go anywhere again as something other than "Wendy and Guest."  Let's face it, this place is....lonely. 

After two and a half years, I think it is finally starting to dawn on me that life is going on without Chris.  As much as I want him here with me, my life is moving forward and I am starting to envision what the next phase will look like. Instead of seeing "Wendy and Guest", I'm starting to see "Wendy and _____."  I guess that is what some people might call healing.  And that is a good thing.

By the way, if you are inviting me to an event before _______ appears, invitations addressed to "Wendy and George Clooney", "Wendy and Hugh Jackman", or "Wendy and Patrick Dempsey" will be perfectly acceptable.

A Conversation with the Other Side of the Bed

Screw you.


Yeah, you.  


Don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about. 


Nice...just lay there and look all vacant and pitiful like you always do. Like you have for the last two plus years. 


I hate that you are always cold to the touch when my carefully placed hand accidentally brushes up against you. I loathe the way you have now become a receptacle for stray papers, extra clothes and random toys. I despise the fact that, even if someone else lays on you again someday, you will always be without your rightful owner.


Yes, I know I'm welcome to move over to your side at any time but it just doesn't feel right. I sleep on the right side of the bed not the left. You know that by now. And no, having a three-year-old occupy your space once in awhile does not make up for the constant reminder that you are. It does not make me forget the unforgettable absence. Nothing does.


I know I could get rid of you. I could sell you, downsize to a smaller bed, get rid of the memories. But, darn it, for all your faults, you are so comfortable to sleep on. And as much as I hate to admit it, you are pretty good looking.


So, Other Side of the Bed, after fighting with you and myself for the last 27 months, I have decided that you and your better half need a make over. Now you are both pretty and feminine and not quite as depressing. 


I guess I should look on the bright side.  At least you don't snore.

P.S. Do you have any idea how hard it is to fold king size sheets all by yourself?

"You Be Daddy"

Just as I was getting (somewhat) used to Ian talking more about Chris, Claire has already started talking about him. I'm not ready for this!


Claire just turned two in January so I thought I had a good year before I really had to deal with questions from her. And so far, I'm right. But, being the perceptive girl that she is, she clearly has picked up on the discussions Ian and I have had about daddy. She hasn't asked any questions yet but she has been "talking" to Chris and playing this interesting game that I'll call, "You be daddy."


The other day, the three of us were in the backyard kicking a ball around. I kicked it to Ian and then he kicked it to Claire. She wasn't really paying attention though and I noticed she was staring off into space. All of a sudden, she said, "Ok, daddy. We play together." (Did you just get goosebumps? I certainly did). Then she kicked the ball to me and said, "Here, daddy!" and every time I would kick or throw the ball back to her, she would say, "Thanks, daddy!" After awhile, she stopped playing, looked up at the sky, twirled around and said, "Ok, daddy!" To say that I was a little freaked out by this encounter is an understatement. It was like she was talking directly to him...and he was talking to her.


Everyday since that day, she has randomly said to me, "You be daddy." And then she'll say something like, "I go shopping now. Bye, daddy!" Now, I know logically that this game to her is no different than pretending she is Dora and I am Diego. But, oh how it stings to hear her do this. It is no ordinary game to me and I have to say, at this point, I don't enjoy playing it. I hope that changes some day because she seems determined to keep on playing!

You Didn't Think I'd Include a Picture With This One, Did You?

Today, Ian said, "Mommy, I want to pee standing up."  He has been practicing this "skill" with Tante lately. I followed him to the bathroom where he proceeded to do his business, albeit quite awkwardly. How should I phrase this?  The "necessary equipment" barely clears the toilet and it is altogether funny and scary to watch him attempt to complete his mission. But he did it and after I showered him with all the appropriate accolades, he said, "Don't flush the toilet!  I want to show Claire!"


He yelled to Claire, who was in my bedroom watching a movie, and said, "Claire, come here.  I have a surprise for you!" (A surprise indeed, I thought). Then he went to get her and as she climbed down from my bed, he took her hand. They walked together hand in hand to the bathroom, he naked and her totally unsuspecting of what awaited her. 


When they got into the bathroom, he said, "Look in there, Claire.  I did that STANDING UP!" Claire, the typical adoring little sister, responded with, "Wow!" and then, "Flush potty?"  "NO!," Ian said. "I'll flush the toilet" and he did. And Claire, the ever mimicking little girl, ended this hysterical encounter with, "Good job, Ian!"


Good job both of you. You reminded mommy once again why she is so blessed to have both of you in her life:).

"Daddy Taught Me"

For those who didn't know Chris, you might not realize that he was very involved in the Norwegian community in Chicago. He danced with a Norwegian folk dance group since he and his siblings were kids and took on the role of instructor as an adult. Most of his best friends were from dancing and other Scandinavian groups. This usually comes as a surprise to people considering he was German and Bohemian and was often mistaken for either Italian or Greek. But he and his family were honorary Scandos and Chris did so much for the community that the year we got married, he was the Grand Marshal in the Norwegian Independence Day parade. The parade was only a few weeks after we returned from our honeymoon and we got to sit in a convertible and be driven through Park Ridge and wave at people during the parade. It was quite humorous...the German/Bohemian Grand Marshal and his Irish/Polish/German/French wife led the parade. Not an experience I thought I'd ever have.  Anyway, I digress from the whole point of this post.


A few weeks ago, one of Chris's dancing friends, Jill, invited us to Pancakes with Pippi Longstocking at the Swedish American museum (bet you didn't know Pippi was Swedish...I didn't either). We enjoyed Swedish pancakes, did some arts and crafts, went on a treasure hunt and explored the children's section of the museum. It was a very fun morning.

Ian and Pippi

During the arts and crafts activity, Ian picked up a pair of safety scissors and starting cutting a piece of paper. I assume he learned this skill from preschool but I had never seen him do it before. I said to him, "Ian, great job cutting! Who taught you how to do that?", to which he replied, "Daddy!" Surprised, I managed to sputter out, "Oh, okay." 

2 seconds after I snapped this picture, the scissors were promptly
removed from Claire's hands

The other day, I took Ian to Home Depot with me. He used the facilities there and I congratulated him on going to the bathroom in a store. We were giving each other high fives and he said, "High five! Down low!" and when I went to slap his hand, he pulled it away and said, "Too slow!" Knowing that his Uncle Frank does that with him often I said, "You goofball! Who taught you that?" and again, he said with a huge smile on his face, "Daddy!" This time I was a little more prepared and just said, "Great!"


These incidents are fascinating to me. I have heard that children who are very young when their parent dies think they have memories of them because of all the stories they hear. But these weren't events that had occurred and that I had told him about. He just created these memories on his own. Memories of quality time he spent with his dad that never happened and will never happen. On one hand, it saddens me that he will never get to have these experiences with Chris. On the other hand, there is some comfort in his confidence that they really happened. I just wish I could bottle him up at this age so he could believe in the fairy tale forever. Some day soon he is going to figure out that "and they lived happily ever after" isn't exactly accurate. For now though, I'll cherish the times he mentions Chris and try to picture some of that fairy tale myself.


This is us without you, Chris. Keep the lessons coming.

For My Valentine...

I will be volunteering again this year at ABTA's Path to Progress walk/run.  Even though I won't be a walker or runner, I am able to raise funds virtually.  Today, I set up my personal fundraising page and you are welcome to visit it.  Any donations you make would be greatly appreciated!


To get to my page, click on the link above under the sentence, "Help Me Raise Funds for the ABTA!"


This is my Valentines Day present, Chris.  I love you.

Happy Late Birthday, Claire

I realized the other day that I hadn't written a post about Claire for her 2nd birthday. This horrifies me a little bit because I have done it for both of Ian's birthdays since Chris died. I don't want Claire to be the stereotypical second child and get the short end of the stick...even more so because of our circumstances. 


I know why this oversight happened. There is something so incredibly painful for me about Ian's birthday as opposed to Claire's birthday. You would think it would be the opposite. I thought it would be the opposite. The minute I heard Chris's diagnosis, I thought I would never be able to celebrate Claire's birthday since she was born in the midst of this storm. I was certain that, at best, her birthday would be bittersweet and that, at worst, it would be well, just bitter. But as it turns out, while her birthday is sad for me because Chris isn't here to experience it, the two that she has had so far haven't been nearly as traumatic as I thought they would be. But Ian's birthdays...they are a different story.


Each time his birthday approaches, I relive the excitement Chris and I were feeling at meeting our first child. I recount every hour of the day before he was born from having mild contractions while reading the last installment of the Harry Potter series to going to bed without eating dinner per instructions from my sister (so I wouldn't get sick during labor). I recall waking up at 3 a.m. on July 22nd in real labor and realizing that our Lamaze classes were a damn waste of money. I think about how we drove to the hospital in the dark calling our family to alert them to the impending delivery. And I remember the smile that could not be wiped from Chris's face once he met his son and the endless pictures and videos he took of Ian's first few hours. You see, Chris was with me for every minute of it. We were a team for Ian's birth from the minute we took the pregnancy test until the minute he finally debuted after many hours of labor and an emergency c-section. 


Ian's birthday represents the most significant of dreams shattered. It is a symbol of what I have lost. It is such a stark contrast between what life was supposed to be and what it actually is. As with many people, Ian's birth was the defining moment in Chris's life. After four and a half decades of being on his own, he was finally complete...a husband and a father. And then a mere 17 months later, he was robbed of the ability to live this new rich and fulfilling life. And it is because of this that I feel the need each year to write about it. I grasp at the shared experience Chris and I had together and feel the need to update him about the days, and now, years he has missed in Ian's life.


On the other hand, if I am honest with myself, I admit to feeling on my own at certain periods throughout my pregnancy with Claire. At the time, I thought those feelings were the result of hormone fluctuations or fatigue at being very pregnant while caring for a toddler. I didn't realize until months after Chris died that the times he seemed not quite as in tune with this pregnancy as he was with Ian's were because of the brain tumors. His lack of emotion at times was a direct result of where one of the tumors was located--on the top of the brain which effects personality and affect. And of course, by the time we were two weeks from Claire's birth, the grim prognosis loomed over our heads. 


I went into the delivery room for Claire's birth with my mom instead of Chris. In fact, I made the decision pretty much without him that that was the way it was going to be. He wasn't truly capable at that point of sitting around for a few hours waiting for a c-section to start and the hospital staff made it known that they preferred for him not to be in the room. He closed his eyes and nodded when I told him it would be best if he came to the hospital once she was born. He just didn't have it in him to be any more involved than that or to even debate it. I knew the score when I was wheeled into the operating room on January 3, 2009. Unlike when I entered that same room 17 months prior, I knew what the immediate future held for me: widowhood and single motherhood. And for better or worse, these reasons make me sometimes forget that I wasn't truly alone during that time. I did have a partner who would have been there 100% throughout the whole experience if he could have been. And so today I feel the need to share with Chris (and anyone else who cares to know) all the wonderful ways Claire has blessed my life. 


Claire is a sweetie pie (just ask Ian...he called her that the other day). She has this adorable little voice that she puts to lots of good use. She talks tons these days. I mean, you can really have a conversation with her. She has always been extremely communicative. I remember an experience that really drove this home early on. When she was four weeks old, I brought her with me to my first grief support group meeting. Someone in the group said something funny (believe it or not) and everyone laughed. Claire had been resting her head on my shoulder and when she heard everyone laugh, she raised her head and smiled this open mouth smile as if she was laughing along. I think it is safe to say she is a people person.


Claire likes to finish the sentences of her favorite books (currently Gossie & Gertie and any Biscuit story). She loves to sing or hum along with any song. Even if she doesn't know it she pretends like she does. She is a bit of a tube head and has certain movies and t.v. shows she is partial to (Dora, Fireman Sam and Wonder Pets). She is quite attached to her brother, her granny and her mommy. She has a blankie she drags everywhere that she calls "boppy." She sleeps late (for a toddler). She tries most new food and loves broccoli, cherries and any type of potato.


Claire is a daredevil. She will climb anything and jumps into most new experiences without fear. She can't wait to go to preschool like Ian. She is almost potty trained. She has always liked hats but has just recently started to really enjoy playing "dress up." One of her favorite past times is stealing Ian's toys. She could identify a few colors when she was 18 months old and knows all of them now. She can count to 3 (and then skips to 6, 8 and 10). She loves babies and dogs. She is just smart and funny and a joy to be around. And this is how she has changed over the last year...

At the Chris Diez Memorial Concert

Queen of Hats

Looking like her brother (except for the hat and dress)

First haircut

Seriously, makes everything into a hat

Bad hair day

Finally enough hair to make teeny weeny pigtails

Wearing mommy's dress from when she was a little girl

Visiting daddy on Father's Day

Chocoholic like mommy

More hats!

Visiting the pumpkin patch

Happy Thanksgiving

Enjoying a Christmas bagel

At gymnastics class

Ashamed Bears fan!

Happy late birthday, Claire. Mommy promises to keep letting daddy know how special you are to both of us.

The Second 365 Days

Two years.  


I'm officially a widow of two years.  


No longer in the rawness of grief, the numbness of disbelief or the haziness of confusion that encompassed the first 365 days of my widowhood, my ability to function as a "civilian" increases everyday. Do I like that fact? Yes and no. Yes, it is good to know that I have already run many miles of the grief marathon (and enjoyed it about as much as I enjoy actual running). And yet, the further away I get from the day Chris died, the further away I get from our life together. His voice becomes a little less memorable, his smile is harder to conjure up, his laugh rings out less often in my mind and his touch is barely recalled on my skin. This is the reality of death. This is the reality I shake my fist at in frustration and anger.


There are so many times that I wish I could sit down with Chris for just one more conversation. It would be a super loooooong conversation maybe lasting a few days. I would do anything to hear his voice again and his clear opinion on something (even though I can pretty much guess what his thoughts would be on many topics). I long to update him on mundane daily events, on the kids' milestones, on my own personal growth over the last two years. I would especially love to share with him everything that has happened during the second 365 days of my widowhood. Last year was about survival and the denial of time marching forward. This year was about moving towards the future with a glimmer of hope that happiness will reveal itself in my life.


If I could have one more conversation with Chris, I would tell him how I have managed more than one home improvement project this year including the renovation of a basement and the resolution of a nightmare plumbing problem. I would make sure he knows that even though Granny moved in to help us out, no one will ever replace his position in our family. And I would let him know that although we added to our family with Granny, we also lost the furry member of the group (Luna is still alive but has been relocated...more on this another time).


If I could have one more conversation with Chris, I would explain why I felt it was time for me to pack away his clothes for now so that I could utilize our closet more efficiently. I would tell him how I decided one day that my wedding ring didn't feel quite right on my finger any more but that I miss it every time I look down at my hand. I would relate the bittersweet hours I spent sorting through his books, music, and movies deliberating the fate of each one along the way -- keep for myself or the kids, give to his friends or family, or sell/donate. 


If I could have one more conversation with Chris, I would make sure he knew that we celebrated his 50th birthday this year in the best way we knew how and that celebrating my 40th birthday didn't feel like much of a celebration at all. I would tell him about the many inspiring women and men I have met in the widowed community who have helped keep me going during the tough times.


If I could have one more conversation with Chris, I would explain how for the first 365 days of this journey, I kept many things in my life just as they had been with him. I did things because I thought he would want me to do them.  And then I would tell him that during the second 365 days, I realized that what he would really want me to do would be whatever is best for our family. Even if it meant changes to our original plans or leaving the choir because of time constraints and my desire to share the experience of the Mass with our children.


And speaking of our children, if I could have one more conversation with Chris, I would tell him again and again and again that he gave me the best gift possible in life. I would share with him all the funny things that our little man, Ian, says and the all the ways our sweet, now two year old, Claire brightens my day.


And when I was done talking, I would wait for the sure sign that Chris approves of the ways the second 365 days have unfolded -- a simple nod of the head. And I would start planning for how the third 365 days will take shape. 


But for now, since I can't have that conversation with Chris, I will just say, "This is us without, you, Chris. We love and miss you."