Choices

Hey there-

I was driving Arthur to his guitar lesson recently.

We got into one of those random conversations that happen in a car with a seven year old. Somehow it came up that I had only wanted to have one child and that after a while his dad and I had changed our minds and how lucky we were to have changed our minds because,"what would we do without you, Arthur?"

"Yea," he said enthusiastically from the backseat, "and I wouldn't have been able to go to San Antonio, or Yellowstone, or New York, or Florida......."

(I found it interesting that the trips we have taken were first on his mind of what he would have missed.)

In my usual fashion of giving too much information I tried explaining my belief that if he had not been born to Bob and I then his spirit would have gone to another family and maybe they would have gone on even better trips.

At this point we had arrived at our destination and were walking across the street towards the guitar shop. He looked up at me wide eyed after I said this and adjusted the guitar on his shoulder.

"Well, I would have had to run away from that family and find YOU mom," he said shaking his head and looking back down at the street.

A few days later I was washing dishes when Arthur started asking me some specifics about the time frame of Bob's death. He wanted to know how old he was when Bob died and the like. I didn't think much about it initially because this is not an unusual line of questioning around our house. But then he surprised me-

"Well, it's a good thing I wasn't born to that other family because you really needed me."

That statement made me pause.

I thought back to being early in my pregnancy with Arthur and the knife in the belly fear I felt when Bob was first diagnosed. I remembered Arthur being a newborn and Bob dying and the hazy exhaustion that consumed me. I remembered the many times I thought that I didn't need Arthur. As a matter of fact, I often thought about how much easier life would be without an infant to care for.

And then I thought about my friend's belief that children choose their parents. And my sister's belief that children come into the world knowing what their parents need from them.

I don't know why Bob and I changed our minds about a second child when we did.

I don't know why Arthur would have chosen to come into the situation he did.

But I'm glad we did and I'm glad he did.

Because one thing I do know is that Arthur was right, I did need him.

Thanks for checking in-

 Irene

Beautiful Dreamer

Hey there-

I was busted last night.

Both boys (7 & 11) had teeth pulled yesterday. Or should I say they had teeth wiggled out yesterday. Apparently that is what the dentist likes to say so she doesn't have kids bolting from the room after they hear words like extracted or yanked. Both of my boys are very stoic in these situations and they came out of the room with slight smirks on their faces and bloody gauze hanging out of their mouths.

The dentist had told them they deserved something special from the tooth fairy after being so brave so they both left notes for the tooth fairy so she knew these teeth were pulled and didn't just fall out. I dutifully snuck into their room later to exchange the teeth for the loot. (I give $1 per tooth.....OK I splurged and gave them each $2 after the nice dentist practically forced me to....) I had trouble finding Arthur's and had to dig around a bit before locating the baggie with his note neatly taped to it; "This was pulled" was all it said. After securing the money and the note I (the tooth fairy, sorry) wrote for him; "Good work" under his pillow I moved on to Henry's tooth.

I crept to his bed and stretched my arm up to reach my hand gently under his pillow and..........his little head popped up with a huge smile on his face.

"The dentist told me I was too old to believe in the tooth fairy," he said.

This coming from a guy who, when he was 5, told me he didn't believe in the Easter bunny.

"Why would a bunny leave eggs for people? That just doesn't make any sense."

You're right, Henry, it doesn't make any sense.

I went upstairs to share the story with Mike who was absorbed in the extra inning of the Brewer's game (Go Brewer's!) and could not have cared less at that moment about me being busted as the tooth fairy.

So I went into the bedroom and started crying. Why, you may ask. I think it has a little something to do with today being Bob and my 15th wedding anniversary and a little something to do with the sainted dead spouse syndrome. Of course, if Bob were here he would have stopped whatever he was doing and given me his undivided attention and laughed appropriately and sentimentally at my tooth fairy story. Better yet, if Bob were here, he would have crept around the room with me and seen Henry's head bob up for himself and we could have laughed together later.

I am sure that is what would have happened. If Bob were here he would celebrate every silly milestone involving our boys with me in exactly the way I would want him to.

It all would be perfect, if Bob were here.

HA, beautiful dreamer.

Well, if Bob were here, we would have celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary today. Instead, I am packing for a trip to San Diego where Mike and I will speak about the challenges and joys of marriage after widowhood. We talk about the sainted dead spouse syndrome and the anniversary dates that can be tough for both of us. I bet the tooth fairy story will be brought up this year. I bet we laugh about it.

Nothing is perfect, except maybe the weather today which is the exact same weather we had 15 years ago.

Happy Anniversary, Bob. I miss you! Love, Renie

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Invincible

Hey there-

Can grief be sexy?

Let me explain. The other day I attended a fundraiser for the FaceIt Foundation (www.faceitFoundation.org). My friend, Mark, founded this organization to help raise awareness and provide support for male depression. He has been riding his bike from California to New York this summer to raise funds and awareness for this worthy cause.

The event was lovely, but could have had a better turn out.

I feel the same way about Camp Widow (www.sslf.org) where Mike and I will speak next week on the joys and challenges of remarriage after widowhood. I also feel the same way about the Life Lights Celebration, an annual event that benefits the Horizon Grief Resource Center. (www.horizonhch.org) Mike and I serve on the planning committee for this last event.

Mark (FaceIt Foundation) and I have discussed the difficulties of garnering support for our passions: depression and grief.

"They aren't very sexy topics," Mark said, with a laugh and a shrug.

I think grief is sexy. What is not sexy about crying and screaming and possible throwing of items? You can't tell me heartbreak is not sexy. Funerals?, now there is some sexy stuff; people dressed in dark outfits, milling about and talking in hushed tones, that is sexy. And what about grief support groups?, the Kleenex, more crying, the great chairs you get to sit in, sexy. The thank you notes, the flowers, the head tilt of empathy, the paperwork, the holidays, the anniversaries, the hard (like climbing a mountain of sand) work involved with moving forward, all of it very, very sexy.

For real, though, I think grief can be sexy.

The way child birth is sexy. It's messy and there can be screaming and crying and maybe drugs and you have no idea when it will end. There can be a point (or two or three or 18) when you might think you don't want to go on, or you can't go on, but you have no choice at that moment.

You have no choice.

You know that feeling that you get at the top of the mountain or after you run a marathon (I hear) or after a fantastic bike ride or after you clean your entire house and it smells like lemon or when all the laundry is done and everything is folded in neat piles or after a successful presentation you were really nervous about or when you finally birth that baby. You know that tired, satisfied, glowing feeling you get after a hard job well done, when it feels so good to be in your skin and you are so proud of your accomplishment. It may be a feat you didn't expect to complete, or didn't necessarily even want to, but you did and you have to smile despite yourself because you feel just a little invincible.

Surviving grief can make you feel like that.

Invincible!

Don't give up on your grieving before you get to the glowing, satisfied, sexy, feeling good in your skin, invincible part.

Getting your glow back.........that is sexy!!!

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Newsflash

Hey there-

To me Henry (11) is all Wellenstein and Arthur (7) is the McGoldrick. People say they look exactly alike but I know differently.

Henry looks just like his dad, has a lot of the same interests, and has the reserved observant nature of his father.

Arthur looks like my brother and is more lighthearted and social. The way he greets people and handles himself in a crowd reminds me of my dad.

I have often thought the two would make a good political team. Henry would be the speech writer and Arthur would be the one shaking people's hands. (not that I would wish a political career on either of them mind you)

Henry obviously had more time with his dad, and Bob took advantage of the time to introduce Henry to many of his passions, some of which included cooking, camping, science and bike riding. After Bob died I desperately wanted to keep these interests close to Henry's heart. But as any parent, widowed or not, has to realize, the child will have their own interests and you can't force yours onto them.

But, I will admit, that I continue to look for these "Bob Wellenstein" traits in Henry. It still makes me smile when Henry wants to make Bob's famous pancakes or when he excels in science at school. So it took me by surprise when Arthur began expressing interest in the kitchen.

"Mom, what can I do to help with dinner?"

Wait a minute.......I've been spending so much time looking for the Wellenstein in Henry that I may be missing it in Arthur. He's not ALL McGoldrick, clearly. Neither is Henry ALL Wellenstein.

As a matter of fact, a friend recently made a comment about Arthur's social nature; "I wonder where he gets that from?" She then motioned her head towards Mike. Does this mean they are part Hogan as well?

Newsflash......both of them are their own person.

I know we all want to see bits of ourselves in our children. With Bob being dead I have searched for these bits even closer. Am I hoping to keep him alive through the boys? Am I wanting to prove that Bob was, indeed, alive, and not just a figment of my imagination?

I don't know.

What I do know is that we are all bits and pieces of everyone who has influenced us in our lives, alive and dead.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

More Acceptance

Hey there,

Arthur (7) and I were walking to our friend's house down the block when he asked me about the presenting I do about Grief and Loss. He was curious what kind of questions people ask me after I am done with the talk. I told him most people are curious about my marriage to Mike and how I decided I was ready to date again and how my children (he and Henry) accepted Mike in their lives.

"How DID we accept Mike?" he asked, squinting up at me in the sunlight.

"Well, you two were so young when you met Mike (2 & 5) that I don't think you thought one way or the other about it, it just was," I told him.

"And then when we got older we thought......Mike, OK, we accept you!"

He looked up the hill for any cars, smiled at me, grabbed my hand and started to cross the street.

Yup Arthur, that is how it happened.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Humor

Hey there-

The other day I spoke at a Death & Dying class at the local university. I have been doing this every semester for a few years now. I come in after the class, full of social work, counseling and nursing students, discusses the topic of grieving. I tell them my personal grief story. My story usually ends up being a bit of a free association, rambling kind of routine, and there is a lot of laughter.

I am not sure if the laughter shocks any of the students. I certainly hope it does not offend any of them. I don't want to seem too irreverent. (not too anyway)

I know grief isn't funny, grief is hard work.

I tell them that too.

For the presentation, in an attempt to keep myself somewhat focused, I try to tell stories that are examples of my favorite list of characteristics required for successful grieving.

Courage, Resilience, Perseverance, Patience, and a Sense of Humor. (found in the book, The Courage to Grieve).

My stories relating to these characteristics are meant to be examples of a person doing her best to move forward and figure out how to best put the pieces of her life back in some kind of order after it was shattered. They involve some yelling at innocent parties and some wise realizations from wide eyed children and some feelings of failure and some feelings of accomplishment and some tears and lots of laughter.

When your 4 year old approaches you at an airport inquiring about the "green square thing at the bottom of the urinal", or you finally realize, after months of doing it, that the family cannot live on instant oatmeal alone, or you cry in joy over a little thing like a state park sticker, or you find yourself in a conversation with a hawk and it seems like a perfectly rational thing to do, one must laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.

Grief is hard work and it is sad and it is ridiculous at times and you find yourself in outrageous situations and it helps to see the humor in it all.

As a good friend of mine says; Sometimes you gotta laugh.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

My Tree

Hey there-

Father's Day, 2011.

Mike wanted to go on a bike ride before we grilled some fish on his new grill for dinner. I should say before HE grilled fish on his new grill for dinner. I thought a bike ride, in between the rain drops, sounded like a fabulous idea.

I watched him take off down our street, concentrating on clipping in his biking shoe to the pedal of the slick Trek mountain bike he rides.

It was Bob's bike.

They are Mike's shoes, apparently Mike has smaller feet than Bob.

I started laughing, belly laughing.

One of my favorite funny memories of Bob is the first time we went out on our bikes after he got those clip on bike shoes and so lovingly replaced the pedals. We were riding through SE Portland on our way to Ben and Jerry's for a little sweet treat. If you have never been to SE Portland you won't know how congested the narrow neighborhood streets can get with parked cars and how many bicyclist can be cruising these narrow and uncontrolled intersections. Portland is a bicycling city.

Well, a bicyclist came from the perpendicular street and we had to stop short. Bob, unfamiliar with his clip on shoes was unable to remove his foot from the pedal and tipped right over. It was in slow motion. He just fell slowly over, his feet trapped on the bike, helpless to stop himself.

I laughed so hard seeing this normally coordinated, sporty guy topple over, still trying to extricate his foot from his pedal.

Nice, huh? I'm so loving. It was just so hilarious. And he wasn't hurt or anything.

It's interesting how life stacks together all of it's parts on top of each other into one big whole. Like the circles of a tree that show it's age. The years stack on top of each other, wrap around and on top of the years before, some are wider than others and some have little bumps, each have their own story, each is an important part of the whole tree.

My live husband can unwittingly and unknowingly bring up a memory of my dead husband and I can laugh over a memory of Bob while making a memory of Mike.

This is my tree.

I love my tree.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Beautiful Dreamer

Hey there-

The other morning Henry came out of his bedroom and went to the cupboard in the kitchen looking for breakfast. His shoulders were bent forward and his head was hanging a bit and he didn't answer his usual "Good" when I asked him how he slept.

"What's wrong?" I asked him.

"I had a dream about Dad," he told me. Then he started sobbing, big shoulder shaking sobs.

Upon questioning he couldn't remember much of the dream.

"But I remember the emotion," he cried.

I attempted to comfort Henry by telling him my belief is that when you dream about the person who is dead it is the person visiting you, checking in, saying hi. So dreaming about Dad should be a happy thing. As I explained this theory to Henry I omitted the part that I never dream about Bob, never.

Last week Mike came downstairs one morning and told me he had a dream about Bob the night before.

Going with my theory, that is a little weird.

He said that Bob and I were together talking about the boys summer haircuts that Mike had given them and how much he liked them. Bob didn't say anything to Mike in the dream, no thanking him for helping to raise his boys or any encouraging words. Apparently Bob and I simply hung out on the back porch and watched the boys and their short hair run around for a while.

Rude. I thought to myself, but maybe I'm just bitter that Bob seems to be visiting everyone else in their dreams but me.

"He seemed very happy with the hair cuts, I think the fact that he's happy with what we're doing was implied," Mike said.

Very generous of Mike I think.

Well, if Bob visits anyone else out there in their dreams be sure and send him my way. I wouldn't mind if he came by and said HI.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

A House of Cards

Hey there,

Henry (10) had his first "health" class in school last week.

He came home chock full of information about adolescence.

"Mom," he asked me, slurping up his ramen noodles with a fork, "when did you start adolescence?"

"Excuse me?" I stalled, just exactly what was he looking for?

"What about Dad, when did he start adolescence."

Now there is a question I never thought to ask Bob before he died.

Henry went on to explain that when he was in adolescence he might be happy one minute and angry the next, his friends would be more important to him than his family (what!?!?), his motivation could be lacking, and he might have trouble focusing.

Hmmmmmmm........I think I am in adolescence NOW........

"When I learned about this stuff in school my teacher called it puberty, only he pronounced it pooooberty," I told him, still stalling a little, not sure why.

I have no idea what made me tell a 10 year old boy a story involving poo since five minutes later I saw him dancing in the dining room building a house of cards singing "pooooberty.....pooooooooberty".

Today the boys and Mike were leaving to go camping. I told my boys to be helpful.

"Mike has three healthy young men with him and he better not do all the work himself. Be focused," I encouraged pumping my arms in the air.

"OK, Mom," Henry said, eyes trained on his house of cards, "unless I enter pooooberty, and then I might not be very motivated or focused."

Damn school.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Dead End

Hey there-

What is the statute of limitations on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)?

I have been having some health issues lately that have required Dr's. visits and tests and scary possibilities and waiting for results.

Last week I sat in the Dr's. office and listened while the very nice doctor lady told me she was sure everything was fine.

"No worries," she told me. "I just want to be thorough, I am sure we are leading to a dead end. You look healthy and your lung capacity is better than mine, I am sure you are fine."

This very nice, very thorough, youngish, kind of spunky lady had no idea why I sat in front of her with tears streaming down my face.

"That's what the very nice doctors told my husband too, and now he's dead," I told her.

"Oh dear, how long ago did your husband die?" she asked, with the familiar head tilt.

"Seven years."

SO NOT THE POINT!!!

I know she was expecting me to say six months or possibly last week by the way I was reacting. I know it seems crazy to be sitting in an office seven years after your husband died, remarried, and by most accounts happy and mostly sane, and be freaking out about a non-life threatening diagnosis and some test results for a possibility that will "most likely lead to a dead end".

I know this logically.

But apparently my body has not caught up with my mind on this one. Apparently, I am unable to sit calmly in a Dr's. office and listen to a very nice lady tell me that she is sure I am fine while she busily orders complicated tests to rule out scary sounding possibilities. Apparently I did not learn the first time not to ask too may questions and to NEVER EVER Google the scary possibility that your very nice Dr. is sure you don't have but insists on testing you for anyway, just to be thorough.

Apparently, I have a little PTSD.

Yes, seven years later.

Oh my.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene