After arriving home, smelling like suntan lotion and sand, Bob suddenly realized that he was supposed to be fasting for the surgery he had scheduled later that day. Knocking his head like a V8 commercial he casually chastised himself for the mistake of eating grapes down at the park.
“Are you sabotaging your recovery, Bob? What were you thinking?” I yelled at him while marching around the kitchen, flailing my arms wildly.
“I didn’t think about it. Willy just handed me some grapes. I took some grapes.” Bob explained, shrugging his shoulders, eyes innocent, head tilted to one side, arms out in an “oh well” kind of expression. He appeared bemused by my “overreaction”.
“Now what are we supposed to do?” I screeched, frantic. My own eyes shooting daggers across the counter. I could have sliced that tumor out myself.
It was the Friday before Memorial Day and now we had to wait over the entire holiday weekend because you can’t get these procedures done on weekends or holidays.
“Cancer doesn’t grow on the weekends,” as my sister Teri said.
Oh, how I wish that were true. At this point you could literally see the tumor get bigger by the day. It was horrifying. Once the biopsy finally was done we would have to wait again for the results and then wait again for the doctor to make her determination. Wait, wait, wait, I couldn’t wait.
“Just don’t tell them.” I suggested in a burst of desperation. “Just go, what are they going to do?”
It was just a couple of grapes, they are mostly water, I reasoned. I wanted Bob to get that offensive growth biopsied NOW.
I stood in the kitchen, defiant, arms crossed, listening to him on the phone with the nurse. He mentioned the grapes, he nodded his head wordlessly and then I heard the word Tuesday. Grabbing my purse off the counter, I turned on my heel and headed for the garage. The sound of the screen door slamming was not nearly enough to drown my screams.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Golden Years
Hey there-
The first year after Bob died was tough.
I guess that goes without saying, huh?!
Frequently, I felt overwhelmed with the needs of Arthur and Henry (1and 4). In the evenings after the boys were asleep I would vent to my sister, Kathy. During these phone conversations I was usually elbow deep in soap suds with the phone clutched between my cheek and shoulder, often I was whining about all the things I had to do before I could go to bed. The "to-do" list stretched in front of me like a vast dreary landscape.
"Just go to bed," she would tell me. "Get some sleep."
"I can't," I responded, incredulous at the mere idea. "It's not as if anyone is going to do this stuff for us while we sleep."
The thought of getting up in the morning to a kitchen full of dirty dishes, no clean sippy cups, lunches that still needed to be packed, and a full laundry basket was enough to keep me on task.
Waking up behind the eight ball, the "to-do" list from yesterday still before me, and the current day quickly racking up more tasks to add to that list, was enough to put me over the very precarious edge I hovered on. My sanity felt very thin, a full sink of dishes in the morning might be all it took for those last threads to unravel.
A little OCD is common when grieving. It is an attempt to find order and control when one has just been taught the biggest lesson of all; control is an illusion.
I perseverated on wanting my kids to be 4 and 7. For whatever reason 4 and 7 sounded really good to me, there would be more order somehow. They would both be dressing themselves and going to the bathroom on their own. There would be school and a chore list, Henry could surely take out the garbage for me when he was seven. What age can they mow the lawn and shovel, anyway?!
"Hang in there, Irene." Kathy repeated encouragingly, a hint of pity in her voice."You have some good years ahead with the kids, the grade school years, some really golden years. The boys will be more independent and not surly yet."
That first summer the three of us went to Door County for a few days to stay with a high school girlfriend at her family's lake "cottage". Door County is a beautiful peninsula about 3 hours north of Milwaukee that juts out into Lake Michigan.
We gals were busy with the organized chaos of nursing and making bottles, putting kids in high chairs to spoon feed mashed peas in their mouth, putting kids down for naps, trying to make sure they kept rocks out of their mouths and didn't disappear to the other side of the dunes. At night, exhausted, swinging on the porch swing and listening to the calming waves of lake Michigan I wished those golden years would hurry up.
Well, 4 and 7 are gone and the golden years are definitely in full swing!! The boys and I just spent an idyllic 3 days with my girlfriend and her family back at the "cottage". This time we gals read books in our beach chairs and swung in the hammock while the 2 youngest (5) played school and the older boys (7, 9 & 10) took sleds and shovels to the beach and were down there for hours, unattended and no intervention needed. Kayaking and sailing were on the agenda instead of petting zoos and disgustingly early McDonald's runs to keep your early bird from waking the rest of the house.
At night the happy, tired, sun kissed and sand laden children ate plates of noodles and tacos with their own hands while the adults ate on the porch with a lit candle as the sun set giving the clouds over the lake an orange hue.
Fully sugared up with s'mores the kids immediately fell asleep in sandy beds and slept late, waking up smelling of fire and coconut sunscreen and ready to do it all again. Not a surly one in the bunch!
Ah, the golden years," I thought to myself as I sat on the porch swing and watched the boys launch themselves over the dunes on a plastic sled they dragged from the garage. It is still organized chaos, but I seem to be able to find more calm within the storm these days.
I still can't go to bed without the kitchen cleaned and the house in some kind of order, an affect of intense grief, the lingering knowledge that we really control nothing but our reactions to a situation. But I will occasionally leave the laundry to fold for the next day, secure in the knowledge that it will get done eventually. (and sometimes by someone other then me)
A sign of improvement surely!
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
The first year after Bob died was tough.
I guess that goes without saying, huh?!
Frequently, I felt overwhelmed with the needs of Arthur and Henry (1and 4). In the evenings after the boys were asleep I would vent to my sister, Kathy. During these phone conversations I was usually elbow deep in soap suds with the phone clutched between my cheek and shoulder, often I was whining about all the things I had to do before I could go to bed. The "to-do" list stretched in front of me like a vast dreary landscape.
"Just go to bed," she would tell me. "Get some sleep."
"I can't," I responded, incredulous at the mere idea. "It's not as if anyone is going to do this stuff for us while we sleep."
The thought of getting up in the morning to a kitchen full of dirty dishes, no clean sippy cups, lunches that still needed to be packed, and a full laundry basket was enough to keep me on task.
Waking up behind the eight ball, the "to-do" list from yesterday still before me, and the current day quickly racking up more tasks to add to that list, was enough to put me over the very precarious edge I hovered on. My sanity felt very thin, a full sink of dishes in the morning might be all it took for those last threads to unravel.
A little OCD is common when grieving. It is an attempt to find order and control when one has just been taught the biggest lesson of all; control is an illusion.
I perseverated on wanting my kids to be 4 and 7. For whatever reason 4 and 7 sounded really good to me, there would be more order somehow. They would both be dressing themselves and going to the bathroom on their own. There would be school and a chore list, Henry could surely take out the garbage for me when he was seven. What age can they mow the lawn and shovel, anyway?!
"Hang in there, Irene." Kathy repeated encouragingly, a hint of pity in her voice."You have some good years ahead with the kids, the grade school years, some really golden years. The boys will be more independent and not surly yet."
That first summer the three of us went to Door County for a few days to stay with a high school girlfriend at her family's lake "cottage". Door County is a beautiful peninsula about 3 hours north of Milwaukee that juts out into Lake Michigan.
We gals were busy with the organized chaos of nursing and making bottles, putting kids in high chairs to spoon feed mashed peas in their mouth, putting kids down for naps, trying to make sure they kept rocks out of their mouths and didn't disappear to the other side of the dunes. At night, exhausted, swinging on the porch swing and listening to the calming waves of lake Michigan I wished those golden years would hurry up.
Well, 4 and 7 are gone and the golden years are definitely in full swing!! The boys and I just spent an idyllic 3 days with my girlfriend and her family back at the "cottage". This time we gals read books in our beach chairs and swung in the hammock while the 2 youngest (5) played school and the older boys (7, 9 & 10) took sleds and shovels to the beach and were down there for hours, unattended and no intervention needed. Kayaking and sailing were on the agenda instead of petting zoos and disgustingly early McDonald's runs to keep your early bird from waking the rest of the house.
At night the happy, tired, sun kissed and sand laden children ate plates of noodles and tacos with their own hands while the adults ate on the porch with a lit candle as the sun set giving the clouds over the lake an orange hue.
Fully sugared up with s'mores the kids immediately fell asleep in sandy beds and slept late, waking up smelling of fire and coconut sunscreen and ready to do it all again. Not a surly one in the bunch!
Ah, the golden years," I thought to myself as I sat on the porch swing and watched the boys launch themselves over the dunes on a plastic sled they dragged from the garage. It is still organized chaos, but I seem to be able to find more calm within the storm these days.
I still can't go to bed without the kitchen cleaned and the house in some kind of order, an affect of intense grief, the lingering knowledge that we really control nothing but our reactions to a situation. But I will occasionally leave the laundry to fold for the next day, secure in the knowledge that it will get done eventually. (and sometimes by someone other then me)
A sign of improvement surely!
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
Friday, July 24, 2009
Walk It Out Reminder
Hey there-
Walk It Out will be happening this Saturday July 25th at 9:30am starting at the Hart Park Senior Center.
I have lots to share about the conference I attended in San Diego.
Hope to see you all there.
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
Walk It Out will be happening this Saturday July 25th at 9:30am starting at the Hart Park Senior Center.
I have lots to share about the conference I attended in San Diego.
Hope to see you all there.
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Conference
Hey there-
I will be attending a conference on widowhood this weekend in San Diego.
Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation is having a conference and they are expecting 300 widow/ers to attend.
WOW!
There are a lot of us out there. Every widow/er changed in ways they could have never imagined.
I will be offering my lotion and oil blend of five different essential oils, all of them chosen for their powerful benefits for symptoms of grief. Essential oils helped me through the worst of my grieving and I am happy to share my knowledge and love of essential oils.
I would have never chosen this path of widowhood, and yet I find myself on it. I am proud to have embraced the opportunity and made the best of it.
I am looking forward to an inspiring weekend.
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
I will be attending a conference on widowhood this weekend in San Diego.
Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation is having a conference and they are expecting 300 widow/ers to attend.
WOW!
There are a lot of us out there. Every widow/er changed in ways they could have never imagined.
I will be offering my lotion and oil blend of five different essential oils, all of them chosen for their powerful benefits for symptoms of grief. Essential oils helped me through the worst of my grieving and I am happy to share my knowledge and love of essential oils.
I would have never chosen this path of widowhood, and yet I find myself on it. I am proud to have embraced the opportunity and made the best of it.
I am looking forward to an inspiring weekend.
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Fantastic
Hey there-
The boys and I were invited to a dinner party the other day.
It was a group of young widows who have been getting together for a couple of years for support and friendship.
"They are a group of women whose husbands have died," I explained to Henry and Arthur at breakfast. ".....like Daddy."
"They are all widows," Henry responded.
"Yes, they are all widows," I agreed.
"What do you call a husband whose wife died?"
"A widower," I told him.
Henry nodded silently and returned to his Cocoa Bumpers and comics. I returned to my Dear Abby and chai.
After a few minutes of contemplation Henry looked up from his bowl.
"What are we called, Arthur and me?"
Good question. We decided they couldn't be orphans because they still have me and don't have to live in an orphanage. (although sometimes they act like I make them eat gruel) But what are they? What is their label? How do they explain the situation in a word?
The three of us couldn't come up with anything. We went on about our day and I forgot about the conversation, but Henry didn't.
We drove to the party later that day with Arthur giving us his usual constant commentary. Henry suddenly piped up from the back seat.
"The Fantastic Fatherless, that's what we are."
I like that he put the word fantastic in the label. I could think of other words; strong, insightful, sensitive, wise.
Fantastic, I love it!
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
The boys and I were invited to a dinner party the other day.
It was a group of young widows who have been getting together for a couple of years for support and friendship.
"They are a group of women whose husbands have died," I explained to Henry and Arthur at breakfast. ".....like Daddy."
"They are all widows," Henry responded.
"Yes, they are all widows," I agreed.
"What do you call a husband whose wife died?"
"A widower," I told him.
Henry nodded silently and returned to his Cocoa Bumpers and comics. I returned to my Dear Abby and chai.
After a few minutes of contemplation Henry looked up from his bowl.
"What are we called, Arthur and me?"
Good question. We decided they couldn't be orphans because they still have me and don't have to live in an orphanage. (although sometimes they act like I make them eat gruel) But what are they? What is their label? How do they explain the situation in a word?
The three of us couldn't come up with anything. We went on about our day and I forgot about the conversation, but Henry didn't.
We drove to the party later that day with Arthur giving us his usual constant commentary. Henry suddenly piped up from the back seat.
"The Fantastic Fatherless, that's what we are."
I like that he put the word fantastic in the label. I could think of other words; strong, insightful, sensitive, wise.
Fantastic, I love it!
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Finality
Hey there-
Mike's dad died on Thursday, June 25th.
Arthur was playing in the front yard with a tennis ball and a baseball glove when I told him that I had to go to the hospital because Mike's dad was going to die.
He looked up at me with those sensitive blue eyes of his, eyebrows crinkled, and I thought he might cry.
"Mike's dad is going to die?" he asked.
"Yes," I responded simply, trying to meet his open gaze.
"....My dad died too. .......That is sad," he said wistfully, as if he were harking back to the days of yore when his own dad died. "Mike will need a hug when he gets home."
Then he promptly went back to his tennis ball and continued with whatever game he had invented that day.
Mike's dad would have been 80 in December, Arthur's dad died 4 days before his 40th birthday. Mike is 46, Arthur was 5 months. Two completely different situations but a common bond all the same, losing a father.
I was recently invited to a dinner for a group of widows here in my neighborhood. This group has been meeting for a couple of years and I am honored to be included. I was telling a friend (non-widow) about the group and how excited I was to be asked, especially since I am not officially a widow anymore.
She thought that being a widow was something like being a veteran, we may not be fighting the same war any longer, but we still have a common bond, just like Arthur and Mike.
All loss is different and nobody grieves the same way, but there are similarities. Anyone who lives long enough will be a veteran of the grieving war. No matter who you lose or when it happens there is a common thread, the finality of death.
I think Arthur said it best.........it is sad, and everyone should get a hug.
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
Mike's dad died on Thursday, June 25th.
Arthur was playing in the front yard with a tennis ball and a baseball glove when I told him that I had to go to the hospital because Mike's dad was going to die.
He looked up at me with those sensitive blue eyes of his, eyebrows crinkled, and I thought he might cry.
"Mike's dad is going to die?" he asked.
"Yes," I responded simply, trying to meet his open gaze.
"....My dad died too. .......That is sad," he said wistfully, as if he were harking back to the days of yore when his own dad died. "Mike will need a hug when he gets home."
Then he promptly went back to his tennis ball and continued with whatever game he had invented that day.
Mike's dad would have been 80 in December, Arthur's dad died 4 days before his 40th birthday. Mike is 46, Arthur was 5 months. Two completely different situations but a common bond all the same, losing a father.
I was recently invited to a dinner for a group of widows here in my neighborhood. This group has been meeting for a couple of years and I am honored to be included. I was telling a friend (non-widow) about the group and how excited I was to be asked, especially since I am not officially a widow anymore.
She thought that being a widow was something like being a veteran, we may not be fighting the same war any longer, but we still have a common bond, just like Arthur and Mike.
All loss is different and nobody grieves the same way, but there are similarities. Anyone who lives long enough will be a veteran of the grieving war. No matter who you lose or when it happens there is a common thread, the finality of death.
I think Arthur said it best.........it is sad, and everyone should get a hug.
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Walk It Out Reminder
Hey there walkers!
A reminder that Walk It Out is happening this Saturday June 27th at 9:30am.
I look forward to seeing you all at the Hart Park Senior Center parking lot.
Should be a nice day! Yea!
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
A reminder that Walk It Out is happening this Saturday June 27th at 9:30am.
I look forward to seeing you all at the Hart Park Senior Center parking lot.
Should be a nice day! Yea!
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
The Hawk
Hey there-
I saw Bob the other day.
No, that is not a typo, I saw Bob.
Our neighbor started a mountain bike club with a group of kids from our block. The first night the Woodchuckers were to meet I was lingering in the front yard chatting with the gals when Henry slowly rolled down the driveway and appeared from behind the neighbors SUV. He had on his new blue helmet, a pair of riding gloves and was riding a borrowed bike with gears.
And there, for just an instant, was Bob. Perched high and proud on his bike and decked out in his riding garb, a gentle smile on his lips. My heart jumped to my throat.
And then Henry was back, trying, for all the world, to look like he didn’t think he was cool.
Stunned into silence by my vision I eventually spit out; “I wish your dad could see you right now.”
Trying to regain my composure I watched as the group rode down the sidewalk and turned towards the park. They all looked a bit blurry from the tears brimming in my eyes.
It was then I heard my neighbor tell her young son to look up, look up above the trees. There was a hawk slowly gliding in a big lazy circle above our street.
“I knew it was you,” I thought to myself as I squinted at the lone bird. “Good, so you do get to see Henry tonight.”
Many of you may know that I believe Bob visits me as a hawk. Bob loved hawks and always pointed them out to me when he spotted one. Soon after he died I started spotting hawks myself. They would appear just when I needed to talk to Bob about something or was hoping for an answer to a question, or needed a little extra help to get through a particularly difficult moment.
These sightings always leave me with a feeling of calm and confidence, the same kind of grounded feeling that Bob provided me when he was walking beside me here on earth.
Bob can’t stand beside me anymore, we can no longer lean against each other and stare in awe and wonder at the beautiful boy we created, marveling at him all geared up for his first mountain bike outing. But he still offers me support and comfort, silently gliding above us, wings outstretched.
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
I saw Bob the other day.
No, that is not a typo, I saw Bob.
Our neighbor started a mountain bike club with a group of kids from our block. The first night the Woodchuckers were to meet I was lingering in the front yard chatting with the gals when Henry slowly rolled down the driveway and appeared from behind the neighbors SUV. He had on his new blue helmet, a pair of riding gloves and was riding a borrowed bike with gears.
And there, for just an instant, was Bob. Perched high and proud on his bike and decked out in his riding garb, a gentle smile on his lips. My heart jumped to my throat.
And then Henry was back, trying, for all the world, to look like he didn’t think he was cool.
Stunned into silence by my vision I eventually spit out; “I wish your dad could see you right now.”
Trying to regain my composure I watched as the group rode down the sidewalk and turned towards the park. They all looked a bit blurry from the tears brimming in my eyes.
It was then I heard my neighbor tell her young son to look up, look up above the trees. There was a hawk slowly gliding in a big lazy circle above our street.
“I knew it was you,” I thought to myself as I squinted at the lone bird. “Good, so you do get to see Henry tonight.”
Many of you may know that I believe Bob visits me as a hawk. Bob loved hawks and always pointed them out to me when he spotted one. Soon after he died I started spotting hawks myself. They would appear just when I needed to talk to Bob about something or was hoping for an answer to a question, or needed a little extra help to get through a particularly difficult moment.
These sightings always leave me with a feeling of calm and confidence, the same kind of grounded feeling that Bob provided me when he was walking beside me here on earth.
Bob can’t stand beside me anymore, we can no longer lean against each other and stare in awe and wonder at the beautiful boy we created, marveling at him all geared up for his first mountain bike outing. But he still offers me support and comfort, silently gliding above us, wings outstretched.
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Shuddering
Things were not going according to plan. The stem cell transplant was the new plan, and it wasn’t the first revision to the original plan. We were only four months into this cancer thing and I was exhausted already.
We had about three, maybe six, good weeks following his initial diagnosis on March 21, 2003. All the tumors went away. Bob was pain free and his energy was better than it had been in months. He had a little spring in his step again, nothing short of miraculous.
“I feel like we have gotten off easy,” Bob said one night as we were turning out the lights.
“Shhhhh, don’t say that, you will tempt the fates,” I replied quickly, shuddering as I felt the secret whisper to me again.
“Not so quickly,” it said chillingly.
We had about three, maybe six, good weeks following his initial diagnosis on March 21, 2003. All the tumors went away. Bob was pain free and his energy was better than it had been in months. He had a little spring in his step again, nothing short of miraculous.
“I feel like we have gotten off easy,” Bob said one night as we were turning out the lights.
“Shhhhh, don’t say that, you will tempt the fates,” I replied quickly, shuddering as I felt the secret whisper to me again.
“Not so quickly,” it said chillingly.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Clarity
Hey there-
I was so annoyed yesterday I thought I might spontaneously combust right in my car while I was driving Henry to his soccer game.
It all started when I was summoned out of bed by my five year old, Arthur, yelling “Mom!” repeatedly from his bedroom. By his calls I imagined something involving either blood or vomit but what I found was his brother Henry “annoying him” by staring at him over the boards of his bunk bed.
Apparently Henry had been thrown off when he went out to have his breakfast cereal and found someone he didn’t know sitting in HIS seat at the dining room table (step-sister, Aubrey, had a friend spend the night) and his solution to this was to wake Arthur up and proceed to stare at him. According to Henry it is more embarrassing to introduce himself to the “stranger” and ask her name than to cause a scene by annoying everyone in the house at 7:30 on a Sunday morning.
The day quickly deteriorated from there when I had a cold shower due to the fact that I had to switch a load of laundry which put me in line for the shower behind my step daughter, Natalie, who takes the longest showers known to man.
After my extremely brief shower, where I only performed the bare minimum in hygiene maintenance, I began to pack for a two day business trip when Henry appeared at my bedroom grief stricken.
“Mom, I’ve got my cleats and my shin guards and my water bottle and my ball but I bet you didn’t clean my soccer uniform from yesterday, did you? I don’t want to wear the same one from yesterday, that’s gross,” he announced mortified and dejected at the same time.
“Excuse me?” I retorted. “Excuse me!?!?!? Of course I took the time to wash your soccer uniform last night after we got back from your Aunt Jane’s birthday party, thank you very much. And I had a cold shower this morning just so it would be dry!”
What kind of eight year old boy cares about wearing a dirty soccer uniform anyway?
After all this I was quite proud of myself that we were actually getting in the car early enough to drop Natalie off at her friend’s house before the game , AND stop at the library to return the movies that were due the next day, when I discovered I was missing something……..Arthur.
Where the hell was Arthur?
Henry and Sam thought maybe in the ravine behind our house. Nope. Our neighbor thought maybe he and his son were together in the ravine down the block. Nope. Maybe the basement? Nope. Maybe the new neighbor’s yard? (after all they do have Battter, Batter Baseball) Nope.
The two hooligans were finally located, after much yelling up and down the block, in the backyard of another neighbor, who weren’t even home at the time.
Evidently when Arthur is told we are leaving in five minutes he takes that to mean it is time to go play in the neighbors sand box.
“Well, I didn’t know how long five minutes was, Mom, sometimes it can seem pretty long,” he told me, completely unfazed by the now apoplectic brother and mother who are crazy people when it comes to being prompt.
From now on I will be more specific with my instructions when I give the five minute warning.
“Don’t leave this property!” should suffice.
We were on track to be only a few minutes late until I missed the street for Natalie’s friend’s house due to construction. It appears that when there is construction in this town they remove any and all identifying street signs and just make people guess where they are amidst the rubble, orange cones and yellow construction tape.
After realizing I had gone too far I totally freaked Henry out by pulling a U-turn.
“Mom, why did you just turn around in the middle of the street?” (It was completely legal I assure you)
At this point I was taking deep breaths and doing self talk, trying to remind myself this is just a soccer game after all, it isn’t as if I was going to be late for brain surgery. My finger drumming on the steering wheel gave away my attempt at a calm demeanor.
I slowed down the car in the middle of the construction site to let Natalie jump out of the car and pulled another U-turn (again, perfectly legal) to high tail it back to the soccer field.
At this point Henry was lecturing Arthur about the importance of being timely and if he would just listen when mom said it was time to go then mom wouldn’t have to be driving illegally and probably get arrested.
“Do you want Mom to be arrested, Arthur?” (I am telling you those U-turns were SO legal!)
We made it to the soccer game just as the game was starting. (they lost horribly, probably because their "star" goalie was all discombobulated by the late arrival)
We got back home and I got on the road, where I had four hours in a car by myself to think about all the antics of the day. (never a good thing)
Driving by some rocky cliffs surrounded by bushy green trees I was reminded of living in Oregon and Bob and I driving through the Columbia River Gorge for the first time. I had a pang of longing for those early years when Bob and I had all that freedom and adventure, our calender was not set to soccer games and other peoples social lives.
On occasion, I even miss the days when Bob was dying and the days and months after he died.
I miss the clarity that grief affords you, your priorities are so clear; there is no time for petty grievances when you are dealing with the biggest grievance of them all.
Annoying siblings, cold showers, dirty soccer uniforms, running late?
Who cares? My husband just died.
Soon after Bob died I began what I called a success journal. Every night after the boys were asleep I sat down and wrote a list of all the events I considered a success that day. The first few entries were rather slim, consisting of the bare minimum of existence, the boys were alive and safe in their beds and I had fed them.
We are all so busy, rushing off to somewhere to accomplish something.
What does it all boil down to at the end of the day?
Are we fed and safe in our beds? The rest is just gravy.
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
I was so annoyed yesterday I thought I might spontaneously combust right in my car while I was driving Henry to his soccer game.
It all started when I was summoned out of bed by my five year old, Arthur, yelling “Mom!” repeatedly from his bedroom. By his calls I imagined something involving either blood or vomit but what I found was his brother Henry “annoying him” by staring at him over the boards of his bunk bed.
Apparently Henry had been thrown off when he went out to have his breakfast cereal and found someone he didn’t know sitting in HIS seat at the dining room table (step-sister, Aubrey, had a friend spend the night) and his solution to this was to wake Arthur up and proceed to stare at him. According to Henry it is more embarrassing to introduce himself to the “stranger” and ask her name than to cause a scene by annoying everyone in the house at 7:30 on a Sunday morning.
The day quickly deteriorated from there when I had a cold shower due to the fact that I had to switch a load of laundry which put me in line for the shower behind my step daughter, Natalie, who takes the longest showers known to man.
After my extremely brief shower, where I only performed the bare minimum in hygiene maintenance, I began to pack for a two day business trip when Henry appeared at my bedroom grief stricken.
“Mom, I’ve got my cleats and my shin guards and my water bottle and my ball but I bet you didn’t clean my soccer uniform from yesterday, did you? I don’t want to wear the same one from yesterday, that’s gross,” he announced mortified and dejected at the same time.
“Excuse me?” I retorted. “Excuse me!?!?!? Of course I took the time to wash your soccer uniform last night after we got back from your Aunt Jane’s birthday party, thank you very much. And I had a cold shower this morning just so it would be dry!”
What kind of eight year old boy cares about wearing a dirty soccer uniform anyway?
After all this I was quite proud of myself that we were actually getting in the car early enough to drop Natalie off at her friend’s house before the game , AND stop at the library to return the movies that were due the next day, when I discovered I was missing something……..Arthur.
Where the hell was Arthur?
Henry and Sam thought maybe in the ravine behind our house. Nope. Our neighbor thought maybe he and his son were together in the ravine down the block. Nope. Maybe the basement? Nope. Maybe the new neighbor’s yard? (after all they do have Battter, Batter Baseball) Nope.
The two hooligans were finally located, after much yelling up and down the block, in the backyard of another neighbor, who weren’t even home at the time.
Evidently when Arthur is told we are leaving in five minutes he takes that to mean it is time to go play in the neighbors sand box.
“Well, I didn’t know how long five minutes was, Mom, sometimes it can seem pretty long,” he told me, completely unfazed by the now apoplectic brother and mother who are crazy people when it comes to being prompt.
From now on I will be more specific with my instructions when I give the five minute warning.
“Don’t leave this property!” should suffice.
We were on track to be only a few minutes late until I missed the street for Natalie’s friend’s house due to construction. It appears that when there is construction in this town they remove any and all identifying street signs and just make people guess where they are amidst the rubble, orange cones and yellow construction tape.
After realizing I had gone too far I totally freaked Henry out by pulling a U-turn.
“Mom, why did you just turn around in the middle of the street?” (It was completely legal I assure you)
At this point I was taking deep breaths and doing self talk, trying to remind myself this is just a soccer game after all, it isn’t as if I was going to be late for brain surgery. My finger drumming on the steering wheel gave away my attempt at a calm demeanor.
I slowed down the car in the middle of the construction site to let Natalie jump out of the car and pulled another U-turn (again, perfectly legal) to high tail it back to the soccer field.
At this point Henry was lecturing Arthur about the importance of being timely and if he would just listen when mom said it was time to go then mom wouldn’t have to be driving illegally and probably get arrested.
“Do you want Mom to be arrested, Arthur?” (I am telling you those U-turns were SO legal!)
We made it to the soccer game just as the game was starting. (they lost horribly, probably because their "star" goalie was all discombobulated by the late arrival)
We got back home and I got on the road, where I had four hours in a car by myself to think about all the antics of the day. (never a good thing)
Driving by some rocky cliffs surrounded by bushy green trees I was reminded of living in Oregon and Bob and I driving through the Columbia River Gorge for the first time. I had a pang of longing for those early years when Bob and I had all that freedom and adventure, our calender was not set to soccer games and other peoples social lives.
On occasion, I even miss the days when Bob was dying and the days and months after he died.
I miss the clarity that grief affords you, your priorities are so clear; there is no time for petty grievances when you are dealing with the biggest grievance of them all.
Annoying siblings, cold showers, dirty soccer uniforms, running late?
Who cares? My husband just died.
Soon after Bob died I began what I called a success journal. Every night after the boys were asleep I sat down and wrote a list of all the events I considered a success that day. The first few entries were rather slim, consisting of the bare minimum of existence, the boys were alive and safe in their beds and I had fed them.
We are all so busy, rushing off to somewhere to accomplish something.
What does it all boil down to at the end of the day?
Are we fed and safe in our beds? The rest is just gravy.
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
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