Widow Crap

Hey there,

So many people don't understand.

They don't understand why Mike wants to put up with all of this "widow crap". Why would he want to speak on this topic? Why would either of us? Don't we want to leave it behind? Move on? When will we be done with this already?!?! Why would we even attend Camp Widow, can't we think of better ways to spend time in San Diego with no children?

The summation is that people just don't understand, people who have not lived through the untimely death of a spouse that is.

Following are a few excerpts from comments we received from widowed folks who attended our workshop entitled "Plan B; Remarriage after Widowhood"

"You send an incredible message of hope and that's what this is all about."

"I especially appreciate the openness and candor you and Mike have! Sometimes I felt like I was laughing a little too loudly!"

"The relationship that you and Mike have gives me hope that my Plan B is out there too. :) You are both such an inspiration to me!"

And that is why we do this. If we can give just one person hope that there is happiness and contentment and humor out there after such an incredible loss it is worth it.

After Bob died I remember people saying to me; "You are living my worst nightmare". Well, I was living mine too, thank you very much. But Mike and I "put up with all of this widow crap" because we want folks to know that after you wake from the nightmare, dreams still can come true.

And besides, widows rock! Just ask Mike!

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Regret

Hey there,

I have been a bit of an emotional wreck the last few weeks. Mike will certainly back me up on this statement.

Not sure what it is about.

Could be the final steps of the book publishing have not been going smoothly and I am being constantly reminded of my ineptness when it comes to all things technological.

Could be Henry's birthday on the 23rd and Bob and my wedding anniversary coming up on the 10th (would have been #14). These milestones can still throw me into a bit of a grieving relapse, momentarily throwing me back to square one. Thank goodness that after six years square one doesn't last too long.

Could be the presentation that Mike and I are doing next week in San Diego. Putting together a power point on the unique struggles of remarriage post widowhood has my mind going in all different directions. Plus, as noted before, technology and I are not exactly friends. (do you think the group would be OK with a facilitated discussion? Maybe there will be lots of questions....)

Could be the summer and all the kids being home and the level of chaos in the house not being very conducive to any focused work getting done. Not to mention they keep needing to eat and have clean clothes and get to track meets......

Could be the angst that has been involved in planning our "family" trip this summer to Yellowstone and the Tetons. The teenage girls don't seem to find it the trip of their dreams as we and the boys do and are opting out this year.

Could be the recent email and Facebook postings from two close friends of Bob and mine from our Portland days. One family shared pictures of their trip to the Galapagos Islands and the other family is on practically the exact same vacation we are taking next month only all their children are with them and seemingly having a grand time.

Considering my emotional response to the last "could be" I am thinking this might be the straw that is breaking this camel's back. When I received the picture album from the Galapagos and saw the front picture of the three of them with their arms around each other smiling I was unable to open the rest of the album, seriously. And don't get me started on the Facebook postings from our friends in Wyoming. Throwing the computer across the room came to mind.

Regret has come running out of nowhere and kicked me in the stomach. Ouch!

That was supposed to be us, Bob and me and our little family, happily travelling the world smiling out at cameras from exotic ports. Or headed off on camping excursions to wild and wooded places with our children wide eyed and communicative in the back seat. I never imagined having a child who didn't like to hike or camp or worse yet, not travel at all.

I never imagined so much of what has come to pass.

Now, would any of these imagined joyous trips happened if Bob were still alive? Some most likely, but not all. I am sure behind the smiles toward the camera we would of had our share of grumbling and slouching and arguments about electronic device use. Bob and I would have had budget troubles and gotten annoyed at each other because we were lost and didn't have enough food with us, the kids might have whined to be carried along the trail or worse, just wanted to go back to the hotel and watch TV.

Bob and I never had the chance to be disappointed by a family vacation or the fact that Arthur complains if we walk the dog for more than a block. We never had to decide on rules regarding electronics or whether or not the child has to go on the vacation because it is a family vacation gosh darn it! We never had much of a chance to find out what our family vacations would have looked like. I just know I never imagined them to be involving a six year old with ear buds connected to an iPod hanging out of their ears, or children who didn't like to camp (which I can at least wrap my head around)or travel at all (which I can't understand in the least)or me learning how to play Monopoly on an iTouch and thinking this could be a brilliant way to make it across South Dakota and still have some sanity left. (hey, it beats having one of the kids repeating "I'm Babba Wawa and I'm weally weird" all the way across the state--I really did that by the way, when I was about 10. My poor parents and brother. I am sure if an ITouch would have been available back then they would have happily had me stare at that thing for a while)

All this emotion I am feeling, this regret, it's OK. Regret is sorrow over something you can't change, it's part of life. Sometimes your kids don't turn out how you imagined or your job or your vacation or your life. It doesn't mean it is bad, just different than you imagined. It means you're still living!

As my Italian teacher once said; "You just must accept".

Easier said than done I'm afraid.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Venture

Hey there-

"You can plan all you want to. You can lie in your morning bed and fill whole notebooks with schemes and intentions. But within a single afternoon, within hours or minutes, everything you plan and everything you have fought to make yourself can be undone as a slug is undone when salt is poured on him. And right up to the moment when you find yourself dissolving into foam you can still believe you are doing fine."

Wallace Stegner
Crossing to Safety

I recently reread this book. I first read Crossing to Safety about 13 years ago when Bob and I were living in Portland, OR. We were young, newly married, child and house free, and enjoying a carefree life in the green and lush Pacific Northwest. Back then I was enamored with the friendship described between the two couples. The friendship begins in the late 1930's when they are all in their 20's and beginning their careers and families. The reader is taken through 40 years of the foursome's joys and struggles as they live their lives amid the backdrop of a great depression, a world war, an economic boom, and social/societal upheaval.

I saw ourselves and our friends in these couples.I would imagine Bob and I 40 years in the future hanging out with our friends that we were close to at the time. Our kids would be grown and we could reminisce, with plenty of side splitting laughter, about child rearing. We would look back on fruitful careers, our travels, and other shared experiences.

Ah, it would be so lovely.

And even though the couples in the story have many obstacles they overcome it never occurred to me during that first read how it might feel to be living those obstacles. I just romanticised the ending, the looking back on all the accomplishments and relishing that we are still together after all these years.

I assumed we would all still be together and happy. That was the plan.

But as Stegner so aptly tells us: you can plan all you want to.

Reading the book this time around I see it through different eyes. Instead of eyes filled with beginnings and optimism, I see the story through eyes filled with new beginnings and reality. It might sound dreadful but it's not. Reality does not negate optimism, it just humbles it a bit.

On the last page Stegner writes: "If we could have foreseen the future during those good days in Madison where all this began, we might not have had the nerve to venture into it."

In my 20s if someone had told me that when I was 35 and pregnant my husband would get cancer and I would be widowed a year later with two small boys to raise I think I would have kindly said no thank you. Who would sign up for that? That sounds like an awful plan. I doubt these hardships are never part of any ones plan.

Thank goodness we don't know the future in advance. Would knowing change our choices? I could have missed out on 10 fabulous years with Bob. (OK, 9 fabulous ones and one kind of sucky one) Or I might have chosen not to have Henry and Arthur. (and what would the aunts be doing then?!)

So, would anyone like to guess what might happen in the next 13 years? I'm sure I don't know. But I am still making plans, even though I have been that slug dissolving into foam, I am still optimistic enough to plan, to venture into the unknown.

What else is there?

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Safety Town

Hey there-

Who out there loves Safety Town? We did!

In case you don't know, Safety Town is a program for four-year-olds that teaches them about safety. i.e. crossing the street, bike safety, what to do for a fire or if you are lost, etc. They get to meet Policemen and sit in their cars and all sorts of cool stuff. I think it is a national program but I am not sure.

Arthur absolutely loved it. He still talks about it when we drive by the playground where it was held. Every summer when he sees the familiar orange cones set up on the blacktop he, rather wistfully, asks me if he gets to go back to Safety Town.

"Nope," I tell him, "you are all safe now." (how I wish that were true, right? If Safety Town was truly all you needed to get your kids through to 18)

This year as we drove by and saw the little ones trooping around on their bikes with their helmets and the tiny stop and yield signs Henry wondered aloud why he didn't remember Safety Town.

"Because you never went," I told him.

"Why not," he asked. "Didn't you want me to be safe?"

"Well, you were four the summer after your daddy died, we didn't do much of anything that summer, sorry sweetie," I responded simply.

Flashing back to that summer I suddenly felt heavy and sluggish remembering the effort it had taken me to get food on the table or take the boys out the door for the simplest trip down the street to the park. I thought that was the only answer that was necessary, it explained everything.

"I remember we went to the zoo that summer and there was a HUGE thunderstorm and when we got home there was a branch from our tree in our yard and you didn't know what you were going to do but by the next morning our neighbor had cut it up and taken it away and it was all cleaned up," Henry told me.

"Oh yea, I remember that storm, that was crazy. That was so nice of Franz to clean that up for us."

"And I remember we drove a long way to a farm, I think it is my Aunts farm or something, and there were lamps that looked like elephants and lots of other boys and your brother took me to a place with rides and we kayaked on a pond and there was a shower outside."

"Yup, that was a fun trip."

"And I remember Grandma and Grandpa being at the house sometimes and Grandpa read me "The Kings Stilts" and he did that sack of potato thing you do with Arthur sometimes when I got out of the tub."

"Yea, Grandma and Grandpa visited a lot that summer to help. We have that picture on the wall of Grandpa reading you "The King's Stilts" that summer."

"We did a lot that summer," Henry continued from the backseat. "We probably didn't have time for Safety Town."

Does Henry need to know that I cried the night the tree fell in our yard because that one branch felt like an insurmountable obstacle as I stood in the kitchen opening instant oatmeal packets for dinner with tears streaming down my face? Does he need to know that my brother flew in to town early to drive with us up to the farm because without him with us I don't know if I would have had the courage to drive the seven hours to the farm on our own? Does Henry need to know that Grandma and Grandpa were visiting so often helping me survive and get the house in order to sell because I couldn't handle the house without his dad? Does he need to know that I wasn't even aware that Safety Town existed because I was too busy trying to remain upright and simply make it through the day?

I don't think so. All Henry needs to know is that we went places that summer, we had fun experiences, our neighbors were thoughtful and our family nurtured us.

Henry might not have been able to attend Safety Town when he was four, but he learned a lot about safety that summer. He knows that in the worst of circumstances he was kept safe and loved by his own little safety town made up of neighbors, friends and family. That has to be better than little stop signs and cop cars......no one tell Arthur.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Co-parenting?

Hey there,

Mike took my boys camping for a night last weekend. It is too long and boring of a story to explain how that came to pass, but it did. You would think there would have been great rejoicing on my end for a night to myself, to be alone in the house for 24hours, something that has not happened since Mike and I met.

But no.

The first couple hours I spent feeling guilty. (darn Catholic upbringing) And then I moved on to feeling like I was missing out on some great experience or memory that might be forming out in the wilderness that night.

The second concern doesn't bother me so much. I miss out on many experiences they have at school and when they are with their aunts, so I got over that one rather quickly. It is the guilt that pisses me off.

When Henry was a baby and I would talk about going to book group, a night out with the girls, or a movie I had seen there was always a coworker who would say; "Wow, so Bob babysat the baby?"

"No, Bob did not 'babysit' the baby, he parented his son," was my usual reply.

I don't have that same feeling with Mike and the boys. I always feel he is doing me some huge favor if he stays home with the boys while I go to book group or go out for wine with a girlfriend. I don't feel he is parenting as much as he is staying home with my boys.

If it were Bob that took the boys camping would I have felt the same guilt? I don't think so. I think I still might have had a twinge of sadness that I was missing out on something, because I do like to camp, but I would have felt like it was some daddy/son time, a little male bonding in the woods. Instead I felt gratitude that Mike was willing to take them.

This feeling of gratitude is something I struggle with, the nagging feeling that I should be so thankful that Mike is willing to spend time with my kids, like I owe him a big favor in return. There is a sense of imbalance to it. With Bob I never felt the imbalance. I was grateful to have Bob and thankful he was such an awesome dad but there was no feeling like he was doing me a favor that I needed to repay, he was simply being a dad, being a co-parent.

With Bob I felt the responsibility of parenting as a 50/50 endeavor. With Mike I feel I have 100% of the responsibility and I should feel grateful when he can help me out. This is no fault of Mikes, I take much of the blame for this set up really. Frankly, I don't always want to ask Mike's opinion on parenting issues, I want the bottom line with my boys.

Certainly, if Bob had lived we would not see eye to eye on every decision and I would not have had the bottom line or gotten everything I wanted. When he was dying I spent most of my grieving efforts freaking out about parenting alone, feeling all that burden. But after he died I realized the privilege of making all the decisions on my own. It is a blessing and a curse. One of the benefits of being widowed versus being divorced.

Is this fair? Is it the best thing for everyone? We lost so much, is it wrong to try and hold on to a little bit of control, even though we all know control is an illusion? Does having the bottom line come at a cost to me, to the boys, to Mike? It is exhausting I know that.

Will I ever feel like I am co-parenting with Mike?

I don't know, I hope so, but I also don't hope so. Yikes, does the grieving work ever end?

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Water Parent

Hey There-

Bob agreed to be the "water parent". You know, the one who goes in the water with the child when you are camping or at the beach and the one who takes the child to their first swimming lessons before they can go by themselves.

In exchange I agreed to be the "zoo" parent. Neither of us were/are zoo fans but I thought it was a good trade since the zoo did not require me to get wet and cold.

As it turned out the Aunts liked taking Henry to the zoo, and later both boys, so I never really kept up my end of the bargain.

Pay back's a bitch!

The memories of Henry at his first swim lessons still haunt me. They were held the months before Bob died. Bob had a PIC line in for his latest treatment so he couldn't be immersed in water or I swear I would have still made him hold up our agreement, weakened condition and all. I even signed little three year old Henry up for classes that didn't require a parent in the water with the child figuring he was bold in the water and an independent sort, he would be fine.

Wrong!

The sounds of his screaming ricocheted off the concrete walls of the pool and slammed Bob and I in the face as the two of us stoically stood behind the glass in the waiting area. You might have thought the instructor was setting his feet in hot lava as opposed to the lukewarm chlorine laden pool. It was almost horrific. I knew the entire pool area was staring at the three of us and the poor instructor but that didn't really register at the time. I could only hear Henry's cries and feel my pounding heart.

I was steadfast and we tried again the next week. By the third week I began to come to terms with the situation. Not my fate, but at least the fact that the other parents were wasting their money. Their children would never learn to swim with all the drama going on. So I moved Henry to the class WITH the parents and I got in that lukewarm pool, chlorine and urine and all, and I sang that silly "Wheels on the Bus" song, but I wasn't happy about it.

Nor was I happy when I had to get in the frigid water of the pool at my parent's apartment the second summer after Bob died, having successfully avoided any need to submerge myself in water the summer before by forcing the boys to be happy with the "hang out by the shoreline and dig in the sand" parent. We were lucky to even get out of the house and make it to an area of nature that had water that first summer.

Well, now the boys can both swim on their own, I have passed that hurtle, and I can resume my "sit on the beach and read" parent status but, alas, these energetic boys of mine have different ideas, they still want a "water parent". Truth be told I was hardly ever a "water parent", I was more of a "walk around on my tip toes and try not to get my shoulders and hair wet" parent.

I see dads throwing their kids high in the air and I watch these children laugh gleefully as they hurtle through the air and splash into the water. I see other parents out in the water tossing Frisbee's and footballs and frolicking. I have twinges of guilt and think to myself that I should really just suck it up, get out there and be a gosh darn "water parent".

Recently, while camping, Henry raced up to Mike and I, dripping lake water and smelling like sunscreen, his eyes bright with hope, his voice high with excitement.

"Will you come in the water and throw us up in the air?"

We both quickly looked pleadingly to Mike, the dad person, who never agreed to be the "water parent" and has no interest in it either. He will usually go out there for a bit because he is a good guy but I truly wish I could say; "Absolutely, I would love to come out and play in the water with you guys." I actually wish I was already out there and they wouldn't have to ask. But there is this voice in my head that won't leave, it is quieter than it used to be but it is still there. It says..."I didn't agree to this, I never wanted to be the "water parent", your dad agreed to be the "water parent".....NO!"

Come on, I have figured out how to make Bob's pizza, his pancakes, put the bike rack on the car and go camping without him, isn't that enough? Do I have to be a "water parent" too?

I have no memories of my parents ever being "water parents" and I seem to be fine. In fact, the one memory I do have of my father ever being in the water involves a father/daughter race on the Fourth of July that he lost a half link lead I gave him. (I know you did your best dad, I harbor no grudge)

I am the "bike riding" parent, the "tennis playing" parent, the "knowing when the books are due at the library" parent, the "making lunches" parent, the "library volunteer" parent, the "take them to the dentist" parent, the "card playing" parent, the "popcorn popping" parent, the "baking" parent, the "good smelling bath" parent,the "remember when you have a math test" parent, the "book reading" parent, the "travel" parent, the "dinner's on the table" parent, the "board game playing" parent, the "make the beds" parent.

I am so many things, I am THE parent. Do I HAVE to be the "water parent" too? Really?

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

The Book

Hey there-

I was talking to my mom recently and she asked me the ever present question these days.......what is happening with the book? Actually, many people have stopped asking me due to boredom or fear that I have abandoned the project and they don't want me to feel like I have to explain.

Fear not! The book is "in production". Whatever that means. The publisher is currently working on the "cover copy polish". Whatever that means. And I hope to have a book by the end of the summer.

Of course, I thought I would have a book by the end of spring. Not to mention the fact that I originally "took a year off" to write a book and we are careening up to the three year mark as I write.

I am learning patience my dad says. I don't think I am learning it as well as my husband is learning it that is for sure!

I could compare this entire book writing process to having a baby. Sometimes it takes longer than you think, it can be painful, it can be amazing, there is a lot of sacrifice, it is a miracle, it is scary, lots of it is out of your control, you don't know how it will all turn out in the end, and it helps to have a good partner.

When I was pregnant with Henry and I would wonder how on earth this being in my belly was supposed to emerge from my body I used to look at all the people around me, whether I was in a coffee shop or sitting at a traffic light, and I would think to myself; "Well, every single person on this earth was birthed somehow, so it must be possible."

I now find myself doing the same thing with books. I look at all the books on our bookshelves at home or at the book store and I think; "Well, somehow these were written and published so it must be possible."

At least I can drink wine this time around!

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Henry's Return

At day twenty or twenty-one, we were pushing hard for discharge from the co-op. Bob’s low blood pressure was keeping us caged and pacing. He was clear of infection but couldn’t get his blood pressure up or his appetite back. We had hoped to be back at the apartment by the time Henry returned but it appeared Bob’s blood pressure was not following our plan.

Henry arrived back in Omaha with his Aunt Kathy, his blue eyes wide, giving us the Henry Stare when I opened the door and found them standing stiffly in the hallway. My nine month pregnant belly blocked the doorway and I was still wearing the latex gloves and yellow mask needed for the dressing change I had just performed on Bob’s central line. Bob cautiously stood up from the chair, careful not to get lightheaded from the effort, pulled his shoulders back, and raised his bony face toward his son.

Henry, standing in that dimly lit hallway, looked older than his three years. His eyes were weighted by all the thoughts swirling in his head, his body guarded, ready for the next blow. Henry looked at us as if we were apparitions. It had only been three weeks but a lifetime had passed since we last saw each other. We were surely different people now.

How could we come back together from these different lives we had been living and resume our life as a family? Were we still speaking the same language?

Connection

Hey there-

I find washing another person's hair one of the most physically nurturing things you can do for a person. A foot or hand massage comes in a close second.

Every Monday I "watch" my mother-in-law. She is 86 and has memory loss, bad eyesight, pain in her knees, and poor hearing. She lives by herself next door to two of her daughters. I like to think of it as the Milwaukee Wellenstein compound.

One of the activities we do together is a bath. (well, we don't do it TOGETHER....)I fill the tub for her and make sure she gets in safely and put in some good smelling essential oils or bath salts her daughter mixes up. Once situated she lays back, closes her eyes, and groans in utter relaxation.

"That smells great," I heard her say yesterday as I walked down the hallway. I smiled because I think aroma is so important and it was very satisfying to hear her appreciate the bath salts.

After she lingers in the tub a while I get to wash her hair. It can be a tricky task because I seem to have difficulty regulating the temperature of the water that comes out of the hand held shower;

"That's too hot.....now that's too cold!" she yells (because her hearing aide is out) at me as I try to rinse the soap out without scalding her scalp.

Even with the water temperature challenge I love to wash her hair. I give her a nice scalp massage and she moans in gratitude. But that is not why I love it. Something about washing her hair makes me feel so close to Bob. I can't explain why the action of washing Bobs mom's hair makes me think of Bob every time, but it does.

I miss washing the boys hair for them now that they shower and do it on their own. I hear some parents complain about bath time but it is one thing I really miss with the boys growing up.(It just might be the only thing I miss!) As long as we weren't rushed I enjoyed the frolicking and splashing and the smell of lavender and orange wafting up from the water. I loved rubbing their little heads, soaping up their hair and watching the bubbles run down their back as I rinsed them off.

Occasionally these days Arthur will ask me to come in and wash his feet. I sing a silly song and tickle him when I lather up the toes and he loves it. But neither of them ever ask me to wash their hair anymore.

But I get to do their grandma's hair, and I find it even more satisfying. I think it has to do with the fact that I can no longer nurture her son. While I did massage Bob's feet with peppermint oil right up until the end, I never washed his hair, and I will never have the chance to now since we aren't growing old together as planned.

My sisters-in-law act like I am doing them a big favor even though I am not spending time with my mother-in-law simply out of the kindness of my heart, they do pay me for my time. No one tell them but I think it is they who are doing me the favor,and I don't mean financially. I am the one who is receiving the biggest rewards from the situation. I get to do a little pampering for the person who was literally connected to Bob for nine months. Maybe that is why I feel such a connection to Bob when I wash her hair.

Every week I get to nurture the woman who nurtured the father of my children, I think that is pretty special.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Conference

Hey there-

Mike and I wrote a proposal to do a presentation at Camp Widow hosted by the Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation. (www.sslf.org)

It was accepted!

The camp is August 6-8, 2010 in San Diego and our topic is remarriage after widowhood. We are calling it "Plan B", the same as my new blog for milwaukeemoms.com

We are excited about the opportunity to share our story and inspire others in similar situations.

There are lots of other very cool topics that will be addressed during the weekend and good old fashioned camaraderie. If anyone knows of anyone who might benefit please send them to the website and have them check it out. www.sslf.org

Thanks for checking in-

Irene