Walk It Out Reminder

Hey there-

I want people to know that I will be at Hart Park on Saturday morning at 9:30am

Holidays can be rough and filling so if you need to Walk It Out, come join me.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

BIMANSHA

Hey there-

The holidays. Spending time with family.

But.......which family? Whose family? What is family?

Family can be a tricky concept these days, even trickier for those of us who have been widowed.

In Webster's dictionary the first definition listed is a group of people united by certain convictions or a common affiliation. #2 is a group of person's of common ancestry.#3 is a group of individuals living under one roof.

Hmmmmm.....a while after Bob died the boys and I were in the car line waiting to drop Henry off at pre-school. Out of the car in front of us came a mom, a dad, and a child.

"Wow, the whole family is here today," I said to Henry idly.

''We aren't a family anymore," he responded wistfully. "Now that daddy is dead."

Silence..............dead silence.............

The car in front of us pulled ahead, we pulled ahead and it was our turn to get out of the car. The tears standing in my eyes were nothing new to the teachers that year so we made the exchange of Henry without discussion.

After telling my sister-in-law about the incident she bought us The Family Book by Todd Parr....about all different kinds of families. I read it to Henry often and now I read it to Arthur. I still choke up at the part that says....all families are sad when they lose someone they love.......

These days when I read the line.....some families have 2 dads.... Henry always chimes in; "Arthur and I have two dad's. Our dad that is dead and Mike, our step-dad"(I know that is not what they are really referring to in the book people, OK, but it is very cute all the same) and when we get to the part that says......some families have a step-mom Arthur always says; "We won't ever have a step-mom" and then Henry chimes in again; "Yes, we could Arthur, if mom dies and Mike gets married then that woman would be our step-mom." (thanks for that bit of information Henry)

But seriously, if that lovely scenario played out, is that woman indeed their step-mom? Just who is the woman married to your step-dad?


So then there is the question of in-laws. Recently the boys and I went to their aunt's (Bob's sisters) for dinner. On the way home Henry asked why the Hogan's (his step siblings) hadn't come to dinner.

"This is your dad's family, buddy. They aren't really the Hogan's family." I tried to explain weakly.

"Well, then why did YOU come? You should have just dropped me and Arthur off." Henry (of course) said bluntly.

"How do you figure?" I asked, trying to stay amused and not annoyed.

"Well, dad is dead and you were only related to Aunt Jane and Aunt Kathy and Grandma because you were married to him. But we are his children so we are related forever. So why do you still come to Aunt Jane and Aunt Kathy's?"

Yikes!! I am too tired for this.

Webster's definition of an in-law is a relative by marriage.

hmmmmm.....

So then......on Halloween the boys were deep in discussion regarding the difference between dark chocolate and milk chocolate. We all decided we liked milk chocolate much better.

"I guess we are a milk chocolate family," Arthur announced.

"Your dad loved dark chocolate," I said to Arthur as I stood at the sink washing dishes.

"Mom," he said to me with that sing song tone he had to have learned from me, that tone that says you should understand this already, but your young and still learning, so I am going to go over it one more time. "Dad is dead, remember, he isn't part of our family anymore."

Ahhhhhhhhhhh! I am WAY too tired for THIS.

Death is defined as a permanent cessation of all vital functions.

Well that clears it up for me.

Is "family" a "vital function". When a person dies do family ties cease?

I know we aren't living under one roof, not physically anyway, but I still like to think of Bob as part of the family. We have blocks for everyone in our family on our mantel with their initial on one side and their birth statistics on another, and the 'B' starts off the line up. BIMANSHA, that is who we are, too bad we can't fit it on our license plate.

And, despite what Henry might believe, I will always consider Bob's family to be my in-laws.

I think the point is family is anyone you consider family to be. It can't be defined by ancestry, marriage, affiliations or houses. And it doesn't have to be ended by death.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Baggage

Hey there-

When Mike and I first met many of his friends expressed concern about him dating a widow.

I was insulted, of course. It isn't like I killed the guy. I didn't ask to be a widow or anything.

I understand it was their concern for him regarding the sainted dead spouse syndrome. People worry about the comparison to the dead spouse. Because anyone who has lost anyone they care about knows that you only remember the good stuff. Even the not so good stuff seems SO much better in the remembering.

........remember when we were lost in the woods for hours that one time because Bob insisted we didn't need a flashlight.........man, that was the best!...........

or

......remember how Bob would cut his fingernails and then leave them in a pile on the arm of the couch...... I loved that, I really miss that.........

It can be difficult being in a relationship with a widow, I admit. Anniversaries, birthdays, holidays, school conferences, dentist appointments, movies, vacations, dinner........any event seems to hold a memory and a possibility of bittersweet sadness, disappointment, unfulfilled dreams or regret. Even in the middle of true joy and elation these moments can rear their ugly head with no warning.

These moments can last for minutes, hours, or days, there is no predicting grief.

I would still highly recommend a relationship with a widow. We are awesome! We have faced our worst fears and have survived, maybe even thrived. We are independent and creative and insightful. We are wise and thoughtful.

So we might cry randomly, would you prefer we weren't sad about losing our spouse? (that would be totally different baggage to have to deal with) Wouldn't you like to know that if/when something happens to you we will keep your memory alive for those that knew you and for those that never had the chance? Who doesn't want a few pictures of themselves kept around the house after they are gone?

Our spouse died, but our relationship didn't end.

I realize it is hard to understand if you haven't lived it. But wishing someone was still here does not mean wishing someone else wasn't. Nobody is a second choice, just a different choice for a different time.

I believe the key to a successful relationship with a widow is honesty and self confidence, for both parties.

Comparisons are odious a friend once told me (actually told me numerous times....). This saying is true for so many situations. Other peoples relationships, other peoples children, other peoples jobs, houses, parents, yard, car........ Comparing your situation to another persons can be a dangerous game. Comparison can take on a whole new level when you are involved with a widow.

Comparisons are going to happen, you can't stop them, it is human nature, people are different. The key is what you do with them. My general rule is to keep most of them to myself unless they are completely objective;

"Bob's eyes were blue." or "Bob enjoyed biking."

or if they make my live husband look really good;

"I have never had anyone serve me breakfast in bed." or "I love that you cut your fingernails in the bathroom over a garbage can, instead of leaving them in a pile around the house like Bob always used to do."

OK, of course, in a perfect world no one would date anyone who was widowed or divorced or who had any relationship baggage whatsoever and no one would have to hear the name of a former spouse spoken out loud. Since we don't live in a perfect world I am here to tell you that dating a widow isn't all that bad, even if the dead spouse is sainted. The dead spouse never calls during dinner and they have few opinions that differ from those of the live parent.

Pick your poison.

Thanks for checking in -

Irene

Passing Storm

Hey There-

I hate that Bob died. I hate that I was widowed. I really do.

I can be pragmatic. I can be practical. I know that my life is now and not then and there is no use comparing or wishing.

I can be philosophical and insightful. I am grateful for all the silver linings of the situation, happy with what I have now and rather impressed at times with the person I have become. I really am.
But then Arthur's birthday comes around, just like it does every year, and I feel that kicked in the gut, wind knocked out of me feeling again. I find myself sitting cross legged on Arthur's bunk bed sobbing in the dark into my cupped hands hoping I don't wake the boys up, wondering how long this storm will last.

It must be the proximity of Bob's death and Arthur's birth that does it for me every year. Remembering all the craziness that he was born into. I think Arthur knew he was better off in the womb. He wasn't late but he sure needed coaxing once he began his hesitant appearance, as if he wasn't quite sure he really wanted to be out here among all of the darkness that was our lives at that time. Who could blame him, at least the darkness he was coming from was warm.

Once the storm passes, and it does pass, I make it up to our bedroom and I am sure Mike can tell that I have been crying. But he says nothing. He has learned that is best sometimes. What is there to say? I wish Bob were here to celebrate his son's birthday. I wish the two of us could reminisce about the day Arthur was born. I wish Bob were here to see Arthur dance to Van Halen (long story).

I wish Bob were here.

Grief can't always be shared or explained, it just has to be experienced and lived through.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

The Quilt

Hey there-

We all went to my family reunion last week in Connecticut, all seven of us.

The McGoldricks have a reunion every three years and this years was the eighth one. This was the first one for my step-children, the second one for Mike, the first one for Arthur (unless you count the one when I was pregnant with him), the fourth one for Henry, and the seventh one for me. Bob attended three.

Each reunion is in a different place and hosted by a different family member but many traditions stay the same. The family photo when everyone turns around so we can get a picture of the back of the reunion T-shirt, card playing (our game is Setback), one nice family dinner that everyone attends, a poem from my dad at the end of the weekend (he is not really a poet but they always rhyme) and the photo albums from reunions past.

Six years ago we were in the San Juan Islands. Henry was about to turn three, I was pregnant, and Bob had just finished a chemo treatment less than 24 hours before we got on the plane. When the announcement of Italy as the next destination was made on the last evening I wondered if Bob would be there with us. Would Bob be healthy, sick, or would I be there alone with the boys?

Mike came with me and Henry to Italy three years ago. Surprisingly, that had never been an option I had entertained at the time.

Looking at the photo albums last weekend it looked as if I had a seamless transition. One reunion I was standing next to Bob and the next reunion I was standing next to Mike. How crazy is that? One year I posed with one child and the next year I posed with five.

A picture doesn't tell the whole stroy does it? It is a moment in time.

Anyone who knew me during those three years knows the transition was anything but seamless. Those years had jagged edges and there was a lot of ripping out of stitches and lots of tears. (you can decide which way to pronounce that)

I like to think of the person I am now as a quilt. A quilt takes time, hard work, and patience to make. It may look haphazard and unattractive at times. A person can get tired and sore and feel like giving up the project. It may seem like more pieces are being taken away than being sewn back in. But in the end it all seems to work somehow.

I am patched back together now. Some pieces of me are old and some are new. Some pieces go together well and some need to be seperated by other pieces in order to work. Some pieces were put in place and then ripped out and put back in a different place. Some pieces didn't make the quilt in the end but were important to the construction of it. All the pieces are important to the whole.

I don't know what is in store for me in the next three years. I can't imagine the pieces that are being formed at this moment for my next quilt.

All I know is that for now my quilt is comfortable and warm and beautifully patched together.


Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Circumstances

Hey there,

I have a friend.

I adore her.

Whenever we are together we talk nonstop, there is never enough time to say all that there is to say to each other. I feel like I have known her all my life. I think we may have been related in another life. I can't imagine what I did before I knew her.

And I never would have met her if Bob were still alive, and that is hard to reconcile at times.

She is a "new friend". That is the term I use for friends I have met since Bob died. People who know the woman I am today, the person I have become after clawing my way out of the depths of grief.

But they are missing a significant piece to my puzzle.

They can listen with interest, compassion and maybe a bit of awe to my stories of stem cell transplants and growing tumors and nursing infants and weeks of instant oatmeal for dinner. But they weren't with me. They weren't there to have me to dinner for the fifth time that week even though our children always ended up fighting, or to come over and organize my Tupperware drawer with a stack of tissues in hand, or to put their own grief and fear aside and stand beside me as the undertakers took Bob out the front door, or to listen, once again, to my lamenting about the injustice of my situation.

There was a time when all I wanted was to meet new people. I was desperate to meet people who did not know Bob and who did not see the big "W" on my forehead. I was tired of being defined by my circumstances. But when I began to meet these new friends I resented the fact that they did not understand my situation, they could not tell I was widowed just by looking at me, they did not understand what I had lost, what I had been through.

How could they really know me and not know Bob?

I found myself wanting to explain my situation, wanting them to know who I was when I was with Bob. It turned out I didn't want to escape my circumstances, I wanted to embrace them. I wanted to incorporate my whole story into this new person that I was becoming. This new person with new friends and old friends, all of whom have circumstances of their own that have made them who they are.

I am grateful for all the people in my life, new friends, old friends, live husbands, late husbands, in-laws, family, neighbors, children, step-children. No matter how or why I met them, I am grateful for them all. I am grateful that they know me and love me for who I am today.

We are all who we are because of our circumstances, maybe even despite our circumstances.

I can be changed by what happens to me.

But I won't be reduced by it.

Maya Angelou

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

The Henry Stare

"You can't leave me Bob. I can't do this without you. What am I going to do? I don't want to lose you," I pleaded with him, choking and gasping for breath.

Bob stayed right there in front of me as if he was trying to keep me from falling apart, limb by limb, right there in the living room. He didn't say a word, just remained there with me, hands firmly on me thighs, a solid presence.

I don't know how long I carried on. It might have been quite a while or maybe just a moment. Slowly unfolding from the fetal position, coming back to my surroundings, my breathing slowing down, I looked around the room. My eyes landed on Henry on the other side of coffee table, quietly standing there in the dark corner absorbing the entire scene, giving us the wide eyed Henry Stare. That look he had in his eye that made you think he could see more than just what was in the room.

"Hey, Bud, do you want to watch Blues Clues?" I asked stupidly, attempting to distract him from this ugly scene. He was not a child who was easy to distract. He had straight forward questions that we answered as honestly as we could.

He knew daddy was sick and the doctors were trying to make him better. He knew the "straw" in daddy's arm was how the medicine got in. He knew that because of that straw Daddy was unable to go swimming with him this summer. He knew that the blood cancer Daddy had was so bad that the medicine they had to give him made him feel even sicker and made his hair fall out. He knew he was staying with his aunts more often so that Mommy and Daddy could go to doctor appointments. He knew Mommy was having a baby.

He knew a lot, he knew way more than any three year old should have to know. And now he knew that his mommy was terrified and that Daddy could get lost. How much more would he have to know before this was all done I wondered?

Pride

Hey there-

It happened again.

Henry and I were in line at Noodles and we began chatting with an older gentlemen in front of us about one thing and another. The man asked Henry if he was a Packer fan. Henry stared at him blankly and shook his head slowly. I quickly explained that we weren't against the Packers or anything (I didn't want things to get ugly right there at the neighborhood Noodles), but that we just weren't a football family.

The man nodded and smiled like you would to a crazy person on the street singing show tunes at the top of their lungs and dragging on the stub of a cigarette.

"My step-dad is a Packer fan, he watches football," Henry chimed in, noticing the uncomfortable silence.

And that was when it happened. I got the look, the "Oh, I see" look.

Real or imagined, I can't be sure, but it is distinctly different from the "Oh, I understand" look.

After Bob died it took me about one week to discover that there was much more sympathy for a widowed person than a divorced person in our society. Divorce implies choice. And I will admit I was not above playing the widow card from time to time if it meant a little more assistance in a time of need.

Why do I bristle at the word step-dad? My boys don't. I find myself wanting people to know why they have one. As if to say; "This wasn't what I wanted, this wasn't my plan, this wasn't my fault."

I doubt anyone who has children goes into it wanting them to have a step-dad. I don't believe prospective parents sit around planning this outcome.

"OK, here is the plan. I have always wanted my kids to have a step-dad, so we should have a few kids and then we will get divorced and then you can get remarried so our kids can have a step-dad. Or this, we can have a few kids and I can get sick and die and then you can get remarried and they can have a step-dad. That would be great!"

I don't think so.

For whatever reason many children end up with a step-parent, it is not shameful. I never planned on it, I never wanted it. This was not my dream for my children.

But I am extremely grateful they do have a step-dad, especially one that likes my boys and likes Bob's family and honors Bob's memory and his continued importance in our life. The next time the subject comes up I will use the word with pride, just as Henry and Arthur do. No explanation needed.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Imagine

Hey there-

Bob and I never texted each other.

We never spoke to each other from our cell phones. We never emailed each other from work, we never emailed each other period, or Facebooked. There was no Twittering......OK, maybe there was some twittering.......

Bob never even heard of a blog.

What DID we do?

We walked together and rode bikes. We planned trips. Bob cooked while I put flowers on the table. We played Scrabble and read books in the living room with steaming cups of tea between us. We debated the existence of God. Bob wrote in a journal (actually putting pen to paper) and I concocted different recipes with my essential oils. We spooned on the couch and watched "Buffy the Vampire Slayer". He read a book while I folded clothes. He took Henry grocery shopping. We gave each other massages.

I am glad there was no Internet or cell phones or Facebook when we courted. A few days after our first date I went to the laundry mat. I had told Bob the night before that I was thinking of doing my laundry that day. As I was pulling out of the parking lot onto the street with my clean clothes balanced precariously on the seat next to me Bob flew past my car on his bike. He made a quick U-turn and approached me with a big smile on his face.

"You weren't at home when I called so I thought I would ride by and see if you needed company," he said, my heart skipped a beat.

A few days later I was at work and he appeared during my lunch hour to take me on a motorcycle ride to the lake. We hopped on the bike and I wrapped my arms around his chest and lay my cheek on his back (to protect myself from the brisk Oct. air...)

What if he could of just texted me while I did my laundry? I would have missed how his face looked that day when I saw him do that U-turn on the street, bright with anticipation. What if he had called me on my cell phone at work and asked if I wanted to go for a ride on his motorcycle? Would I have said yes or would I have been cautious and said there probably wasn't enough time. And I would have missed the exhilaration of being on that bike with him on that clear fall day, even if it was just a few minutes.

What if Bob had blogged instead of writing in a journal? I wouldn't have had the peaceful comfort of him sitting next to me in contemplation, pen in hand, notebook open on his lap, music on in the background. I wouldn't have his penmanship to look at today. The way he slanted his "S" and put a big curve at the bottom of his "g". Seeing the unique way he wrote on the page seems to bring the story to life somehow.

What would our relationship be like today if he were still alive, what would our communication be like? Granted, we were not people on the cutting edge of technology but so much has changed with technology in such a short time.

Would we email each other from work about what to have for dinner or who was going to pick up the boys or what we should do for the weekend? Would he text me from some biking trip he was on to tell me about the sunset? Would he forward me silly political cartoons? If we were out to dinner and his phone rang would he answer it? Would he have a Facebook page? Would he spend the evening on Google finding out answers to the boys never ending questions? Would he be fighting with the boys for computer time? Would he be a follower on any blogs?

I honestly can't imagine Bob doing any of these things. I can't imagine him choosing the computer over a bike ride in the evening. I can't imagine him going to the computer for a recipe and not thumbing threw one of his cookbooks. I can't imagine his phone ringing during dinner. Sometimes I think he got out of here just in time. Sometimes I wish I did. (like when I have to place an egg timer at the computer to limit the amount of time the children are on it, or when I watch a group of kids walking down my street and they all have there heads down, looking at their phone, not interacting at all with the people right next to them)

I will never know the answer to my questions, of course. I can only try to imagine, and remember how it was, and be grateful we had each other when we did, and that our relationship was the way it was.

I must move forward in the world today, technology and all.

But all of this musing begs the question, if Bob were alive today would he read my blog?

If Bob were alive today what would I be blogging about?

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

A Smooth Ride

Hey there-

In my last post I mentioned that my mantra while I was doing a little off road biking recently was "look where you WANT to go".

I learned this useful phrase the first time I ever did any kind of mountain biking. I was with my best friend, who was an experienced mountain biker (and WAY braver than me), in the mountains of Colorado. I had no helmet and the words of my mother as we parted following my graduation from college the day before were ringing in my unprotected head.

"Don't forget to get health insurance". I think she was a little excited to have just completed the task of successfully raising and educating seven children.

As I attempted to make it down the steep trail full of rocks and roots my friend kept telling me to look where I wanted to go, not at what I was trying to avoid, and the bike would follow. Try as I might I just kept staring right at those mini-boulders in my way, mentally pleading for them to remove themselves from my path, and sure enough I ran smack into most of them.

Once we successfully, and slowly, made it to a paved trail I vowed never to go mountain biking again. I am quite certain that my friend also vowed never to take me mountain biking again.

While I have never returned to the mountains of Colorado to do any biking I did find myself doing the occasional off-road trail with Bob here in the Midwest, and now with my boys. But I admit, I still prefer a paved trail, a smooth ride through a shaded overhang of trees, past farmlands and lazy rivers.

What does this fact say about me and how I proceed with my life?

I prefer a smooth ride, it's true. I like when things work out according to plan. I like when events start on time and people live up to my expectations. I like when my checkbook balances and my children do their chores without a fuss. I like when couples happily grow old together and when people live to a ripe old age and die quietly in their sleep.

I like when there are no boulders or roots in my way.

But, inevitably, there things that happen that put a kink in the plans. Even paved trails have their twists and turns, the occasional stone in the way. Sometimes husbands die before they reach a ripe old age. And those plans of growing old together don't come to fruition, no matter how carefully I planned.

So now what?

I can't will the boulder away by staring at it; but I can look where I want to go, be brave and continue on the path, move beyond the boulder, and look beyond the next one as well.


Thanks for checking in-

Irene