Haiku

Hey there-

Our church had their annual "Lessons on Loss" this morning during religious education for the children.

Today the teacher asked Henry's class to write a poem about someone, or something, that they had lost. Henry chose the Haiku. With his permission I am sharing some of these below. I think he was excited at the idea of the poems being "published", although when he heard there was no money involved his enthusiasm did wane a bit.

I am very sad

My father passed away

I cry every day

When she said he's dead

I didn't know what to do

I had no idea

She is very sad

My mother mourns away now

She is very sad

I had no idea

So I tried to cheer her up

It did not work well

(that is my personal favorite)

In the past I have approached this series with some trepidation. Mainly because my kids are the only ones in their class to have lost a parent. Most children talk about a pet, maybe a grandparent, and one child mentioned his dead iPod. I kid you not.

Henry proudly marched up to me in the sanctuary to show me his poems. I happened to be talking to the mom of the dead iPod at the time. As I teared up reading Henry's poems I heard her gently remind her child that some people had experienced much more significant losses. Henry seemed unfazed by the difference between the two boys losses and, in fact, told me the story of how the iPod had died on the way home. (it involved a soda and Mentos)

I can learn so much from the children. While I worry and fret about my poor son having to talk about his dad's death while others talk about lost electronics, my son seems to find sympathy for every one's loss, no matter how small.

My lesson for the day was all loss is significant.

But come on.....an iPod?

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

PS- I can't seem to make the computer do a space in between each haiku? So you will just have to pretend it is there. Sorry.

Luck

Hey there-


Yesterday at dinner Mike and I were discussing an event that involved our friend, Bob.

"Who?" Henry asked. "Bob? Our dad is back? He's alive again?"

Of course, he knows the truth, he was just being silly.

"Wouldn't that be wonderful?" I asked. "He could move back in here with all of us."

Mike chuckled from the other side of the table.

"Your mom could be the first woman polygamist, Henry," he said.

This brought on a very interesting conversation about polygamy that I won't go into now, but it got me thinking.........

What if Bob were to arrive at my doorstep, and I was to discover that his absence the last six years had just been some terrible mistake?

Then what?!

I would be thrilled of course, I can almost feel his arms around me as I type this, and the sound of his voice greeting me; "Hey Sug"

After the shock of seeing me in a house with 5 children wore off I would call for the boys.

"Daddy's home!" I would say, just like I did many times before.

Henry would be shy at first, stare at him with reserved awe, and then want to show Bob his bicycle and how well he can play Othello. Arthur would probably bound into Bob's arms, even though he wouldn't really know who this man was, it might be similar to Santa coming alive in our house for Arthur.

Then Mike would appear at the door to see what all the commotion was about.

hmmmmmm, that is when it gets sticky.

Now what?

Would I run back to Bob and leave everything that Mike and I have built together?

I couldn't do that.

Would I stay with Mike and arrange a visiting schedule for the boys with Bob?

Nope, that doesn't sound good either.

I don't see any of us going for a plural marriage, I can't see Mike and Bob as "brother husbands". And me deciding which door to knock on at night?! ICK! (maybe I have been watching too much Big Love)

How could I decide? Bob is the boys dad, obviously, but they are rather attached to Mike by this point. Mike can even make a better smoothie than me according to Arthur (trader!). Mike never complains about his job but he also doesn't have the summers off like Bob did as a teacher. They both like camping and cooking, although Bob did a lot more of it. Bob never brought me chai in bed, but he made one for me every morning. They both like to travel. Bob was more frugal (which I like) but he never brought me home gifts for no reason. Bob and my wine budget was much less but I do enjoy a good glass of red wine before dinner. Mike is always up for going out with people but, Mike is always up for going out with people.They both put up with me and love me in totally different ways.

Wow, I am glad I won't ever have to decide ......(maybe?).

How lucky am I to have had the chance to love and be loved by two such wonderful men? How lucky am I that, after everything, I still feel lucky?

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

2.4

Hey there-

The boys and I were driving to the store the other day to buy their grandma a puzzle they could all do together.

"Mom, how old was I when you and Mike got married?" Henry asked from the backseat.

"Six, why?"

"I was just wondering how long it took for me to get used to Mike," he responded.

"Get used to Mike?" Arthur asked, his brows furrowed and his little voice rising in confusion. "What does THAT mean?"

Henry went on to explain; "Well, since Daddy was our daddy, I didn't have to get used to him. He just....... was. And since Mike is our step-dad, I had to get used to him." (duh, I could hear him thinking)

"So, you are used to Mike now?" I asked him.

"Yup."

"How long did it take?" I asked as we pulled into the parking lot of the puzzle store.

"About.......two years, and........four months." He nodded his head in satisfaction and opened the door to get out of the car.

Arthur nodded his head too, in disbelief.

"Whatever Henry," he said as he kicked his own door open.

I am still pondering if he is counting 2 years and 4 months from the time Mike and I met, or the time we got married? I wanted to look back at the calender and see what was going on at both of those times. Knowing Henry this time frame was not just pulled out randomly.

Mike and I met in August of 2005 and we married in September of 2006 so, what was going on December of 2007 or January of 2009? Random life it seemed like to me.

Two years and four months to get used to something, hmmmmm.

I, myself, am a big believer of a year for any period of adjustment, like a move or a new job. Getting through all the seasons, the anniversaries and holidays. After that first year the newness wears off, the initial excitement or fog begins to lift and you can begin to settle down and form an educated opinion about the situation with a little more clarity and first hand knowledge.


But a death? And all the changes that come along with it, how long is that adjustment period? There has historically been a magical number of one year for mourning, wearing black and all that. From my own experience I can say it takes much longer than a year, there are still times I want to wear a black arm band.

A wise friend once told me; "It takes how long it takes".

For Henry it took 2 years and 4 months to "get used" to having a step-dad. (he is learning decimals now in school, could explain something)

As for me, Bob has been gone 5 years and 9 months and Mike and I have been married for 3 years and 3 months. I have accepted the situation, grown accustomed to it, love a lot of it, but I will let you know when I have fully adjusted.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

In-laws

Hey there-

You gotta love in-laws.

Bob's family has become even more important to me since his death.

They are the keepers of the family lore, the remember when, the childhood secrets. When the boys ask if their daddy ever did this or that, they are the only people who have the answers. I can tell them about their dad in his 30's, but that isn't what they want to know right now, maybe when they are 30 something.

They want to know if daddy liked to read when he was nine, if he was good at math, did he ever get a time out in gym in kindergarten, did he like to sing at the Christmas concert?

Ah, the Christmas concert. The concert where Arthur dances his way in, spots his Aunt Kathy and me in the audience, breaks into his million dollar smile and joins the other wildly waving children on the bleachers. The same concert where Henry marches in, eyes down, stands in position, spots us out of the corner of his eye, smiles imperceptibly and gives us the wrist wave. (you know the one, the one where the arm does not move at all, only the wrist)

Arthur smiles while he sings and does all of the carefully rehearsed snowflake movements with a natural rhythm and an Arthur flare, only looking towards his aunt and me about 10 times per song to smile even broader if that is possible. Henry, on the other hand, has his eyes only on the teacher as he sings with zero emotion, seriously, you would have thought he was being lectured to by the police. When the swaying part came (he had expressed concern the day before about the swaying; "No one is going the right way, we are supposed to start on the left and then go right and everyone is going every which way. We are going to be horrible!") most of the children swayed with abandon picking their feet up and bouncing their shoulders. Not Henry, he swayed carefully, first right, then left, no shoulder movement, no feet moving, he was rooted to the spot. This is serious stuff!

Their Aunt Kathy and I watched both boys with the pride only a family member can feel. We laughed and nodded at each other knowingly and appreciated both for their unique approaches to the performance.

"Arthur and I are opposites," Henry said to me on the walk home. "Arthur likes to sing in front of a crowd and I don't. He doesn't get nervous and I do. Which way do you think dad was at his Christmas concerts?"

"That is a good question for your grandma," I told him, making a mental note to ask the next time we saw her.

Of course, she will say Bob was fabulous even if he was the kid who picked his nose or wet his pants or pulled some girls hair. That is how her memories work.

The boys and I recently spent the day with her and the subject of discipline came up. Grandma shocked the boys with tales of her mother making her kneel in the corner if she had been naughty. They particularly enjoyed the story of her mom going to the lilac bush to get a switch to swat her on the butt with if she had been REALLY naughty.

"Did you ever do that to Daddy?" They asked wide eyed and still giggling about their grandma just saying butt.

"Oh no, you couldn't do that any more by the time I had kids, it was out of fashion," she said. "They would have called it child abuse."

"Did you ever make him kneel in a corner?"

"I don't remember ever doing that....."

"What did you do, Grandma, when daddy was naughty?" they asked, dying to know what horrendous punishment their dad had to endure.

"I don't know........I just remember they were all good kids," she said with a smile.

Boring! We want some dirt on daddy here!

Although the look on her face, you almost believed her. (Please be assured that the punishment stories are not the only ones grandma tells of her childhood. She is just as likely to talk about the homemade noodles her mom made for the chicken noodle soup and how much effort her mom put into decorating a beautiful Christmas tree.)

This is all good stuff. For me and the boys. The continued connection with their dad's family, priceless.

I am so grateful to have that person to lean to at the Christmas concert and shake my head and laugh knowingly. Without my sister-in-law there I might look a little too longingly at the couple in front of me as they lean into each other and nod and laugh; "just like his dad" they are saying I am sure. (these couples are always incredibly happy in my mind, perfect for each other in fact, a first marriage of course, everyone is healthy and biologically related, no complications.......)

I could go on and on with stories that point out just how precious this in-law relationship is to both sides. I could write about the trip Henry got to take with his uncle this past summer. The trip that his uncle showed up in his 1959 Triumph and announced to Henry that he had the air mattresses that he and Bob used on their first road trip together when Bob was 16! You just can't make this stuff up!!!

So yes, I love in-laws, wouldn't want to be doing any of this without them. Even those that teach my little boys bad words. But once again, a subject for a different blog.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Bridges

Hey there-

This is ridiculous.

It is crazy how much I am missing Jake. He was a cat for goodness sake, and an annoying one at that. He ate cellophane and threw up all the time. We couldn't leave any kind of wrapper or ribbon laying around or he would find it and start yakking. Birthdays were a nightmare, I finally had to give up getting balloons.

Jake was quite grouchy too. He had a fake hip from an injury when he was very young. Bob had to hold him down while I did range of motion exercises on his little leg. The poor guy foamed at the mouth trying to get away. I knew Bob really loved me as I watched him calmly hold Jake, this high maintenance cat that had come with me in the relationship, so I could rotate his hip. I believe the hip caused Jake pain in the humid summer time (and the cold winter time). He would spread his rather large body across the kitchen floor on particularly hot days and if you tried to walk around him he would growl and nip at you.

For a while he used to stand at the front door and lunge at anyone who had the audacity to leave the house and leave him inside. I eventually decided to let the de-clawed SOB be an outdoor cat.

Jake also had an amputated tail. Bob came home one day for lunch and found the poor guy hanging by his tail on top of a pile of folded laundry. The piece of wood holding the window of our 1920s duplex had fallen and slammed down on his tail.....ouch!! When he emerged from the folded shirts and pants after being set free his tail was a crooked letter "L".

The story of Jake losing his tail was part of our family lore, the boys and I. I was pregnant with Henry when it happened but you would think he had found Jake suspended in the air by the way he tells the story. And Arthur too, they both love to tell the story of when Jake lost his tail.

"And when dad opened the window Jake went running after Amber (our other cat). She must have been sitting there taunting him the whole time. Ha, ha you got your tail stuck in a window...you can't get out..." Henry will say dramatically, laughing and shaking his head very Boblike.

I had this false idea that since I survived losing my spouse I would be immune to "lesser losses". I know they say (you know, "those people" who say things) that you can't compare grief. "They" also say the most difficult loss is a child first and then a spouse. So a cat has to be rather far down the list.

And yet I find myself mourning Jake. When we decorated the tree this year I commented that we didn't have to worry about ribbons on the presents this year since Jake wouldn't be here to eat them and then vomit. I mentioned it as a silver lining, but the realization made me tear up.

Jake used to sit in between Mike and I on the futon when we watched TV and it always bugged Mike. He would grumble as he moved Jake's decreasing mass out of the way so we could cuddle. So Jake is part of Mike and my lore as well. Jake came with me into Mike and my relationship just like he came with me into Bob and my relationship. Jake was a four legged bridge between my past and my present.

And now he is gone. One more connection washed away. There won't be any reason for Henry to tell his version of the story of when Jake lost his tail anymore, no one will ask. One less tale about Daddy to tell.

I will miss the bridge, the limping, four legged, stub tailed bridge. But I still have two beautiful blue eyed, two legged bridges. One who got a time out in gym class today!!!! But that is a whole other blog.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

One More Day

Hey there,

We had to put Jake down yesterday. (the 17 year old cat) It was very sad. Worse than I imagined it would be.

It doesn't sound sad does it? We put him down, like you put your child down for a nap. Only it wasn't anything like putting your child down for a nap.

It seemed sudden, although he has been aging rapidly in the last few months. And he was 17 for goodness sake. And, truth be told, I thought I was ready for Jake's demise for years. After Bob died I felt like Jake had outworn his welcome.

Really, that is how I felt.

I kept thinking to myself; "Why is Bob gone and Jake is still here?"

Really, I did.

I had Jake before I met Bob, and then I still had him after Bob was gone. I had Jake longer than I had Bob. I am not sure why that fact has always bothered me. But in the end I guess I had grown fond of the old coot again, and I already miss having him around.

Henry and Arthur were with me at the vet and they took it hard. There was wailing. We even had some folks out in the waiting room in tears. Here is some of what those poor unsuspecting dog owners heard through the door:

"Now Henry, Jake had a long life."

"But I was only a part of it for such a short time"

gasp, sob

"Just like with Daddy"

wail

"I was a part of his life for even shorter!"

more wailing

"I am glad I was so much younger when Daddy died. I didn't know so much of what I was losing. Now I know"

what is another word for wail? keen?

Now Arthur:

"At least I knew Jake......I hardly knew Daddy at aaaallllllllll"

Now we are all crying.

At this point the vet wanted to run screaming from the room I am sure.


This morning I came downstairs and found both the boys getting dressed in their room and crying again.

"I can't believe it," Henry said. "One minute I was laughing about something my teacher did at school and the next minute I was crying because you told me Jake was dying and we had to take him to the vet."

As Henry continued to lament the unpredictability of life, while hopping around and pulling up a pair of Spiderman undies, I thought to myself; "That is kind of how these things work, kid, bummer I know." You can't really prepare yourself in advance for these sorts of things. You can't know that next week your husband will get a cancer diagnosis, or that tomorrow you will get in a car accident.

"I just wish I had one more day," Henry continued.

"Why, babe? What would you do with one more day?" I asked him, truly curious.

"I don't know. It would just be one more day. Don't you want one more day with Daddy?" He looked up at me with those intense blue eyes all waterlogged.

This question caught me off guard, honestly I have never thought about this option. Before I could gather my wits the boys, fully clothed, were off to pour themselves a bowl of Honey Oats. I will never cease being envious of children and their ability to turn grief on and off like a light switch.

But I continued to ponder the question.......and my final answer is no. I would not want one more day with Bob. Especially if it were a continuation of the days we were having before he died, I did not want one more hour of that. Maybe if it could be a day of my choosing, like the day we spent in Brugge, Belgium, before we discovered Bob had forgotten to put film in the camera. Or the day we went camping in the Olympic Rain Forest and it rained (harder than usual) and we spent the entire day in the tent playing backgammon and reading out loud to each other. Or the day I found out I was pregnant with Henry and I was freaking out and Bob just grabbed me around the middle and said; "Renie, this is going to be a riot with you!"

But, no, even if my one more day could be one of our greatest days, my answer is still no. One more day would simply put me back at the beginning of my grief journey. And you could not pay me enough money to be back there. When the movie "Ghost" came out (which was LONG before I met Bob let alone lost him) and Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze have that last dance together and it is supposed to be all romantic, all I could think of was ... Now she will just have to start all over again.

I guess I am not a romantic. I am too damn practical for my own good. If something is over, why drag it out with one more day? Maybe it isn't just practicality but a lack of patience as well. If there is no fixing a problem, I want to be moving beyond it.

So, no Henry, I don't want one more day with your dad.

Now, a lifetime? Totally different story.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

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