Milestones

by fifilaroach on March 8, 2010 · 3 comments

Lily on her birthday.

Well, we made it through Lily’s 8th birthday, but just barely.

Actually, she seemed okay most of the day, but I was really hurting. It was the six month anniversary of George’s death and seemed like a milestone to me in lots of ways. He’s gone, that’s for sure. No matter how well I know that fact, its still vaguely unreal. Especially when it comes to Lily, our finest collaboration, I feel my heart holding out hope that he will magically reappear. Watching her on her big day, her delight at being honored at school (she got to bang the gong 8 times in music class), the way she tore into her presents, her deep enjoyment at spending time with my parents, I missed him more than ever.

There is something sacred about sharing your child’s happiness with the other parent. George and I would shoot each other looks all the time when Lily was happy, when she did something special, when she displayed some new interest or knowledge. I can’t describe how fine a feeling that was, those glances. People always describe George as having a sparkle in his eyes when he spoke of me, and especially Lily. Its that sparkle that I miss so much. Now that its gone I realize that sparkle superpowered my enjoyment of being a wife and a parent.

Now we are facing the birthday party. Saturday, eight little girls dressed as faries will converge on my parents’ house, where they will no doubt flit and flitter and generally cause chaos. We’ll be missing George then, too. He always held up the pinata, and usually was the one to rip it open when it failed to break. (Why do they never break? Why do we always have to have one?)

Other things are happening too, as they will when time passes. Lily got sick for the first time since it happened last night. She woke up vomiting and threw up all over my bed, into my pillows, absolutely everywhere. I’ve never seen anything like it. She said, “I threw up on Dad’s side, I’m so sorry!” My first thought was to email him at work and warn him that things were awry at home. Automatic reaction.

I’m finalizing the house plans and the move is starting to feel really real. I’m planning a trip to New Orleans, which seems sacreligious without George along, he loved the city so much. I’m going back down to Asheville to see Shirley and supervise work on Nancy’s house. Lots of things going on, but everything seems hollow somehow and every night I lay here trying to fall asleep while I go over the things in my head I want to talk to Geoge about.

As time passes I see that people (especially those who have not lost anyone close to them,) are really expecting me to normalize and move on. I notice that mentioning George’s death to some people makes them respond almost compulsively that time is passing, I must feel better. I’ve got news, sometimes I think the work of grieving is only just getting started, and that the worst is ahead. Making peace with death is like shooting at a moving target, a lot harder than it looks and with an unpredictable outcome. I have peaceful, accepting days, and days where I can barely hold my temper I’m so angry.

Before all this I rarely thought of days as something to “get through,” but I do now. I get up in the morning, most days, by giving myself a lecture/pep-talk that usually includes some out loud muttering about “taking care of your family,” and “pull it together.” I think if I didn’t do that I’d be spending a lot of days in the bed.

Then there is the loneliness.

I’ve been divorced, and I remember the pain of that parting as profound. The failure, the ripped heart, the disappointment, all converged to make me obsess on my state of solitude. This is quite different. When you have a happy relationship, and you look forward to being together as we did (we got very little time together because of his schedule, and all of life was scheduled around his sleep needs,) you do appreciate your time together more than when it comes easily. We always acknowledged our good times, and mourned when we wasted our time together with a fight or unexpected interruptions. Now, I often feel like I’m still waiting for a weekend with George. I habitually note things I’d like his opinion on. I even bookmark pages on the computer I think he’d be interested in. Can’t help  it, its second nature. This pain is all about missing my best friend, and knowing that no matter who I turn to in the future, it will never be George again.

Letting go is hard work, and its not something anyone really wants to do. Its very weird to try to convince yourself to move in a direction when everything in your being resists it. So each day I try to take one step into the future, even if all I want to do is stay in bed and dream of the past. Most days I’m successful, and some days, like yesterday, I actually go to bed feeling a sense of accomplishment. There are still lots of good times ahead, I know that, and I’m sure I’ll enjoy Lily’s birthday party even though I’ll feel torn at the same time. Maybe that’s the real curse of being the surviving spouse, making peace with being the one who gets to be there for the birthdays, the sunsets, the laughter, while your partner has simply… evaporated. I don’t know.

I intend to keep moving forward, keep living, keep trying.

It will never be the same, but I have Lily, and Sara, and hope.

{ 3 comments }

Drifting

by fifilaroach on February 28, 2010 · 5 comments

Lily's sad little smile...

I’m finding it hard to write. I can’t stick to one subject, one feeling, for long enough to complete a paragraph.

It’s not much of a spectrum, miserable to sad and back again.  I feel stuck in a groove and unable to rock myself out.

I seem to spend a great deal of time reflecting on all that I’ve lost, and remembering moments and experiences from my time with George. I’m melancholy, and I guess I have every right to be, but I sometimes feel in a prison comprised of my grief. I think Lily feels caged in, too. She paces like a big cat behind bars and proposes all kinds of activities and outings. She has a great desire to convince me to buy her things. I think it is really control she is seeking. I’ve been giving in a lot, and I’m ashamed to admit I’ve bribed her to improve her mood more than I should have.

I’m in such a fog, I’ve had some really strange lapses. The other day I suddenly realized that we have a working fax machine and have for years, though its little used. I needed to do a lot of scanning and faxing and I bought a new machine. I absolutely forgot the machine we have. I’ve worried a great deal about needing to fax, too. Worried for days and days, and it never crossed my mind there was one in the basement.

So even though I feel I’ve made some progress, I have to admit I’m still quite in a state of shock.

I’m also struggling to stay engaged with Lily. I haven’t been reading with her, and Sara is doing the homework with her. I don’t want this lapse to become habit. I want our life to still be fun sometimes. I’m trying, but I’m bogged down. I know too many moms who have lost the ability to have a good time with their kids. They are so busy being watchful and giving object lessons, they forget that one of their jobs is to play. I’ve always felt uncomfortable around those families and I don’t want ours to become one.

Lily told me she had a dream about George the other night. When I asked, she said it was just us living a normal life. She had such a look of longing when she told me that. It was another of so many sad moments between us.

She got mad yesterday and told me that she wished it would have been me that died rather than George. Ouch! I didn’t get mad, though it really did smart. I told her I understood, and she’d feel that way sometimes, and not to feel guilty. Later she did feel guilty and she said she was sorry, which was totally unneeded. I know how much she loves and needs me. I’m just so sorry that she is having to explore these kinds of feelings so early in life. It doesn’t seem fair.

I’m starting to buy things for the new house and that’s been a lot of fun. A new bed, new  great room furniture, a new dining table. I can’t stand to keep our old furniture, and just sleeping in our bed is a nightly source of great pain. As soon as I sit on the bed I compulsively say out loud, “I love you, George.” I really can’t help it. Its the place he haunts me the most, even to the point that I often wake up and think I hear him breathing. Its only Buster, our old man bichon, who now has to be lifted into the bed he jumped into easily just before George died. This has taken years off of his life, I’m afraid. He walks along, yipping with pain, on many of the cold days we’ve had lately. He still sits at the front door a lot of the time, hoping in vain for George to come home.

In just a few days, March 4th, it will be Lily’s eighth birthday, and the six month anniversary of George’s death. A big, sad day. Lily is having a fairy party and will be flitting around with all of her fairy friends at her party, and I hope she can have a nice time. As for me, I’ll be missing him more than ever. No George to blow up the balloons. No George to give out directions. No George at all.

Just another sad milestone in our journey toward a new, George-less  life.

{ 5 comments }

No Love Lost

by fifilaroach on February 16, 2010 · 9 comments

Today Lily finally had her Valentine’s Day party at school. The three feet of snow we’ve gotten have kept her home since last Wednesday, so today was the first chance they had to celebrate. Parents were invited to the party, and though I really just wanted to couch surf all day, Sara convinced me to go.

I’m glad I did, but it was harder than I expected. George liked to go to Lily’s school stuff. Late to the fathering game, he relished any opportunity to be a part of Lily’s life, and went happily to birthday parties and school functions. So when we got there, I was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of loss. I wasn’t prepared. Scanning the room, I saw that Lily had a sad little smile on her face, and as I watched her I realized that she was missing him too. She very seriously and quietly gave out her valentines and then sat silently in her chair. The other kids were buzzing around, exclaiming over their candy and cards, and she sat looking reflective, solemn.

Its been sort of a hard day. It started when she went next door, as is her custom, to walk with our neighbors to the bus. She forgot the special valentine she had made for the boy she likes, Isaiah, and Sara ran after her to give it to her. When Sara got to the neighbor’s door and knocked, it swung open and Franchesca, Lily’s friend, burst into tears and cried, “You can come in, because Toasty’s dead!”

Toasty was their dauschund mix, an obnoxious but much loved little dog who barked constantly. He got hit by a car in front of the house. Both Franchesca and her brother John were in tears. Lily stood helplessly by. She told me later, “I did shed a tear when they told me.”

At the school party Lily was very proud of Sara. I heard her telling a little girl that Sara was her sister. I missed some of the conversation, but I heard her say, “She’s my mom’s first husband’s daughter. My half step sister.”

“Huh?” said the little girl.

“A previous relationship,” said another girl. “People have lots of relationships.”

Don’t want to know what’s going on in that kid’s life.

“So you have the same dad?” asked the first little girl. “No,” Lily answered quietly. “My dad’s dead.”

My heart thumped. Poor Lily. I wonder how often she has to tell people about George, and what they say back to her. I realized how hard it probably is for her to go to school each day and socialize. I’ve been avoiding social activities, mainly because I don’t want to answer a lot of questions. Lily doesn’t have that luxury.

Anyway, I got through the party by the hardest, came home, and collapsed. Sara carried on, taking Lily on errands and getting her dinner. While I licked my wounds they picked up some flowers and a card for the neighbors and dropped them off, then brought some to me. Sweet girls.

While we were eating our Chinese takeout, Lily looked at me and suddenly said, “I had a moment of love today.”

“Really? When?” I asked.

“When Isaiah put his arm around me for the picture,” she said sweetly. “I never had that happen before.”

My heart lurched. She has so much ahead of her. So many exquisite, beautiful experiences. She has a big heart and big dreams, and her life is going to be very full and dramatic, I think. She’s got a lot of love to give and if George is gone she’s going to look around for somewhere to put it all. I hope she finds people who will return her feelings and treat her well.

As for me, I’m feeling a bit better tonight, but I miss George more than ever. Life as a single parent is settling in in earnest, and its a heavy emotional load. I was so secure in George’s commitment I never really thought about parenting alone. Just figured he’d be around to share it with me.

So now we’re settled in, watching Jurassic Park Three and thinking our own thoughts. Lily will get up tomorrow and soldier on through school once again. I admire her strength. Sara and I will continue to get ready for the move.

And everyone, in their own way, will think about better days, when we had George.

{ 9 comments }

Without Reservation

by fifilaroach on February 15, 2010 · 5 comments

“I blame the plane,” Lily said, all of a sudden a few days ago. She’s been struggling with the why and the who of George’s death (and who hasn’t?) She doesn’t want it to be any one person’s fault, so the plane is the perfect culprit.

I know how she feels.

Its difficult not to obsess on whose fault it is. Why it happened. What went wrong. A friend described the accident as slices of Swiss cheese whose holes lined up, an unlikely event, but one that happens sometimes. George fell through the holes. We’ve always been so lucky, its the absolute last thing I ever thought would happen, for the holes to line up. Not to us. Because of my absolute belief that we’re good people. Smart people. Lucky people.

And I guess if you examine the above… arrogant people.

I’ve been thinking a lot about arrogance, and how easy it is to slip into when things are going your way.

Most of us have spent some time thinking about what it would have been like to be born in less advantageous circumstances. Nothing makes you dwell on your “luck” more than an accident. I’ve always had an underlying guilt about being born into privilege. My dad was a doctor, not the wealthiest one, but an MD just the same, and there are many advantages. We had a nice house, lived in a nice neighborhood, had a lot of wonderful opportunities.

Then there is the advantage of health. I’ve been pretty lucky there, too. I still have both of my parents, though both have had lots of ups and downs. My dad is 82, my mom is 78. They are both clued in to the culture and know who is who (love Beyonce) and what is what (hate tattoos.) I have had a variety of health issues, but nothing I haven’t been able to overcome. I have two sister, one of whom has some handicaps, but she’s been able to manage them with the help we can afford to give her.

We’ve lived a nice life. A little research shows how nice.

I imagine most everyone reading this is in the top fifteen percent of income in the world. Many are in the top one percent. We rarely think of it that way, but its true.

Percentage of world population Percentage of world income Yearly individual income Daily individual income
Bottom 10 percent 0.8 $400 $1,10
Bottom 20 percent 2.0 $500 $1,37
Bottom 50 percent 8.5 $850 $2,33
Bottom 75 percent 22.3 $1,487 $4,07
Bottom 85 percent 37.1 $2,182 $5,98
Top 10 percent 50.8 $25,400 $69,59
Top 5 percent 33.7 $33,700 $92,33
Top 1 percent 9.5 $47,500 $130,14

We are in the top 1%

So, if you make $47.500 or above, you are in the TOP 1% IN INCOME in the world. Mind blowing, huh? Its easy to lose sight of the reality of the world when we are so privileged.

I’ve had a lot of interesting conversations since George’s death with lots of people who seem to be unaware of the their luck in life. Beautiful people. Young people. Wealthy people. Healthy people. Intelligent people. Such lucky, happy, beautiful, privileged people. It’s easy to start to believe you deserve your luck, easy to expect the best.

I had a conversation with a woman who is exceedingly beautiful about how very nice people are.  Yeah, they are. Especially when you are beautiful. The world is just friendlier when you shine. But she thought I was crazy when I suggested people were just nicer to her because she was so lovely. Her beauty has convinced her the world’s an extremely kind place. And for her, it is.

I’ve been trying to come to terms with reality, and I’ve realized that its easy to float through life, expecting and accepting the best, assuming those who are less fortunate are in some way less deserving. The experience of George’s death has rocked my view of the world. I’m more thankful for the good things I have, and I realize how much I’ve been given simply by the accidents of birth and chance.

Lucky Lily

I’ve had lots of love in my life. I was able to get an education. Fun has be plentiful. Happiness bountiful. Money more than adequate. I intend to educate Lily about how fortunate she is. It’s strange that it took this horrible turn of events for me to focus on the bounty in our lives. Now that I have, I intend to live every day mindful of all that I’ve been given. I plan to appreciate my time on earth, be joyful, and embrace hope.

If I’ve learned anything about fate, its that no matter how lucky you think you are, every once in a while, the holes can line up.

{ 5 comments }

The Dust is Settling

by fifilaroach on February 5, 2010 · 4 comments

Hanging out with Daddy...

I’m learning a little more about what “It takes time,” really involves. It’s just living day by day and trying to calmly observe the death of your former way of  life while keeping  your head and heart in check.

It’s a daily grind, moving toward the time when you’re not totally consumed with grieving. Here are a few of the things I’m doing to deal with the death of my husband:

  1. Working toward organizing the house for sale and George’s placing George’s belongings appropriately.
  2. Finding therapists for me and for Lily.
  3. Working with Lily’s school to survive the second grade (the principal says she notices a definite personality change.)
  4. Struggling with various entities to organize benefits, life insurance and to collect George’s belongings after his death. (Still haven’t found his wedding ring, which haunts me daily.)
  5. Helping my parents and sister Nancy get ready to move.
  6. Supporting Shirley in her grief.
  7. Keeping myself off of the couch (Where I am right now.)
  8. Accepting George’s absence, realigning my hopes and dreams, trying not to settle every future plan on and around Lily, believing, believing, believing in myself, in a better future, that good things are in store…

So I’m just moving through each day with all of these responsibilities in mind.

Just walking around in the world, or even hanging out in the house forces you to face your grief every moment.

Sometimes I feel like this is the work of the universe after a tragedy, to help you accept. I went to the doctor with Lily yesterday where we both had checkups. I left with a new anti-depressant, she with new prescriptions for her sleep medications. Better life through pharmaceuticals!

Bonding

Lily was really anxious to interact with the doctor. She misses male attention, that is obvious. She showed the doc a letter she had written to Sara on the computer at school. She told him all about various things that have happened at school, and asked his opinion on a recent controversy: Kids had been assigned to read four books a month for five months and then will participate in an ice cream party. Because of our troubles, Lily missed reporting on her books one month. So she won’t get to go to the ice cream party, along with two or three others who also failed to bring in reports. The kids who completed the reading’s names are in the second grade newsletter. This is bugging Lily, and infuriating Sara.

Lily asked the doctor what he thought about it all. He was appropriately horrified and offered to write a note to the principal. So sweet. But what I really felt during the exchange was how acutely she missed George, her champion in all these sorts of issues. He was the one she turned to when she wanted to gauge the fairness of any situation and his opinion ruled. Even though I’ve weighed in on this situation, she wanted to know what a male role model thought about it. The doctor disapproved. Guess I’ll give the principal a call today…

The days run together, and time passes. Yesterday was the fifth month since he passed away. After my bath last night I had two wet towels to hang. I always jam them side by side on “my” towel rack. It’s always a struggle to get them to fit on the rack together. I eyed George’s rack. It’s bigger. It was empty because we washed the towel that was hanging there and put it in with all of our other towels after he died, after a little conversation about whether that was okay.

I walked over to the rack. I stood there. It was dusty on top since it’s been empty for a while. I was surprised by the amount of dust that has settled there. Has it been that long? My arms felt paralyzed. I slowly raised them and hung my towel on the rack. I had a sense of crushing guilt, but I needed the rack, right? He’s gone, right? He wouldn’t mind me using the rack, I’m sure, but It hurt to use it anyway.

So life has a way of taking you where you need to go. It just does, whether you’re ready for it now. I read somewhere that time is a river, and it really is… it flows across you and it will drown you if you don’t do your part to stay about the surface. 

I posted a while ago lamenting the pain of moving through the time required to get to a point where I feel more normal, less on red alert, closer to my normal self. I can see and accept now that my part in this tragedy is to continue to live, and do all the things the living do.

Get up, mother Lily, plan a life, move forward. I’ll spend a big part of my time thinking of George, because he deserves to be remembered and because he’s a part of me that will never die or fade away, really. I see him in Lily’s face, in everyday objects. I feel him next to me in our bed. I remember him when I observe the doctor’s obvious enjoyment of Lily’s company during our visit yesterday. George is still here in my life. Not being able to physically touch him, or talk to him face to face is agony, but his spirit and energy is bolstering me and keeps me from despair as life flows slowly forward.

It’s another huge gift from him, and once again I realize how very much I  loved him and all that he brought to my life.

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