When It Rains

I read two other blogs on grief.  One, by Sherri Newman (http://thenewmans.blogspot.com/) chronicles life after loosing her son to SUDEP, the same condition Jeff died from.  I have met Sherri and I feel a bond with her.  I feel that Sherri and I share something, the shock and discovery of finding a loved-one lifeless.  I know what Sherri went through, she knows what I went through, we don't even have to talk about it.

I read her blog and I know she reads mine.  We talk periodically on the phone or through social media.  It is a relationship I know we would gladly part with if it meant our loved one was still alive, but instead we have this connection.  I will see Sherri again this weekend at the annual Joshua
Newman 5K 

http://www.events.org/newman5k/cpage.aspx?e=64967

Last year when I met Sherri at the 5K I was struck by how tall she was (as a tall woman myself, I am usually impressed to find another woman I have to look up at).  I was also surprised at how hard she hugged me and the first words she spoke to me "...because I know how we hate the word strong."  She was the first person to understand that and mentioned it first.  It has only served to solidify my internal connection to her.

I also read Anna's blog on the loss of her son (http://aninchofgray.blogspot.com/).  It is days like these when it rains buckets that I wonder how Anna is doing.  I think of how the rain storms must be traumatic for her because I know how hard I struggle with sleep.

Not my own sleep, but the sleep of my children.  It is odd to fear sleep but I do.  Sleep took Jeff's life.  Well, sleep and seizures.  I can't even try to comfort myself in the fact that my children haven't had a seizure because Jeff only had two and really, it would only take one to rob me of my child.

All three of us have our own issues with sleep since Jeff died. It took over a year and a half before my youngest could sleep a full night in his own bed.  He would fall asleep fine but would wake up at some point in the night and need to be with me.  The loss, the uncertainty, the fright in the middle of the night could only be fixed by snuggling with momma.  And, I needed that too.

In fact, I needed it so much I have worked hard to not encourage either of my boys to sleep with me.  I need to hear them breathe, I need to feel their warmth, I need to feel the bed move as they roll over, I need to know that they are alive as they sleep.  And because that is my need, I deny myself.  If they need to be with me, that is one thing.  The fact that I need to be with them is another.

I need to balance my fears and my needs with what will ensure that I raise healthy adjusted individuals.  I can't ask my boys to sleep with me each night just so that I can comfort myself.  I need to make peace with sleep.  I need to accept the uncertainty of life.  I need to trust.  But I don't.  Not yet.

When it rains I think of Anna and every time my boys go to sleep I think of Sherri.

Sincerely,

Jeff's Widow

Daddy's Tractor

There is a small list of things that I avoid because they remind me of Jeff.

The local pumpkin patch
Punkin Chunkin
My backyard
Jeff's tractor

Jeff's tractor has been on my mind the past few weeks.  It is fall and while it was Jeff's favorite time of the year, after we bought our house it was his least favorite time of the year as well.  Because of the leaves.  So, so many leaves to rake up.  He hated every one of them.

Shortly after buying our house, with it's half acre of lawn, Jeff needed a new lawn mower.  The ride on mower the previous owners left behind died and he'd been pushing a mower up and down our steep hills and having a miserable time of it.  So he bought a tractor. 

Jeff, employing the "Tim-the-Toolman Taylor method of power tools" bought a big-ass Kubota tractor.  It is really for a much larger lawn (farm).  But Jeff was done with the push mower and the tractor was a giant toy.  That is not to say that the tractor did not have it's functions.  In fact, I swear it paid for itself after "snowmageddon".  Jeff not only plowed our driveway and hill but many of the neighbors drives as well.  He spent days on that tractor moving snow and had a blast.

Jeff made doing the lawn a joy with the tractor.  After he mowed the lawn he would circle back to the house and pick up a boy for a tractor ride.  My boys would run from window to window, noses pressed to the glass, watching his progress.  "Is Daddy done? When will Daddy be done?  Is he done yet?".  "He's done now!  Yeah!!!" and they would scamper out the door.

Jeff would scoop one up and take him around into the back 2 acres that borders the water.  He would do a small amount of trimming but mostly he just took the boys for a ride.  He would circle back and snag the second boy for a trip.  All three of them loved that tractor.

In the fall before Jeff's death, he bought a leaf catcher for the tractor.  He was thrilled.  He could finally get all the leaves up while on the tractor and it cut his time gathering leaves to next to nothing.  He finally loved fall again. 

In the early months after Jeff's death I sold his motorcycle and his truck but I couldn't part with the tractor.  Maybe it's the memories of the boys on his lap or maybe I just hit a wall.  The wall of lethargy that I hit around 5 months when I stopped having to do stuff in order to survive.  The tractor suffered from un-use and I sent it off to be repaired but I still haven't driven it.  I don't even go on it.  It sits in my garage like a giant orange reminder of Jeff. 

I have no real excuse.  I could ask my father in law to take care of it and he would sell it for me.  It isn't as if I have to do anything really.  But for some reason, while I can't sit on it or drive it or even think about it... I can't part with it either.

Sincerely,

Jeff's Widow

Lop-Sided Chocolate Pie

It is almost Thanksgiving time and I was reminded of one of my favorite Jeff stories.  I have millions and this one is in the top 10.

This year we are going to my parents house for Thanksgiving.  Recently my oldest asked his Grandmother what Jeff's favorite pie was.  My mom replied "chocolate".  J1 then asked my mom to make that for him this Thanksgiving.  Later she told me about the exchange (we all compare notes when J1 talks about Jeff because we are so worried about him) and I laughed that she left out the most important part of the story.  Later that night, when I was putting J1 to bed I told him the true story...

In the first year of dating Jeff and I instituted the standard "every other year" policy for family Thanksgiving.  But that isn't the full truth.  See, may family does Second Thanksgiving.  It's true, we are practically hobbits.

Second Thanksgiving originated when my dad was an Army officer and as an officer he felt that he should have Thanksgiving dinner with the troops at the mess hall.  The mess hall wasn't all bad, in fact, two of my favorite Thanksgiving gluttony stories originate from the mess hall meals (think unlimited soda and a soft serve ice cream machine and two distracted parents and you get the picture).  However, the fun did not stop there.  Because my dad launched a leftover campaign, the need for turkey is strong in that one, and my mom fell for it.  So, we did Thursday dinner with the troops and a Friday family Thanksgiving dinner at home.  Second Thanksgiving was born.  This continued for years, years I tell you.  Second Thanksgiving fell to the sidelines when my dad retired from the military only to resurface later after my sister and I left for college.  This resurrection formed when my folks joined up with friends for Thanksgiving festivities and then my mom would cook on Friday (for leftovers!).  It's craziness.

So, that first year of dating Jeff and I went to his family's on Thursday and then went to my family's on Friday for Second Thanksgiving.  Jeff was in heaven.  He had never heard of such a thing and was thrilled to be having a full-on fresh-from-the-oven Thanksgiving meal two days in a row.

Prior to Thanksgiving my mom had asked Jeff what his favorite pie was and Jeff had told her chocolate.  She wanted to make a good impression and wanted to have his favorite on the table.  My mom is known for her pies and pretty much will bake a pie per person for Thanksgiving.  There is usually 2 pumpkin, 2 pecan, and an apple pie. (I asked her why two of each once and she replied that it was just as easy to make two as it is to make one.  That is the logic I live with, folks.)  Now, there was a chocolate pie tossed into the mix. Oh the gluttony.

So at the end of the meal, my mom brings out all the pies.  The chocolate pie had been covered with tin foil and in the freezer so with a flourish the tin foil was pulled back to reveal: half a pie!

See, it was a frozen-set pie and it had shifted in the freezer so all the filling migrated to half the pie and literally the other half was just pie crust.  Jeff, being Jeff, loudly exclaimed with a clap of hands:

"Lop-sided chocolate pie!  My favorite!"

My mom was mortified.  But Jeff was thrilled.  He got to eat a chocolate pie serving with double the filling.  Double.

So imagine what Jeff said the following year when the pie looked like this...

Yup, he gave my mom the biggest pouty face and asked where the lop-sided chocolate pie was.  Oh, he ragged on her for years.  So much so, that my mom took to doubling the filling for the chocolate pie.  But even then, it wasn't truly lop-sided. 

Jeff loved the tradition of Second Thanksgiving as much as he loved lop-sided chocolate pie. 

Neither are the same without him.

Sincerely,

Jeff's Widow

Family Portraits

This weekend I had our family portrait done. 

What a simple, yet complicated, sentence.

I had my family portrait done, without Jeff.  This isn't the first time since he died but that doesn't make it easier. 

I like to have the boys pictures taken every year at their birthdays.  Lucky for me, my boys are exactly 6 months apart in the calendar  year so I get a good representation of them aging.  I would usually convince Jeff that the winter pictures were also the holiday cards and get the whole family into them.

Jeff always gave me a hard time about the pictures.  First off, he had bought a very nice camera just before J1 was born and he didn't see why that camera wasn't enough.  It was hard to explain to him that while my camera was great and it took good pictures: it wasn't the same as having a professional do it.  This is why we have professionals: to be good at their job.  But I understood his point of view, Jeff was the type of man that didn't pay a plumber... he figured it out himself.  He didn't hire a guy to drywall - he figured it out himself.  He didn't pay a mechanic to fix his car: he did it himself (you get the gist).  So, really in his mind, the whole picture thing was the same.  We could do it ourselves.  Problem is: and I'm sure you all can agree, the person most likely to take the pictures (me) is rarely seen in any of the pictures.  I have thousands of pictures of Jeff with the boys and only a handful of pictures of myself with them-- but that is another story.

I went along with it the first Christmas, when J1 was 6 months old and the picture was so awful that cried.  I never backed down on the pictures again.  Later, when Jeff tried to cut off my picture plans due to money troubles I maneuvered a way to still include them.  Allowing how I would take it upon myself to save up the money for it.  His gift to me was to not complain about it.  In the end, it worked out well.  I got my pictures: he grumbled but only when he really thought I wasn't in ear-shot.

Of course, I am thrilled I never backed down.  I have family pictures dated just 3 months before Jeff passed, most were used at his funeral.

I'd read recently that you will find a way to make something work that is important to you.  It is true.  If eating well is important, you do it.  If exercise is important, you do it.  Pictures were important to me and I was willing to negotiate so that I could have them.  I will always do these pictures.

Always.

Sincerely,

Jeff's Widow

The Third Monkey

When I said before that I thought 2013 was going to be a rebuilding year.  What I really meant was rebuilding myself, rebuilding the relationship with my kids.  I don't know how anyone else would do after a death, I can only tell you how I did.  

I didn't necessarily fall apart at the seams, more like an implosion. I just folded the layers of paper in on myself like origami until I was so tiny inside.  It's the best way to insulate yourself and protect yourself because everything in the world is so painful.

It doesn't have to be anything obvious, I don't have to see a picture of Jeff to grieve.  It could be an Audi TT and I would remember that was the type of car Jeff drove when we first met.  I once cried for 15 minutes when I saw an old man walking down the street, someone I didn't even know, because I realized I would never see Jeff as an old man.

It's random and it's painful and it's so unpredictable.  So I withdrew, it's the only thing I could do.  I didn't withdrawal completely from my kids, I wasn't going to leave them without a parent.  But I wasn't the person I was before, I certainly wasn't the mother I wanted to be. 

I read a scientific study years ago about three sets of monkeys.  One set got food every time they pushed a lever.  The second set got food and an electrical shock every time they they pushed the lever.  The third set got food or an electrical shock at random.  The experiment noted that the first two groups were fine.  The monkeys in group 2, even though they recieved a shock with their food knew what to expect and accepted it.  The third set, however, had pretty much gone insane (I am paraphrasing).  They had pulled their hair out, twitched, couldn't sleep, and were basically so stressed they were not functional.  

I have often felt like that third monkey in the past two years.  I never know when the shock that will trigger grief will arrive and so it kinda makes you crazy.  I did the only thing I could think of: and I circled the wagons.  Kept close at home with the kids and kept my head down.

I wanted this year to rebuild, to uncircle the wagons.  Maybe live my life with the acceptace of the shock of grief.  Instead of fearing when it would arise.  We’ve had our ups and our downs this year and the downs seem a little harder.  But I've made progress.  I've unfolded myself at times, allowed myself to be exposed to emotions, gave myself permission to make improvements.  To make strides forward for my benefit.
I can only hope I continue into next year.

Sincerely,

Jeff's Widow

"Dude... You're Dating Her"

Every year two friends of mine, AB and JB, from high school travel over 8 hours to spend the weekend in town and run 10 miles (yes, I think they are crazy).  This yearly tradition gives us a chance to chat, hang out and do nothing strenuous (they are running a race!) for a weekend other than renew our friendship.

It was no surprise, really, how seamlessly Jeff joined the group.  Maybe it was Jeff's personality, or maybe it's that nerds just flock together well, but Jeff was welcome with my friends.  He looked forward to these yearly visits as an opportunity to drink beer, talk about computers and electronics and/or the latest in kid toys.

Jeff never failed to come away from the weekends without learning something new, whether it is a new "adult" card game like Perplex City, a new electronic device, or a new (to him) computer game.  But one of my favorite stories boils down to something new Jeff learned about me.

Early on, maybe the first or second weekend visit, Jeff was asking a lot of questions trying to get some information on me and what I was like in high school.  It was funny and it gave the rest of us amble opportunity to reminisce about high school without being annoying to the one person who didn't attend with us.

Then Jeff asked "Hey!  Who was the scary girl in your school?  You know, the angry one that wore all black?"

I think AB was stunned, not sure if this was a joke or a real question, when he replied:

"Dude, you're dating her."

I laughed so hard I almost spit my beer out and it still makes me laugh to this day.  Poor Jeff, he really got set up on that one.  The look on his face was priceless.

My friends were in town again recently.  This was now the second year without Jeff and I felt his absence strongly.  I felt it at the beer festival that we attended (the one he found a few years ago and was thrilled that it was listed as "kid friendly" which turned out to be 2 bounce houses amid a plethora of beer tents).  I felt his absence when we were at dinner at one of his favorite restaurants (a brew house).  I felt his absence when talking about next years race and how he'd always vow to do the race in the next year but never did.  I missed the way he could monopolize the conversation into the geeky/nerd realm of computers and games.

I love AB and JB and that they travel so far every year so I can see them.  We had this traditional weekend for years before I even met Jeff but now I see how Jeff has left his impact upon it.  From a beer festival to restaurants we always choose to go to.  I'm just hoping this weekend becomes less painful for me in the future.

I would like to experience the joy of a friendly visit without the ghost of Jeff making me cry.

Sincerely,

Jeff's Widow

Marraige/Re-Marriage

My kids can blindside me with topics.  Saturday we had a rare relaxing day, no running around, no craziness.  After the usual 4:30am hockey start we were home and goofing off.  I wasn't even doing any house projects.  We were outside, we were inside, we had a playdate with a friend, we were enjoying a lovely day together when my little said (out of the blue):

"I'm going to marry mommy."

And J1 replied "You can't." The he turns to me and asks "right?"

I said, "that's right, Mommy is already married.  I'm married to Daddy."

And then J1 said, "Can you, you-know, re-do it?"

"You mean, get re-married?"

"Yes, why don't you?"

Quietly, I respond "Because I haven't been looking."

"Oh, you should!  You should go looking.  Right now."

How do you explain to a 7 year old that you are not ready to go looking?  I was stumped.  These are big-world problems that are hard for a 7 or 4 year old to grasp.  My little has taken to saying he would like a "new daddy" and it's like a knife into my heart - especially when he tells Jeff's picture at night.  But I understand the desire of wanting another father.

I've looked at my boys in the past year and known that they crave a father figure.  They cling to their grandfather when he's at the house.  They jump on their "uncles" BT and TL when they are over.  I've seen J1 seek out his baseball coach and when I watch them interact I know that J1 feels that void, that hole that Jeff has left in his life.

Problem is: I'm not just looking for a father figure I'd be looking for a husband.  A person up for two challenges.  One, to take me on (I am no prize) and two, to take on my two children.  Instant family.  This person would have tough shoes to fill, not only in my eyes and those of my children, but also in our families.  How will Jeff's family feel when I introduce a new person into the family circle?  How will they welcome him?  In our culture, families blend all the time and I know it is possible and with very good results.  I've seen it.    I'm not worried that it won't ever happen, or can't ever happen, it just isn't as simple as when I met Jeff.  Then I didn't have all the other considerations.

Thing is: I really only just accepted that I am a widow and no longer married to Jeff.  It isn't the spring-board for going out and dating.

My boys are young and they think the question is simple and so I will continue to respond with the simple answer "I'm not looking."  I can only hope they don't follow up with "Why?"

Sincerely,

Jeff's Widow

Emergency Contact

I was recently at the doctor, one I only see about once a year.  They like so many other offices are busy switching to the newly required electronic filing system and were updating all their info.  Somehow, and I don't know how, some of my info hadn't been updated properly in the past year.

So, I had to tell them Jeff died and take him off all my paperwork and I had to change my emergency contact information.  Now, I even questioned why they needed this.  I mean, I'm 40 so why do they need a secondary contact?  And really, I am only here once a year.  But they did and so, at 40, I had to list my mother. 

It may seem small, but it is little events like this that bother me.  First, I had to tell a perfect stranger that Jeff had died.  This is still not easy for me, I have on occasion, pretended to still be happily married so that I don't have to tell a random stranger my story.  I sometimes just don't want to deal with it. 

I had to stand there at the counter and correct my paperwork - basically erasing Jeff from my life - and then I had to put my mother down as a contact like I was a child.  I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.  It's like all the forms I fill out for the boys.  Under "father" I list Jeff then (deceased) and then NA all the other info slots.  It kills me and I fill out those damn forms all the time.  But for me?  There is no slot to fill in information on your deceased husband.  After I mark the widow box, there is no other need for me to list him.  Not for insurance, not for contact, not for anything.  Poof.  He is gone.

I am an adult and as an adult I should be able to list my partner, my companion, my husband.  But damn-it.  I can't.  Not anymore.  I hate Xing the box that says "widow" and I hate these stupid minor invasions into my life like an emergency contact. 

I guess the only thing worse: is when I have to change it from my mother to my sons.

Sincerely,

Jeff's Widow

Heartbreak

"I MISS YOU" screamed over and over into the blankets of the bed.  Tears soaked through the cloth and I all I can do is rub his back.

My tears flow as well and I struggle to think of the right things to say.  But I know nothing really helps me either when the grief hits me.  When I really feel the full weight of the fact that Jeff is gone and never returning.  I look up at the ceiling of J1's room and I think "how could you do this to him?"

There is no answer.  We cried for hours while I am talking about how it isn't fair and how Daddy had looked forward in anticipation to J1's birth, how much Daddy loved him, all the plans Daddy had for them to do (all the way up to college).  The pain of the loss is like a blinding white light in the room while the air is being sucked out.  Neither of us knows what to do.

I tell him it's OK to be angry.  Who is he most angry with?  No answer.  I say, "Daddy" and I get a nod.  It's OK to be angry.  It's OK to be angry with Daddy, it's OK to be angry with God, it's OK to be angry with me.

Problem is: he isn't letting his anger out in the right way.  What does a 7 year old know about dealing with these emotions?  Unfortunately, he's taking it out on the nearest person to him: his brother.  I am tired of it and while I hate having to punish him, I can't let his reign of terror continue.  I am angry too but I don't get to bite and hit and scratch and punch and kick whoever I feel like.  Not that I know how to deal with the anger either. Which is why I alternate from sleeping too much to not sleeping at all or eating to much to not eating at all, or drinking too much to not drinking at all.  It would feel good to pound the shit out of someone, and I know who I'd like to hit,  but it isn't an option.  Instead, you have to find another outlet for that anger.  Is this why people turn to drugs and alcohol?  Or the socially acceptable drug of all: sugar?  Maybe if we didn't have to swallow our anger we could heal a bit faster.  Heal and move on.

Afterwards, he collects items in his room that remind him of Jeff.  A gokart trophy, a racing number, bags of tire scraps from the races they went to together.  All on his dresser with his pictures.  I tell him that when I want to feel close to Daddy I will wear a shirt (or sweatshirt) of his and I get him one.  We pick out a few more items for him to add to his collection.  To look at and remember Jeff.  To look at and remember to grieve.

My heartbreak doesn't stop with J1.  For as much pain as he is in and as much as it hurts me to watch him go through this, the fact that J2 doesn't grieve hurts me just as much.  J1 mourns Jeff's loss but J2 can't mourn for what he doesn't remember.  I get the heartbreak from both sides and I find no peace.

Sincerely,

Jeff's Widow