tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56300597805014496212024-03-14T06:24:53.443-04:00Split-Second Single FatherA look at how one young widower balances moving forward with looking backSplit-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-36920879742526837132012-06-30T01:30:00.000-04:002012-06-30T01:33:24.069-04:00On What I Will (and Won't) Miss - A Reflection<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I began writing on this site, I decided that I wasn’t
going to be one of those widowers that stopped writing when he entered a new,
serious relationship. I also felt like I would know when it was time to quit
writing here. Unfortunately, the two of those things are contradictory in my
life, as I have found that the time to quit writing is directly tied to a
serious relationship. </span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tomorrow (or likely today once I post this) I will take
Winn-D to be my wife. At the outset of this journey, I always assumed that I
would continue to write if I ever remarried, because there would certainly be
grief-fueled situations that would arise from time-to-time. But as the time to
wed has approached, I have also realized that once the ceremony is over
tomorrow, I will no longer be a widower by definition. And with my loss of
widower status, I will lose the title of single father as well. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Those are items I would put on the “what I won’t miss”
list. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But there are certainly things I will miss. I had a sweet
evening with my daughter tonight. I’m a bit old for bachelor parties and was
really never into that scene even when I wed my late wife almost eleven years
ago. So in lieu of that, I spent the evening the only way that seemed
appropriate: alone with my daughter. After the rehearsal and subsequent dinner,
we drove the 30 minutes back to our hometown (where we will continue to reside)
and stopped for ice cream before heading back to the house. My daughter, who is
precocious and somewhat wise beyond her years, has spent a lot of time
adjusting to all of the changes that will take place in our home. There have
been some bumps in the road and some times when she wasn’t sure how to love
Winn-D without diminishing what she had with her mommy. Tonight’s conversations
showed me that she has come to terms with most of these things. She is nothing
but genuinely happy about this marriage. She is excited to be getting a new
stepmom (she has told me repeatedly in recent months that she was ready for
this when she was five and that she was just waiting for me to meet someone
like Winn-D), which most kids would not be. But tonight she told me that she is
also happy for me to be getting a new wife. What eight year old thinks like
that?!? It was one of those evenings that I hated to see end, but we spent the
time celebrating our family as it has been for the last five and a half years
and looking forward to what it will be like with Winn-D in the house. </span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of the things I have enjoyed about being in a
relationship is that I suddenly transitioned from outcast/social anomaly to
someone who completely fits in. Now, I have always fit in to a proper level,
but I have written here about the many times, especially early on when people
clearly did not know how to make me fit. When you are a single father, you
rarely get invited to couple’s houses and there is certainly no opportunity for
a dinner out. Arranging child care is somewhat iffy because you are not a mom,
but are suddenly forced into the traditional mom role as well and neither other
moms or their husbands are quite comfortable with that. Now, those things being
said, there were some couples along the way that invited me over for dinner and
there were a few moms who did not have the least bit of trouble communicating
with me about child care when I needed it (ironically, Winn-D and I are “couple
friends” with one of them now), but overall, most people don’t know how to
handle a man in my situation.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I won’t miss that
either. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But what about the fact that I have been the sole decision-maker
in my home for almost five and a half years? Oddly, that could go on both
lists. On the one hand, I loved the freedom of being able to make whatever
decision I wanted/needed to make without having to communicate with another
adult about it. And though all of my decisions during this time may not have
been perfect, the vast majority have worked out. But on the other hand, I
actually like being able to communicate with Winn-D about decisions. Even if it
is coordinating who will pick up my daughter on the evenings we are together or
what our plans are for the upcoming weekend, it has been nice to have someone
to bounce ideas off of and it feels good to work together in this way. I’m sure
there are times that I will miss the simplicity of making the decision alone,
but I think more often than not I will cherish the fact that I don’t have to do
so any longer. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of the things I think I will miss most is sharing on
this site. I am not naïve enough to think that marrying Winn-D will cover over
any moments of grief I may have in the future. But I have also realized that
this site has been largely neglected over the last year and a half, and that
maybe the natural progression of my grief process has dictated that I am at a
point where my need to write here has run its course. I have tried, but have
never quite connected with the other widowers out there, and many of them have
since quit writing. Dan quit, but left his site up for others to read. So did
Todd. Rick and Roads to London both quit writing and removed their sites (Roads
actually just privatized his). When I started writing, I did so because there
were only a couple of other blogs for widowers at the time. I had been widowed
for two years, and yet could not find anyone who really understood or could
help me feel more normal about the grieving process from the standpoint of
someone who has actually lived it. Over the past three years, I have received
e-mails from time to time from men who stated that my site has done just that
for them. So for that reason, I plan to leave these writings up, even though I
no longer plan to add to them. </span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of the surprising things has been the support I have
received from widows. I thought that I was doing this to help other men, but
found myself helping and being helped by other women as well. One of these
women has become a friend to me, though we have never actually spoken.
WomanNShadows is someone I instantly felt a kinship to and she is someone I
hope to remain in contact with over the coming years. She has been a blessing
to my daughter and I and a great deal of support since I first came to know her
a few years ago. For those of you who stop by here from now on, please take a
moment to read <a href="http://womannshadows.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><strong><span style="color: red;">her site</span></strong></a> as well. </span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So tomorrow I will take Winn-D to be my wife. We will begin
a journey that will likely end in widowhood for one of us someday. But for now,
we will rejoice in the beginning of the journey and the excitement of
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TP7uB0uM0_s" target="_blank"><span style="background-color: white; color: #073763;"><strong>whatever lies before us</strong></span></a>. </span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thank you for reading and for your support over the years. </span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">God bless. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">-3SF</span></div>Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-67806540274726291742011-09-15T00:00:00.005-04:002011-09-15T00:17:52.051-04:00On Random Updates<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7TpyzARVv34-BAIclFGhUZjj4KkIYk8mfw_Mz_w7tZyu74fLZzzC-sLYWJBj7_epKYbbqZXY8zVLxm2-5CgtVBNoVYZzvTEqk_gu8yXL5KSjRsu4bF9sco3jiQ7EfVHYvCbuiz3p8jiM/s1600/DNA+2011+011.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652432582448883426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7TpyzARVv34-BAIclFGhUZjj4KkIYk8mfw_Mz_w7tZyu74fLZzzC-sLYWJBj7_epKYbbqZXY8zVLxm2-5CgtVBNoVYZzvTEqk_gu8yXL5KSjRsu4bF9sco3jiQ7EfVHYvCbuiz3p8jiM/s400/DNA+2011+011.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div>I have decided to do something out-of-character tonight.<br /><br />Usually when I sit in front of this screen, it is after a post has been on my mind for anywhere from a few days to a few months. It is neatly framed in my mind with all of the talking points in order. I don’t compose the actual words until I sit down to type, but the framework is there.<br /><br />But tonight is different. I have felt increasingly compelled to write here, but am not starting out with a specific topic in mind. Sure, there are things I’d like to write about, but one of the unforeseen elements of being in a committed relationship now is that so many of these situations involve private conversations which are not for public consumption. There may come a time down the road when, with Winn-D’s blessing, I might share some of those things here, but that time has not yet arrived. So instead, I’ll begin with a quick recap of our vacation (yes, it’s been that long since I’ve written here!) and see where things go from there.<br /><br />The trip to the Midwest went amazingly well. It turned out to be an even better idea to take Winn-D to the places of my youth this summer than I thought it would be. That’s not to say that there weren’t stressful moments, but she handled them beautifully. The first part of our trip was spent with my late wife’s family. They have embraced Winn-D, but she had only met half of the family before the trip. Add to that all of my late wife’s friends (some of whom we had not seen in a few years) and she was bombarded with tons of new faces and old stories.<br /><br />That was something I had not expected. I am not naïve enough to expect that we would not talk about my late wife at times, and I actually wanted to so Winn-D would get a more complete picture of who she was, but I did not expect it to happen across multiple settings and at such an intense level. I think people meant well, but I don’t think they realized that, while this trip was about letting Winn-D see where I came from, it was also about being a couple around the people I care about most. I think when we return to the Midwest after Christmas I will be better prepared to change the subject (or address it head-on, if needed) when these situations arise.<br /><br />The second leg of the trip was actually to the great state of Minnesota. I know I don’t mention specific places here often, but Minnesota has made the list of places I’d like to visit again. We stayed mostly in the Twin Cities, but even then I felt like we barely scratched the surface of all there is to do there. It was a great chance for us to get away for a few days and spend time together making new memories (especially after being immersed in old ones for a week). My daughter loved the Mall of America even more than the wedding we were there to attend (and this girl loves some weddings!), so everyone heard more about that than anything else when she talked about the trip. It was a beautiful drive from where I grew up and we were all able to add some new states to our lists.<br /><br />The final stop on our Midwestern tour was my hometown, which is also near the city where I went to college. There were more stories shared here than I expected too, but to a lesser degree at least. (Now, please don’t get me wrong. I want people to feel free to share stories about my late wife, especially with my daughter. I just thought they would spend some of that time getting to know Winn-D too.) She was able to meet my brother and sister and several friends that week as well. We spent time in big cities and small towns, attempted to drive through my old college campus (which was closed for construction), ate doughnuts from my favorite bakery, and spent lots of time in my childhood home. I knew I was excited to “bring her home”, but I don’t think I knew how much I would enjoy sharing that part of my life with her. It was a perfect way to cap off our adventure.<br /><br />July has two significant potential grief-triggers for me. The first is my late wife’s birthday, which occurred while we were visiting my parents. Some years that one is harder than others. She would have been 33, so the age was not necessarily of significance, but the fact that it was the fifth birthday without her could have been.<br /><br />Unfortunately, I don’t remember part of that day.<br /><br />The day before her birthday, I woke up not feeling well. I was pretty sure I knew what was happening, but elected not to tell anyone at first. As the day wore on, the back pain intensified, and the first puff of my inhaler didn’t help. I tried to rest hoping that I could ward off the inevitable. By evening, I was starting to have mild trouble breathing and the back pain had not abated. My family was acting silly and dancing around and I couldn’t join in, even when my daughter asked me to, which broke her heart. I didn’t want her to worry, so I just said my back hurt and left it at that. By the time we went to bed, I knew I was going to need to go to the doctor, but I was 800 miles away and thought that at the very least I could make it till morning (and who knows what a good night’s sleep might have done, right?)<br /><br />I tried my inhaler again shortly after eleven and laid awake waiting for something to change. It did, just not for the better. By midnight I knew I needed to get help. The only problem with that was that the help available to me at that time of night would come in the form of a hospital – more specifically, an emergency room.<br /><br />She died the first time in an emergency room.<br /><br />This was the only benefit to being 800 miles away from home. Instead of going to the ER where she died, I went to the one where I had stitches in my finger once and had my broken arm set and cast, in the same hospital where I was born over 33 years ago. I thought that would soften the blow, and maybe it did a little. But by the time my mom and Winn-D and I arrived (my stepdad had stayed home with my daughter, who didn’t know I was gone until we told her the next day), my blood pressure had sky-rocketed and my breathing had become labored. I didn’t have the foresight to tell them why my blood pressure might be so high (if you missed it, read the single line above), so I quickly ended up in the triage section of the ER. Thankfully, I didn’t know that until we left the hospital, but it added to the worries of the two ladies who were with me.<br /><br />I have never had to stay in the hospital for myself. Sure, there were a few hospital stays with my late wife, but I could still come and go (from the room at least) with relative ease. Sitting in that bed, I gained a whole new respect for anyone who has ever been hospitalized. After I received a breathing treatment and could talk at a normal volume again, all I wanted was to get out of there. Knowing my body as I do, I knew that the breathing treatment would be enough to make me well again. But when you are in the hospital, even if it’s a triage bed in the ER, you are completely at their mercy (and they don’t show you any as far as your time is concerned!) To be fair though, they took great care of me and I am grateful for that.<br /><br />Now, I know that some of you might be asthma sufferers yourself or might be concerned that I allowed the “attack” to progress for as long as I did. For some reason I don’t get a sudden attack. My symptoms are gradual, which gives me plenty of time to make a decision. Unfortunately, I still can’t get help until the symptoms reach a certain level (if I had gone to a med center earlier in the day, they would have likely sent me home without a treatment given my symptoms at that time). I was more than a little concerned that I had my first attack in over a year shortly after I started medication, but things have remained fine for me health-wise since that night.<br /><br />The events of that night and the subsequent morning of sleep overshadowed the date on the calendar, and I managed to make it through okay. But the very next week, after we returned to the Southeast, was what would have been our tenth anniversary. I expected that one to be a tremendous kick-in-the-pants, complete with an outpouring of tears and anger about what could have been.<br /><br />But in a lot of ways, it was just like any other summer day.<br /><br />It would be easy to assume that this is because I’m in a relationship now and am therefore “happy” again (how many more times do I have to hear <strong><em>that</em></strong>?!?), but I really think it’s more a testament to where I am in the grief cycle. I don’t mean to sound callous because I will always care about my late wife in ways I cannot describe, but I don’t pine for her like I did the first few years after she died (which I suppose is good news for Winn-D). I can’t remember the last time I spent time crying in that painful, grief-stricken manner, but then, I couldn’t remember that before I met Winn-D either. Again, I’m not naïve enough to think that this might not ever happen again. But I am certainly glad that this day that should have turned out to be a major grief-trigger ended up being completely bearable.<br /><br />There are plenty of other things rattling around in my head tonight, but this has become lengthy, so I will close with some good news. I received an e-mail the other day that this blog has been placed on a list of the <a href="http://www.adulteducationcourse.org/memoirs"><span style="color:#3333ff;">50 Best Memoir Blogs</span></a>. This came at a time when I was feeling bad about not being able to post on here more often and is my first official honor as a blog author. That’s certainly not why I do this, but it does feel good to have my work here recognized in some way.<br /><br />Guess that goes to show you never know who might be reading… </div>Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-34350250795812982132011-07-05T22:57:00.004-04:002011-07-05T23:38:16.666-04:00On Dating Trials and Surprises<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFHf-nmPk6zwPpwia5_jTxCMrGVP-LMlvRg9UblTtHMuBbKSYo05Qk6cm_1ZehzWwnWi84EvbVmciWWXuy6l4WLBLI7RwbhvyydJU2WleYDiPZoBMERXa2o7pqy_IRW4ravfOHk6egvto/s1600/misc+097.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626073597237605458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFHf-nmPk6zwPpwia5_jTxCMrGVP-LMlvRg9UblTtHMuBbKSYo05Qk6cm_1ZehzWwnWi84EvbVmciWWXuy6l4WLBLI7RwbhvyydJU2WleYDiPZoBMERXa2o7pqy_IRW4ravfOHk6egvto/s400/misc+097.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div>I have always worked best under a deadline.<br /><br />I’ve been framing portions of this post in my head for two months, but now that I’m leaving on vacation in a couple days, I’m making time to sit down and actually share these things here.<br /><br />First, an introduction of sorts.<br /><br />It has been requested that I “introduce” my girlfriend here. Unless this is the first time you’ve read my site, you’ll know that I do not use any real names and typically limit physical descriptions of people as well as names of specific locations, with rare exception. I have decided that I need to give my girlfriend a name for this site, as she is someone I hope to be writing about in future posts as well. The name I have chosen is a play on words that only I can see. So for the purposes of this site, I have chosen to call her Winn-D.<br /><br />Now, I realize that some of your imaginations jumped immediately to a former chain of grocery stores (if you live in an area where they existed) or a beloved storybook puppy by the same name. That is precisely the reason I have chosen to shorten her moniker to Winn-D, as opposed to calling her Winn-Dixie, as was my original intention. She is neither a grocery store chain or a four-legged creature, so hopefully after this no one else will be inclined to think of her as either of those things.<br /><br />As far as other information goes, she is also a school-based employee, though we do not work in the same school building (which would go against my strict policy about dating co-workers). The good news about that is that we have been able to spend an increasing amount of time together this summer. The bad news is that when school starts again we will have a harder time being able to do so as we live and work in different towns.<br /><br />She is probably the tallest woman I have ever dated (not that there have been many, mind you) and has brown eyes. I never had a type before I met my late wife, but the few women I did date before (and including) her all had two things in common: they were on the short side and all had blue eyes. The first woman I dated after my wife passed away was not as short and had brown eyes. Winn-D is even taller than she was. She possesses a great many of the wonderful qualities that attracted me to my wife, but does not remind me of her in the least bit. (And so far there are no red flags like there were with the last woman I dated). Oh, and did I mention she has an accent that is thick as mo-lasses?<br /><br />One of the many things that has surprised me about dating Winn-D has been the response my daughter has had to her. She was initially prepared not to like Winn-D, which is precisely the response I expected <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2010/02/on-starting-over.html"><span style="color:#009900;">the first time I dated someone</span></a> after her mother died (and did not get). As I gently talked to her about it, she mentioned that she didn’t feel like she really knew her. Now, to her credit we had made it a point to get to know each other via texts, e-mails, and late-night phone conversations before we decided to go out, but my daughter had not been privy to any of that information. So she didn’t really feel like she knew her at all, and she definitely didn’t see the possibility of a relationship on the horizon. I made the comment to her that I knew her and I knew Winn-D and I was sure they were going to like each other. And when they did, I was going to make sure to remind her of that fact from time-to-time (which I do!) We had been dating over a month before the three of us spent any time together. I believe it’s important for me to see where a relationship might be headed before I drag my daughter into it. Our initial plan was to have dinner and see how things went, but the evening ended with my daughter inviting her back to our house to watch “kid tv” and curling up in her lap to do so. Now if Winn-D and I are together when I go to pick up my daughter, she always runs straight for Winn-D and only gives me a hug after-the-fact.<br /><br />One of the other things that has surprised me is how often Winn-D is presumed to be my daughter’s mother. Now, I know that to a casual observer we likely seem to be a little family when we’re out to eat or shopping or on an outing. I understand that. What I didn’t expect is that her role would be “understood” and mine would be questioned. We even had one man at a festival refer to us as “your mom and, I assume, dad”. If it had only happened once, I would chalk it up as one person’s response, but it’s happened several times over the past few months!<br /><br />But then, when I really think about it, for all intents and purposes, my daughter does act toward her as a child would normally act toward her mom. And for her part, Winn-D is, quite naturally, doing the same thing. It’s a beautiful thing and it warms my heart. I try not to allow myself to be plagued by the “what-ifs” (the foremost of which being “what if it doesn’t work out and my daughter is heart-broken?), but they creep in from time-to-time. Right now, I don’t have any reason to think that it won’t, but I also didn’t have any reason to think I’d be widowed at age 29, so you can see where a bit of worry might be justified.<br /><br />We have already, unfortunately, had to weather a few trials (/relationship builders?) in our five-plus months together. Some of them I cannot go into here, of course, but the most recent one has been my health. I don’t know that I can say it has taken a turn for the worse, but something is not right. I had not been noticing any additional breathing difficulty (though I was on antibiotics for my teeth during our high-pollen season this spring), but when I went for my appointment with the pulmonologist last month, he discovered that my lung capacity has decreased significantly since my appointment in January. He wouldn’t give me an explanation for this as he said the list of possibilities was too long to go into without further testing. But I’m smart enough to know that this is not normal for an otherwise healthy, thirty-three year old man who has never even put a tobacco product near his mouth. (On a side note, if you smoke or use other tobacco products, please consider quitting.) So he sent me for a CT scan, which took ten minutes and cost me hundreds of dollars out-of-pocket as apparently my insurance doesn’t pay for diagnostic tests. (Money is a bit of a sore subject with me lately as my body and about half of my appliances have quit or tried to this year!) He also put me on medication, which I had been hoping to avoid. I wish I could say that it wasn’t working and could go off of it, but I think its helping. If that’s true, then I will likely have to use it indefinitely.<br /><br />I go in for the results of the CT scan tomorrow afternoon. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. It’s been 13 months since I had the <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2010/07/on-breathing.html"><span style="color:#009900;">initial episode</span></a> that started all of lung issues and I feel like I’ve bounced back and forth between extremes. I’m worried that I’ll go in and he’ll say I have some terrible disease (like the one I thought he had <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2011/01/on-staring-death-in-face.html"><span style="color:#009900;">originally diagnosed</span></a>) and that asthma was either not the right diagnosis or is not the only lung issue I have. But I think I’m even more nervous that I’ll go in and he’ll say we need to do more tests as the results of the CT scan were inconclusive. In some ways not knowing what’s wrong is harder than knowing (or at least thinking) it’s something really bad. Any prayers would be greatly appreciated.<br /><br />As I mentioned before, we are headed on vacation in a couple of days. And by we, I mean there will be three of us making the trip this time (four if you count the dog). Winn-D has met my mom, and some good friends from “home”, and my late wife’s parents, and all of those encounters went exceptionally well. But she hasn’t seen where I come from. I’ve only been building a life in the South for nine years. I lived the first twenty-four in a small town in the Midwest. I considered waiting till Christmas to ask her to come with us, but we will have been dating almost a year at that point and knowing my roots seemed too important to wait. We will be staying with my late wife’s parents, just as we do when my daughter and I travel there alone. I have tried to be sensitive to their comfort level with meeting Winn-D (as well as hers), but everyone seems more than willing to move forward with this. There are also a few friends that I inherited through my late wife, and Winn-D will be meeting them as well on this trip. They have also completely welcomed the opportunity to meet and get to know her. We’ll head to the Upper Midwest for a wedding halfway through the trip, then stay the rest of the time with my family. If she isn’t completely overwhelmed and chooses to fly home halfway through the trip, then she will have met all of the key players in my life (with the exception of my one brother who lives in New England). I’m not sure I realized until recently what a monumental thing I am asking of her, but she is more than up for the challenge, and that’s how convinced I am that this relationship is <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=urRnylTHGwk"><span style="color:#3333ff;">going somewhere</span></a>.<br /><br />I certainly hope so anyway. </div>Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-9871396443414011592011-05-05T22:28:00.002-04:002011-05-05T22:39:51.963-04:00On the Shock-Value of Death<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5cS2nM1Dh_Vr6q2JDp9QWnysqAHD8hPNO9k2T5OBJ0A3LLzA5_3qqCIUMZvrD5jPDb-CB8z5kIVj44i0E17Wav4VcWrYIRImic2Mo4t_Zp7SQFmPzVUX3H-xcQnhyphenhyphen3rtBDpaQaX9Td04/s1600/Charleston2010+024.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603425352897143522" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5cS2nM1Dh_Vr6q2JDp9QWnysqAHD8hPNO9k2T5OBJ0A3LLzA5_3qqCIUMZvrD5jPDb-CB8z5kIVj44i0E17Wav4VcWrYIRImic2Mo4t_Zp7SQFmPzVUX3H-xcQnhyphenhyphen3rtBDpaQaX9Td04/s400/Charleston2010+024.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div>I didn’t think I could still be shocked by death.<br /><br />It was a rookie mistake and I realize it now. Over the past four-plus years, I have learned of the deaths of countless others and not one came as a shock. But today I was more shocked by a death than I have been in over four years.<br /><br />The odd thing is that the person who died was not someone I was particularly close to. It’s just that she was one of those people you always expected to be around and quite often took for granted (and sometimes didn’t exactly take seriously). She had an abrupt nature, but she had a passion for teaching children about Jesus. She raised two children to adulthood and subbed in the local school system. Like I said, just one of those people you always expected to be around.<br /><br />I learned of her death via e-mail from the group server at church. It came through on my phone while I was finishing up with some students, so I didn’t read it until I got ready to leave for my next location (I work in multiple buildings). I’m used to getting e-mails from the church server announcing anything from births to deaths to who has nursery duty on Sunday. So as I sat in my van and read the e-mail it took a second before I really grasped whose name I had just read. I was certain it was a typo. I mean, there had never been an indication that anything was physically wrong. I might have believed it had it said her husband’s name, who is less than the picture of health, but HER? Don’t get me wrong, she wasn’t the picture of health either, but she also didn’t appear to be unhealthy.<br /><br />Appearances can be deceiving.<br /><br />I do not have the full story on exactly what happened, but as best I can ascertain, she was fine one moment and asking her husband to take her to the hospital the next. They were en route when she took her last breath. Just like that.<br /><br />As someone who has been touched so deeply by another’s death, you would think that none of this would shock me, but as I mentioned before, she was a fixture in our lives. She was rarely one to miss church on Sunday or Wednesday. She often had a special treat for the kids, both the ones in her class and the ones from various other classes. She sent Christmas cards to all of the kids, including my own daughter. If she was going to miss a Wednesday night, she often made sure her class was covered a month in advance (unlike me, who is lucky to remember to get coverage a week in advance!) It was important to her that kids know Scripture, so she spent a lot of time encouraging them to memorize it both in and outside of the church building. She also often made sure that children had Bibles and Bible story books to take home, sometimes even if they already had one. She was just one of those unassuming women that people took for granted.<br /><br />Until she was gone.<br /><br />After I read the e-mail, I responded to the pastor to let him know that my co-teacher and I would plan on combining our Wednesday night class with hers until they found another teacher (they had sent an e-mail out recently saying we needed more volunteers for the children’s program, so I knew we were already short). I then e-mailed my co-teacher to let her know and included the statement that I would be surprised if the associate pastor didn’t want to talk to the kids tonight himself, but that I was planning to be prepared to address it with them just in case. Later in the day I got an e-mail to that effect, and I breathed a little sigh of relief. I knew that I could talk to the kids about death (who better than me, right?) and I was glad that I was willing to do so, but I really didn’t want to. Each time I wrote or received an e-mail I continued to be in disbelief that I was actually writing this particular woman’s name.<br /><br />I waited till we arrived home to tell my daughter. She was too young to have ever been in her class, but I knew that she would be affected by her death, nonetheless. She took the news about how I expected her to. She was shocked, then sad, then melancholy, and eventually she was okay again. She had lots of questions throughout the evening and I explained them to her in much the same way I always do. I also explained what I thought would transpire at church that night (and was mostly right, as it turns out).<br /><br />What I didn’t expect was for her husband to be there tonight. After my wife died, I avoided anything social that wasn’t funeral related – church, work, invitations of any sort – for a few weeks. The last thing I wanted was to face people who had been thrust into this intimate situation, but would not have normally been privy to any information about my private life. But everyone is different. And I think that as much as I needed to be away from social events, he needs to be enveloped by them right now.<br /><br />He was still downstairs when I went up to the kids’ room. Our associate pastor did an excellent job of explaining why people die and what people need to do to ensure that they will go to Heaven. He also made certain to mention that it was okay to cry, as he himself a tall, bearded, former Marine, wept over the death of this woman. The kids were given a time to ask questions and share memories, and some of the other teachers and parents shared memories as well. It was <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PANiveIKVX0&feature=related"><span style="color:#3333ff;">a lovely tribute</span></a> as well as an important time to explain the complexities of death and Heaven to a roomful of children who primarily had not been touched personally by death.<br /><br />The discussion ended before church let out downstairs, so it was up to my co-teacher and I to take the kids to another room to talk to them some more. I have found that kids will often share things with a teacher before they will a pastor or principal or other person of “importance”. So I began by reminding them that they could always ask us questions, then if they had any or down the road if needed, and that they could certainly talk to their parents about it as well.<br /><br />During the day, my co-teacher had suggested that we have the children memorize a verse of Scripture, as that was something that this woman had been apt to do with many children in the church. During the day I had thought of some, and one in particular had stood out during the associate pastor’s talk. But when I suggested this to my co-teacher, she mentioned that she had asked the husband what one of his wife’s favorite verses was. It made sense. It made it personal. And I am glad she had the foresight to ask him this very important question. So she gave me the verse and I read the first line to the children.<br /><br />And that’s when I finally got choked up. I think I had still been in such shock that she had died, that I hadn’t really gotten to the point that I could grasp it emotionally. Sure, I teared up a little at my daughter’s reaction and certainly felt a few slide down my cheek during the associate pastor’s talk, but those were all reactionary tears. This was the catch-in-my-voice, this-is-really-happening kind of choked up. My co-teacher was across the room getting supplies with her backed turned, so she didn’t immediately see what had happened. I’m certain the kids were all staring at me, but I couldn’t look at them as I tried to regain my composure. After a few attempts, I knew it was going to take a moment or two. Thankfully, my co-teacher had come over by that point and offered to take over as I handed her the Bible. She did an amazing job of reading and explaining what was still caught in my throat. It took a minute or two to get my voice back, but I did and was able to join in the discussion after that.<br /><br />After class she and I talked a bit more about things. Even though I had gotten choked up and she had to take over for a few minutes, I believe I could have gotten through the talk if it had been left up to us. I also felt good at knowing I would have included most of the points in the associate pastor’s talk, especially since I have no formal training in the Scriptures, other than what I have learned through church and my own personal reading. I could have done it if I had to. But I’m really glad I didn’t have to.<br /><br />I am not typically one to quote Scripture – here, on my Facebook account, or even in person. I believe in the authority of the Scriptures, I just don’t often quote them unless someone wants to hear them. But I feel it would be remiss if I didn’t share with you the Scripture that our children are learning in memory of this woman, whose death will be mourned in our church a bit longer than most. It comes from the Old Testament book of Jeremiah, chapter 33, verse 3 (King James Version as that was her favorite also). It says “Call unto me, and I will answer thee, and show thee great and mighty things, which thou knowest not.”<br /><br />I wrote most of this last night, but then the computer froze up and I wasn’t able to post it. The passage of another day has allowed the shock to lessen a bit.<br /><br />But even as I hit “publish post”, there is a big part of me that still can’t believe I’m writing this about her. </div>Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-1505068939339437792011-03-29T22:31:00.004-04:002011-03-29T23:13:51.868-04:00On Being a Disqualified Widower<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQrNg9qSakMbVZPxDaEMx_N9HeKbsC2I6JVpwqwQWcmtLK-Q5M0XIG8FRKBWmW5WjDvhgh21jqtY6KeOEN2jJ-a5Edl_NF30H5XLNVMHPKmJEiTwcS06YHD-2UrOCcw9oo_LWQhcJOeZA/s1600/Maine2010+103.jpg"></a> <br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjszgM882GIfkJZMC9FH16bVecjJ9XynF9DqWmtPt_YtZhqZ4lLy9oXYyK0aqHp34XuaG1mou9JNGIyTkyGwBc0tzMfBoQxHQMpgKDxzbxPa4cBVED_YJUp3y8MwqDCklZmcPqIK0Itbe4/s1600/JantoMarch2010+151.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589698880242186178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjszgM882GIfkJZMC9FH16bVecjJ9XynF9DqWmtPt_YtZhqZ4lLy9oXYyK0aqHp34XuaG1mou9JNGIyTkyGwBc0tzMfBoQxHQMpgKDxzbxPa4cBVED_YJUp3y8MwqDCklZmcPqIK0Itbe4/s400/JantoMarch2010+151.jpg" /></a> <br /><div>So I’ve finished <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/03/on-taxing-situations.html"><span style="color:#009900;">my taxes</span></a> for another year. (Stay tuned or scroll down if you’re looking for non-tax-related info.) You’d think that after four years of filing on my own, I’d get used to this. I mean, it’s really the same old pattern. I plug in the information, the computer spits out a number signifying the amount I can expect to receive in a check (okay, so it’s really a direct deposit) and that number is significantly lower each year as inflation rates, gas prices, and the general cost of living seems to be increasing. Not a pretty pattern, but a predictable one at least, right? </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Wrong. This year the federal government had a dirty trick up its sleeve. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>That’s right. I have now been widowed long enough that I can no longer file as a “Qualifying Widower”. Now, to be fair, I knew this day was coming. But I had forgotten and seeing this reality on the screen before me was unsettling to say the least. Not to mention that my old friend TurboTax tried to tell me I should file as “Single” when it was clearly a better choice to file as “Head of Household”. I’d like to know what gives the federal government the right to decide how long I can be considered a “qualifying widower”. Does being widowed longer than three tax years mean I am somehow a less-qualified widower? If so, that would make me an “unqualified widower”. But I would contend that if anything, I am a more qualified widower. At this point I have endured and learned to handle more than most people who are forty years my senior. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>So instead, I’ve decided that the government regards me as a “Disqualified Widower”. I can be a widower as long as I want (or at least until I choose to remarry), but I’m going to have to do it on my own terms, and will warrant no special tax title from the IRS. I’m not unqualified, I’ve just been disqualified as far as the government is concerned. I know it’s all semantics really, but aside from the linguistic aspects, that loss of title cost me about a third of last year’s refund! </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Now on to the non-tax-related things I alluded to above: </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I spent a couple of days last week sick. I think I’ve mentioned this here before, but it is really scary for a child when his/her single parent gets sick. My daughter has gotten better with the headaches and sinus infections I tend to get (love Spring, hate pollen!), but I took a day and a half off of work last week, which is unheard of for me. I have often said that if I wake up and don’t care if I see my school that day I am really sick (did I mention I took a day and a half off last week?) This time it was food poisoning followed by a headache of almost-migraine proportions. Not fun, but I bounced back quickly. My daughter had a difficult time adjusting to the idea that I wasn’t going to work the first day, but was noticeably more accepting the second day. There was a special event at her school that night, so I came home and rested between and made it a point to be as “up” as I could during the event, which helped, I think. Hmm, I think that sounds like something a “qualified widower” might do, Mr. Government Official… </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>We managed to make it through another February. For those of you on my FB page (if not, see sidebar) and who are long-time readers, you know that February is the longest month on the calendar for me. It was not an easy month, as I don’t expect it will ever be, but here we are now, more than twenty days on the other side of it. My daughter has become quite the good little writer at the tender age of (now) seven and I am amazed at the times she will write about <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zsHqoD5D8Qo"><span style="color:#3333ff;">her feelings</span> </a>and I will find the pages only after she has gone to bed. Thankfully she is also still very willing to voice them, but I fear as she grows older she may turn toward her writing more (which I know is normal, but it eliminates a need for talking to Daddy about it and I will miss that. And yes, now I know how you feel Mom…) </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I have often thought that one of the reasons God allowed my daughter to be born in the month of February (five weeks early, but healthy) was to give me something to look forward to during that month. This year was no exception. All of my daughter’s grandparents were able to make the journey for her birthday this year (they are still of the age that work obligations might keep them from coming, rather than health issues). She knew they were coming, unlike years’ past when it has been a surprise, but I don’t think this diminished her joy any. She had a wonderful party and a great weekend with her grandparents. And I think that’s all any parent can hope for, single, widowed, or otherwise. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>In keeping with my promise <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2010/12/on-another-year-another-christmas.html"><span style="color:#009900;">in an earlier post</span></a>, I wanted to mention that I have started dating someone. I have thus far held to the pattern I used in my last relationship regarding how quickly to progress, how soon to involve my daughter, and things of that nature. The one big difference between this time and last is that my daughter knew the first woman I dated and was able to see the connection we were developing and she was not a part of that this time around (due to where/how we met, not because I tried to do anything differently in that regard). In fact, when I told her we were going out, she finally admitted that the reason she was less-than-thrilled was that she didn’t feel like she knew her (she had only met her once at that point) and wasn’t sure she would like her. I reassured her, but also told her that I would remind her of this in a couple months when she did meet her and DID like her, which I have found myself doing over the past couple weeks. It’s already evident that they like each other. She is a school-based employee as well, though not at my school, and is, as my friends put it, “more age-appropriate” than the last woman I dated. I won’t get all mushy at this point, but I will say that this relationship has definite potential. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Now, for those of you who remember back a couple months to <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2011/01/on-staring-death-in-face.html"><span style="color:#009900;">my last post</span></a>, you might be wondering why I would even entertain the possibility of dating someone when I thought I was dying. It is a valid question. The only reason I opened the door to getting to know her better at all was that I wanted to live as if I wasn’t dying (at least not yet). It was a risky move for this non-risk-taking widower, but it proved to be a good one. I did not ask her out until after I got the news from my doctor that I had a completely manageable condition, but I did spend quite a bit of time getting to know her through e-mails and phone calls. I weighed my options and decided that if I was as sick as I thought I was, she would lose a friend with a mutual romantic interest. But if I wasn’t, then by not getting to know her, we might both be losing the possibility of something long-lasting. I can’t say that it will definitely go that direction. But so far, I’m confident I made the right call. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>On Thursday, I am scheduled to have my periodontal work/surgery done (the 31st). It’s not something I’m looking even remotely forward to, but when I still have my own teeth in thirty years I’ll be grateful I did. I’m having all of the work done in one day (12 teeth total – yikes!) so it’ll be all soft foods and pain killers for me for a few days. I’d appreciate any and all prayers as that time draws near – both for me as I endure the procedure and whatever pain it entails and for my daughter as she has to see me endure that pain for a few days. (On the bright side, Grandma is here to play with her and keep me medicated). </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Thanks for bearing with all of my “updates” and for your continued reading, no matter how few and far between my posts become. </div></div>Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-26423755956434927962011-01-23T03:47:00.003-05:002011-01-23T04:26:13.128-05:00On Staring Death in the Face<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ3jJpowhkOQ2CgysZX6DoaL6y4lUwokpdiQnJn_MgX9HmWRhgRuUCulaeECZsn1RaXZ7pB7Ro8Heekh_E0_B5f-aSjhDHQ__JtSrRlDQq2n1bt_SBBiBYub_6wzOIc9M2w535sdrfqco/s1600/JantoMarch2010+027.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565301521952711682" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ3jJpowhkOQ2CgysZX6DoaL6y4lUwokpdiQnJn_MgX9HmWRhgRuUCulaeECZsn1RaXZ7pB7Ro8Heekh_E0_B5f-aSjhDHQ__JtSrRlDQq2n1bt_SBBiBYub_6wzOIc9M2w535sdrfqco/s400/JantoMarch2010+027.jpg" /></a><br /><div>The information in this post, which was originally titled “On People and Places that Evoke Grief”, covers events that have occurred over the past 6-8 months and follows up <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2010_07_01_archive.html"><span style="color:#009900;">a separate post</span></a>. I have chosen to post my initial writing on this topic below, with an update following. Some of this information may be familiar as I posted about my daughter’s teacher in <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2010/12/on-random-updates.html"><span style="color:#009900;">a separate previous post</span></a>. Please know that this is not information that I find easy to share (and may not be easy to read), but for the sake of staying true to my journey, I feel that I am able to do so now. Just bear with me and keep reading for that update.<br /><br /><em>I hate the fact that after nearly four years, grief can still blindside me, but it does.</em><br /><br /><em>My daughter started first grade in August. Naturally, I did not expect this to be a source of grief for me, but it was for more reasons than I could have imagined. I have mentioned here before that my wife was a teacher by trade. She spent most of her short teaching career in third grade, but was moved to first a couple years before she died. And for some reason, my daughter being in first grade has bothered me. She doesn’t attend the school where my wife taught. Her teacher doesn’t look anything like my wife did. But still there’s just something that evokes grief in me.<br /><br />Maybe the fact that her teacher is young and pregnant with her first child doesn’t help. My wife was still teaching third grade when she had our daughter, but it was at a similar time during the school year. Plus there’s the whole “excited about the first child/happy to be expecting” sense that surrounds the teacher. Don’t get me wrong, I’m very happy for her, it just makes me grieve for that happy time in my own life when I think about it. If she was having a girl, it might just push me over the edge, but she’ll be the proud mother of a little boy this winter, so I think I’ll be okay.<br /><br />That was enough on its own, but there have been some other, even more significant events, that have taken place over the past few months. When I wrote </em><a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2010_07_01_archive.html"><span style="color:#009900;"><em>this post</em></span></a><em> last summer, I felt like it was something that needed to be written, I just wasn’t sure why at the time. Now I know. I mentioned then that I did not believe the breathing issue I had in June was bronchitis as the med center doctor had diagnosed.<br /><br />There are times when it’s better not to be right.<br /><br />After I posted that it occurred to me that, because of the way the symptoms presented themselves, it was more likely adult-onset asthma. I researched every lung disease I could think of and the only symptoms that even remotely matched were in-fact, those of adult-onset asthma. So I headed to my follow-up appointment in August fully prepared to talk to my regular doctor about this possibility. I didn’t even have to mention it. He was concerned that I was still having minor symptoms and sent me to the hospital for spirometry, which is the first step in diagnosing asthma.<br /><br />That’s right. I said hospital. As in, my first visit to the place where my wife took her last breath.<br /><br />And as it turns out, the first open appointment just happened to be on the first day of school. So I dropped my daughter off at school and headed across town to the hospital. I was able to enter the main doors, which reminded me more of when we were there having our daughter than the day my wife died. My chest didn’t immediately seize up and my breathing rate didn’t increase. I felt pretty normal physically, but my mind was reeling. I managed to keep it under control and completed the test when it was time. It showed that my lung capacity was diminished, but improved significantly with albuterol, which was what I expected. I went off to work and braced myself for an asthma diagnosis from my regular doctor.<br /><br />When they called with the results, the news was not as I expected. There was no diagnosis of asthma. No establishment of an asthma action plan. There was only a referral to a pulmonologist for further assessment.<br /><br />I froze when the nurse gave me the name of the pulmonologist.<br /><br />I live in a small city, but there is more than one pulmonologist. I know of at least two by name and am aware that there are a few others around. My doctor unknowingly scheduled me with the pulmonologist who tried to revive my wife the day she died. I thanked the nurse and promptly sat down. My immediate thought was to call back and explain my reason for not being able to see him. But the longer I thought about it, the more I developed this need to see him. I remembered him as being very kind when he spoke to me about some tests they ran on her earlier in the day. I also remember the look on his face when he and the internist came out of the ICU wing to tell me they did not believe they could revive her. I have no hard feelings toward the man. He did everything he could to keep her from dying.<br /><br />Unfortunately, everything wasn’t enough that day.<br /><br />I couldn’t get an appointment for about six weeks, so I had a lot of time to worry/fret/agonize about the appointment. By the time it arrived, I was almost as excited as I was nervous. I take my health pretty seriously and have most of my adult life. Being a sole parent makes me even more conscious of it, especially given my wife’s health-related battles. I know that asthma is not a great thing to have, but it is manageable and I was ready to have an official diagnosis so that a treatment plan could be developed and I’d be able to feel and function better than I had been.<br /><br />I was equally nervous because I was going to see this doctor for the first time in almost four years. It was over an hour before he finally came into the room and in that time my mind raced with different scenarios. The one I liked the best was the one where he entered the room and recognized my name or face and validated my loss in some small way. I knew it was a long shot, but that’s the one I had settled on when he finally opened the door. His face was a blank slate. If there was any recognition at all, he did not show it.<br /><br />I realized then as I do now, how absurd it is to think that a doctor who has encountered countless patients in the intervening years might actually remember the husband of one that didn’t make it. But I still needed to find out. He conducted the appointment as I’m certain he does with all of his new patients. So I allowed myself to return to excitement about the possibility of getting an actual answer at this appointment.<br /><br />When the exam was over, the news was not what I expected. There was no diagnosis of asthma. No establishment of an asthma action plan. There was only a referral for a follow-up chest x-ray and more tests.<br /><br />I scheduled all of the tests and returned to see him three weeks later. I still had some level of excitement about receiving some answers, but they were covered by the fact that I was more nervous than ever and pretty sure the diagnosis was going to be something other than asthma. I worked the computer keys and stretched the limits of my internet search engine, but I still couldn’t find anything with symptoms that even remotely matched mine, other than asthma.<br /><br />When I returned for the follow-up appointment I was given an answer, but it only lead to more questions.<br /><br />This is the point where I may upset some of you, but for now I have decided not to state what my diagnosis is. My main reason for this is that there is such a wide-range of information on it that I want to talk to my doctor about my specific prognosis before I give it a name on this site. I will say that I found it incredibly overwhelming to read one reputable site that talked about the slight possibility of spontaneous remission (their word, but he is positive it is not cancer) and another equally reputable site that talked in terms of life expectancy.<br /><br />In single digit years.<br /><br />I am trying really hard not to dwell on that type of my condition. I don’t believe that’s what I have, though it is likely to get progressively worse over time regardless of the type I have. But I can tell the possibility is nagging at me even when I don’t entertain the thoughts. I’m not depressed, but I am also having to be really careful not to be. The possibility of slipping into depressive habits is inviting, but I have to resist them for my own sake and the sake of my child.<br /><br />Right now we are in a “wait and see” period. This in itself makes me hopeful that I do not have an advanced form of this disease. I am not currently on any medication for it, and when I do have symptoms, the onset is gradual and the pain is minimal until I rest. I am still able to function just as I was before, only I have to be careful about how much I exert myself at a given time so as not to become worn out. I have a follow-up appointment in two months where we will reassess the situation and the doctor will determine if medication and/or additional tests are necessary.<br /><br />Like I said, wait and see.<br /><br />I have debated about if/when I should post this information. It doesn’t seem fair to say there’s something wrong and not give all of the details, but it is also very hard for me to talk about it at all right now. In fact, as I am writing this, I have not told anyone, including my parents. But by the time you read this I will have told them. I was in the mood to write about it tonight and am hopeful that it might be the catalyst for helping me actually verbalize these things to them. We have some family friends who have/had lung issues, and none of them have been good, so my mom especially is a little gun-shy about them. I will tell them when I finish working up the nerve.<br /><br />And I will tell you all more when I am able to share more as well.”<br /><br /><br /></em>UPDATE: I had my follow-up appointment with the pulmonologist yesterday. I have felt better in general for the past few months, but had tried not to allow myself to get my hopes up. The disease I was diagnosed with was not one that I was likely to recover from, and even though when I wrote my initial post I was trying hard not to think about the possible repercussions of my disease, I lost that battle more often than not over the two months between that original writing and this update.<br /><br />It’s a scary thing to stare death in the face. Most of us know this, but from the vantage point of our spouse’s death and not in terms of our own mortality. That was one of the many reasons I could not post this when I wrote it and why I only told my parents this information earlier today. I have felt like I needed to carry this alone for now. One of the friends I mentioned above is also on the losing end of her battle with lung disease and I just couldn’t tell my parents that they might be facing that with me before now.<br /><br />It’s hard to think about the possibility of not raising my daughter to adulthood. The first emotion I encountered was anger at the sheer unfairness of it all. She has already lost her mother and now there’s a chance she might lose me too? So my goal became to fight this thing as hard as I could with the hopes that I could at least see her off to college. I thought about the possibility of what my life would become as my disease progressed. Would I be able to stay in the South, or would there come a point where I would have to move to someplace where I had a better support system? How long could I continue to work? What would I do about health insurance when I couldn’t work anymore? I wasn’t worried about what would happen to me after I died, just what would happen to us beforehand and my daughter afterward. And the emotions I’ve written about here barely scratch the surface of what I have felt the past three months.<br /><br />So I tried not to be too hopeful as I headed to the pulmonologist’s office yesterday. After all, I had been optimistic the first time and that hadn’t exactly panned out. I went in for my pulmonary function test (PFT) which is similar to spirometry, but more thorough and less expensive. During the first portion the tech said that things hadn’t gotten worse and that was good news, but she remained silent about my performance on the rest of the test. So I went back to the waiting room for a long while (I always take a book with me, since I know I’ll have to wait) before being called back to a room. When the doctor came in, we reviewed my information and it again was not what I expected.<br /><br />This time there <em><strong>was</strong></em> an official diagnosis of asthma. There <em><strong>was</strong></em> the establishment of an asthma action plan. And most importantly, there was a change from my initial diagnosis and a lifting of my impending death sentence.<br /><br />It might seem cliché to say that I left his office breathing easier, but I did. In fact, I think I was in shock about the whole situation, which is why I didn’t call to tell my parents about it until today. I can’t quite describe the feeling of thinking you’re going to be given a time frame on life expectancy during an appointment and leaving knowing that you have a completely manageable condition and can expect to live a full, normal life (and consequently, that you were right all along in terms of what was really going on in your body.)<br /><br />Now, before I get a bunch of negative comments or e-mails about the doctor unnecessarily putting me through this, I want to state that I have no ill feelings toward him and plan to continue seeing him as my pulmonologist (though I’ve been cleared till June!) I don’t believe <a href="http://www.elyrics.net/read/c/carrie-newcomer-lyrics/nothing-is-ever-wasted-lyrics.html"><span style="color:#3333ff;">anything is ever wasted</span></a> and that there must be some reason I needed to experience all of this, even if I am unsure of that reason at the present time. My doctor made the initial diagnosis based on my symptoms and the results of my x-rays and PFT. And it all fit with that diagnosis. Apparently what I actually had were symptoms of asthma which had been exacerbated by an undiagnosed “walking” pneumonia. (To further complicate things, my asthma symptoms do not follow the normal pattern of development). Once the pneumonia cleared, he was able to see that it was asthma versus the initial diagnosis (hence the reason for the “wait and see” period I’ve endured the last three months).<br /><br />When I wrote the initial post, I said that I wasn’t ready to give my original diagnosis a name on this site. Now that it has been changed (and I believe, rightly so), I have decided to name it. I would encourage you not to do any research on the condition though (this means you Mom and G!) as most of the major medical sites paint a dismal outlook regarding prognosis and recovery (with the exception of the slight possibility of “spontaneous remission” I mentioned above). My original diagnosis was something called interstitial lung disease. My current diagnosis is adult-onset asthma (of unknown origin).<br /><br />This post has become longer than I anticipated and I really should have made it two. But I didn’t like the idea of finally telling you all of this and then making you wait for the update, now that I have one. I am happy to say that right now, my overall health is pretty good.<br /><br />But <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jLEZHHStLls"><span style="color:#3333ff;">my overall outlook</span></a> is even better. </div>Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-85067832470602316612010-12-24T23:43:00.003-05:002010-12-25T00:16:46.633-05:00On Another Year, Another Christmas<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM6NUdnJXo8JaShZSfXsteKbUSXXxLpvM0ehQhgSq4bIOhmelVcgOmrKUIOluaLzt8otBOoR-9lyOD2AId8xPiQZRp-ilon-XN9rRNhYeP32qmLIw_O-VchyTzmE6glSx4FnnkIF-yptI/s1600/ChristmasEve2010+030.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554484411503011778" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM6NUdnJXo8JaShZSfXsteKbUSXXxLpvM0ehQhgSq4bIOhmelVcgOmrKUIOluaLzt8otBOoR-9lyOD2AId8xPiQZRp-ilon-XN9rRNhYeP32qmLIw_O-VchyTzmE6glSx4FnnkIF-yptI/s400/ChristmasEve2010+030.jpg" /></a>I have just spent a good deal of time reading over my <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/11/on-giving-thanks.html"><span style="color:#33cc00;">three</span></a> <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/12/on-eve-of-christmas.html"><span style="color:#009900;">final </span><span style="color:#006600;">posts</span> </a>from last year. I had thought that this might serve me well in assessing how “far I’ve come” over the past year. And in some ways, it has.<br /><br />My mood at this time last year was dreadful. I simply couldn’t get out of my holiday funk. It was a time filled with change, some of which I disclosed in those posts and some of which I did not disclose until posts written after the holidays. Some of those things have changed and some have not.<br /><br />At this time last year I had just begun my first dating experience following my wife’s death. Though it was somewhat short-lived (three and a half months from start to finish), it was a necessary learning experience. It was also the item I did not disclose at this time last year, but I pledge to let you all in a bit sooner if/when I should date again. I did not see direct evidence of that relationship having a negative impact on my holiday mood, but I am certain that it must have.<br /><br />What emerged as the most obvious contributor to my “bah-humbug” mentality were the changes in my extended family over this time the previous year. At the time I thought that neither of my brothers would be coming home for Christmas, but one of them had a change of heart at the last minute and decided to come after all. The other did not. And sadly, that is one area that has not changed over the past year. At least not in a positive way. Unfortunately, my relationship with that brother (and his relationship with every other member of the family) has only become more strained. It has been touch-and-go with him for years, but it has really started to affect my daughter this year. I have tried to talk to him about it (even again recently), but unfortunately I get more excuses than I do genuine communication that might help solve some of these issues. It’s an unfortunate situation and one I had hoped would be on the mend by now. But at least my sister is consistent and seems to value family as much as my parents and I do.<br /><br />At this time last year I had just finished most of the decorating, card sending, and shopping, which was uncharacteristic for me. This year I finished the decorating early in December (due to our trip to the Midwest over Thanksgiving), had the cards mailed out this past Monday, and had the shopping and most of the wrapping done with two days to spare. I started listening to Christmas music two weeks before Thanksgiving (which goes against one of my staunchest rules), due mostly to the release of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Joy-World-Pink-Martini/dp/B0041QSZJM"><span style="color:#cc33cc;">this holiday collection.</span></a> And I’ve just had a genuinely jovial outlook toward the holidays this year.<br /><br />Now, that’s not to sugarcoat the frustrations I shared (and alluded to) in <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2010/12/on-random-updates.html"><span style="color:#009900;">my last post</span></a>. Those things are all still very real and very much on my mind. I spoke with the dentist about my periodontal surgery and he concurred with the periodontist. I can do this sometime in the near future, or I can continue to put my teeth at risk of having to be extracted down the line. Periodontal surgery is still tentatively scheduled for March 2011. I did receive a check that will help defray the costs some and also helped replenish my dwindling emergency fund, so I am not quite as worried about finances as I was when I wrote the last post. And my water heater is not only fixed, but it was an inexpensive repair and I don’t have to shell out hundreds of dollars to replace the entire unit right now!<br /><br />The good news in all of those things is that even though I’ve had things on my mind that have weighed me down this holiday season (and still do, unfortunately) they have not managed to crush my overall outlook like similar circumstances did a year ago. And a brighter outlook has allowed me to find a little more joy in the holidays this year.<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554481570129625154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3nyXGL9DZpUm3-hb1c8eo0Dg4FVZ8f3PiUmfvnqHJiC-gqbKQMOx1nGVtX-9Lt_4YEIBdALKhg-w0viouw4wdfqbYSPBAaM0tzfQnAPOK9ZXeMPhxPWqjp1gJ_c2oklHINRknTAxRF0k/s400/ChristmasEve2010+015.jpg" />My daughter and I always spend the first week of our Christmas Break from school at home, before heading to the Midwest to see our extended family. And we always try to make the most of that special time together. This week we visited some of her old daycare teachers and had lunch with some friends/former co-workers of mine. We also visited an area lighthouse with a new/old friend (someone from my childhood that I have recently become reacquainted with. And for those of you who are wondering, there’s no dating potential-this particular friend is a man.) We carved out some time to see <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0398286/"><span style="color:#cc33cc;">Tangled,</span></a> which vastly exceeded my expectations. And we headed to the beach for our annual Christmas Eve excursion. And in the midst of all the excitement, my daughter managed to lose three teeth, two of which were the coveted “two front teeth” she had so desperately wanted to lose before the Big Day. Tomorrow, after all of our morning festivities, we’ll hit the road for the first part of our journey to see the rest of the family. It’s been a busy week, but I’ve found in some instances being busy can be a good thing.<br /><br />So what can I conclude from all of this? Am I naïve enough to believe that grief cannot strike when my mood is “up”? Absolutely not. It already has this season and it will continue to. Do I think that I am somehow untouchable because I’m not in the same kind of rut I was in last year? Not at all. There are still plenty of negative circumstances surrounding these holidays and life in general. They have just not affected my overall outlook in the same way similar things did a year ago.<br /><br />My daughter asked me last night how many Christmases this makes without her mother. She seemed surprised when I told her it would be the fourth. She sadly does not really remember Christmas with her mother, but thankfully we have video she can watch to supplement what her mind will not conjure up. She had some tough moments early in the season and has done more visible grieving than I recall her doing at this time last year. My moments of grief have been more subtle, but still very much a presence. During this, my fourth Christmas without her, the overall grief has abated some. I know this does not mean it will do the same next year, but I think a general pattern of abatement is likely.<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554481567420825442" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeIBKQYW1yZZKCTP9kVfF_VQC13TS4g4LHzmhuFOh-Qx85Lf6CD260WVmtx6welzS1pHUAnK0S9drv1SbiCX5YQXLo29Vb-EgnZMcR8fTy2DZi-Ub_962t3X4tnOfIpYma4ZKf3mTNiw0/s400/ChristmasEve2010+006.jpg" />Which makes me all the more mindful of the widow/ers who are still newer at this than I am. For some it will be the third or second or even the dreaded first Christmas without their husband or wife. If you are reading this and fall into that category, know that you are on my heart and in my prayers more at this moment than any other. And know that each Christmas is different. If this one is particularly hard, the next one may be better. And if it isn’t, then perhaps the one after that will be.<br /><br />Wherever you are in life as you read this, I’d like to wish you a <a href="http://video.search.yahoo.com/video/play?p=clay%20aiken%20merry%20christmas%20with%20love%20listen&tnr=21&vid=286179984229&l=267&turl=http%3A%2F%2Fts2.mm.bing.net%2Fvideos%2Fthumbnail.aspx%3Fq%3D286179984229%26id%3D7cbffe741554c236233835b28db1bf34%26bid%3DlqsDQBvJhoQiJQ%26bn%3DThumb%26url%3Dhttp%253a%252f%252fwww.youtube.com%252fwatch%253fv%253d1Obr6LOmD_c&rurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D1Obr6LOmD_c&sigr=11agsfcmu&newfp=1&tit=Merry+Christmas+With+Love-+A+Special+Christmas+Montage%21"><span style="color:#3333ff;">Merry Christmas and a Happy 2011</span></a>. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554481561282083138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiWPHX-Rp92Enq8ACsMJMKRmCYZN6KtX1zYIwWgFG1oaNXE55Vh6OW_Y2WozrFWVFp1lkIg2rKEK-HGZqIksT0Ahs_B6_8jAn8mlBOvGnWNEYESULB88TRi3dm5n9FrX7eKGf2aY_RePw/s400/ChristmasEve2010+012.jpg" />Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-69012322282190082722010-12-11T23:29:00.003-05:002010-12-11T23:52:22.074-05:00On Random Updates<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDSfRzy1K2U04lKdXmBDeRjRQxXsSyVKYr4v-Uh-1fVoj8nJx40omeWTo7tQyjzsZDy7ojCBt3ZMw5yrlv4vV2B6qNIBEXZilIayICpGD52X-SuBjwe-X2ajMJtQlWw-IzSBOy-V1mqP8/s1600/JantoMarch2010+129.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549652538670243298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDSfRzy1K2U04lKdXmBDeRjRQxXsSyVKYr4v-Uh-1fVoj8nJx40omeWTo7tQyjzsZDy7ojCBt3ZMw5yrlv4vV2B6qNIBEXZilIayICpGD52X-SuBjwe-X2ajMJtQlWw-IzSBOy-V1mqP8/s400/JantoMarch2010+129.jpg" /></a><br /><div>I don’t really know how to begin this post.<br /><br />And that has been a good portion of the reason for my absence from this site the past few months. There have been things I have wanted to write and times I have wanted to write them, but the two have not crossed paths. And even then, the posts have not been taking shape in my mind the way they usually do before I ever sit in front of this screen (and even now there have been much longer pauses in my keystrokes than normal). In order for a post to make the site (generally) it has to flow from my brain through my fingertips. And that just hasn’t been happening.<br /><br />Now, I won’t lie and say that I don’t know the reason(s) for this, because I do. Sheer busy-ness has been one of the main culprits. I rarely play the single dad card, but in this case I must. For those of you who are new to this site, I live 800 miles from my closest relatives. So everything that needs to be taken care of in a day/week/month/year falls on my shoulders. There is no dropping my daughter off at grandma and grandpa’s so I can do this or that. Now, I realize that I made the choice to stay here after my wife died, but one of the unfortunate consequences has been not being able to update this site nearly as often as I would like.<br /><br />I have also had a lot weighing on my mind, some of which I unfortunately cannot go into here right now. I can sum things up by saying there have been some health issues, some family issues, and some possible financial issues. Actually, that one I can go into here. I found out the day before Thanksgiving that I am going to require some extensive periodontal surgery in the spring. Well, really anytime is good, but I don’t think I’ll have the money until then. I’m not a perfect financial planner, but I do have a budget and live within my means from month to month, so money is not as constant a worry as it once was. But I don’t have dental insurance. And my emergency fund is not prepared to take that kind of a hit right now. And truth-be-told, I’m a bit of a control freak about certain things, and oral surgery was not part of my overall plan (even though I have known it might be a possibility for a while). And on top of that I found out I am likely going to have to buy a new water heater…<br /><br />But I digress.<br /><br />Most nights I have been falling asleep earlier than normal. I’m a night owl by nature and most nights recently I haven’t seen ten o’clock. Which is good for my overall health and well-being. But it’s short-lived. It inevitably comes in cycles and I end up with nights like the past couple where I cannot get to sleep until the normal time or even later. (It’s the middle of the night as I type this, though I will not likely post it until tomorrow). So I’m exhausted when I need to be alert and sometimes alert when I need to be exhausted. And as if that wasn’t enough, I had a dream about my wife last weekend. It was the first one I’ve had in a very long time and was similar to the first few dreams I had after she died. Only this time she was already in the hospital when I found out she was going to die and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Those dreams never get any easier to take.<br /><br />But actually, as many of my long-time readers will note, the sleep issue is not really such a new pattern with me after all, so I guess I should get to the updates.<br /><br />My daughter started first grade in August. I didn’t think that first grade would be a grief-trigger for me, but I was wrong. Parents expect to have difficulty letting go when their child starts kindergarten, but first grade should be old hat, right? It was in all of the normal, routine ways. But my wife was in her second year of teaching first grade when she died and that thought has bombarded my mind many times over the past several months. I think about the skills my daughter is learning that my wife taught to her students now four and five years removed, the books she read with them, the papers I helped her grade. And to complicate matters, my daughter’s teacher is a young expectant mother whose baby is due near my daughter’s birthday. She does not remind me of my wife in appearance or demeanor, but the new mom dimension has been hard to think about at times. Those were such happy times, and while I’m thrilled for her teacher and her husband, it still amplifies my own sense of loss. I think it would be that much harder if my wife had been teaching first grade when our daughter was born, but thankfully she was still teaching third at the time. And my daughter’s teacher is expecting a boy, which somehow helps a little as well…<br /><br />We spent a lot of time trying to see family this fall. Living as far apart as we do, we welcome any chance we get to meet family, either where we live, where they live, or somewhere in-between. In October we met my parents in-between one weekend and my wife’s parents in-between the next weekend. It was a lot of time on the road for a little bit of quality time, but it was well worth it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough, so the week before Thanksgiving I made the official decision (I had been contemplating it for a long time) to head back to the Midwest for Thanksgiving. That’s not something we do every year and it was a decision which was complicated by a few factors. Normally I have the day before Thanksgiving off, but due to some school cancellations early in the year we were required to use that day as a make-up day. On top of that, plane tickets were outrageously priced (a thousand dollars for two weekend plane tickets was also not in my budget), so we were locked into driving. Fifteen hours each way. To be with family for two and a half days. I know a lot of people would have taken the day off and pulled their child/ren out of school, but I made a rule before kindergarten that I would only keep my daughter out if she was too sick to attend. (Which, interestingly enough, happened the day after we drove fifteen hours home!) Even so, it was still worth making the trip to be with family for Thanksgiving and a few other special events…<br /><br />The weekend after Thanksgiving held a milestone of sorts. It was the anniversary of my first foray into the dating arena. I didn’t actually think about it until the day before and am not sure I would have at all had it not been in such close proximity to Thanksgiving. But I did think about it some. A year later, it’s not a decision I regret making. But it’s also not one I’m anxious to make again anytime soon, no matter how many “nice Christian girls” my friends and co-workers want to set me up with…<br /><br />And now Christmas is upon us. <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/12/on-eve-of-christmas.html"><span style="color:#009900;">Last year at this time</span></a> I was in a rut and had difficulty being excited about Christmas. Thankfully that is not the case for me this year. We got the house decorated last weekend, the Christmas shopping is about half-completed, and the cards are in a box on the kitchen table ready to be signed. Having a brighter outlook toward Christmas this year has been a huge blessing.<br /><br />Mostly because my daughter is struggling so much with it now.<br /><br />My daughter continues to experience her grief in waves, much like I do (though not always during the same periods). But sometimes it blindsides her as well. Last weekend was one example. If you’re not a widowed single parent of small children, then you’ll have to take my word for this next sentence: Comforting my grieving child is one of the most difficult things I have ever had to do. When she says things like “Mommy will never get to watch me open presents again” or “Mommy won’t ever get to read me a Christmas story again”… there are no words that can heal that kind of pain. But even worse than trying to comfort her without being patronizing, is having to watch her endure the kind of pain that grief can bring and not being able to do a thing about it…<br /><br />So I guess that is my update of sorts. Now that I’ve typed it, it seems as scattered as it did in my head. But I wanted to get something on here for those of you who have been genuinely concerned about my absence. I truly do appreciate your messages and Facebook comments. I’m slightly better about returning e-mails than I am about posting here or on Facebook, so should I go missing again, please don’t hesitate to drop me a line.<br /><br />It actually kind of brightens my day when you do.<br /><br />And right now <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5g4lY8Y3eoo"><span style="color:#3333ff;">my days could use a little brightening</span></a>. </div>Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-86677727598438011872010-08-24T02:23:00.006-04:002010-08-24T03:20:21.152-04:00On How I Spent My Summer Vacation<div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508861931884181954" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibPNrBdwr9TXuWV3iMwT-cWvFMoPjU86vtWptiUC7NAJFWlS7aGNk3tQ0yfOb_EsYo3m2ZY-tyJHj1Tu4CZZtRtK02xMHHWOsiUkbgDQpak2cK3lm0u1KSqLfPQzVfPgi2G89bkpCis1c/s400/Maine2010+102.jpg" /> As a school-based employee, I am afforded the luxury of having an extended break from work during the summer months. Yes, I do work a couple days a week most weeks, but in general I am able to take the time off and really enjoy the summer months. My wife was a teacher, so it was a double blessing for us to be able to spend this time together when we were first married and throughout our marriage. Many of our vacations were spent with family, either visiting them or entertaining them in our home, but occasionally we branched out a bit from our normal vacation routine.<br /><br />Four years ago was one such time. My stepdad turned sixty that summer and my mom planned a surprise trip with out entire family, which was no easy task considering there were thirteen of us at the time and we lived in three separate states. However, being the expert planner she is, she/we were able to pull off the surprise. We actually rented a beach house about half an hour from where I live, which made the surprise part all that much easier (we incorporated the week into part of their annual summer trek to our house). My wife and I enjoyed being able to play a small part in the surprise, and it was our best vacation as an entire family.<br /><br />It was also our last vacation as an entire family.<br /><br />At the time, my wife was starting to show signs of her illness becoming worse, but she was under the best care we could find and the doctors had given her clearance to lead as normal a life as she cared to. The month after our beach trip we spent our five year wedding anniversary in New York, a city she had never visited, but had always wanted to. Seven months later, she was gone.<br /><br />This summer my mom also had a milestone birthday (though with respect to the lady, I will not mention just which milestone it was). My sister and I had previously discussed doing a trip for Mom’s next milestone birthday when we were all at the beach four years ago, but none of us knew what would happen in the intervening months and years. Last fall we decided to start looking for a place to vacation anyway. My only request was that we did not do it here again, as I thought it might be too painful to duplicate that atmosphere with all of the same players. Minus one.<br /><br />Our original plan was to head to the Gulf Coast. She had a friend in Alabama who could get us a good deal on a rental, so we set the plan into motion. Then my older brother announced that (for reasons I cannot go into here) they would not be joining us. That dropped our number to ten. Then the Deepwater Horizon Oil Spill happened. (On a side note, I am amazed at the number of times I heard about the poor pelicans and possibility of oil stained beaches in comparison to the number of times I heard about the people who were killed and the families they left behind). So we decided to move our trip elsewhere, preferably as far away from the possible effects of trace oil and tar balls as possible.<br /><div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508866701949158338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVE7VHBTSHx6YQncy0PxgFAg3wCjwlldqxbd-pqlT7oLU8E4oawbsCD8cVvMnw1xXT2TPRzx87nk_A_NXMm-dI5HOozsVe2BXtUUCniePjiMnYieS2PxsGKTrgJnppYvlItjTJ4SuB1xE/s400/Maine2010+012.jpg" /><br />So in mid-June, we set off toward Maine. I had never traveled to the New England states (well, not any further than Stamford, CT at that point), so we took a couple of extra days to get there. It turns out a lot of that time was spent stuck in traffic and driving around certain cities looking for the way back to the interstate. My parents traveled with us, so that was an added bonus and we had an enjoyable time. We finally arrived in Maine on Saturday afternoon and my sister met us with her family a few hours later. By this time, my younger brother had also backed out of the trip (for reasons that were at least a bit more valid than my other brother’s, but frustrating nonetheless), so there were only eight of us who spent the week together in our rented house. We were about a five minute walk from the beach, which was magnificent, but so very different from the beaches I have grown accustomed to here in the Southeast. I’m not much of a shutterbug, but I took several hundred pictures during our week-long stay. (Check out my Facebook page for a larger selection than what I’ve posted here).<br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508866697522589874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju9B9lsM0Of8yeqmsfxUC_OmeeD8hTaPqTv31k680gFMlB4yWJNJhV4abLtCHUjh4m1dHWaUmcXuaPWezIi11BkvmjHjWVe9MEU4H68U1jfgdk_e2xy2il4NJjon1KaBQZZBzkj4hkZog/s400/Maine2010+097.jpg" /><br />I have to say that New England was everything I thought it would be. From the many quaint towns we visited, to the rock outcroppings along certain highways and the entire coastline, it was simply magnificent. There were so many places we were unable to travel to (Gloucester and Rockport, MA for one) that I am most assuredly going to have to travel that way again sometime. We did manage to spend a day in Boston hiking the Freedom Trail, which took us throughout the city and allowed us to see many famous sites that were important in the Revolutionary War (check out photos of that on my Facebook page as well) and an afternoon at the Portland Head Light in Cape Elizabeth, ME (yep, more pictures of that on Facebook too).</div><div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508866692880154946" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieDH-Bdw0MJp_ZuX-MZsUNngIkA3cGqnVbRSGR1l9bw7GhCXaSYlP67zltEP-gzi_Cdfk2h53K8UlTY_WGhT0krszVIfYnx2oCuy82ZFpNrkoaVKEU7Shmfl8DqbnIwr3A2P9HDCUOhrE/s400/Boston2010+072.jpg" /><br />I cannot say enough what an amazing time it was. Family has always been very important to me and I cherish whatever time I am able to spend with my loved ones. I was worried that this trip would have an adverse effect on me, even though the location was so very different from our last family beach trip. I cannot say that the effect was adverse, but there were many times when my grief was much closer to the surface than I am used to it being these days. One afternoon in particular I remember being in my room at the rented house and just sorely missing her. It seems a bit silly, knowing that she’s in Heaven, but in those moments, I just really wanted her to share Maine with me.<br /><br />The day after we returned from Maine, Bible school started, so I busied myself with lesson-planning and skit practice for my role as a ranch-hand who couldn’t sing on-key. My parents left and her parents arrived. We spent a few days with them, including some time at the beach and watching fireworks over the water on the Fourth of July, before heading to another place I had never visited (though this one was a much closer than Maine!) </div><div> </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508866674191274738" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRyVNpaojE0zOhgXT6hdLfcKK1DTN0A5tf8M13BJr5JwFJraNvlVjxR7fNT-TLysKwlUL3HsapHV3x9AD5Eu79F8Kg3buGIiIoZHsfgHoxmiE7yBpHxjADVScs1ZvONuD5DlTJ28s86O8/s400/Charleston2010+033.jpg" /><br />Charleston, South Carolina is another place that did not disappoint. We only stayed a couple of days, but we packed a lot in. The first day was spent at a rice plantation, where we learned about the local wildlife (including alligators!), the way plantations were run, and the importance of the slaves who lived and worked there (not only for their labor, but also for their knowledge). In an interesting twist, we learned that following a major hurricane in South Carolina many years ago, logs from that particular plantation were sent to Boston and used to restore the USS Constitution, which my daughter and I had just seen less than two weeks earlier.</div><div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508866676922527618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL1qG_psaFU_dZ-QqpVeYH980cj6m7StHQrRUOAxOa-cK6KGa8j-gSb_gI9d58ddOibmSm6-BWLjtph-Zj5qF-4drB40lHvhR0cjN9OPvAHFUjOw0VPJKp1kv3ZUa2GCUQB88B7om1h_A/s400/Charleston2010+040.jpg" /><br />We spent that evening downtown viewing the slave market (which we were told was used by the slaves to do their trading and not used for the actual selling of slaves), eating, and taking an informational carriage tour around the historic areas of the city. The next morning we took the boat to Ft. Sumter and toured the area where the Civil War officially began. It was amazing to be able to see sites from both the Revolutionary and Civil Wars in a two week time period (yes, yes, those pictures are on Facebook as well).<br /><div><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508863756855855282" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOFsI2D64T7yqqdzow88vnsj3ip4IzxGiSc8k3BTXwKN5z2aTkhEleEHQIFB9a9d6d-i1eNHieG6REYqofIT_3EqoZrBMWaqUgh3KhJSuezgqyhKUb1mzZQ66lpGg1Fqf7qwWehOzMeP4/s400/Charleston2010+109.jpg" /><br />The trip to Charleston was bittersweet for me. We moved to the Southeast less than a year after we got married, so I got it in my head that I would surprise my wife with a first anniversary getaway and Charleston was a feasible place to do so. Plus it was on her list of places she had always wanted to go. I wish I could say that we went and had a great time, but it was not so. As I was getting ready to set up the details for the trip I realized that I had made an error and left the cost of the moving van out of our checkbook. We were juggling two checking accounts at the time, waiting for things to clear so we could close the one back home, and it was a complete oversight on my part (which was incredibly hard because I am overly cautious about finances and it ended up ruining our chances to take the trip). She was disappointed, but understanding when I told her what had happened and that I had planned to surprise her with the trip. By the next summer our daughter was on the way and we just never seemed to find the time or the money to see Charleston together after that.<br /><br />My in-laws left the day after we returned from Charleston and some friends arrived two days after that. We spent a lot of time visiting local places (within a two hour radius anyway), but I unfortunately do not have pictures to accompany those travels. It was, however, very nice to be able to enjoy and appreciate some of the areas that are very close-to-home. The two weeks following that brought my neighbor’s sister and her daughter from out of state (think blueberry patch from my previous post), so we spent a lot more time around home during those weeks. </div><div><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508869362341926882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAy1ko2vI6lg3FjQsrRaTYBcklwrSTK_J9PgATDLeEkRTsxIlP0To4B_Gv-27R-RA0zZsI-8o9icK1lHYcO6giKjSurVLcD2zP0rsGfbDfbqSmVfTfteJRVn-BVKuANd14aj_qiiN0I3s/s400/Familyvisit2010+005.jpg" /><br />The final few weeks of the summer were spent in various states in the Midwest visiting and traveling with family. We managed to work in five days with each family, plus travel time and a side-trip of our own. In that time with family we: saw an exhibition of big-wheeled bicycles, went to a small zoo, celebrated my in-laws’ fortieth wedding anniversary (my parents celebrated their twentieth earlier this summer as well, but we were not able to be with them then), took my daughter to see her first of the Great Lakes (which she enjoyed, but promptly reminded her grandmother that it was nothing like the ocean), attended a minor league baseball game, visited friends in their home, celebrated my Mom’s actual milestone birthday (trip was planned earlier in the summer due to the likelihood of higher temperatures in our initial location in August), helped my parents with an outdoor project, visited with friends in my parents’ home, met some new people and pets, and had an all-around enjoyable time (I know, I know - quit selling the Facebook page already!). </div><div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508869371637605618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifSbQx3Iwu4cSb7Q5pVNO-y2Q1Eeg53Zy-6ZjhqGOpQ9454Y1M7dp2hAfElCAJTRodNaldwlJ15u7Z3goIMujLwxvmL0ochfE3tcZD-IyceOnTaEqSd-P51ZJok8PnMfiaLQ2C9tzMq5o/s400/Familyvisit2010+011.jpg" /><br />On the way home last week, my daughter and I took a detour and went to a new zoo. It has become a tradition of sorts for us to visit a new zoo each summer. We usually take this trip by ourselves, but last summer we had the pleasure of incorporating it into a trip we were on with my parents. The zoo we went to was nice, though the exhibits were a bit overgrown, so it was hard to see some of the animals. We enjoyed our daddy-daughter time together immensely though, especially since it was <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JknIN3fRGi8&feature=search"><span style="color:#3333ff;">our last big hurrah</span></a> before school starts tomorrow.<br /><br />All in all, we set foot in twenty different states this summer. Six of these were new for me, which brought my overall states visited count up to thirty. Eleven were new for my daughter, which brought her overall count to twenty-five (and she’s only six!) We spent more time away from home than we did at home, which is unusual for us. And we had an excellent summer, but for one thing:<br /><br />Every memory made and experience shared is another one without her. </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-3090161170958857962010-08-01T23:36:00.003-04:002010-08-01T23:56:05.387-04:00On Unrealized Dreams<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKjvqWul9p1Cixl5ghnxYp9SbwB33EzvToUUh70o0CsEnk6thJ8ye28r27VskHWOc_r8Q8tSP4Q1ucrMqLvHTuxU4-DT1tgloWc4svWtEHdKeKoW8AVIOcbT-tXWR002NYcABlbKuTxBA/s1600/Maine2010+071.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500656180380265474" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKjvqWul9p1Cixl5ghnxYp9SbwB33EzvToUUh70o0CsEnk6thJ8ye28r27VskHWOc_r8Q8tSP4Q1ucrMqLvHTuxU4-DT1tgloWc4svWtEHdKeKoW8AVIOcbT-tXWR002NYcABlbKuTxBA/s400/Maine2010+071.jpg" /></a><br /><div>July is always a hard month for me. Not as hard as February, but it is what I have decided to refer to as “my other hard month”. The only redeeming quality it has is that it falls during the summer and I, therefore, have more options to avoid grieving than I do in February.<br /><br />July 21st would have been my wife’s 32nd birthday. It is the fourth one I have recognized alone. I hesitate to say that it is getting “easier”, but the truth is that the grief is not as raw now as it was during the first couple. Plus, my daughter is older now, so I have been able to share what the date means over the last two years, whereas I was totally alone in it the first two. (We were actually with family last year, which also helped).<br /><br />For us it was a quiet day. I work two days a week in the summer, and this year her birthday happened to fall on one of those days. I did have lots of time to think about her on the drive to and from work and during the afternoon hours while my daughter was still at her summer program, but the feelings were primarily of fondness and the pangs of grief were held at bay. I teach some of our elementary-aged kids at church on Wednesday nights, so that was another welcome distraction. And as I recall, I fell asleep on the couch watching tv with my daughter that night.<br /><br />Mile one, down.<br /><br />One week later came what should have been our ninth wedding anniversary. As far as the day itself goes, it was very similar to her birthday in that I worked during the day and had church that night. I was able to pick my daughter up earlier that day (no field trip with the day program), but she watched tv while I took a nap, then went to play with a friend nearby while I made dinner. That evening (after church) we sat and talked to some neighbors, which was another nice distraction. I was still trying not to dwell on the day when I posted about it on my Facebook page with less than half an hour to go. But eventually I found sleep and the next morning arrived.<br /><br />Mile two, down.<br /><br />I think I sometimes downplay my emotions on this site. I don’t have very many attacks of raw grief like I did at first (before I could even write about it) or like some of my favorite bloggers are still encountering and enduring, but that doesn’t make it any less hard when these days arrive. It just makes it a different kind of hard.<br /><br />That’s what I’ve begun to realize over the past few days. Her birthday will always be difficult in that it symbolizes one more year that she could have lived on earth and one more year she is not here with us now. No one’s birthday should be symbolic before age thirty-two. But for me, every day symbolizes that. Her birthday is just an enhanced reminder of what I live daily.<br /><br />Our anniversary is another story. While I “made it through” the day okay, it’s the one that gets me. It’s the day that reminds me that <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a-Lp2uC_1lg"><span style="color:#3333ff;">I’ll never realize the dream </span></a>of 6-7-8-9+ years of marriage with her. Yes, there could be another Mrs. 3SF someday, but it’s not something I am concentrating on at the moment. And the fact of the matter is, even if I do “find love again” it can’t be with her.<br /><br />Now, this may seem conflicting for some of my long-time readers, considering the fact that I dated a very nice young woman this winter. (<a href="http://freshwidow.blogspot.com/2010/07/what-is-remarried-widow.html"><span style="color:#009900;">Supa wrote a great post </span></a>about being a remarried widow recently). Dating or marrying someone else doesn’t suddenly erase the sense of loss you feel at having never realized certain dreams with the spouse who made you a widow/er. And I believe I may have only scratched the surface regarding that when I dated last winter.<br /><br />Most of the time I am truly at peace with the idea that I could remain single for a very long time. I was okay with it before I dated and was again pretty soon after we broke-up. Being comfortable with myself with or without someone else has always been important and after two-plus years of being widowed, I finally regained that sense of self, which is what allowed me to be ready to date when I did.<br /><br />But something happened Friday evening that caught me off-guard.<br /><br />My daughter and I were eating at one of our favorite Italian restaurants after her appointment with her ENT in another city. We were seated at a table-for-two, which is obviously not uncommon for us. I sat facing a window and the table just below it. It was another table-for-two, and I could not help but stare at the people seated there throughout our meal.<br /><br />Seated over my daughter’s shoulder were two people who could be us in 15 years.<br /><br />The man was in his work uniform, which made me believe he was a mechanic of some variety. He had a full beard and his eye color was different from mine. But other than those differences, he could have easily been me. The resemblance with the girl was even more striking. Other than the eye color difference, she could have been a computer-aged image of my daughter in fifteen years.<br /><br />Normally I would find a scenario like that endearing, but the other night it just made me sad. I kept thinking “This could be my life for the next fifteen years”. I have obviously known that since February 26, 2007, but these people placed in this setting at this moment in time reminded me that no matter how comfortable I am with myself and my current single/widowed status, there will always be moments of sadness. There will always be pangs of regret.<br /><br />There will always be unrealized dreams.<br /><br />Yesterday an opportunity arose to spend some time with a single woman and her daughter and I took it. I normally shy away from these types of situations for fear that I might lead someone on, but yesterday I was a bit more selfish (though I tried very hard not to send any mixed signals). We took the kids to a pizza place and then to pick blueberries - a very typical family-type event. And even though I wasn’t really part of a nuclear family, it felt good to spend a few hours in that type of situation. (Plus I made a delicious blueberry pie from the fruits of our labor!)<br /><br />Writing that just now, I’m not sure if I actually feel good about doing it or not. But my promise to my readers has always been to stay true to my journey, and that includes the parts I’m a bit embarrassed to admit now. (Please don’t judge me too harshly).<br /><br />Today has been better. I don’t feel the same sense of imminent sadness I felt Friday evening, nor do I feel the need to take any single ladies out to the blueberry patch to fill my need to feel like part of a pseudo-family for a few hours. I’m back to being comfortable with the day-to-day aspects of my single/widowed life.<br /><br />And I’m really glad it’s August. </div>Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-33106914473814015002010-07-17T23:11:00.004-04:002010-07-17T23:26:10.572-04:00On Breathing<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSU1DhijNe3Y9ar_sAXHoLs0NxHhrbCcm3x6HG4TwC0wb84sHpiohP1xf-ZR_bR7uptFvXV-9AgLer5PBUHxAq4osvID-rMFN_SvV__yi4KPD1yR3nDXBY5R9sQettYONfPeQZI-9vgxo/s1600/Maine2010+055.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495080640527203922" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSU1DhijNe3Y9ar_sAXHoLs0NxHhrbCcm3x6HG4TwC0wb84sHpiohP1xf-ZR_bR7uptFvXV-9AgLer5PBUHxAq4osvID-rMFN_SvV__yi4KPD1yR3nDXBY5R9sQettYONfPeQZI-9vgxo/s400/Maine2010+055.jpg" /></a><br /><div><div>The last month of the school is always very hectic for me. I have mentioned before that I am not a teacher in the traditional sense of the word, so it always means extra paperwork and headaches for me. I’ve often compared it to a race, with the finish line being the final day of school and always approaching much too quickly. This year was no exception.<br /><br />So why, you may ask, am I finally addressing this topic when the school year officially ended five weeks ago? And what could this possibly have to do with my title regarding “breathing” anyway?<br /><br />Patience, my friend. I’ll get to that.<br /><br />This year I began working at a new school, which was much closer to home and was just the environmental change I needed. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my old school, but my total drive (partly due to my daughter starting school this year) went from an hour one way to twenty minutes. Unfortunately, during the last month of school I spent the difference sitting at my desk, or in meetings, or running about the school building collecting information, or… well, you get the idea.<br /><br />And on top of that, I broke my cardinal rule and brought work home with me. Almost every night that month and every night during the last week or two. I even spent the better part of the last weekend before summer at this very computer typing one piece of information after another into the necessary forms. In fact, I spent so much time here that weekend that my back really began to ache. A lot.<br /><br />By Sunday afternoon my back was so tight that it was actually painful. And this is from someone who prides himself on having a very high pain tolerance.<br /><br />By Monday morning I was wincing whenever I moved the wrong way at work and was worried that co-workers would start to notice.<br /><br />By Monday afternoon, it was evident that I needed to go to the doctor/med center. In addition to the severe pain across my upper back, I was also having trouble breathing. And that lump in my throat that I forgot to mention earlier, but had until this point thought was indigestion, had refused to go away.<br /><br />So I called a friend to watch my daughter and headed to the med center, as my doctor’s office had closed by this time. As I sat there my head also began to hurt, but only as long as I kept my eyes open. It did not turn out to be a migraine as I had originally feared, but it did cause me to spend the majority of my time waiting (several hours’ worth) with my eyes closed unless it was absolutely necessary to open them.<br /><br />And during this time it also became increasingly difficult to breathe. At one point I worried that it might be some sort of panic attack brought on by the overwhelming amount of work I had yet to complete. But I’ve been with several people who have had panic attacks in the past, and none of the symptoms really seemed to match up. So I sat. And waited. And worried. And tried to catch my breath.<br /><br />They finally called me back to a room, but I waited there so long that I thought they had forgotten about me. Just about the time I was ready to climb off of the table and open the door, the doctor came in, all apologies about having to suture someone’s finger.<br /><br />I guess open wounds trump the inability to breathe at this establishment.<br /><br />The doctor said I had bronchitis and that I was to go with the nurse for a breathing treatment. They checked my lung capacity before and after the treatment and said that I needed to come back in the morning to get an x-ray. It was too late to fill my prescriptions, so I picked up my daughter and went home to bed.<br /><br />Throughout this time I was a bit troubled by the diagnosis of bronchitis. I had bronchitis once in college and I remember it being accompanied by other symptoms much like those that come with a severe chest cold. A family member had also had bronchitis recently and had the same chest-cold-like symptoms. I felt fine other than the lump in my throat, the pain in my back, and the extreme difficulty in breathing just one single, normal breath.<br /><br />So the next morning I put my daughter on the bus and headed back to the med center for my x-ray and follow-up. They said that I had “something suspicious” in my right lung (though it was the left lung that hurt when I took a deep breath) and that I should take my medicine and have another x-ray done in August (keep in mind this was early June). So I stayed off work the rest of that day and part of the next day (but that was prearranged as my daughter’s kindergarten program was that morning). But the work wasn’t going to wait any longer and I could breathe well enough to function at that point, so I went in. As it turns out, I made those days up as it took me an extra day and a half to finish all of the work necessary to end the school year (I just ended up doing it on my own time).<br /><br />I’m still not entirely convinced that I had bronchitis. I think it was more likely pneumonia, or walking pneumonia at the very least, but I’m not a doctor, so what do I know?<br /><br />What I did find odd is that I take the ability to breathe so completely for granted. As a widower, you would think that I would cherish every life-giving breath. After all, it was the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d1N4jOSR3-Y"><span style="color:#3333ff;">cessation of breathing</span></a> that made me a widower in the first place. And many of you reading this are here because your spouse or another loved one also lost the ability to breathe. And yet, I take that ability for granted.<br /><br />I did not, at any point during this ordeal, think that I was going to die. I felt reasonably certain that the doctors would know what to do and that I would feel better in a few days’ time. But I felt reasonably certain of that on the night of February 25 and during the day on February 26, 2007 too, so I guess one can never be too certain. I can say that I haven’t taken the ability to breathe quite so much for granted over the last month though… </div><br /><div>So that explains my absence from the Mother’s Day post to about mid-June. There’s another explanation for my absence this last month, but it will have to wait for a future post. In the meantime, please check out my Facebook page and be sure to click that you “like” it. The more people who like it, the faster my blog posts will appear on the page. (A special thanks to the three of you who have checked “like” already!) And the more interest shown in the page, the more interactive it will likely become.<br /><br />Stay tuned for future updates. </div><br /><div></div><div>And cherish your ability to breathe. </div></div>Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-65280996905121383472010-05-10T00:49:00.003-04:002010-05-10T01:10:34.316-04:00On Being a Mom by Default<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ1ksNgcxIbn0V72dejuAU4vXHD0pwRRtKPew7H9MUjOyGPTYQR35r7FeSjp_Kp3HZPyPDnpFITEJFhONgwjtm5maQJswoCNd7eqmAd6ULtX5lhBGbaUq9ynTZz6du3vwW1fLGTVTa_XQ/s1600/misc+224.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469501233476270178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ1ksNgcxIbn0V72dejuAU4vXHD0pwRRtKPew7H9MUjOyGPTYQR35r7FeSjp_Kp3HZPyPDnpFITEJFhONgwjtm5maQJswoCNd7eqmAd6ULtX5lhBGbaUq9ynTZz6du3vwW1fLGTVTa_XQ/s400/misc+224.jpg" /></a><br /><div>As happens every year, Mother’s Day has come. And by the time this is actually posted, it will likely have gone as well. This year I am not overly concerned about it (it happened <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/05/on-things-maternal.html"><span style="color:#006600;"><strong>last year</strong></span> </a>too) as I was on the phone late with my own mom, which seems to have something to do with what Mother’s Day is all about.<br /><br />Except when the mother of your child has died.<br /><br />As many widowed single fathers have come to realize, Mother’s Day takes on a whole new meaning when your wife and the mother of your child/ren is no longer here to be celebrated. Its primary purpose seems to be to bring that in-your-face reminder that she’s not here and seemingly everyone else’s mother is.<br /><br />Mother’s Day began for us about a month ago with the inevitable discussion with my daughter’s teacher about how I wanted her to handle Mother’s Day crafts and activities. I gave her the same answer I have given her daycare teachers in previous years - allow her to participate in the same capacity as the other students and let her choose the recipient of whatever she makes – and that is exactly what she did.<br /><br />Mother’s Day must be a huge event at my daughter’s school. It seems like every day for the last week she was involved in the making of some craft or writing assignment or the like, which was compounded by the activities in her separately-run after-school program. She was vague about some of the details, which of course lead me to believe that I might be on the recipients' list again this year.<br /><br />The last few years she has taken all of the Mother’s Day hubbub in stride. But this year her grief has been more visible. I’m not certain how much of this is a reaction to the intensified grieving period I can’t seem to shake (which I wrote about in <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2010/04/on-avoiding-grief.html"><span style="color:#006600;"><strong>my last post</strong></span></a> and is on-going) and how much is a reaction to her own feelings of sorrow. I know that both are factors. And I know that I can’t change either one for her.<br /><br />So over the past few weeks she has made more comments about missing Mommy and Mother’s Day approaching. Sometimes she has wanted to talk, though all conversations regarding this topic lately have been brief, and sometimes she has simply wanted to make her comment and move on to another topic. I try to follow her lead when she initiates these conversations/ comments, but sometimes it’s hard not to draw her out more when she clams up. It’s something I have to respect in her though, as I am prone to doing precisely the same thing, so I know she will talk about it when she’s ready.<br /><br />Which leads me to the saga of the Mother’s Day Tea. The culmination of the weeks’ Mother’s Day events was the aforementioned tea. My daughter had asked if I could come, but I explained that I couldn’t due to the scheduling, and reminded her that I will be taking an entire day off to accompany her on a field trip in a couple weeks. She appeared to be okay with that decision and I wasn’t worried about it as there has been very little parent participation in her classroom this year, so I knew that few students would have someone attend and she wouldn’t be left out.<br /><br />Guess I missed the “Mother’s Day is the Most Celebrated Holiday at our School” memo.<br /><br />When I picked my daughter up that afternoon she brought up the tea and the fact that she almost cried during it. I assumed the reason had something to do with seeing some of the other kids with their moms and grandmas (we live 800 miles from both of her grandmas, so they couldn’t attend either). I assumed wrong. She was upset because she thought I would come and surprise her even after our discussion about my not attending. She recovered quickly and told me about the rest of the day, but not before reporting that almost every other student had an adult relative attend. If my daughter exaggerated often, I would not have felt bad. But her observations are usually on the mark, so this was part two of her unintentional one-two punch. For those of you reading who have never seen your child disappointed by you, for whatever reason, brace yourselves. It was one of my hardest moments as a parent, to date.<br /><br />But Mother’s Day itself was mostly about me. She woke me up with two cards. One was made by a friend at church, but my daughter had signed it. The other was a drawing she made before I got up this morning that said “Happy mathrs day! I love you” with pictures of both of us as people and again as cats. When I went out to the living room I noticed immediately that she had picked up all of the toys she had left out the night before (and simultaneously wondered just exactly how long she had been up!) I half-expected to see the table set for breakfast, but she stopped short of that (which is good as it would have involved climbing on a chair to reach the plates, so I’m glad she exercised good judgment there.)<br /><br />During breakfast she asked if she could give me my present. Now, here’s an interesting story. When I picked her up on Friday she mentioned that she had a surprise in one hand and that I was not to look behind her back. She made a big show of hiding it even when she got into the van. At some point before or after the conversation regarding the Tea, she mentioned that the gift in the bag would need some water. Then she inquired as to whether I might know what it was. So I said that if it needed water it must be a plant or an animal. There was a short period of silence, followed by soft mewing sounds from the backseat! When we got home I gave her an appropriate amount of water and she disappeared into her bedroom with it. I did not hear any more mewing all weekend. Until this morning. I could hear her footsteps as she crossed the living room, but before she came into view. What I could also hear once again, was that soft mewing sound. She came into the dining room with my gift behind her back. And I can now say I am the proud owner of the only pink petunia planted in a plastic cup that can say “meow”!<br /><br />After breakfast we headed to church, which was an exercise in torture. (Bear with me here). I’m starting to realize that attending church on Mother’s Day might not be in either one of our best interests, especially if we are in the midst of a particularly difficult period of grief as we have been this year. And this comes on the heels of a service which had very little mention of Mother’s Day as the pastor is preaching through one of the books of the Bible. I can only imagine what it might have been like if he had delivered a traditional Mother’s Day sermon. The first year we spent the weekend alone at a friend’s beach cottage. I’m tempted to see if I can call in a similar favor for this Sunday in May next year.<br /><br />After church we went out to eat, then to a birthday party for one of my daughter’s classmates. It wasn’t exactly how I wanted to spend the afternoon, but it was important to her that we went. The timing of the birthday party interfered with my plans to head to the beach, even though it was twenty degrees colder today than it was yesterday, so I knew it would likely be cold and windy standing on the edge of the country with the ocean at my feet. But after the party my daughter asked if we could still head to the beach because it was Mother’s Day and she wanted “to do something special <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AtGEhA1emGM"><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>to remember Mommy</strong></span></a>”.<br /><br />They say “great minds think alike”. I say sometimes grieving minds do too.<br /><br />So we drove down to the beach in attire that was not appropriate for beach combing, but was good for a short walk on a windy beach day. Except we would have been better off in shorts and swimsuits. As a general rule of thumb, the beach will range anywhere from five to ten degrees cooler than it is in town during all seasons except summer. Today, of all days, was the exception to the rule. Not only was it just the right temperature, the breeze was slight, and the waves were gentle. It was one of those perfect days at the beach. Except we weren’t dressed for it, and it was Mother’s Day, and I was getting a sinus headache.<br /><br />Okay, the headache hit pretty fast so I’m not sure how much of it was truly sinus-related and how much was me being angry that of all days this would be the perfect beach day and we weren’t in the right attire or frame of mind to enjoy it. Despite all of this, we did stay for a short while – long enough for my daughter to carefully make a small fortress out of wet sand. I was further irritated thinking that she was going to somehow get her clothes wet and I had no way to dry her off (though I thankfully did not let her know I was irritated). When we left, she told me that she had built that for Mommy and she as glad we had come to the beach.<br /><br />Leave it to my six-year-old to put a positive spin on my negative outlook.<br /><br />When we got home it was time for the dinner/bath/bedtime routine. Then I called my mom (my daughter had spoken to her earlier in the day), which is where I had just left off when I started this post. And as I mentioned, it is already after midnight, so Mother’s Day has officially passed on the 2010 calendar.<br /><br />But I can’t help but wonder what it will continue to bring on our grief calendar. </div>Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-20792063549859942182010-04-29T23:44:00.003-04:002010-04-30T00:01:10.199-04:00On Avoiding Grief<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr9GRDvO2gDEa_Ii8GKhGidm2-nTEHtPSnVT7g4h0ZJS-X0yTiVuZ8FDDYcrSmVbzLyVoqZSBa2xjIwXEXQsitg_tOP2L_dcFv5FF1hEQOAuD7VyQt9o2yIhET3XsB6PvDFBztqi8w-lk/s1600/JantoMarch2010+031.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465775291836485538" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr9GRDvO2gDEa_Ii8GKhGidm2-nTEHtPSnVT7g4h0ZJS-X0yTiVuZ8FDDYcrSmVbzLyVoqZSBa2xjIwXEXQsitg_tOP2L_dcFv5FF1hEQOAuD7VyQt9o2yIhET3XsB6PvDFBztqi8w-lk/s400/JantoMarch2010+031.jpg" /></a><br /><div>I have been avoiding this post for two weeks.<br /><br />Or trying to anyway. The content has been here, it’s the writing I’ve been trying to avoid. This, of course, has been part of an attempt to avoid something of a much greater magnitude. Namely, my grief.<br /><br />It’s been over three years. I’ve managed to resume a sense of normalcy for my daughter and myself. I’ve even tried my hand at dating again. I have what I would consider to be a relatively content life, especially given the circumstances. So why in the world have I been actively grieving the past two weeks?<br /><br />I should take a moment to clarify that statement. I have never ceased grieving over my wife’s death. I have just felt over the last 12-15 months that it has moved from an active state of grief to a more passive one. I miss her just as much now, but not in the raw, broken way I did during those first several months and into the second year.<br /><br />So in a moment of naiveté I guess I allowed myself to put my guard down a bit. I got comfortable. I became passive in my grief. Then I was slammed back into the rocky crags by yet another pounding wave of active, self-exposing grief. And as has been the case over the past three-plus years, I was completely blindsided by it.<br /><br />I should have noticed the signs. We had a particularly nice visit with family over Spring Break, but I was more aware of my wife’s absence during this trip than I have been at any other time in the last year or so. It seemed that everything reminded me of her. The visit to her stone was especially poignant in that my daughter asked for a moment alone, then went to the car so that I could have some time by myself. She returned from the car just at the moment that my tears began to flow, though she had no way of knowing that since my back was turned to her the whole time.<br /><br />We returned to a flurry of activity and I thought I could bury myself in all the trappings the end of the school year brings. The first week home was especially busy and stressful, but by then my sleep cycle was out-of-whack – another sign of things to come. Many widow/ers have mentioned the issues with sleep cycles, but again, I was naïve enough to think that once this evened out initially, the erratic patterns would not return. But for the better part of two weeks my sleep cycles were wildly out-of-control. One night I’d be up till the wee hours before sunrise, and the next I’d be asleep on the couch soon after sunset.<br /><br />Then there was the dream. I have mentioned in previous posts that I have seldom dreamed about my wife since her death. And all of my dreams thus far have been overshadowed throughout by an impending sense of doom. This dream was different. But I think I’d like to go back to the impending doom dreams again.<br /><br />I don’t remember much of the actual dream itself. What I do remember are the last few fleeting frames – glimpses of beauty I have not seen in a very long time. When I awoke I truly thought it had been real. And in that foggy, pre-dawn moment, my reality came crashing down around me all over again.<br /><br />I felt a bit like the Time Traveler’s Wife, a woman who spent her life constantly holding on to her love, knowing he would disappear, and often waking up with the realization that he had. I left the dream holding on to my love, and woke up knowing that she, too, had.<br /><br />It is never easy to be blindsided by grief. I have mentioned here before that every time I figure out how it is going to manifest itself, it develops a different pattern for doing so. I’m serious when I say that I’d like to return to the impending doom style of grief-related dreaming. At least in those dreams I am already aware of what has happened and the fact that I am powerless to change it. I prefer that to being handed a glimpse of hope and waking to find that it cannot be attained this side of Heaven.<br /><br />That happened on a Saturday, the week before last. The weather was beautiful, so I threw myself into several hours of yard work (or as I like to call it “yard therapy”). I transplanted flowers into a new bed (the one with the birdbath I’ve shown in previous posts), weeded for several hours in other beds, and even dug out the space where I plan to eventually hang my hammock. But apparently my yard therapist needs a raise. None of that work provided the payoff that a job well done typically yields. But I guess it was worth a shot. And at least the yard was starting to look ready for the season, which was an improvement over the house.<br /><br />I generally keep a clean house. Now, that doesn’t mean that the dishes are always washed immediately following a meal, or that I don’t miss a week cleaning the bathrooms, but as far as cleanliness goes, I’d say we do okay. It’s definitely nothing that would land us on an episode of Hoarders (I watch that too, Dan), even when my daughter has toys and artwork strung across the entire living room.<br /><br />But that week I let the housework go. Completely. I washed clothes and dishes on an as-needed basis, but nothing else got done. No sweeping. No vacuuming. Certainly no dusting or mopping or cleaning of bathrooms. But by Sunday I realized that it needed to be cleaned regardless of my emotional state, so after church I put on some cleaning music and my daughter and I spent the afternoon cleaning up our respective messes. And several days later it remains in a state of relative cleanliness.<br /><br />I need order. I seek calm. Chaos has no place in my life. And three-plus years after the most chaos-inducing event I’ve ever endured, we have managed to come to a place of order and calm.<br /><br />But that does not, by any means, make us untouchable. Rather it makes us vulnerable in increasingly penetrable ways. It takes us from a long series of relatively normal days to erratic sleep cycles and haunted dreams, interrupted routines and binge sessions with a large bag of M&Ms.<br /><br />It is grief. It is raw.<br /><br />And it is <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=frbwh9K9d1w"><span style="color:#3333ff;">my reality</span></a>. </div>Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-80481150387204966332010-03-29T21:50:00.003-04:002010-03-29T22:00:33.699-04:00On What I Said to the Crowd<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwYzm0EOMg2YwJFt54GxR3xXgVDJjD55X3tuk24yXq3yAKQX6x8sKvyCw_MPY3t6E_7BPajkvwXVq91fp0WaTAlX9cYl_uQKsnJTyhexxHYOGDClMxQXmMBZz_NA3_HOZY-HERuucYm8o/s1600/SpringBreak2009+048.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454240708704298322" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwYzm0EOMg2YwJFt54GxR3xXgVDJjD55X3tuk24yXq3yAKQX6x8sKvyCw_MPY3t6E_7BPajkvwXVq91fp0WaTAlX9cYl_uQKsnJTyhexxHYOGDClMxQXmMBZz_NA3_HOZY-HERuucYm8o/s400/SpringBreak2009+048.jpg" /></a><br /><div>Early in February I was asked to speak at our evening church service. It is a tradition in our church to have a service conducted and implemented completely by the men each year. I have never participated in this and am still not really sure why I was asked to speak (of all things). The only guideline I was given was to take a passage of Scripture and speak on it for about ten minutes (I took almost fifteen).<br /><br />It was immediately apparent in my mind that I would speak about how to help widow/ers and I remembered the verse about helping <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MEEpavnk7Uw"><span style="color:#3333ff;">orphans and widows</span></a> (though I admit I had to look it up as I had no idea where it was in the Bible). And since I also have a heart for orphan care, I managed to throw in some information about helping orphans as well.<br /><br />I know many of your spiritual beliefs may differ from mine and I completely respect that. I ask only for that attitude to be reciprocated as you read what I shared and know that I used the opportunity I was given to get the word out about helping widow/ers.<br /><br />I actually presented this information on Sunday, February 28, 2010, just two days after the third anniversary of my wife’s death.<br /><br /><em>Please turn in your Bibles with me to James 1:27. While you’re turning there, I’ll offer a bit of background on the book of James. It is believed to have been written by Jesus’ brother, the first fully biological son of Mary and Joseph, who was instrumental in the development of the early Christian church. It was written less as a way to explain Christianity to the early church, and more as a guide for teaching Christians practical applications for living out our faith.<br /><br />It sounds like most of you have found the verse, so let’s read James 1:27. “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world” (NIV).This is a verse we often hear, especially in the context of orphan care. It is the “theme verse” for Show Hope, the adoption organization Steven Curtis Chapman and his wife Mary Beth began several years ago. It is a verse that is often used in this context and is one of the few places in the Bible where orphans and widows are specifically mentioned.<br /><br />So as not to take the verse completely out of context, I’d like to offer a little background. James 1:27 falls at the end of a section in which James is instructing the early church regarding sin and adherence to the Word of God. It seems that the early church, just as many of us today, was pretty good at listening to what was preached, but not so good at actually following through with it on a daily basis. They were good at getting dragged into a variety of sinful behaviors because of their, and our, focus on the things of this world. Earlier in Chapter 1, James even likens this to looking at oneself in the mirror then forgetting what one looks like when the mirror is removed. God wants us not only to hear his Word, but to put it into practice as well.<br /><br />This is where verse 27 comes in. Here James gives us a very practical way that we can put our faith into action: by caring for orphans and widows. Or, in the most literal translation of this verse, by sharing the Word of God with them. James goes on to remind us again that we are to keep ourselves from being polluted by the world, which is something that would require much more time than the few minutes I have allotted this evening.<br /><br />So now that we’ve looked at the context surrounding this verse, I’d like to look again at the beginning of James 1:27. Let’s read it again. “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world”.<br /><br />I am not going to spend a great deal of time tonight discussing how we can help orphans. Though I do have a heart for orphan care and adoption, there are several organizations in place, such as Show Hope, which I mentioned earlier, that are doing an excellent job of getting the word out about orphan care. There are numerous resources online for any number of these organizations that would be glad to help you get started in assisting with orphan care on some level.<br /><br />There are however, very few organizations that deal with practical ways to help widows and widowers, so I will spend the remainder of this time focusing on that.<br /><br />The fact of the matter is that it is very easy to help children who are unable to help themselves. And even to a lesser extent, it is easy to help widows who have small children, especially if their husband was the sole breadwinner. But what to do with self-sufficient widows? And what do we make of widowers with small children?<br /><br />For those of you here tonight who are not aware, Friday made three years since my wife passed away. I was 29 at the time and my daughter had just turned 3.<br /><br />Some of the ideas I will mention momentarily are things that were done for us by members of this congregation and other friends during the early months following her death.<br /><br />Many of you are probably also aware of [another family in our community], and I know some of you know them personally. If you do not know them, write down these items anyway as you will almost certainly know another young widow or widower in your lifetime. And even if you don’t, these ideas also work wonders for single parents…<br /><br />In the interest of time, I will only be sharing ten practical ideas for helping widows beyond praying for them and sharing the Gospel with them (if necessary).<br /><br />They are presented in no particular order.<br /><br /><strong>1. Offer to watch the kids.<br /></strong><br />Widows and widowers often very quickly develop a sense that we have to do it all alone. It doesn’t occur to us to ask for help, and when it does, we decline the notion for fear of imposing on anyone, especially if we don’t have family close by to rely upon. I recall only asking for help if I was in a bind, and typically for me that was mainly during the summer when I had to mow the lawn.<br /><br />It doesn’t have to be much – a simple “Let me take the kids for a few hours so you can get some things done around the house” will suffice. But be persistent. I found that if I told people no once, they often didn’t ask again. The people who kept asking were the ones whose offers I eventually accepted.<br /><br /><strong>2. Invite them over for dinner.</strong><br /><br />Again, this is an area where you might have to be a bit persistent. One thing about widows and widowers is that we suddenly find ourselves in a very awkward place in society, especially if we have children. We are no longer married, but we still feel married. We don’t usually fit in with the singles crowd, but we also no longer fit in with the married crowd either. For widows with children, it may be a bit easier to fit in with the Mommy crowd, but single dads aren’t generally welcomed into that group either (for a variety of reasons which I won’t spend time on tonight).<br /><br />There were a couple of families who were very good about inviting us over for dinner in the months following [my wife’s] death. They were not always elaborate meals and we weren’t invited often, but those simple invitations were a great way to help me remain connected with other families.<br /><br /><strong>3. Take them dinner.<br /></strong><br />So what if you’re not the best host or hostess in the world? That doesn’t let you off the hook either. Now, this is not to say that these people are not good hostesses, but there were also some families in this congregation who were good about bringing meals.<br /><br />Here’s what’s important to remember about this: don’t take meals during the first few days. Everyone else is bringing in food then, and most of the time the family doesn’t really feel like eating it. The meals that meant the most to me were the ones that came two or three or even four months later, when most people had moved on with their own lives.<br /><br />Again, don’t take no for an answer, Just call and say, I’d like to bring you such and such sometime soon, when would be a good time?<br /><br /><strong>4. Don’t forget them.</strong><br /><br />As I’ve mentioned a few times throughout this list, timing is important. We all want to respond immediately when someone has lost a spouse and rightly so. But it was amazing to me how quickly people went back to their own lives and seemed to forget that we were still hurting. So make it a point to send a card, or cook a meal, or make a phone call periodically as time passes.<br /><br />I have several friends who still do this on occasion, even though it has been three years. If you are worried about forgetting, flip ahead in your day planner or set-up a reminder in your cell phone to do so. It doesn’t matter by what means you’ve remembered, it just matters that you do remember.<br /><br /><strong>5. Do something practical.</strong><br /><br />A little gesture goes a long way.<br /><br />I knew of a woman who was behind on her ironing when her mother passed away. A co-worker insisted that she let her do the ironing. It turned out to be a blessing for both the woman and her co-worker. For me, it was mowing the yard. There were a few times when I’d come home and the yard would be completely mowed, trimming and all. I found out later that once it was a former co-worker and twice it was my nearest neighbors. It was a thoughtful gesture, and it was nice to come home and have one less thing to do on those evenings.<br /><br /><strong>6. Send money.</strong><br /><br />Nearly everyone who is close to the family sends a sympathy card. This might sound like an odd suggestion, but consider including some cash or a gift card as well. I’ll be honest, the first sympathy card I opened with money inside threw me a bit. I was still reeling emotionally, and could not figure out why someone would send money. But there are significant costs associated with funeral services and burials, and not everyone has insurance to prepare for those things. And even if they do, the everyday bills suddenly need to be paid on one person’s salary, so any money you send will be put to good use.<br /><br />Several people sent us restaurant gift cards also. I tried to cook as often as possible, but on those days when I just wasn’t up to it and there was no more lasagna left in the freezer, it was nice to be able to take [my daughter] out for dinner and not have to worry about how to pay for it.<br /><br /><strong>7. Keep your condolences simple.<br /></strong><br />If you attend the wake or the funeral, say whatever you need to say about how sorry you are for the family then. But when you see them out and about for the first time after that – at work, at church, at the grocery – keep it simple. The best thing anyone said to me when I returned to work was “I’m glad you’re back”. It was a simple statement with no specific reference to what had happened, yet the person acknowledged it without upsetting me.<br /><br />Too often we are worried about what to say and end up making the situation worse. So when in doubt, keep it simple. If the person did not share personal details of their lives with you before, they are not likely to do so after. And all they want is for things in their public lives to return to normal as quickly as possible.<br /><br /><strong>8. Don’t be afraid to share memories. </strong><br /><br />While it may not be appropriate to share memories with the person as soon as they arrive back to work, there will likely come a time when it will be. Don’t be afraid to do so when the time is right. One of the best things people can do, even now, is share a memory they have of [my wife] in the context of a conversation.<br /><br />Since Friday was the third anniversary of [my wife’s] death, I posted a comment on Facebook for people to share memories of her. It was wonderful to be able to read those memories throughout the day and actually helped to make the day a bit more bearable for me.<br /><br /><strong>9. Don’t deny the person’s existence.<br /></strong><br />To take this one step further, don’t be afraid to talk about the person in general and use their name when doing so. It doesn’t always have to be a special or elaborate memory. It could be something as simple as referring to “[my wife’s] parents” instead of “[my daughter’s] grandparents”.<br /><br />One of the things that has meant the most to me is when people have made comments or told stories and used [my wife’s] name. It is validation that not only did she exist and play an important role in [my daughter’s] and my life, but that she meant something to other people as well.<br /><br /><strong>10. Listen without talking.<br /></strong><br />If you find yourself in a position where a widow or widower is sharing their feelings with you. listen, listen, listen. You don’t have to say a word. Just listen. Sometimes all we want is to be able to get something specific off of our chest.<br /><br />Now, most of you will probably never find yourself in this position as widows and widowers tend to be very private about their situation. But if you do, just remember that listening is the absolute best possible thing you can do.<br /><br />There are plenty more things you can do to help a widow or widower in their time of need, but these ten will give you a good place to start.<br /><br />If you have any specific questions, please feel free to contact me.<br /><br />Thank you.<br /></em><br />At the time I uttered these words, I did not know that the audio would end up on our church’s website within a few hours’ time. About a week after I received the e-mail regarding this, I decided to also post the link on Facebook. I’ve never been asked to speak about being widowed before, and I’m not sure that I ever will again, so I wanted to get this out to as many people as possible who might not otherwise hear this type of information.<br /><br />Posting it here is yet another step in that process. </div>Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-29524956416696039472010-03-22T00:28:00.007-04:002010-03-22T01:59:50.852-04:00On Healing<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTq7bbePixdP87ZxXGxd7HY1b5RXsUVCJroObK8EvfWJmzikA3eDIIbyfopRBBFWosnLx6pZ-GVLoipYJJU1duCbCa2lyHaE9k2Nn-Cs1NaW4nljC-ysXCstuWaouXVzjCiaLN_Dv2-EE/s1600-h/JantoMarch2010+101.jpg"></a><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451327814168204802" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv6UObdVmIzn4H7-nhhrQk3LMAHFBfKAMzrRQn4yPCG2q7qM4IotN9omOPWP26MP2hm31GdwOjNyqZ2UjV7LET-vj4c2u8x0HeiOazp-cQFB11P_MUsVMrfMB_1xM5gW3KNO3hb-C3G1c/s400/JantoMarch2010+099.jpg" /> <div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div>Since I seem to be in a pattern of posting a maximum of once a month of late, I’m going to proceed with a series of mini-posts that will hopefully serve to catch you all up to speed on what has been happening in the last month or so. It seems like there is always so much more I want to write about than there is time and energy to actually type it out and post it here. I am hopeful that this pattern will change soon, but until then, please accept my “mini-series” of posts, if you will. </div><br /><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451320464773705602" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV13BWpYqzY9iV_DQcP96GRT4RBQ0aa3QCL0fKBfCdFghNPD-Inv3HX0v-dEVy-LOJVYD2NVnVlE7T8bzTcss9FU3Kt8g9KIGnmBtCaGyaySEzx_SZHd_GfiW4orEOhMgV2guGfcTv5wk/s400/JantoMarch2010+042.jpg" /><br /><strong>On Winter Snow<br /></strong><br />As even the most occasional reader of this site has likely discovered, I am not a big fan of winter. I do not enjoy cold weather. I do not enjoy scraping ice off the car windows. And I most assuredly do not enjoy snow or ice.<br /><br />We have experienced both this winter.<br /><br />One weekend late in January we had an inch or two of rain that froze overnight. I live far south enough on the East Coast that life pretty much comes to a stand-still when there is ice or snow on the ground. It had melted off by time for church the next morning, but it was enough to cancel Sunday School, which is unheard of in these parts.<br /><br />Just a few weekends later, we woke up to a slightly different sight. On the Friday night before Valentine’s Day about eight o’clock, I looked out the window (knowing what had been forecast) and saw huge, wet snowflakes falling from the sky. I got my daughter and we walked out to the back porch so she could really see them well. By the time she went to bed an hour or so later, there was a groundcover of snow and the flakes were still falling rapidly. </div><div><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451320485238690770" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJq-G7dSXRX1ripWLQVfFNOhVuOle9iTKNCl-hip_o7CPD2fLCzvSCoHGuxqpjl1Z8p7x3qoz0PhTErgECLxK3BQqZlvZ_jdstfQBWWKEcsnuC_n7vEnxdKNdWN0oTRfE4XGy0I1_7V2s/s400/JantoMarch2010+044.jpg" /></div><div></div><div>The forecast had said one to four inches, which is a rare sight in this area. What we actually had in our yard the next morning was eight fluffy inches of pure white snow. If this had happened <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/03/on-unexpected-reminders.html"><span style="color:#006600;">a year ago</span></a>, I would have been nothing short of traumatized. But I have done a tremendous amount of healing over the last year, thanks in large part to being able to write out my thoughts and feelings here, so I was able to see this snow through a different lens.<br /><br />So instead of grumbling and being in a generally lousy mood all weekend, I embraced the snow, knowing it would only stick around for a short while. So once the power returned (it went off just as we were suiting up to go out and play), we headed out to build snowmen, make snow angels, and have snowball fights. I took plenty of pictures and even some video (my daughter gave me a five-minute instructional video on how to have fun in the snow, which I will always treasure). All told, we spent about four hours total in the snow that day.<br /><div></div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451320473025064210" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrYTC3pS7Cph8fvOgWo9FIJVKlBCCv2sLdl61FGUhGLMYbVegyhrGW987b45wlzEhqonV9KKdKMf7_nyC5rtGkKIOI5-3IpKC6f9WzUmRjMvbC2iU_M1HwHu4rTpCqS5QBYwsMbLHuubQ/s400/JantoMarch2010+057.jpg" /></div><div></div><div>By the next morning there was significantly less snow on the ground and even less than that by the time we arrived home from church. But being unsure of when this might happen again (good for me, but not so much for her), we suited up again and played in the wet slush until there was literally no snow left to throw or build with. I think we eked out about another two and a half hours between morning and evening service that day.<br /><br />When I was a kid I loved the snow. And growing up in the Midwest, we definitely had our fair share of it each winter. I have three siblings and many fond memories of times had in the snow with them. This snowy weekend reminded me of those times, only I shared them with my own child instead of my brothers and sister. I was able to play with reckless abandon in a situation I would not have otherwise (or at another time) enjoyed.<br /><br />And I took that as a sign of healing.<br /><br /><strong>On My Daughter’s Sixth Birthday<br /></strong><br />The Friday after the “big snow” was my daughter’s sixth birthday. She loves birthdays and was, as expected, very excited about having another party. The thing she was perhaps the most excited about was getting to take cupcakes to share with all of her friends at school. But that turned out to be overshadowed by some other events that day.<br /><br />Since it was a special day, I drove her to school that morning instead of having her ride the bus as she normally does. I was dressed for work, so she had no reason to think I wasn’t headed there after I dropped her off. However, I instead went into town to pick up the cupcakes and then back home to finish doing a few other birthday related things. Since kindergarten classes eat lunch first at her school, I was able to finagle my schedule so that I could take a half-day and join her for lunch. And seeing the look on her face when I showed up with the cupcakes and told her I was going to stay for lunch was definitely worth it.<br /><br />I hated to leave after lunch, but she had more to learn and I had a mandatory meeting that afternoon, so I walked her back to class and went on my way. But my joining her for lunch was just the first surprise of the day.<br /><br />My daughter usually attends an after-school program since her school ends earlier than mine, and she rather enjoys it. I can only imagine what went through her mind that afternoon when the secretary came over the intercom to ask her teacher to send her to the office for pick-up. And further still, I can only imagine the look on her face when she turned the corner and saw not her daddy as she had probably expected, but her grandma and grandpa who had driven down to surprise her again this year. (After <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/04/on-good-surprises.html"><span style="color:#006600;">last year</span></a> I told them no more surprises for me, so I was in on it this time). Once we all got home, we headed to our favorite Chinese restaurant for dinner, then watched her open her gifts (again with plenty of pictures and video).<br /><br />On Sunday we had her party and since the weather was a far cry from that of the previous weekend, she and her friends who attended were able to spend quite a bit of time playing outside. We also did the usual cake and ice cream and presents, plus a craft activity which the girls all really seemed to enjoy.<br /><br />We usually have her party at home and invite a small number of her friends and their families. She has made it even easier on me by requesting Disney Princess parties the last three years (plus the one before that which her mommy and I chose), so I have been able to use the same accessories from year-to-year. She just chooses a different princess to highlight (this year it was Belle) and we make sure she is featured on the cake.<br /><br />Each year it seems like the actual party-throwing part of the birthday festivities comes a little easier (though I’m still learning), but each year that passes is another year that her mommy has missed.<br /><br />And no amount of personal healing on my part is going to make that any easier. </div><br /><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451323637497360498" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpVLxqPsD8RGIKbeQ8e9LBuT-6tc4RKnKYPbC-hcvpWWRZtxN66LIHUv4fLT9glgkn7Z4nUQYDN5j4Gh-NhfZHwbbmPZrh9QY3ukBUd4fmE1xlPOteFbFl_8VtLTZ9DvlU4Y_HGkV1Hbs/s400/JantoMarch2010+123.jpg" /> <div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>On the Third Anniversary</strong><br /><br />Exactly one week after my daughter’s birthday was the third anniversary of my wife’s death. I wasn’t sure how I would be affected on this day as this was the first significant grief event to pass since I started dating. I talked to my girlfriend ahead of time about the actual date and my plans for it, and she was overwhelmingly supportive.<br /><br />So that morning before work, I posted this on Facebook: [My name] is attempting to see something positive in this day. If you knew [her name] please share a memory of her here.<br /><br />It was the most positive thing I could think of to do, and it turned out to be really good for me. Throughout the day and well into the evening, my Facebook ring tone went off repeatedly as people posted their memories. It was nice to find reasons to smile that day, instead of focusing solely on how much I missed her and how much she was missing by not being here.<br /><br />As tends to be the case with us, this day was also marked by two other events. Since I started this blog <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009_02_01_archive.html"><span style="color:#006600;">on the second anniversary</span></a>, this date also marked one year of blogging (however sporadic) for me. That one was anticipated.<br /><br />But the surprise event came that afternoon, when my daughter came into my bedroom and said “Daddy, I think my tooth is loose”. I checked, and sure enough, it was loose enough she could wiggle it with her tongue. I told her I’d pull it and she said “No Daddy, I think I can do it”. And sure enough, halfway across the bedroom she turned back with a tooth in her hand. It was so loose she had popped it out with her tongue! So the third anniversary of my wife’s death also became the first anniversary of the tooth fairy’s inaugural visit to our home. Only in this family could two such events coincide. </div><div><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451327806359237554" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEudnq1ho6ab4SNo3GnwhR_SPz561gHHv_ujlBSNViG4AcsZhbgti0EFozLVHiIminZ6a1DtUGX591SJpC_7MtEdNFwqIFRMf65IKt6TscKL0MPSIovOuBUiGdtx_oKOKgUaYjRkI9vao/s400/JantoMarch2010+134.jpg" /><br />That night my daughter and I went down to the beach and ate at the restaurant we discovered on this date last year, although this year there were no dolphins to watch as we ate. It was however, considerably warmer than this time last year, so we walked on the beach for a little while both before and after we ate. (I took plenty of pictures, but no video this time). I had planned to post something here that night, but she and I were both asleep on the couch by nine o’clock instead.<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451320488832882946" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOaYLECEt_3eZr7PzOY6AGm1UQxo0DEAbjJhHjq-v8fwU9UD5VeU_oe6YSF_k9gKasKzAC0JXFnldYmeC0XHLUQcbbwPdXEEX3OSen8SbYD2BI43Cwx88Eq8m8gyO9Egi6cWaqjGxBMbw/s400/JantoMarch2010+116.jpg" /><br />In a lot of ways this anniversary was “better” than the past two have been. And by better, I mean more bearable. I think the passage of time had something to do with it. And the fact that I not only had considered dating, but was actually in a relationship (though I did not see her that day) probably made a difference as well.<br /><br />Whatever the reason, a bearable anniversary is much-preferred over an unbearable one, and I considered the bearable nature of this one a sign of healing. <div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451327801620434722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh62lgKhPR4RZ9O3OMedJVCiHdhJ_q-Rbg0eCT65XoKvf9TdMlRHn2EXLg2gp5rHS2EeP5XCu9eR_xRldeyeAHAbWTs4SGsSVGtNphtXR95UpQZjxqgaocYEBHb4etDa-NSWHsr7eq46GY/s400/JantoMarch2010+118.jpg" /><br /><strong>On a Different Sort of Milestone<br /></strong><br />Exactly one week after that, on March 5, I had a pretty rough day grief-wise. It was the anniversary of my wife’s funeral, but that was not the cause of my grief on this day. It actually had to do with what was to follow.<br /><br />One semi-consistent pattern in this widowed journey has been that my grief tends to well-up more after a grief-inducing event, once the anticipation and the actual event have passed, than it does before. This usually happens within the first few days following the event. But as is common with grief, its patterns are often inconsistent, and this one hit me a day in advance.<br /><br />When my wife died, my daughter was three years and one week old, to the day. On March 5, my daughter was six years and two weeks old, to the day. So March 6 marked the day that I had officially parented her longer alone than I had with my wife.<br /><br />That’s the first time I have acknowledged this in any form outside of my own mind. I haven’t even told my parents (sorry you all had to find out with everyone else). I think it was something I wanted to keep private for just a bit longer, but in staying true to my journey and this site, the time had come to post it here.<br /><br />Ironically, this is one event in this post that I had planned to mark with pictures, but did not. You see, my daughter has had her picture taken at day care and school many times over the last three years, but she and I have yet to have a professional family photo taken. I kept putting it off, then realized that maybe after this “milestone” I’d be ready. And I think I am. But I didn’t get it scheduled in time for that day, so it will have to wait just a bit longer.<br /><br />I’m not sure where I am in terms of healing on this one. But I do know that I’m really thankful it’s a “milestone” and not an anniversary I’ll have to acknowledge (and dread) every year from here on out.<br /><br /><strong>On Breaking Up</strong><br /><br />In <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2010/02/on-starting-over.html"><span style="color:#006600;">my last post</span></a>, I mentioned that I had been dating someone for the first time since my wife’s death. And throughout this post I have referred to her as “my girlfriend”, which was true at the time of each of those events. But early last week we decided to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tbad22CKlB4"><span style="color:#3333ff;">break up</span></a>.<br /><br />It was strange in terms of break-ups in that it was something neither one of us wanted, but both of us knew was necessary. The fault was not really with either one of us so much as with some external factors that were not likely to change any time soon. So it was a better decision to break up than to continue working against them.<br /><br />I believe that she is okay with this decision as we arrived at it together. And I am okay with this decision, even though I think there was some unrealized potential in the relationship. Her daughter is young enough that it probably didn’t even faze her.<br /><br />But mine is not.<br /><br />So that evening, I sat her down and got the reaction I had expected to get when I first told her I was going to date someone – lots of tears. She was upset that she would not be seeing my girlfriend much anymore, but was more upset over the fact that she would not get to play with her daughter. She had allowed herself to start to get close to them, even though their contact was still fairly limited, so it was another loss for her when she realized they wouldn’t be coming around any longer. After a few minutes she calmed down and began to accept it, as she has had to do so often in her young life. Within a few days, she had stopped mentioning it altogether. That’s not to say she won’t again, but I think it’s a sign of her acceptance of the situation.<br /><br />There is some good news in all of this though. I met someone who sparked my interest, asked her out, and built a new relationship with her. At the time of the break-up we had not said or done anything regrettable, which made it that much easier to create an amicable split. And the split was in no way, shape, or form related to my “baggage” as a widower. So I’d say for my first foray into the dating world things went pretty well.<br /><br />In addition, I learned some things I will do again if/when I date someone else. I will be honest and up-front about my “situation”, but careful to disclose information at a rate with which she is comfortable. I will take things slowly. I will maintain minimal contact between my daughter and her (and myself and her kids should she have any) until the relationship is established and is moving to a more serious level. And I will remain content in my circumstances until then, so that I can be content if/when my circumstances should change.<br /><br />And I think that’s the best sign of healing I’ve experienced yet. <div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451330139135130658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmpemkYI93sVsDRCciQ42EUhLS8uvyTvdj0QSGhpxtRsNCNOTtmKcrO-n5P9df_xZQ2pK642bHB5v28bROwqIdXRlHMXMbTfscQytPuWmgAmVTgCZnApcfvYmsnc5Om0uEX2ksWKZC00g/s400/JantoMarch2010+100.jpg" /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-51927783152970075232010-02-18T00:22:00.003-05:002010-02-18T00:33:51.632-05:00On Starting Over<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Xawl5NQ-7f0oxadpfA-Q9Z-MGTwmkfJiq8BIMEysEGU3D_N1CFQsn3wpVfXfrMYKZU-NfiV9F9nNX5z9IKr_yfM3Ugem1_vHr7108GoheiByYbEc3kjLdq9SPKv5EU8sys99aN1bqwA/s1600-h/flowers2009+012.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439450679277587618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Xawl5NQ-7f0oxadpfA-Q9Z-MGTwmkfJiq8BIMEysEGU3D_N1CFQsn3wpVfXfrMYKZU-NfiV9F9nNX5z9IKr_yfM3Ugem1_vHr7108GoheiByYbEc3kjLdq9SPKv5EU8sys99aN1bqwA/s400/flowers2009+012.jpg" /></a><br />This post was originally planned to be put up around New Year’s Day, but as you can see from the sidebar, it’s been well over a month since I have actually posted anything here. The good news is that this has been less for grief-related reasons than it has for hectic, everyday life type changes. When I returned to work after Christmas Break, I was informed by a colleague that she was moving, which in turn would more than double my workload. So we spent the following four weeks rearranging our schedules and preparing for these changes, which left me exhausted on the best of evenings.<br /><br />And as if that wasn’t enough, I started dating someone.<br /><br />Yes, just when I had accepted the fact that I would likely be single for the next ten years or so, someone <a href="http://http//www.youtube.com/watch?v=LVb1ShNlwks"><span style="color:#3333ff;">sparked my interest</span> </a>in a way that I didn’t think was possible anymore. Now, since I write this blog largely to chronicle my life as a widowed, single father, I will refrain from gushing about how great she is. She does have some great qualities, some of which are not all that unlike qualities my late wife possessed. But the beauty is that she is not an exact replica of my wife <em>and I’m okay with that</em>. One of the things I have worried most about since I started thinking about dating again in general, was that I would seek out someone who was a carbon-copy of my wife. I would guess that is a fear with most dating widow/ers, and I’d bet that many of us end up falling into that trap at some point or another. But unless this initial foray into the dating world is my last, I am not immune to this possibility. I’m just glad it didn’t happen that way this time.<br /><br />Now, this might be a good time to point out that I am not a casual dater. Including my wife, I’ve only had four serious relationships since I was old enough to date. I put a lot of thought into the possible ramifications of actually dating anyone I might be interested in. I am as comfortable as I can be with being single, which I think allows me the freedom to act when I do meet someone. And being choosy landed me in a good marriage the first time, so I have no reason to think it won’t again if there is to be a second time.<br /><br />That being said, I was as surprised as most of my regular readers probably are now when I found myself attracted to someone else less than three years after my wife’s death. But as I posted in the fall, I wanted to work toward healing so that I would be ready when the ”right” person came along. I’m just still really floored that it happened so soon.<br /><br />Now for some background. I actually met her this summer at church. She was supposed to be the assistant for the Bible school class I was teaching, but ended up being assigned to another class. I would be lying if I said I didn’t think she was physically attractive even then, but at that point even finding another woman attractive was a huge step. So that’s as far as it went then. We saw each other off and on at church, but communication was pretty limited over the next few months.<br /><br />Enter Facebook.<br /><br />Not one to jump on bandwagons, I reluctantly joined Facebook this summer. As it turns out, that proved to be to my advantage. Sometime in October I received a friend request from her and over time we started chatting. (I had actually tried to look her up prior to this point, but was unaware at the time that her name is not spelled in the traditional manner and could not find her). I definitely felt like there was interest on her part as well, but let the chatting continue over the course of the next several weeks to give us time to get to know each other and allow myself to get my head around what could ensue.<br /><br />Even then, it was still early December before we had our first date.<br /><br />And even now, we are continuing to take things slow.<br /><br />Dating in and of itself can be a scary venture, but throw widow(er)hood and a grieving child into the mix and it can be downright frightening. So once we had decided to go out, I sat down with my daughter over a bowl of ice cream and tentatively told her that I had a date. I expected tears. Or screaming. Or drama of some variety. The only thing I didn’t expect was the reaction I got – a wide grin and a gleam in her eye.<br /><br />My daughter had, of course, met this woman and had seemed drawn to her in a way that she does not show with many women outside of our extended family. So in her own way, without even knowing it, my daughter had given me the green light to begin this relationship. And what I loved about it is that my daughter sought her out during some of our initial encounters at church. She wasn’t overly zealous about it, but she would ask if we were going to see them that day at church and things that she never asked about anyone else.<br /><br />One of the many things I worried about when I thought about dating in general is that some women attempt to get to single dads through their child/ren. I was afraid that if that happened I might not see it coming. I’ve had single women friends who suddenly took more of an interest in my daughter than I was comfortable with, so I have experienced it on some level and knew what to watch for. It didn’t happen with her.<br /><br />Perhaps that is because she also has a young child from a previous relationship.<br /><br />And that is one of the many reasons we are choosing to take things slow. When I mentioned the date to my daughter and she smiled, she also said she was happy. Then she proceeded to determine which room would be the other child’s (there was only one choice) and how often she would be willing to share her toys with her. So I put my hand up and explained the process to her. I told her that we were starting with one date, then maybe another and so on and so forth, and that eventually if things went well, we would possibly start doing things with the kids at times too. It seemed only logical that if I had worked out the process in my own mind, it might bring her comfort to know what could be expected.<br /><br />And for the most part, that has worked out well. The morning after the first date, my daughter smiled and asked me how it went. So I told her there would be a second date and she seemed fine with it. But when the time for the second date actually rolled around she was not quite as “okay” with it as she had initially been. She acted a bit more like I had initially expected her to, and it actually made me feel better to see that she was having a “normal” reaction. There were a few moments like that during the first month or so, but she seems genuinely glad to include them now. I make sure my daughter and I still have plenty of time to ourselves, including our Friday night dinners out, and she asks to include them sometimes when we do things. It has become a pretty workable balance so far.<br /><br />But dating as a widow/er does not come without its pratfalls. Not only is this my first new relationship in ten years, but it started in winter (note to new readers: I loathe winter) and the three-month mark falls smack dab in the middle of the darkest part of the year for me. And it’s still early enough that I view everything through my widow/er glasses. Every phone call. Every text. Every Facebook status update. Every face-to-face interaction. And let’s face it, it’s hard to be romantic sometimes when grief has you by the scruff of the neck.<br /><br />But she’s stuck by me thus far. And I can’t help but think that if she’s attracted to me at my worst, then things can only get better from here.Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-69175589337597811862009-12-24T23:03:00.006-05:002009-12-24T23:37:44.478-05:00On the Eve of Christmas<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL6rHk3rakjsZ2_n7g0DKkvDB5vuKXg-bl-IqW2nWc5qE4xG2lzCBPQM0HLTnHiZ2IAQJo-tGLNtIbfUrwC4IVIMNEoriATqd9u3bfLUUCBi0YooBe1RX9e1klUjQQWigOsZ2wfieYDaA/s1600-h/Christmas2009+004.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419024278479306146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL6rHk3rakjsZ2_n7g0DKkvDB5vuKXg-bl-IqW2nWc5qE4xG2lzCBPQM0HLTnHiZ2IAQJo-tGLNtIbfUrwC4IVIMNEoriATqd9u3bfLUUCBi0YooBe1RX9e1klUjQQWigOsZ2wfieYDaA/s400/Christmas2009+004.jpg" border="0" /></a>So it is as I mentioned it would be in <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/12/on-winter-weeds-or-general-sense-of.html"><span style="color:#009900;">my last post</span></a>.<br /><br />December 25 is coming, whether we are ready for it or not. And in a few short hours (at least in my time zone) it will be here. When I mentioned that, I was speaking mostly in terms of being physically ready – having the gifts purchased, the cards sent, those sorts of things. But for so many of us, it means so much more than that. It means another significant day without our loved ones.<br /><br />I also mentioned in my previous post that I was having a rough time getting into the Christmas spirit this year. I have always loved Christmas and everything is stands for. I am not as crazy about the commercialization of the holiday or the fact that the real meaning so often gets lost in the shuffle, but that is fodder for another post entirely. What has surprised me about my attitude this Christmas season is mostly that I didn’t see it coming. I would have expected this for the first and maybe even the second Christmas after my wife’s death. But the third?<br /><br />And yet, I had no choice, but to make sure everything got done. My daughter’s Christmas memories shouldn’t have to suffer simply because I’m in a funk this year. So the Christmas shopping was all completed, with time to spare no less. And the decorating was finished, albeit to a much lesser degree than in previous years. And even though some of the cards and packages won’t arrive till sometime after tomorrow, at least they were in the mail ahead of time.<br /><br />But I still can’t shake this feeling I’ve had lately. It’s very reminiscent of what I went through last winter grief-wise, but last year it didn’t begin until much closer to my birthday. I guess I was just naïve enough to believe that it wouldn’t happen again this year.<br /><br />One thing that has helped me continue the façade with my daughter is that we have so many traditions this time of year. The Christmas my wife was pregnant with our daughter, we announced to both sets of families that we would begin our own traditions now that we were going to have our own child. Part of that included not spending Christmas Day in the Midwest, but going there the week after Christmas (one of the luxuries we both had as educators). And when we did begin our own traditions, we mostly mixed the ones we had both enjoyed as children.<br /><br />In the years since my wife’s death, we have kept many of those traditions, but have added a few as well. We still bake a coffee cake on Christmas Eve to eat for breakfast Christmas morning. We still read all three of the same stories just before bed. And of course, we still put out a plate of cookies for the big guy in red.<br /><div><div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419022930657531906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB7MZzvJ8VKDGDt-O6BbeQboRoPZZIWbFLhP0SUX9ktojYmOvJKUmA9DwrIxPuwUaEYcSbv8Fp3vRMsQnFcTYHsg9hyxCmfjYW5b41l-RVPRlANLAvo_iob4UqvxPY7Jv8QRc76v5kISI/s400/Christmas2009+008.jpg" border="0" />The Christmas Eve after my wife died, I felt the strongest urge to see the ocean. There’s just something about standing on the sand and looking out across the blue water that fills a need within me sometimes. We try to make it a point to go down about once a month in the winter, even if it’s freezing cold or raining and we just sit and stare at it through the dunes. We were leaving for the Midwest the following afternoon, and I knew that I needed to see the ocean again before we did so.<br /><br />Out of that moment of need, another tradition was born.<br /><br />As much as I would have liked to head to the beach alone, and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=67_I18LaUwg"><span style="color:#3333ff;">stand on the shore that day and cry alone</span></a>, it was not a possibility. As a single father living so far from family and not feeling it appropriate to lean on anyone else on Christmas Eve, I did the only thing I could do. I drug my then three-year-old along with me.<br /><br />And it turned out to be the best move I could have made.<br /><br />You see, I did not stand on the beach and cry that day. I chased my daughter down the length of sand instead. Oh rest assured I was still incredibly melancholy. But I didn’t have the luxury of pouring out my grief in that moment. I had to be a father first and a widower later, once she had gone to bed that night and I found myself setting out her gifts alone.<br /><br />As my siblings and I grew up, moved out, married, and the like, it became a tradition at my parents’ house for everyone to bring one item to put in everyone else’s stockings. I’ve received everything from candy to trinkets to lottery tickets from various family members over the years.<br /><br />That day on the beach, my daughter began picking up stones. I have always loved beach stones, much more so than shells. But my daughter was then prone to picking up solely shells. To this day I have no idea why she picked up stones instead on that Christmas Eve. But as she picked them up, it occurred to me that they would make the perfect stocking stuffers for my mostly land-locked family. So we picked up enough for everyone, and the next week she helped me determine which one went into each individual’s stocking. It’s something they seem to look forward to now.<br /><br />It occurred to me sometime after we had picked up those initial Christmas Eve stones, that they represented some things. Now, I have never been one to believe that there is any sort of power or energy within stones themselves, but I believe that these particular stones contained a powerful meaning for me. There seemed to be a certain semblance of hope in stones that had washed ashore on Christmas Eve. And I think hope is what I needed more than anything else on that first Christmas Eve alone.<br /><br />Maybe it’s just what I needed on this Christmas Eve as well. </div><br /><div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419022942540983122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwIi6PlkFpHG3fxgI3drLMf1yjJ2fzqvzilNyiB_LHhGR1MZKam_7429GLpr9Br3my5kfUpQMlIXcDc9F7d9G0ekX9eKWSAHd0-bh74Tc3V81jBImXtPHvW87a8Grx9vR3Q3y_RHSKgqA/s400/Christmas2009+001.jpg" border="0" />When I first set eyes on the ocean this afternoon, I could see that it was a deeper shade of blue than is typical, even in winter. Its unusual darkness seemed to mirror my mood. If Crayola could capture the shade, they’d have no choice but to label it “melancholy”. But the sun was out and my daughter was smiling, so I once again found myself embracing the hopefulness of the moment as she selected this year’s stones.<br /><br />As I write this, I am very mindful of those who are in a similar position as I was on that Christmas Eve two years ago. Those who are embarking on their first Christmas without their mates – <a href="http://womannshadows.blogspot.com/"><span style="color:#ff9900;">WomanNShadows</span></a>, <a href="http://daninrealtime.blogspot.com/"><span style="color:#ff9900;">Dan</span></a>, <a href="http://letterstoelias.wordpress.com/"><span style="color:#ff9900;">letterstoelias</span></a>, <a href="http://suddenwidow.blogspot.com/"><span style="color:#ff9900;">SuddenWidow</span></a>, and <a href="http://boomayhew.blogspot.com/"><span style="color:#ff9900;">Boo</span></a> – to name but a few. If I could send all of you a Christmas Eve stone, I most assuredly would. But know at least that you are all in the hearts and prayers, not only of myself, but of the many who read this blog and yours as well.<br /><br />May we all feel the hope of Christmas this year.<br /><br />Merry Christmas, <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419021957010971042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGxddObsVUG2PXHmPSei2Bo6DXV5TbBEAmaW4ed0jqvrCf5x6Qapcs0VmPLu_8Y7bCaF737A5_0MkyvOeBQBWAfs9RkZQHYadLGRFdHGg2hQg80XQN97sSqZcrFt3FA9Cx9xrkmxMaS6I/s400/Christmas2009+005.jpg" border="0" /></div></div>Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-73682889759588413592009-12-15T22:24:00.002-05:002009-12-15T22:38:18.040-05:00On Winter Weeds (or A General Sense of Apathy)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwLVQe2tXSUPs_k98VeNJ74iJOQebuDFOMh3FjjMVtw_7CX4t0JXNdigFvQxsIrkS8T2MNt9DOuShF9RCnHb7blcUGPR2K48mHADhMIwfYjFgin6BAzOFaVzZPLWnUR1d_ya2a6dU90f8/s1600-h/misc+191.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415670742160153282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwLVQe2tXSUPs_k98VeNJ74iJOQebuDFOMh3FjjMVtw_7CX4t0JXNdigFvQxsIrkS8T2MNt9DOuShF9RCnHb7blcUGPR2K48mHADhMIwfYjFgin6BAzOFaVzZPLWnUR1d_ya2a6dU90f8/s400/misc+191.jpg" border="0" /></a>In the area of the Southeast in which I reside, it is not uncommon to have warm days throughout the winter. These are usually followed within one to three days by significantly colder temperatures. And yes, the same cycle then begets warmer days again. Except for the period from mid-January to the end of February, which I typically refer to as our <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/03/on-end-of-six-weeks-of-winter.html"><span style="color:#009900;">“six weeks of winter”. </span></a>But since it is now just mid-December, we are still well within those warming-cooling cycles.<br /><br />All of this talk about the weather brings me to the title of this post. You see, in many areas of our country the ground freezes and either stays frozen or freezes repeatedly throughout the winter so that most of the vegetation dies off, save that of the evergreen variety. Where I live, even when we have significant cold spells, the annuals and most flowering perennials die back in the winter, as do the summer and fall weed varieties. There are, however, certain weeds that not only survive the winter, but seem to thrive.<br /><br />I was reminded of these weeds as I stood in the yard with the dog this morning before work on what turned out to be a relatively mild December day for us. These winter weeds have already overtaken a portion of the flower bed just off the back porch, directly below a rose bush which is uncharacteristically still in bloom (I think this may be a first). They have grown taller than the remaining stems of the perennials there and have begun to spill over the border stones and into the yard. If they keep it up, I will have to mow sometime in January to combat their advance.<br /><br />Stay with me here, I do have a point.<br /><br />What struck me about my winter weeds on this particular morning, is that they are an allegory for what I have been experiencing lately. An anomaly of sorts, if you will. You see, it defies logic that weeds should flourish in the winter. We are taught from an early age that in the cycle of the seasons spring is the time of birth and life, and winter is the time of dormancy and death. So why, then, do my weeds thrive throughout the winter?<br /><br />Just as winter is typically looked upon as a bleak period within the cycle of a year, Christmas is looked upon as the high point in the cycle of holidays on the traditional American calendar. It is meant to be a time of extreme happiness, love, and togetherness.<br /><br />So why am I just not feeling it this year?<br /><br />In the eight years since I married and was subsequently widowed, I have always had the house completely decorated and ready for Christmas no later than the first weekend in December, depending on whether we were home for Thanksgiving or away visiting family. I finally put my tree up a week ago Saturday. It’s a small tree and does not require many lights, but I found when I reached the third string they no longer worked and I no longer had any spare strings on hand. So I went to the store and bought some the next day. But still, the tree sat unplugged with two strands of lights for another week before I actually strung the third set.<br /><br />Now, I could argue that it wasn’t really my fault that it took so long to get the lights on the tree. And I would be partially correct. Sometime in October I was approached about acting in our church’s Christmas play. I had never been asked as it was usually a children’s performance, but this production called largely for adult actors, and I was happy to have been a part of it. As it turns out, the part I was asked to play was typecasting at its best. I played the part of a thirty-something, divorced middle child who was having a hard time accepting that his wife didn’t want it to work and having to handle his kids on his own (though he had two and it was a joint custody situation). So even though there were some discrepancies, the sense of loss he experienced was similar. Incidentally, there was a widower in the play, but he was my character’s sixty-something father and though I’m graying at an alarming rate, I don’t quite look that part just yet.<br /><br />Overall, the play was a great experience and came together really well. But it also required a great deal of time for practices, including all of that Saturday morning and most of Sunday before the actual performance. There were some additional changes that took up another part of that weekend, but that will have to wait for a future post.<br /><br />The week that ensued was both incredibly busy and extremely exhausting, so we did not get any decorating (or posts to this blog) done then either. So this past Saturday I made it a priority to get the tree decorated. As of right now, the tree is decorated complete with ornaments, ribbon, and working lights and all of the nativities are up. But I still have a few snowmen to place and the outside lights to hang.<br /><br />And Christmas is just over a week away.<br /><br />Which brings me to my next area of neglect. It is not uncommon for me to still have shopping to do this close to Christmas. It is, however, quite uncommon for me to have barely scratched the surface this late in the game. I tried three nights last week and came home frustrated and empty-handed (except for a birthday gift, which doesn’t quite seem to count) every time. So tonight I forced myself to make a list and go to the store. I let my daughter pick out gifts for some of her cousins and friends for whom we buy, but that was about as much as I could stand. Thursday we will go pick out teacher gifts (her last day of school is Friday) and tomorrow I have to attempt to complete her shopping between work and time to pick her up.<br /><br />And let’s not forget about the Christmas cards. Yes, I still send out Christmas cards every year and I actually don’t mind doing so for the most part. But this year it took me forever to even go buy the things, and they are sitting on my kitchen table still in the shrink-wrap as I type. The plan is to attack those this weekend, but it may just turn out that some people don’t receive their cards until after the big day.<br /><br />So why am I so far behind on everything this year? Is it that grief is overwhelming me to a point that I just can’t cope with these things? Nope (not on a conscious level, at least). Is it that I am so busy and tired that I haven’t the time to take care of them? Maybe, but I don’t that’s the most likely reason.<br /><br />Okay, so what is going on already?<br /><br />I think the culprit in this case is that I simply haven’t wanted to. I haven’t been <a href="http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Where+Are+You+Christmas/1485892"><span style="color:#3333ff;">“feeling” Christmas</span></a> at all this year. And I don’t seem to be alone in this. It seems that every time I talk to anyone about Christmas in general, they tend to be experiencing similar feelings. Or perhaps, the lack thereof. I have remarked more than one time over the past several days that Christmas is going to come whether we are ready for it or not. But it really saddens me that there has been so much less joy in it for me this year.<br /><br />And I don’t know who or what is to blame. It could be the effect that the economy is having on people, which is some ways might be even greater than it was at this time last year. It could be that the new administration has not been as successful at implementing positive changes as many had hoped. It could be a general sense of despair that seems to be directly linked to that. It could be that Christmas has become so commercialized and politically correct that we feel like there is little enjoyment to be had from its celebration. It could be any of these things. It could be all of them. Or it could be something completely unrelated. I simply do not know.<br /><br />One thing I do know is that Christmas will look a lot different for us this year. We will still celebrate at our house on Christmas Day and head back to the Midwest after that. But due to some issues which occurred last Christmas, neither of my brothers will be coming “home” to celebrate this year. I won’t go into the reasons or how valid or ludicrous they might be here, but the bottom line is that on top of my general sense of apathy surrounding Christmas this year, physical components of certain celebrations will be noticeably absent. And I would be lying if I said that wasn’t going to be hard.<br /><br />“So suck it up” you might say. You’re the guy who was widowed before thirty. You live 800 miles from your nearest relative and you’re continuing to raise your young daughter single-handedly. How can subtle changes make things any worse? How can this Christmas be any harder than the first one without her?<br /><br />I don’t know that this Christmas will be worse, but I do know that any level of change, especially within the family structure, reminds me of how completely precarious life can be. And it drives home the fact that my wife is no longer physically a part of all of this.<br /><br />I said earlier that I didn’t think this was all coming from an overwhelming sense of grief. And I meant it. But I failed to mention then that I believe it’s coming.<br /><br />And I am simply bracing myself as best I can for its impact.Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-65636325151795010782009-11-24T23:02:00.003-05:002009-11-25T00:14:20.190-05:00On Giving Thanks<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSzaTYDK-sScsVYgXHaGUr6VOGCUc4TamzLMfR8xLK_4L-FEOL1egoTJ-AZqUelwKg0Ee8KWZxw120SY6d9HE-ejp3v4hJsd0XAPyFXro6ZGPaztnbmUG0SfD2ia_cDDmP5L7xu6mGhyphenhyphen0/s1600/flowers2009+020.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407887448846554322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSzaTYDK-sScsVYgXHaGUr6VOGCUc4TamzLMfR8xLK_4L-FEOL1egoTJ-AZqUelwKg0Ee8KWZxw120SY6d9HE-ejp3v4hJsd0XAPyFXro6ZGPaztnbmUG0SfD2ia_cDDmP5L7xu6mGhyphenhyphen0/s400/flowers2009+020.jpg" border="0" /></a>It is not very often one can say on this Widowed Road that they have been fortunate. Or maybe it is, but is just too hard for us to see when we are mired in our grief. But if I had to identify one area in which I had been fortunate regarding my wife’s death, it would be that she died in the late winter, which meant that I had a good nine months of active grieving before I had to face the dreaded holidays.<br /><br />Thanksgiving has never been my favorite holiday. Don’t get me wrong, I love the food, the time with family (when possible), and everything it stands for. But for me it has always been overshadowed by holidays like Christmas and Easter, for reasons which I will likely delve into when those holidays come around again. One thing that I have always dreaded, at least when I lived at or near home, was the obligatory “what are you thankful for” session around the Thanksgiving table (sorry G). I dread it all the more now, though I have not spent Thanksgiving with my side of the family since the last one with my wife in November, 2006.<br /><br />It can be hard as widow/ers to be mindful of the positive things in our “new” lives. How can we possibly be thankful for anything when everything we’ve ever lived for is suddenly gone? It’s a hard question, and one that is not easily answered. Nor is the answer the same for any of us. But I suspect that over the next week or so there will be many posts in the blogs listed at the right of the screen which deal with this topic on some level. And I suspect most, if not all, will contain some level of gratitude, even amidst our given circumstances.<br /><br />The first Thanksgiving without my wife was spent as planned prior to her death, with her family in a state adjacent to my own. It has become an unspoken tradition that we meet there every other year when her sister has her children for the holiday. It’s a time I always look forward to, but one that was incredibly difficult that year, nonetheless. Thinking about it now, though, I cannot convey just how difficult it was. This is one of the many times I wish I had been <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/04/on-limiting-effects-of-grief.html"><span style="color:#009900;">able to write </span></a>during the multitude of firsts. Sadly, unlike many of you who have or are about to experience them, I have no written record of those times and can only rely upon my memory, which is unreliable at best. But what I do remember is that we all cried a lot and laughed a bit, and ultimately made it through.<br /><br />Last year was an off-year as far as that unwritten tradition is concerned, and as it is too far to travel to my original home state in the Midwest, we relied upon our surrogate family here to take us in. On Thanksgiving Day last year, we woke up in our own beds and watched the parade in our own living room. Late in the morning we drove to the home of our friend’s parents and spent a lovely fall afternoon. The weather is more temperate here this time of year, so the kids were able to play outside and even jump in great piles of leaves without much fear of illness settling in. We stayed through dinner time, then headed back to our house and watched specials on tv together. I was still not able to write then, but my recent memory serves me a bit better than my distant memory does.<br /><br />And so arrives this Thanksgiving. In staying true to the pattern, we will again head to that adjacent state in the morning, fighting what I am sure will be all manner of angry drivers and impatient travelers along the way. My daughter, for what I believe to be the first time ever, told me this morning that she is not looking forward to the traveling part this time. Or maybe it’s just my frustration level during the journey that she’d rather avoid. But I digress.<br /><br />I can’t really say that I’m much in the mood for the holidays yet this year. The time off work – absolutely. I’ve been looking forward to that for weeks. But so far I just haven’t been able to get excited about the actual celebrating of the holidays. However, in preparation for said holidays and the composing of this post, I have once again been reminded that I have plenty for which to be thankful.<br /><br />Like my beautiful, precocious little girl, who still looks and acts a lot like me, but has those blue eyes and sweet disposition that drew me to her mother all those years ago. Despite her ear surgeries over the summer, she is a healthy child. And since health is something her mother battled with for most of her short adult life, I am certain that she too would be grateful that our daughter has been in such good health these past few years as well. She is doing well in school, both academically (like me) and socially (like her mommy). And she has handled life after her mother’s death with a grace and poise that is well beyond her five years. Though I always dreamed of having a large family, I have been given more in my one child than I would have ever thought possible.<br /><br />Though we are physically isolated from our families much of the year, we make every effort to see each other when we can. Both families. And that is another thing for which I am thankful. I come from an average-sized, though anything-but-average family. Love was always a part of our home growing up, and though at times our differences have caused that love for one another to be much less evident as adults, I am confident it is still present. And I married into a family that was very similar to my own in that regard. My wife grew up in a loving home, which I was welcomed into with open arms. And as you can tell from the preceding paragraphs, that love was not cut off after she died. In reading blogs of other widow/ers, I am constantly made aware of how blessed I am not only to have my own family, but to have my wife’s as well.<br /><br />There is also, of course, the laundry list of other things as well. I have a good job, which to this point has been safe from the spiraling economy. I am in relatively good health myself. I have good friends and acquaintances. I can afford to pay my bills and still have some left over to go out to eat and take trips to see family. I’m even starting to come out of that six-month state of lethargy I wrote about <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/10/on-general-sense-of-lethargy.html"><span style="color:#009900;">here</span></a> (see photo above for the completed version of the photo at the top of that post). And now I have an ever-growing support network in a place I never thought I’d find it – the internet.<br /><br />Lots of blessings.<br /><br />Lots of things for which to give thanks.<br /><br />But perhaps the thing for which I am the most grateful, is that over the past two years and nine months, I have not once had to worry about or question where my wife resides now. She had an unshakeable faith in Christ and I have no doubt that she is with Him now. This knowledge has done little in the way of taking the sting out of everyday life on earth without her, but over time I think it has helped me become more accepting of her death. Now I’d be lying if I said my own faith hasn’t wavered greatly since then, but at times, it has also been the only thing that has sustained me.<br /><br />So yes, I have a lot to be thankful for. And as cliché as it may seem, I am putting it here for you to see as Thanksgiving approaches and ultimately passes us by. But I’d like to leave you with this: As you celebrate this holiday with family or friends, please be reminded of those of us who are celebrating it with one less chair around the table. Especially those like <a href="http://daninrealtime.blogspot.com/"><span style="color:#ff6600;">Dan</span></a> and <a href="http://womannshadows.blogspot.com/"><span style="color:#ff6600;">Woman N Shadows</span></a>, who are doing so for the very first time. If you are a praying person, please say a prayer for us as well.<br /><br />And <a href="http://www.last.fm/music/Toad+the+Wet+Sprocket/_/I+Will+Not+Take+These+Things+for+Granted"><span style="color:#3333ff;">if you are fortunate enough to be celebrating with your husband or wife</span></a>, hug them a bit tighter for those of us who can no longer hug ours at all.Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-88322955321244069692009-11-15T23:45:00.002-05:002009-11-15T23:51:35.560-05:00On Interwoven Dreams<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFIKvdB_wFOcD0GKndlI9aJ03kdw1e8uP_freEdYugc5bD5ZCG6mzelUQG-NoXhUv45_Ku7VaZSkJxnWws-7D16OcA4Lx2vnLvH94-fzRWOMQn0YqsjgsOzUqpXFgJq43AncbxO5ubL8Y/s1600/misc+040.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404558564773847330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFIKvdB_wFOcD0GKndlI9aJ03kdw1e8uP_freEdYugc5bD5ZCG6mzelUQG-NoXhUv45_Ku7VaZSkJxnWws-7D16OcA4Lx2vnLvH94-fzRWOMQn0YqsjgsOzUqpXFgJq43AncbxO5ubL8Y/s400/misc+040.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>It is not uncommon for me to dream.<br /><br />It is also not uncommon for me not to dream.<br /><br />What is uncommon, however, is for me to dream about my wife. I am closing in on the three year mark and I believe I am up to six dreams of her in total. I’d say it’s an average of one every six months, which is true, but misleading as two dreams occurred on consecutive nights. In the first couple dreams she was back, but I knew that she was going to die and was powerless to stop it. In the other three dreams she was also “back”, but the moments of which I dreamed were normal moments we could have easily had when she was actually here (with the exception of certain details of the third dream of the five, which I wrote about <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/04/on-comfort-in-dreams.html"><span style="color:#009900;">here</span></a>.) As you have by now guessed, I had the sixth dream quite recently, but you’ll have to read a bit further before we get to that.<br /><br />Friday night I fell asleep at some late hour in the overstuffed leather recliner with both the tv and the lamp still burning up electricity. I do not usually sleep comfortably in the recliner, but there are still periods (though increasingly shorter in duration and further between), when I opt to remain there at night rather than face my empty bed. When coupled with the incessant noise created by the tv, it’s a wonder my mind was able to formulate dreams that night, let alone clearly enough that I would remember them.<br /><br />My dreams throughout the night bordered on psychotic – the kind you have when you eat too much greasy food just before dozing off. But two were so lucid and so very different from all the others, that I could not help but recall them the next morning.<br /><br />During the first of these dreams, I was dating someone. For those of you who are new to this blog, I have not dated anyone since my wife’s death, nor have I thought about it a great deal. I am not one who dwells on such things or seeks them out. I am as content as I can be alone, but am becoming increasingly accepting of the idea that I could possibly be happy with someone else someday, if and/or when that time comes.<br /><br />And that was the beauty in <a href="http://www.goear.com/listen.php?v=7e2d97f"><span style="color:#3333ff;">this dream</span></a>. I think for many of us widow/ers there is a tendency to want to replace what we had with our husband/wife/fiancé if and/or when we do meet someone else. During those times that I have pondered the general idea of dating, it has crossed my mind that it would be easy for me to do the same. But in my dream, at least, this was not the case. Sure, she had some of the same qualities as my wife, namely a similar hair color and a beautiful smile. But she mostly possessed qualities that made her unique unto herself. She was not a “replacement” for my wife, but was instead someone I could care about (and love?) for who she was alone.<br /><br />This dream showed me that someday I could possibly love someone else. I don’t think I’ve entertained that idea up to this point, and might not have now, had I not had it forced upon me in my slumber. In fact, I think I’ve spent more energy the last few years resigning myself to the idea that I might just be single for a good many years.<br /><br />I don’t remember many specific details of this dream, but I do remember being blissfully happy. And it felt really good.<br /><br />Cue dream two. The initial details are a little fuzzy, but at the beginning of what I remember, I have just come off my first date with the dream girl when I somehow find out that my wife is still alive. She is in something of a comatose state and resides in an abandoned house in the town where I grew up. She is being kept alive by her own sheer willpower and the grace of God – no machines whatsoever. And no one has been privy to the fact that she’s been alive all this time until now.<br /><br />So at the outset of the dream I am forging my way into this abandoned house, which has no useable entrances and has become quite treacherous to enter over the years. After climbing over, under, around, and through all manner of debris, I come to a room where she is lying on a bed, quite still, but also seemingly quite comfortable. At this point the dream takes on a fairy-tale-like state and I swoop in and save her, so to speak.<br /><br />But some of the fairy-tale ending is missing. While I am incredibly happy to see her and know she is alive, I am as concerned about showing her what has happened during the last two and three-quarter years as I am about having her back again. I even remember specifically taking her to each of the rooms I’ve painted in our house, hoping she’ll be pleased with the colors I’ve chosen.<br /><br />And in the back of my mind lurks the date from which I have just come. During the dream I remember being relieved that things had not gone further with the dream girl, but also wondering what might have happened had my wife not miraculously been found alive. It is enough to create chaos deep within a man.<br /><br />While the details of these dreams did not match up completely, I can’t help but think they are related. And though I generally do not put much stock in dreams having meaning, it seems that in this instance they almost certainly must.<br /><br />Like the fact that I must be inching closer to the prospect of dating, whether it happens tomorrow or in ten years. And the fact that I could someday embrace a relationship with someone who is very different from my wife. And the fact that I can choose to do this, knowing that I am as content as I can possibly be with my current circumstances.<br /><br />I think what surprised me the most about these dreams is that there was a level of guilt evident in the mix. I don’t know if I have written about this here or not, but a few days before my wife died, we had a conversation during which she asked me to make her some promises. Her health had declined very quickly and though I don’t think either of us believed she was going to die at that point, it was necessary for us to say some things to each other. The one thing she asked me that I could not promise was that I would marry again. And here’s why. I told her that even (though hard as it was to imagine at the time) if I ever managed to fall for someone else, I could not guarantee that someone else would ever fall in love with me. I don’t believe in making promises I can’t keep. So instead I told her that I would keep myself open to the possibility.<br /><br />I guess that’s what I’m trying to do now. I was just naïve enough to think it wouldn’t be hard.<br /><br />And, for now, it was only a dream. </div>Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-53852927666732589602009-10-27T22:59:00.003-04:002009-10-27T23:42:06.115-04:00On a General Sense of Lethargy<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixrTZJEJHC-W83sZGMmPnaC9TFKwS33O64su78AEkqeFVpr9AwZ6VGt_589PiYGjSarBdjajmtd3LZiImIk11v-mVj4YlL_ZHGDEwZuThdHpJU4b6Vc0YI6kVN1TEcvPGAo5vDBoTOdrU/s1600-h/misc+161.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397482179146028258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixrTZJEJHC-W83sZGMmPnaC9TFKwS33O64su78AEkqeFVpr9AwZ6VGt_589PiYGjSarBdjajmtd3LZiImIk11v-mVj4YlL_ZHGDEwZuThdHpJU4b6Vc0YI6kVN1TEcvPGAo5vDBoTOdrU/s400/misc+161.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I have been rolling the content of this post around in my head for about two months now. It was originally intended to be a summer wrap-up post, recounting many things that occurred, but were never committed to paper (or in this case, screen). But by taking so long to actually compose and post these thoughts, I have become a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts. And I have lived up to the title.<br /><br />What prompted me to actually post these words now was <a href="http://freshwidow.blogspot.com/2009/10/no-longer-in-active-grieving-ha.html"><span style="color:#ff6600;">a recent post by Supa</span></a>, who has apparently been experiencing many of the same thoughts, feelings, and (lack of) actions I have. Ironically, I read this post while in the midst of cleaning house, but that may come into play a bit later on.<br /><br />When I started this blog, I had visions of grandeur. I thought that I would post twice a week, or once at the very least, and then only when things became extremely harried in my daily life. I never dreamed I’d see months with only two or three posts. But this blog is an account of how grief has/is/continues to affect my life and that of my daughter. And the truth is we’ve had a lot of two-post months as of late.<br /><br />It seems to have begun sometime in April. After an excellent trip to visit family over <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/04/on-spring-break.html"><span style="color:#993399;">Spring Break</span></a>, we settled into what would become the end of our now familiar routine - my daughter’s last few months at day care before embracing the world of “big school” and my last few months of school at the job I have held for the past five years.<br /><br />In May we managed to take our first family trip to Disney World, which I wrote about <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/05/on-our-magical-experience.html"><span style="color:#993399;">here</span></a>. Despite the rain and being acutely aware that we were supposed to make this trip as a family of three (not two) we had a great time. And the end of my school year was, in some ways, one of the smoothest I’ve ever had.<br /><br />But sometime in May, I noticed that I had put on a few pounds. And that it wasn’t coming back off readily. Not a big deal for most people, but for me, it was a sign of things to come.<br /><br />About six months after my daughter was born, my wife and I decided to do something about our “baby weight”. Those of you who have children know why it was ours, and not solely hers. When I stepped on the scale, I was amazed to see that I had gained twenty pounds since we’d been married, which was at that time only three years. So we set out on a regimen of strict dietary change and increased exercise. And the pounds came off. In no time at all I had lost twenty-five pounds, and my wife was within ten pounds of her goal weight. I ended up losing thirty pounds in all (I had thought I needed to lose ten going into it) and kept it off for four and a half years.<br /><br />Now, I typically put on a few pounds around the holidays and any time we visit family (here or there) because my eating habits change. But I am always able to get back to my normal weight within a reasonable amount of time. The distressing part about the May weight gain is that it didn’t really seem to coincide with the trip home or the trip to Florida. I had just gained some unexplained weight.<br /><br />But it was not so much that I couldn’t bear it. And I had other things to attend to. Like my daughter’s <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/06/on-milestones-marked-alone.html"><span style="color:#993399;">graduation from preschool</span> </a>and the emotions I endured in having to go through that alone. We had a nice visit with all of the grandparents during and after…<br /><br />But then <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/07/on-last-major-piece.html"><span style="color:#993399;">I sold the car</span></a> and had to deal with all sorts of new grief-driven feelings.<br /><br />Then within three days’ time we not only found out that my daughter had to have ear surgery, but she also had it. You can imagine what that was like (or read about it <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/06/on-single-parent-surgery.html"><span style="color:#993399;">here</span></a>).<br /><br />I wrote about those three things. But at the end of June, I completed my first week of teaching Vacation Bible School at our church. It was a rewarding experience and not nearly as mired in grief as the rest of the month had been. But I never managed to share that experience here.<br /><br />Within a week of that, we were headed to the Midwest for our annual summer trip to see family. We arranged for five days with each side of the family, with a five day side-trip in the middle. You may recall that while some of you were at the Widow/ers Conference in San Diego, I was in the heart of the country at a work related conference. It was my first time in that city, and I managed to add my twenty-third state to the list, while my daughter added numbers thirteen through fifteen to hers (she’s catching up too quickly!) I had big plans to record the exciting moments here, much like I did with the Disney trip, but alas, this is the closest I’ve come to doing so.<br /><div><div><div></div><div></div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397481418275656418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2dhXohzI10Dy4EQBQrN4nkdg-AFX-8K79EZMhXimhiVVaRS83WGYSeGgJc2hBsVvQava_6DusBz43tEsubiqPwGXL5-A4dM4RRa0Hl4Yf9mo0DPCJzIDVwFW6nX07Z12GMJtKpB5UWss/s400/cleancameraAug2009+173.jpg" border="0" /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397481422366016594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6CsEYRIWgrm7przVQkOXpYoOh0-5vglDBFvJaSyHHv4e9F95TUx6UJ52i_2o5T6kB7qJ4nBMVSPnb6NUVajmXcLRwCf5ZIET0CxMZlXQkKigHXU-yeU4MnsORq9KT0EXU9ULM6e3EiM/s400/cleancameraAug2009+182.jpg" border="0" /><br />And only two days before that trip, I was doubled-over by the worst physical pain I’ve ever endured, which turned out to be a kidney stone. I had actually composed an entire post about that in my head and yet, it never made it to this small screen. Suffice it to say, I can now boast that I have driven halfway across the country on (low, legal doses of) painkillers though.<br /><br />And as I’m writing, I realize I forgot to mention the garden. That beautiful, sad little plot that held so much potential. Strong tomato plants, evenly-spaced rows of bean seeds, hills of pumpkins, yellow squash, and zucchini… But the bean seeds never took, even with two plantings. And we had almost a week of hundred degree heat in June, when that is usually reserved for late July/early August. Then we had our ten days of rain (which is customary for June, but does not usually follow extreme heat). We did manage to get one small, hard, inedible piece of yellow squash and several undersized tomatoes. But I don’t eat tomatoes. And I’m guessing neither did the people to whom we gave them.<br /><br />July is also a month with some hard dates for me, as is evidenced by <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/07/on-other-hand.html"><span style="color:#993399;">this post</span></a> and <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/08/on-her-31st-birthday.html"><span style="color:#993399;">this one here.</span></a> But as you may recall, I posted them in reverse order and the latter was posted almost three weeks after the date.<br /><br />And then came August. We had out-of-town guests who inspired my first trilogy of posts on this site (see <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/08/on-widower.html"><span style="color:#993399;">here</span></a>, <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/08/on-widowers-discomfort.html"><span style="color:#993399;">here</span></a>, and <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/08/on-widowers-discussion.html"><span style="color:#993399;">here</span></a>). And we increased our time at the beach, even though we had managed to make it down there more often this summer than we did the last.<br /><br />Then <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/09/on-first-day-of-kindergarten.html"><span style="color:#993399;">my daughter started kindergarten</span></a> and had her <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/09/on-single-parent-surgery-round-2.html"><span style="color:#993399;">second ear surgery</span> </a>within three days of one another, but I didn’t get either of those posts up until September.<br /><br />In the midst of all of this, I left the school where I’d worked for the last five years for one closer to my home. With the job change and my daughter starting school, my commute was cut by forty minutes each day. Yes, I gained almost an entire feature-length film’s worth of free time every day. (Not that I know where it has gone!)<br /><br />The job change was an amicable one, but it’s been over two months and this is the first real mention I’ve made of it here. There have been some occurrences there, mostly dealing with having to reveal my marital status, that I will save for another post (here’s hoping it makes it to this screen sometime in the near future).<br /><br />But suddenly September was gone and within a week we’d make a weekend trip together to see family in a nearby state and a weekday trip apart (since she’s in school now), which I did manage to write about <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/10/on-distance-and-conflicting-obligations.html"><span style="color:#993399;">here</span></a> a few weeks back.<br /><br />I know what some of you are thinking by this point, but it’s not true.<br /><br />Some of you are thinking that these all sound like classic symptoms of depression. And they do. But they are not. I have been depressed before (though ironically it was in college before my wife and I even began dating) and it was much worse than this. Precursors to depression? Possibly. I won’t rule that out at this point. But full-fledged depression? Not even close yet.<br /><br />What I think this is instead, is simply <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/07/on-griefs-latest-plan-of-attack.html"><span style="color:#993399;">grief manifesting itself</span> </a>in my life. Like other widow/ers I read, my grief has changed over time. Just <a href="http://www.last.fm/music/Dixie+Chicks/_/Hello+Mr.+Heartache"><span style="color:#3333ff;">when I figure out all the triggers</span></a>, they shift and I have to learn the new ones. It’s a seemingly endless battle, but one I am destined to fight (or flee from at times) nonetheless.<br /><br />And there is hope in all of this – namely that I recognize what is happening. So that’s where things like cleaning the house come into play. I usually keep a relatively neat house (especially for a single dad!), but over the last month I noticed that I was cleaning a few rooms here and there, but the entire house was never completely clean all at once. So this weekend I set out to do just that. And once I had accomplished that goal, I felt better.<br /><br />And even though I’ve gained ten pounds in total since April and I keep eating junk food like someone is going to take it away from me at any moment, I’m starting to make healthier choices here and there again. Just last week while my daughter was at gymnastics, I spent some time walking at a nearby park. Baby steps in that department perhaps, but it is, at least, forward motion.<br /><br />And in all of this I have managed to maintain the daily routine. My daughter’s homework is always completed, the laundry is never so far behind that we’re scrambling for things to wear, we’ve increased the number of meals we eat at home, my work hasn’t suffered… All important aspects of our lives that are being carried out in such a way that no one would know the relentless undertones of grief that are always there, just below the surface.<br /><br />Day by day. One step at a time.<br /><br />Forward motion.</div></div></div>Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-25606596874941605562009-10-15T00:11:00.004-04:002009-10-15T00:27:08.657-04:00On Distance and Conflicting Obligations<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMSGuzAOjl-X24A7AX1b1QP51sdiaOvmoH8JrrjreYCrT3L-JbX6Wh-O7WNjM4V-w3g9voPumS71IE0shpQm7kIGuugNiTHeG3n5rdLNA1wmj52iK409yNPN3R3rmN4zAU42T9DKbc5nQ/s1600-h/misc+152.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392676906283258178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMSGuzAOjl-X24A7AX1b1QP51sdiaOvmoH8JrrjreYCrT3L-JbX6Wh-O7WNjM4V-w3g9voPumS71IE0shpQm7kIGuugNiTHeG3n5rdLNA1wmj52iK409yNPN3R3rmN4zAU42T9DKbc5nQ/s400/misc+152.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>It is often said that “absence makes the heart grow fonder”. And while I have seen that statement become reality in many situations in my life, none more immediately than in the years since my wife’s death, I did not expect it in my most recent encounter with absence.<br /><br />But it happened, nonetheless.<br /><br />At this time last week I was headed to bed in a larger city in a Northeastern state. Or rather, I was headed to my sleeping bag on the floor of my brother’s home office in said city/state. At that time, my daughter had been asleep, snug and cozy in bed, for about three hours. The only trouble was that her bed was in someone else’s house, several hundred miles away in our hometown.<br /><br />It is also often said that “there’s a first time for everything”.<br /><br />And such was the case last Wednesday night. My brother had asked me to come up for an overnight visit, the details of which I unfortunately cannot divulge at this time. But suffice it to say he asked me there for a specific purpose, and since he has not acted in such a way in the ten-plus years he’s lived there, I obliged his request.<br /><br />I rather enjoy visiting my brother and exploring his city, which is so very different from my coastal corner of the map. I enjoy it so much that I am planning what will be our third annual winter visit in January (the details of which I will gladly divulge!) I do not, however, enjoy taking time off work. I do so when my daughter is sick or when we are out of town (though this is increasingly rare since she is in school now) or when she has a medical need (her surgery and follow-up appointments, for example). I even, begrudgingly, take the occasional day off when I am absolutely too ill to climb into the car and drag myself to school. So it was more than a big deal for me to take a day off at my brother’s behest, but I was also glad to do so.<br /><br />The hard part was leaving my daughter. I was not so much worried about where she would stay, as our friends (who are getting an increasing amount of praise on this blog lately!) who always seem to be there for us gladly took her in for a few nights. As a single parent, it’s not only a relief to have people you can count on when something like this arises, but it’s an added bonus when you have people you can trust to the point that you truly don’t have to worry about your child while you’re away. But I was worried about telling her I was going alone, and then actually doing so.<br /><br />So in a moment of genius, I made two bowls of ice cream and broke the news during a nice little father-daughter moment we were having. And she took it extremely well. She was, as I had hoped, very excited about getting to stay with her friend for two nights (two school nights, no less!) She was not thrilled about me going to see her uncles without her, but when I explained that I didn’t want to take her out of school to go, she seemed to understand. Plus, I gave her about a week to adjust to the news, so as to help decrease some of the shock a bit. </div><div><br />So last Wednesday, I put her on the bus at ten till seven like I do every morning, knowing I wouldn’t see her for two and a half days. And she hopped on just like she does every other day. No tears. No hysterics. No drama at all. Just my happy little girl hopping on the bus as if it were a normal day. It made leaving her a whole lot easier than I had thought it would be.<br /><br />So after work that afternoon I flew to the airport a couple hours away (keeping the wheels to the pavement) only to find out that my flight had been delayed for almost an hour and a half. So my twenty hour jaunt turned into eighteen. And my big-city dinner in my brother’s neighborhood was replaced with an over-priced bagel sandwich alone at the airport. I had, at least, had the foresight to bring a book, so I was not completely bored while I waited for the clock hands to trudge forward. But the night had not begun as planned.<br /><br />Thankfully the rest of the night did not follow suit. The plane took off and landed on its adjusted schedule without incident. I managed to direct the cab driver to my brother’s place without incurring an additional fare. And I enjoyed a nice quiet evening watching tv and waiting for my other brother and his wife to arrive.<br /><br />The next day was a blur of events capped off with a nice lunch at a local southwestern eatery, complete with drinks, and dessert at a nearby bakery. Then it was off to the airport to catch my return ride. I had initially thought that by taking the earlier flight I’d be able to pick up my daughter before bedtime and thus have to endure only one night apart, but when the drive home from the airport was factored in, this was not a feasible plan. We knew this ahead of time, so she was expecting to stay with our friends two nights, but that did not make the pain of that night’s phone call any easier to bear.<br /><br />When you have spent nearly half of your young life being raised by a single dad without any close family nearby, you have a tendency to grow exceptionally close to said father. When you couple this with the fact that the only nights we’ve spent apart in the past two and two-thirds years have been the occasional night in the Midwest when she has stayed overnight with her closest cousins (and was thereby the one “leaving”) you start to get an idea of just how hard a night or two apart might be.<br /><br />So when I called her just before bedtime from the airport city last Thursday night to let her know I was safely back in our state and would see her the next day, it seemed only appropriate that the tears would flow. She wanted to know why I couldn’t pick her up that night and told me how much she missed me. I tried to reassure her that I would see her after school the next day, but I had to choke back my own tears while doing so.<br /><br />After we hung up I finished my sandwich from a local fast food chain and decided to try to do some shopping. I am not big on shopping without a purpose, nor did I have a purpose that night, other than pure avoidance. You see, I had prepared myself as much as possible for the separation from my daughter, but I had not prepared myself for a night alone in our completely empty house. And now that I was faced with the prospect of such, I opted to go shopping instead. I didn’t find anything I couldn’t live without, but I did manage to stay gone long enough that when I arrived home I was tired enough to crawl into bed and ignore my solitude as much as possible.<br /><br />When I was in fifth grade I went away to camp for the first, and only, time. When I arrived home my mom asked me if I had missed her and was taken aback when I said “no”. And I had not. But what I was quick to point out was that I certainly appreciated her more now that I was back home.<br /><br />It was the same with my two nights away from my daughter. I did not spend my time actively missing her, though I did think about her quite often while I was gone. But I was certainly glad to see her when I picked her up from after school care the next day. She was <a href="http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/I_Will_Not_Take_These_Things_F/9012935"><span style="color:#3333ff;">a welcome sight</span></a>, running across the playground with her arms stretched wide and a smile to match.<br /><br />She wanted to hear all about my trip, so I told her on the way to rescue the dog from the kennel. She was clearly very glad to have me back home, but seemed at ease with the idea that we were apart for a few days. It happened to be the week of our local fair (it’s too hot for the fair here during the summer months), so we finished off a hectic week with some corndogs and a couple of “prize every time” games. Then she decided to use all of her ride tickets on the merry-go-round and of course wanted me to endure the dizzying rotation with her.<br /><br />It turns out she may have been mad that I left her for two nights after all…</div>Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-57047139708623651292009-09-17T22:06:00.002-04:002009-09-17T22:11:33.252-04:00On Single Parent Surgery - Round 2<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd1qS9sVGJHTCs9muEeCx-2uXYpqMrgyUHFf-3YcU9Z3pVleQZnES8DnzdLNiP3AROBCb9gxpC3erPcOW82-6E4kK0_MKtPUcgMev1L40yprKxGp_VvsJLuOHQfmB8UgdV7zE7jGHt5kQ/s1600-h/misc+149.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382623449093140306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd1qS9sVGJHTCs9muEeCx-2uXYpqMrgyUHFf-3YcU9Z3pVleQZnES8DnzdLNiP3AROBCb9gxpC3erPcOW82-6E4kK0_MKtPUcgMev1L40yprKxGp_VvsJLuOHQfmB8UgdV7zE7jGHt5kQ/s400/misc+149.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>The last Friday in August my daughter underwent Round 2 of her corrective ear surgery (a left tympanoplasty for those of you who like to call things by their proper names). As many of you will recall from <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/06/on-single-parent-surgery.html"><span style="color:#009900;">this previous post</span></a>, I had many mixed emotions about her initial surgery back in June, both before and immediately following that procedure. Her right tympanoplasty turned out well and healed just as it should, which was one of the main reasons for continuing with her second surgery so soon afterward (the original wait time was to be four to eight months to encourage maximum healing). However, the other driving reason for doing these surgeries so close together was that my insurance year changes on September 1st and I would have had to begin paying toward my deductible all over again.<br /><br />What I did not know at the time was that this was a great idea for another financial reason. Unbeknownst to me, my insurance plan was voluntarily changed by my employer to the degree that if we had waited on the surgery, it would have ended up costing me twice as much out-of-pocket. Yes, you read that right. Twice as much for the same surgery performed in the same surgery center by the same surgeon. So, needless to say, I was happy that we were able to get it in before it would become an even more astronomical strain on my single-income budget.<br /><br />Overall, I found that I was not as worried about this surgery as I had been about the first one. I’m certain it had something to do with the fact that she had her right tympanoplasty done only two months prior and that the healing process had gone remarkably well. It probably had a bit to do with the idea that I was preoccupied by some close friends during the first surgery itself and realized that this single parent surgery thing could be gotten through with a little humorous conversation. And I know it helped that about a week prior to the surgery another friend of ours had volunteered to come sit with me during the surgery, which was really great since most of my teacher friends had already gone back to work. And having two months’ advance notice of the surgery itself this time didn’t hurt either.<br /><br />So the day before the surgery I started thinking about what needed to be done in preparation. Nothing to eat after midnight. Only a bit of water before leaving the house the next morning. Pack a pair of socks in case the OR is cold. Call the school and let them know why she would be missing her second full day of kindergarten. Read the surgery center book to her that night to ease her fear of surgery, even though she’s done this in the recent past. Bring a book in case there’s a lull in the conversation. Put in the old car seat so she would have better head support for the hour and a half drive home. I had pretty much thought of everything, and I was more than a little proud of myself for how thorough I’d been in my planning.<br /><br />But nothing could have prepared me for how I would feel when the first wrench was thrown into it.<br /><br />Because of the staggered enrollment process in our local school system, my daughter started school on a Tuesday, then was off Wednesday and Thursday. Her first full day with her entire class would have been the Friday of her surgery. Because I also work in the school system, but am not on a staggered return-to-work plan I had to work the two days she was “off”. So I asked our friend who had volunteered to sit with me during surgery (and whose younger daughter is the same age as mine) to watch her those two days. When I went to pick up my daughter on Thursday evening, the woman casually mentioned that she “would not be able to make it tomorrow” and left it at that. Now, I tend not to show much emotion on my face, but I am certain that she must have seen some mixture of shock/surprise/concern/confusion cross my brow at that moment. If she did, she never mentioned it. When I got in the van I asked my daughter if she had mentioned why she couldn’t come and she said it was “because she had some stuff to do around the house”. I could tell she was upset, so I didn’t press it further. But something just wasn’t adding up.<br /><br />Now, there is one thing that I despise perhaps more than almost anything else: I cannot stand it when other adults make false promises to my child. I don’t think this is a kind thing to do to any child, and I make every attempt not to do it to my students. Children should be brought up with the idea that adults remain true to their word. It is a good lesson in how to deal with children when they are the adults some day and it reinforces the idea that adults should be a source of safety and security in a child’s life. But my daughter has suffered a great deal more hurt than most children her age and though she’s taken it in stride much more than I ever thought possible, she takes adults at their word. So when her best friend’s mom says she’ll call to arrange a play date for a given day, my daughter takes her at her word. And when a friend offered to “come see” her before her surgery? You guessed it, she took her at her word too. So I was more than just upset about this friend breaking her “promise” to me. I was upset about her breaking her word to my little girl.<br /><br />As we drove home, I started to ponder exactly why things didn’t add up in this situation. The first thought was obvious. This friend is a stay-at-home mom who home-schools her children, so anything that needed to be done around the house could have easily been done during the days prior to or following the surgery. It was a flimsy excuse, but what was the real reason for her sudden change of heart? I wondered if maybe she didn’t want to drive the hour and a half to where the surgery would take place. I know money is generally tight for the family, so I thought maybe the extra gas and probable meal out for three would put too much of a strain on their budget. Both legitimate reasons, but why not just tell me as much? The more I pondered the situation, the more irritated I became.<br /><br />Then the true reason hit me like a ton of bricks.<br /><br />So on the way home from dinner with some other friends of ours, I called my mom and told her that this friend was not coming the next day. Now, I realize that this is not a fair thing to do to a mother who is 800 miles away and is already worried about her youngest grandchild enduring her second surgery of the summer, not to mention the fact that her son is still the sole caretaker of said grandchild. But my mom and I have always had a remarkable relationship, so I called to tell her what was going on. When I told her that I would be sitting alone during the hour and a half long surgery, she confirmed what I had surmised. Her words were something to the effect of, “I don’t want to put bad thoughts into your mind, but do you think it could be the husband?” Bingo Mom. You have once again hit the nail on the head. My mother, with all of her women’s intuition, had drawn precisely the same conclusion about this man whom she has only met a time or two. And sadly, I’m certain it was the proper conclusion to have drawn.<br /><br />I have always been overly cautious in my friendships with married women. I work in a predominately female field and have never had any difficulty maintaining friendships with women. It was something I talked to my wife about early in our relationship as I had previously dated a girl who was very jealous (one of the many reasons I refer to her as “the one who showed me what I didn’t want in a wife”). My wife always took it stride, and was, more often than not, friends with these women as well. (To be clear, these friendships never extended beyond work unless my wife was also friends with them). It was something we continued to talk about during our marriage as well. Not that either of us were worried about anything inappropriate happening, but typically those kinds of things happen when your guard is down, so keeping an open dialogue about it just seemed like a smart thing to do.<br /><br />The level of caution I used when I was dating and married could not even begin to compare to the level I’ve used since becoming a widower. As with everything else, I suddenly became very aware of how it might look if I spent too much time with another woman regardless of whether she was single or married and whether the time was spent inside of work or out. For the most part this transition time was actually that in name only. I stayed friends with my two happily married, middle aged friends at work and became better friends with the whole family of one of my other friends who is thirteen years my senior.<br /><br />Here I will take a moment to mention how much I have appreciated this friend and her family. I met this friend when I worked at my first school after moving to the Southeast. By the time our daughter was born a year and a half later she was one of the few people we trusted to watch her on those rare occasions when my wife and I got out for a date. She never let us pay her and always said that the best thing we could do for her was to let her watch our daughter again the next time we went out, which we did. After my wife died, she and her husband, who attend our church, started inviting us out for lunch on Sundays. Over time it became a standing invitation, with the understanding that if one of us couldn’t make it on a particular Sunday there would be no hard feelings. Through this I have also become better friends with her husband, which is no small task since he is not much of a talker. They are some of my best friends here now. And incidentally, she and her daughters are the ones who sat with me during my daughter’s first surgery this summer (her husband had to work).<br /><br />One thing I have always appreciated about our friendship is that her husband does not seem to mind that she and I are better friends than he and I are. He doesn’t seem to feel threatened or jealous or any of the other types of things husbands might feel in that sort of situation. (And rightly so as we are strictly friends).<br /><br />Contrast this with the husband of the friend who backed out of the surgery. He is a prominent member of our church, and I mention this only because as such he should know better. Now, as I mentioned before, I know the importance of guarding oneself against any sort of impropriety in single/married friendships. But there has to be a level of trust involved as well. For him, that trust does not exist. Couple that with what I believe (and have observed on a minor level) is a complete and utter lack of respect for his wife and you have an idea of the dynamic that was involved in causing me to sit alone during what should have been a very scary hour and a half.<br /><br />And more importantly, causing my innocent daughter to see that yet another trusted adult in her life was willing to let her down.<br /><br />So that night, while I was getting her ready for bed and long after she was asleep, I did something very uncharacteristic. I got angry. And not only did I get angry, but I allowed myself to stay angry. I generally save my ire for social injustices and certain members of the local school administration (there’s a story there, but this has already waxed long), but in this moment I allowed myself to feel it for all it was worth. So <a href="http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Angry/234031"><span style="color:#3333ff;">I let it stew and fester</span></a> for a good long while before I simmered down and headed to bed. But sadly, I lost whatever respect I had left for that man during those moments and have since been unable to bring myself to sit through his Sunday school class.<br /><br />At this point I know you’re all hoping that things went well so this post will be over (if you’re still with me). And they did. My daughter was a bit more nervous than last time, but handled it amazingly well. I sat alone with my book, and was able to concentrate more often than not on the words on the page and not the images of what was happening to my daughter in the OR. When it was time to see her in recovery, her nurse (a man this time) did not ask me any questions beyond what was appropriate, so I was not forced to give an account of why I was there alone following her surgery this time. And I was facing a wall, so I did not have to see any other patients and therefore did not once have the urge to run screaming from the building. Which was good, since my daughter took about twice as long to come out of the anesthesia this time. We made it home safely (using the old five-point seat proved to be my best idea of the week) and our good friends brought us McDonald’s for dinner since we were confined to the house for the weekend.<br /><br />If you can say you had a good experience with surgery, then I guess we did. Again.<br /><br />But I still can’t help but be a little sad for the loss of respect we both suffered as a result of this experience. </div>Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-57739673046628781472009-09-03T23:22:00.003-04:002009-09-03T23:38:31.789-04:00On the First Day of Kindergarten<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbiTFtj3niTQxeX0iT7i5en10n57D4XUueq5LRZPX8iCZhRg2nhGV_jMuf4bg0Fi9B6lECPH1KInL3el9H_C9SGqlbjx3XyFsKrSaBwDyus2yA9Pdfu0tyqzhHqhgBm-lh-VHAMLY-vEQ/s1600-h/misc+101.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377448184356237314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbiTFtj3niTQxeX0iT7i5en10n57D4XUueq5LRZPX8iCZhRg2nhGV_jMuf4bg0Fi9B6lECPH1KInL3el9H_C9SGqlbjx3XyFsKrSaBwDyus2yA9Pdfu0tyqzhHqhgBm-lh-VHAMLY-vEQ/s400/misc+101.jpg" border="0" /></a>On the last Tuesday of August, my daughter and I marked another of the many milestones in her life. For the first time, she embarked on a journey that lead her to what people in our area of the South commonly refer to as “big school”.<br /><br />It was a day I had anticipated with very mixed emotions. The Logical Dad side of me could see the benefits in not having to drive her to daycare any longer, which is halfway across town and took us fifteen minutes on a good day, but added a minimum of half an hour to my total morning commute. But the Emotional Dad side of me stood back and anticipated the rush of tears that, according to my Facebook friends back in the Midwest, where children begin school a bit earlier in the month, was certain to come before, during, and after the big send-off. And the Regular Ol’ Dad side of me wavered back and forth between the two.<br /><br />When I was in elementary school, my mom always drove us to school on the first day each year. And she always made a big deal out of it. So it seemed logical to me that I would also drive my daughter to school on her first day. This decision was made even easier by the fact that her school is on the way to my school. (No, I did not enroll her where I work as I wanted her to attend school in our home district). And she was all for it.<br /><br />So that morning we got up and she put on the new pink and white striped dress I had laid out for her, followed by the brown closed-toed sandals we had searched two cities for, as the school dress code prohibits any student from wearing flip-flops, open-toed sandals, or crocs. I pulled her hair back into what has become her signature pony tail and we began the obligatory, but enjoyable, photo session, with my favorites being the ones we took on the front step before we left the house.<br /><br />As is our unfortunate, but customary pattern, we arrived late, just as the bell was ringing, but this time it was of little fault of our own. They had begun some construction between our house and the school, making our five minute drive last for twelve. However, as it was the first day of school, we were not by any stretch of the imagination the only ones arriving just then.<br /><br />As some of you may recall from <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/05/on-signing-in.html"><span style="color:#009900;">a previous post</span></a>, I worked at my daughter’s school through the year she was born. So any time we arrive I am greeted with hugs, handshakes, and pleasant conversations with no fewer than three people before we reach our destination. It’s a little bit like coming home after a long vacation.<br /><br />The first day of kindergarten did not disappoint.<br /><br />Once we finally arrived at my daughter’s classroom, which we had visited on Orientation Day the Friday before, we had been in the building close to ten minutes. Her teacher and teacher’s assistant were there to greet us with yet more warm smiles (no hugs though, they’re both new since I worked there). The assistant showed my daughter where to put her new Disney Princess backpack, which had been waiting patiently at the top of her closet since she received it from her grandparents last Christmas, and even let her choose which “cubby” she wanted to put it in. Then my daughter got to find her name tag on the table so she would know where to sit when the teacher said it was time. Before I left there were many hugs and kisses exchanged, but overall it was a good way to begin her official academic career. And I managed to make it through the morning without crying.<br /><br />But in all fairness, I had gotten that out of the way the night before.<br /><br />The weekend before the Big Day started with kindergarten orientation on Friday. We arrived during the morning session to more of the afore-mentioned hugs and other greetings. Then while I settled in to fill out the voluminous folder of paperwork (I seriously signed fewer documents when we purchased our house), my daughter was taken to another table to work on an “All About Me” collage made from various magazine pictures of her choosing, During the hour we were there, two other students came in with their parents, so she was able to catch a glimpse of what some of her other classmates would be like.<br /><br />As we left the school, the rain clouds had begun to close in, and I began to wonder if it would somehow rain every day I set foot in the building with her, as the same thing had happened the day of her kindergarten registration. (It was sunny the first day of school, so presumably the curse has been lifted). We had planned to spend the afternoon at the beach, but it was not meant to be.<br /><br />Or so we thought.<br /><br />After several short downpours, and more than one children’s program on tv, the rain let up enough that I decided to try it. By this time I had promised my daughter a fast food lunch at the beach, so we stopped and picked up some at one of her favorite “on-the-go” establishments. The sun was shining at the beach, but the clouds surrounding it were much darker than the ones around home, and I was worried that we had wasted the effort in coming.<br /><br />Five minutes after we set up our chairs, the bottom fell out.<br /><br />We had just enough warning to make it to the covered building nearby, so our heads stayed mostly dry as we huddled under the awning with the thirty-or-so others who had been crazy enough to brave the elements for a day at the beach. After less than ten minutes of torrential downpour, the sun returned and so did our plans for the day. We spent the next several hours engaging in most of our favorite beach time activities, except for playtime in the ocean as then-Hurricane Bill, though out to sea, was keeping our rip current risk greatly elevated that weekend.<br /><br />Saturday we went back-to-school shopping, where I had my first experience of having to wait outside of the dressing room while my daughter tried on clothes. (I thought she’d be much older the first time that happened.) We also went to several stores in our town looking for shoes she could wear with her dresses that fit the school’s strict shoe policy. And while we found lots of cute school clothes, we struck out in the school-approved shoe department. So Sunday we went to a larger city about an hour away and searched for several more hours before finally finding her sandals at a store ten minutes prior to closing time. We celebrated with dinner at an Italian restaurant nearby.<br /><br />Monday was a repeat of Friday, but without the kindergarten orientation and rain. We spent several hours at the beach. And while we sat digging holes in the wet sand, things really began to sink in for me.<br /><br />This was really the end of summer for us.<br /><br />But not only was it the end of summer, it was the start of something completely new. So as I dug, I finally allowed the Emotional Dad side to take hold, and I really thought about what all of these changes would mean for us. And I thought about how things might have been if my wife had been here to share in them with us. And the longer I sat there pondering these things, digging holes in the sand, the more I realized that by doing so, I was trying desperately to hold on to the last few moments of my daughter’s childhood as I had known it to that point.<br /><br />But that was not the moment during which the tears flowed.<br /><br />We went home and completed our normal nightly routine, with the new addition of packing the backpack and setting it by the front door, and my daughter went to sleep easily, despite her anticipation of what tomorrow might bring.<br /><br />When the house was quiet and she was tucked in for the night, I hopped in the shower to rid myself of the salt and sand that remained. And I listened to two songs on a particular cd, one of which I will likely share in a future post, and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-4NS7gChzvk"><span style="color:#3333ff;">this one</span></a>. And in that moment, the water from my eyes joined that which was already flowing overhead, and I allowed myself the luxury of a good, long cry.<br /><br />It was the kind of cry I thought I would have <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/06/on-milestones-marked-alone.html"><span style="color:#009900;">when my daughter graduated from preschool</span> </a>a few months ago. I guess I had reasoned that her preschool graduation marked the end of an era and was therefore sad, while starting kindergarten represented the beginning of an era and should be primarily joyous. Not that I was naïve enough to think I might not cry, I just didn’t expect the emotion to hit me with that kind of momentum.<br /><br />That weekend my daughter had also begun a cycle of grief that was much more intense than some in the past, and I think I had pushed my own grieving back in order to help her feel and understand hers. Though it would be several more days before she made the connection as to why she was grieving so hard during this particular time, she was able to communicate her feelings in a way that was different than she has in the past.<br /><br />All in all, it was a beautiful weekend with some emotionally tumultuous spots, but we made it through together. This is just part of how life is for us now. Even the most exciting moments will always be marked with some level of grief and sadness.<br /><br />And that is how we will continue to make it through. Together.<br /><br />Due to a staggered enrollment process and a planned absence, which I will write about in a future post, my daughter only attended school on Tuesday that week. But when Monday rolled around she was ready to go back to school and try this kindergarten thing some more. But as is the case with us, Monday came with yet another first. About a year ago, my daughter decided that she wanted to ride the bus when she started “big school”, and true to her own desires, she readily climbed the steps when it pulled up in front of our house. Another day, another change.<br /><br />I stood there briefly as the bus began to pull away, but there were no tears this time.<br /><br />Only a big smile from my Proud Papa side.Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5630059780501449621.post-26357908955686243702009-08-24T23:08:00.002-04:002009-08-24T23:15:46.109-04:00On a Widower's Discussion<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigG5WGOiGVlQ-qo8Mm4YGUjSgl-cDwk-uXvUx3CcOOw8Ba4PuodbAFTFwqc39vrx9rOTy2mvQeuF2yu1nKsluUF1w0EvatcowydF5HrTtrlg68XPBfc4wdZwAZ1KAfMqtcS8Z7CeHLNvk/s1600-h/misc+098.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373734709940648034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigG5WGOiGVlQ-qo8Mm4YGUjSgl-cDwk-uXvUx3CcOOw8Ba4PuodbAFTFwqc39vrx9rOTy2mvQeuF2yu1nKsluUF1w0EvatcowydF5HrTtrlg68XPBfc4wdZwAZ1KAfMqtcS8Z7CeHLNvk/s400/misc+098.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>As I mentioned in my two most recent posts (see <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/08/on-widower.html"><span style="color:#009900;">here</span></a> and <a href="http://widowedsinglefather.blogspot.com/2009/08/on-widowers-discomfort.html"><span style="color:#009900;">here</span></a>), I entertained some friends from college the weekend before last. This is the third and final post in a series regarding events surrounding their visit.<br /><br />Mr. K and I became friends near the middle of my sophomore year (his freshman) in college. Mrs. K and I had been friends for nearly a year at that point. Ms. T had joined the fold about six months later. So it was a nice surprise when I was introduced to him and found that he and Mrs. K had known each other (in passing) during their high school years. He and I became fast friends and often spent time together without the girls. (He and Mrs. K would not become an official item until after our falling out almost a year later. And even then, he and I remained on good terms until they actually began dating).<br /><br />After our falling out, his friendship was, in a way, that which I missed the most. While he had played a role in those events, his role had been much more passive than the others. He had merely accepted things as they had become, without making any grand attempts to change them. As it turns out, his role and mine were quite similar, although I was not in a position that would allow me to affect any sort of change in the matter initially.<br /><br />A few months after my wife died, I received an e-mail from Mr. K. We had all resumed some contact prior to her death (and with her encouragement), but it was the first time I had heard directly from him alone. He simply wanted to check in and see how I was doing. Now, even immediately following my wife’s passing I found myself reluctant to talk about how I was doing. But typically if someone asked I took it as a clear sign that they really wanted to know. More so than the now rhetorical “how are you?” we lob back and forth at one another in passing conversation. So I sent a brief message back which included details of how I was doing instead of the vague generalities I used to appease the “how are you?” crowd.<br /><br />And I never heard another word from him.<br /><br />Fast forward to last fall when we got together for the first time since Mr. and Mrs. K’s wedding. When we saw one another we immediately picked up where we had left off all those years ago. And it was a wonderful feeling. His friendship was as genuine as the smile on his face, and we had a great few days together.<br /><br />And I never heard another word from him.<br /><br />Now, in the months between the visits, I came to realize something about Mr. K. In this age of e-mail and text messaging, he is not a written communicator. And though the telephone has been around since before our births, he is not a verbal communicator. While most of us use many forms of communication (sometimes simultaneously), it turns out Mr. K is primarily a face-to-face communicator. And now that I have come to understand this, we are once again as close as we ever were.<br /><br />Which brings me to the story of what happened in the ocean.<br /><br />As much as I enjoy going to the beach, I don’t typically spend a great deal of time in the ocean itself. When my daughter was younger, the majority of my time there was spent near the edge playing and building sand castles. As she has gotten older, she has become more interested in being carried out into the water and bounced along in the waves. But the vast majority of my sea-bound activities revolve around my daughter. So it is a very rare occasion when I am able to sneak off into the waves for a few moments alone (since I can only do this if another adult is present to watch her).<br /><br />Such was the case on the Saturday of my friends’ recent visit. After spending a great deal of time bouncing my daughter over and under and in and out of waves, I took her to the shore and asked Ms. T if she would watch her so I could take a quick swim. (Mr. and Mrs. K were still minutes away from returning from a walk down the beach). It was wonderful to spend a few minutes actually swimming alone in the ocean, and I hated to see it end.<br /><br />Just as I turned to head back to the sand, <a href="http://www.goear.com/listen.php?v=5b7c3a4"><span style="color:#3333ff;">I noticed Mr. K making his way toward me</span></a> in the water. When I met up with him, I glanced at the shore to see that my daughter was still okay (with both girls now) and decided to stay a few extra minutes to swim with my friend.<br /><br />Since I don’t ever wear a watch and refuse to get sand in my phone, it is anybody’s guess how long we actually spent out among the waves. But the time was well-spent, with the conversation drifting in and out of a variety of topics you can discuss with close personal friends. But the best part for me was when he initiated a conversation about how my daughter and I had been doing without my wife. And he called her by name.<br /><br />There is one thing that has come to mean a great deal to me over the past two and a half years, and I may have mentioned it here before: I love it when people use my wife’s name when they talk about her. Now, my family (both sides) is very good about this. Friends who are/were close to both of us are good about this. But very few others will dare to mention her name. When someone mentions her by name, it validates her existence and her importance in my and my daughter’s lives.<br /><br />So by his unwitting utterance of a single, five-letter name, my friend advanced a few steps in my hierarchy of friendship. And by not only initiating, but carrying on a lengthy conversation about her, he advanced a few more steps.<br /><br />But hierarchies aside, what was most important in that moment was that, unbeknownst to him, he provided a sense of comfort to a friend who is still very much in mourning. </div>Split-Second Single Fatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00192370092337202063noreply@blogger.com6