Do What You Love

Seeing this picture of the graduates throwing their caps into the air brings tears to my eyes as it did when it occurred earlier this afternoon.

The ceremony started with the playing of my son's composition, which took a moment for me to figure out was his because he added orchestral parts. When I asked him about this later he told me he had composed the string parts his last two days of school. The piece was even more amazing with the addition of the orchestra. I wanted to scream into the audience, "My son wrote this!" But most people were talking and preoccupied with their own families and kids...

The message that came up over and over in the speeches by staff and students was to do what you love. Just a few weeks ago I voiced my reservations about my son majoring in music. I suggested he focus on criminal justice. When I mentioned this to my sister she asked me why? I told her I felt there is more stability in that field vs. music. She replied, why should I doubt that my son might make it in a music career - he certainly has the talent.

After today, I am ready to say to him, "Just go for it." Every night he is at the computer composing music and every day I come home to a notebook left on the sofa with the words to a new song in it. It is what he loves.

My son's half-brother attended the ceremony with his wife. He is a teacher like his dad, 10 years older than my son. He gave my son a gift check and a card in which he wrote the words their father had written to him upon his graduation, a few years before his death. My son was very moved by these words. They were to the effect to do what you love but to not forget to be of service to others. My son cried and felt that his father was a part of this special day. And I was reminded of the strength and character my late husband always demonstrated. My husband, the man who loved fine arts, music and teaching history. But who gave tirelessly to the community and others.

I think my son inherited these gifts from his father and I. His musical talents and his kindness and compassion to others.

The music director is submitting my son's compositon to a national competition as an entry. I believe my son is already a great winner.

We celebrate milestones with special ceremonies like this one today. All this talk about doing what you love makes me realize that that is still one area in my life that I have to work on. Going to work as a restaurant hostess has quickly lost its appeal. I need and must do something with my life that has more substance and meaning. It is not so easy to rebuild one's life on so many levels - it takes time, planning and sometimes must be put on hold because other aspects of life require more attention, such as raising kids and getting them through high school.

Today was my son's day and a very good one at that. But it is also a wake-up moment for me to see that there is still work to be done on my end. It is funny but after eight long years of widowhood and only parenting, I'm not sure what I love anymore. I thought the library assistant program might be an option but there aren't any jobs in that field in the state Sam resides and where I will be moving next year. Back to square one.

But in the meantime I will reflect on this special day and the wonderful four years my son had in high school. I could not have asked for any more for him in regard to a positive high school experience. The teachers as a surprise, lined up in the hallway to clap for the students as they progressed out of the gym. Apparently the line was delayed because my son hugged all of his teachers as he saw them. My friend, a teacher at the school, told me how well my son is liked by the staff. Would he have been as popular and as much of a school leader if his father hadn't died? I guess I tend to think we pretty much are who we are, although I have no doubt that my husband's death has affected my son's overall outlook and spirit.

I was unaware of how difficult from an emotional level these past few weeks would be. Now that it is over I can see how much I wish my husband could have been by my side celebrating in the success of a very talented young man, his son.

A Christmas Carol

Today my sons and I went into Chicago to see A Christmas Carol at the famed Goodman Theatre. The tickets were paid for by my brother. He and the rest of my sibs and their families have a tradition of doing something like this on this day. In the past, I've declined going due to finances. This year when my brother inquired if we would be able to attend, I just admitted I would be unable to afford the cost of the tickets and he offered to pick them up. Before, I may have declined but this year I accepted thinking about how long it has been since my sons and I have been to a show. When my husband was alive, taking in a show like this in the city with and without the boys was a regular activity in our lives. So I did this today for my sons - to give them something I can't right now.

The sold-out production was incredible! The sets and special effects alone were outstanding. Yes, this was a rare and special treat. Yet at the same time I struggled emotionally throughout the day. Taking the train into the city, I was struck by the suburban girls of our town, a group of which rode in with us for a fun day of shopping and chatting. They all held piping hot cups of Starbucks and I had to hold back my feelings of envy as I thought back to my last Starbucks, which was one year ago! The girls were Juniors and my youngest son blushed throughout the ride as they waved to him and said, hello. He did his best to hide on the train...

We are down to our last $20.00 before payday (Wednesday) and that went for the train tickets. Knowing we wouldn't have money to spend on food in Chicago I packed PB & J sandwiches, apples and some cinnamon pretzels I'd baked for breakfast and we ate on the train. My car is on empty and the van is low - the pantry is pretty bare. The next few days are going to be tough.

I haven't been into Chicago for about two years and getting into the station and being accosted by all the fancy food stalls did hit me. But the decorations in the station alone were delightful and I tried to enjoy them. No money for a cab so walking - but that is okay. It is just nice to know you have the funds available if you want to grab a cab. We met my brother at a cute restaurant and again, I felt sadness at not being able to afford even a drink for the boys. There was a huge sign advertising a new sandwich at Corner Bakery and I have to say I almost drooled over it (food has kind of become an obsession in my life as of late).

Leaving my family to hurry (run is more like it) to catch the earlier train back, I felt a bit more sadness that it is likely they are all going out to dinner together somewhere, while the boys and I returned home to leftover 4-Bean Chili over spaghetti. I had a migraine on the way home and was pretty miserable. Probably a combination of not eating enough, emotional tension and the mad dash to the station. I tried to block out the images of the intact families I saw on the train, especially all the moms chatting on their cells as to where their families are headed for their holiday vacations. I just reminded myself - "Don't compare yourself to them - you're not one of them anymore." It is good to get out and about in the world but the solitude of widowhood does also serve the purpose of insulation from the pain of life's discrepancies.

The message of A Christmas Carol is of course the timeless one that in the end, friendship, family, love, kindness and generosity are more important than wealth and money. Yet despite this message, this day was so full of contradictions and struggling with my situation. I think that for me I have dealt with my widowhood as best I can and pretty well. The real hardship for me has been the challenges I've faced being a poor one. There is the bizarre contradiction of being able to attend a show like this but then to have to use our last funds for the train tickets to get there. It sometimes feels like I have my feet in two different countries - the one of former suburban mom because I still am living in the community and that of widow living under extremely reduced circumstances.

Afterthought - I hope my depictions of financial struggle do not cause anyone discomfort. This blog is my way to honestly and openly deal with the struggles I have had to unfortunately face as a widow. We will make it through the next days, we always do. I do hope to someday in someway better convey to our society the difficulties some only parents face after being struck by tragedy. I have to keep in mind those in our nation suffering more than we are and to be thankful for the roof over our heads and the fact that we even have 4-Bean Chili to eat. There are always those suffering more than we and today I pray for them. Charles Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol to better depict the plight of the poor during his time. I reflect on my oldest who recently bought the homeless man he passed dinner. Despite our hardship, he reached out and gave to someone more in need. Maybe that is what we all need to concentrate on during this season.

Poor Mom's Chili Soup for when there is nothing left in the pantry

4 Different cans of beans, don't drain (black, pinto, kidney, etc.)
1 can chicken broth
1 -2 cans chopped tomatoes (I use the ones with green chilies)
1 packet chili seasoning
1 -2 T. chocolate chips or grated chocolate

Heat, simmer and serve over rice or noodles, topped with cheese and sour cream

Makes a ton!

Reinvention

Judith Viorst in her book "Necessary Losses," raises a distinction in regard to the death of a spouse as differing from that of another loved one. She explains that when a spouse dies, an entire way of life is also taken from the survivor and that in itself becomes another death to surmount.

I really identified with this description, it just rings so true with me and my experience. Right now I see my life as one of having to be totally reinvented by myself from the ground up. It is as though I am emerging from the womb naked and at this point everything necessary for my survival has to be provided by me. In a way, I am now serving as a parent to myself.

I lost every aspect of my previous life with the exception of my education which I've always believed can never be taken from you. My financial cushion is shattered, the home to provide some of that financial security is gone, I've lost my social network, I don't have a career or job in keeping with my interests, skills or educational level, the absence of emotional love, support and connection that was the heart and soul of my marriage has left me bitter, hopeless and drained.

Here I am at 51 needing to undertake a total rebuilding of my life for all levels and aspects and I don't seemingly have the strength, energy or even desire to do so right now. I'm exhausted from the years of sorrow and the constant getting up and facing the day on my own. At 51 I'm not sure anymore how much my depression, anxiety and exhaustion stem from my age and the beginnings of menopause or actual grief. Why does it have to be one or the other? Maybe I am suffering from both!

I thought the other day that I probably have a good 20 years left in the work place where I can be productive to others and derive some meaning and satisfaction for myself. I need to make a concerted effort to seek employment in my field and to regain my qualifications which are outdated.

But I admit I am utterly overwhelmed by the prospect of having to reinvent myself at so many levels, from the ground up while being naked! I don't know where to start and my fear combines with me just not doing anything. I lack a plan - I don't even know how to make a plan on a course of action. There seems to be too much to do and everything to do all at the same time. Do I focus more on one specific aspect or goal or try to work on them evenly at the same time? Having a better job would improve the financial end of life but having a better social support system would make it easier for me to focus on my work life.

I feel in similar ways to that of myself as a college student. I had a tough time figuring out what to concentrate on and ended up getting my BA with the 5-year plan because I'd changed my major so often. But at least back then I felt the support of family and friends behind me. I knew if I made a mistake and failed there would be a place for me to go and guidance in helping me figure out the next step. Now I am in the position of trying to guide my sons to the best of my ability and figure out this new personal path and I am feeling crushed under the pressure and responsibility.

I know that the optimistic thinkers and doers out there can to point to this as an opportunity for great growth and potential. Like those speeches you'd hear about being able to accomplish your dreams and aspirations. But I tell you, I didn't have any clue ahead of time that this would become the new state and reality of my life. Around me others are thinking about retirement and relaxation. It is a rude awakening to be plunged into a world where what you knew and are familiar with has been stripped away. I need to work at a better job simply to survive and assist my boys with their college educations. I don't have a choice. And rather than inspire me to more greatness, that in and of itself isn't a motivator. I'm being forced to survive whereas before in my old life, decisions I made were based on what I wanted to do on my terms. Kind of like now being forced at gun point to keep trudging forward, rather than do so willingly. It does make a difference.

Sitting here and brooding about all of this gets me nowhere. I suppose in the end, whatever step I end up taking, in whatever direction it is going, is one small step toward the future and going forward and an improvement from stagnating in my current fear and indecision. "Take a step. Any step. Take a chance, any chance and see where it leads and what comes of it."

Here and Now

I don't like being a widow but it is who I am right now. The thought of attending the football picnic/parent meeting on Saturday afternoon yet again alone, and being in the bright light munching on chips by myself surrounded by couples fills me with such dreaded despair, I don't think I can go. It is the first time I'm throwing in the towel and admitting defeat. I can't do it anymore. I'm choosing not to go because I can't stand the pain. It is not worth the effort it takes me to buoy myself up at such events. Seven years of it and I've reached my threshold. Enough is enough. I'll go watch my son play in the stands where there is some cover but being thrust out into the throng of a picnic is another story. Trying to make small talk with people I don't know and will never interact with again ...



I don't want to be a widow anymore but face it, for the immediate time being it is what I'm destined to be. Hard to denounce a part of yourself. I dream about my past life as a relatively happy wife and mother, when I was productive and felt safe. I'd say as a married mom I flourished. I took flight and soared. Widowhood has been a downward spiral on so many levels. But at its core, I have felt unsafe and insecure. I'm tired of all the pep talks about being strong and pulling yourself up by your bootstraps. Sometimes you just come to the end of your rope like I'm feeling about attending the football picnic. I can't take another step forward.



A couple years ago I read a post by a widowed mom who wrote similar words. She was tired of being alone, tired of dating, tired of solo parenting and even tired of life itself. I totally got what this mom was saying and feeling. I'd been there and I'd go there again.



So I dream about my past life and dream about a future one where hopefully my life will be restored to some degree. I long for a committed partner (husband) and to be part of a mature, growing and giving partnership. Sharing a household and life would ease up the daily financial struggle I'm involved with and make it hopefully less difficult to get my boys through college. I want to be part of something bigger than myself and have a partner to lean on as well as to provide support to. A real grown-up give and take relationship with sex and a companion for social events. I do also dream of a small home or townhouse where I can garden again. But mostly I desire the security and safety I derive from being in a committed relationship (marriage).



Here I am dreaming about the past and dreaming about the futue and hating the present. Just hating it beyond words and also feeling sad and depressed about it. I want to run away from where I'm at right now. Back to the past or get thrust into the future. Anywhere but here.



But I think here is where I'm supposed to be. Maybe not embracing or even accepting it but at least not ignoring it or trying to push it always away. I'm rereading the book by Dr. Judith Sills "How to Get Naked Again." It is basically a dating guide for the middle-aged, but I'm getting a whole lot more than dating advice. Dr. Sills talks about the need to acknowledge our identities as to where we are right now today, not where we were or where we want to go. When I read this I realized how much I have been fighting my widowhood by struggling to be the same person I was as a married mom and how I've been on a quest to escape it as quickly as possible - fight and flight.



But Dr. Sills argues that to move forward, the first step is to live as fully as we can within our life situations. She also refreshingly disagrees with the emphasis on the Law of Attraction's striving for what we want to bring into our lives. Tha shouldn't be the mainstay of our energy. All of this for me means facing my widowhood rather than hiding from it. I don't think that means I have to force myself into situations that cause me pain or discomfort anymore like the football picnic. I still have the right to protect and shelter myself. But I have to stop myself from focusing on the fantasy of my past and the future and devote more on my attention to life right now. I'm still trying to figure out the logistics of how to do that - always easier said than done. I guess a start can be acknowledging where and who I am right now - "I'm a tired, widowed mom who doesn't feel up to going to the football picnic because it is a reminder of my being alone. Maybe I would meet someone interesting at the picnic but I don't have the energy to go this time. And it is okay to sit this one out. There will be more social opportunities in the future."

Coming Up Out Of The Cave

When you are in the depths of grief it is very hard to do much more of anything but grieve. At least that has been my personal experience. I am coming out of the cave I have been in as I've tried to deal with the loss of my home. It has not been unlike the grief I had to travel with when my husband and Mom died and then going through the divorce.

The pain and intensity sometimes doesn't hit you until well after the fact. I was so busy cleaning the house and had to concentrate on selling it over the summer. Then there was having to find an apartment, the actual sale, closing and then physical move of my possessions, which turned out to be far more difficult than I'd anticipated. Doing all of these things on my own was another challenge.

I'm not looking for a pity party here - just stating facts. The move ended up being physically and emotionally draining for me and it wasn't until the dust had settled that I could comprehend how much. No doubt, that was some of the reason the idea of having to relocate with Sam to another state just ended up not being feasible right now.

I think that there was much grieving this holiday season about the loss of the house. It was there underneath everything without really being acknowledged. I was terribly depressed. Having to move was the icing on the cake, topping so many losses before it. It was another huge goodbye made even more difficult because the previous ones had depleted and weakened my soul and spirit. It has involved another identity change - from wife to widow to wife to divorcee; from homeowner to renter.

But I have started to take stock again as we all must at some point. A new year and all that comes into play too. When we are grieving people can point their fingers all they want with advice and solutions. But until we are ready, willing and able we won't be able to climb up out of the cave. The same thing goes for our own advice. At some level we all know what we should be doing to cope and function better. But again, until we are able to act accordingly we won't be able to do so. When our grief is that intense we need to stand strong and tall and make no apologies to anyone. Our job is to tend to the grief, pure and simple.

Whether enough time has passed or not, I'm not sure. I just have reached the point for me where I need to move past such active and intense grief. I am focusing on mindfulness, attentiveness, order and reframing.

Mindfulness/Attentiveness - I just need to be more aware of my surroundings and interactions with life and others. I need to be more of an active participant and less of a passive observer.

Order - I have always found and believed that when life is most chaotic, as long as we can exert some bit of control, we will be the better for it. I think that we need to feel we have some control over our destinies, especially when our lives seem particularly out of balance.

Reframing - I need to remember that it is not always what it appears and that there are more options.

This week I made an effort to get a bit organized to start the year out on a good foot. I changed purses, cleaned out my wallet and balanced my checkbook. I felt better just knowing that my purse was tidy. After grocery shopping, I reviewed the receipts for accuracy noticing one had incorrectly run up a purchase. The next day I returned to the store and received a $3.50 refund. I went to the dollar store needing to pick up some baking pans as mine are "lost" from the recent move. I am trying to make do with some cheap replacements knowing I already own decent bake ware, pots and pans. The pans were not marked but the sign underneath said all items not tagged cost $1.00. When I was at the cashier I nicely complained when they charged me $3.00 and was given the pans for $1.00.

At the bookstore I noticed a woman my age sipping a Venti Starbuck's while reading leisurely. My immediate reaction was to feel resentful and bitter. Why does she get to loll away the morning at a bookstore? Why can't I do that? Why is my life so harder...? But then I got off my high horse to reframe. Maybe this was a busy woman just like me and she had planned for this morning and then implemented it. Who says I can't do the same thing in the future? Plan a morning off where I sit and read at Border's. And then someone gazing at me might even have the same reaction as I first did - that I am a privileged, suburban mom with excess time on my hands!

I rented the small storage locker available in our laundry room and moved out the still unpacked boxes from the apartment. Enough is enough. I'll try and get through as many as I can (and the boys can help too) as quickly as I can but in the meantime, all of us deserve to live in an uncluttered and welcoming environment. At the same time, I am going through everything and donating whatever we no longer use or have use for. Eventually I will have to face the real job of emptying out the storage sheds.

These are small attempts I know but are helping me feel as though I am back in the game of life and doing more than just letting it run past me. In addition, I am trying to observe other strategies that work for me such as reading before bed, watching a half-hour of "The Office" everyday because it makes me laugh and devoting 15 minutes to my knitting hobby. I have forced myself to get up early and not hunker back down under the covers because it is winter, cold and I am depressed.

All in all, some progress.

Today I am grateful for:

1. "The Office."
2. Grapefruit in season.
3. Having too many possessions, hence the need for storage backup in the first place.
4. The winter sun making an appearance.
5. Crock pots.

New Self-Image

I started referring and identifying myself as Middle in the Widow shortly after my husband died. I was picking produce from an apple bin when my hand brushed past that of an elderly woman shopping in the store with a group of residents from a nearby retirement facility. It struck me then as I observed the prominent veins in her hand that she was most likely a widow. And so was I. But so much younger. Still, I was not like a very young widow with babies to raise on my own. I was right smack dab in the middle of widowhood. A middle-aged widow, a widow in the middle. This title seemed an apt and appropriate way for me to describe and identify myself.

Since that time, six years ago, I've added to my identity by remarrying and then going through the excruciating experience of divorce. Even when I was married, a large part of me continued to identify with my widowhood. I looked upon myself as a remarried widow. There wasn't much opportunity for me to live a new life as a remarried, formerly widowed, middle-aged soccer mom. Because of my parent's illnesses I never moved to live with my new husband and he and I had a long-distance marriage - he stayed with us on the weekends and the boys and I spent holidays and school vacations with him.

When I started this blog I identified with myself as more strongly a widow. But things have become more complicated for me as I have worked to also heal from the divorce. There are these differing grief forces working beside themselves. One involves the death of my husband, another involves the divorce and the feelings of abandonment that resulted. Sometimes I need to focus and write about one or the other. Sometimes both sets of grief are combined. It has been a unique experience to say the least, posting about both events in my life and trying to go forward and make some sort of sense or reach some kind of closure/understanding to all that has happened. Then the old family stuff comes up too rearing its ugly head in between all of the newer stuff to process and deal with.

It is also weird to sometimes feel as though I am an old pro at widowhood since it has been six years, but then to feel all the emotions of being a new widow, especially if I am all caught up in the more recent divorce. I have also come to realize that some of the healing I needed to attend to regarding my husband's death got pushed to the back burner because the unresolved abuse and neglect from my childhood that took center stage shortly after he died.

When my parents were ill and we were handling their affairs, all kinds of long buried ghosts came to the surface. I personally had a very difficult time with all of this new turbulence, probably because I was still raw from my husband's death. I did not have the insight or strength to say no to helping my parents in the ways I did. I did what I thought I should do, the ever dutiful daughter to my mom. But at a great price to pay. I did not take care of myself or my children adequately or fairly. And my new husband was less than understanding or patient. I was having trouble managing and handling my own life and at times it was insane caring for my mother. There was a great deal of sacrifice and heartache surrounding this time.

All of these events have swirled around and around separately and then mixed together until they've represented a yucky looking, unappetizing stew thrown together of left-overs. What a mess! If I could compose a photo of how all this grief and loss actually looks like to me this is what it would be.

Today my identity has shifted. It is a broader view than that original description of widowhood. Today I view myself as a survivor of childhood abuse, middle-aged widowhood and divorce. A survivor of many different kinds of grief, loss and challenges. I don't want this to sound like I am bragging or deserve some kind of extra sympathy. There are others out there who have faced greater losses and challenges than I could ever imagine. This place where I have now come to doesn't feel as gaping and insurmountable. It seems survivable. That constant bleeding wound finally is slowing down a bit from the bandages I have applied.

Identity Crisis - So Who Am I Now?

One of the reasons I have been dreading the finalization of this divorce is that now I will be forced to add the label of "Divorcee" to my already complicated persona. I liked the label of "Widow." If there is any perk at all to being a widow it is that label. Say it and it immediately garners a certain level of respect from others. It is also a relatively simple label to describe. "I am a widow." Response - "Oh, really. You are so young. How and when did he die?" This is far less complicated than what I imagine the exchange now to be. "I was a widow but then remarried and now I am a what? A widdiv? And the marriage didn't work because it was very messy and complicated because my husband had never been married and it was hard for him to accept my teenaged boys and my mom was dying when we were supposed to move to his home out-of-state, and then he got mad that we didn't move, and then I got mad because he wasn't supportive of my mom dying, and we were both stubborn middle-aged people (probably a little selfish), and it was hard for us to move from our community, and we probably got married too soon, and I didn't know he was so controlling and inflexible, and he also had a sexual disorder (but that really didn't bother me), and he refused to communicate with me or work on the marriage" and on and on and on. When you are widowed it is cut and dry. You could have had a terrible marriage but it doesn't matter. The widow title disguises that. But as someone who is now almost divorced I feel a sense of failure in addition to loss and that there is a need to explain/justify why the marriage failed.

I never really gave up my identity as a widow, even when I remarried in 2006. Because I was still living on my own the majority of my time since we had a long-distance marriage it always felt like I was still widowed. My husband commuted to our home on weekends and we spent all vacations and school holidays with him. But I never felt married and we never really cohabited together as a man and wife.

So what am I? I am not ashamed that I fell in love and remarried. I still believe in the great power of love and am proud that I took a chance on love. I would not go back and do it any other way. I remarried because I had hope and faith in the future. If I washed away my remarriage I would be getting rid of those heartfelt beliefs that I still cherish.

So I am a woman who was widowed at age 44, remarried at age 47 and divorced at 49. A widdiv. I will google the question of what you call a widowed divorcee and see if I come up with any more clever responses. But I think that I primarily view myself as a middle-aged-widow and I started calling myself Widow-in-the-Middle right after Husband #1 died.