This weekend at the nursing home, a lot of wives were in visiting with their husbands. For the first time, I felt some anger and resentment simmering underneath my kind and composed exterior. I was reminded of the role I played as loving/devoted wife caring for my sick husband the years he was hospitalized and in rehab. These are older couples - one of the men is 93. My poor husband died at age 54 and I was 44. I definitely felt some unfairness with the fact that these couples ended up having more time together than my husband and I had. Their children are grown, there are grandchildren, the mortgage has been paid off. They were fortunate to have traveled and played golf together in retirement. It astounds me when I think about my husband maybe having lived to age 93 - how short his life really ended up being.
In the natural order of things, my husband and I should have had that regular and predictable life these couples were fortunate enough to have had. But we didn't and I know there are other younger couples out there dealing with sick spouses and young kids too. It's all a crap shoot in the end. Bitching out about the unfairness playing out in front of my eyes doesn't get me anywhere.
I saw myself in these wives and I put aside my anger for the extra time they've had and brought out the compassion because I know what lies ahead for them.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Strength in Numbers
I ended up taking the boys and I out to eat at Steak and Shake for a Mother's Day meal out. I had some coupons and the boys got a burger, fries, salad and shake for $5.99 a meal. How can you beat that? After going, I realized how necessary it sometimes is for us to get out and do something even if it stretches the budget. The boys and I hadn't been out to eat in months and doing so was such a treat. It was so nice to sit at the booth and talk to the boys. Really have some conversations instead of quick and hurried snatches of comments and words during school pick-up and drop-offs.
My youngest brought up the information that one of his friends has parents getting divorced. He said that the mom is looking at our apartment complex as a potential place to move since they will be selling the house. Just knowing and hearing this was like receiving a gift! My son went on to say that his friend and her siblings were cleaning out the home of their father's possessions as their Mother's Day gift to their mom. Now I found that funny but also sad.
Anyway, the point to my bringing all of this up since it happened some weeks back is to to relate how just knowing another mom is in my shoes does a great deal to make me feel less isolated and alone in all of this. As I have mentioned in other posts, there aren't many families headed by single parents in this community, which happens to be one of the top 100 wealthiest towns and counties in the country. So it is a double-edged sword living here because of the high incomes of the intact families.
I felt very sorry for this woman that I know from my old PTA days and her children. It is not entirely the same set of circumstances since it is a divorce. But this family did live in the same neighborhood as we did and it will be an adjustment for all of them to move from a home into an apartment. Sometimes just knowing I am not the only one serves to give me a new lease on life. It often seems as though I am the only one since the widowhood gig is so isolating and the community I live in increase that sense of isolation. Hearing of another mom facing similar issues takes some of the sting out of the stigma and shame I carry around with me everyday. There can be strength in numbers, even very small ones.
My youngest brought up the information that one of his friends has parents getting divorced. He said that the mom is looking at our apartment complex as a potential place to move since they will be selling the house. Just knowing and hearing this was like receiving a gift! My son went on to say that his friend and her siblings were cleaning out the home of their father's possessions as their Mother's Day gift to their mom. Now I found that funny but also sad.
Anyway, the point to my bringing all of this up since it happened some weeks back is to to relate how just knowing another mom is in my shoes does a great deal to make me feel less isolated and alone in all of this. As I have mentioned in other posts, there aren't many families headed by single parents in this community, which happens to be one of the top 100 wealthiest towns and counties in the country. So it is a double-edged sword living here because of the high incomes of the intact families.
I felt very sorry for this woman that I know from my old PTA days and her children. It is not entirely the same set of circumstances since it is a divorce. But this family did live in the same neighborhood as we did and it will be an adjustment for all of them to move from a home into an apartment. Sometimes just knowing I am not the only one serves to give me a new lease on life. It often seems as though I am the only one since the widowhood gig is so isolating and the community I live in increase that sense of isolation. Hearing of another mom facing similar issues takes some of the sting out of the stigma and shame I carry around with me everyday. There can be strength in numbers, even very small ones.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
More Being Real
This is a continuation of my previous post on being real and the view of society to get over our grief asap. Life coach Dr. John H. Shlare gave the advice that to get out of heartache we stop focusing on what we don't have and focus on what we do. Easier said than done. I get irritated at all the self-help suggestions that fail to give suggestions at the end. What should the grief-stricken focus on when their worlds have collapsed and their grief is centered on what has been lost and the missing loved one?
Case in point - yesterday I had to venture into our quaint and adorable little suburban enclave to drop items off at the resale shop. The local farmer's market was going on, the fountains were flowing, the pots of flowers blooming. Lovely and pretty as a picture to be sure. Now just insert all the cute young families going out to a leisurely breakfasts after Junior's little league game. Notice all the middle-aged couples shopping for fresh vegetables and wine at the market so they can prepare a special Saturday night dinner together which will be shared on the patio. Everywhere I looked were families and couples and no single, tired looking middle-aged moms like myself. It was depressing and disheartening.
We live in such a couple's dominated society. On Thursday nights I watch the new comedy "The Marriage Ref," which pokes fun at married people's squabbles. All the commercials are geared to couples. The gossip magazines follow the latest couplings of the stars. The message I've been receiving is that something is wrong with me because I'm not part of a twosome. I feel embarrassed in addition to the great loneliness. Often I tell people I'm a widow because it makes me feel less of a loser.
I'm supposed to feel happy and excited about being able to date and the freedom of singlehood. But I tell you, middle-aged dating is exhausting. I'm too tired to make much of an effort now. I've already put myself out there since my husband's death and I'm not sure I can do it again. Maybe if I were younger. I'm missing the drive and energy. All that being upbeat and smiling, putting on the happy face! Getting to know someone is kind of like a job and I already had put my time in with my marriage. I look at the matronly middle-aged women with their men at the farmer's market and wonder how they would handle being newly single and "out there." I am bitter and weary.
So with all that said, now lets turn it around and focus on what I do have! A life with two sometimes ornery and difficult teen boys, the youngest who can take his anger and frustrations over his Dad's death on me. I'm struggling financially doing the best to make ends meet just barely. I can focus on my health (although I think it is rapidly declining as the result of always feeling depressed, lonely and stressed). I do have a roof over my head. But quite honestly, those things don't come to the forefront of my mind when I'm in the swarm of suburban families and couples, all smiling and looking as though they should be on the cover of postcards with the heading: "This is happiness!"
It's all well and good to be advised to stop focusing on what I don't have. But a little challenging when what you don't have was taken from you without just cause. And all you can see around you is evidence of what you once had, what you once loved and valued.
I don't want to hear advice from people who aren't in my situation. Dr. Phil, Dr. Wayne Dyer, and Dr. John Shlare should consult with a panel made up of people who have actually been widowed, as well as divorced. Get the advice straight from the horse's mouth. And please throw in some practical suggestions besides just telling me what to do. Those of us fighting grief sometimes don't know which direction to turn and we could use a push.
Case in point - yesterday I had to venture into our quaint and adorable little suburban enclave to drop items off at the resale shop. The local farmer's market was going on, the fountains were flowing, the pots of flowers blooming. Lovely and pretty as a picture to be sure. Now just insert all the cute young families going out to a leisurely breakfasts after Junior's little league game. Notice all the middle-aged couples shopping for fresh vegetables and wine at the market so they can prepare a special Saturday night dinner together which will be shared on the patio. Everywhere I looked were families and couples and no single, tired looking middle-aged moms like myself. It was depressing and disheartening.
We live in such a couple's dominated society. On Thursday nights I watch the new comedy "The Marriage Ref," which pokes fun at married people's squabbles. All the commercials are geared to couples. The gossip magazines follow the latest couplings of the stars. The message I've been receiving is that something is wrong with me because I'm not part of a twosome. I feel embarrassed in addition to the great loneliness. Often I tell people I'm a widow because it makes me feel less of a loser.
I'm supposed to feel happy and excited about being able to date and the freedom of singlehood. But I tell you, middle-aged dating is exhausting. I'm too tired to make much of an effort now. I've already put myself out there since my husband's death and I'm not sure I can do it again. Maybe if I were younger. I'm missing the drive and energy. All that being upbeat and smiling, putting on the happy face! Getting to know someone is kind of like a job and I already had put my time in with my marriage. I look at the matronly middle-aged women with their men at the farmer's market and wonder how they would handle being newly single and "out there." I am bitter and weary.
So with all that said, now lets turn it around and focus on what I do have! A life with two sometimes ornery and difficult teen boys, the youngest who can take his anger and frustrations over his Dad's death on me. I'm struggling financially doing the best to make ends meet just barely. I can focus on my health (although I think it is rapidly declining as the result of always feeling depressed, lonely and stressed). I do have a roof over my head. But quite honestly, those things don't come to the forefront of my mind when I'm in the swarm of suburban families and couples, all smiling and looking as though they should be on the cover of postcards with the heading: "This is happiness!"
It's all well and good to be advised to stop focusing on what I don't have. But a little challenging when what you don't have was taken from you without just cause. And all you can see around you is evidence of what you once had, what you once loved and valued.
I don't want to hear advice from people who aren't in my situation. Dr. Phil, Dr. Wayne Dyer, and Dr. John Shlare should consult with a panel made up of people who have actually been widowed, as well as divorced. Get the advice straight from the horse's mouth. And please throw in some practical suggestions besides just telling me what to do. Those of us fighting grief sometimes don't know which direction to turn and we could use a push.
Can We Please Be Real!
I am coming to more realizations about love and grief. Yesterday, I read one of my daily newsletters from "Lifescript.com." This question was posed to the resident life coach on 5/18: "My husband left me. It's so hard and I'm in so much pain. Can you please tell me how to get over a broken heart?"
This question struck me in a number of ways. First of all, having lost two husbands, one to death and the second to divorce, I could really sense and feel this woman's pain. Of course she is really hurting. All of us grieving our losses are. You can't get around that awful, gut-wrenching pain. It comes with the territory when we suffer the loss of a relationship whether from death or divorce.
What concerns me most is this woman's apparent need to stop feeling her pain and to quickly move on. I want to tell her that it has been two years since my divorce was initiated and I still feel the pain. Less intensely for sure, but it's still with me. And I'm not even sure that I want it to be gone.
Our grief symbolizes the deep extent of our feelings for our loved ones. Why would I want those to disappear? Yes, they are painful and hurt a whole lot, but I'd rather have them than not, if you know what I mean. To displace them so quickly would somehow be dishonoring the real and true love I had and felt for both my husbands. It was genuine and there is honor in that. My relationships with my husbands may be over but I believe the love I had for both can continue to exist and even still remain a powerful force in the world. Sometimes I send my love out to my second husband and hope that it somehow touches him along with others along the way.
We live in this rather unrealistic society that believes people can and should dismiss their feelings and get on with things. But love can't be replaced. I fell in love with Sam during my divorce and it didn't magically negate the love I still felt for either of my husbands, nor did it take away the pain of my grief.
Our society needs to own up to the painful feelings and embrace them rather than focus on how to hide and run from them. I want to tell this woman that there is no quick and easy cure that she is searching for that will take away her pain. The key is that we all eventually learn how to manage our pain and keep on living. And as we go on, we learn how to add more joy into our lives and even more love. Different love - but love. And love really is what it's all about.
Here is the answer offered by Dr. John H. Shlare: "The more you focus on what you've lost and what you DON'T have, the longer it will take you to recover. In general, getting over any kind of loss is best accomplished by focusing on what you DO have, making positive plans for the future and keeping yourself busy. Don't let the overwhelming emotions of the moment blind you from your greatest advantage: opportunity. Taking positive action now toward a better future is the way out of this heartache. ...the end of one thing is ALWAYS the beginning of something else."
If only it were all so simple and a three plan solution is what it would take. In the six and a half years I've been battling grief I've embraced positive plans for the future (getting remarried, going to school, entering into a new relationship). I've done my best to focus on what I have vs. what I've been lacking. And as an only parent I can attest to the fact that my life is crazy busy. But guess what? The grief remained. And I suspect it still will for this woman grieving the end of her marriage. The solutions presented here are ways to help us keep on with the process of living but they are not ways to "Get over" a loss.
Can our society stop with the "Get over it" attitude? I have resigned myself to the fact that I won't ever get over either my husband's death or my divorce. The grief surrounding those events will continue to live within me until I die. The funny thing is, that once I accepted this and stopped fighting my need to 'get over it," the claws of grief lessened a bit and the pain subsided - or I should say became easier to accept and live with.
And that is the advice I would offer this woman. Embrace your grief. Accept it for what it is. Know that its intensity will stick around for a while. Try to focus more on the love and all the good stuff you experienced vs. negative and vengeful thoughts, although those will come and keep you company on some days. Send the power of your love into the Universe and be proud of the fact that you loved your husband so deeply. The hurt signifies that depth. Be active and strong not as a way to get over your love, but as a way to continue focusing on the here and now as no one grants us a pass to tune out out of life for even a few weeks. We're stuck having to continue with the daily grind of living. Recognize that it is okay to grieve and feel the pain of your loss for the time it takes. I'm not ashamed that I still struggle with the grief of my divorce two years out. Be as gentle and as kind to yourself as possible because you'll be challenged from all fronts to "move on and get over it" as soon as possible. Don't pretend you're strong and over it just to placate others. Recognize that you're in for a battle because what people don't want to tell you is that the pain can feel like it will almost kill you. It will get that bad. It will hurt that much.
That is what I resent about the answer of this life coach. He doesn't tell it like it honestly is. His answer is that glossy belief that we all somehow have the power to quickly and easily move on. "Here are the three steps and if you follow them it'll be all better and you won't feel anymore pain." An illusion to match the totally misguided belief we have in our society that if we just take a pill, everything will be better. Well, all of us out here in the blogosphere of grief and loss know what's really what. And I do believe that we all would be in better shape (emotionally at least) if our society had prepared us how to face our grief and losses instead of offering us empty promises that we'll be cured by following these three easy steps. Lets not pretend anymore. Lets tell it like it is. "It's going to hurt like hell but it's okay to feel and even embrace that pain!" As Dan from "Dan, in Real Time" once astutely observed, it is okay to walk beside the grief instead of running in front of it or behind it because it is going to be around for awhile and you might as well make friends with it and even share a joke or two!
This question struck me in a number of ways. First of all, having lost two husbands, one to death and the second to divorce, I could really sense and feel this woman's pain. Of course she is really hurting. All of us grieving our losses are. You can't get around that awful, gut-wrenching pain. It comes with the territory when we suffer the loss of a relationship whether from death or divorce.
What concerns me most is this woman's apparent need to stop feeling her pain and to quickly move on. I want to tell her that it has been two years since my divorce was initiated and I still feel the pain. Less intensely for sure, but it's still with me. And I'm not even sure that I want it to be gone.
Our grief symbolizes the deep extent of our feelings for our loved ones. Why would I want those to disappear? Yes, they are painful and hurt a whole lot, but I'd rather have them than not, if you know what I mean. To displace them so quickly would somehow be dishonoring the real and true love I had and felt for both my husbands. It was genuine and there is honor in that. My relationships with my husbands may be over but I believe the love I had for both can continue to exist and even still remain a powerful force in the world. Sometimes I send my love out to my second husband and hope that it somehow touches him along with others along the way.
We live in this rather unrealistic society that believes people can and should dismiss their feelings and get on with things. But love can't be replaced. I fell in love with Sam during my divorce and it didn't magically negate the love I still felt for either of my husbands, nor did it take away the pain of my grief.
Our society needs to own up to the painful feelings and embrace them rather than focus on how to hide and run from them. I want to tell this woman that there is no quick and easy cure that she is searching for that will take away her pain. The key is that we all eventually learn how to manage our pain and keep on living. And as we go on, we learn how to add more joy into our lives and even more love. Different love - but love. And love really is what it's all about.
Here is the answer offered by Dr. John H. Shlare: "The more you focus on what you've lost and what you DON'T have, the longer it will take you to recover. In general, getting over any kind of loss is best accomplished by focusing on what you DO have, making positive plans for the future and keeping yourself busy. Don't let the overwhelming emotions of the moment blind you from your greatest advantage: opportunity. Taking positive action now toward a better future is the way out of this heartache. ...the end of one thing is ALWAYS the beginning of something else."
If only it were all so simple and a three plan solution is what it would take. In the six and a half years I've been battling grief I've embraced positive plans for the future (getting remarried, going to school, entering into a new relationship). I've done my best to focus on what I have vs. what I've been lacking. And as an only parent I can attest to the fact that my life is crazy busy. But guess what? The grief remained. And I suspect it still will for this woman grieving the end of her marriage. The solutions presented here are ways to help us keep on with the process of living but they are not ways to "Get over" a loss.
Can our society stop with the "Get over it" attitude? I have resigned myself to the fact that I won't ever get over either my husband's death or my divorce. The grief surrounding those events will continue to live within me until I die. The funny thing is, that once I accepted this and stopped fighting my need to 'get over it," the claws of grief lessened a bit and the pain subsided - or I should say became easier to accept and live with.
And that is the advice I would offer this woman. Embrace your grief. Accept it for what it is. Know that its intensity will stick around for a while. Try to focus more on the love and all the good stuff you experienced vs. negative and vengeful thoughts, although those will come and keep you company on some days. Send the power of your love into the Universe and be proud of the fact that you loved your husband so deeply. The hurt signifies that depth. Be active and strong not as a way to get over your love, but as a way to continue focusing on the here and now as no one grants us a pass to tune out out of life for even a few weeks. We're stuck having to continue with the daily grind of living. Recognize that it is okay to grieve and feel the pain of your loss for the time it takes. I'm not ashamed that I still struggle with the grief of my divorce two years out. Be as gentle and as kind to yourself as possible because you'll be challenged from all fronts to "move on and get over it" as soon as possible. Don't pretend you're strong and over it just to placate others. Recognize that you're in for a battle because what people don't want to tell you is that the pain can feel like it will almost kill you. It will get that bad. It will hurt that much.
That is what I resent about the answer of this life coach. He doesn't tell it like it honestly is. His answer is that glossy belief that we all somehow have the power to quickly and easily move on. "Here are the three steps and if you follow them it'll be all better and you won't feel anymore pain." An illusion to match the totally misguided belief we have in our society that if we just take a pill, everything will be better. Well, all of us out here in the blogosphere of grief and loss know what's really what. And I do believe that we all would be in better shape (emotionally at least) if our society had prepared us how to face our grief and losses instead of offering us empty promises that we'll be cured by following these three easy steps. Lets not pretend anymore. Lets tell it like it is. "It's going to hurt like hell but it's okay to feel and even embrace that pain!" As Dan from "Dan, in Real Time" once astutely observed, it is okay to walk beside the grief instead of running in front of it or behind it because it is going to be around for awhile and you might as well make friends with it and even share a joke or two!
Saturday, May 22, 2010
A Spilled Cup of Coffee
I accidentally spilled a cup of hot coffee on my hand at work earlier this week. It wasn't super hot so there was no burning but the initial shock startled me and I had tears in my eyes. The tears were partly for the first sting of pain but what followed were feelings of self-pity. The thought crossed my mind that here I was at a nursing home where my job for eight hours is to care for people in need - providing them a bit of comfort when I can, as well as helping them with physical tasks they are helpless to do on their own.
I then thought about the three years I spent as a caregiver to my husband during his illness and the care I provided for my dearly beloved Mom. Then the only parenting all these years...
This widowhood gig sure has demanded a lot of care giving to others with not much back. To a great extent I am a natural caregiver which is why I'm working as a nursing assistant in the first place. But still. The incident with the spilled coffee made me realize how lacking the widowed can be from small daily doses of comfort and support that are generally taken for granted. I just wanted to be able to come home and hold out my hand and have it tenderly held and looked at by someone clucking in sympathy. Just a little TLC to refill the care giving bank that's already over-drafted.
It just keeps adding up over time. The emotional and physical isolation of living without a partner, the loneliness and the lack of daily support. It doesn't go away - it's a constant, dull ache. Every time I come home to an empty residence (still have trouble saying apartment). Every time I fall and skin my knee or am having a tough day and long for a hug. Life isn't meant to be lived this way - we all need comfort, love and support. The sad reality is that there are those of us out here living on our own without those necessary hugs and pats (verbal and physical) on the back. There is no solution. And that makes it even tougher. An empty home is an empty home. There is no one's shoulder to sniffle into to garner some sympathy. What else can I say?
Well, I guess there is something I will say. From my perspective of being six and a half years out, the absolutely worst part of widowhood is the loneliness and being on my own. Handling and climbing through the hell of my husband's death was a piece of cake compared to the ongoing struggle of having to continue to trudge through life on my lonesome.
I then thought about the three years I spent as a caregiver to my husband during his illness and the care I provided for my dearly beloved Mom. Then the only parenting all these years...
This widowhood gig sure has demanded a lot of care giving to others with not much back. To a great extent I am a natural caregiver which is why I'm working as a nursing assistant in the first place. But still. The incident with the spilled coffee made me realize how lacking the widowed can be from small daily doses of comfort and support that are generally taken for granted. I just wanted to be able to come home and hold out my hand and have it tenderly held and looked at by someone clucking in sympathy. Just a little TLC to refill the care giving bank that's already over-drafted.
It just keeps adding up over time. The emotional and physical isolation of living without a partner, the loneliness and the lack of daily support. It doesn't go away - it's a constant, dull ache. Every time I come home to an empty residence (still have trouble saying apartment). Every time I fall and skin my knee or am having a tough day and long for a hug. Life isn't meant to be lived this way - we all need comfort, love and support. The sad reality is that there are those of us out here living on our own without those necessary hugs and pats (verbal and physical) on the back. There is no solution. And that makes it even tougher. An empty home is an empty home. There is no one's shoulder to sniffle into to garner some sympathy. What else can I say?
Well, I guess there is something I will say. From my perspective of being six and a half years out, the absolutely worst part of widowhood is the loneliness and being on my own. Handling and climbing through the hell of my husband's death was a piece of cake compared to the ongoing struggle of having to continue to trudge through life on my lonesome.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Purguing Out the Old
This afternoon I got rid of some heavy pieces of furniture in one of two of the storage sheds. Tomorrow the smaller shed will be cleared out and I'll be saving almost $200.00 monthly that can go toward clothing and items for the boys.
I'm feeling bittersweet about the clean-out. I called a local resale shop to inquire if they'd come to the shed to pick up the items and they did. I am grateful because without a strong guy/husband around it is hard for me to lift and move big, bulky objects. And there is just no room in the apartment for all the furniture I used to have in my home.
They took the large pine chest of drawers with mirror that used to be in my master bedroom. Then the headboard for the bed I spent months choosing when I first got married. It was between an all-white cottage bedroom or a more rustic, cabin-lodge feel room. I ended up choosing the later and the headboard was made out of actual logs. The woman from the resale shop really liked it. But it pulled at my heartstrings a little to let it go. A memory of the life I once shared with my husband when my family and I were intact in our nice, spacious, five-bedroom cabin-like home. When I got remarried I purchased a new bed, in fact, an inexpensive bedroom set to celebrate my new life and new beginnings. I'd hoped to use the log headboard at a second home if we got a little cabin on a lake in our retirement...
Also going - the boys' youth firetruck beds. Adorable beds in the shape of firetrucks and actually pretty realistic. I asked the boys if they wanted to keep them for the future but they weren't interested. They're awfully cute and I hope some lucky little boys will enjoy them in the future.
The nice lady from the resale shop walked around my shed and picked at the remaining items. She said she'd take anything there and got some birdhouses and seasonal wreaths. I told her I'd bring over my old Halloween and Christmas outdoor decorations over the summer. It was good to know that I did have some nice furniture and decorations. I'm trying to psyche myself up that it is better to pass these things on where they'll be put to use now and enjoyed vs. being hidden away in a mice-infested storage shed.
I regret giving away my nice green glass-fronted kitchen cabinet - it was so cute. But again, there is no room for it in the apartment and I can't just keep storing everything away for the future, whenever and wherever that may be.
I'm telling myself that releasing these items allows new items (maybe even better) to enter my life. It will be best to purchase a new bed when I start living at a new place and hopefully when I start sleeping on a regular basis with a partner again! I can always get a new curio cabinet to display my pretties and it will be fun to search for a different style that may fit better in a new home. As for the firetruck beds, maybe my sons will end up only having daughters who'll only want princess theme bedrooms!
Part of what I reflected on this afternoon was how hard it has been to lose my home (and possessions) after the death of my husband. His death involved the huge loss of my emotional and financial stability. The home then represented the very foundation of my life - all the safety and security from the ground up. Losing both has rocked my world literally from top to bottom, inside and out.
I'm feeling bittersweet about the clean-out. I called a local resale shop to inquire if they'd come to the shed to pick up the items and they did. I am grateful because without a strong guy/husband around it is hard for me to lift and move big, bulky objects. And there is just no room in the apartment for all the furniture I used to have in my home.
They took the large pine chest of drawers with mirror that used to be in my master bedroom. Then the headboard for the bed I spent months choosing when I first got married. It was between an all-white cottage bedroom or a more rustic, cabin-lodge feel room. I ended up choosing the later and the headboard was made out of actual logs. The woman from the resale shop really liked it. But it pulled at my heartstrings a little to let it go. A memory of the life I once shared with my husband when my family and I were intact in our nice, spacious, five-bedroom cabin-like home. When I got remarried I purchased a new bed, in fact, an inexpensive bedroom set to celebrate my new life and new beginnings. I'd hoped to use the log headboard at a second home if we got a little cabin on a lake in our retirement...
Also going - the boys' youth firetruck beds. Adorable beds in the shape of firetrucks and actually pretty realistic. I asked the boys if they wanted to keep them for the future but they weren't interested. They're awfully cute and I hope some lucky little boys will enjoy them in the future.
The nice lady from the resale shop walked around my shed and picked at the remaining items. She said she'd take anything there and got some birdhouses and seasonal wreaths. I told her I'd bring over my old Halloween and Christmas outdoor decorations over the summer. It was good to know that I did have some nice furniture and decorations. I'm trying to psyche myself up that it is better to pass these things on where they'll be put to use now and enjoyed vs. being hidden away in a mice-infested storage shed.
I regret giving away my nice green glass-fronted kitchen cabinet - it was so cute. But again, there is no room for it in the apartment and I can't just keep storing everything away for the future, whenever and wherever that may be.
I'm telling myself that releasing these items allows new items (maybe even better) to enter my life. It will be best to purchase a new bed when I start living at a new place and hopefully when I start sleeping on a regular basis with a partner again! I can always get a new curio cabinet to display my pretties and it will be fun to search for a different style that may fit better in a new home. As for the firetruck beds, maybe my sons will end up only having daughters who'll only want princess theme bedrooms!
Part of what I reflected on this afternoon was how hard it has been to lose my home (and possessions) after the death of my husband. His death involved the huge loss of my emotional and financial stability. The home then represented the very foundation of my life - all the safety and security from the ground up. Losing both has rocked my world literally from top to bottom, inside and out.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Time Doesn't Heal All Things
Thursday was the Senior Farewell band concert - a teary, emotional evening. There was some stress leading up to the night. My oldest had a detention after school for chewing gum in band class no less, along with a volleyball game - at least it was a home game. That meant I was in charge of making sure he had his band tux and volleyball uniform, along with a sack dinner since he wouldn't have time to come home. Turns out he forgot his dress-up shoes and I had to get them to him before the concert.
As usual, sitting in the auditorium before the concert I was struck by the loneliness I feel. It is a constant and dull ache that magnifies when I attend events like this one because in doing so, I can visualize my being alone as well. In this case, the school theater was packed with couples, families and grandparents who'd also come. Having arrived early to drop off the shoes, I could see the people come in and noted that there were only a handful of us sitting alone.
Then it seemed as though the theater lighting was somehow centering on and illuminating all the wedding rings and bands worn on the left hands of the audience members. Anytime I looked around, I saw a ring glinting in the light or I'd spy the arm of a husband casually resting around his wife's shoulder.
I felt the rage I feel as a victim (if my husband hadn't died I wouldn't be alone), along with the envy for all these fortunate married folks. Then there is some self-pity and even embarrassment at having to sit alone. I always feel a huge sense of sadness for the losses my sons have endured - seeing all the dads brings that on.
It takes such darn emotional energy to keep attending these events, over and over always alone. People have stopped making the effort to seek me out for a word or two and I have stopped pasting a smile on my face and pretending that I'm having a grand old time. I love supporting my sons in their activities and always feel a huge source of pride but it does come with a price.
I'm surprised that instead of getting easier, it just all seems to get harder and more painful. You'd think with the passing of time that I'd be more accepting of my situation and more used to attending events on my own. Funny how that is not turning out to be the case.
Also, what I felt for the first time on Thursday night was quite distressing to me. As I looked around the packed auditorium, the thought went through my mind that I have so little in common anymore with all the married, upper-middle class suburban parents living in my community. It was a very scary realization. The longer I go as a widowed mom here on my own, the greater the divide is growing. Too much has happened to me over the past seven to eight years. It has gone beyond the death of my husband now to include a failed marriage, the loss of a home and severe financial difficulties.
A man came in late and sat in front of me. I observed his large, well-fed body, his expensive business suit and the gleam of his gold wedding band. I tried to imagine going on a date with him if he was single and I couldn't. I'm beginning to doubt that I'll be able to interact with "normal" people or even go on a date with someone in the future. Too much has changed inside me in too short a time period. I'm not saying I'm better than others, just that I no longer live, relate, think, dream, talk, laugh, smile or even sleep like the woman I once was.
I only want to be with others who have experienced some pain and loss because they have some familiarity with what I have experienced. I worry about the dating pool being overflowing with divorced folks. Divorce is different than death and I don't feel on the same playing field with the dating middle-aged people out there. I'm not sure I believe there is a man out there willing to take the time to get to really know and accept me for the woman I have become. Heck, I even have doubts that I have the verbal capability to get through a two-hour date with someone and engage in a normal conversation! Any questions from "Where did you go on your last vacation?" to "What is your family like?" would all involve some aspect of loss.
What I felt on Thursday night was that I fear I am facing a future of loneliness and solitude without a life partner. And that realization on top of everything else - the daily grind of just living and having to parent on my own is a harsh dose of reality I don't want.
As usual, sitting in the auditorium before the concert I was struck by the loneliness I feel. It is a constant and dull ache that magnifies when I attend events like this one because in doing so, I can visualize my being alone as well. In this case, the school theater was packed with couples, families and grandparents who'd also come. Having arrived early to drop off the shoes, I could see the people come in and noted that there were only a handful of us sitting alone.
Then it seemed as though the theater lighting was somehow centering on and illuminating all the wedding rings and bands worn on the left hands of the audience members. Anytime I looked around, I saw a ring glinting in the light or I'd spy the arm of a husband casually resting around his wife's shoulder.
I felt the rage I feel as a victim (if my husband hadn't died I wouldn't be alone), along with the envy for all these fortunate married folks. Then there is some self-pity and even embarrassment at having to sit alone. I always feel a huge sense of sadness for the losses my sons have endured - seeing all the dads brings that on.
It takes such darn emotional energy to keep attending these events, over and over always alone. People have stopped making the effort to seek me out for a word or two and I have stopped pasting a smile on my face and pretending that I'm having a grand old time. I love supporting my sons in their activities and always feel a huge source of pride but it does come with a price.
I'm surprised that instead of getting easier, it just all seems to get harder and more painful. You'd think with the passing of time that I'd be more accepting of my situation and more used to attending events on my own. Funny how that is not turning out to be the case.
Also, what I felt for the first time on Thursday night was quite distressing to me. As I looked around the packed auditorium, the thought went through my mind that I have so little in common anymore with all the married, upper-middle class suburban parents living in my community. It was a very scary realization. The longer I go as a widowed mom here on my own, the greater the divide is growing. Too much has happened to me over the past seven to eight years. It has gone beyond the death of my husband now to include a failed marriage, the loss of a home and severe financial difficulties.
A man came in late and sat in front of me. I observed his large, well-fed body, his expensive business suit and the gleam of his gold wedding band. I tried to imagine going on a date with him if he was single and I couldn't. I'm beginning to doubt that I'll be able to interact with "normal" people or even go on a date with someone in the future. Too much has changed inside me in too short a time period. I'm not saying I'm better than others, just that I no longer live, relate, think, dream, talk, laugh, smile or even sleep like the woman I once was.
I only want to be with others who have experienced some pain and loss because they have some familiarity with what I have experienced. I worry about the dating pool being overflowing with divorced folks. Divorce is different than death and I don't feel on the same playing field with the dating middle-aged people out there. I'm not sure I believe there is a man out there willing to take the time to get to really know and accept me for the woman I have become. Heck, I even have doubts that I have the verbal capability to get through a two-hour date with someone and engage in a normal conversation! Any questions from "Where did you go on your last vacation?" to "What is your family like?" would all involve some aspect of loss.
What I felt on Thursday night was that I fear I am facing a future of loneliness and solitude without a life partner. And that realization on top of everything else - the daily grind of just living and having to parent on my own is a harsh dose of reality I don't want.
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