Returning to Wholeness

Grief Landmine

2011-11-05T21:59:00.000-07:00

Yes, things are going really, really well. I have hope and excitement for the future, energy and passion for today, and gratitude for the wonderful memories of the past. And I am still grieving.

I am exploring the world of life transition coaching: immersing myself in training, coaching and being coached. Yesterday I went to a coaching workshop, and as always occurs in these workshops, I was coached by some very talented people. Finding my next life partner is always a hot topic with me, and by the end of the day I was wrung out, exhausted, and sadder than I have been in a very long time. I felt overwhelmed by the burdens of living and parenting alone; making decisions about schooling and housing without an invested partner seemed more than I could bear. It was less about missing T directly and more about missing the state of being married to someone I love who loves me, but wow, I guess I forgot about how painful the missing and longing is.

Thankfully, I'm feeling much more stable today. I mean, I have this great life! But holy cow, will the yearning for a life partner ever wane?

Dear Old Life

2011-09-14T20:23:00.001-07:00

Dear Old Life,

I am breaking up with you. We've had some great times, and I wouldn't change a thing, but I'm in love with My New Life. My New Life makes my heart beat faster, my spirits rise, my eyes sparkle. I am following my heart, not what I think I should do, or what I have always done in the past, or what I think others want me to do. What I Want. Wow, it's a whole new world.

There are many things I will miss about you, Old Life. The routine, the professional clothes, the sense of adding value (back when I was adding value). The big house, the luxurious vacations, the companionship and partnership. The focus, the limited need to choose, the automatic pilot.

And here are the things I won't miss: feeling stuck, feeling helpless, feeling hopeless.

There are SO MANY things I'm excited to do. My days are filled with conversation, learning, exercise, play, celebrating life. I'm starting two businesses, consulting, teaching, volunteering, reading, napping. Staying up too late. Good night!

So have I returned to wholeness? Yes, I think I have. And more. But I won't stop posting.

Tomorrow is the First Day of the Rest of My Life

2011-05-15T22:24:00.000-07:00

I couldn’t face it anymore. Tomorrow is my first day of a leave of absence from work, and I don’t expect I’ll return. What will I do for a job, for money? I have no idea, but I know it will be fun and scary to figure it out.

What contributed to the situation? Probably not PMS or PMDD. The third anniversary of T’s death was April 24th (Easter this year), and with the focus on rebirth, renewal, re-creation of the Easter season, my stuckness probably just got too painful. A small windfall from T (stock options from T’s company that had been under water since the crash are suddenly worth something) was just enough to tip me over the edge. I had said I didn’t want to run FROM something, but rather run TO -- but I seemed incapable of making any progress on what the TO looked like while sapped of all energy and motivation.

All weekend I’ve been alternating between believing this was the best thing I’ve ever done, and panicking. What will I do for money? Can I really define a dream, go for it, and make it happen? Have I done irreparable harm to my professional chances, should I decide to go back into high tech?

It feels really strange, almost butterflies-in-my-stomach nervous-making, to know I’ll wake up tomorrow morning and not go to work. I’ll have to get B off to preschool as usual, but then … I am a free woman! A spin class, lunch with a dear friend, some reading, and perhaps a nap are on the agenda. I’m giving myself some time to de-tox before kicking the career investigation into high gear.

And then, watch out! Anything could happen!

Nevermind

2010-10-26T22:20:00.001-07:00

OK, so what was THAT all about? Today I feel pretty much back to normal. There's a residual level of "I don't care about what I'm doing so it's hard to generate energy to actually do it", but I no longer feel like screaming and running away when I imagine doing this job for another two months or six months or whatever it ends up being. My therapist said that I wasn't "presenting symptoms of depression", and we speculated that it could in fact be PMS (or PMDD, she called it, premenstrual dysphoric disorder), or my subconscious realizing that T's birthday is coming up, or perhaps it was depression and the anti-depressant I've started taking has actually kicked in, or maybe it was the phase of the moon... Who knows? The plan is to see her again, continue with the anti-depressants, and pay attention three weeks from now when I'm premenstrual again. And not take the medical leave that had sounded so appealing last week, but seems quite unnecessary and even (dare I say) boring today. When I leave, I want it to be under my own power, as it were, if at all possible. Not, of course, that taking advantage of help, support, and a safety net is anything to be ashamed about. But only in the case of real need, and the need isn't there right now. As Emily Litella on Saturday Night Live would say, "Never mind!"

Guilt

2010-10-25T21:53:00.000-07:00

I decided over the weekend that I felt capable enough to stick it out another four weeks. I couldn't face the thought of my co-workers hating me for disappearing, for dropping the ball on them. (I think I have an over-inflated sense of my own importance.) And I haven't told my boss yet, either ... feeling guilty for potentially gaming the system, convincing my doctor that I'm having a harder time than I really am. I mean, I manage just fine most of the time, right? No crying over the weekend, or today, for example. Or is my judgment impaired, clouded by the chemical imbalances of depression?

Tomorrow afternoon I go see my therapist, someone who helped me through an emotionally rough pregnancy, postpartum depression, and T's death. Clearly, she knows me very well and will help me sort this all out. I feel very fortunate to have such supportive professional help.

A Surprising Development

2010-10-22T11:03:00.000-07:00

Well, now we have an interesting development in our story...

On Tuesday, that brutal day of pain and hopelessness, I contacted my doctor to follow up on the thought that there was something more to these big feelings than just work-related dissatisfaction. I saw her yesterday morning, and though I wasn't as emotional as I had been at other times in the last little while, I still cried as I described my struggle to perform and care about work. Surprisingly, she was pretty adamant that I take a medical leave, starting immediately.

She thought that a big contributor to my difficulties may be garden-variety depression -- a little Zoloft and talk therapy, and 3 months off, would help get me back in balance and enable me to approach the career transition question with more equanimity. I talked her into letting me stay for 4 more weeks, to complete the big event I'm in charge of pulling off, but now I'm even questioning that (the waiting, that is).

After the initial shock of the idea of "giving up" and "running away" and "letting down my co-workers" by taking a medical leave, I must say it's SO wonderful to imagine having peace and quiet in which to unwind and restore myself. I'm not thinking about a medical leave the same way I was thinking about a personal leave -- for a personal leave, the goal was to find my next purpose. For a medical leave, the purpose is to simply be. Make no decisions, don't try to learn or plan or make progress on a path. Just read, and walk, and meditate, and do yoga, and have lunch with friends. With a medical leave, I'm not making any statement about the job, and it will be there when I come back. If I'm feeling better and my doctor agrees, I can return before the 3 months is up. If I'm still in turmoil, she extends the leave.

So I'm going to take the weekend to come to terms with the idea of a medical leave, and think about whether immediately or in 4 weeks is best for me.

It comes and goes

2010-10-20T21:46:00.000-07:00

Wow, yesterday was brutal. I felt like I was back in those terrible early months after T's death, where I couldn't think straight for the emotional pain I was feeling. It wasn't the same pain of loss, exactly; it was more like the hopelessness of seeing no way out of a nightmare. Of course, my job is nowhere near a real nightmare -- I have a wonderful supportive boss, all the flexibility and freedom I need, and the opportunity to use my brain every day. So what is so bad? What triggered yesterday's melt-down? (All is not exactly hunky-dory today, but I do feel much better, and capable of slogging through the work for at least a few more months.)

PMS aside, I think it might have been a combination of things. Last week I was given a new project to take on, ironically the type of project I've been asking for for a very long time (years!). But I was already so far gone in my disengagement that having to commit to something new, summoning all the needed energy, motivation and focus, felt beyond my abilities. I don't doubt my skills and capabilities to do the job, I told my boss, I doubt my motivation. (See? I am so fortunate to have a boss I can say that to, and not feel at risk for my job!) Committing to something that just doesn't feel in line with my life's purpose anymore felt so wrong. My essential self was screaming "NO!"

Of course, it probably didn't help to have spent so much time in spreadsheets, planning and plotting how I'll be able to afford not working. Knowing it's possible for some period of time makes it very seductive to imagine quitting when the going gets tough.

And on the "quitting, doing something new" side of the equation, I've been a software professional my whole career, pretty much all my adult life. That's more than 25 years of identity I'm considering stepping away from. What am I, if not a program manager? Will I be able to add enough value to the world if I don't leverage the experience and knowledge I've gained over these 25 years? Not knowing where I'm pointing yet, and contemplating jumping anyway, was really scary.

So I have reassured my essential self that I am serious about doing something different. I just need to get to know her better, to understand all of what is meaningful and energizing to me, before making any significant moves.

If you have gone through a career transition, what was it like for you? How did you know what the right next step was?

Spreadsheet Wishing

2010-10-19T21:53:00.000-07:00

I spend hours in the evenings with spreadsheets and budgets, estimates and what-if scenarios, trying to find a way to feel comfortable walking away from my job. How long can I be unemployed? Do I downsize the house, and if so, how much? I feel unwilling to give up the luxury of this house, but I can cut my expenses in half if I downsize and do after-school care for B instead of have the nanny. Why don't I just do it?

I spent much of today crying on the job. Is that grounds for termination? I talked with HR, I talked with my boss. I met with a good friend tonight to review my many spreadsheets. The prudent thing to do is stay at this job until the next step becomes clear. When will that be? My boss and I agreed that with a new project, you need a couple months under your belt before even knowing if it's got the potential for being satisfying and/or engaging. Can I get through the next 2 1/2 months, until January? I have a small stock grant that vests at the beginning of February, and the final class in a certification program is held in March. Can I make it that far? Do I even care about professional certification in a profession I don't know that I'll remain in? Oh, I can't wait to be on the other side of this turmoil and see how it all turns out.

The Work Continues

2010-10-17T20:55:00.000-07:00

Since the Grief and Growing weekend in August, I've felt like I've turned another significant corner in my grieving. I feel done with active grieving, and my life feels normal again. I don't automatically cringe when seeing a happy family together, or feel the urge to share my story with new acquaintances. I am more sensitive to how that story makes others feel, and I just don't need to be heard so much anymore. Sure, my life is not what I want it to be, but it is what it is, and I'm comfortable in it. There are many positive things about it, including being able to make my own decisions, having quiet evenings to do my own thing, and being able to develop a really strong and secure bond with B. Of course, it's lonely, and I don't want to be in this situation forever. B has taken to asking "Why are we all alone?" and I think it comes from a need to hear me say again "because Daddy died".

Our anniversary was on September 21, and I just so happened to be having dinner with T's sister, father and father's wife that night. We toasted to the event, ruefully and with a smile. A few weeks later I set aside an evening and pulled out the wedding album and video, and reminisced about that happiest day of my life in 2002. Interestingly, I also was reminded of one or two things I didn't like about the wedding -- how T frowned and gestured to me as I came down the isle (OK, so the bouquet was bouncing somewhat dramatically), how I forgot to get a photo of our hands together in our wedding rings (I loved T's hands and have no real pictures of them). How our life together wasn't always what I had wanted or hoped it would be. But it was what it was, and I still sometimes miss him so much it aches.

So if my active grieving is complete, what's next? Well, the work issue has really come to a head. I have such a hard time going to work, focusing on work, caring about anything I do. The only thing that motivates me is helping others, not letting others down. My boss's requests keep me productive, otherwise I would just drift away and forget all my commitments. What am I going to do?

I've engaged a life coach to help me through this crisis. It's painful and difficult to live in the moment, but exciting and energizing to visualize doing something with my time that matters to the world and brings me joy. And I know it's out there -- I just have to do the work to find it.

Losing a Child or Parent, Losing a Husband

2010-08-31T22:11:00.001-07:00

This weekend, B and I went to a camp for grieving families. There were a number of people there mourning the loss of a parent, a few who had lost siblings, a reasonable group of those who had lost a husband (no widowers, of course), and one family who had lost a teenager. B and I had gone last year, when it was an intense, painful, exhausting experience, though also incredibly supportive, loving and nurturing. This time, I wasn't expecting such intensity, and my intention was to work on bringing T forward into my life now and into the future. And it wasn't nearly as intense, though the love and support was still very evident.

Driving home, I found myself thinking a lot about the differences and similarities in various types of losses. In a sad coincidence, the stepmother of the teenager who died was a high school classmate of mine, which brought into sharper focus what it must feel like to wake up every morning knowing that your child is gone. Maybe I'm comparing to make myself feel better, but it seems to me that my loss is easier to "get over". T and I were together 8 years, married 5. I loved him with all my heart, but I'm not sure I would have described him as my best friend, or my soul mate. That saddened me, but it may make it easier for me to imagine being with someone else, perhaps finding what I felt was missing with T. What brings me to tears these days is the loss that B suffers -- the loss of a parent, and especially before she ever really knew him. He can't be replaced in her life, nor can his role in my life as the co-parent of a child.

For the loss of a child, and the loss of a parent, no matter what you do, you can't replace that person. You can have more children, but they will never be that particular child, with that child's future. And you can develop a close relationship with an in-law or other parent-aged person, but he or she won't be the one who taught you to ride a bike, or fed you soup when you were sick. They won't ever know you like your parent did.

Maybe I'm kidding myself, but I believe that I can "replace" or recreate major parts of my relationship with T. Yes, T and I had history together, but really, was it that much? We knew each other for most of my thirties, but as activity companions for the first half of our time together, rather than in any very deep way. We didn't grow up together, make many major life decisions (other than to have a child!) together. Our lives were intertwined, but not our deepest identities.

T's death leaves a huge hole in B's life that can never be completely filled by any new husband of mine. T's death also brought me to a close, personal relationship with loss and the eternal questions of life and death. And his death leaves me lonely and struggling as a sole parent. But it does not leave me unable to find another life partner, another person to BE my husband.

Another Vacation

2010-08-05T22:11:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow B and I leave for 11 days on the beach in Rhode Island. Hurray! We have no agenda, no schedule -- just bathing suits, seafood, and a stack of books.

The genesis of this now annual trek across the country is a silver lining story. As I have mentioned, T had a son, D, from a previous relationship. D's mother grew up in Philadelphia, and her family owned property across the street from the beach in Rhode Island. (As I'm getting tired of using a single letter naming convention, let me call her Tall Blonde, or TB, because she is in fact quite tall, and blonde.) TB and I were always friendly when T was alive, but T was the primary conduit for planning and execution of all things related to D, so I didn't have much of a relationship with her. She was always very gracious and thoughtful, though, saving D's baby things in case T and I had a child, then welcoming B with open arms and no apparent jealousy.

Then T died. Instantly, TB and I were alone in the world, as it were, raising the children of T without him. We quickly formed a bond not unlike close family, helping each other out, celebrating holidays and birthdays together, ensuring the kids have a strong sibling relationship because each was the only sibling the other would have. Admittedly it's a little weird, and I wouldn't have necessarily picked her as a close friend in other circumstances, but I so appreciate TB's straightforwardness, lack of drama and emotional baggage, and open-hearted generosity. (What do I call her? My parallel parent? Co-parent or parenting partner sound too intimate. I haven't found the right terminology to properly explain our relationship.)

That first summer after T died, TB invited B and me to join her and D at the family place in Rhode Island. Sure, I said, feeling like it wouldn't matter if I were on the moon, I was so numb. But I had a very pleasant time, being pampered a little by her family, people who had met T a few times but didn't have the same experience of loss that TB and I did. Last year we went again, since it worked so well the first time. By this year, it's become an annual event, and one I am very grateful for.

I can't help but wonder, though, what will happen when I'm in a relationship again. I imagine we'll stop going ... and I'll be a bit sad. But in a strange way, I can imagine I might be glad, too, to have something else to do with a new love, putting the haven I needed after T died behind me. But I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

I'm Forty-Eight

2010-08-02T21:19:00.000-07:00

I'm forty-eight, and I'm tired. It's been a sad day, one where I had trouble concentrating at work. When the going gets tough, I just don't seem to care enough ... and the going was not even particularly tough today. I'm just not where I wanted or expected to be at this point in my life, and I'm staring down 50 like a freight train headed straight at me. I don't know why it should bother me so much, but not being settled in a committed relationship, not being married and comfortable, especially at this age, is very unsettling. I am practicing reframing to look at the positives, appreciate what I have, blah blah blah. Sometimes it works. Sometimes I just need to acknowledge that it sucks, and I'm sad.

Marking the Passage of Time

2010-08-01T21:55:00.000-07:00

This weekend I attended my 30th high school reunion. I had a very nice time catching up with people, but as expected, I felt a little let down and blue driving home this afternoon. At the party Saturday night I talked about losing T, but not exclusively. I found myself leading with it, then changing the subject after a sentence or two. With people I hadn't known well in high school, I sometimes didn't even feel compelled to share it at all. I was envious of the married couples, but there were plenty of divorced and a few never-married people to help remind me that not everyone is in a perfect relationship. I guess what made the weekend bittersweet was the reminder that the last time I really knew these people, I had my whole life in front of me, and I was full of optimism and certainty that it would be a grant adventure. And yes, it has been a grant adventure for the most part, but darn it, it's half over now! And on that subject...

Tomorrow is my 48th birthday. I don't like celebrating my birthday alone. Luckily, D's mother is throwing me a birthday dinner, bless her heart. I love being a little pampered, and she does a nice job. She's bringing dinner over, and we'll have wine and there will be presents and I will miss T but not unbearably so. I haven't decided what to get for myself for my birthday; it may be permission to buy nothing, since I don't NEED anything and I'm becoming less and less of a consumer over the years. What I really want is for someone else to organize a party for me with all my friends, or to take B for the weekend so I can go away for solitude and spa pampering. Maybe I'll get myself organized enough to make the party happen next year, and come to think of it, the nanny is standing ready to take B for a weekend any time. If I pick a date, I can make that wish come true!

T was 48 when he died. Next year I'll be older than he ever was.

More Evidence of the New Normal

2010-07-19T21:47:00.001-07:00

I forgot to mention (more evidence of the New Normal) that I had one of those potentially awkward widow situations during B's birthday party. B's best preschool friend is new in her life this year, and I only know the parents slightly. They are lovely people, and I was pretty sure they weren't aware of our backstory. Sure enough, early on in the party the dad said, "So where's your husband?", looking around as if he might be hiding out somewhere. "I lost my husband 2 years ago", I said, steady but rueful. He was taken aback, and apologized several times. Later his wife said she hadn't known, and was very sorry. It gave me a chance to talk about how much easier each year is than the one before. And it is. I missed T like I always do these days: wistfully, bearably, normally.

Happy

2010-07-17T21:37:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I am happy. Unreasonably happy, perhaps. I'm not entirely sure why, other than having pulled off a successful birthday party for B and an evening BBQ with dear friends. Apparently, I love entertaining, and when things go well it fills me with contentment.

First, the birthday party. B turns four on Wednesday, and I have always tried to keep her birthday parties low-key. This is the third year without her Daddy, and I guess I've gotten used to him not being around. The first year, with him, was family. The second year, raw without him, a very close friend brought cupcakes and her family and carried me through the ordeal. The third year, I had a little more resilience but still asked our wonderful nanny to plan and purchase for the event. She brilliantly came up with a beach theme, and we had a wading pool and shells and visors and beach balls. And 3 friends, since B was turning 3.

This year, I was able to carry it on my own. We ended up inviting 5 friends even though 4 was the limit, because I really wanted to include B's best friend from preschool along with B's closest friends (really, MY closest friends!) from two of my moms' groups. We are fortunate enough to have a nice pool in the back yard, so I hired the daughter of a good friend, a certified life guard, and the party was a smashing success. What's not to enjoy about warm sun, a cool pool, pizza, and cupcakes?

Of course, the day was not without its challenges. B woke up complaining of a tummy ache, and after consuming half an English muffin and listening to a story, proceeded to lose the muffin on the hall carpet. Then she lay down and fell asleep. What to do? Cancel the party and attempt to reschedule? I called several of the invited guests, and got wonderful, thoughtful advice. I cried a little, too, thinking that if T were here, I would have someone to share the decision-making process with. In the end, B woke up from her short morning nap as chipper as a sandpiper, and off we went. Must have been something she ate, because she had no trouble enjoying her friends and the pool and two cupcakes.

She had a late nap by the time the last guests left (helping me clean up first -- what wonderful friends!). Then we zipped to the store for some fresh Alaskan salmon, and I BBQed salmon, sliced sweet potatoes and asparagus for the friends who introduced me to T. A warm evening on the patio, good food and company, wine and ice cream, and I'm overflowing with happy feelings. I made it through another milestone event unscathed, perhaps even with joy, and I sit here at my desk looking out the window at the half moon and counting my blessings.

Coming Home Blues

2010-07-07T06:55:00.000-07:00

Even though, as I mentioned in the prior post, I'm mostly feeling "back to normal" these days, whatever that may be, I still had a bit of a bumpy reentry coming back from vacation. Last year, arriving home from our annual Montana trip triggered a long, difficult sad period. We had missed our flight (yikes!) and rather than having the nanny pick us up at a reasonable time mid-day and keep B occupied and me company while I unpacked and she prepared us dinner, I had to call in a big favor from a friend to collect us from the airport late at night. We arrived home to a dark, very empty house, and my heart and soul felt dark and empty for what seemed like a long time afterwards.

This year, the effect was much lessened, but I still feel blah-ish. Our flight was delayed an hour or so, on the ground in Missoula while we waited for SFO visibility to improve, and I was fine. A dear friend who lives near the airport picked us up in our car, and I took her back to her place before heading home. No problem. The nanny had done the grocery shopping and was preparing a crock pot dinner as we arrived. Great! But it wasn't going to be ready in time for dinner. Huh. OK, I'll make quesadillas. Nope, we are out of refried beans and the nanny didn't pick up the shopping list before going to the store today. There was nothing else fresh in the house for dinner -- I had to thaw some leftovers. And that was enough to send me over the edge into testiness. What's the big deal? We'll have the crock pot meal tomorrow, and the leftovers were tasty and easy. But it was the disappointment, the mismatch of reality to expectation, that got to me. I had a grand vision of being taken care of, of not having to think or manage for a few short hours after being ON for nine days. It was painful to arrive in the kitchen 10 minutes before dinner time (and nanny quiting time) to discover that I had to take care of myself and B after all, that I had to manage. It was a trivial but recognizable echo of losing T suddenly and unexpectedly, after marriage and baby and the expectation of having a partner to share the care and management with. I am just hopeful that the after-effects won't linger this time.

Feeling Healed

2010-07-05T21:45:00.000-07:00

B and I just returned from nine days in Montana, where much of T's extended family lives. I am very fortunate that B is such a great traveler, because I like nothing more than planning a trip, throwing a few things in a suitcase, and heading off to new adventures. This was a great trip, and I am very glad to be able to continue building our relationships with T's aunt, cousins, and their families. In some small way, I think I was responsible for the family reunion that occurred on a beautiful Montana lake last week, where 24 people ranging in age from 76 years to 3 weeks, all related by blood or marriage, spent time enjoying each other's company. It sometimes takes an outsider as catalyst to bring the blood relatives together. (Photo credit: Robin Spielberg)

While on the trip, I had a small but nice reminder of how far I've come on this grief journey. Sure I had moments of deep sadness when I reflected on T's absence, my loneliness, or the challenges of sole parenting, especially while traveling. But in the parking lot of our hotel early in our visit, there was a truck (this is Montana, after all) with "Just Married" messages decorating the windows. "How sweet", I thought. And went about my day. Later in the week, another Just Married vehicle appeared in the parking lot, and it was then that I realized I didn't get that zinger of pain, that visceral reminder of my widowed state. I'm not a fresh bruise, sensitive to everything. The wound is mostly healed, and I'm so thankful to have arrived at this state.

The Power of Choice

2010-06-24T21:50:00.000-07:00

I shared with my boss the other day my recent job interview experience. As I have said, I love my boss, and knew there would be no unpleasant consequences if she learned I was open to a new job. In fact I believe, as does she, that it's important for a boss to know when an employee isn't getting what she needs, so the boss can adjust the role as appropriate, and help find a new role if necessary.

I learned that my boss has identified me in the upcoming review cycle as ready for a new role within the company. That was comforting to hear, as I would like to stay at the company if I can. (It's easier, and I get lots of vacation for my tenure -- two important considerations!) But more importantly, I suddenly stopped feeling trapped, victimized by my job. Suddenly I felt like I was there by choice, not by necessity, and that gave me a whole new level of patience and resilience in the face of difficulty. "I can handle this! I know I won't have to do it forever, so it's OK for now." seemed to be my thought process. How powerful, how valuable! A lesson well worth remembering, that reframing a situation in terms of choice can make it much more bearable.

Emotional Fragility

2010-06-23T22:32:00.000-07:00

It struck me recently that I'm really much more emotionally fragile at work than I used to be. I guess I was always emotionally invested in my job -- how well I felt I did, how I perceived others as valuing my contribution, how much I enjoyed my day-to-day tasks. But in the early days after T died, I really didn't care much about work. It was something to fill my days, it wasn't too taxing (luckily a lull at work coincided with my world falling apart), and I had no emotional energy left to worry about my career. Recently, though, I've started taking more of an interest, as I face the thought of spending most of my waking hours at work, doing something that doesn't really thrill me.

So I've been dissecting what isn't working for me. And a big piece seems to be related to partnership, collaboration, and engagement with a peer (or several) who cares like I do about what we're working on. Being the only one out in front leading the charge, or more commonly pushing a rope, just isn't satisfying for me. It's in fact exhausting. I know I could handle the rope-pushing better if there were one or more people pushing it right along with me, to strategize and sympathize and celebrate with. And that insight leads me to wonder if I'm looking to work to try and fill the partnership void in the rest of my life. It's not the only place I have relationships with adults, but it is the only place where those relationships are expected to produce something; where there is a commitment to see things through even if it gets tough (not unlike a marriage). Hmm, I guess that also says something about my orientation toward friends. I have a number of wonderful friends, but I think I always expect in the back of my mind to have them just disappear one day -- there's no formal commitment in friendship like there is in marriage, or a job title.

My boss recently gave me some positive feedback on how well I drive organizational change, and hearing that helped my attitude quite a bit. Knowing that what I'm doing is really hard, and valued, and recognized, makes a big difference. But why should it? I'm a grown-up. I should be able to take pride in my work knowing that I'm doing my best, whether others recognize it or not. Is this another symptom of the aftermath of grieving? Or a more fundamental need for validation?

I guess I was expecting a silver lining side effect of grief and loss to be a more inwardly-focused sense of accomplishment, and less worry about what others think. Life is short, after all, sometimes too short. Do what's right for you, and forget about what others think. If that is indeed a result of great loss, I'm still waiting for it to manifest for me.

Definitely Not

2010-06-21T21:52:00.000-07:00

Apparently I hadn't done too badly at my first round of interviews at my old boss's company, because I was asked back for a second round on Friday. I felt better about my performance this time, and was expecting an offer today. What would I do? I didn't feel strongly enough about the opportunity to be willing to give up my Fridays off, but otherwise I was leaning toward taking the chance, doing the more active thing.

And then the hiring manager called and said they weren't going to be making an offer.

Oh well, it means I don't have to make the hard decision. But it was disappointing not to be wanted. He gave me two reasons: first, my hands-on software project management experience is a little stale (which is one of the reasons I want to make a change), and second, the environment is more high-stress and difficult than he thought I could be happy in. I value his feedback, and accept his assessment of the degree of challenge, but still would have liked my first job interview in 13 years to have resulted in an offer. Now my confidence in the desirability and applicability of my skills and experience is a little less firm, and I'm tired already, imagining the effort involved in mounting a full-on job search. But I've started -- I reached out to another old boss for any referrals (he'll keep his eyes open) and a LinkedIn recommendation (he committed to posting one in the next week).

On a side note, I purchased a deck of oracle cards after I got back from Sedona, to have fun while exploring various avenues of spirituality. Twice during this job interview process I did readings asking "Should I take this job?" The first time, I got the "Practice, practice, practice" card. The second time, it was "Autumn". At the time, I didn't really understand how to interpret the readings, but in retrospect, it's very clear -- this was a practice round, expect to practice more, and be ready for a new job in the fall. Whether one believes in the magic of the cards themselves or not, the message is pretty obvious: I've got to work for what I want (practice) and the outcome will eventually be positive. Which is no different than what I've always known, and always experienced. But it was fun to get to that place again through a new path!

What do you think of oracle card readings?

Equality

2010-06-18T20:31:00.000-07:00

I got to thinking the other day about how, while I'm not living the life I wanted to or expected to be living, I also probably wouldn't have gotten what I wanted even if T hadn't died, at least specifically around shared parenting and balanced personal time. Sure, it's an old story, and just about all women struggle with it. I would do well to remember, when I fantasize about other women's happy, intact families, that I would probably still have had a lot of weekend time with just me and B. T was a very active dad to his son D, which I was very much in favor of. I was proud of his dedication and commitment, and pleased to support him. Except when I wasn't... because there were occasions when I resented the time he spent on D, away from me and B. He mentioned once that it wasn't really fair -- if D were our child, instead of just his, he would be getting all sorts of brownie points from me for coaching basketball and baseball, going on cub scout camp-outs, taking D to birthday parties, and the like. Instead, as much as I wanted to be gracious and generous, it sometimes felt like he parented D and I parented B, and I didn't like it. In the very early days after B was born, I felt like we started developing a family identity, but somehow the coming and going of D (we had him every other weekday, and every other weekend) diluted the sense of wholeness, the sense of all being focused on the same thing together.

It also meant that often enough, on the weekend, T would be off coaching, or camping, and I would be home alone with B. Or at a mom's group play date -- I belonged to several because having company in the new world of parenting ended up being very important to me. And when we vacationed, it was the four of us. Other than those very early days and weeks when T was a very hands-on, equal partner in figuring out the newborn stuff, I don't remember much that involved just the three of us. Maybe things would have changed as B grew, and D's needs evolved as well, and again, I wouldn't have wanted T to have been a less involved parent. I guess it seemed to me at the time that he was more involved with D than with B, because he counted on me to carry the load with B, and as a much older child, D's needs were more time-consuming, or at least time-specific.

I raised the issue not long before T died. I felt a little petty doing so, because I was asking T to be more of an equal partner knowing that he had a whole additional responsibility in D. Maybe if I hadn't felt somewhat under-appreciated by T in general, I would have had more capacity to be OK with the lopsided situation. However, after that conversation, T started getting up in the mornings while I was showering to start B's morning routine. I would take over, usually during or just after the diaper change. It was a small thing, but it helped. I don't know what would have helped with the weekend situation; and it doesn't matter now.

But I do recognize that some of my grief is in recognition of what I didn't have, along side the pain of losing what I did have.

Maybe Not

2010-06-15T21:52:00.000-07:00

My job interview on Friday went fine, but not great. I liked most of the people I interviewed with, and believe I could enjoy working with them. The company is poised to do great things. With the first few people I talked to in particular, I felt I was less than compelling in my answers to the now-standard questions that start with "Tell me about a time when you..." I need to brush up on past projects, remind myself of what I did, how I did it, and what I learned. I got better at it by mid-way through, though for some of the questions it was hard to come up with positive answers. I feel like so many of my projects haven't end well, for various reasons (none of them my fault, of course).

I didn't feel the pull, the excitement to dig in and get started, that I want to feel when choosing a new job. Now I'm second-guessing my expectation to feel that ... is it still too soon to have that level of positive energy in response to a job? When I took my current role, 5 years ago after my then-current position was eliminated, I was SO not excited to do the job. I had been burned out by that previous position, my confidence shaken and my professional worth bruised, and all I wanted to do was crawl under a rock, or at least do something easy where the resulting value was clear.

In some ways I feel similarly now. My confidence isn't as badly shaken, but I'm not happy with my track record these last few years, even before T died. Too many projects that started and then fizzled; too much pushing a rock up hill only to watch it roll right back down when I paused to take a breath.

I know I should write thank you notes to the people who interviewed me, and call the hiring manager to ask all the questions I didn't have a chance to cover with him during our hour together. But I'm lazy, or mildly depressed, or just not interested enough right now. And I'm not sure they're going to want to pursue me, given my mixed performance during the interview.

I did reach out to one person at my current company today to ask for career move advice. He has a broad purview of the company, to know what might be available, and also a good perspective to help me clarify what I really want. Ready or not, willing or not, the job search begins in earnest.

When One Door Closes, Another Will Open

2010-06-09T21:19:00.000-07:00

I had a bad day at work today. I got so upset at one point that I had to take a walk outside or I would have burst into tears or exploded. I imagined my escape, considered just quiting, thought about the steps necessary to do a thorough, effective job search. Change is coming. It must -- I'll make it happen.

I've gotten several messages from the universe today that what is required will be provided. The title of this post came in my fortune cookie tonight. Unpacking a bag of hand-me-downs for B from a neighbor, an identical but one-size-larger Hana Andersen dress appeared; just the one B and I decided we needed to replace with a larger size. I just need to trust that the right opportunity will come along, and I will recognize it.

But I really hate being so emotional. Tears yesterday, big upset today; I'm usually on a more even keel than this. Maybe it's PMS.

Another Echo

2010-06-08T21:58:00.000-07:00

My dad has a good friend from college who he is still in close contact with. Avid skiers, Paul and his wife Marla retired to Wyoming 15 years ago or so. Before I started dating T, and in the early years after, I would visit Paul and Marla every winter, staying with them for a week of skiing and relaxation. They are wonderful people -- quirky, maybe even a little eccentric, but warm and generous. Paul in particular is a bit of curmudgeon, but I just really like him anyway. He's got a quick, almost bouncy energy, and he really seems to like me, which never hurts.

T and I had a very small wedding, but we had to invite Paul and Marla. It turned out our wedding day was their anniversary, so I've always felt a special kinship with their marriage.

Paul and Marla were in town this week for a mini-reunion of the college gang, and they asked if they could come see me and meet B. We arranged a rendezvous at my house at lunchtime today. I was excited to see them, but thinking about their visit this morning, I burst into tears in the shower. They are still married, still enjoying each other into old age, and I'm alone. They were our future, but no longer. On our joint wedding anniversary they have joy, and I have sorrow. Etc. etc. etc...

Grief Echoes

2010-06-06T21:04:00.000-07:00

This afternoon B and I met some friends at a local park, then headed to a pizza restaurant for dinner. These friends are from a new moms class I took when B was just a few weeks old, when we bonded over the challenges of nursing, napping, and whether or not to sleep train. We used to have a fairly frequent park play date on Friday afternoons, and I would always call T as B and I were driving home, letting him know we were on our way. After he died, I still went to those play dates, as I NEEDED the companionship, but heading home anticipating an empty house, having no one to call, knowing no one cared where we were and when we'd be home, was excruciating.

Tonight I felt an echo of that pain. It was great to spend time with my friends, I'm happy to see B getting more interested in other kids and start developing some rudimentary social skills, and it didn't even bother me when the conversation drifted into "how my husband does/doesn't help with the kids/house". But heading home to an empty house still stinks.

Work Mojo

2010-06-03T21:30:00.000-07:00

Things continue to be touch-and-go at work. The good days are enjoyable enough, but they're not as frequent as I would like. I've been quite busy lately, working on projects that are important in the grand scheme of things, but aren't big, sexy, meaty projects with stimulating, committed co-workers to collaborate with. As best as I and my boss can tell, our team will continue to run these important but focused, small-scale projects in the near term. And this kind of work just isn't doing it for me. I so want to be part of a team where everyone is in it together, pulling in the same direction, dedicated to project success, rather than often feeling like I'm pushing a rock up hill. Sure, it's a very important rock, and my boss and her boss really care about it, but no one else involved in the project would notice if I just stopped calling meetings, or asking for data, or checking up on status. Sigh.

So I've started looking for other opportunities at the company, as much as I would hate to leave my boss and co-workers. And even bolder than that, when an old boss looked me up a couple weeks ago, I said yes to an interview next week.

It's exciting to contemplate a change. I just don't know whether my lack of mojo is situational -- i.e. I'll feel better in a different role or company -- or systemic, as in nothing will help except time (I'm still healing) or a new career (I'm a different person now). Leaving my current role and company, where I have a solid reputation, an understanding boss, lots of seniority (read vacation time) and a 4-day-a-week schedule for something that may end up being no better and perhaps much worse, is frightening. How do I make a good decision, when there are so many unknowns?

Obviously, this change isn't driven by ambitions or career aspirations. So I plan to make the call on whether to jump ship (assuming I'm given the opportunity) entirely on gut instinct. How I feel inside, how much excitement and pull I feel toward the role, the company, and my potential new co-workers will be my guide. Leaving my current company at this time of year is a bad financial move because stock vests and bonuses pay out in late August; if I find that I don't care that much about the money it's a good move. I have loved my 32-hour work week and feel like I would break down if I couldn't have Fridays to do my own thing; if I can't get that schedule at the new company and I find I don't care that much, it's the right move. If the money or the schedule get in the way, I will take that as a sign to keep looking, or hunker down and wait a bit more.

I realize I am amazingly fortunate to have the job I do, and even that much more fortunate to have the luxury to contemplate my career navel at length, as I am doing. A part of me says I should just suck it up and make the best of it. But a bigger part reminds me that life is short, and doing something that doesn't excite me more days than not is a waste of my time, and unfair to the company too. It's funny (ironic, I suppose) that the same event that gave me a more urgent appreciation for living has also at least temporarily made it difficult to get much enjoyment out of some parts of my life.

Dating -- Or Not

2010-06-01T20:37:00.000-07:00

I'm in this funny state with respect to dating. I want to be in a stable, committed relationship -- I can't imagine not being married again -- but I just don't have it in me right now to do the Match/eHarmony Thing. I did just unhide my profile and turn on matching, so we'll see what happens, but I'm lacking the energy to put myself out there actively.

I love my quiet evenings alone, the total control I have over what I do and where I go, the freedom to dream about the perfect relationship that's waiting for me in the future. If I actually find someone I like, it would mean giving up dreams for a certain-to-be-flawed reality. Yeah, yeah, when it happens I know I will say goodbye to the dream without a backward glance, but right now it's enough to keep me from making "find a mate" a real project.

That said, I do have a plan to get out and meet new people this summer. I MUST get some exercise, and the only thing that has ever really worked for me as an on-going physical activity is cycling. There's a local bike group that rides every Thursday evening, and I'll get a babysitter for Thursday nights through the summer so I can kill two birds with one stone: get back into some sort of shape, and maybe get a date.

Fashion

2010-05-31T21:30:00.000-07:00

I hate shopping, especially for clothes. Unless I know exactly what I'm looking for, it's easy to find, there are no crowds, and the parking is easy, I would just as soon make do with what I've got. However, I do enjoy looking nice. So a long time ago, I availed myself of the personal shopping service at Nordstrom. Doing a big spree once every 18 or 30 months was my way of attempting to stay relatively fashionable while avoiding having to pay much attention to clothes most of the time. Wow, how great to arrive at a dressing room full of clothes selected just for you that fit, in styles and colors you like, with someone there to give unbiased input on what works best!

The personal shopper I used at Nordstrom all these years struck out on her own a while back, but I still use her once every several years. Now that she's not affiliated with any store, we can go anywhere, and she can come to me, also. A couple weeks ago, she helped me sort through my closet, and this past Friday we did a minor shopping trip. How fun! I'm all excited about what I wear again. I haven't completely turned over a new leaf, but I do try to be a little more "put together" when I leave the house. I feel like I'm crawling out of my shell a bit, putting behind me the look, the person I was when married to T. I'm finding out who I am now, who I want to be in the future.

And I can't wait for next fall, when I'll do a major closet purge of the batch of clothes I bought six months before T died. I still remember the outfit I was wearing when I found him in our bed -- and I won't be sorry to send it and its cohorts off to Goodwill.

Parties as a Single Parent

2010-05-30T21:56:00.000-07:00

I took my daughter B and my step-son D to a party this afternoon, a picnic in a grassy field on the nearby college campus. It was a spectacular afternoon, and I was really looking forward to relaxing in the sun, watching the kids run around, and enjoying some adult time with friends. I was counting on someone with kids D's age (10) being there. Unfortunately, the next oldest kids were only 6. No good. D was bored, Bored, BORED. He sat in the car. He pleaded to be taken home. He ate only sweets, all the while complaining of being hungry. Finally I gave up trying to enjoy myself, took pity on him, and tossed him in the car to zip him home. Except it's 20 minutes one way, so I missed a good chunk of the party to chauffeur him.

Then upon my return, B needed to go to the bathroom, and there wasn't a close restroom, so she watered a nearby bush. But she still needed to go poop, she said, so we trekked off to find an open bathroom. Eventually we came upon an open building with a restroom, but the restroom was out of order (and had water all over the floor, otherwise I might have risked it). Wandering through the bowels of the building led to another restroom, hallelujah. And then B didn't need to go after all. Sigh.

So I didn't get all that much time to relax, and now I'm home with a bunch of picnic supplies and half-eaten food to deal with. I think I'll just leave it for the morning. It's times like these that I really hate being on my own.

Befriending Widows

2010-05-29T21:53:00.000-07:00

Quite a while back, I joined a Meetup group in my area for young widows and widowers. Events had been somewhat few and far between, until recently when one of the members offered to organize some weekend activities for those of us with young children. Our first get-together was today, when 8 widows ranging in age from about 35 to 45+ (I suspect I was the oldest at 47) with kids between the ages of 3 and 7 got together at a local park. It took a little while to get comfortable with each other, but then we had the predictable progression of topics: 1. How long ago was your loss. 2. How did it happen. 3. Are you dating, and how is it going.

It is so comforting to be with other people who are living much the same experience. We all laughed at our automatic reaction to seeing a man with children: check the ring finger! We commiserated over the pain of school Open Houses, with all those couples enjoying their children's work together. We talked about how our kids request a new Daddy (B continues to ask). And we shed a few tears over those who had planned to have more children.

There were several women whom I really enjoyed meeting, and I would really like to have more friends in my situation. The challenge will be making the time to reach out and nurture these new relationships. It's so easy to just stay in my shell, going from work to home to social events with familiar friends. And I notice with great dismay some hesitation in getting close to someone who might be needy. Ouch, what's that all about? Maybe I can rationalize it as protecting myself, since I barely have enough resources to keep my own head above water, let alone support someone else. I hope that's what it is -- I don't want to imagine that I'm not a generous, compassionate person.

Before and After

2010-05-18T20:35:00.001-07:00

I just realized today that B has been alive without her Daddy longer than she was alive with him. I have been a single parent longer than I was parenting with a partner. The realization was like a dagger in the heart. And simultaneously, it felt about right. I've worked hard for my sense of competence and independence in parenting, and B is certainly a very different child from when T was alive. As our lives continue to unfold, and we share new experiences, grow and change, we move further away from the wife and child that T knew. That part is OK. The part that hurts is that it feels like we move further away from T, too.

But we still talk about Daddy often, and read stories about grief and loss. B has several times now said, "I'm going to die when you die." What can I say to that? I know that it's just an expression of dawning awareness of what death really is, and how loss feels. I respond with, "Well, no one knows when they're going to die, but I think you'll probably live a lot longer than I will. And I don't plan to die until you're a grown up woman, maybe with children of your own. We'll be together for a very long time."

"I want a new Daddy," she said tonight. Yeah, I want you to have one, too.

Remembering what's really important on Mother's Day

2010-05-11T21:04:00.000-07:00

Mother's Day was not a big deal for me this year. I don't actually remember it being a terribly big deal last year, and the first year was so close on the heals of T's death that I don't think it made any difference that it was supposed to be a special day. This year I got an invitation to Mother's Day brunch at my older brother's house, a "Happy Mother's Day" phone call from my younger brother, a Facebook greeting from my dad's wife (she's pretty savvy on the computer!), and an email from my mother-in-law. A dear friend sent me a sampler of Jeni's Splendid Ice Creams, and B and I had Mother's Day dinner (complete with cards and flowers) at my step-son's mother's house.

It wasn't all rosy -- I woke Sunday morning with a scratchy sore throat, and stayed home in the morning instead of subjecting my brother and his family to my germs -- and I did feel sorry for myself. "Poor me, all alone with a cold and a 3-year-old", I thought more than once during the day. But then B and I played with the old baby sling I used to carry her in as an infant, and we learned that I can still hoist her around in it for 30 seconds or so until my back and shoulder give out. We found old photos of her as an infant being carried around in it, and we took pictures of ourselves with the timer, proving that I still can carry her "hands free".

She is my joy and my delight. She made me a mother, and just spending silly time with her on Mother's Day is about the best thing I can imagine.

2010-05-08T22:05:00.000-07:00

Since T died, I've been sleeping on his side of the bed. It's the side next to the door, and the clock radio is there too, but probably most importantly, the bed feels less empty with me sleeping there. And I still go to bed on that side. But interestingly, recently I've been waking up in the morning to find myself on the other side of the bed, my head on the other pillow and everything, as if I'm making room for someone.

I feel both content in my life as it is today, and ready and open for a new relationship. So I'm on the lookout for something exciting around the corner!

Evidence of the New Normal

2010-05-07T07:35:00.000-07:00

The other day as I was delivering B to preschool, I was asked if I was planning to attend the upcoming school fund-raiser concert and live auction. "No", I said, "Unfortunately I've got other plans". It didn't strike me until I was getting into the car that I said "I" and not "we", even though the "you" the questioner meant was most likely plural -- me and my husband. Did he notice? Did it seem odd to him that I answered as if there were no partner in the picture? At one time I would have been acutely aware of my change in status, of no longer being able to refer, even very indirectly, to a husband who shares my life with me. It seems that I'm used to this new life, where the unit of measure is one. Saying "I" instead of "we" no longer engenders heartache. Heck, I don't even notice. I guess I've internalized the single lifestyle.

That's not to say that I would have enjoyed going to the event, where everyone is there with a partner, in a happy intact nuclear family. I've also learned on this journey that discretion is the better part of valor -- I stay away from situations that accentuate my single status, that remind me of what I had and lost.

Moving On

2010-04-29T08:35:00.000-07:00

I had a vivid dream about T last night. He was alive, having been resurrected somehow. We were not married, though -- our marriage had ended when we thought he was dead. For whatever reason, he and I hadn't remarried when he returned, though we were together and I was quite happy that he wasn't dead. We were in a car, T in the passenger's seat and me in the back, and we were talking to the driver, a pregnant woman who was having a hard time in her marriage. I asked T's permission to share with her our situation, which was somehow relevant for her.

I wonder where we were going? And who the woman represented? The aspect of not remarrying is easy: I didn't want to remarry T because I'm a different person now. I am happy to be with him (feel his spirit with me), but I wouldn't want to return to the place and person I was when we were married. I'm moving on.

Endings and Beginnings

2010-04-26T22:11:00.000-07:00

Saturday's two year milestone went pretty well. B and I were visiting my wonderful in-laws in Arizona last week, and I spent an amazing three days in Sedona while B had a "sleepover" with Papa and Grandma. I had the opportunity to release a lot of emotions in Sedona, so Saturday was quite peaceful. I created a small memorial in the family room, with a Yahrzeit candle, a picture of T, a small bag of his ashes, flowers from the garden, and several small items with emotional value. Before breakfast, B and I said a few words (well, I did the speaking) and I lit the candle. Throughout the day, coming upon the collection of symbols of T's life and the small flickering light brought me peace and comfort.

Late in the afternoon, B and I, along with my stepson D and his mother, headed up to the cemetery laden with flowers, camp chairs, a portable table, paper plates and cups, lemonade, bbq'ed tri-tip, potato salad, cole slaw... a picnic with Daddy. I brought the two poster-board photo collages I made for the kids back on the first Father's Day -- the best pictures of each of them with T. Some close friends joined us, and we sat in the afternoon sun, ran around on the grass with the kids, ate and relaxed and enjoyed being together. T would have really enjoyed it, and was with us in spirit.

Then on Sunday, I sold T's dining table and chairs. Though neither of us had much in the way of living room furniture, we both had beautiful dining sets. His was a Skovby rosewood oval pedestal table with six chairs, lovely but a bit too formal for the room and my taste. I'd been trying to sell it on craigslist sporadically since before the holidays, and each time I posted the ad, I got 1-2 inquiries, but no real action. And maybe it would have hurt more to have sold it sooner. Other than T's car and all the wine he collected, his dining set was the one material possession that had any real value, and it was loaded with sentimental value as well. We ate some of our first meals together as a couple at that table; we entertained countless times around its dark shiny surface. So the timing of letting it go, on the first day of the third year after T's death, seemed appropriate. Another small letting go, another small ending, making room for a new beginning (even if it is just the beginning of a less cluttered dining room).

On Sunday night, I initiated another ending. I told Guy that the spark just wasn't there for me, and I just wanted to be friends. Maybe by getting to know him more, the spark will reignite -- I do really like him. But I was starting to feel insincere when talk and action turned to romance, and that was my signal to stop. I'm too old and experienced to let things drag on past this point; it gets more unpleasant for all concerned. Guy was not happy, but did appreciate the honesty. And I will always appreciate his sweetness, gentleness, and kindness, as the first one after T.

So the first two years of my widowhood are at an end, as is my first post-loss relationship. I am comfortable where I am, and open to new beginnings. Who knows what will come in year three?

What T Loved

2010-04-24T08:07:00.001-07:00

T loved the beauty of nature: a sunset, the crashing surf, redwoods, the peaks and lakes of Glacier and the waterfalls and stillness of Yosemite. He loved blooming fruit trees and the climbing roses in our yard. He would see a brightly flowering tree or plant and point it out to me and say “why don’t we have that in our yard?” He always tried to watch the sun set when we were on vacation, and often pointed out the moon above our back yard.

T loved to swim in our pool on hot summer evenings, and lay on the grass drying off with D. Cold water never bothered him. When snorkeling in the cool ocean of the Galapagos, he never wore anything but his swim trunks. He didn’t like our pool to get warmer than about 80 degrees, because he said it wasn’t “refreshing”.

He loved to travel and stay in luxurious hotels in beautiful surroundings: Napa and Sonoma, Big Sur, Arizona, Massachusetts, Maine, Hawaii, Alaska, Mexico, France, Italy, Spain, The Galapagos, Belize. He had a knack for finding wonderful places to stay and great restaurants.

He loved his friends, and always made time for them. He loved fine wine and fine food, and loved sharing them with his friends and family. He always did the dishes after a dinner party, sending me off to bed.

For one who enjoyed gourmet meals, he surprisingly preferred meat-and-potatoes menus at home. Salmon, red potatoes and asparagus was a perennial favorite of his. Fred steak, and burgers and Zinfandel were popular, too.

T loved his family: his father, his mother, his sister; his son, wife, daughter, niece and nephew. He loved to wrestle with D and kiss B good night.

He could wiggle his ears and pick small objects up with his toes. His laugh was loud and infectious; unmistakable even across a crowded room.

He was a bit of a worrier with D and B, and didn’t like to see evidence of their growing older. He didn’t want to move B from her baby bathtub to the big tub, and wanted to keep the heat on fairly high at night in case she got cold. From the earliest days, he thought D was bigger than expected. He never got a changing table for D, but always changed him on the floor or the futon. There was a period of time in which he would check on B as he came to bed around 10:30, and she would be wide awake and wiggle and smile at him, like she’d been waiting to say good night to him.

T wasn’t interested in fancy technology or gadgets, never using the PDA his dad got him, or his work laptop, or his own login on our computer. But he could find any email sent or received weeks or months (sometimes years) in the past, just by remembering when.

Thank you, T, for sharing your love with me. It lives forever in my heart.

What Happened Two Years Ago

2010-04-23T21:05:00.000-07:00

Two years ago tonight, I last saw T alive. Here is the story of what happened.

We went to Mexico in mid-April of 2008. Two days before we were returning home, the Friday afternoon of the trip, T started feeling pretty bad. He had some intestinal issue, and by Saturday afternoon was so sick he sent me out to find some Immodium-type drug that might help manage the situation. That evening he sent us ahead to the resort restaurant, saying he wasn't hungry, but would join us later for a little while. We were sitting at our table when T's niece and nephew, who were facing the front of the restaurant, saw someone fall on the path outside. We shrugged it off, as the bar was that direction, but it did seem odd for someone to be that drunk so early in the evening at a family resort. A few minutes later, someone appeared at our table asking for me. It was T -- he had fainted as he passed the bar and only just come to.

He was bemused but all there. Several people from the bar had come out to help, and one woman, a doctor, told me it had taken him a while to regain consciousness. A very nice man walked us back to our room to make sure we got there safely. The hotel staff called the paramedics for us, and soon a crowd of Mexican police and medical personal filled our room. The language barrier was a bit of a problem, and all they were able to do was take his vitals. I think they said his blood pressure was low, or maybe high -- I don't remember exactly. They wanted to take him to the local clinic, but it was the night before we were leaving, and T said no.

He was doing better the next day, and made it home fine. Monday he stayed home sick, but by Tuesday he was feeling better and went in to work. He brought home a nice filet mignon from one of our favorite restaurants, and drank a glass of red wine. Meanwhile, I started feeling crummy on Tuesday afternoon, and T's son D was not doing well around that time. B had had diarrhea since the last days of our trip, and was still having problems. Our nanny, who didn't even come on the trip, got sick around then too.

Wednesday we all stayed home. T was feeling bad again, and he had a fever of 100 or so consistently throughout the day. By mid-afternoon I insisted he go to the doctor. He had initiated a transfer to my family practice doctor, though he hadn't had an appointment with her yet. Luckily, he could get in to see her that afternoon, so we packed up B, who was still having her problem, and headed off.

I was not in the room for his exam, so I don't know exactly what transpired, but apparently he did not tell the doctor about his heart situation when she asked about any chronic conditions: his enlarged heart, the valve replacement, or the drugs he took. She must have taken his vitals, listened to his heart, etc. I remember when he had some virus after his surgery, and took himself off to his cardiologist because he said it could be more dangerous in his situation. Why didn't he take it more seriously this time?

The doctor hadn't met B yet, so before we left I took her in to say hello. The doctor congratulated us on B, and then told me T would be fine.

T hadn't eaten much that day. I bought him a bottle of Gatorade, which I don't think he had any of. I think he might have eaten part of an English muffin, maybe a banana or some leftover rice. He sat in his black leather chair in the family room with the throw rug over his knees, watching TV, while I was in the office on the computer. Around 9:30 or so, he went to bed, and as I came through the family room probably soon after, I remember seeing his empty chair and the throw rug on the ottoman and being a bit disappointed that he hadn't said good night. I think he was already asleep when I came into the bedroom, or at least I don't remember him saying anything.

The next morning the alarm went off as usual at 6:30. It was on T's side of the bed, but he didn't respond. I figured he was still feeling poorly, so I got up and walked around the bed to turn it off, so as not to disturb him. (Knowing too well his penchant for privacy and my personal dislike of being awoken unnecessarily, I didn't want to even reach over him to get to the clock.) I was feeling better, so I took a shower and got dressed, planning to head to work. T was still lying on his side, his right arm tucked under the pillow in his usual sleeping position, when I finished getting ready.

I went in to get B up for the day, and she had had diarrhea again that had escaped the diaper and gotten all over her and her bed, even into her hair. I scooped her up and carried her through our bedroom, right past T as he lay in bed facing the other way, and into the master bath where we bathed her. I ran a bath and cleaned her up, while she fussed and cried. Carrying her back through the bedroom, it suddenly occurred to me to wonder why T hadn't gotten up to help me with her. Even if he were feeling pretty bad, he was a very involved and hands-on father.

Still holding a naked B wrapped in her yellow bath towel, I put my hand on T's shoulder. "T", I probably said. He didn't respond. "T! T!" I think I shouted, now shaking him. "Oh my god", I might have said, and ran around the bed to put B down, still naked, on her towel on my side of the bed. I ran back and shook him again. I noticed the hand under the pillow was a little clenched, and his head was tipped at a slight upward angle. He had been sleeping in a tee-shirt and shorts, unusual for him. I pulled the sheet off, and felt his arm. It was cold, and he was stiff. I felt under his armpit, and in his groin. There was a little warmth still there. I ran back to my side of the bed and called 911.

I don't remember what I said to the dispatcher. Maybe "My husband is not responding!" or something like that. The dispatcher told me to get him on his back and start CPR. When I tried to turn him, I couldn't straighten out his limbs. The right side of his face was distorted, and his lips were drawn back slightly, as if a wave of pain had come over him. "I can't turn him over!" I told the dispatcher, and then ran to open the front door so the paramedics could get in when they arrived.

I don't remember hearing any sirens, though I imagine they must have used them. Three or four people came quickly in, and I remember telling a kind-looking man, "I think it's too late". I was ushered out of our bedroom by a police officer (another kind man), and took B into her bedroom to get a diaper and clothes on. I then went into the family room with her and the police (I think there were two by then) and called our best friends E & D.

Did I say "I think T died", when I called them? I don't remember. They both came over immediately. The head paramedic came in and told me I was right, it had been too late. I asked him whether they could tell what time he died, and he said they might guess somewhere between 1 AM and 4 AM. They said they called the coroner, and he would arrive soon. The police were asking questions, collecting medication, telling me the bedroom was off-limits for a little while as it was a "crime scene". I thought that was humorous.

I sat on the couch that T picked out in the family room of the home T found for us, and tried to take in the fact that T was dead. I held B and cried. When the coroner arrived, he examined T's body and then took me and E out to the back patio (for privacy?) to explain that we may never know the cause of death, but an electrolyte imbalance due to his illness, like a marathon runner dropping dead on the finish line, was a likely candidate.

The police suggested that I might not want to see them wheeling T's body out of the house on the gurney, so we closed the doors to the front hall, and I sat on that family room couch trying not to listen or think about what was happening.

At some point that morning I called T's father and told him. "NO!" he cried, and he and his wife jumped on the first plane out. I called D's mother and told her. "NO!" she screamed. I called my boss, crying and keening. I called my dear friend L, and my Dad. I started a list of people to have called. I let E & D, and another close friend of T's, take over as much as they could. Someone, maybe me, called my doula and she arranged for a masseuse to come to the house one of the first nights. I called my grief counselor friend. Someone suggested sleeping pills, and I called my doctor to tell her what had happened (she was shocked and so very sorry) and get a prescription. For the first time in my life I took a sleep aide.

After almost six months, we got the autopsy report. The cause of death was inconclusive, but likely to be a cardiac arrhythmia. He hadn't been dehydrated, but maybe his electrolytes were out of whack. He had stopped taking some of his heart medication on the trip, apparently, so maybe that was a factor. I so much wanted to tell him what had happened, and talk to him to figure it all out. "You died!" I caught myself saying to him in my mind. "Can you believe it?"

A Sad Day

2010-04-11T20:09:00.001-07:00

Tonight I'm feeling down. This afternoon I took B to a birthday celebration for the 1-year-old daughter of good friends, and I was reminded again of how awful it feels to be the only single person in a sea of families. "Happy loving couples" everywhere I turned, many with small children. Happy loving families, with their futures ahead of them.

I think B notices, too. Out of the blue at the party she said "Where's my Daddy? I want Daddy to come home." So do I, sweetie. So do I.

Wanting and Needing

2010-04-05T22:15:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about the difference between wanting and needing in relationships. My goal is to be happy and content on my own, to not need anyone romantically in my life. Entering or staying in a relationship because of emotional neediness is dangerous -- it can make you do crazy, unhealthy things. And with a daughter to raise, I am hypersensitive to putting myself in situations where I might behave in ways that could impact her wellbeing.

But when I imagine being alone the rest of my life, having no one to talk to, no one to share decisions with, no one to help when the car needs repair or we've run out of milk, I get anxious and unhappy. I don't want to be alone, without a life partner. I want to be in a loving, supportive, give-and-take relationship.

I feel like much of my emotional energy is spent wishing to be with someone. In one way, it's good, because I'm focusing my attention on what I want. I'm a big believer in the idea that you get what you put out into the universe. On the other hand, I fear that I'm trying to live the "happily ever after" fairytale, concentrating on getting to the wedding to the exclusion of other goals and objectives in life. Goodness knows, I'm aware that just because you're married, your life isn't perfect and the yearning, striving, and growth doesn't end. But for right now, it seems that I'm all about finding that next relationship.

Which brings me to the status of Guy. I'm still seeing him, and am not actively looking for other men. He is such a nice guy, and I do enjoy being with him. Can you hear the "but..." coming? I just don't see it going anywhere serious. I'm not quite ready to call it quits, but I'm pretty sure that's where we're heading. I dated a very nice guy for 6 years, prior to T, with whom I had a very pleasant relationship that just never quite got to the finish line for either of us. I know what that feels like, and I recognize the feeling with Guy, I'm afraid. Having experienced the online dating world now, I'm not excited about the prospect of returning to it, but that's most likely the next step.

Stuck?

2010-03-29T21:12:00.000-07:00

I've got that itch for change again. A while back, I spent a whole lot of thought and energy developing alternative scenarios for my life. How much money do I really need to live? Should I downsize the house to extract some equity and reduce my monthly bills, and quit my job? Should I take a leave of absence and concentrate on personal pursuits? Move to the wine country and work in a bookstore, or take off to Paris? I finally realized that in all that what-if imagining, I was just trying to find T again. Somehow, if I just changed the right thing, the gaping hole would be filled.

This time around, the trigger for spinning future fantasies was the realization that I feel stuck. Since T's death, everything has remained exactly the same. Job, house, friends, activities ... all have remained constant. I think that in fact this is a good thing. Stability in everything else helped balance the incomprehensible change I was grappling with. But I also realize I am frightened at the prospect of it staying this way forever. I'm living a great life, but it's the wrong life. I was supposed to be married, mostly happy, making decisions and raising my daughter together with my life partner. Now, I'm just drifting, like a space ship whose main thruster was knocked out, traveling in a random direction based on the last push from the now-silent engines.

I wonder if I make some reasonably large change, like a new job or house, will my life feel more intentional? We bought this house intending to stay in it forever. We even called it our "forever house". It's too big for just me and B, though, and if I downsize to something more appropriate for the two of us, will that feel like a positive step in accepting and adapting to my new circumstances? Or will I regret letting go of this great place, the last place T lived in? (You have to disclose when selling a home if someone died in it. How much detail do you think they need? T died in our bed, of natural causes. Will that effect the demand, or sales price?)

Job-wise, I'm still waiting for my professional mojo to return. I took a class related to my field last week, and really enjoyed it, but I doubt that my motivation and interest extends to searching for, landing, and succeeding at a new job. As I said last post, Blah. The more appealing change is to take a leave, or quit. Or best yet, get laid off, with a nice severance package to extend the time I can be jobless. I know I shouldn't even joke about that, with the difficulties so many good, qualified people have finding jobs these days, so it's a measure of the depth of my blahs that it's an option in my mind. And I also know that I'm not wishing to stop work so I can be with B more. At 3 1/2, she's often a delight to spend time with, but quiting work isn't motivated by wanting to stay home with her; it's to not be required to muster up the energy and interest in what seem fundamentally useless discussions, problems, and activities. I dream about working about 20 hours a week at something very satisfying and meaningful, with plenty of time for bike rides, projects, activities with friends, and also fun with B.

I know that in reality, I'm not stuck. I'm cocooned, preparing for my metamorphosis. I'm marshaling my strength and energy so that (to mix metaphors) when the thrusters are repaired and back on line, and real, appropriately motivated change arrives and my new right life begins unfolding again, I'll be ready for it. I'm incubating, gestating, hibernating. I'll be glad when this stage is over, and I can feel like my life is moving forward again.

Blah

2010-03-21T21:09:00.001-07:00

I've been sad lately. We lucked out in Northern California this week, with warm, sunny weather on the heals of the time change. My stepson and daughter ran around in our culdesac after dinner during the week with the neighbor kids, like playing outside had just been invented. I rode my bike 6 out of the 9 days. The redbud trees are in bloom, and they are amazing. But I still feel blah.

Part of it is probably because the second anniversary of T's death is coming up next month. The warm breeze and blooming garden reminds of me one of the last things T said to me: "Our yard looks pretty good, doesn't it?" Part of it may be that things with Guy are tapering off. He's really a very sweet man, and I like him a great deal, but there doesn't seem to be much more developing. And with the anniversary blahs compounding the situation, I think I need to end it. Ah, but I do like him. So, I am conflicted.

I had an old friend over for dinner tonight -- someone I met in 1985 at my first job. We drifted apart about 10 years ago, reconnecting last year when I tracked him down after T died. I just felt the need to spend time with someone who knew me before T came into my life; someone who reminded me of who I was before, and could be again. He is good with kids, and brings his Weimaraner, and B was over the moon with excitement to have a real live dog sniffing around in the house and running around in the back yard. He brought pizza, and it was a much-appreciated, low-key evening. But now I'm facing a week of work, a week of getting up and being responsible and putting one foot in front of the other, and I am not feeling excited about it. I think I'll go lie down on the couch and rest up for it. Blah.

Ode to My Bike

2010-03-14T19:22:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had an unexpected couple hours of freedom in the middle of the afternoon, and the sun was shining. I considered going to a movie, but I've been trying to make exercise a priority, so I summoned my willpower and hopped on my bike instead. And as I rode through the cool, sunny afternoon, I thought about my relationship with my bike.

We've been through a lot together, me and my Specialized carbon-fiber triple crank road bike. I bought it the spring of 1993, when I decided that road biking might be a good option for exercise, and fun too. I had some new friends who were bike riders, and I joined a local cycling club. I learned road biking etiquette, how to change a tire quickly, and how to wear spandex unselfconsciously.

In the early years, I was a dedicated cyclist. I had a goal of 100 miles a week, and kept a ride log tracking distance, average speed, time, even altitude climbed. I got upset when my then-boyfriend scheduled a get-together with friends for the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday, because that cut into my riding time. I took my bike to Ashland for the Oregon Shakespeare Festival several years running (there's great riding there!). I flew it to Washington for a tour of the San Juan Islands, and to Virginia for a ride through the Shenandoah Valley. It carried me from the Sierras to the Sea on a week-long tour in 1995 and from San Francisco to LA on the California AIDS ride in 1999. A family member gave me a license plate trim ring that said "There are only two seasons: biking and skiing".

Then T and I started dating. He was a more casual rider, and would join me on group rides occasionally, but by the time we got married his floppy heart valves were slowing him down, and after his valve replacement surgery the following year he didn't go out on the road much any more. We were concentrating on conceiving, then carrying a pregnancy, then parenting. Cycling for me fell below the line on my priority list most of the time.

I remember vividly the first ride I took after T died. From my journal: "Three weeks today. I went on a bike ride for the first time in years. Turning on to El Monte and seeing the beautiful hills and knowing you weren't here to enjoy them had me gasping and crying. Then I got to thinking about how I love riding but it had not been a part of my life when we were together. Returning to that piece of myself was painful, like the pins and needles of a limb that fell asleep."

Returning to that piece of myself has been harder than I expected, what with the demands of a young child and a job, and the time commitment required for a good ride. I did acquire a kiddie trailer, so I can take B with me on occasion, and the weather here in Northern California is turning the corner into spring. I felt so good after yesterday's ride, and I miss loving a fit, athletically competent body. Starting now, I am making it a priority to get on my bike at least twice a week, even for just 30 minutes. And rekindle that romance!

Trying to Get the Feeling Again

2010-03-12T22:30:00.000-08:00

Back in January I wrote about the New Normal, about how I felt like I was moving out of the phase of active grieving and settling into the new life that T's death created. And I still feel that way. It may actually stick -- I may in fact be past the worst of it. However, there is one area where I feel like there is a longer-lasting legacy of loss, and that is with my job.

I am extremely fortunate to have been in the right place at the right time to have fallen into the software industry in the mid-80's. Tons of opportunity, not a lot of training or experience needed. From that lucky start, I find myself holding down a great job at a terrific stable company, with a wonderful boss and great pay and benefits. However, since T died I find that I just don't have the same level of dedication, the same interest and commitment in pushing through when the going gets tough. When I'm working on something I enjoy, I still get a real kick out of it, and apparently (according to my mid-year performance review this week) do a very fine job. But my resilience is low when a project hits a snag, or when I need to work on something I don't enjoy very much. A lot of the internal resistance is related to having to convince, sell an unpopular idea, or get someone to do something they don't want to do. And as a project manager, that last category comes up pretty often. My knee-jerk reaction is to want to throw my hands up, say "oh well", and give up. It's just not worth the aggravation. I mean, no one will die.

This attitude does not serve me well, I fear. Or at least, it doesn't serve my career ambitions, to the extent that I have any. And more importantly, it doesn't serve my desire to live with integrity. It's wrong to go through the motions, to phone it in. Sure, in the early days after T died, that's all I could manage. (After B was born I had a similar phase, and I cut myself slack then too.) But if I'm truly coming out of active grieving, able to focus my attention on things beyond my loss and the overwhelming idea of parenting alone, then I should either be regaining my work mojo, or I should find another job.

I've shared my concerns with my boss (like I said, she's great!). Maybe I'm just bored, having been with my current company for 12 years and in the same role for the last 5. Perhaps I need a new role, or at least a new and different project, so I can bang my head against some new problems for a change. Maybe a new company in the same field would suffice. I'm not sure of the solution, but this year, I'll be trying to get the feeling again. I just hope that I'll have the courage, energy, and financial fortitude to follow my heart where it leads.

Please Stand By

2010-03-10T22:02:00.000-08:00

I am still here. Really I am! I have four posts in the works. I want to talk about peace, about lingering legacies of loss, about what's up with Guy, and about the mindset of wanting vs. needing to be part of a couple. I'm sure these are all fascinating topics, and I feel like I have a lot to say. But work was CRAZY for a while, and just when it settled down, my in-laws came to visit. They're leaving tomorrow, so I'm expecting to have some quality writing time Very Soon. Thank you for visiting, and please stand by for Great Stuff in the near future.

It still has the power to shock me

2010-02-27T15:23:00.000-08:00

Driving down the road the other day, thinking about nothing in particular, it suddenly hit me that T was dead. "Wow", I thought, "How could that be? How can a person be there one day, and then suddenly gone the next? How can I be living this life of a widow, without him?" There was even body language involved -- I noticed myself blinking my eyes, shaking my head, snorting a little. No tears, no big wave of sadness, just ... disbelief.

Musings on Romance and the Internet

2010-02-21T20:32:00.001-08:00

I find that I'm having a hard time keeping from spinning elaborate what-if scenarios about a rosy, perfect future now that there's a man in my life. "I can do more evening activities, like book club meetings, because He will stay home and be with B," I think. I think about my summer vacation plans, and what to do about them. I wonder how much money we'll save by combining households, and converting two homes into one. How big a place would we want? Where would we live? Stop! It will all unfold as in due time, and obsessing about it now, building up my expectations, will only make me more likely to hold on if and when it's time to let go, or take it harder than necessary if he ends it.

And yet, I'm inconsistent about my feelings for Guy. After our Friday Valentine's celebration, I felt great about him. I couldn't wait until his mid-week visit on Wednesday. Thursday morning, perhaps because of lack of sleep in specific and fear of intimacy in general, I was not so high on him. Saturday's date was (dare I say) pleasant, but the sizzle may be fizzling. A mini-grief bomb went off when he clicked off the bathroom light, just like T did every night of our married life. Same sound, same situation, wrong person, my heart said. Again, I have to remind myself that we're not planning our wedding. We're just having a nice time together, seeing where things lead. If I'm slow to move down the path, that's OK. Pausing to take in the view is perfectly acceptable and appropriate.

I find it interesting that a lot of the widow/widower bloggers I follow have recently posted about dating and the presence of a new person in their lives. I think it's mostly because I'm following a cohort; we all lost our spouses around the same time, two years ago plus or minus, and that seems to be a common time to come up for air, romance-wise. Not everyone, though, because each grief journey is unique. "That's why there's chocolate and vanilla", an old friend used to say. I can't describe how helpful it has been to follow the journey of others ahead and alongside me, letting me know that my feelings and issues are common, that I'm not alone. Thank you, fellow bloggers!

Valentine's Day Ten Years After

2010-02-14T20:07:00.000-08:00

Looking Back

Happy Valentine's Day, T! You and I never made a big deal of the day, but we always went out to dinner (any excuse to visit a nice restaurant!) and exchanged cards. I still have the card I gave you for what was our last Valentine's Day together, in 2008: "It's the same shopping struggle every year... What can you get for the man who has me?"

I so remember our first Valentine's Day, 2000. We had been friends for five or six years, so we knew each other very well. On a ski trip in early February with some friends, when we were finally both single and unattached, a spark was struck. Huh, I thought. And, wow. A week later, the day before Valentine's Day, I was leaving on a work trip, and you brought over a single red rose. Each month following, you brought me more roses: two for our second month, three for our third... In those early months, I walked a foot off the ground everywhere I went.

Thank you for your love, your name, and the wonderful memories of our time together. I love you, T, and you are always in my heart.

Looking Forward
Happy Valentine's Day, Guy! No matter what happens with us in the future, I will always remember with great fondness this Valentine's Day, 2010. Your sweetness and attention has reminded me that the sun does rise again, that goodness returns, that there is the possibility of new love on the horizon.

Here's how our the day unfolded: Because I had an overnight babysitter for Friday night, we marked the event a couple days early. We met in the city for a stroll around China Town, a cocktail at a little French Bistro, and a great Italian dinner in the Financial District. I saw your place for the first time, which gave me so much more information about who you are than just talking on the phone or meeting for a walk or dinner. I enjoyed getting to know you through your aptitude as a host, your cooking skills, and just being with you for a more extended period than we've had to date. And so far, I like what I see. Very much. It was a lovely Valentine's celebration with a lovely man, one I look forward to spending more time with.

Sing A Song

2010-02-13T20:55:00.000-08:00

I've always enjoyed singing. As a kid, I was in choruses and musicals; I've sung in college jazz choirs and mass choruses; I took voice lessons for a while when I was single and had free time. I love Christmas carols and the hymns we sing in church ("Let There Be Peace On Earth..."), and I know the words to thousands of popular and classic songs. I stay away from Karaoke like the child of an alcoholic avoids whiskey -- I'm afraid I'd love it too much for my own good, embarrassing myself and whatever friends I would have roped into joining me.

Most of all, I love singing along to the radio or CDs. Lifting my voice with Bob Dylan or Natalie Merchant, Nat King Cole or Lyle Lovett, brings me great joy and feeds my need for creative expression, without requiring the time commitment of rehearsals. Unfortunately, T didn't like it when I sang along. He said he wanted to hear Diana Krall, not me channeling Diana Krall. Driving anywhere with the radio on, his disapproval was enough to silence me every time, and that hurt my heart. I felt like he was disapproving of the core of who I was, attempting to silence my essential voice. I'm sure he had no idea how deeply he wounded me, though I did try to tell him on more than one occasion. A stronger person could have probably braved his disapproval and blithely lifted her voice, but I am so uncomfortable with discord, it just always seemed easier to just bite my tongue.

Imagine my joy and release when, as Guy and I were walking through China Town last night, he sang to me. And asked me to sing to him. I felt so rusty I had a hard time thinking of things to sing, but driving home, I belted out this favorite, and possibly apropos song:

So close your eyes

For that's a lovely way to be

Aware of things your heart alone was meant to see

The fundamental loneliness goes

Whenever two can dream a dream together

-Wave by Antonio Carlos Jobim

Ouch

2010-02-10T22:09:00.000-08:00

Ah, Internet access! My modem broke last Thursday and I felt crippled. Turns out it wasn't the modem per se, but its power cord. So glad to be back up and connected!

Coincidentally, right at the same time the tendons at the base of my left hand began to really hurt. I'd had a low level of something going on there since early January, and saw a doctor on The Day The Modem Stopped Working. A brace, an ice pack and a bottle of Ibuprofen later, I thought I was set. But by the weekend, I was in excruciating pain, unable to do the simplest two-handed tasks. I couldn't open a jar, cut with a knife, even wash my hair. My hand was swollen and throbbing, and I was miserable. At least it wasn't my dominant hand, so I could still write and eat. Odd, though; it's not like I mouse with my left hand.

A different brace on Monday has helped, though I'm typing this one-handed to avoid aggravating the problem. Why now, do you suppose? Could it be grief-related, or dating-related? The problem did begin right when I started dating, after all. As an exercise in self-discovery, I took myself off to a quiet place and asked my hand what it was trying to tell me. Immediately the answer came back: I want to touch T, and I can't. He is gone. The pain in my hand reflects the pain in my heart, missing T.

Guy is a lovely person, a balm to my sore heart and a pleasure to be with, but he can't replace T. I am perhaps being reminded by my body to go slow, to not take on more than one hand can manage. And so I comfort my hand, and remind myself to Lighten Up.

Triggers

2010-02-03T22:27:00.000-08:00

I spent the day yesterday at a work off-site in San Francisco, as part of a team planning an annual internal conference. I've been involved in this conference for a number of years, as an organizer or committee member or participant. This year my role is to manage a piece separate from the main event, so much of what we talked about yesterday wasn't all that interesting or necessary for me, but the dinner following was quite nice. Great Italian food in The City is never a bad thing!

The conference alternates locations between San Francisco and San Diego. This year it will be in San Francisco, in the same place it was two years ago. And two years ago, on the second day of the event, T died.

I've got a long post written describing everything that happened on that terrible day, and perhaps I'll publish it on the second anniversary. But in short, I had been feeling ill on the first day of the conference, so I stayed home. The second day, I woke feeling much better, so I got up (quietly since T hadn't stirred when the alarm went off) and showered and dressed, planning to drive up to The City. When I went to see why T hadn't gotten up, I found him still and cold in our bed. I never made it to the conference that year.

Last year the conference was in San Diego, and I was happy to participate on the periphery. It was a week or two after the death anniversary, and much of the time leading up to the conference was dedicated to planning and nervously anticipating the interment event I organized. This year, I don't really know how I'll feel, but I do know I was a bit stirred up yesterday. During the social part of the day, I had an overwhelming urge to talk about what had happened -- remind those who had been around two years ago, or tell one of the newbies. I managed to keep myself in check until I was carpooling home with a good work acquaintance. I just really needed to talk about it, and he was a good listener. He shared his experience of painful loss also, so it didn't feel like I was completely dumping on him. I felt better after having shared, and it was a reminder of how helpful it is to talk, to be heard. Thank you, Justin, for listening.

Pictures of T

2010-02-01T21:01:00.000-08:00

We always had a lot of pictures of the family scattered around the house: T and the kids on the mantle, our engagement picture in the entry, wedding pictures in the living room and our bedroom, me and B in the hall, T and me in the kitchen. I put the poster we made for T's memorial service in the bedroom, propped up on the end table next to my old side of the bed. (I sleep on T's side now.) It never bothered me to have T's image everywhere; rather, it was comforting to have tangible proof that we shared a normal, happy life together. I know that's not the case with everyone, as I think it bothered my father-in-law, for example, to be constantly reminded of T's absence through photos. But I wanted to hold T close, to hang on to the memories of him and the family we were, so I left them up.

In preparation for Guy's visit on Saturday, though, on the advice of my mother-in-law, I went around the house and put most of them away. Gone is the memorial service poster, the picture of the two of us at Big Sky in Montana, our engagement photo, our wedding invitation. I left the ones of T with the kids, so they have that tangible proof of his existence with them. But almost all of the photos of the two of us together are tucked away in a careful stack in a corner of the office, frames to be recycled and pictures to be stored in memory boxes for posterity. And it occurred to me as I was doing it that it was a symbolic act, too. Sometimes you have to clear away the old to make room for the new.

Moving Fast

2010-01-31T22:32:00.000-08:00

Guy and I had a very lovely evening together last night, but whoa, things are moving fast. I very much enjoyed it in the moment, and I don't regret anything, but dating with a small child is a completely different beast. I am hyper-sensitive to introducing anyone into my daughter's life who may not be there long-term. Or am I projecting? There are certainly plenty of people who casually come and go in our home and routine, and I have no qualms about introducing B to them, spending time together, and possibly explaining that they're not available at a particular time if she requests their presence. But I had Guy leave before B woke up this morning, because I didn't want her to see him in the house first thing in the morning, even though she has no idea what that might mean. Somehow a love interest seems different; will she pick up on the emotional content between us? Will the appearance of a man in the times and places usually reserved for serious life partners be at all meaningful to her, or disruptive if and when he's gone?

Aside from the impact on B, I also feel hesitant to jump into a (this?) relationship too quickly for myself. While I am lonely and certainly want to be remarried some day, do I want a serious relationship, possibly leading to marriage, right now? Can I handle it right now? Even if I did and could, would Guy be the right one? I mean, we really hardly know each other. I don't THINK he's a weirdo, but I sure could use some broader evidence. For example, what are his friends like? How would he interact with my friends? Here's where my lack of experience sizing up people for romance before I know all about them as friends is a problem. I generally trust my judgment of people, and it hasn't steered me wrong yet, but I also have never had so little information to go on before.

All that said, I do really like him. He is interesting and fun, says all the right things, and likes me. As long as I stay open and honest, which I have been at pains to do, we're both adults. Barring impact to B, we can do what we want. Lighten up, and enjoy.

Reframing

2010-01-25T22:04:00.000-08:00

I was thinking more about how Guy might have reacted to the pictures of T in the house, and the larger issue of my widowhood and the understandable concern of competing with a ghost. (Does he worry about that? If he doesn't, does that say anything about his sensitivity and emotional depth, or about his confidence and self-esteem? I have never worried about past girlfriends or ex-wives, trusting that they were gone and I was here. I hope that means I'm confident and have good self-esteem. :) ) And I was thinking about it myself -- how do I feel about having a new man in the place where T used to be? How do I think T would feel about it? Having just finished Gretchen Rubin's book The Happiness Project, I recognized an opportunity to reframe my thinking. As I began to imagine T being pleased that I was happy, appreciating the rightness of the champagne, enjoying my excitement, I felt a perceptible lightening of spirit. Though I don't believe in ghosts or an afterlife, I do find it comforting to imagine T looking down and smiling.

And such is my comfort level with Guy that when he called last night, I asked him how he felt about the photos. He didn't have a problem, he said; T was obviously an important part of my life. Ah, he does so often say the right thing.

Back Up Again

2010-01-24T15:06:00.000-08:00

I identified yet another reason for my sadness and melancholy yesterday afternoon. Spending a good part of the day with Guy, relaxed and without responsibilities, hearkened back to the days before T, before B. It was so pleasant to walk and talk and be carefree with a "boyfriend", and it felt so familiar, like slipping into an old favorite jacket. Coming home to the commitments and single-handed responsibilities of raising a child alone was hard. Back before B, I wasn't even ever sure I wanted children, and it was only after T and I were married and he was pretty pro-child that I got on that bandwagon. It was certainly never in the plan for me to do it all by myself. Being reminded of my pre-B, carefree days, and finding myself thinking of creative ways to get time away from B, in turn made me angry -- I never want to wish her, or my time with her, away.

But the good news is I felt much better this morning. After all, I had a lovely day with a very nice guy who brought champagne and roses, who I anticipate seeing again. What's not to be happy about? Lighten up! As for wishing B away, it's easy to reframe that thought into a recognition of the challenges and complexity of my life with her. Yes, it is hard. And I need some adult time away from her, for my own happiness and fulfillment. The best thing I can do for her is to take care of myself, both because she gets a happy parent, and because it models the importance of self-care. I will be sensitive to her schedule, planning the bulk of my time away for the evenings after bedtime and on the weekends to overlap with naptime. (Though she won't be napping forever. She's three and half already, and still napping 2 1/2 hours. Keep your fingers crossed for me that it lasts a while yet!) And it's not like I haven't already left her with a sitter several nights a week on occasion -- I guess it's the weekend time that would be new. And just because I feel a high degree of urgency to spend lots and lots of time with Guy, he may not be in the same place, and taking it slow is probably the best thing we can do for the budding relationship anyway. Lighten up! It will all be fine.

A Roller Coaster Day

2010-01-23T21:02:00.000-08:00

What a day! It started with high nerves and excited anticipation in the morning, knowing I was meeting Guy for a hike at a local park. And we had a lovely time. It has been very rainy and wet the last week, but after a bit of drizzle initially, the sun came out and it turned into a glorious day. I immediately felt comfortable and at ease with him, and we talked about all sorts of things. I brought the bread and cheese, he brought the Champagne (really!). We hiked to the top of the ridge, holding hands, where there was a bench with a gorgeous view. (The photo was taken from the bench.) Sharing our hilltop was a young couple who had gotten engaged just moments before we arrived (she still had the ring box in her hand), and Guy offered them a glass of bubbly. We all agreed it was serendipitous, their engagement and our first real date coinciding over good sparkler.

We weren't ready to say goodbye when I had to head home to relieve the babysitter, so I brought Guy with me. He gave me roses then (wow!). I was pleased to show him my home, though after the fact it occurred to me that there are several pictures of T, and of T and me, and that might have been weird for him. We enjoyed some mild adult time together, and it felt like just what the doctor ordered. He left when it was time to get B up from her nap, as we decided it would be better to hold off introducing the two of them until he and I spend a little more time together. I invoked my mantra to "Lighten Up" whenever I found myself heading down the path of relationship speculation, and found it very helpful. Altogether, it was an auspicious beginning to some sort of relationship.

But now I'm so tired. Emotionally exhausted, melancholy, let down, confused, sad. Right now, I just want my old life back, with T's arms around me. B's Daddy. The comfort and certainty of love and commitment, the ease of familiarity. There are so many thoughts spinning in my head, so many reasons I can see for my mood. Having a man in the house, and then leave, reminded me of what I used to have, the man that used to be here all the time. Having him here and then gone threw into higher relief what I've lost, and the loneliness I feel. Having him leave before seeing B was a stark reminder that B's Daddy is gone, and no one can replace him. It feels exhausting to imagine the emotional work required to build a relationship to the level of intimacy and trust that T and I had, and of course there's no guarantee that Guy will be the one. And as predicted, the huge hole in my heart is still there. While I certainly don't regret meeting or spending time with Guy, and I'm looking forward to spending more time and getting to know him better, my life is still the same; he wasn't able to ride in on a white horse and rescue me from the pain of my loss.

Guy is a wonderful person, and his attention is a balm to my wounded heart, but he's not T. Right now, tonight, I wish he were.

Lighten Up

2010-01-21T21:39:00.000-08:00

Guy #2 and I have had three more long phone conversations since I last posted. In fact, I've been trying to write this post for the last several days, and he keeps calling and interrupting my plans. :) We talk about serious things and not-so-serious; about our pasts and how we feel about each other (we like each other); about adult subjects that probably shouldn't be shared quite this early in a relationship.

Ah, the beginnings of a relationship are so fraught, with swirling emotions, the push and pull of wishes, expectations, fears and dreams. I came home from dinner with a friend one night last week, just after the Haiti earthquake, and felt the strongest urge to call Guy for connection and comfort. OK, I had split a bottle of wine with dinner, so I wasn't thinking all that clearly, and luckily I was able to restrain myself, but the depth and intensity of longing, the urgency of need, took me by surprise. I hardly know this guy, after all. Why did I think he could fill the huge hole left by T's departure?

Then I had a very enlightening conversation with my grief counselor, who I still see weekly. She said first off that I was right on schedule and very normal, starting to grapple with a whole new set of issues that arise when widows (and widowers, I imagine) reenter the dating world. It was comforting to know that so many others have tread this way, and have come out the other side safely. And she cautioned that the huge hole in my heart, that deep loneliness and longing, will not, can not be assuaged by this person, this relationship, at this time. It may never in fact completely go away; such is the legacy of loss of a spouse. Trying to make something happen in the hopes that I'll suddenly feel whole, that the pain will be gone, is both unrealistic and unwise. It won't work, and I'll just come across as needy, desperate, or just plain crazy. Hearing that was like a light bulb going on -- it gave me a new vantage point from which to see my emotions and the behaviors they were driving. And I think I actually can separate the feelings that are specific to Guy from the ones coming from my loss. In doing so, I think I can let go (somewhat) of the outcome, let the relationship unfold naturally, and enjoy the crazy emotions, teenage yearnings, and difficulty focusing on anything else.

My counselor encouraged me to think of an affirmation, mantra, or other aid to remind myself, in the heat of emotion, of this perspective. "Lighten up" was what came to mind. Lighten up, it's all good, we have all the time in the world, and if not this person at this time, then someone else at another time. And by the way, I'm having lunch with Guy #1 tomorrow.

A New Beau

2010-01-12T22:32:00.000-08:00

Last night, guy #2 called. We had a long, meandering, pleasant conversation. I felt like a teenager, hanging on the phone with a boy because I didn't want the conversation to end, even though I didn't have much important to say. He confessed that something I said on our walk on Saturday made him weak in the knees -- I mentioned I liked Star Trek. (Well, I do!) In and around more casual topics, he said he liked me, and asked me if I liked beards (I said I most definitely did). We referred back to a point I had made on Saturday, about being more nervous the more you like someone. We both confessed to being nervous. After we finally hung up, having tentatively planned our next get-together on Saturday the 23rd, I had to do some work, then went to bed late. Reminiscent of the night T first kissed me in Vail in February 2000, I had a hard time getting to sleep. OK, it wasn't nearly that dramatic, when my whole body buzzed for hours, but I did struggle to fall asleep and stay asleep. I like this man, he seems to like me, and I am having a hard time not imagining all sorts of rosy outcomes for our relationship.

It occurs to me that right now, I feel like I'm recovering from a divorce more than a death. I'm afraid I had come to believe that T didn't really like or appreciate the core of me: my enthusiasm and puppy-dog energy, my inclination to organize and plan things, my sometimes changeable passions. Coming home from an appointment with my grief counselor today, I burst into tears when I realized that perhaps subconsciously I suspect that T left me because he didn't love me. Oh, and my mother, too, having died when I was 24 -- everyone important in my life leaves me. If there is any chance that #2 can soothe that pain, then no wonder I'm struggling to keep from spinning romantic endings to this first baby-step beginning.

And then fear of rejection reared its not unexpected head. T left me by dying; what if #2 hurts me too, or treats me badly? And yet I really want to be extra-authentic, absolutely myself, crystal clear in who I am and what I'm like, so that I don't end up in a relationship again where I feel like I have to be different somehow, that expressing my core self isn't encouraged and supported. Being open-hearted and vulnerable, while also taking things slowly and really getting to know this guy for who he is, independent of what he can (or can not) do for me, is I suspect a challenging balancing act.

But boy, it's good to be back in the thick of life! I feel so much wiser about the ways of the heart, yet still so vulnerable to them. I was so glad he called last night. After we hung up I sent him my real email address, and checked all day today to see if he responded. He hasn't. It's exhilarating, amusing, distracting, exasperating, and fun!

Abundance

2010-01-10T21:10:00.000-08:00

Let me preface this by saying that as an adult, I've never been a church-goer. Raised Unitarian, I'm appalled at the things done in the name of organized religion. If pressed to name something I believe in, I say "evolution". (The elegance and simplicity of the mechanisms of evolution amaze and delight me every time I contemplate them.)

However, for the last year or so, I've been attending a church. It's a Unity church, which is to say, it's liberal and progressive, supports individuals of all spiritual persuasions, and is just an open, friendly, welcoming place to regularly contemplate the meaning of life. You (read I) don't even have to believe in God; believing in the inherent goodness of humanity and the value in coming together as a community to share ideas and practices that can bring peace and understanding is all it takes.

Anyway, at the Sunday service after New Year's, we did a "white stone ceremony". After a brief meditation, on a small rectangular stone we each wrote a word or two that we felt could be our touchstone for the year. What did I want to focus on, to come back to, in my daily life? The minister related how she used "centered" as her touchstone last year. I closed my eyes, and thought about all I have, and all I want for myself in the new year. I am really so fortunate in all aspects of my life, barring the rather significantly unfortunate event of losing a spouse. "Abundance" came to me as I sat; abundance in all I have, and abundance in the love that I hope to find waiting for me at some point in the future. This year I will remind myself often of how abundance shows up in my life, in ways large and small, and be on the look-out for experiences that can be interpreted as expressions of abundance.

That was last Sunday. And what do you think happened in the days immediately following? I put out a few match dot com and e harmony dot com feelers, and by Thursday I was starting a 3-day, 4-coffee-date string of meeting new men. Abundance! It's not like I didn't spend time on those sites last year, but for all the effort I put in then (which was admittedly not that much, but still), the only result was a single meeting and an attempted (but not completed) phone conversation. Obviously, I wasn't ready then, and I am now, and the vibe I sent out says as much. Fascinating!

So how did it go? The two men who contacted me were nice, but I didn't feel any real connection. The two where I initiated were more interesting to me, and I'll be seeing each of them again. How fun! Even if nothing comes of it, it's a reminder that there are plenty of fish in the sea, a few of whom might even be interested in a closing-in-on-50 mom of a young child, with the emotional baggage of the loss of a spouse and an inferiority complex when it comes to her desirability as date material. (It's funny -- I don't doubt my ability to be a great wife. It's just in the more superficial world of dating, online or otherwise, I have never felt like I can successfully compete with cuter, more flirty, more effective-at-playing-the-game women. And I'm afraid that my young daughter makes me less desirable to men of my age, while my age makes me less desirable to younger men who might want to raise a young child.)

I can't help but compare each of the two interesting men to T, but rather than judging them on the results, I'm trying to use the information to gain an understanding of what's going on with me. For example, one guy seems quite gentle and sensitive. T, not so much. Finding someone who is better at communicating, more comfortable sharing his feelings and listening to me talk about mine, is very important to me. The other guy seems to be wittier, and have a dry and maybe even slightly sarcastic sense of humor. Sort of like T. And though I like them both, I admit to feeling more comfortable with, more of a romantic spark with, the second guy. Plus, he is tall, slim, and bearded, just like T was. I don't think I'm trying to replace T, and T himself was attractive to me initially because he was tall, slim and bearded. (What can I say? I like beards. As a taller woman, I like how they make me feel more feminine.) But I will be keeping an eye on my expectations and assumptions about who these guys really are, always trying to see them as themselves, and not who I imagine them to be, or who I wish T could have been. And above all, I plan to have fun getting to know some new people!

The New Normal

2010-01-06T20:49:00.000-08:00

I'm really feeling quite normal these days. I don't think of myself first as a widow anymore, as someone coping with a loss. Instead, I label myself a sole parent, and someone who is coming out of the coping phase, moving out of active grieving. When meeting new people, I no longer have that uncontrollable urge to share my story. It's now a controllable urge! Perhaps I like to tell for the shock value or its ability to make me feel unique and special, but not as an excuse, not to let me off the hook for whatever awkwardness or transgression I feel I may have committed. I don't feel the desire to play the widow card much anymore.

And it used to be when friends asked how I was, I would answer something like "fine, given the circumstances." Obviously not good on an absolute scale, but relative to my situation, good enough. Now, at least today and this week, I don't feel the need to qualify it so much. On an absolute scale, right now, I'm actually doing OK, I think.

I remind myself of the ebbs and flows of grieving. I recall this time last year, through the late winter and spring, when I was feeling pretty good. The calm before the storm, it turned out, when from mid-summer through late fall I was in a pretty sad place. And so it may go this year, too, and that's OK. Two steps forward, one step back, and the lows don't go as deep or last as long, in general. 2010 will definitely be better than 2009, which was infinitely better than 2008.

Reading is easy. It's living that's sometimes hard.

2010-01-04T22:05:00.000-08:00

T used to tease me about reading when I could be experiencing. We'd be driving through beautiful countryside on vacation, and I'd have my nose buried in the guidebook. Or I'd be nursing B and reading a book on breast-feeding. I understood what he was trying to convey, but it never really sunk in. I mean, you gotta know where the best restaurants are, right? And how to do side-lying nursing.

Somehow today I was thinking about the reading I've been doing on meditation, and how little I actually do it, and it struck me that while I completely buy into the immense benefits of meditation, I haven't make it a priority to have a daily practice. And it reminds me of the gardening reading I did for quite a while. I know a lot about plants and gardening in theory, but I don't go out and actually get dirt under my fingernails very often. I'm an armchair gardener. And while I understood the theory, I never did get the hang of side-lying nursing.

I think there are two parts to my bias for reading instead of living. One, I like being prepared, in control. Reading about something, for example a travel destination or a how-to manual, provides context and a framework in which to operate, so I'm not flying blind. I know what to expect, what's normal, and how to handle surprises and problems. And two, it's a whole lot safer and/or easier to get vicarious thrills from a book than going out and doing the real thing. I can talk about how important it is to be careful of the root ball when planting bougainvillea, but I'll ask the yard crew to plant it for me. But reading can distance you from living, pulling you away from direct experience and into your head. I used to read for escape as a kid, when my parents would fight with each other and my older brother. I still read a lot, substituting a book for the TV as my method of being a couch potato. It's a pretty harmless coping mechanism, far better than alcohol or drugs or bad behavior.

But in 2010 I would like to tip the balance a little more toward living. Not that I won't still read a whole lot, especially for the illusion of control. But I'll also make sure to stop, take my head out of the book occasionally, and be in the moment. Enjoy the sun coming in the family room window in the morning and the fire murmuring in the grate in the evening. Be mindful of the moment I'm living in, because there is no other.

Life Lessons from the Big Big Loader

2010-01-03T20:56:00.001-08:00

Life Lessons from The Big Big Loader

If T had a favorite kid's toy, it was the Big Big Loader. He first saw it at a close friend's house, where three boys and their parents resided cheek-by-jowl in a tiny two-bedroom house in Southern California. It takes up a bit of floor space, is not terribly robust (it can't be easily moved once set up and shouldn't be jostled), and provides no interaction, but everyone was fascinated by it. When D was old enough, T got a Big Big Loader for our house, and we got quite good at setting it up, just to watch it do its thing.

It's endlessly repetitious -- scoop, dump, load, dump, roll, scoop, dump. Over and over, the same exact thing without variation. But it does it so well, so neatly, with such focus and dedication. It's mesmerizing to watch; you can't believe how well it all works together, time after time, never slowing down or getting tired.

I set it up at Thanksgiving, and B and our Thanksgiving guests all loved it. Such a clever design! Each piece works so well with the others, doing just its one little action in the elaborate choreography of the whole.

It's a bit like life. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Sleep, wake, bathe, talk. Work, care for others, love. The same exact thing over and over, day in and day out. Yet a life lived with focus, dedication, and attention to doing what needs to be done at any moment can be a life of peace and joy.

Date Report

2010-01-02T19:51:00.000-08:00

Remember the older gentleman (OG) I met at the singles event a few weeks back? We had a glass of wine together last week, and then a Real Date on Wednesday night (my first in ten years!): dinner at a nice restaurant. He's a nice guy, and easy to talk to, but I'm not (at least yet) feeling the spark. Our conversations so far have been pretty surface; no discussion of my loss or his divorce, nothing at any real level of intimacy or disclosure. On the other hand, he's funny, especially in his emails, a bit self-deprecating, which I find endearing, and sweet. How much more time do I give it? I've never dated anyone that I didn't first know pretty well as a friend, so attempting to become acquainted while also deciding if there's a romantic attraction is weird. What about kissing and such? OG gave me a nice kiss on Wednesday night, and I didn't know how to respond. My gut reaction wasn't favorable, I'm afraid, but I don't know if it's my intuition saying it's not a good fit, or just lack of knowledge of him. I don't think it's unconscious guilt surfacing, because I sure don't feel like I'm still married. I can imagine being attracted and responsive to someone other than T, certainly.

Since OG paid for our first two dates, I feel almost compelled to invite him to dinner on my dime, as I have an almost visceral distaste for being thought of as acting entitled to men's financial favors. So I'll likely give it some more time, and it may simply evolve into a comfortable friendship rather than a romance. Having a pleasant companion who cleans up nicely isn't a bad thing, after all.

In the meantime, I'm considering whether to make "finding a partner" a New Year's Resolution, or at least a focused project for 2010. A friend of mine recently described the very determined steps a friend of hers took to find a mate: he decided to go out with at least 20 (or maybe it was 50 -- some large number) of women in a short period of time. Intelligence was important to him, so he narrowed the field to women who had graduated from a local high-caliber university. My friend claimed he wasn't a player; he was serious about getting married and he knew that it's a numbers game. Treating it as a project worked for him, too, as he's now engaged to one of the women he met. Am I ready to dive into the challenges and commitments of a serious relationship? Heck, am I ready to invest the time and emotional energy into serious dating?

Good Enough Holidays

2010-01-01T22:15:00.000-08:00

Trying to remember back to last year's Christmas preparations and actual event, I find I can't really recall what we did, how I felt, what it was really like. So while this year is fresh, I thought I would try to capture the traditions we kept and abandoned, the spirit of the holidays, and my emotional state.

The run up to the holidays, the anticipation of the event, wasn't bad. I decorated, albeit somewhat half-heartedly. I got down the "tier 1" Christmas boxes and pulled out most items. I hung the front door wreath, put up red velveteen bows on the courtyard pillars, placed the carolers and stockings on the hearth. I put up Christmas lights on the courtyard arbor, got a small tree and put it on a low table, baked a few batches of Christmas cookies, and hopefully started a new tradition of taking B to see The Nutcracker.

I didn't decorate the back patio the way we (T) always did in the past, with velveteen bows on the pillars, small Christmas lights on the pool fence, and a big poinsettia on the table. Nor did I get poinsettias to line the front walkway, or hang Christmas lights along the roof edge. These were things that T always did, a bit more elaborate than I would do if left to my own devices. And now that I am, I didn't. I missed the feeling of having someone else put thought and care into the atmosphere and ambiance of our home.

I have all the tree decorations from my family and T's family, along with a goodly number of ornaments T and I (mostly T) picked up in the years we were together. The tree I got this year was small enough that our ornaments were sufficient, along with a few of my childhood favorites: the colored icicles, the decorated eggs. There may have been some favorites I didn't pull out, but I just didn't feel strongly enough to search for them. The tree was slightly crooked, and I didn't care enough to reset it straight. "Good enough" was my mantra.

Some time in December we always threw a Christmas dinner and "How the Grinch Stole Christmas"-watching event for our good friends, three families we called "the usual suspects". (We served Roast Beast, of course.) Last year, the first year without T, one of the families volunteered to manage the food if I was willing to host. It was an ideal arrangement, and last year's party would have been fine except B had an infected toe that landed us in Urgent Care for a couple of hours that evening.

This year I never got around to organizing the event. No one mentioned it, or volunteered to co-host with me, and I felt sort of hurt by that. It was a big deal for T, and having no one say anything about it made me fear that they didn't get as much out of the event as T (and I) did. But it's equally possible (probably more so) that they didn't want to make me feel bad for not throwing the party, or make me feel obligated to. In any case, B and I watched The Grinch one time, Rudolph a couple times, and we never did see Charlie Brown's Christmas. Nor did we get together with two of the three families during the holidays. I miss them, and the community we had, but it's just different without T. He was the magnet that pulled us all together. I can't do it without him, and no one else seems to care the same way T did about this particular constellation of friendships.

On New Year's Eve, one family of the usual suspects invited me to a dinner party. (The other usual suspects weren't included -- it was a different circle of friends.) New Year's Eve was never a big deal for T and me, so I would have been content (though sad) to spend it alone. But it was nice to have somewhere to go, to get a little dressed up and drink champagne. One of the other guests was someone I hadn't met before, so it was pleasant to get to know someone new.

Today, New Year's Day, was spent attempting to get the house back in some sort of order, and hanging out with B. I had a thought of going to the beach, or to T's niche at the cemetery, or even to scatter the last portion of T's ashes somewhere meaningful, but it all seemed like just a little too much trouble. The house is still in a pretty chaotic state, so I'm not sure if the symbolism of leaving the house for some beautiful natural destination wouldn't have been more fulfilling, but oh well.

So I would characterize my state of mind for this holiday season as half-hearted. I wanted to make it fun for B, but otherwise I preferred to fly a bit under the radar and get by with a minimum amount of effort and fuss. I liberally applied the 80/20 rule: you get 80% of the benefit from 20% of the effort. I missed T, but not piercingly so. I didn't like being alone, but it wasn't terrible. I think B had a good experience, with plenty of "tradition", so I feel good about the balance I struck.

I am working on a few New Year's resolutions, and I'm looking forward to what 2010 will bring. More on both these topics in a future post. Happy New Year!

Peace and Joy

2009-12-25T21:26:00.000-08:00

This second Christmas without T, I made it through in one piece. With some measure of peace and joy, in fact. We spent the day at my stepson's mother's house, opening presents (didn't get through them all), eating, playing. My stepson's mother is a great gift-buyer, stuffing B's stocking and mine as well as her son's. It's so nice to have some surprises to look forward to on Christmas! A couple new books, a pretty Christmas brooch, a calendar of family photos -- thank you J!

B and I made it home just in time to get ready for my Dad and his wife to arrive for Christmas dinner, a simple seafood stew I put together quickly. B had no nap, but in her good-natured way, she did just fine. Christmas music, a good Chardonnay, cookies and apple crumb pie (yum!). And a quiet weekend ahead, for lounging and reading and taking it easy.

Merry Christmas, everyone. May the peace and joy of the season find its way to your heart, wherever you may be.

Losing Patience

2009-12-21T21:59:00.001-08:00

I came home today and somehow lost my patience. Everything grated on me; everything was too hard to navigate and took too much effort to manage. I felt overwhelmed by serving dinner, I read the paper instead of playing with B and then was short with her during bedtime because I had gotten the routine started late. My stepson is with us tonight, and I let him play on the computer all evening instead of suggesting a game with me, or that we read together. I just want to have no obligations, no commitments, and be able to do whatever I want.

What's wrong with me? What triggered it? I don't know, but I did notice that I resisted letting go of the bad feeling. Something in me wanted to feel overwhelmed, and wasn't ready to take a deep breath and let it go. There's energy in bad feelings, isn't there? Energy in anger, in frustration, in resisting the way things are.

So I let myself off the hook, let myself be angry and frustrated and pissy. It's mostly faded, but now I'm sad and tired. Ah well, tomorrow is another day.

The Gift of Triggering Tears

2009-12-18T22:03:00.000-08:00

My daughter goes to preschool three mornings a week, to a class of about 16 kids and three teachers. The head teacher is a tiny blond woman named Teacher Laura, who had my step-son in her class 6 years ago. She is a warm, friendly woman, down-to-earth and kind, and I often find myself in tears when I talk with her. I don't know what it is -- her empathy, the fact that she knew and remembers my husband, some unconscious vibe of loving care she exudes -- whatever it is, she triggers my emotions like no one I've ever encountered. I cried three times today, once talking with her about how B has inherited T's introverted nature, again when telling a close friend about the encounter, and just now as I describe it on paper. When I cry in her presence, she doesn't pay any special attention to my tears, neither expressing concern that I'm crying nor trying to change the subject or excuse herself. She's just there; present, open and warm. What a gift she has! She is effortlessly helping me get in touch with my feelings, and I so appreciate her.

I Am Full of Instructions

2009-12-17T22:51:00.000-08:00

I have recently become aware of how many instructions I issue to my daughter. "Don't forget to use soap", I say. "Can you pick up your socks, please?" "Let's brush teeth now". I had an a-ha moment the other day listening to our wonderful nanny. "Look, your clothes are on the floor", she said. Just a statement of fact, said with a tone of mild interest. What's going to happen next? the tone implied. And darned if B didn't pick up her discarded shirt, pants and underwear and put them in the laundry basket. I LOVE our nanny. She is fantastic with kids, loves to be with them, and has a way of interacting that gets results without heartache.

Clearly, at nearly three and a half, my daughter knows what tasks need doing. Clothes go in the laundry, teeth get brushed, hands are washed after potty. If I let her take the lead, the right stuff will get done. But oh, it can take forEVER. "Must ... sit ... on ... hands", I tell myself as I watch the painfully slow progress of any routine task. The nanny always seems to have forefront in her mind that she is helping B to become an independent, self-sufficient individual. Time spent now encouraging capability and responsibility is worth it; instructing her each step of the way to pee, pull up her pants, flush, turn on the water, unstick the soap from its holder, lather, etc. etc. etc. when she knows full well what comes next might result in a few minutes saved today, but much longer battles at age 9 when she needs micromanaging to get her homework done.

So, as an early New Year's resolution, I'm starting to bite my tongue when I can, and when I can't, attempting to simply state facts, not instructions. Oh, and breathing, relaxing, and letting go of the desire to always move things along at my pace. What techniques do you favor (whether you actually use them or not!) in encouraging independence?

Complicated Family

2009-12-16T20:08:00.001-08:00

I don't have a "normal" family. Even before T died, it was complicated by the fact of D, his son from a previous relationship. Now it's so unsymmetrical it's crazy -- my family is B, but B's family is me and D, her half-brother. I was/am D's stepmother, but D's mother has no formal relationship with B. What do I call my late husband's father? And his father's wife? In-laws, I guess, though with the marriage having been dissolved by death, that law is no longer in effect.

This complexity has practical implications. Ever since T and I were married, we sent a family picture in our Christmas cards. First it was the three of us (me, T and D), then we became four. Last year, the first Christmas since T died, it was back to three. Taking and sending that photo was so hard, but it felt so important. Like the picture I had taken at my company holiday party, it was necessary to capture and reflect the new me, the new family.

This year, I happened to show a friend a JC Penney portrait of B and me taken a few months ago. "Oh!" she said. "You should use this for your Christmas card!" That got me thinking -- do I want to use a beautiful, good-quality photo that I think I look OK in, but without D, or a hit-or-miss snapshot taken with a camera whose flash seems to be having problems, so D can be included? After all, what is my role in D's life? What is our relationship, really? Is this Christmas photo my family, or B's family? Digging into my hesitation, I recognized some residual resentment toward D, toward T's need to divide his attention between me and D, and then also between D and our daughter B. And resentment at the complexity of my situation, my non-normal family.

Then I read an Ann Landers column (yes, I read her daily!) about grandparents who were wondering what their relationship should be to the new half-sibling of their grandchild. Paraphrasing, she said something like "see if you can find it in your heart to be generous and inclusive." Suddenly, the answer was crystal clear. D will always be invited to participate in this little family. Even if I remarry and form yet more complex family relationships, I want to him to know that he has a place with me and B if he wants it. At some point he may choose not to participate, temporarily or permanently, but I can not and must not add to his loss. His father is gone. If it is in my power, I must make sure the rest of his family relationships, however complicated and unconventional, remain loving and strong.

And incidentally, I found a great holiday card template that includes 6 small photos on the front, and one large one inside. I put the Christmas snapshot of the three of us on the inside, and my favorite pictures of both kids, plus the one of me with B, on the front. Problem solved!

On My Way

2009-12-15T20:51:00.000-08:00

On Saturday night I went to a singles party, a "social networking club" event put on by my college alumni association. It's nice to live so close to where I went to college, because there is a large contingent of alums, and among that group, there are plenty of single people to mix and mingle with. This is the third or fourth social networking event I've attended, and up until now I always had a nice time, but didn't proceed to the next step, as it were -- didn't exchange contact information with anyone.

Saturday's event was in a very nice wine bar, with beautiful stucco walls and beamed ceilings, a cozy fire, and two glasses of wine included with admission. It was pretty crowded by the time I had extracted myself from the home fires, found parking, and made my way in. A pleasant-looking, slightly older gentleman stood alone at the corner of the bar, facing the room. Now, this party was a mixed age event, so there were plenty of twenty-somethings along with us more mature singles. I feel uncomfortable around the young set, being nearly old enough to be their mother and afraid of unfavorable comparisons with the young woman. So when I have the opportunity to chat with people more in my demographic, I take it.

Mr. Older Gentleman (I'll call him OG) turned out to be a nice man, but definitely more mature -- perhaps 15 years older than me. Divorced three years from a much younger woman (her parents were only 8 years his senior), childless, he has his own management consulting firm and a second home in the wine country. A Man Of Substance, I would say. But I liked him, in a comfortable, no-fireworks way, and we chatted pretty much the whole time I was there.

Several other people joined us at different points in the conversation, including an acquaintance I hadn't seen for a number of years. "What have you been up to lately?" she asked me, and I took the bait and said I was a widow with a three-year-old daughter. OG didn't blink, and even shared an interesting personal observation that grieving can be viewed as having a half-life: you feel half as bad after a certain period of time, then half as bad as that after the same amount of time passes again, etc. (He did a better job of explaining.)

When it came time for me to head home, he asked if he might give me his card. Sure, I said, and I gave him one of mine, too. I'm not sure of the current dating protocols, but I understand there's a "three-day rule", a waiting period after meeting someone new before making contact. If I didn't hear from him by today, I was going to shoot him a friendly email suggesting a wine or coffee date.

And darned if I didn't get an email this afternoon from him, suggesting we meet for a glass of wine next Wednesday. !!!

It's been fun thinking about him, and thinking what he might think of me. Why didn't he have children, what are his political and social views, does he enjoy travel, is he a good communicator? Would he appreciate my goofy side, does he find independent and capable women attractive, would he love my daughter? I would have said his age is a show-stopper, except it's not like I'm contemplating marrying him. It's a practice run, and I'm just looking for someone nice, someone I can trust and feel comfortable with, to dip my toe into the dating pool with. Apparently, I'm on my way!

The Company Holiday Party

2009-12-06T14:32:00.001-08:00

Last night was my company holiday party. They always do a very nice job at a lovely venue, so though I skipped it last year (too soon!) I decided to attend this time. I've been with the same company since before T and I were together, and he and I went to the event every year. So many memories of T and me dressing up, chatting with co-workers, eating and drinking, dancing at our one annual opportunity ... roundabout mid-day yesterday, I was beginning to doubt my resolve.

But sometimes the outfit makes all the difference. I was thinking I would wear the same skirt and festive taffeta blouse I've worn several times before. The blouse was a favorite of T's, and I was having trouble facing the thought of wearing the same thing, just without the chic accessory of a husband. Luckily as I was trolling my closet, I came across a shimmery gold cowl neck sweater set. It wasn't something I associated with T, and it was seasonal and not too out of date. It immediately turned my mood around.

Riding on the company-provided bus up to the party, almost everyone was part of a couple. I felt conspicuously alone. But then I realized everyone had a different story, was in a different place in relationship with their partner. There were a few other single people, and the pair in front of me seemed to be just friends attending the party together. Not everyone was a happily married couple attending the way T and I had so many times.

I am very glad I went. And in some ways, it's easier alone: no one to negotiate with about where to go, when and with whom to engage in conversation, and for how long. I decided I was expressing my courage -- acknowledging it was hard, there were demons to face, but as a friend at the event said, "Avoid avoiding". Talking to good friends, the tears came easily. But they dried easily, too. At times during the night, I felt out of place, an impostor. But at other times, I was genuinely enjoying myself. And I had my picture taken, alone but with my chin up and a smile on my face.

Lighting a Candle in Remembrance

2009-12-03T22:03:00.001-08:00

Tonight was a candlelight remembrance service led by Kara, the grief support organization I am a client of. It was a lovely event, and the sight of several hundred people holding lit candles high in remembrance was beautiful and moving. Not unexpectedly, B had some trouble sitting still, so we spent some time running around outside. (Eventually I got smart and sent her out into the courtyard, watching her dance with her shadow from just inside the glass doors.)

At last year's event, I invited a number of friends to join me. I felt in need of as much support as I could garner to remember and honor T's life and impact. I recall being very anxious that my stepson D attend, as it seemed like a big and important event. And he did attend, though not without some resistance. Lots of friends came, and even my brother (one of two, the one lives close to me) was there.

This year, I didn't even mention it to anyone else, including D or his mother. I somehow wanted it to be private and personal. My Kara grief counselor sat with us, and that was all the support I needed. It felt intimate and meaningful, and it was also much easier emotionally. Another welcome sign that the healing process is at work, that time and active grieving does heal all.

T, we love you and we miss you, and you are always in our hearts.

Better

2009-12-02T21:14:00.000-08:00

Today was definitely a better day. By mid-day yesterday, I was coming out of the fog, and I feel almost back to "normal" (whatever that is!) tonight. It's so hard to remember in the moment, but emotions are fleeting. They come and go, ebb and flow, rise up and then pass away. Though it feels like I'll be stuck in the fog forever, it hasn't happened yet! And conversely, I know I can't count on always feeling positive and upbeat. Breathe, be in the moment, acknowledge and let go... they're all cliches that have become lifelines for me. They work!

Post-Holiday Letdown

2009-11-30T20:54:00.000-08:00

My in-laws left this morning, after a ten-day visit. They are wonderful people, and I really enjoyed hosting them. Besides, my mother-in-law empties the dishwasher every morning, cleans up the kitchen every evening while I'm putting B to bed, and generally makes my life easier while they're here. They drove out from Phoenix, and she brought a rice dish for Thanksgiving. What could be better?

My father and his wife, along with one of her sons and his family, joined us for the Big Day. We had a Sunset Magazine Thanksgiving -- all but two items (including my mother-in-law's rice dish) came from this year's November issue. Brined turkey with sage butter, sweet potatoes and apples, green beans, cranberry sauce with pomegranate seeds -- all was delicious! And I followed the suggestion of a friend and hired a party helper, someone to come in and clean up the kitchen while we were dining and desserting. Oh, what a great thing that was!

Really, everything went very smoothly, and I have nothing significant to complain about. Except I am exhausted. I was a basket case at work today, barely able to function at the lowest level of capability. It was a long ten days of having other adults in my house, morning, noon and night. I realize how much I've come to appreciate the quiet of the evening, after B (and D when he's staying with me) is in bed, to relax and decompress. To be myself, not having to entertain or put on a happy face. Even with family, I appear to believe that being a good host requires being "on", regardless of whether I felt like crying because T wasn't here to enjoy the day, or escaping into a book to avoid the pain, or reading the paper with breakfast because that what I do every morning.

There is much to be thankful for in my life. Even in the terrible early days and weeks after losing T, I recognized that things could be much worse. T didn't suffer; his son wasn't staying with us the night T died; T wasn't driving a car when it happened; we were at a good place in our relationship with no real unfinished business. But on this Thanksgiving, like all major holidays so far, T's absence is just still to big and raw. There is no room on this day for heartfelt thanks, for counting my blessings and feeling grateful. There is only deep, deep sadness and loss. On other, less emotionally-loaded days, I can and do genuinely give thanks. I feel hope for the future, and even look forward with interest and excitement. Just not right now.

Communing with the spirit(s) of T

2009-11-27T21:27:00.000-08:00

My husband T was not a conspicuous consumer. While we did both have well-paying jobs in the Silicon Valley, neither of us were big shoppers. He drove a practical, inexpensive car, he wasn't into video games, DVDs or electronics, and he wore khakis and polo shirts exclusively. I once bought him a beautiful cashmere sport jacket that never even left the closet. (I took it back to Nordstrom after he died, five years after I bought it, and they accepted it as a return. I heart Nordstrom.)

But T was a wine collector. And wow, you can sink a lot of money into wine if you even halfway try. We have a very large wine refrigerator in the garage, and off-site storage for many more cases as well. Some of the wine he bought is quite expensive, and none of it will last forever. Whatever am I going to do with somewhere around 500 bottles?

Last weekend I spent time at the off-site wine locker, sorting cases, handling bottles T was the last one to touch, deciphering his almost illegible handwriting, and communing with his spirit (pun intended). I was able to bring home many cases and move the rest into a much smaller locker, saving me a tidy sum in storage fees. My in-laws helped me load 19 cases into the refrigerator in the garage. I thought of T with every bottle I handled, every label I read, every winery visit I recalled. Oh, I have some wonderful memories of tasting trips we took to Napa and Sonoma. I was pleased to realize that the recollections brought smiles more than tears -- another sign of having moved forward with my grieving.

So what will I do with all these cases? I will continue to give wine to my in-laws, as they appreciate it as much as T and I did. I will continue to donate wine to fund-raising auctions for causes I support. I'll sell what I can via consignment. I'll drink a little, though not nearly at the pace that T and I were on while he was here to help with the mood and the consumption. And I'll toast to his memory with every glass.

Loneliness Continued

2009-11-24T22:06:00.001-08:00

I've been thinking more about loneliness, and realizing that sometimes I miss T specifically, like when watching beautiful sunset or contemplating entertaining our friends. Our nanny has a clip from a Darius Rucker song as her cell phone ring tone, and I acutely miss T when I hear "It won't be like this for long / One day soon we'll look back laughing at the week we brought her home / This phase is gonna fly by, so baby just hold on / Cause it won't be like this for long." No one but me remembers the wonderful and terrible days after we brought B home. I might be able to provide a father figure for B in the future, and a life partner for myself, but I can't replace the loss of the other person in that most life-altering shared experience.

At other times I just miss having someone belong to me; someone to drop me off when my car is in the shop, or be a listening ear when I want to talk about work, or try out a new restaurant with. This kind of loneliness is the generic "I wish I had a mate" brand, presumably resolved when in the fullness of time I find myself in a new relationship. Will the specific loneliness fade over time, and the generic loneliness remain or even increase? I strive to be peaceful, whole and content by myself as well as in a relationship. Goodness knows it's often hard to be peaceful when in a relationship with another person as imperfect in his own way as I. And it sure is easier to get things done when I'm the only one making in the decisions. But right now, I feel that I want to give and receive love, to face the future with a partner to share life with. I strive to stay hopeful that when the time is right, there will be the right relationship too.

Accepting Happiness

2009-11-23T21:12:00.001-08:00

On Friday I had lunch with a close friend. I drove to meet her with a very light heart and an almost unreasonable feeling of joy. "It's almost Thanksgiving! My lovely in-laws are arriving tonight! It's my day off, and I have the whole weekend ahead of me!" Whatever crossed my mind, I effortlessly turned into something positive. Oh, if I could hold on to that ability and use it consistently! But at least I have episodes of joy. I am healing.

Tonight's fortune cookie: "Soon someone new coming into your life will become a very good friend."

Taking Care of Myself

2009-11-19T21:36:00.000-08:00

I flew to San Diego for work yesterday, leaving in the morning and returning in the late afternoon. It's only a little over an hour's flight, and it was a smooth trip and a productive day, but I was still pretty tired at the end of it. My pattern has always been to pack as much into a day as possible; when I was young and single I often had

something every night, and occasionally two things in the same night (volleyball

practice followed by a movie, for example). After T died, I dramatically cut back on my commitments first by necessity, and then to consciously allow myself plenty of unstructured downtime. As I have come out of active grieving, I've slipped back into the always-busy mode, trying to squeeze the most out of every day. Yesterday was no exception, as I planned to go to a yoga and meditation class directly from the airport. If my flight was on time, I could just make it, and I packed my yoga clothes and mat in the car the night before.

But watching the incredibly beautiful sunset and sliver of a moon from the airplane window as we descended, I realized I was having trouble mustering the energy to go to a yoga class where mental and physical discipline were required. Was I being lazy, or avoiding my grief? Yeah, maybe, but I am learning to tune into my gut reactions and take them seriously. Maybe I would miss an opportunity, but there is always another chance, and taking it at my own pace is really important. And I hadn't seen B much in the last few days, being out late the night before and up and gone early that day. I missed her, and thought she might be missing me.

But it was uncomfortable making the decision to change my plans and go home. I took some time to think about what was at the root of the discomfort, and I realized I was afraid to disappoint the yoga teacher, and disappoint the babysitter who was expecting 3 hours of work. I had made a commitment, and I always feel the need to follow through on my commitments. I had to pause and let go of that need this time. They probably don't care, and if they do, it's their thing, not mine. I had warned the yoga teacher I might miss class, given my travel plans, so she was prepared, and I paid the sitter for an hour of her time, even though she was only there for half an hour. (Was that enough?) It was uncomfortable to change plans like that, but it felt good to listen and respond to my own internal needs. To take care of myself. And B and I were happy to see each other!

Loneliness

2009-11-18T21:39:00.000-08:00

My dad and step-mom took me and B out for dinner on Sunday night, and we had a very nice time. As some point during dinner, my step-mom asked me if I was lonesome in the evenings. It's a question I've considered before, and the answer is surprisingly, no. I actually enjoy my quiet, unstructured evenings. I often read or work on the computer, sometimes write in my journal, and start getting ready for bed around 9:30. And T and I didn't have much of a togetherness routine in the evenings, either. He would watch TV or read his Economist, and because I hated his channel surfing style, I would often disappear in the office or ignore the TV and read on the couch. So I don't find I miss him especially acutely in the evenings.

When I do really long for his presence is during meals, when we always ate together as a family and he always did the clean-up, and when in family-focused crowds. Yesterday was B's preschool Thanksgiving celebration, and like the Bar Mitzvah we attended in October, I felt like I was in my own private bubble. I don't know many of the families at preschool, because I'm a working mom and not very good at mingling, I guess. B isn't quite at the point of having close preschool friends, and the crowd was a little disconcerting to her, so she clung to me and limited the amount of grown-up socializing I could do. And I just didn't feel the spirit; I was envious of the happy families of mom, dad, a kid or two, making T's absence so big. There is no guarantee that T would have attended with me, though he would certainly have tried. I might have been annoyed if he didn't attend, as I sometimes felt that B got the short straw compared to her half-brother when T prioritized his time. But I would have been more relaxed, more comfortable in the environment, feeling like I was just another mom with preschooler, rather than the wounded freak of nature I realize I sometimes feel like. The invisible "W" emblazoned on my forehead is both something I feel compelled to talk about, and also wish with all my heart were not there.

Musings After Yoga

2009-11-11T22:13:00.000-08:00

What is life, living? How can I be alive, and you be dead? How can my heart beat and my breath fill my body, and your heart and body be ashes? One moment you were alive, the next you were gone. Dead, elsewhere, not here with us. Where are you? Do you see me, watch B as she grows? I don't very often feel you directly, but every once in a while your memory is so strong. Your big laugh, your big hands, your energy and warmth and heartbeat.

I remember how upset I was with the idea of your open heart surgery, how your beautiful chest would be forever marred by a big scar. But it healed so well, and became a part of you, neither good nor bad. Perhaps that is what your death is becoming in me. At first it was a huge, raging, gaping wound, my lifeblood pouring out as I grasped the truth and reality of you being gone forever. As time has passed and I have walked with the truth, the wound has begun to heal. There is a big, tender, red scar that mars my existence, but I can now see that with time and gentle acceptance, it will fade to become a part of me, neither good nor bad, just there.

Turning a Corner

2009-11-07T21:05:00.000-08:00

Every few months I try to get away for a night or two, completely on my own, for some solitude and grief processing time. The first time I went to a resort in the southwest near my in-laws, and it was just what I wanted except for the wedding reception occurring in the restaurant as I went to have dinner. (Being a lone observer at someone else's wedding when you're grieving the loss of your spouse was not my idea of a good time.) But I sat at the bar and had a nice meal, as I recall, and the view from the room was almost worth the emotional pain. (T was a connoisseur of views, and would have very much appreciated that spot.)

The second time, I tried a bed and breakfast near home owned by a friend. That was a good experience also, though having a relationship with the host did perhaps constrain me a little in feeling like I could completely let go.

This time, my grief counselor recommended a guest house at a Zen Buddhist farm and conference center about 50 miles away. I went up on Wednesday afternoon, and stayed two nights. With meals included, it was a mere $90 a night. And more than that, the atmosphere was much more conducive to introspection and spiritual reflection. I had several good conversations with fellow guest house visitors, went on a long walk to the beach, cried a lot, read and wrote a lot, and felt like I perhaps turned a bit of a corner in my grieving.

Reading one of the workbooks my grief counselor loaned me from a grief group she attended, I came upon a list of possible accomplishments. "Wow", I thought. "I have accomplished a lot. I've come a long way!"

I have:

Acknowledged that I am in pain
Faced my loss
Understood why the world views me as it does
Recognized that grief returns again and again
Remembered my past losses
Looked forward at the future
Decided to let change happen in my life, to embrace it
Understood the grieving process

And I am:

Beginning to let go of T
Saying good-bye in the midst of remembering
Discovering new roles
Integrating my past with my future
Beginning to feel back in balance
Beginning to move beyond loss

It feels really good to recognize my progress. Like climbing a long, slow ascent on my bike, I feel as if I've come to a little vista point and can look out and see how far up I'm come from the valley floor. I know that grieving is a spiral staircase (see point 4 on the first list above!), and I may be back in the hard work of the climb again sooner or later, but for now I'm enjoying the view.

Alarms

2009-11-03T21:06:00.000-08:00

Until very recently, I hadn't set an alarm since the morning T died. Those first many months, I wasn't sleeping well enough to need to -- I was always awake long before 6:30. Even when taking sleeping pills the first two weeks or so, I couldn't stay asleep for more than about 4 or 5 hours, and though I would fall back asleep for a while, it wasn't good quality sleep and I had no trouble getting up, showered, and ready for B's morning routine at 7:00 or 7:15.

In the last few months I had better luck occasionally sleeping until 6:30 or so, especially as fall arrived and the sun rose incrementally later each morning. But I still resisted setting an alarm. Somehow it represents losing an important concession I've insisted on as a widow -- I get to sleep as long as I can, putting my own needs for good rest above the commitments of the day. And T died between going to bed at night and when the alarm went off in the morning, so the alarm clock represents something more ominous to me, I guess.

But a few weeks ago I had to be somewhere by 8:00 AM for a class I was taking, and the mornings leading up to the class, after waking at 4:30 and having trouble falling back asleep, I actually slept past 7:00. I didn't want to risk being late, so I bit the bullet and set an alarm. And of course I woke early.

But then I had the thought that not setting the alarm might be making me unconsciously worry about oversleeping, now that I'm back in a normal routine of commitments and schedules. Maybe setting the alarm will enable me to sleep longer, because I will trust that the alarm will get me up in time.

Didn't make a difference. I still wake up at 5:30 or 5:45, whether the alarm is set or not.

I don't quite know why I'm so obsessed with sleep. I don't feel especially tired, most days, and have enough energy to get through a day intact. I've always been this way though, from college days when I would quit studying at midnight so I could get 7 1/2 hours sleep before I had to get up at 8:00 for class. When B was born, I worked very hard to get her on a generous sleep schedule, even putting myself to bed when she went down at 8:00 or 8:30 so that the fractured nights of breastfeeding were survivable.

I guess I equate sleeping 8+ hours a night with mental health, spiritual peace and emotional contentment. Or maybe it represents healing to me; like babies' brains grow while they sleep, my heart will eventually mend overnight.

So on that note, I am tucking in. But I plan to buy the tea that Abigail recommends. I can use all the help I can get.

A Good Day

2009-10-29T22:07:00.001-07:00

B has a book called "A Good Day" by Kevin Henkes. It was one of a handful of books we took on our trip to Mexico in April 2008, the trip where T died less than a week after our return. It has a great story line, in which four little animals each suffer (suffers?) a disappointment, and each overcomes to turn a bad day into a good day. Even before T died, my favorite was Little Brown Squirrel's experience: she dropped her nut, but then found the biggest nut ever. Sometimes you have to let go of something good to make room for something even better.

I loved T with all my heart, but he wasn't always the easiest to live with. In the words of my grief support group counselor, our marriage was sometimes like a really cute shoe that was about 1/2 size too small. Over time, it's just not completely comfortable. T had a hard time letting go of control of things, and was very skilled at subtle techniques that kept me a little off balance. I would wonder if he really loved me. I would strive to please him so he wouldn't roll his eyes, interrupt me, or give me "the look". I experienced him as not always appreciating the parts of me that felt the most me: singing to the radio, working to understand myself better, trying to be compassionate toward others.

A silver lining in this terrible storm cloud I'm living under is that I am no longer wearing that really cute, slightly too small shoe. I can stretch out, relax, breath, and totally be myself without fear of censure or the pain of feeling diminished. Of course, there were so many good parts to our marriage -- the companionship on all our great adventure traveling, the partnership of loving and caring for children together, the comfort in sharing a home and a future. He was a truly good man, and he truly loved me.

But the nut of our marriage was snatched out of my hands. (Does that analogy work?) Now I have the opportunity to find "the biggest nut ever", a man and a marriage that fits me, especially the me I am becoming, better. It won't necessarily be easy, and it certainly isn't a certainty, but it is a possibility. I hold on to that promise and think of Little Brown Squirrel, and how you have to let go to turn a bad day into a good day.

Reunions

2009-10-28T22:03:00.001-07:00

Last weekend was my 25th college reunion. I live right down the street from the school, and find myself on campus often, so it was easy to attend. I signed up for the whole program, from dinner on the quad Thursday night through the football tailgater Saturday evening. My goal in committing so much time was two-fold: I wanted to reconnect with old friends and acquaintances, and I thought maybe I would meet someone interesting.

The first goal was easy; all I had to do when asked "What have you been up to all these years?" was to say "Well, I've been going through a tough time lately. I lost my husband last year." That immediately took the conversation to a much more intimate level than might otherwise have resulted: people shared their own losses with me, we talked about the meaning of life and the amazing joys of children, about making a difference in your job and enjoying every moment. I probably said those words "I lost my husband last year" at least 50 times. Depending on the listener's response, I shed a few tears or not, and it didn't matter too much to me either way. I definitely talked with more women, especially those from my freshman dorm, but I also shared my story with some thoughtful and compassionate men (alas, all married).

I confess to a certain sense of pride regarding the tragic nature of my story, and almost a pleasure in shocking and impressing my listener with the magnitude of my loss and my strength, bravery and resilience. I was there, after all, talking about it candidly and insightfully. Or at least that's how I saw myself; there is every likelihood that I was in fact a bit boorish and boring. It is intoxicating, having a story that trumps anything anyone else might tell; intoxicating to imagine myself the subject of discussion later on and back home. I finally achieved popularity!

There was a class panel one afternoon, where the theme was transition and change. I very much enjoyed hearing the stories of the five panelists, describing how close or far they landed from their graduation dreams, and how they approached transition and change. When polled, about half the audience indicated they were in a pretty stable place in their lives currently, and the other half admitted to being in transition. I certainly feel like I'm in transition, or rather in a limbo state that may precede major change. Being comfortable just sitting in that place, and trusting that when the time is right the path will open up, is what I'm working on right now.

Looking back on past reunions, I was in transition, or challenged in some way, at each one, it seems. At the 20th, I was all about infertility. At the time of the 15th, which I didn't attend, I was preparing to break up with my live-in boyfriend. (Receiving the invitation earlier that summer, I wondered if I would have executed my break-up plan by then, so I could go and possibly meet someone new. I dragged my feet too long and didn't actually do the deed until perhaps the weekend of the reunion itself.) Where will I be at the 30th? I hope to have my grief resolved, be at peace with my loss, and be content with my life. Oh, and I hope to be married, too. I keep trying to focus on inner peace and contentment, being happy by myself and not dependent on a relationship for wholeness, but the truth right now is that I really want a life partner to share love, companionship, and parenting.

That brings me to the second goal of the weekend, my desire to meet someone interesting. It was not achieved. I did go to a singles event, but there were not many eligible men, it seemed, though I did enjoy talking with some nice women (as always!). Ah well, I'm not at all certain I'm ready right now to invest emotional energy in a new relationship. And I did put out the idea, to many of the people I talked with, that I would like to be married again. Who knows what will appear when the time is right?

Happy Birthday Honey

2009-10-27T22:07:00.000-07:00

Today you would have been 50. I miss you so much, and still can't believe that you are not here with me.

I didn't do anything special to celebrate your birthday. I feel guilty about that. I didn't go to the cemetery, or do anything ceremonial with B (or D); I didn't light a candle or make a donation or even say a prayer. Several friends called, and I called Papa. I went to a Young Widow and Widowers Meetup dinner, talked about you and my grieving, wondered when I'll start coming out of this all-consuming haze of loss.

If you were still here, we would have gone to dinner with F and E. We might have taken a weekend trip, probably taking B with us. We would have had a lovely meal, two glasses of champagne and a bottle of wine, delicious dessert, and good togetherness afterwards. I would have bought you some sort of gift -- possibly lame-ass, but maybe inspired.

But you are not here. You are "in nature", "in the little animals that run around". You are in my thoughts and in my heart, and will always stay there, always 48, always safe.

Alone in my sad little bubble

2009-10-17T20:35:00.000-07:00

Today I took B to a Bar Mitzvah hosted by an old friend. I have so little exposure to Jewish traditions, but I appreciated the community and spirituality of the event. B wasn't interested in staying with the other kids and babysitters in the play area, so she promised to be quiet and stay with me in the sanctuary. She did very well, throughout the 2 1/2 hour service. And my friend's twin sons did beautifully, too.

But I felt like I was traveling in an isolation chamber. No one spoke to me, and I spoke to no one. A few people smiled at B, and one or two people asked how old she was. My friend stopped briefly at our table as we were eating lunch, and I got to say "Mazel Tov" to the boys when we first arrived. Otherwise, we were observers, looking in on normal family lives from the outside.

The only other Bar Mitzvah I've attended was in the spring, for the oldest son of T's oldest friend. At that service I felt very included and a part of the community, and I cried through the entire event. There was a slide show of photos of the family, and extended family, and T's smiling face appeared several times. The siblings of T's friend were all in attendance, and all made a point to spend some time with me. We even stayed at our friend's mother's house.

But in a fundamental way, the pain I felt today, and the pain of last spring, was the same. Bar Mitzvahs celebrate family, and highlight for me the gaping hole in ours. Whether the people around me knew anything about me and my story or not, I couldn't help but constantly reflect on my loss. Add to that the 2 hour drive each way, alone with a three-year-old who didn't sleep going or coming, and I am exhausted tonight. And stuck in my sadness, feeling very lonely and sorry for myself.

Feeling My Broken Heart

2009-10-15T21:56:00.001-07:00

The other morning, as I was sitting in silence, eyes closed on my bed, practicing meditation, I did a body scan. How did each part of my body feel, and what was it trying to tell me? I didn't get further than my heart. Oh, it

ached. It felt like it was sliced to shreds, pierced with arrows, broken open and bleeding all over. (All those cliches about how a broken heart feels? Tritely, embarrassingly true.) And it was telling me that the pain was necessary, that it was important to feel, to honor what T and I had and what I lost. It was reminding me that the pain and sorrow are there constantly, and I just distract myself to avoid feeling it. "Hello," I said to the pain. "I recognize you. I appreciate that you are telling me how important T was to me." Unfortunately, the pain didn't magically melt away. Maybe I felt more comfortable with it, more accepting of it. But I still wished it were gone, dammit. I'm tired of this phase of active grieving.

One thing that may help me move through this phase is to complete the "Mourning and Mitzvah" journaling exercises. I've been taking a break from them, as various daytime and evening events have engaged my energies and/or time. Perhaps because in the chronology of the journal exercises, I'm still early in processing the loss, my emotional state is stuck there too. This weekend I'll get back to it, and see how that feels.

I have been thinking about taking the last batch of T's ashes with me to my next solitude retreat, scheduled for early November. I'll be gone for two nights, mid-week, staying at a Zen Buddhist center near the ocean. My plan was to scatter T's ashes on the east coast (done), western mountains (done), and west coast (pending). The center is about 20 minutes walk from the beach, and I'd like to have a more spiritual experience scattering that the first two were. Scattering on public land is of course illegal, so I feel uncomfortable about being seen or caught doing it, but not in having done it. T belongs in nature, and it feels so right to return his essence there. So I guess I will take him with me, and look for an opportunity to cast him upon the waters, or spread him among the redwoods, or scatter him along the bluffs. He would like that. And maybe the experience of completing laying him to rest will help me move forward, too, and ease the pain of my broken heart.

Daddy In Real Life

2009-10-11T20:55:00.000-07:00

Do not stand at my grave and weep;

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush,

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry.

I am not there, I did not die.

- Robert Hepburn

B occasionally asks "Is Daddy in real life?" "No," I say. "When someone dies, they aren't in real life anymore. Daddy is in pictures, in our memories, and in our hearts." One day recently she asked for a little more information, and I waxed poetic, remembering the Robert Hepburn poem above, and the great comfort I feel knowing T's scattered ashes are nourishing plants and animals in his favorite beautiful places. "When someone dies, they go back to nature. Daddy is in the breezes that blow, the sun that shines, the rain that falls, the plants that grow, the little animals that run around." Today after nap, she said "Daddy isn't here in real life. But he's in the animals that run around." "Yes," I said. "And he is always in our hearts."

Living As If No One Were Missing

2009-10-10T20:19:00.000-07:00

I have a new friend, a single mom by choice, whose daughter is the same age as B. My friend has certainly suffered and had difficulties in her life -- giving up on finding a parenting partner before her biological clock ran out and working for 3 years to conceive both come to mind. But I was impressed when I visited her home. If the blending of toys and decor is any gauge, she has integrated her daughter's life and hers seamlessly and beautifully. She is Jewish, and she invited B and me over for Friday night (shabbat) dinner. I got to thinking about how she and her daughter have challah and light candles for the sabbath, just the two of them. As if no one were missing. When that realization struck me, I burst into tears. Because of course, I live every day as if someone where missing. T is missing, and will be missing forever.

No one is missing in their lives. She chose the path of single parenthood, and though it is unquestionably a very difficult path to walk, and she could very well acutely miss the company of a partner in the experience, she also went into it with the expectation of being on her own. I, on the other hand, was never really sure I wanted to have children, and only decided to try after it was abundantly clear that T really wanted another, and would be an equal partner in the endeavor. Once I started down the path to parenthood, though, I because passionately committed to the idea, and had to go, it turned out, to extraordinary measures. (That's a story for another post.)

So having the relationship disappear that was the basis and foundation for having the child makes the parenting part just that much more overwhelming. Being on my own with B is just wrong, and I can't and don't want to get my head around it. But fighting against the reality of things never seems to lead to much success or happiness, does it. I feel I could learn a lot from my new friend about how to set things up and live a life as a whole, complete person and parent, living as if no one were missing.

A Long Way to Go

2009-10-08T21:31:00.000-07:00

At almost eighteen months out, I feel like I've only just begun the hard work of grieving. The first nine months were shock, numbness, putting one foot in front of the other. After the new year I felt good for quite a while -- six months of the calm before the storm. I stretched out my grief peer counselor visits to every two weeks; I stopped seeing my therapist. Then coming back from a trip to visit T's extended family in July, I hit a wall and felt pretty crummy for much of the summer. The reality was sinking in, and I was trying to figure out what it really meant.

I went back to weekly visits with my grief counselor, and I spent a weekend in September at "Grief and Growing", a wonderful program for people dealing with loss. I've been working my way through the exercises in "Mourning and Mitzvah", a guided journal for walking the mourner's path. I am actively searching for ways to process my grief, to let the pain and sadness, loneliness and longing, surface and be recognized. I believe in the idea that by feeling your feelings, you release them and they evolve into something else. I fear that I have a lot of feelings to feel, and it's going to be a while before I've got the emotional energy or heart space to focus on anything else. But it is what it is. Time spent now is necessary, important, and well-invested.

Starting

2009-10-08T20:14:00.000-07:00

I am starting this blog as an outlet for my thoughts and feelings, and as a record for my daughter, as I continue down the road of surviving the loss of a spouse. My husband T died suddenly and unexpectedly in his sleep at 48. Our daughter B was 21 months at the time, and T's son D from a previous relationship was eight. It has been nearly eighteen months, and I am ... what am I? Not destroyed -- I can function normally most of the time. But most definitely not whole either. My loss is a lens that colors everything I see, feel, do. My life partner is gone, and I am only half of what I was and expected to be. I know that wholeness is possible, that integrating a profound loss is achievable, even if "healing" or "recovery" is not.

And so this blog will be a record of my work to return to wholeness.