5 Years Ago Today

5 years ago today, I woke up feeling that something wasn’t right.  Even in the midst of the chaos that had taken place in the previous three weeks, this morning felt different. 

I called the neuro ICU unit where Chris was recovering from brain surgery to talk to his doctor.  He told me that he had just checked on Chris, that he was doing well and that he would be moved to a regular room later that day.  An hour later, a nurse from the unit called to tell me that soon after the doctor left, Chris became unresponsive.  He was having a seizure, they said.  Brain tumor patients often have seizures and they can sometimes last for hours.

Chris’s own doctor was in surgery by this point so I talked to the attending doctor several times who kept assuring me that this wasn’t that unusual.  Should I come down to the hospital, I asked?  It was snowing heavily again and I wasn’t sure if I should make the 30-minute trip with my toddler and newborn if this wasn’t that “unusual.”  By the time the doctor said that maybe I should come, my anxiety had reached an unbearable level.  My sister-in-law and I packed up my babies and we headed down to the hospital for what would be the last time.

Once there, I could see for myself this “seizure” Chris was experiencing.  Unconscious with only his left arm moving spastically every so often, I knew in my heart that this was more ominous than a seizure.  My sister had met us at the hospital and she forced me to go get dinner while we waited to hear from the doctors.  Sitting in the lobby, now along with Chris’s brother and a friend, I choked down some beef stew.  I was just biting into my apple when Chris’s surgeons came out from behind the doors of the ICU and walked toward me.  Time slowed down a bit as they came towards me and the apple fell from my mouth.  They didn’t even need to say the words and we knew the news they were about to deliver.  Chris had no brain activity, they said.  I gagged on the half-chewed piece of apple I still had in my mouth and started to wretch.  I stopped myself from vomiting only because I was half-screaming, “No! No! No!”  Half-screaming because I was aware enough to know there were others in the waiting room and I didn’t want to become a spectacle.

How could this happen when we had only learned he had two brain tumors three weeks ago? How could this happen when he had just had successful surgery to remove one of the tumors? How could this happen when he was doing so well this morning that they were ready to move him out of ICU?  How could this happen when we didn’t get a chance to say goodbye yet?  In the 22 days since we were told of our fate, I had imagined all the ways we would spend his last year.  There would be photos taken, letters written, and memories made.  And there would be goodbyes.  Lots of goodbyes.  This was not how it was supposed to be.

My sister starting making the calls to family and friends as a nurse took me to be with Chris.  I talked to him and recounted some of our favorite memories.  I told him we would be ok and that we would always love him.  That is what you are supposed to do, right?  In reality, I felt like my life was over too.  Within an hour, 30 of Chris’s friends and family members gathered in his small room.  Claire was baptized.  Chris was anointed.  Everyone said their goodbyes and left the room except for Chris’s mother, his sister and me. 

And then it was just Chris and I.  I laid my head on his chest and at 10 p.m. on Tuesday, January 13, 2009, my sweet husband took his final breath.  

5 years ago today, I became a widow.

Someone to Watch Over Me

One of the platitudes I have heard the most since Chris died is, “He is watching over you.” Whether I was upset because he didn’t get to see Claire’s first steps, sad because he missed Ian’s first day of kindergarten or feeling cheated because he couldn’t go on our first family vacation with us, someone has always been there with that old stand-by. It usually goes something like this, “But he was there with you…in spirit. He is watching over all of you.” No disrespect to the well-meaning people in my life who have said this to me, but I’ve had very conflicted feelings over this concept. Putting aside the fact that Chris being with me in spirit falls seriously short of the real thing, I haven't always believed it and, honestly, it kind of gives me the creeps.

I haven’t always been sure that I wanted my dead husband watching over me. I’m cool with it, for example, if I’m driving in hazardous conditions or if I am having an occasional proud moment as a parent. But do I really want him staring down at me when I’m screwing up? It’s complicated enough trying to make major decisions without him here. Do I need the added pressure of wondering if he is disapproving of what I’m about to do, sitting up there shaking his head at me? No thank you.

This summer, however, I had an experience that made me begin to cherish the thought of Chris watching over me. It was about a week before my surgery to fix a ruptured disc in my back and I had been popping pain killers and muscle relaxers to get some relief. One night, I fell asleep on the couch after the kids went to bed. Somewhere between being fully awake and falling asleep--perhaps while enjoying a nice narcotic buzz—I felt something pass through me like a rush of air. I had been lying on my side and I could feel Chris’s presence between me and the couch. He started making sounds as if he was gently kissing the back of my head in comfort. As hot tears ran down my face, I repeatedly told him I was sorry. Sorry for not noticing he had two massive brain tumors earlier, sorry that he died, sorry that he wasn’t there to enjoy his children, and sorry for all the ways I was sure I disappointing him now that he was gone. He just continued to silently kiss the back of my head. I finally said, “Am I doing ok with the kids?” He said, “yes,” kissed me one last time and left. Left the same way he came, as a rush of air passing through my body, this time going the opposite direction.

For the next few weeks, I replayed that experience over and over in my head. I tried to remember and feel every detail of those few seconds, wondering if it was real or some sort of a dream. There was no doubt that it brought me comfort to think that Chris approved of the way I have been parenting our children and that he didn’t seem to need an apology from me. But did I imagine it? I finally realized that it didn’t matter if I had. My belief that he approved of how I was moving forward was all I needed. It released me from a lot of self-doubt and guilt and made me truly appreciate the idea he was watching over me.
Ironically, Chris and I danced to the song, “Someone to Watch Over Me” for our first dance at our wedding. I’m not sure why we originally picked it other than we liked the melody (listen here). I remember reviewing the lyrics a few weeks prior to the wedding and not being crazy about the message so I asked the DJ to use a different song. Or at least I thought I did. When we got up to do our first dance, our original choice was played.
Now when I listen to it, I can’t help but wonder if there was some unexplained reason why it was our first song. Or maybe it is explained and he is watching after all.

What I Would Tell My Newly Widowed Self

I know it is has been way too long since I have updated my blog.  As usual, I apologize.  I plan to post an update on the second half of 2012 sometime in January.

In the meantime, as yesterday was the 4 year anniversary of Chris's death, please feel free to read my blog What I Would Tell My Newly Widowed Self on the Chicagoland Young Widowed Connection's website. 

No Signs of a Man

I am the guest blogger on Widow's Voice today.  Click here to read my post titled, "No Signs of a Man."

:)

This Sucks

If you are widowed, how many times have you thought/said/yelled/cried, “This sucks!” Too many times to count? Me too and a lot of those times have been in the last few months.

My family and I have spent way too much time in hospitals this summer and are practically single-handedly keeping the healthcare system going. Between me and Claire, we have had two surgeries so far and have another planned for the end of the month. Two are for a cyst in Claire's neck and one was for my back. All were unexpected. All threw a major wrench into the summer I had planned for us. And all leave me with the overall feeling that we missed out on a lot of quality time together. Yep, this sucks.

Back in May, the kids and I designated Tuesdays as, “Mommy, Ian and Claire Day.” We compiled a list of places we wanted to go and things we wanted to do this summer. Destinations like the zoo, the Shedd Aquarium, Legoland Discovery Center, and Santa’s Village were on the list. But as I write this, my nanny is out having fun with my kids instead of me. Today, as with every day for the last three weeks since my surgery, she is taking them on adventures that I should be enjoying with them. They are off to a train-themed restaurant for lunch and the library afterwards. Last week, they went to the Museum of Science and Industry, the Botanic Gardens and the Kohl’s Children’s Museum. And all this time, I’ve been stuck in my house, unable to drive or do anything else without popping oodles of pain pills. This weekend, I ventured out to Target and to a store to buy some dancewear for Claire. And I’m paying for it today. This sucks!

The most challenging part of this situation is that I haven’t had a consistent partner to lean on. Not when decisions had to be made about the infected cyst in Claire’s neck, not when she was being wheeled away into the operating room, not when I was told the bulging disc in my back required surgery, not when I was worrying about what would happen to the kids if I was one of the few people who reacted adversely to anesthesia, not when yet another decision had to be made about Claire’s health and not when I needed someone to pick up all childcare and household responsibilities while I recovered. Yes, I have had wonderful family, friends and even paid help fill the void. But it just isn’t the same. And frankly, this sucks!

This summer has been reminiscent for me of the first few months after Chris died. The feelings of isolation, despair, hopelessness, self-pity, etc., are all rearing their ugly heads. The reality of being physically incapable of caring for my own children and the feelings that the best part of myself (the part that can walk around without pain) is missing are too familiar. Heck, even the food that very generous people have been dropping off is taking me back to that time. And by the way, everything has been delicious. It’s just that, I thought I knew how to handle most things by now. I thought I was someone who could juggle it all—maybe not well all the time but juggle it nonetheless. I thought I was prepared for how I would miss Chris during this time. I thought his absence wouldn’t feel so obvious while I struggled with all this. I was wrong. And that sucks!

Any minute now, the nanny will be back with the kids. I know the first thing they’ll do when they get in the house is run to wherever they think I am and shower me with hugs and kisses. They’ll want to tell me every detail of their day. And they’ll seem perfectly fine. They won’t seem to have been forever scarred by the fact that this summer didn’t go exactly as planned. They won’t realize that we only got to experience one “Mommy, Ian and Claire Day”. Thankfully, they will be glad to take me as I am. And that definitely does not suck. That is my biggest blessing in life and what I’m going to hold onto these next few weeks. Make that the next few months because in September, even the dog needs surgery!

A Widow's Father's Day To-Do List

• Wake up--feel sorry for self and children.

• Acknowledge the conflicting feelings that will come with today.

• Decide not to go to church for the 4^th year in row.  The Father’s Day blessing is still too painful.

• Play with new puppy and puppy-crazed children. Imagine Chris doing the same.

• While reading Father’s Day updates on Facebook, take stock of the fact that feelings of bitterness and resentfulness have lessened since last year.

• Text words of encouragement to all widowed moms I know (a longer list than I would like).

• Play with a puppy.  Feed a puppy.  Potty a puppy.

• Argue with a 3-year-old who wants to wear a leotard and too-small Easter shoes to the cemetery.

• Acquiesce to 3-year-old--why deny this small pleasure to the girl who knew her father for only 10 days?  Smirk at the fact that he really doesn’t care what she wears anyway.

• Play with a puppy.  Feed a puppy.  Potty a puppy.

• Have traditional Father’s Day graveside family picnic while trying not to feel cheated.  At least we didn’t need reservations.

• Smile at a nearly 5 year old who asks, “Can I kiss daddy?” as he leans over his father’s grave marker.

• On the drive home, ponder how next year’s picnic will play out as my children expand their understanding of death.

• Play with a puppy.  Feed a puppy.  Potty a puppy.

• Text “Happy Father’s Day” to all the important men in our lives to let them know we appreciate them.  Pat self on the back for finally doing this after several years.

• Have dinner with Papa.  Chuckle at the way my children attack him with hugs and Father’s Day greetings.

• Play with a puppy.  Feed a puppy.  Potty a puppy.

• Consider going to church next year and embracing the Father’s Day blessing.

• Realize how empty today would feel without having known Chris’s love or the gift of raising his children.

• Cuddle with a puppy.  Make a mental note that this is great therapy.

• Go to bed.  Send up a quiet prayer of gratitude that I not only made it through another Father’s Day, but that I actually enjoyed some of it.

Seven Year Itch

Today is my 7^th wedding anniversary.  This is the 4th one I’ve celebrated without Chris which means that I’ve now been a widow longer than I was a wife.  Check off another box on the list of milestones. 

My 1st wedding anniversary fell on Easter Sunday.  Holy week is the busiest time of year for church musicians.  We were literally at church for four days providing music for about 10 masses.  Then we hosted Easter dinner at our house.  Although we were deliriously tired, every chance I had, I giddily related to Chris what we were doing at the exact same time the year before.  

“At this time last year, we were taking pictures!” 

“You were conducting the choir right about now,” (he insisted on conducting even on his wedding day).

“This is the point when we were dancing to our first song!”

The next day, we left for Galena for a couple of days to celebrate.

On our 2nd anniversary, we ate at the French bistro where we went on our first date, the night we got engaged and every other special occasion in between.  I was six months pregnant with Ian so it was a pretty low key evening.  We were both sick on our 3rd anniversary so we postponed celebrating and I’m ashamed to say that I don’t remember if we ever took a rain check.  Chris died three months before our 4^th anniversary.  My thoughtful stepsister, who is also widowed and who coincidentally has the same wedding anniversary as me, took me to the French bistro so I wouldn’t be alone.  And, I’m about to make an embarrassing admission here, I also sent myself flowers as if they were from Chris.  Denial much?  I’m sure it wouldn’t surprise you to hear that my 5^th and 6^th anniversaries were spent talking and crying to a patch of grass in a cemetery.

So, now I’m at year seven--the seven year itch.  I wonder how I would feel today if Chris were still alive.  Would today be just like any other day?  After seven years, would this day still have felt special?  Would I look at the clock throughout the day and recall what I was doing seven years prior?  Or would I have gone through my day having to remind myself that it was my anniversary.  Without him here, I certainly am experiencing the seven year itch.

I’m itching to make a plan for celebrating tonight, itching to see if Chris would have sent me orange roses, as he often did, itching to hold his hand and tell him how glad I am that I married him on a that unseasonably warm day in 2005.  I’m itching to have him look at me with the intensity he did while saying our vows and itching to feel that warm security that comes from being snuggled up to the love of your life.  I’m itching to be his wife.

I guess I’ll just scratch a little here and there today as I look through our wedding album and try to get to the cemetery.  Thankfully, I’ll be with other widowed people tonight.  That is the best salve for this type of itch.