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.

Puppy!

Chris loved dogs and we always talked about getting one once one of us was home full-time.  At the time we talked about it, we had my cat, Luna, and no kids.  We didn't exactly know what our future family would look like but we hoped it would include a dog. 

Chris was definitely not a cat person.  Coincidentally, I adopted Luna the week I started dating him.  She was 3 years old.  She grew on him and when we got married, she slept with him every night.  He claimed to hate it but I knew better.  After Ian was born, Luna started pooping right outside the litter box.  We assumed it was because she felt neglected.  It was annoying but since it was it in such close proximity to the litter box, we dealt with it.  After Chris died and Claire was born, Luna was really lost in the shuffle.  As if having two babies in the house and losing her bed buddy weren't enough, my sister-in-law moved in for 3 months.  There was also a steady stream of friends and family in and out of the house helping.  The poor cat didn't know which end was up. 

After a while, Luna started pooping in the dining room and scratching the furniture more (she wasn't declawed).  I tried everything to get her stop doing this.  Special litter, retraining her by isolating her in the bathroom, cleaning the box every day, etc.  Nothing helped and over time, the problem became more regular.  I had the vet check for medical problems.  She was already on 3 different types of medicine for a host of problems.  Nothing could be identified as the reason for the pooping problem.  She was also frankly an after thought at that point.  I had so much on my plate, that I took for granted that cats don't always need a lot of attention.  But I felt bad and I just couldn't give her what she needed.  So, about 18 months ago, with a very heavy heart, I gave her back to the shelter I got her from.  It is a no-kill shelter so I knew she would not be destroyed. It was a very hard decision that took months to make.  I felt guilty doing it but I knew I had to for every one's sake. 

I checked in on her every few weeks and after a few months, I learned that the shelter vet did an x-ray of her spine and found a small hairline fracture. This probably caused her enough pain to keep her from getting into the litter box hence her issues.  I also found out that she had been adopted by an older couple who had recently lost their cat.  This is nothing short of a miracle considering Luna was 8 years old and had some medical issues.  The couple were used to caring for a cat like this so they were thrilled to get her and absolutely love her (they call her the Marilyn Monroe of cats)!  I was so relieved and glad that the story ended well for all.

About 6-9 months ago, I started thinking about if and when we would get a puppy.  I knew the kids needed to be a little older and that it had to be the right type of dog. I wanted to feel like our lives were a little more under control and I also wanted my work situation to be somewhat stable.  I did a lot of research on breeds and decided that I wanted a mid-sized, non-shedding dog that was good with kids.  Since I have been working part-time from my home for almost a year now, I felt like this spring/summer would be a good time to get the dog. 

I decided on a Goldendoodle (cross between a golden retriever and a standard poodle).  I found a great breeder in central Illinois and the litter that our puppy will come from was born on Sunday!  The mom gave birth to NINE puppies!  Take that Kate Gosselin!  Anyway, we will be picking our puppy up in 10 weeks.  We requested a female but as there are only three in the bunch, we may get a male.  The kids are beyond excited (Claire is obsessed with dogs) and we have been thinking of possible names.  We can't wait!

Here is a picture of the litter.  Who knows which one will be ours!

P.S.  Chris would be having so much fun with this.

Family Circumstance

While on a cleaning binge this weekend, I tackled the overflowing basket in my office where every stray paper lands until filed.  I came upon a copy of Claire’s medical records that I had received when we switched pediatricians over the summer.  The packet was about two inches thick and didn’t seem very interesting at first. But something soon caught my eye.  It was the words, “father died of brain cancer.” They were splashed on more than a few of the pages and compelled made me to keep reading.  It has been a long time since I allowed myself to mentally travel back to the days when birth and death unflappably worked together to transform my life.  But I read on to see if anything else was mentioned about Chris’s death.

I skimmed over the concise notes from the day Claire was born: delivered via C-section, 7 lb. 7 oz., breast fed, bonding well with mom, no jaundice, etc.  I flipped to day 3 of our hospital stay and saw an assessment offered by the hospital social worker after visiting me.  I’m confident I was number one on her “at high risk for post-partum depression” list. Yet, all I wanted during my hospital stay was to be left alone with my baby and pretend like I was just like any other mother of a newborn.  I needed those few days of escape from my nightmare.  The social worker, finally understanding my position, indicated in the notes that I didn’t want to talk about the “very stressful and worrisome situation” with my husband.

The doctor’s visit after our release from the hospital was the first time I saw the phrase, “father died of brain cancer.”  Later weeks and months in the record discuss Claire’s growth, eating habits, developmental milestones and, always this same comment, “father died of brain cancer.”  Then at the time of Claire’s 18 month check-up, the words, “father died of brain cancer” suddenly became, “family circumstance.”  This unceremonious change in description took me by surprise and seemed to diminish the significance of what happened. 

Why change the explanation after 18 months?  Were those few extra words taking up too much space?  The more I pondered this, the angrier I got. Is the fact that Claire was just entering this life as her precious father was exiting it—literally being baptized in his hospital room as he was being anointed for death-- merely a family circumstance?

When she has no one to attend all those daddy/daughter dances with, will it be because of a family circumstance? 

When she is walking down the aisle on her wedding day without her father, will it be a family circumstance that will make the day bittersweet? 

When she becomes a mother and understands the loss of her father from a whole new perspective, will she be thinking about a family circumstance?

Heck, no!  It is much bigger, much more profound, and more permanent than a family circumstance-- something that sounds like the dog ran away or mom lost her job.  “Her father died, people!,” I shouted at the lifeless documents in my hands. 

It happened!  It is a big deal!  It will forever shape her life!  I, in no way, want it to be what defines her but it should be more than a footnote.   Just as I don’t want Chris’s life to be forgotten; I don’t want his death to be neatly summed up in two innocuous words.  There should be no expiration date on this significance.

My daughter, Claire, is 3 years old and her father died of brain cancer.

Thank You!

Just a quick note to those who voted for my blog to be included in the Circle of Moms Top 25 Moms with Inspiring Families list.  I'm officially in the top 25!

Thank You!

My Sister

Many of you know that my sister, Julie McDermott, has been a major source of strength for me during the last three years.  She stepped in the minute Chris got sick and handled all the mundane and logistical tasks that came with our situation all while being 7 months pregnant herself.

We were always close but as my life has drastically changed course, she has been my lifeline through it all.

Today, I'm proud to say that she is the guest blogger on the Chicagoland Young Widowed Connection website!  She claims to be a bad writer but this post proves how wrong she is!

Enjoy!

Death and Legos

The topic of dying has been coming up a lot around here lately which shouldn't be a surprise.

Between fairy tale characters that bite the dust, the kids friends who have lost a parent (we obviously know more than most) or the times that conversations turn to Daddy, the topic of death is as easily discussed here as what is for dinner. 

This morning, while the kids and I were cuddling in my bed before breakfast, Claire suddenly said, "I don't want to die, mommy."  Naturally, my response was, "I don't want you to die, either.  Or, Ian."

Claire sweetly said, "Because I would miss you."  "Ohhh, I would miss you too, honey," I replied and we gave each other big hugs and kisses.

Ian thought for a minute and then chimed in, "I don't want to die either."  Of course, I said, "I don't want you to either, Ian."

"Because I would miss playing with my Legos," he stated rather dryly.

"Um, what about me?," I asked, in a Am-I-Chopped-Liver tone of voice.

"Oh, yeah, you too."

And that sums up the priorities of a 4 year old boy.

A Pleasant Surprise!

This morning I received an email from Circle of Moms letting me know that this blog has been nominated for the Top 25 Moms with Inspiring Families - 2012 list on their website!  Circle of Moms is a website dedicated to connecting moms to each other.

As you can imagine, this was both a pleasant surprise and humbling at the same time.  To be considered inspirational to anyone and to be recognized for it is quite an honor! 

The blogs that are selected for the Top 25 list will be included on the Circle of Moms website and featured on their social media channels.  Winners will also be interviewed and featured on the site.  This will all increase readership which will in turn help raise awareness about life as a young widow.

The top 25 spots are determined by number of votes.  You can vote for Us Without You by clicking on the above icon or going directly to this link.  Voting ends at 5 p.m. PST on March 7, 2012.  You can vote every 24 hours.

I would greatly appreciate if you would consider voting for this blog and passing along the information onto others!

Thanks!

Who Am I?

In the weeks leading up to January 13th, the third anniversary of Chris’s death, I found myself having slightly less of a pity party than I have in the past. I don’t want to diminish the heartbreak that I experience at the reality of losing Chris. It’s just that I seemed to be less focused on the intense pain of my situation this year and more on the process I have undergone since his death. Instead of focusing on why I am a widow, I reflected on who I have become as a widow.

At 5:00 p.m. on the night Chris went to the ER, I was a mom who was feeling overwhelmed that I was about to have two babies under the age of two. I was feeling alone because Chris, who had been an extremely involved dad in the past, was gradually becoming less hands on. His excitement about a new baby coming also seemed to wane and I was hurt at what I thought was his indifference. In fact, earlier in the day, I had a teary conversation with my sister because I was feeling like my life was pretty rough.

By 8:00 p.m. that night, I had an explanation for the subtle changes in Chris’s personality. I quickly became the terrified wife of a man who had just learned he had two masses in is head. Every time I went to the bathroom in the ER that night (being 9 months pregnant, there were plenty of visits), I stared at the tear-streaked face of the woman in the mirror who was having her world rocked. I didn’t know it then, but I was the woman in training for widowhood.

In the weeks and months that followed Chris’s death, I was the young mother who functioned in a haze of numbness and relied on a team of people to get her through the day. I was the “poor widow” who needed meals delivered to her house, her laundry washed for her and her groceries purchased for her. By the end of that first year, I was the widow who was becoming more capable of keeping her head afloat in the sea of chaos. I became the single mother (a much despised label a few months earlier) who managed a large support network of friends and family. And I became the woman who managed to organize a fundraiser for the first anniversary of Chris’s death (mostly for the selfish reason that it kept me very distracted from reality).

In the time since that first anniversary, I have added new layers to the post-widowhood woman I have become. I have become the woman who expects an attack of grief to hit at the most unexpected times and at the most inappropriate of places. I have become the woman who gradually stopped cringing at the word “daddy” and fell in love with hearing her children say it. I have become the woman who is comfortable telling other preschool parents that her husband died.

I have become the woman who is determined that her children will be happy and well-adjusted despite their circumstances. I have become the woman who is capable of juggling work, child rearing, fundraising and a fairly full social life. I have become the woman who sees more than an empty void in her future.

I am not the woman who believes her life is over because her spouse is gone. I am not the woman who is “over” her husband’s death. I am not the woman who thinks this part of my life will be erased if I remarry. I am not the woman who thinks this process will be all tidied up within a certain timeframe. I am the woman who sadly acknowledges that my husband dying would probably make me a better partner to someone else. I am the woman who has learned some hard lessons and recognizes that this won’t exempt her from experiencing more of them in the future. And now, I have become the woman who feels compelled to help others through this process.

January 13th will always be a complex day for me. While it represents the death of one, it also signifies the rebirth of another. Yes, I am a widow. But, thankfully, I have also become so much more.

A Widow's Voice Post

I am the guest writer on Widow's Voice today.  Check it out if you are interested!

A New Venture

You'll notice I still haven't posted the update I promised over Thanksgiving weekend.  Please forgive me.  I think you'll understand why after this post.

I have been working on a very special project with my friend, Laura Dennis, for about six months.  We decided we wanted to reach out to other young widows in our area since there really aren't any organizations that do this locally.  It has been a time consuming but very rewarding process as we brought our organization to life.  As you can imagine, I'm very passionate about helping others who are in this situation.  And Laura and I also feel this is a wonderful way to honor the memory of our spouses.

The organization is called Chicagoland Young Widowed Connection (CYWC).  We have lots of great ideas and plans for the future. We are in the process of incorporating as a non-profit and will soon start the process of applying as a tax-exempt organization.

Please check out the website and let me know if you have any feedback.  And also please pass this on to anyone who think may benefit from our group. 

Thanks for your help!

P.S. One of these days, I'll get around to writing that update!

Its Been Ages...

I know it is has been ages since I've posted an update.  Life keeps getting in the way:).  I promise to post an update on lots of things over Thanksgiving weekend. 

In the meantime, check out my guest blog on Widow's Voice today.

Have a great Thanksgiving!

And Guest

Not long after Chris died, I received a wedding invitation addressed to "Wendy and Guest."  It was one of the first visual affronts to my newly-acquired widowed senses.  I remember looking at the envelope and wondering, "Who the heck is Wendy and Guest?" 

I certainly sympathize with the couple who sent the invitation.  I'm confident that they struggled with how to address it as well.  They really couldn't win.  Address it to just me, making it obvious that my husband really was dead, and expect me to endure the beginning of their happily-ever-after all alone?  Or address it as they did, making it obvious that most people attend weddings as one half of a pair, but allow me to make the decision as to whether or not to drag some poor soul along.  I wound up not attending the wedding at all partly because I couldn't bear the thought of how painful it would be (regardless of how honestly happy I was for the couple) and partly because I had no idea who I would bring.  My mom?  My sister?  My 2-year-old son? 

Part of the sting of this situation is that I got married at the age of 34.  I went to many a wedding as "Wendy and Guest" and a lot of times it was just "Wendy."  When I married Chris, I thought my "and Guest" days were over.  It never occurred to me that I would be relegated back to this god forsaken place of no guaranteed dance partner so soon.  I don't like being in this place (can you hear the temper tantrum starting?).  This place is filled with uncertainty about whether I will ever go anywhere again as something other than "Wendy and Guest."  Let's face it, this place is....lonely. 

After two and a half years, I think it is finally starting to dawn on me that life is going on without Chris.  As much as I want him here with me, my life is moving forward and I am starting to envision what the next phase will look like. Instead of seeing "Wendy and Guest", I'm starting to see "Wendy and _____."  I guess that is what some people might call healing.  And that is a good thing.

By the way, if you are inviting me to an event before _______ appears, invitations addressed to "Wendy and George Clooney", "Wendy and Hugh Jackman", or "Wendy and Patrick Dempsey" will be perfectly acceptable.

A Conversation with the Other Side of the Bed

Screw you.


Yeah, you.  


Don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about. 


Nice...just lay there and look all vacant and pitiful like you always do. Like you have for the last two plus years. 


I hate that you are always cold to the touch when my carefully placed hand accidentally brushes up against you. I loathe the way you have now become a receptacle for stray papers, extra clothes and random toys. I despise the fact that, even if someone else lays on you again someday, you will always be without your rightful owner.


Yes, I know I'm welcome to move over to your side at any time but it just doesn't feel right. I sleep on the right side of the bed not the left. You know that by now. And no, having a three-year-old occupy your space once in awhile does not make up for the constant reminder that you are. It does not make me forget the unforgettable absence. Nothing does.


I know I could get rid of you. I could sell you, downsize to a smaller bed, get rid of the memories. But, darn it, for all your faults, you are so comfortable to sleep on. And as much as I hate to admit it, you are pretty good looking.


So, Other Side of the Bed, after fighting with you and myself for the last 27 months, I have decided that you and your better half need a make over. Now you are both pretty and feminine and not quite as depressing. 


I guess I should look on the bright side.  At least you don't snore.

P.S. Do you have any idea how hard it is to fold king size sheets all by yourself?