"I keep telling myself that the ongoing grief is a testament to how loved he is.
You are not abnormal. Grief is an ebb and flow. A cycle of acceptance and disbelief that never ends."
I could tell you that someone wise wrote that. That it is the thought of someone I look up to. That is partially true. I wrote it. And when it comes to the topic of grief, I am wiser now than I was 3 years ago, that's for sure. Some days I think my sheer survival is to be commended - the fact that I have maintained a level of normalcy for our kids and I have helped to build a life they are enjoying and thriving in.
It still surprises me the amount of understanding that is lacking for those experiencing grief. The judgement that lingers. The firm ideas that people who have never tread this path hold so tightly. The looks, oh, the looks.....
Sometimes people don't understand that I still grieve Tim. Maybe their timeline for my grief has passed. Maybe they think that my love for Jason has somehow erased my love for Tim. Sometimes I hear people get frustrated with others who still express their grief with tears. They judge how the other person grieves - they think it should be scheduled or secluded. I still cry. Even in public. I know a lot of people still cry about missing Tim. They wish they could call him and they cry because they can't. They think of the fun times they had together and the realization that those times can't happen again brings them to tears. They remember him as a child, and growing into a young man and an adult and the reality that they will never see him as an old man has their eyes brimming with tears. Me, I think about all of those things, and I think about all that he is missing. I think about how much we loved each other and the unfairness that he is not here to experience his 3 beautiful children growing up, that we don't get to fulfill all those dreams - it makes me cry. I'm crying as I type this, actually.
It's true, I believe our tears and our memories show how loved - how missed he is. It is a testament to our love, to the love that so many people gave him in his lifetime.
This week we will celebrate what would have been Tim's 46th birthday. A trigger. A milestone. A reason to celebrate that he lived. A reason to mourn that he died. It's complicated, and even the other widows in my life know that I can't explain it and even though they identify on some level, they can't fully understand it.
So, please, don't judge me for being stoic. For sobbing uncontrollably on my way to school. For being lost in thought when you want to tell me what a hard week you've had. For being stand-offish or needy. For not wanting to meet for lunch or begging you to come over for dinner. Maybe I need my space or maybe I need to be held like a child. Either way, my reactions are normal.
Grief doesn't go away. I likened it once to alcoholism. Just because you aren't drinking right now doesn't mean you are not an alcoholic. Just because I am living life, loving and raising my children doesn't mean I don't grieve Tim. Grief is a never-ending cycle. There is no cure. There is no end. It is an ebb and flow, and those closest to me know my triggers and understand what I need when I'm having one of those days. The rest of the world is free to be oblivious. It is okay. I kind of prefer it that way.
What is not okay is to pass judgement on someone because their grief does not meet your standards. That is hurtful, and frankly oppressive.
Showing posts with label venting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label venting. Show all posts
Grief is a Testament
Off The Radar
Recently I had a revelation. I don't like Facebook. Maybe this is a temporary feeling, maybe it isn't. Time will tell.
I have been on it for years, since back when nobody aside from college kids had heard of it. Of course now it is so commonplace that most people have an account. And that is reflected in the fact that I have (or had) over 450 "friends".
On several occasions, I tried to pare down my list of friends, but it was difficult for me to virtually erase people from my life because I do actually know all these people. Friends from grade school, distant family, business associates, former classmates, friends from the prostate cancer community, fellow widows, friends and old classmates of Tim's, people within my social circle.... I felt bad deleting them.
Facebook takes too much time. For it to be an enjoyable experience in which you are participating, you need to interact with people - post things, respond to the posts of others, keep your photos up to date, etc. That was time that I would rather be spending with my "real" friends - the ones who will take the time to call, text or email ME, just me, just to see how I am. That time is better spent with A&A, laughing or going on a walk. Reading up on something I would like to know more about. Pretty much anything.
At some point I realized that by being on Facebook, I was causing myself to feel as though I was living in a fishbowl. People could see what was going on in my life at will, and I didn't even know they were watching. And by looking in on the lives of all these "friends" I started to feel like a voyeur. I had so much information floating around in my head about people with whom I had not spoken in earnest in years. Sometimes decades. It just didn't feel right anymore.
There were times I felt envious of other people's vacations or the simplicity of what I viewed as their "freedoms". Times I felt excluded when an event I had attended was talked about and my attendance wasn't mentioned. Rarely were the times when I felt that my time on FB was well spent or that I walked away feeling better than I arrived.
Standing in a line or waiting in a waiting room, instead of striking up a pleasant conversation with a stranger and having a face to face conversation where I could learn something interesting, I would pull out my phone and look at Facebook. It feels silly now when I say it.... an embarrassment, really.
In the last month of Facebook free living, I have gotten more phone calls from my "real" friends than I have in the previous 6 months combined. I have emailed people, even sent and received actual mail.
Since leaving, several people who have actually noticed my absence have asked me about it. The assumption seems to be that because I have chosen to disconnect, something must be wrong. To that I reply that it is just the opposite. I am both content and happy. My children and I are blessedly healthy. I have a wonderful man in my life who loves me. I get to spend time with his kids doing fun things. And now more of my time can be dedicated to them, and not divided among my 450+ "friends".
It feels good to be free and anonymous.
I have been on it for years, since back when nobody aside from college kids had heard of it. Of course now it is so commonplace that most people have an account. And that is reflected in the fact that I have (or had) over 450 "friends".
On several occasions, I tried to pare down my list of friends, but it was difficult for me to virtually erase people from my life because I do actually know all these people. Friends from grade school, distant family, business associates, former classmates, friends from the prostate cancer community, fellow widows, friends and old classmates of Tim's, people within my social circle.... I felt bad deleting them.
Facebook takes too much time. For it to be an enjoyable experience in which you are participating, you need to interact with people - post things, respond to the posts of others, keep your photos up to date, etc. That was time that I would rather be spending with my "real" friends - the ones who will take the time to call, text or email ME, just me, just to see how I am. That time is better spent with A&A, laughing or going on a walk. Reading up on something I would like to know more about. Pretty much anything.
At some point I realized that by being on Facebook, I was causing myself to feel as though I was living in a fishbowl. People could see what was going on in my life at will, and I didn't even know they were watching. And by looking in on the lives of all these "friends" I started to feel like a voyeur. I had so much information floating around in my head about people with whom I had not spoken in earnest in years. Sometimes decades. It just didn't feel right anymore.
There were times I felt envious of other people's vacations or the simplicity of what I viewed as their "freedoms". Times I felt excluded when an event I had attended was talked about and my attendance wasn't mentioned. Rarely were the times when I felt that my time on FB was well spent or that I walked away feeling better than I arrived.
Standing in a line or waiting in a waiting room, instead of striking up a pleasant conversation with a stranger and having a face to face conversation where I could learn something interesting, I would pull out my phone and look at Facebook. It feels silly now when I say it.... an embarrassment, really.
In the last month of Facebook free living, I have gotten more phone calls from my "real" friends than I have in the previous 6 months combined. I have emailed people, even sent and received actual mail.
Since leaving, several people who have actually noticed my absence have asked me about it. The assumption seems to be that because I have chosen to disconnect, something must be wrong. To that I reply that it is just the opposite. I am both content and happy. My children and I are blessedly healthy. I have a wonderful man in my life who loves me. I get to spend time with his kids doing fun things. And now more of my time can be dedicated to them, and not divided among my 450+ "friends".
It feels good to be free and anonymous.
Accepted
"The past can not be changed, forgotten, edited or erased. It can only be accepted."
I'm not sure whose quote that is, but it seems to ring very true when it comes to coping with grief.
I don't think I ever really did the denial thing. I mean, I suppose there is a chance that am in denial about my denial, but I never thought that Tim was coming back. I definitely kept thinks just as they were for a very long time as if I was waiting for him to come back, but my logical mind knew that couldn't happen. Hell, it has been over 2 years and I still have his cell phones, keys and the change from his pockets sitting there on the nightstand. That's not because I think he is coming home to use his old Blackberry - it's because it somehow brings me comfort to see that stuff there. (Plus, I'm pretty sure if he did come back, Brittany and I would quickly convert him to an iphone guy.)
Did you ever read those "Which Way" books as a kid? From the first one I read in 3rd grade, I thought life was just like those books - you come to a point, you make a choice, that choice leads you down an entirely different path than if you had picked the other thing.
Meeting Tim in the first place was a total fluke. I was going to stay home that night instead of going out. Had I arrived any earlier, he would have been with another woman and I wouldn't have given him a second look. Had I arrived later, he would have been gone - a missed meeting that would have sent both of our lives down another path.
There some of those "which way points" that I wished I could have gone back and changed. Most of them had to do with Doctors, tests, knowing sooner. I was still willing to accept that cancer would be part of Tim's journey, part of our journey together, I just wasn't willing to accept it taking him away from me.
Early on in our relationship, we read a book together called the Book of Questions. It is a book that gets you talking about all kinds of subjects and I would recommend it to any couple to spark discussion. Question 19 reads, "You have the chance to meet someone with whom you can have the most satisfying love imaginable - the stuff of dreams. Sadly, you know that in six months the person will die. Knowing the pain that would follow, would you still want to meet the person and fall in love?"
We both said we would want to meet that person. I guess that is the hopeless romantic coming out in us both. We just felt that we were such a good fit and so intended to be together. The happiness of the moment could outshine the impending pain. It is strange to think that we discussed such a thing completely not knowing what the future would hold. We had no idea that Tim had cancer growing inside him from before we even met.
I know I can not change or edit any part of our journey. I would never want to forget or erase any of it - even the horrible, painful parts at the end - because it is our story and everything about our story is special to me.
I accept our story. Not because I wouldn't rewrite the ending if I could, but because I have no choice. Acceptance is what gives me permission to continue living.
I'm not sure whose quote that is, but it seems to ring very true when it comes to coping with grief.
I don't think I ever really did the denial thing. I mean, I suppose there is a chance that am in denial about my denial, but I never thought that Tim was coming back. I definitely kept thinks just as they were for a very long time as if I was waiting for him to come back, but my logical mind knew that couldn't happen. Hell, it has been over 2 years and I still have his cell phones, keys and the change from his pockets sitting there on the nightstand. That's not because I think he is coming home to use his old Blackberry - it's because it somehow brings me comfort to see that stuff there. (Plus, I'm pretty sure if he did come back, Brittany and I would quickly convert him to an iphone guy.)
Did you ever read those "Which Way" books as a kid? From the first one I read in 3rd grade, I thought life was just like those books - you come to a point, you make a choice, that choice leads you down an entirely different path than if you had picked the other thing.
Meeting Tim in the first place was a total fluke. I was going to stay home that night instead of going out. Had I arrived any earlier, he would have been with another woman and I wouldn't have given him a second look. Had I arrived later, he would have been gone - a missed meeting that would have sent both of our lives down another path.
There some of those "which way points" that I wished I could have gone back and changed. Most of them had to do with Doctors, tests, knowing sooner. I was still willing to accept that cancer would be part of Tim's journey, part of our journey together, I just wasn't willing to accept it taking him away from me.
Early on in our relationship, we read a book together called the Book of Questions. It is a book that gets you talking about all kinds of subjects and I would recommend it to any couple to spark discussion. Question 19 reads, "You have the chance to meet someone with whom you can have the most satisfying love imaginable - the stuff of dreams. Sadly, you know that in six months the person will die. Knowing the pain that would follow, would you still want to meet the person and fall in love?"
We both said we would want to meet that person. I guess that is the hopeless romantic coming out in us both. We just felt that we were such a good fit and so intended to be together. The happiness of the moment could outshine the impending pain. It is strange to think that we discussed such a thing completely not knowing what the future would hold. We had no idea that Tim had cancer growing inside him from before we even met.
I know I can not change or edit any part of our journey. I would never want to forget or erase any of it - even the horrible, painful parts at the end - because it is our story and everything about our story is special to me.
I accept our story. Not because I wouldn't rewrite the ending if I could, but because I have no choice. Acceptance is what gives me permission to continue living.
Brave
Yesterday I drove the kids 2 hours north to visit Tim's mom & dad at their house. I haven't done many solo car rides in the last 2 years - for one it is hard with the 2 kids. Also, the music in the car can sometimes trigger emotions in me.
On this trip, I borrowed a car that gets better gas mileage than mine. I had no way to hook up my ipod. That meant no "safe" playlists. Radio stations all faded the farther we got from home. The one that remained was a "top 40" type station that I wouldn't normally listen to, but it was better than the deafening silence with A&A dozed off in the back.
I heard a song twice on that ride. The chorus says, "I want to see you be brave." I didn't hear any of the other lyrics.
Brave.
That brought back a flood of memories in a quick flash that left me with tear stained cheeks.
Although I think that battling cancer brought out the absolute best in Tim, I never, ever want to see anyone else I love "be brave". I don't want them to need to.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That last week is a blur. There are parts that stand out, but the lack of sleep, the stressful pregnancy, Tim's nausea and vomiting.... it is a blurred mess.
One of his best friends since childhood had gotten into the habit of coming to see him every day. I liked that, because there were others of his friends who didn't come - couldn't come - didn't want to come. Having him visit with Tim made me happy.
Until one day that last week.
He always asked me about Tim's blood counts and asked for very specific information. At some point that week it occurred to me why he was asking. His wife is an oncological nurse. Then it hit me why he was here every day. Because they thought Tim was dying.
This occurred to me in the middle of the day as I sat in the den working on the computer and as Tim sat on the couch watching a movie and waiting to throw up. I sat in the den and cried and cried until I could cry no more. I felt the weight of a thousand elephants on my chest. I felt like my head was going to explode. I was just sick.
I slipped quietly into our bedroom and washed my face, put in some eye drops and put on a little makeup so Tim wouldn't know I'd been crying.
I needed to be close to him. I came out into the living room to sit so close to him I was almost on top of him. Immediately he asked me what was wrong. I could never fool him - he read me like a book.
"I'm scared, " I admitted as he gathered me even closer to hold me. "Aren't you ever scared?"
In the voice of a man so weak that he chose his words carefully as not to exhaust himself, Tim said, "I'm not sacred. I'm brave."
I can hear him speaking those words in my mind at will. It is both haunting and comforting. It rips my heart out and it makes me so, so proud.
Tim was braver than I could ever be, braver than anyone I have ever known. He was brave enough for all of us and used his energy to love and protect those he cared about. He fought to the very end to educate men about prostate cancer so that no man would have to go through what he did.
That is true bravery. Bravery that I hope the young girl singing that song knows nothing about. Bravery like I hope to never experience or witness again.
On this trip, I borrowed a car that gets better gas mileage than mine. I had no way to hook up my ipod. That meant no "safe" playlists. Radio stations all faded the farther we got from home. The one that remained was a "top 40" type station that I wouldn't normally listen to, but it was better than the deafening silence with A&A dozed off in the back.
I heard a song twice on that ride. The chorus says, "I want to see you be brave." I didn't hear any of the other lyrics.
Brave.
That brought back a flood of memories in a quick flash that left me with tear stained cheeks.
Although I think that battling cancer brought out the absolute best in Tim, I never, ever want to see anyone else I love "be brave". I don't want them to need to.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That last week is a blur. There are parts that stand out, but the lack of sleep, the stressful pregnancy, Tim's nausea and vomiting.... it is a blurred mess.
One of his best friends since childhood had gotten into the habit of coming to see him every day. I liked that, because there were others of his friends who didn't come - couldn't come - didn't want to come. Having him visit with Tim made me happy.
Until one day that last week.
He always asked me about Tim's blood counts and asked for very specific information. At some point that week it occurred to me why he was asking. His wife is an oncological nurse. Then it hit me why he was here every day. Because they thought Tim was dying.
This occurred to me in the middle of the day as I sat in the den working on the computer and as Tim sat on the couch watching a movie and waiting to throw up. I sat in the den and cried and cried until I could cry no more. I felt the weight of a thousand elephants on my chest. I felt like my head was going to explode. I was just sick.
I slipped quietly into our bedroom and washed my face, put in some eye drops and put on a little makeup so Tim wouldn't know I'd been crying.
I needed to be close to him. I came out into the living room to sit so close to him I was almost on top of him. Immediately he asked me what was wrong. I could never fool him - he read me like a book.
"I'm scared, " I admitted as he gathered me even closer to hold me. "Aren't you ever scared?"
In the voice of a man so weak that he chose his words carefully as not to exhaust himself, Tim said, "I'm not sacred. I'm brave."
I can hear him speaking those words in my mind at will. It is both haunting and comforting. It rips my heart out and it makes me so, so proud.
Tim was braver than I could ever be, braver than anyone I have ever known. He was brave enough for all of us and used his energy to love and protect those he cared about. He fought to the very end to educate men about prostate cancer so that no man would have to go through what he did.
That is true bravery. Bravery that I hope the young girl singing that song knows nothing about. Bravery like I hope to never experience or witness again.
Broad Shoulders
When is it that people start to go away? When do people figure you've got it under control? That you don't need them anymore?
Many widows or widowers can answer this question. It's when you start dating. Maybe that is why I have refrained for talking about that here.... It is certainly not a secret in my "real" life. But in my "real" life, I know who is watching me. Here I don't.
Once that leap of faith into dating is taken, people start to pull away. Mostly the people associated with your spouse, I would guess - their friends, family, co-workers. Maybe it is because it is painful to see you moving forward, a constant reminder that time marches on. Maybe it is because they think this means you are "all better" now. Maybe there is some discomfort thinking that you are "replacing" your lost spouse.
The new man is expected by some to sweep in and repair the pieces of your broken heart while taking on all the responsibilities that your spouse had, that other people had helped with up until now. He is supposed to not only be okay with all these sudden expectations, he should be gracious about it. He should respect your spouse and all the talk of him and all the photos of him on the walls. He should take on some of the fatherly roles but know that he will never be their father. Inside he wonders if he will always feel like second best. It takes some pretty broad shoulders to carry that weight.
The truth is that moving forward does not mean that you love your spouse any less. It doesn't mean that you are leaving that part of your life behind or trying to forget. Moving forward is not the same as moving on - moving forward is just starting a new chapter. It doesn't mean that you want to erase the ones that came before. All it means is that you recognize that you deserve to be happy once again - that your spouse showed you a love so great that even after the heartbreak of losing them, you still believe in love.
I read somewhere that it takes a strong man to handle a broken woman.
When a man dates a widow, he is getting a lot more than he bargained for - a truly broken woman. Women as a species are different from men, and therefore a lot of men have a hard time with them. With a widow, there is a lot of emotional baggage that must be dealt with tenderly, but not so tenderly as to make her think that you think she is weak. Those men are constantly walking the tightrope that is loving a broken woman. This is to be commended. Respected.
I can tell you one thing, I think Tim would respect the hell out of the man who loves me now. And he's got some pretty broad shoulders.
Many widows or widowers can answer this question. It's when you start dating. Maybe that is why I have refrained for talking about that here.... It is certainly not a secret in my "real" life. But in my "real" life, I know who is watching me. Here I don't.
Once that leap of faith into dating is taken, people start to pull away. Mostly the people associated with your spouse, I would guess - their friends, family, co-workers. Maybe it is because it is painful to see you moving forward, a constant reminder that time marches on. Maybe it is because they think this means you are "all better" now. Maybe there is some discomfort thinking that you are "replacing" your lost spouse.
The new man is expected by some to sweep in and repair the pieces of your broken heart while taking on all the responsibilities that your spouse had, that other people had helped with up until now. He is supposed to not only be okay with all these sudden expectations, he should be gracious about it. He should respect your spouse and all the talk of him and all the photos of him on the walls. He should take on some of the fatherly roles but know that he will never be their father. Inside he wonders if he will always feel like second best. It takes some pretty broad shoulders to carry that weight.
The truth is that moving forward does not mean that you love your spouse any less. It doesn't mean that you are leaving that part of your life behind or trying to forget. Moving forward is not the same as moving on - moving forward is just starting a new chapter. It doesn't mean that you want to erase the ones that came before. All it means is that you recognize that you deserve to be happy once again - that your spouse showed you a love so great that even after the heartbreak of losing them, you still believe in love.
I read somewhere that it takes a strong man to handle a broken woman.
When a man dates a widow, he is getting a lot more than he bargained for - a truly broken woman. Women as a species are different from men, and therefore a lot of men have a hard time with them. With a widow, there is a lot of emotional baggage that must be dealt with tenderly, but not so tenderly as to make her think that you think she is weak. Those men are constantly walking the tightrope that is loving a broken woman. This is to be commended. Respected.
I can tell you one thing, I think Tim would respect the hell out of the man who loves me now. And he's got some pretty broad shoulders.
August
Oh, August. Here we are again. You know I hate you. You fill me with dread and cause memories of all of the "lasts" to come flooding back with your heat and your monsoons and your long, golden sunsets. It is as if I am just waiting for you to pass, but I would never wish away time because I know how precious it is.
Truth be told, I even hated that the expiration date on my debit card was this month. I hated having to write it. I hated that my husband expired before my debit card. I hate when people use the word "expired" when referring to a person.
I wonder will there ever be a day when August doesn't fill me with dread? With the 27th of any month come and go unnoticed instead of it marking another month passed since I have seen him, kissed him, held him, talked to him?
A&A are 18 months old right now. Every accomplishment they have had, every step they have taken, every sight they have seen he has not been here to hold their hands through it. To them, Daddy is a photograph. They couldn't identify him across a room by how he walks or his laugh. They don't know what it feels like to be comforted by their Daddy when they get hurt. I still remember what it feels like to be comforted by my dad and I am 33. They will never get that.
At least I still have the memories. I remember our kisses like they happened yesterday - the first kiss and the last kiss. Last week I came out of a meeting and as I was walking to my car, I reached into my purse and pulled out my cell phone to call him. I guess that is just how my mind works. 5 years of telling him everything, of having a best friend who was also my perfect partner - part of me will never be able to let him go.
Now I just have to make it through another August without cracking.
Truth be told, I even hated that the expiration date on my debit card was this month. I hated having to write it. I hated that my husband expired before my debit card. I hate when people use the word "expired" when referring to a person.
I wonder will there ever be a day when August doesn't fill me with dread? With the 27th of any month come and go unnoticed instead of it marking another month passed since I have seen him, kissed him, held him, talked to him?
A&A are 18 months old right now. Every accomplishment they have had, every step they have taken, every sight they have seen he has not been here to hold their hands through it. To them, Daddy is a photograph. They couldn't identify him across a room by how he walks or his laugh. They don't know what it feels like to be comforted by their Daddy when they get hurt. I still remember what it feels like to be comforted by my dad and I am 33. They will never get that.
At least I still have the memories. I remember our kisses like they happened yesterday - the first kiss and the last kiss. Last week I came out of a meeting and as I was walking to my car, I reached into my purse and pulled out my cell phone to call him. I guess that is just how my mind works. 5 years of telling him everything, of having a best friend who was also my perfect partner - part of me will never be able to let him go.
Now I just have to make it through another August without cracking.
Single Mom
When I was pregnant, I wanted to take a child-birth class before I had the babies. I looked into it. It was the first time I had to deal with being a "single mom".
I didn't want to go sit in a class full of mommies and daddies happily expecting their little bundles of joy, looking into each other's eyes twinkling with excitement and hope for the future. In fact for many months, couples made me very uncomfortable. Even couples I love very much.
Instead I was offered to go to the single mom's child-birthing class.
But I didn't fit in there either.
Instead I skipped it all together and counted on my mom and my friend Shannon to get me through labor. They did fine, I made it through, and after 26 hours I ended up with a c-section anyway, so it really didn't matter.
The point is: I am not a "single parent". I mean, I am, but I am widowed, which is different. Drastically different.
I know that there are a million scenarios when it comes to parenting, and some of what I am about to say might not be entirely fair, but I'm going to say it anyway.
In a typical divorced, single parent set-up there are a few things that happen:
You, your husband or both of you made a decision to end your marriage.
You fought over possessions and debt. You got the couch, he got the TV, you split the AmEx bill.
A "parenting time" plan was set in place, as was child support and alimony where applicable.
You argue with your former spouse about pick-up and drop-off times, general parenting decisions and even money matters. You think he/she is a jerk.
You realize that it's hard being a single parent when there is nobody to pick up the slack around the house or with the kids.
You struggle with guilt and end up getting relaxed on rules and maybe even trying to be the "favorite" parent by letting your kids get away with more then your former spouse.
When people tell me they know how hard it is to be a single parent, the little voice inside my head wants to scream. The only person who knows what it is like for me is another widowed parent.
I didn't make a decision to end my marriage - my husband was stollen from his family against his will.
I got everything. That means I got to keep the bed we used to sleep in, the couch we used to snuggle on and the dinner table we used to sit around. I also got the AmEx bill.
When Divorced Dad is coming by Wednesdays and every other weekend to take the kids, you may not like every decision he makes, but you are getting a break. You can have cereal for dinner, go out with your friends, work on a project - whatever you want. You are getting some time.
I get time one of 2 ways - either I ask a favor of a friend or family member or I pay a babysitter. And they are making $10-14 and hour these days. Ouch. I shell out for a break once a week for 4 hours. And I earned those 4 hours. The other 164 hours a week, I am on-duty.
I can't tell you what I would give to be divorced from Tim. I saw how he was as a dad and as an ex-husband and it was pretty admirable. He got along with his ex-wife and was still able to be a phenomenal Dad to his daughter. I would love the opportunity to be divorced from him for the simple fact that it would mean A&A could still have him, even if I couldn't.
Yes, it is hard being a single parent. I get that. You know what sucks even worse? Not having an ex to complain about.
I didn't want to go sit in a class full of mommies and daddies happily expecting their little bundles of joy, looking into each other's eyes twinkling with excitement and hope for the future. In fact for many months, couples made me very uncomfortable. Even couples I love very much.
Instead I was offered to go to the single mom's child-birthing class.
But I didn't fit in there either.
Instead I skipped it all together and counted on my mom and my friend Shannon to get me through labor. They did fine, I made it through, and after 26 hours I ended up with a c-section anyway, so it really didn't matter.
The point is: I am not a "single parent". I mean, I am, but I am widowed, which is different. Drastically different.
I know that there are a million scenarios when it comes to parenting, and some of what I am about to say might not be entirely fair, but I'm going to say it anyway.
In a typical divorced, single parent set-up there are a few things that happen:
You, your husband or both of you made a decision to end your marriage.
You fought over possessions and debt. You got the couch, he got the TV, you split the AmEx bill.
A "parenting time" plan was set in place, as was child support and alimony where applicable.
You argue with your former spouse about pick-up and drop-off times, general parenting decisions and even money matters. You think he/she is a jerk.
You realize that it's hard being a single parent when there is nobody to pick up the slack around the house or with the kids.
You struggle with guilt and end up getting relaxed on rules and maybe even trying to be the "favorite" parent by letting your kids get away with more then your former spouse.
When people tell me they know how hard it is to be a single parent, the little voice inside my head wants to scream. The only person who knows what it is like for me is another widowed parent.
I didn't make a decision to end my marriage - my husband was stollen from his family against his will.
I got everything. That means I got to keep the bed we used to sleep in, the couch we used to snuggle on and the dinner table we used to sit around. I also got the AmEx bill.
When Divorced Dad is coming by Wednesdays and every other weekend to take the kids, you may not like every decision he makes, but you are getting a break. You can have cereal for dinner, go out with your friends, work on a project - whatever you want. You are getting some time.
I get time one of 2 ways - either I ask a favor of a friend or family member or I pay a babysitter. And they are making $10-14 and hour these days. Ouch. I shell out for a break once a week for 4 hours. And I earned those 4 hours. The other 164 hours a week, I am on-duty.
I can't tell you what I would give to be divorced from Tim. I saw how he was as a dad and as an ex-husband and it was pretty admirable. He got along with his ex-wife and was still able to be a phenomenal Dad to his daughter. I would love the opportunity to be divorced from him for the simple fact that it would mean A&A could still have him, even if I couldn't.
Yes, it is hard being a single parent. I get that. You know what sucks even worse? Not having an ex to complain about.
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About Me
- Autumn
- Learning to navigate the unpredictable waters of life as a new mom and a young widow.... still with the sweetest puppy imaginable.
