Monthly Archives: November 2012

Last conversation: REVISITED

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So what would I have said to Mike if I knew it was our last conversation? I don’t know…

Would I have reminisced about the old days? When we met in college and started dating? What about his confession of love at the reflecting pond? Remember the corner of my dorm room that I let him decorate with beer signs? Or how about when we moved to St. Louis in the heat of the summer? How about when he proposed in our tiny campus apartment (still my favorite engagement story of all time)? How about our wedding reception at the haunted brewery – and getting locked in the haunted B&B the next morning? Remember what a fun time everyone had, some even calling it the “best wedding ever!”?  Remember how we didn’t even know if we’d have wedding guests, since it was weeks after 9/11 and people weren’t sure if they’d be safe? How we didn’t know if there’d be a honeymoon since it was supposed to start in NYC? What about finding our first house and moving into it – how excited we both were that we could afford a brand-new house? Oh, and what about the home improvement projects (the deck and the “Dr. Seuss shelves” and the tiled backsplash), and how we always joked that Mike was “handy for a lawyer”? Remember when I decided I wanted to be a mom, and how Ethan was born almost EXACTLY nine months later? Remember taking Ethan home the first time and not knowing what to do? How about when he let Ethan slide out of his car seat in my parents’ living room and his panicked “don’t cry, don’t cry!” plea to a tiny baby? Remember why we bought our second house because I said our first house was too small for another baby? And how Lauren was born nine months exactly after we moved into the Highcliff house?

Or maybe I would have just screamed at him, begging for answers. When did the drinking start? Why did it get so bad? Was this the reason he lost his last two jobs? Was he even applying for jobs in the two years he sat in the basement? How many times did he blame OD’ing on his depression meds, but it was really because he was drunk? Why couldn’t he just stop? Didn’t he love us enough? Why did he throw everything away for a bottle of cheap ass vodka? Did he ever drive drunk with Ethan in the car? When did the smoking start? Did he not care that he was putting our lives at risk when he smoked in the basement (and put out the cigarettes on the carpet – which we found after he moved out)? How COULD he trash the basement with his empties, cutting open the couch to hide bottles in the cushions, pushing aside ceiling tiles to hide cans, pulling out insulation in the storage room to store empties between the cement wall and the drywall? Rehab, AA, detox – nothing worked, but why? Couldn’t he stick with a program? Weren’t our kids “enough” for him to get his act together? Wasn’t I “enough”?

Or would I just say goodbye, hold his hand, and watch him go?

Would there have been a message he wanted to share with our kids? Or would he just say good-bye? Would he have even wanted to see the kids? (After all, Mike refused to have Christmas with the kids last year because he “didn’t want the kids to see him like this.”)

I just don’t know what I would have said to him…

Last conversation

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It was a Monday evening in January when Mike and I had a phone conversation about urinal etiquette.

I know it was Monday because it was the last time Mike and I spoke. My last conversation with my husband was an argument about bathroom behavior.

Earlier in the day, Ethan’s school called me. There was an incident in the bathroom involving a group of boys who were acting inappropriately. All the parents were asked to have conversations to discuss the appropriate way to act in the bathroom, specifically the urinal area.

This was a little out of my area of experience.

I called Mike on my way home. He answered, sounding tired and pissed off.

“Hey,” I said. “I heard from school. We need to talk to Ethan about how to act in the bathroom. I don’t know any details other than all the parents of the boys are having the talk with their sons tonight. Maybe you can call later and have that conversation with him?”

After months of calling every night at the same time, it had been days since Mike called to talk to the kids.

“That’s not happening,” Mike said.

“What?” I asked. “I just need you to tell Ethan how to behave at the urinals. You know, boy stuff.”

“Why can’t YOU do it?” Mike asked.

“Because I’m not equipped, pun intended, to talk about urinal stuff. All I know is you’re not supposed to look at anyone around you in the bathroom.”

“That’s it, just look straight ahead. No talking. Honestly, I don’t know why you can’t do this,” Mike replied.

“Because it’s your chance to be a dad. To have a man-to-boy talk with Ethan about something important, a life lesson.”

“I don’t feel like it,” Mike said. “You do it.”

“Fine!” I yelled. “I have absolutely no credibility in this area, but I’ll handle it, just like I’ve handled everything else! There’s nothing weird or awkward about a MOM having a talk with her son about urinal etiquette. Thanks for nothing, asshole!”

I hung up the phone, furious that Mike was refusing to man-up and talk to Ethan about “boy stuff.”

That was the last time we talked.

On Tuesday, I had two missed calls and messages from Mike’s cell number. I didn’t want to listen to the messages or return his calls. I was so mad that he wouldn’t talk to Ethan, and I didn’t have anything nice to say to him.

I wouldn’t listen to those messages until after I knew he died. The messages were pocket dials, obviously not planned or intended. I could hear background of the TV and rustling of something. I heard Mike cough. I heard his mom offer him something to drink. Everything was muffled, in the distance. I was just eavesdropping on those last hours.

Those pocket dial messages are now gone forever from my phone. But I’ll always have the memory of our last conversation. Urinal etiquette. Not the topic I would have chosen, if I would have known.

Running

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When I graduated with my masters degree, everyone asked what was next. After all, I just finished a three-year graduate program in a year and a half, landed a job at the top company in the industry, and spent months attending classes to convert to a new religion. Every hour of every day was filled with… something substantial.

My response when people asked: “I’m going to run a marathon.”

So…that never happened.

Soon after, I was engaged and planning a wedding. My career was booming with new opportunities (and LOTS of hours). Then there were issues with my parents health and they needed help. Then Ethan was born. Then, then, then.

There have been a lot of “thens” in the last dozen years.

Still, I never lost the “dream” of running a marathon, which is strange because I’ve never run a mile in my life – except when FORCED to run by angry, mean gym teachers in elementary, middle and high school. And then I HATED it.

I can totally picture myself running, but I’ve just never DONE it. I can see myself RUNNING a marathon, but I didn’t know where to start. I’ve even DREAMT about it. Several times through the years, I’ve researched training plans and upcoming races, but nothing.

A few weeks ago, I was hanging out with some of my mom friends (moms of Ethan’s classmates) and several of them were making plans to train to run in a half marathon in May. I told them that I always wanted to run, but I’ve never done it. (Another friend told me a few months ago that I needed to commit to a race – that was the only way I was actually going to run. This was my chance.)

Another mom quickly jumped in. If I would commit, she would to. And because this mom lives literally down the street, we could train together. She, too, has never run but is interested.

One of the moms has taken us under her wing. She’s sent us a training program to get started. Between now and mid-January, I’ve set a goal to run a certain distance so I can begin part two of my training, working up to the half-marathon in May.

This mom friend is also taking my new running partner and me shopping tomorrow for appropriate shoes and running bras and other stuff we need to do this the right way. I don’t even know what to WEAR to run! I mean, can I wear my comfy yoga pants, a tee-shirt and sweatshirt? Do I need special clothes made of space-age materials to whisk away the sweat and stuff? I just don’t know.

Training in Wisconsin during the winter will suck, but I want to do this. I feel like I NEED to do this.

I can’t just keep dreaming. I need to DO.