Category Archives: Grief

Unintended Offense

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Last week, there was a meeting for all second grade parents for us to learn about some of the activities this school year. I was sitting next in a group of my mom friends, and one of them asked how things were going.

Usually I gloss over questions like these, but recently I’ve decided that I need to be more honest when people ask. It isn’t that I’ve been lying to people. I just haven’t been forthcoming about Ethan’s struggles.

My decision to be more open comes from HOPING parents will be more understanding. It’s like when Ethan tells me stories about this new kid in his class. This kid is really having a rough time, getting into arguments and fights, having difficulty making friends. When Ethan tells me these stories, I instruct him to remember what it was like earlier this year when he was the new kid. That we need to give this kid a little understanding, more love, because he’s adjusting and that’s hard. Now, whether or not other parents are trying to teach these kind of lessons, well, I don’t know.

Back to the mom friend who asked how things were going. I was honest: that Ethan was really struggling this year and having some troubles. I believe, I told her, that it comes from the grief he’s trying to deal with but that we’re working on it, through tae kwon do and the peer group and therapy.

Her face squished up a bit and she said (and I’m not paraphrasing at all), “Really? He’s still dealing with that? I would have thought, well it hasn’t been a year yet, but it’s been a long time.”

“It was the end of January,” I said. “Kids process in an entirely different way than adults do.”

Then I turned and faced the front of the room.

Really? Do people really think Ethan should be over the death of his dad? Do people REALLY think it’s THAT easy? And, given that all my mom friends know the basics of  my relationship with Mike and the circumstances of his death, do people think nine months is enough time for Ethan to be fully healed and functioning like nothing is wrong?

A few days later, I had the chance to have the same conversation with a different mom friend. She reacted in an entirely different way, very sympathetically, and even with some suggestions for resources in the area.

I guess every reaction will be different, and some will be offensive. It’s true that no one knows your child better than you do. And, I guess I won’t be having any more Ethan-is-struggling conversations with THAT one mom.

Rethinking therapy and getting to the core of the issue

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I did not have a good experience at Ethan’s therapist appointment tonight.

It started when we arrived. We were early, but there was already a line for the 6 p.m. appointments. I was third in line.

As I waited for Guy #1 to wrap up his business (WHAT could have taken him 10 minutes?!), I was forced to listen to the most asinine conversation behind me. I say “forced” because these guys were talking at an incredible volume, particularly for the subject matter.

From what I could gather, these two teen boys were there for a meeting – a meeting of teens with a drinking or drug problem. Teen dudes were talking about how, even though they were caught and arrested for drinking and driving, they WILL still drink in the future. One was even bragging about how he was going to convince the DA to reduce the charges against him. These teens couldn’t have been older than 16 years.

When it was my turn at the window, I was pretty irritated. Listening to two kids talking (loudly) about beating the system and not learning their lessons (especially when alcohol is involved), really pissed me off. Then the woman behind the glass window couldn’t understand how to process my change in insurance. (Former employer and COBRA really screwed up my August coverage.)

By this time, Ethan had already gone to the therapist’s office. They had been talking for almost 15 minutes when I entered the room. We talked about what happened since the last appointment, about my meeting with E’s teachers, and how E was affected by the burial at school.

Then the therapist suggested I have Ethan tested for ADD by a neuropsychologist. I’m not opposed to an ADD or ADHD diagnosis. In fact, a few months ago, I would have jumped at the chance to have him tested, evaluated, diagnosed. I kinda thought maybe Ethan was a bit ADD/ADHD; I mean, some of his behaviors and the fact that Mike was ADHD (but untreated). But now…now, I think we need to deal with the grief issues first. The more I read about how young kids process death and deal with grief, the more I think that there’s a core issue that needs to be dealt with first. Before we can address ANY other issue, I think Ethan needs to develop tools to deal with my dad’s death and HIS dad’s death.

I expressed that to the therapist. I feel like I was brushed off. I raised it again. And again, I thought he was blowing me off.

Since we stated seeing this therapist, I haven’t felt like he was dealing with the grief issues. Glossing over them. Maybe even ignoring them. Bringing up superficial questions to satisfy my concerns, but really not “dealing” with it.

The problem is that Ethan likes this guy (maybe because Ethan doesn’t have to talk about anything that’s really bothering him). I’m anxious to see how the grief/peer meetings will go, and if that will help. In the meantime, I’m going to start looking at other options.

Parent in-take

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Like Wednesday morning, Thursday started with tears, too.

I found a local organization that helps kids deal with the grieving process. It’s not counseling and it’s not therapy. The organization is structured with regular peer gatherings in which kids can share their feelings and talk about what’s going on their lives and how they are coping with the death of a loved one. Every kid there has lost someone – a grandparent, a sibling, a cousin, a parent.

I talked to the director by phone earlier this week. Today was “parent intake day.”

The organization doesn’t take everyone. Space is limited. And there’s a process to matching the kid (and parent) to the right group. That’s why the director meets with every parent first.

I knew I would have to talk about how my dad’s and Mike’s death have affected Ethan, so the tears started before I was even in the shower this morning. I can usually stay strong – until I have to talk about the effect on my kids.

The organization is a good 35 minute drive from my house, and it’s in a part of town I’ve never been.  I allowed plenty of time to find the place, but when I got there, I just couldn’t pull into the parking lot.

I passed it, on purpose.

I drove down the street, did some banking, stopped for a Coke, checked out the window display at some of the cute little shops. Now, I was officially late.

I’m never late. Being on time is late to me. If something starts at 9 a.m. and I’m there at 9 a.m., I’m late. I would prefer 10 minutes early, at least. I can sit and observe. I can collect my thoughts. I can mentally prepare. But this morning, I was late. On purpose. Being late ALMOST never happens – on purpose, NEVER.

I turned around and s-l-o-w-l-y drove back. I was now about 10 minutes late and having thoughts of wanting to blow off the appointment entirely. “It’s for Ethan,” I thought to myself and pulled into the parking lot.

I approached the discrete, old, brick building with a little bit of mixed emotions. “It sucks that there has to be places like this,” I thought and I walked through the front door.

The director greeted me and handed me some paperwork. Name, address, occupation, employer… Fine.  Child’s name, school… OK. Then I got to the section about the deceased. Cue the tears.

I kept it brief and matter of fact. Then I turned the page.

Half of the page was dedicated to how I was dealing with the death, the other half to how Ethan was coping. Rate on a scale from 1-5 each of these statements. Cue more tears.

I finished the paperwork, grabbed a Kleenex and the director entered the room. We talked for more than an hour about the loss of my dad and the death of Mike. How both impacted me, the kids, and my mom.  More tears.

Ever cried so much that the Kleenex was wringing wet? Yeah, that was my morning.

The director gave me a tour of the house and explained the program. We talked about Ethan’s needs and what was going on with him at school.

His problems? All textbook kids-who-are-grieving. I felt a sense of relief knowing that during meetings, all the kids are hyper and squirrely. That the kids have to state their name and age before a meeting, but don’t have to participate if they don’t want to. That art and other ways of expression are big components to the meetings. That the parents get together and meet during this time, too.

It seems like a solid program. One that can help us through this. I’m hopeful. And a hot mess (must not forget to reapply makeup before my class this afternoon).

I just hope that Friday is tear-free – or I’ll need to buy more mascara.

Parenting is hard…

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I hate starting off the day by crying in front of people I don’t really know.

But that was the beginning of my Wednesday. I had a meeting with Ethan’s home room and reading teachers this morning. It’s been a rocky start to the second grade for E.

I’m blessed to know that Ethan goes to school at a place with very understanding teachers. Teachers who want to help him (and us). Teachers who “get” what he’s going through. (E’s second grade teacher was widowed herself 10 years ago.) Teachers who want to find a solution and help him grow in a positive direction.

I love hearing that he’s a smart kid. A funny kid. A kid who tells great stories. A kid who loves and respects his mom so much. Those were the highlights of the morning conference.

But…

Ethan is being extremely disruptive in class. He’s talking out of turn, humming and singing, chewing on whatever he can find (fingers, pencils, paper, shirt sleeves), getting out of his seat, arguing with the teachers… He’s being difficult.

He’s also starting to struggle with reading.

I’ve noticed within the last few weeks that he’s stumbling quite a bit when we do our reading homework. He’s tripping over words that were part of the previous sentence. He struggles with words that were part of his spelling test the previous week. His reading is really jerky, not fluid. It’s also negatively impacting his ability to write sentences (he can’t “sound out” the words in the same way as other kids).

The teachers think he may need some speech therapy. (He was in speech from 3 years old through kindergarten, then tested out of help in first grade, but they assessed he may need help in grade two and beyond. Apparently some sounds – like r – aren’t “helped” until certain grade levels.)

I’m on board for speech. But it still doesn’t answer why… Why is he now struggling so much, having trouble in class, being so disruptive?

I’m not entirely sure what’s going on with Ethan, but there’s obviously something troubling him. (Like the kid hasn’t had major life-changing things happening for the last few years… pick any number of things that could be causing the trouble. Seriously.)

I’m trying a few new things:

  • I enrolled Ethan in tae kwon do. I think the discipline and structure will be good for him. I know similar programs have helped other kids focus and gain self-confidence. I hope it works for Ethan. And E is SUPER stoked about it. (Plus, the physical activity won’t hurt a kid with a lot of energy.)
  • I found a local peer-focused program that helps kids deal with their grief. I’m meeting with the director tomorrow to discuss our situation and see if the program may be right for Ethan. I know he feels like he’s the “only kid without a dad,” so I hope seeing and interacting with other kids his age will help him sort through his anger and confusion and other emotions.
  • I’ll increase his visits to his therapist. We meet with him on Monday. I think E needs to see him more often. While I’m a little concerned that the therapist isn’t addressing the core issue (grief), he is providing the tools E needs to deal with anger issues. And Ethan really likes the guy. I’m also going to sign permission for the therapist to talk directly to Ethan’s teachers – since E’s behavior is different at home. (We still have some issues at home, but overall, he’s a super loving, attentive kid.)
  • We’ve stepped back on reading a bit. He still has his mandated 15 minutes during homework time, but I’ve also added another 10-15 minutes each night. Ethan is responsible for selecting a couple of books and reading them to Lauren each night. This helps him practice a bit more – and it gives him a reason to read “baby” books for now to practice the basics of reading (as opposed to reading the chapter books that he so desperately wants to read.)

This parenting-thing is hard sometimes…

There’s No “Fun” in Funerals

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I’ve never been to a “good” funeral. At my Grandma Harness’ funeral, the whole family fell apart, and I haven’t talked to several aunts, uncles or cousins since. At my Great Grandpa’s funeral, there was a major clash with my mom’s parents after I was wrongly accused of something unimaginable. At my Great Grandma’s funeral, there were untrue, hurtful rumors being spread about my husband.

No, it’s been my experience that funerals are just big, hot messes.

And, my husband’s funeral in January was no exception.

*************

Regardless of circumstances, it’s tragic when a 38 year old man dies, especially when he was also a husband and a father, a man with wild potential – if only he could fight his demons. Mike was an alcoholic, in complete denial of his condition. His drinking was the reason that we separated and that I filed for divorce. His drinking caused the lying, the hiding, the emotional and mental abuse, the neglect of the kids – and I simply had enough. He had been living with his parents for nearly six months when he passed away in his sleep on a Wednesday night.

His mom called me to tell me that he was dead. I was at my new job. I remember asking over and over again, getting louder each time: “Cindy, what happened?”

And I remember being accused of having a role in his death.

“He just couldn’t get over losing you.”

“The divorce was killing him.”

“He didn’t understand why you left him.”

“You left him alone…”

Yet, they insisted on being there for the arrangements. Since the divorce wasn’t final, arrangements (and payment of everything) were my responsibility. Awkward doesn’t even begin to cover how uncomfortable it was to make those decisions – from the music to the readings to the coffin to the decision to cremate. I suppose it wouldn’t have been any easier if everything was perfect, but it wasn’t perfect. Not even close. And now, the reason I left him, the reason that our marriage failed, was the cause of his death. Alcoholism. And somehow, I was being accused of causing him to die.

The in laws kind of, sort of, apologized while we were making arrangements. They acknowledged how difficult Mike was during the time he was with them. How hard it was to see him drinking (no, flat out drunk) while he was looking you in the eye, lying, saying he was sober. I thought the first phone call might be an anomaly, the result of a mother’s pain after losing her son.

I was wrong.

After the arrangements were made, I left the funeral home with my mom and my two young kids. Walked out of the funeral home, in a town I had only visited a few times, with a poorly drawn map on a napkin directing me to some local hotels. I didn’t see or hear from the in laws for the next three days, not until the viewing on Sunday.

You know, not hearing from them was okay, for me. But I was in an unfamiliar town, with two young kids, stuck in a hotel. For three days. In my mind, it would have been courtesy to reach out, maybe offer to take the kids to dinner one night or swim with them in a pool or bring over the Christmas presents they had for them (since we never got to have Christmas with them – or Mike). Nothing.

*******************

On Sunday, my mom, the kids and I drove to the funeral home. Lauren fell asleep in the car, so my mom stayed with her while Ethan and I went in. The in laws were already there and we exchanged pleasantries. The funeral director told me that I could go in when I was ready. I asked Ethan if he wanted to stay with his grandparents while I went in. Honestly, I wanted to see how “things” looked before he came in. What did the room look like? The flowers? Where was the coffin? How did Mike look? Was he too “made up”?

Instead, Ethan grabbed my hand and said he wanted to come with me. We walked in slowly.

The room had a hideous blue carpet. The pattern will be forever burned in my mind since we only made it half way to the coffin when Ethan stopped and fell to his knees. “I don’t want to do this,” he said in a whisper.

“I don’t either, baby,” I said, dropping to the ground and grabbing him and holding him close. He climbed into my lap and I held him tightly, shielding him from the sight of the coffin while I stared at the carpet. We cried.

I reached into my bag and pulled out a grey and blue wrapped package. A child’s writing on the tag read, “To Daddy From Ethan” – it was the Christmas present that Ethan picked out, but never had a chance to give to Mike. “I want to give this to him now,” Ethan said, standing up and starting to walk toward the coffin.

“That’s why I brought it.”

I will never forget the sight of Ethan, head bowed, praying at Mike’s coffin.

Mike looked bad. His skin looked thin and loose, like he was a balloon that had deflated. Ethan didn’t seem to notice. “Why can’t we touch him?” he asked.

“Do you want to?” I asked.

Ethan reached out and touched Mike’s wedding ring with his pointer finger. Then Ethan walked over to a chair and started crying. I scooped him up and we cried together. I barely noticed that the in laws had come into the room and were now standing at the coffin.

There wouldn’t be another word exchanged between me and the in laws until I confronted Cindy at the end of the night.

***********************

The viewing was a whirlwind. So many family members (none of Mike’s family talked to me or the kids) and friends came from across the country. Two of my college friends regularly checked on the kids (who were playing in another room) and kept bottled water and tissues in my hands. I was overwhelmed by the people who made the trip – I will be forever grateful to those who made the drive or flight, who provided hugs and offered prayers, and who sent emails, letters, and Facebook messages. It was important for me to be able to share with Ethan how much his dad – and we – were loved.

There were moments of ridiculousness from the in laws. They weren’t talking to me, but there were times when I was close enough to overhear what they were saying to funeral guests. Things like, “Well, Mike just couldn’t go on without his family…” and “He’s in a better place now that he doesn’t have to worry about THAT divorce…” and “At least he died a married man, like he wanted to…”

I chose to ignore the in laws’ overtly rude comments.

*************************

At the end of the night, things were wrapping up. Friends went back to their homes or hotels. The kids were with my niece in our hotel room. And I was talking to the funeral director to wrap up a few last minute details and discussing the plans for the next day. She told me that the flowers and plants I wanted to take home would be available after the lunch following mass.

“There isn’t a lunch,” I said. “I told them I didn’t want one. Mike HATED those things, and too many people have to get on the road.”

“Um, there looks like there’s one after mass tomorrow,” she said, very uncomfortably. “I don’t know any more.”

“CINDY!!!” I yelled and ran from the room to the front door where Cindy was preparing to walk out. (She might have been purposely trying to leave before I caught up with her.)

I confronted her and she said we discussed it. “Yes, we talked about it,” I said. “And I said no. This is bullshit! You’re planning something HE would have HATED!” My rage from listening to Cindy and Darryl blaming me was finally boiling over.

“Well you can come if you want,” she said, obviously flustered.

“You planned this AFTER I told you that I didn’t want it? And I find out about it from the funeral director? No, we’re not coming. Not at all!”

***********************

The next morning was a traditional Catholic funeral mass at Mike’s childhood church. We arrived early so Ethan would have a chance to say goodbye to his dad, if he wanted. The in laws were there already. (Sidenote: the in laws are NEVER early, but for this whole event, they were two steps ahead of me – and I’m chronically early, always.)

We stood on one side of the church, they stood on the other. At one point, Darryl came over and touched my arm. “You know you’re invited to the lunch after this, right? It would be nice if you and the kids would come,” he said.

“Really?” I responded. “I found out from the funeral director last night. You KNEW I didn’t want this, but you planned it anyway, and you couldn’t CALL me to tell me? No, we’re not coming. Why would we? You’ve ignored us since we made arrangements on Thursday. Why would I bring my kids to a lunch at which they will be IGNORED by their GRANDPARENTS?”

He walked away.

Mass was a blur. I remember hearing a few of the hymns I chose – Amazing Grace, in particular. I remember Mike’s BFF from high school and college speaking. I remember communion. Otherwise, I held Ethan close. (Lauren and my mom stepped out since the baby was fussy.)

When mass ended and we walked out of the sanctuary, the funeral director pointed out where my bag was – it was filled with the registration book, cards that were dropped off, and thank you notes. The funeral director handed me Mike’s watch and wedding ring (a last minute request from Ethan before the casket was closed).

Then I noticed her.

Cindy was holding the crucifix from the casket. It was supposed to be in my bag. I walked across the room to the bag and noticed an empty box where the crucifix was supposed to be.

That bitch STOLE a crucifix. In a church. From a dead man. And his widow. And was now flaunting it. WTF?!

She was holding it at waist level, making no attempt to cover it up. She was taunting me, daring me to confront her, and I realized immediately what she was up to. Even in my cloudy anger, I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of what she wanted. I went up to the funeral director and told her to get the crucifix back.

I stood across the room by my bag, lest anything else go missing. The funeral director returned holding the crucifix and handed it to me. I put it in the box, grabbed the bag and walked back over to my family. We packed the car and were out of the church within minutes.

***********
That was six weeks ago. I haven’t heard from the in laws since. I have no idea if anyone went to the lunch. I have no idea if the lunch was any good.