Category Archives: Grief

One year

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Today is one year. As I write this, it’s one year to the exact minute that I received the call from Mike’s mom.

I didn’t think it was going to be a big deal, just another day. I thought I was okay.

It’s hard.

I woke up with a throbbing headache at 4:30. Lauren was crying out for me at 5 a.m., and she and I cuddled for a half hour. I showered, got dressed, packed my lunch. If I didn’t have to interview a job candidate this afternoon, I would have stayed in bed.

It snowed last night. Not much, but a slick snowy coat covered the roads as I took Ethan to school.

I thought about cancelling my oil change appointment, but I was already WAY overdue. Of course, I was ridiculously early for the appointment, so I went through a drive thru – maybe caffeine would help my headache, I thought. (It didn’t.)

Then I drove around. I wanted to find an empty parking lot and just sit, maybe sneak in a 10-minute nap. But the snow… nearly every lot was being plowed, and those that weren’t plowed REALLY needed it.

After driving around for 20 minutes, I found an acceptable lot, parked and sat. I couldn’t move. I just stared at a discount dry cleaners, a hair cut place and sandwich restaurant. I watched the reflection of the cars from the road behind me. As the reflections moved along the plate-glass windows, their shape changed – short to long, thin to fat, tall to short. It was like watching a fun house mirror.

I was very conscious of my breathing. In, out. Deep breaths.

I felt like I couldn’t move anything other than my eyes, watching those cars in the reflection. Several times, I thought, “It’s time. I need to get to the car dealer.” But I couldn’t seem to lift my head, let alone my arms or legs to physically drive the car.

My email dinged. New message. It was about tomorrow’s alumni board meeting at my alma mater. There’s no way, I thought. It took everything in me to pull my head off the back of the car seat. I emailed back: “I thought I was fine. I’m not. Won’t be there tomorrow.”

I glanced at the time. Just enough time to get to the dealer.

Pulled into the garage, checked in, walked to the waiting room.

I emailed a few people at work (someone from IT was coming to check my laptop and a student wanted to talk about internships) – I’m going to be late, I wrote, blaming it on the weather and road conditions.

Of course, as soon as I walked into my building, the IT guy and the student were waiting for me in the hall outside my office. I rushed through both meetings, sent them on their ways, and shut my door.

I walked over to my window and looked out at the snow-covered quad. Without warning, the tears just came.

Finding help – I hope

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I met with the new therapist last night. (Man, it was a cold night with -25 degree wind chills… If this wasn’t for Ethan’s benefit, I would have stayed home in my sweat pants under a down blanket!)

New therapist (D) is awesome.

Her office was filled with kid stuff, toys and books and games. It was very different from Ethan’s previous therapist’s office, which was cold and not kid-friendly with its diplomas on the wall and mismatched dorm-like furniture. I was also relieved to see two other kids coming out of another office – the boy was about Ethan’s age and the girl was maybe a year younger. Proof that this place GETS kids and knows how to work with them. (Never really saw kids at the old therapy place – no one under teen years.)

We sat down and she asked me to go over the timeline of events starting with Mike’s death last year.

“Actually, I think it started before that,” I said.

I recounted for her what’s happened in two years – Lauren’s birth (Ethan was no longer the only child), finding out Mike was drinking and lying and hiding it (lots of tension and arguing in the house), my dad’s death (Ethan let out a piercing, heart breaking howl when the Marine presented my mom with the American flag), neglect when Ethan was left alone with Mike (Mike drank until he passed out and forgot to feed or care for Ethan), my mom moving in with us, more tension at home as Mike was dropped from the outpatient rehab center, the loss of my job and the drinking ultimatum I gave to Mike, going to court, Mike being taken to the hospital and moving in with his parents a few states away, relocating the family to another state, Ethan starting a new school, Mike dying.

I explained to the therapist that Ethan’s behavior is very different at home and school. There’s no anger at home. There isn’t impulsive behavior or inappropriate outbursts when he’s with me or my mom. I talked to her about my belief that Ethan is processing his grief and losses, and he’s worried when he’s not around me or his grandma. I told her others want to diagnose him as ADD/ADHD, but that I wanted to hold off until I thought Ethan could process and deal with the grief issues. She nodded, she understood my theories.

D listened to everything, taking notes, asking occasional questions. She asked about his previous therapy experience and what was discussed. I told her that the former therapist never broached the subject of death or grief. Instead he concentrated on helping Ethan get along with his peers – necessary yes, but not helping the underlying problem. D was mortified.

“This kid’s been through a lot,” she said. “Grief and loss are major parts of his life. We’ll work on it.”

Ethan has his first appointment with her in one week. Fingers crossed.

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On a related note, it’s been a tough week for Ethan. He’s been in trouble at school for outbursts and anger and arguing with teachers.

Last night, I was on my way to pick him up from the after school program when the director called. Ethan was having a panic attack, she told me. He was yelled at for pushing a kid while playing tag and he lost it. They couldn’t calm him down.

Luckily, I was minutes away from the school. When I got there, Ethan was in a quiet, dark room across the hall from the rest of the kids. He had his head down and was sobbing. One of the program leaders was talking to him, rubbing his hair.

I asked him what was going on, what happened. He lifted his head and said that it’s almost the time when his daddy died last year.

We sat in the dark room and cried together for a few minutes. I gathered his things in the other room, and we left.

Right or wrong, I’m not going to lecture or yell at him for misbehaving this week. He has enough on his seven-year old mind this week.

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Late last night, I got an email from one of my mom friends. This mom knows the anniversary is coming up. Her daughter is in Ethan’s class:

During prayers tonight, I asked the girls if there was anything special they wanted to pray for and KL said, “I would like to pray for Ethan.” I said that was a great idea but asked if she had any reason and she said, “He just looks like he needs a friend, mom.” So I told her maybe she should try to be a better friend if it looks like he needs a friend.

I fear that Ethan’s anger and outbursts will alienate kids (and their parents), leaving him without friends or a support system. I only hope the other moms and kids in the class show this kind of compassion as we continue to move through these tough times.

It’s a good reminder not to judge others: you just don’t know what they’re going through.

Parenting is hard.

Wondering

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Warning: rambling posts to follow. Blog posts this week may not be coherent.

It’ll be one week on Friday since Mike died. And it’s more emotional than I thought it would be.

We were separated, but we were still friends (when he was sober).

We were divorcing, but he was still the person I called when something good – or bad – happened to me.

We weren’t living together, but he was still involved in making decisions for the kids (when he was sober).

Some days it seems surreal, like this is a dream. That he’s not really gone. Sometimes I wonder if his death was somehow faked, an elaborate hoax. That he’ll some day reappear, sober and with the personality of the “old” Mikey.

I often think about the long-term effects his death will have on the kids.

I wonder if I’ll find love, companionship, friendship, passion again.

I wonder how we will get through this week… How Ethan will manage… If Lauren will even realize… If I will get the motivation to actually DO anything this week…

Follow up: teacher meeting – OMG

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I wasn’t sure why Ethan’s teacher wanted to talk to me, but I suspected it wasn’t to tell me that my son was student of the month.

Ethan and I walked into her classroom after school. She immediately sent Ethan to the office to wait for us.

Two more teachers (the reading teacher and the music teacher) came in.

She told me a story about Ethan telling a kid that his artwork was bad. It was apparently five minutes of Ethan shouting at the kid that his shark picture sucked. He later told the teacher that he thought the kid was showing off. The teacher told Ethan he was jealous. She said that he threatened to rip the picture up in art class.

(OK, that’s rude and this was the first I heard of it. There’s no reason to do that to a kid – and this particular boy is a REALLY good artist. This will be addressed with Ethan. But, I wondered, was that enough to call me in and have two other teachers in the room?)

“And I’ve been really disturbed by something you mentioned last week. I’ve been thinking a lot about it, actually,” E’s teacher began as the other teachers pulled up tiny chairs to sit on either side of me. I felt trapped and ganged up on. I didn’t realize this was a three-on-one situation. I wasn’t comfortable with this at all.

“You said he wasn’t in counseling. He needs it,” she said.

(Fucking brilliant, that woman.)

The other two women nodded their heads, staring at me.

“As I mentioned, Ethan’s former counselor wasn’t used to kids as young as he is, nor was he versed in child grief,” I said calmly. “I think I found a good counselor who works with young children. We’re meeting on Tuesday. She and I. So I can vet her a final time before introducing her to Ethan.”

“How soon will Ethan start with her?” the teacher asked. “He needs to talk to someone at least weekly effective immediately. I reviewed his records from his previous school and he had issues there, too. I’m not sure this is grief, since it started before his father died. You need to be open to the possibility that it’s more.”

That’s when I lost it. And unfortunately, when I lose it, my eyes leak. It’s not tears. It’s more like a flood of pissed offishness.

“Are you remotely aware of how a child grieves? When you’re sad or full of emotion, what do you do? Take a walk? Surf the Internet? Call or email a friend? A kid doesn’t have those resources. If Ethan gets emotional – and I’m not even sure he has the maturity to know what his emotions are on this issue – he’s still expected to sit quietly, face forward, pay attention, do his work, keep quiet. He doesn’t have an outlet!” my voice quivered.

“He can always tell me if he wants to go to the office to calm down,” the teacher said. “And this started well before you moved here and his dad died,” she continued.

“You don’t have a baseline for his behavior! He lost his grandfather before he started kindergarten! He had that loss. He saw the troubles in my marriage at the same time. Then I moved him here. Then Mike died. That’s a lot of stuff to happen to a kid in a couple of years. He’s only seven years old!”

“Still, the behavior was going on before Mike died.”

“HE HAS NEVER BEEN IN SCHOOL WITHOUT HAVING GONE THROUGH A LOSS! THE KID IS GRIEVING AND I CANNOT HAVE OTHER ISSUES ADDRESSED UNTIL HE CAN DEAL WITH THE MAJOR LOSSES HE’S SUFFERED!” My voice was louder now (and my eyes continued to leak, soaking every inch of the tissue I was holding).

The teachers went on about how Ethan has outbursts in class. Surprisingly, this time they’re saying that the wiggliness and getting up isn’t an issue and they really don’t mind it (that’s news to me, as his “motion” is usually the subject of these meetings).

I’m not opposed to having Ethan diagnosed with ADD or ADHD, but I also know from extensive research and conversations with experts (and other parents) that kid grief can “look like” other behavior issues, especially at school.

We left the conversation with me telling his teacher that she needs to communicate with me better (like letting me know there’s a problem, not waiting days/weeks to address it.

Damn, I can’t wait until he’s done with this teacher.

Right now, I just need a drink.

Teacher meeting, new therapist

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Ethan’s teacher emailed yesterday, requesting that we meet in person after class today.

God, I hope she found a man for me.

LOL

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On a more serious note, I think I found a new therapist for Ethan. After an exhaustive search of providers covered by my insurance (and much thought about the pros and cons of staying with the same therapy group as our last therapist), I found a woman who specializes in working with young children (as young as three years old – wow), and has a lot of experience with helping young kids through the grieving process. She’s an elementary school teacher turned counselor, so I’m hoping she’ll have some good insight and recommendations for how to help Ethan through this.

We’ve emailed a few times, and although we keep missing each other’s phone calls, I’m fairly certain that she’s going to be a terrific fit for us. Fingers crossed.