Category Archives: Parenthood

Ready to Move on? A Widow’s Thoughts on Dating

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Even though I’ve turned in my notice at work, I’m still putting in a ton of hours. Not as much as before, but a few extra hours at night. Last night was no exception. Laptop fired up, I settled into the couch to draft a meeting recap. The kids and my mom were in bed, and the TV was on as background noise to drowned out the sound of Ethan’s rock tumbler outside. (He’s making me some sort of jewelry for my birthday.)

I was only half listening as the narrator of the TV show introduced the new innovative dating show concept. “Yeah, right,” I thought, “This will be like the scads of other dating shows.” It would be the perfect mindless background to my evening of boring memo writing.

Some blonde chic was introduced. She was a bubbly, 20-something, and all she wanted in life was to be a wife and have babies. A random gal from California was introduced next. No mention of wife and babies, but definitely “looking for love.” I was pretty tuned out at this point.

But the third and final woman made me stop, put down my laptop, and start to tear up. She was in her 30s, had two small kids, and was widowed. She talked about how she was ready to find love again. She also discussed how it was hard to even approach dating as a widowed mom – would people think it was too soon? Would people understand? She wanted to do right by her kids, but she also wanted to find love.

I set my laptop down. I was rooting for this woman to find someone. I could relate. I was having many of those same thoughts and feelings and questions. I wanted her to be happy, screw whatever criticism she would get for wanting to find love.

I’ve thought a lot about what the next chapter of my life might look like. The kind of person I might want to share it with. My situation is different from, but still somewhat similar to, the woman on the dating show – she lost her husband after a three-year battle with cancer; she had time process losing him and at some subconscious level to start thinking about where her life might go.

Mike and I were separated for five months before he died, but our marriage was over long before that. When I think back and really reflect, there were significant problems in our marriage well before I learned he was drinking, which was about a year and a half before I filed for divorce.

A few months after Mike moved in with his parents and I moved to Wisconsin, I started researching online dating services. I had met several people who met their spouses this way, and being new to the area, I thought it might be worthwhile. I filled out the survey for one national service and waited for my computer-selected matches to arrive in my inbox.

It’s probably important to note that I didn’t sign up for the “paid” part of the service. Heck, I wasn’t sure this was even a route I wanted to go, so just “seeing” how it might pan out seemed like a good idea (without the financial commitment, which is kind of steep).

Every week, a group of 10 potential mates was sent to me, and it was a pretty easy choice to hit the decline for all of them. There was the guy just looking JUST to get lucky (wow, was that a descriptive – but very honest – profile!), the guy with the photos of his pick up truck (no photos of him, just his vehicle…um, weird), and the guy with the sketchy, shifty eyes in what looked to be a mug shot (no thanks!).

The choices were so BAD, that I looked forward to getting the email every week just to see what kind of goofy, horrendously bad choices were “matched” with me. I took advantage of the “free” weekends to see what sort of other men were on the site. But then Mike died, and it felt wrong that I even signed up in the first place. I stopped opening the emails and after a few months, the emails stopped coming.

Then, there was a little flirty thing on Facebook with a guy I know from way back when. I was quite excited with our little flirty messages over the course of a few weeks and wondered where it could lead. It felt REALLY good to flirt and to be flirted with. We were even making plans to see each other (he lives in another state). But just like that, he moved on, apparently interested in a recently separated woman who used a very busty boudoir photo as her Facebook profile pic, lived in the next town, and was able to spend every waking moment at his side. (Sidenote: Why don’t people use FB privacy settings?!)  Turns out, dude was much needier than I could have dealt with, and I’ve even wished him luck with this woman.

I’ve kept all of this private – not telling anyone about joining the site or the flirting on FB. I’ve kept it to myself because I don’t know how people will react. If they will judge because it’s too soon or talk about it behind my back about how I’m moving on (before Mike is even, technically, laid to rest). I’m not usually the kind of person who cares about what others think, but on this issue, it’s holding me back.

I don’t have a master plan. I don’t even KNOW anyone locally I would WANT to date (working 80+ hours a week really limits the social calendar…) or even what the “rules” are for dating when you have kids. Heck, Mike and I started dating in college, so I have zero “real world” dating experience. But, I know that I want to find someone to share my life with. I’m ready to move on and anxious find love again.

I’m going to keep watching this random dating show, and I’ll be cheering for the widowed woman to find love. She deserves it. And I think it will help me realize that I can do it, too (just not on a reality show).

How are the Kids? Ethan Edition

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Ethan. My baby boy. My sweet, sweet pumpkin.

He’s struggling. Not necessarily at home, but definitely away from home. Not with us, but with just about everyone else. And by all reports, it’s becoming an issue.

At home, he’s (usually) polite, very helpful, extremely loving. Away from home (by accounts of teachers and others, as well as limited personal observation when he didn’t know I was around), he can be rude and angry, disrespectful and uncompromising. It doesn’t matter if it’s another kid or an adult. It’s not all the time, but he’s just not someone you’d want to be around sometimes.

He’s overly bossy. He gets very angry, occasionally becoming physical. He will argue and yell at anyone, showing no fear or anxiety if he’s sent to the principal or another authority figure. He argues when he perceives someone is cheating – whether it’s a kid taking an “extra” turn or not following the rules.

He doesn’t sit still – that’s something we DO deal with at home. He’s constantly moving, wiggling, unable to remain motionless. Some of that might be “being seven” or it might be more.

Ethan was dealing with issues before Mike died. He was seeing a counselor in St. Louis, before we moved, to deal with the death of my dad (his beloved grandpa) in 2010 and our separation in August.

Ethan saw some very tough things over the last few years. Once I drove home in the middle of the night from a trip because I knew something wasn’t right. I found Ethan sitting up in bed, next to Mike, who was passed out. Ethan told me he was worried his dad would die, so he wanted to be by his side. Ethan was five years old. It was 2 a.m. After slapping him awake, I convinced Mike to go to the ER. He was four times the legal limit.

Stuff like that is hard for a kid (or an adult) to process.

He talks, quite openly, about his dad’s drinking and what happened when Mike drank. He talks about seeing Mike try to hide the liquor in the ceiling tiles or under the couch.He talks about how mean Mike was to me when he drank and how he yelled at me for no reason. Ethan also talks about how he’s the only kid at school without a dad. It all breaks my heart.

School administrators and counselors are worried about him, especially going into second grade. Apparently, second grad is a critical year for kids socially, and Ethan is at risk. His school has been fantastic, really creating an accepting environment and wanting to make sure Ethan is successful, happy, well-developed and well-loved.

Ethan has a really good counselor here. They’ve really bonded. If Ethan is struggling, he’ll tell me that he wants to talk to Mr. Robb.

Ethan’s well-being and happiness definitely played into my recent decision to step away from my career. I can’t be involved, I can’t be a mom, by only spending 15 minutes with the kids each day. I want to be a regular fixture in his classroom. His teacher and I are going to be working closely all year. Ethan is going to get involved in several social and sports activities.

It’s going to take a while. It’ll be a long, hard road (for both of us), but I just KNOW that Ethan will be okay.

How are the Kids? Lauren Edition

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Lauren was just 15 months old when Mike was removed from the house and only 20 months old when he died. I don’t know how much she remembers about her dad or if she has any memories at all. Mike was pretty far gone into the spiral of alcohol at the time she was born.

Today, Lauren is a happy, giggly little girl. She adores her brother. She loves her dog. She is a cuddler and a hugger and blows kisses 24/7. Lauren is fearless and repeats everything her brother does. She loves dancing, playing with “babies” (dolls), reading books and building with Legos and wooden blocks. She is a terrific eater – she’ll try anything and gobbles up things most kids won’t touch (broccoli, raw onions and peppers, spicy guacamole).

But she doesn’t talk. She makes noises, usually the first letter sound of a word. She uses several baby signs and has developed her own signs for some words. She has her own way of communicating with us – there just aren’t words.

Her new doc was worried about speech during Lauren’s 24 month check up. Babies at that age should be saying SOMETHING. I had ignored some of my concerns about her speech. Afterall, she was the second child and Ethan talks “for” her. But new doc arranged for an evaluation.

Over the course of a month, Lauren was evaluated by child development experts, speech therapists, occupational therapists and doctors. At the end, Lauren tested off the charts for almost everything. Brag moment: the coordinator said that Lauren’s scores were the highest they had ever seen; Lauren tested a full year ahead of her age in several categories. Except for her speech.

Lauren had the speech of a 9 month old – she was 25 months old at the time of the evaluation.

At the time of the evaluation, she did have one word: “dad” (said while pointing to a photo of Mike).

Lauren is going through “baby speech therapy.” Every two weeks, a speech therapist visits the house for a 40 minute session. Lauren loves it. In just a few sessions, I can tell a difference. She now has a distinct label for her brother (“Eth”) and has been more “vocal” with making sounds. She seems to really be trying.

I think I’d be dealing with Lauren’s speech issues regardless of whether Mike were alive or not, regardless of whether or not Mike and I were still together. But it’s very difficult being the only one to make treatment decisions for an issue this big. Still it’s nothing like what’s going on with Ethan…

“How are the Kids? Ethan Edition” to come at a later date…

I’m a Good Quitter

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I did it.

I was finally able to get in to see The Boss right after an impromptu group meeting on Friday to recognize two well-deserved promotions. Everything was worked out in my head. I knew exactly what I was going to say, and how I was going to say it.

“Jackie, I have 20 minutes if you still want to meet,” she said as the meeting was breaking up.

It’s awkward to quit after two colleagues/friends were just promoted. “Um, coming from that meeting makes what I have to say even more difficult,” I started as we were walking into The Boss’ office.

“I think I know where this is going,” she said, settling into her chair.

I started to cry. I hate crying at work, especially in front of The Boss. Suddenly, my entire speech was jumbled in my head. I started the discussion – between sobs – in the middle of what I wanted to say. I tried to get it back on track, but kept slipping back into a snotty, sobbing mess. It wasn’t how I envisioned having the discussion. My elegant, well-thought out speech turned out to be a barely intelligible rambling.

By the end of my explanation for leaving, her eyes appeared to be watery. She seemed almost human in that moment.

She said she understood, but encouraged me to think about it more. She said I could change my mind anytime before my last day. She asked me not to tell anyone until we have aligned on a transition plan, which is my assignment next week.

The unofficial offer is still unofficial, but I anticipate hearing from them early next week. In fact, they’ve already given me some projects to start thinking through, so I know the offer is coming. But, it’s good to know that I quit so well that I could always “take it back” if I needed to.

But I’m not going to take it back. August 10 will be my last day – even if I don’t have an official offer.

“Poor Thing”

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I closed on our house three days after returning from Fort Wayne for the funeral. It was tough, wrapping up those last-minute details from six hours away, but when I packed our suitcases in the car, I included all my paperwork and documentation. Just in case. And I definitely needed it – the entire mortgage had to be reworked (and approved) following Mike’s death. Something about state law… Dumb community property state.

It was important to me to be able to close on the house as soon as possible. We had been living out of boxes in a temporary corporate apartment for six weeks. We had Christmas in the apartment. Celebrated New Year’s. Ethan started school while we were there. But we needed a home. We needed our “stuff” which had been in storage since we moved out of our house in St. Louis. We needed to be settled.

Since closing on the house eight weeks ago, I haven’t had as much time as I’d like to really get settled – after all, three days after the movers came, I as on a plane to Orlando for a four-day work trip. There are still a few boxes lying around. Things to hang on the wall are still leaning against furniture or are wrapped in layers of tissue paper and thick cardboard boxes. The basement storage area is quickly filling with stuff I don’t know what to do with, and the garage is still a mix-match of things I’m saving for a spring yard sale as well as some things of my mom’s from her storage unit in St. Louis (mostly big, giant furniture that we can’t move to her new storage place).

I haven’t met many people in the neighborhood yet because of my crazy work hours, but I feel like I know them. Or, more accurately, they know me.

A couple of times a week, my mom will tell me about some of the neighbors she’s met:

  – “Her THIRD husband was an alcoholic. She left him because of it, so she totally gets what you’re going through…”

  – “She’s a therapist. Now, she doesn’t work with people who have insurance, but she said if you ever need to talk through your grief, she’d be there for you and the kids.”

  – “His daughter was married to a doctor. They had a little boy who was about four years old when her husband went on a trip to Mexico. She didn’t know that he was an addict. Killed himself, well OD’d actually, in a hotel room in Mexico, can  you imagine?”

I’m sure my mom means well, but really? How do things like this come out of a 10 minute “Welcome to the Neighborhood!” kind of conversation?

They don’t. Unless they’re being offered up as part of the intro.

I’m not sure why she feels the need to air my dirty laundry to all the new neighbors. I’m certainly not hiding the truth from the neighbors, but it isn’t how I thought I’d “meet” the neighbors. I mean, if it came out in conversation over a summer BBQ or while watching the kids ride their bikes up and down the street, I’m okay with that. But, I’m kind of not okay with the new neighbors knowing that I’m a widow, a wife of an alcoholic who was going through a divorce and is now left with two small kids. I’m not okay with them knowing all this before I actually get to meet them.

I can only imagine what they think, and from the looks I’ve gotten from a few of them when I’ve taken out the trash or waved while getting into my car in the morning, I’m thinking it’s something along the lines of, “Oh, you poor thing…”

I’m not a “poor thing.” I don’t want to be a “poor thing.” I appreciate the sympathy, but it’s not what I need or want. Especially from people I don’t know, who don’t know me or my situation or my kids. I’m not sure exactly what my mom has told them or how it was worked into conversation. And, I’m not sure how to get her to stop mentioning it – or even if it makes a difference now. Apparently “third husband was an alcoholic” neighbor is the village gossip, so my story is as good as told around the neighborhood by now.

I guess until I get to meet everyone (maybe when the weather is warmer), I’ll just be the “poor thing” on the block.