Category Archives: We’re Going to be OK

Reflecting

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A few weeks ago, I was back on my alma mater’s campus. It was the second time I had been on campus since Mike died. The first time was for a college visit with my niece. Our time was booked with professor introductions and tours and admissions counselors, so there wasn’t anytime to think about things – other than telling stories about how much fun I had in college. Then, whoosh, we were off to the next campus.

This time was different, though. I was there for an alumni board meeting, and the weekend activities (like a Friday night dinner to celebrate the graduating seniors) were ones that Mike usually attended with me. It would be my first time solo.

Admittedly, I procrastinated. I stayed at work late. I shopped at the outlet mall on the way. I didn’t get to campus in time for Friday’s dinner. On purpose.

It was about 10:30 when I drove onto campus. It was dark and quiet. The air was chilly and brisk. I could see my breath a little with every exhale. I put my luggage in my room and went for a walk. There was somewhere I needed to visit.

I walked to the reflecting pond and sat down on one of the ice-cold metal benches surrounding the pond. I watched the fountain in the center and listened to the tinkling of water hit the pond and the hum of cars as they drove by. I pulled my coat close and buried my nose in my scarf.

It was here that Mike told me he loved me for the first time during my senior year.

The tears flowed free and fast, thinking about the last 17 years (holy cow, 17 years!). Standing here in 1995 when he and I went for a walk as friends and came back to the dorms something more – “there’s this girl…” he said, “and it’s you…” In 1996 when he graduated. In 2001, just before our wedding as we were passing through the area. In 2004, when I first joined the alumni board. In 2005, pregnant with Ethan. In 2007, introducing Ethan to the campus. In 2009, homecoming. In 2010, walking around campus as a family of four for the first time.

I realized in all the time that the campus – and this spot – have been part of my life, I’ve never sat at the “reflecting pond” and reflected, until that night.  I spent almost an hour out there, until my bottom was numb from the cold steel on which I was sitting and I couldn’t feel my nose.

I walked to the Grotto and lit a candle for Mike and for my dad. I said a prayer, then walked back to the dorm and got ready for bed. The next day would be a long one.

Silk Jammies

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I bought a pair of silk jammies today.

After 10 years of marriage – and six years of dating, my PJ wardrobe had become pretty sad, basically old tee shirts and worn out cotton pants. But Mike never cared. His nighttime wear was even more pitiful.

I’m sitting here tonight, in my new silk pajamas, drinking a pale ale, reflecting on what was a great day with the kids, and feeling really pretty good…

I love silk jammies.

PS – my mom is gone this weekend, so it’s the first time I’ve been alone in my new house. Well, not alone-alone, the kids are here, but by myself nonetheless. And it feels…not bad.

Roadtrip

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The last time I drove south on I-94 , I was racing to Fort Wayne, my mom at my side and the kids in the back seat. I just wanted to get there, figure out what was going on, get it over with. I was racing, speeding. I was crying.

I went through an entire box of tissues on the drive.

Yesterday, I was driving south on I-94 to pick up my niece. I promised her years ago that I’d take her on a tour of her top college picks during her junior year. It was time.

Tunes were ready. A cold bottle of water sat in one cup holder. Change for the tolls clanged in the other cup holder. It wasn’t until I was rolling down the road that I realized I probably should have brought a hanky.

It’s just a road – a way to get from Point A to Point B. It’s a road I hope to travel often in the coming months – it’s the way to get to my alma mater, to visit friends in Indy, to get to Chicago.

I didn’t realize it also held that memory of driving to Fort Wayne to plan the funeral. It’s just a road. Except now it’s more than that.

RANDOMNESS: Pointing Fingers and Greater Understanding

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There are times I let my mind to go a bad place in which I want to question people for not seeing what was happening with Mike, and for not stopping it.

Like his parents. I never had a good relationship with them. And neither did Mike. But that’s where he lived for the last five months of his life. (To the end, Mike never let me forget that he hated it there. He blamed me for “making” him stay with his parents. I told him to get a job and then he could live anywhere he wanted. That message was NEVER well-received.)

How could they have missed the signs of liver failure? From what I heard from the coroner’s office, he was pretty yellow.

How could they have overlooked the seriousness of his lack of muscle tone? From their own accounts, Mike was extremely weak in his last week. He couldn’t walk from the bedroom to the bathroom by himself – rooms that were right next to one another in their small house.

How could they have missed the severity of the flu-like symptoms, also self-reported by his parents?

His mom told me that she wanted to take him to the hospital, but that he didn’t want to go. She told me, “As a mom, you know that if you’re child doesn’t want to do something, you can’t force them?”

Excuse me? Isn’t that the JOB of a mom? To act in her child’s best interest, regardless of if they’re 4 years old or 38 years old? If things were that bad, why didn’t she call an ambulance?

I wonder how I will explain someday to Ethan and Lauren that these very obvious signs were grossly overlooked by two capable grown-ups who should have known better and should have taken action.

__________________________

When I start going down the finger-pointing-path, I realize that if I question others, I also have to examine my own actions.

I discovered the severity of Mike’s drinking when I was on maternity leave with Lauren. Until that time, I knew he drank – he always drank. Drinking wasn’t the issue – a beer after work, a martini or two on the weekends. When I look back, I really didn’t know what was happening in my own house.

Was it because I was working so much? I held a senior leadership position and put in very long hours, especially after Mike lost his job in December 2009 and before I was going on maternity leave. If I didn’t work 60+ hours a week, would I have seen the signs?

Why didn’t I question why we were getting so many calls from 800-numbers? I didn’t know until maternity leave that these calls on my caller ID were from creditors, most of whom hadn’t been paid in two, three, four months. Still, I looked at the ID and rarely questioned why . (The cordless phone was almost always dead or hidden from me, so I didn’t retrieve the messages.)

Why didn’t I push harder for why he was spending so much time in the basement? He said he was having trouble sleeping, so he wanted to sleep on the couch down there so he didn’t disturb me. He very rarely came upstairs to bed in the last few years, maybe once every three weeks or so. I asked him about it, but he held onto his sleep story.

I look back at the photos from these last few years – the few there are of him, since he was rarely with us – and the look in his eyes is distant, funny, out-of-it. You can tell by his eyes – the expression, the amount they’re open or closed, the lack of spark – that he’s drunk. Why didn’t I ask more questions?

Mike was very, very good at lying and hiding what was going on. He was also very clear on what he wanted: “I want to drink. I’m going to drink. You can’t tell me what to do.” I heard him say this at least 500 times in the last year of his life.

____________________________

I’ve learned a lot in the past few years: I can’t control others. I can’t change them. People who don’t want to change, aren’t going to change. There isn’t enough guilt, screaming, uber-niceness, threats, overly accommodating, or anger to make someone do something they don’t want to do.

And I’ve also learned to be less judgmental of others. When Ethan acts up because he’s having a rough day missing his dad, and the other moms and kids are looking at us critically, I realize that they don’t know what we’re going through – this little kid has no dad, and sometimes that confusion and anger and frustration are going to come out in inappropriate ways, and I might turn the other way, knowing that he’s having a tough time, and let him get away with behavior that I would normally not tolerate. In turn, I don’t realize what other moms are going through when they’re in similar situations.

Understanding has been one of the best things to come out of this.

Faucet Tears at the Auction Fundraiser

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Saturday night was the annual auction/fundraiser for Ethan’s school. I thought it would be a good chance to meet other parents and to personally thank those who have sent prayers, notes, dinners, toys, and general good thoughts our way since Mike died.

I also knew there was a good chance that I would chicken out and not to go.

I’m not a fan of these kind of events. – unless, of course, I know I’ll be able to snark with someone. For all his shortcomings, Mike was my go-to snarker at this kind of things. We could stand in a corner (drinks in hand, natch) and comment on anything. We didn’t have to mingle or talk to anyone, just “be.”

But, Saturday night, I was flying solo. Knowing that I would invent a million and one reasons to stay home that night, I emailed the committee and volunteered a few days before. At least this way, I rationalized, I was less likely to wimp out. Besides, I didn’t RSVP for the dinner, so I could go, work my shift at the registration desk, and come home.

Saturday night, I put on a sequin top, nice pants, and heels, and I drove to the hotel. Or, the hotel I THOUGHT was hosting the event. As soon as I got close to it, I didn’t think there were enough cars in the lot. Maybe the lot extends behind the hotel, I thought. It didn’t.

I almost turned the car around, but “I volunteered!” so I was determined to try to find the venue. I took out my iPhone and typed in the URL for the school’s website. Surely the address for the hotel would be on there.

It wasn’t. The name of the chain was listed, but no address. A quick Internet search, and voila!, only five of the hotels in the city. I decided I’d try the one closest to where I was, and if that wasn’t it, then I’d be able to go home. I tried, right?

I made it. Right hotel. Just on time.

I found the registration desk and slipped behind it, introducing myself to the woman who appeared to be in charge. Quickly, I was on a roll. Meeting and greeting. Welcoming and registering. And I was really enjoying the company of the four women working alongside me.

There was a lull in the activity, and we all started talking. “So, is your husband at home with the kids tonight?” one of them asked me.

Tears. Great big tears. Out of no where and uncontrollable.

“No,” I said. “He died in January…”

I couldn’t stop crying. It wasn’t a full-blown sob, but more of a “running facet” kind of cry. Tears wouldn’t stop flowing, no matter how hard I tried to turn them off. Soon all four of the ladies were hugging me, slipping me their phone numbers, and trying to get me to stop crying. I was a mess.

Still, after that breakdown and working my registration shift, I wasn’t ready to go home. I hadn’t registered for the event/dinner so I decided I would just work the rest of the event. Schlepping silent auction items to the back tables to be picked up later. Directing drunken partygoers to the nearest bathrooms. Counting money. Alphabetizing kids’ photos. Organizing wine bottles. Helping drunken partygoers check out and collect their stuff (most of which they would probably regret buying in the morning, but hey! it’s a good cause, right?).

I met some great moms. Most of the mom volunteers were divorced or separated. (Apparently, if you have a snark partner, you attend the event. If you don’t, you work the event.) Some knew of my situation, but most didn’t. No one asked probing questions, but everyone offered their support and love. I even joked with one mom who is going through a very messy divorce. “No matter what you think of him, no matter how much you hate him right now,” I told her. “You do NOT want him to die. Trust me.” Then we all laughed. A comfortable, I-know-kind-of-what-you’re-going-through kind of laugh. It was nice.

I didn’t leave until after 1 a.m.

Oh, and the best part: I won the Golden Ticket Raffle, meaning I got to choose any live auction item before the bidding started. I selected tickets to a Brewers game with a tailgating party. Turns out the tickets are second row, behind home plate. Ethan will love it.

Side note: one of my favorite conversations with Ethan took place as I was trying to explain tailgating to him the next morning. “Why would we get IN someone’s trunk for a party? Sitting in a trunk doesn’t sound fun…” and “So if there’s food and drinks IN the trunk, why isn’t it called a ‘trunk buffet’?”