Thursday Tidbits: Generosity, Crushing, Reflection, Reconnecting

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A few completely unrelated, totally random thoughts:

  • Yesterday’s mail included an envelope addressed to Ethan and Lauren. Inside was a ridiculously nice gesture from a college friend (he also practiced the same kind of law that Mike did so they saw each other often “on the circuit”). He sent a beautiful note to the kids about starting the holiday season early with the enclosed gift cards to Toys R Us. Ethan went bonkers – he even graciously offered to “help” Lauren spend her gift card. It was a tremendously nice and completely unexpected surprise. And it should be noted, that this friend is also one-half of the college friends who sent me flowers for Mother’s Day earlier this year. Heart melting.
  • I have a tiny crush on Ethan’s TKD instructor. Not an actionable crush (1. He’s Ethan’s instructor = deal breaker, 2. He’s 10 years younger than I am = WTF am I thinking?), but it definitely makes it more fun to sit through an hour of watching E during practice! In related news, Ethan successfully tested for his yellow belt. He was incredibly nervous and I thought he was going to cry a few times, but he hung in there and nailed it!
  • I’ve been reflecting on my professional life quite a bit since the semester is winding down. I really feel like making this career change was the RIGHT thing to do. The last 15 weeks have been amazing – tough sometimes, challenging sometimes, and often harder than I thought. But I really feel good. – and I think I’m pretty good at it. It also helps that the fall 2013 schedule has been drafted and I’M ON IT (meaning my contract will most likely be renewed)!
  • I reached out to a FB friend who called out my former sister-in-law in a FB post. My SIL is not on FB anymore, has gotten remarried (and changed her name), and left her former job (and the only email address I had for her). I recognized her maiden name in our mutual friend’s post. When SIL divorced Mike’s brother, things got (understandably) weird. But I think about her often and I really miss her. I’ve asked our mutual friend to share my email address with SIL. I hope to connect with her again.

Helping others

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One of the first work meetings I attended after my dad died (he died while I was on maternity leave with Lauren) involved a major interoffice brainstorm for a national greeting card company.

We were brainstorming ways grandparents could show their love for their grandkids (via cards and gifts, naturally).

Needless to say, it was a VERY painful day. I spent most of the time hiding out in the bathroom, crying, desperately missing my dad. Because his death happened while I was out of the office, not many people knew about it – and certainly not my colleagues from another office.

I felt bad about not participating, so after it was over, I approached one of the brainstorm leaders. She worked out of another office, and I didn’t know her really well.

I explained, through my tears, why I was absent for the majority of the session (and why I was still crying).

She started tearing up also. She lost her dad about 10 years before, while she was in college. I will never forget what she said to me next.

“This might sound weird, but I honestly believe,” she said, “that I lost my dad while I was so young so that I could help my friends who would lose their parents in the future. It was completely devastating when it happened, but I’ve been able to help others who’ve lost their mom or dad because I’ve been there. It sucks, but I’ve been there.”

Her words really resonated with me.

I remember after Mike’s funeral, on the long drive back home, telling my mom that of all my friends at the funeral, I was probably the only one who could deal with the death of a spouse at this point in our lives. That maybe losing Mike was a way to prepare me for something more, something greater.

I believe everything happens for a reason. I don’t know why so much has been thrust on me and my family over the last few years, but I know that it’s made me a stronger person in some regards. I pray that I don’t have to help anyone through the loss of her/his significant other any time soon, but I’ve learned a lot in the last 10 months. And someday, I’m hope I can use my experience to help others.

I’m thankful for that colleague and her wise words. I think about her words often and I recently shared with her how much her comments meant to me.

Baseball cap

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As I was digging through a box of Christmas decorations, I found it. It kind of blended in at first. The red hat against the red Rubbermaid box, next to the red garland and red and white stripped dish.

But it was too faded to be a decoration.

I pushed some stuff out of the way. As soon as my fingers touched it, I knew.

Mike’s “Nebraska Rifle” hat.

He bought that hat while visiting a friend from law school in the Cornhusker State. He wore the hell out of that hat, and 10 years later, it was faded and discolored and O-L-D looking. There was the stain on the back of the hat – from something getting spilled on it when it was left on the kitchen counter one time. There was a small tear on one side – from pulling it free from a barbed wire fence. The front of the hat showed signs of dried sweat – from wearing the hat to mow the yard. It’s a pretty nasty hat.

I sat in the basement, next to the Christmas box, holding the hat. He wore that hat a lot. All the time. He loved baseball caps, but this one… this one was one of his favorites. There were a lot of good times in this hat. Good times from way back.

I put the hat in the box and carried it upstairs.

“Ethan, guess what I found?” I called. “It’s one of Daddy’s favorite hats.”

“Can I have it?” he asked.

“Sure.”

Ethan wore the hat around for a while over Thanksgiving break. (He looked so adorable in it!). He has slept with the hat every night since I found it. Every night he cuddles with the old stinky baseball hat and an old shirt – a few of the only things I have of Mike’s.

I’m not sure how it ended up in the Christmas stuff. Maybe the movers found it in the basement of the old house and just stuck it in a box. Maybe Mike stuck it in there for who-knows-what-reason.

But it’s home now. Home with Ethan.

Grandparents card (alternatively titled “I have no use for assholes in my life”)

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How do I tell Ethan that his dad’s parents are assholes?

Ethan is seven years old, and completely naïve about the tension between the former in-laws and me. He doesn’t know that we’ve never liked each other. Doesn’t know that even his dad didn’t like them. Doesn’t know about the foul behavior at the funeral (WTH steals a crucifix from the coffin?!) or that there hasn’t been any meaningful outreach from them since January.

And most of the time it doesn’t matter. They were never a major part of his life. He saw them once, maybe twice, a year, and they never really engaged with him, just watched him play from across he room. They’ve never called to talk to him or came to a school function or sporting event.

But last Wednesday, Ethan’s school had a grandparents’ day. My mom went and had a lovely time playing games and enjoying snacks with her only grandson. Ethan made a very sweet card for her – and he also made one for Mike’s parents.

He brought it home and asked if we could send it to them.

Truth is, they moved and I don’t have their new address. Super truth: I could get the address if I really wanted to… IF I REALLY WANTED TO. But I don’t want to.

I grew up with one set of asshole grandparents, too. I saw them on occasion, and my parents never swayed me in one direction or another in terms of my feelings for them. I knew some of the horrible stories about their behavior during my mom’s childhood, but my parents were cordial to them.

(SIDE NOTE: My dad’s mom was an amazing grandma, and I miss her very much. My mom’s grandparents – my great grandparents – were incredible, too. From these three amazing people, I learned what “good” grandparents were, how loving they could be. What a real grandma and grandpa can and should be.)

When I was an adult I chose to cut off ties to my mom’s parents completely. There were two situations that made me realize that these were not people I wanted in my life:

  • My grandmother spread a horrible lie about Mike and his behavior at my cousin’s wedding. Not only was the situation untrue, but the person who was supposedly the victim of Mike’s outburst was not even at the wedding.
  • My grandmother confronted me at the funeral of my grand grandfather, wagging her finger in my face and screaming, “Who do you think you are?” simply because I went over-and-above to find his favorite flowers. (All of the yellow roses in the area were gone – sent to California for the Rose Bowl. I made a few calls, worked some of my professional contacts, and found yellow roses for the funeral arrangements.) This woman went on to accuse me of performing sexual favors to get an internship at one of the world’s top companies in my field.

That was it. When they sent holiday cards, I marked them “refused, return to sender.” They were not invited to my wedding, not informed when Ethan was born, not invited to any celebrations.

I realized in my twenties that genetics does not make someone worthy of the title “grandma” or “grandpa” (or any other familial title…). Someone genetically linked to you might be a good match for a kidney transplant, but that doesn’t make them a nice, loving person. And you DON’T have to surround yourself with assholes – genetically linked to you or not.

(SIDE NOTE: About three years ago, my parents patched up their relationship with my mom’s parents. I was as polite as necessary when forced to be around them, but I did not go out of my way. I did not attend the funeral of my mom’s mom a few years ago, who was the major source of the drama and conflict. And while I do not have a strong desire to have a close relationship with my mom’s dad, he will be spending Christmas at my house, as she requested. I still do not call him “grandpa” as that is a title he does not deserve – I only refer to him by his first name, even to his face. My kids call him “great grandpa” and when they are older, they can decide for themselves if they want a relationship with him.)

That’s kind of the approach I have with Mike’s family. I won’t proactively reach out – I have no reason to. Hell, I have NOTHING nice to say to them. They know where I am, how to get in touch with me and the kids. Ethan and Lauren will know the stories when they’re older. They can decide for themselves if they want to (try to) have a relationship with them.

Until then, I have a grandparents’ card on my kitchen island.

Holidays

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I’m really looking forward to the holidays this year.

I feel like that’s weird and that many widows dread the holidays, especially the first – I’ve seen it on an online forum for widows that I regularly visit, I’ve read it on other widows’ blogs, the peer grief group handed out a 12 page document on dealing with the holidays.

But I can’t wait.

Last year, the kids, my mom, the dog and I were in a tiny corporate-housing apartment. We had Thanksgiving dinner at Cracker Barrel. We didn’t have any of our baking stuff, so there were no homemade holiday cookies or breads. Our Christmas decorations were in storage so we had a cheap fake tree with cheap, meaningless ball ornaments.

It wasn’t the same. It didn’t feel like the holidays.

The year before, Mike was in bad shape. He didn’t have Thanksgiving dinner with us, and he and I spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day fighting. He didn’t even help bring the kids’ presents down and put them under the tree. The tension was incredible and it wasn’t fun for anyone. THAT was a sucky holiday season.

Thinking back even further, and knowing that Mike’s alcoholism started LONG before I knew about it, most of our holidays as a family were not good. Not the way I wanted them to be. Not the memories I want for my kids.

I have AMAZING memories of holidays with my parents. The holidays were my favorite time of the year. Both my parents had rough childhoods, and they made sure that the holiday season was over-the-top for us. Feeling the love of family. Creating incredible memories. Telling stories of holidays past. And, of course, the presents – every one picked with love and care, specially selected for the recipient. There’s only one word for the seasons’ memories that I have: love.

I always wanted to instill these kind of happy memories in my kids, but Mike and his family never did much for the holidays. There were no stockings. No big dinners (unless you count the men-eat-first-thing). No stories about each and every ornament on the tree. Presents weren’t meaningful or personal. I know Mike liked the ideas of my family’s traditions, but he just didn’t GET them, didn’t understand how to LIVE them.

This is going to be different. I’m writing the story now. I get to dictate the memories my kids will have.

My mom has already taken over the dining room and kitchen for holiday baking. She’s planning dozens and dozens of cookie trays for family, friends and neighbors. She’s made a dozen kinds of sweet breads. The kids helped her decorate sugar cookies and press cookies over the weekend. Tiny pies and cookie bars have been made and frozen already. And peanut butter balls and more cookies are on the agenda for this week. It smells like the holidays everyday when I come home. It’s lovely.

We’ve planned the Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner menus. Thanksgiving will be small, just us. And since I don’t eat turkey, we’re not having a “traditional” menu, but it will be grand and festive nevertheless. And we’re inviting my mom’s dad to stay with us for Christmas, which will be nice.

My Christmas shopping is nearly finished. My mom and I are avid Black Friday shoppers, and we couldn’t go together last year. (My previous job was heavily focused on retail, and I had to work. I still hit the stores before going into the office at 5 a.m., but it wasn’t the same going alone, without my mom.) Lauren is going to “baby school” (daycare), and Ethan will be at the tae kwon do studio all day. I’m very excited about spending some one-on-one time with my mom – and finishing my shopping.

I’m planning on decorating over the Thanksgiving break. It’s a week earlier than I normally do, but I just can’t wait. I want my tree, my ornaments, the needlework canvases my grandma made – I want it to look like Christmas exploded in the house.

(SIDENOTE: I knew as soon as I saw my current house that it is the perfect holiday home. The HUGE windows, the two-story entryway. Before I even made an offer, I knew where I’d put the Christmas tree and I pictured evergreen garland on the upstairs railings. I.Can’t.Wait!)

Ethan has already commented that it will be the first holiday without his dad (which technically isn’t true since Mike was living with his parents last holiday, and he kept canceling plans to see the kids). So there will be some tough times, I’m sure.

But it’s time to start creating memories for these kiddos. Something good. Something positive. Something happy. Something they can take forward to their kids and their grandkids.

It’s time to celebrate.