Tag Archives: death of a parent

Anniversary, part one

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No, not the anniversary of our wedding, first date, or first meeting. Not even the anniversary of Mike’s death. There were no flowers, or fancy night out, or even a cake. It was a bittersweet day, a different kind of anniversary – it was the date marking Mike’s removal from my home.

I’ve alluded to it in past posts, but Mike was not amenable to our separation. I had to get a court order to have him removed from the house. If it were up to him, I’m sure he would have still been laying on my couch in the basement. But I couldn’t do that to the kids – or myself – anymore.

I discovered his drinking problem in May 2010. I was on maternity leave and Mike had been unemployed for about six months. It was then that I discovered he was spending his days laying on the couch in the basement, not moving, not talking, not watching TV (or helping around the house or paying bills or doing anything else productive). He was basically not functioning at all. Then, I caught him trying to hide a bottle when I came downstairs. Suddenly, the random (daily) charges at gas stations and Walgreens made sense. There was something behind the cloudy, unfocused, narrow eyes that he had been sporting for while. The falls down stairs, passing out in a bar, and five trips to the ER over the course of 12 months – there was probably more to those too. Everything pointed in one direction – drinking.

I confronted him and he denied everything. Then he promised to stop. And broke the promise. And promised again. He was kicked out of an outpatient rehab program for showing up drunk. AA made him think he didn’t have a problem (“THOSE people have problems,” he told me after attending a meeting.) On and on for more than a year. The lies, the hiding, the denial, the continued drinking.

When my job was eliminated, I told Mike that I knew he never stopped drinking and lying about it. He admitted it. And I told him that until we figured things out, until one of us was employed again, there was to be no drinking, no lies. I told him that I couldn’t handle it, that my heart couldn’t take any more.

He held me, kissed my head, and said, “I couldn’t do that to you. I love you. I understand.” He agreed no drinking until everything in our lives was back in place. He even showed me all his hiding places and threw away the half empty bottles.

His promise lasted a few weeks.

We had a fight – over something stupid. I left him alone in the basement and about four hours later, he came upstairs, smelling (reeking) of booze.

“You’ve been drinking,” I said.

“Yep, and I’m done lying about it. That’s your problem, right? The lying?” he responded.

I took off my wedding ring and kicked him out of our bedroom for the night. (Which was actually not a big deal since we hadn’t slept in the same room in months.) I cried for about 30 minutes, then stopped. There were no more tears that night. I knew what had to be done – I had prepared myself for it.

The next day, I drove to the library and sat in the parking lot. I pulled out a tattered notebook and flipped to the last page. Divorce attorneys. I had been doing research for months, just in case I needed it, and had it narrowed to three potential lawyers. I called the first one and explained my situation. He advised me to go to the courthouse and get an order of protection which would get Mike out of the house. The attorney walked me through the process, telling me where to go when I get to the courthouse.  “They’ll help you,” he said. “This is your first step.”

As I talked to the other two attorneys, I kept thinking about the order of protection. It seemed like a pretty extreme thing to do, but I knew that Mike wouldn’t leave on his own, and frankly, I was done.

When I got home that afternoon, I asked Mike to leave. At this point, he had been on a binge for more than 24 hours – no food or drink (other than drinking whatever liquor he was hiding). He called me a “fucking bitch” and said it was his house. Then, he passed out again.

I slapped him awake. (Really, he was PASSED OUT and I couldn’t wake him without doing something physical.) I wanted a confrontation. “You really need to leave,” I told him. “You can’t do this here anymore. Our kids! Me! It’s not right and it’s not fair.”

More names. He put a pillow over his face, removing it only to spout out more nasty names and tell me to get out of the basement. Then, something caught my eye by the stairs – Ethan had snuck into the basement and was watching us from around the corner. I saw the pain and confusion in his little eyes, and I knew that it was time to end this – for real.

I didn’t talk to Mike the next day, other than to tell him I calling his parents because he wasn’t eating or drinking anything. That announcement was met with more name calling. The next day, his parents arrived and stayed in the basement with him for the next several days.

 — TO BE CONTINUED. coming up: I go to court, the ambulance arrives, Mike leaves (not willingly)–

Moving out (well, thinking about it anyway)

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“I think I’ll find a duplex or condo soon,” my mom said at dinner last night.

I almost spit out my food – in shock.

My mom has lived with us since October 2010, moving in after my dad died and she sold their property in Tennessee. Lauren has never known life without Grandma RIGHT THERE, and Ethan loves having her close.

Of course, the original intent was never to have my mom live with us full-time forever. She was going to get her own house, close by, when we were in St. Louis. Then, things were bad with Mike, and she didn’t want to leave me (and the kids) alone to deal with his drinking and lying. She moved with me and the kids to Wisconsin and fully intended to get her own place there, but then Mike died and she thought the kids and I needed her close (we did/do).

But now, hearing that she’s actually LOOKING at places and has called an agent to help her search, it’s kind of a shock.

Yes, it’s tough sometimes having my mom live with me, like how she sets hot pans directly on my countertops (pet peeve) or how she doesn’t keep the pantry organized the same way I do (pet peeve). But, hell! She does the kids’ laundry, makes dinner, walks the dog, runs errands for us, keeps the house clean and running smoothly.

It would be nice to actually settle down in my house – my office is currently my mom’s bedroom and the guest room is PACKED with my mom’s “stuff.” Right now, my desk is in the dining room and office supplies are scattered in closets and the basement. And I don’t even know where the guest room furniture is… And three-quarters of my garage is filled with her furniture and boxes.

It would be nice to figure out how to be a single mom on my own. Besides, my mom will still be close – she watches Lauren three days a week. And it would probably be good for her to have her own space (and her stuff – which has been in storage or my garage for nearly two years). She needs to figure out how to deal with her own widow-hood.

I know I’m very fortunate to be in this situation with a mom who cares and wants to help (despite her own health and other issues). And a mom whom I can tolerate living under my roof.

It’s just bittersweet to think she’ll get her own place soon.

Wanting a dad

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Ethan and I were listening to music and talking about our days yesterday on the drive home from school. Out of nowhere he said, “Mommy, you really need to go out on a date.”

“What?” I asked. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, I need a dad,” he said. “I really want a dad.”

“It’s just not that easy,” I said, holding back the tears behind my oversized sunglasses.

“It should be,” he said, matter-of-factly. Then he went on to talk through the Pokemon powers of Jigglypuff or some other weirdo creature.

Heart. Broken.

I know the kid desperately misses his dad – well, not the dad he had in the last few years, but the kind of man who will take him camping and fishing, will spend time explaining “boy stuff” to him on a rainy afternoon, will teach him how to fix things around the house, will play ball with him in the backyard. He misses the idea of a dad, since Mike really didn’t (couldn’t) do any of those things with him.

This conversation raised some questions that I need to sort out. I’ve talked about how I’ve contemplated dating as a widow, but now there’s a larger consideration – when and how would I introduce someone to the kids.

Great, another thing to think about…

Updates and Stuff

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Things have been crazy for the last few weeks. Quick snapshot – I may elaborate on some of these things later:

  • Mom’s health: still a mystery. Another trip to Mayo, another frustrating round of no answers. She’s on a super antibiotic now (just in case it’s an infection), and she’s made an appointment to see an OB/GYN (just in case it’s a female issue). She’s moody, short-tempered, and not a lot of fun right now. All of which is understandable, given the intense pain she’s been experiencing for nearly six months now.
  • Lauren’s speech: She has a handful of words that are clear and understandable to non-family. It’s an interesting mix of vocab that she’s using now. And some words, we’re not sure where she heard them (like, “b0ob” which is not a word we use in the house but she can use it and point to the appropriate place on her body).
  • Ethan: He’s looking forward to starting school next week. He’s finished with camp – the last week at camp was not a good experience. He had to change locations (all summer he attended camp at his school, which is now being cleaned so it’s not a viable camp location for the last few weeks). This brought about a whole new mix of kids and counselors – including one super mean kid named Pete. First day of camp, I arrived just in time to see Pete THROW Ethan into a steel pole. Ethan’s forehead and cheek hit the pole hard, leaving red marks and bruises for days. Pete’s an older, bigger kid – probably 11 years old, so it’s a little suspicious that he’s playing with the 7 year olds. (I expect it’s because kids his own age would kick his ass since he’s obviously not a nice kid.)
  • Mike: His ashes are finally buried. I didn’t invite his parents – it was just the kids and me (and my mom). We had a few minutes with one of the priests from my alma mater. Ethan struggled a bit with saying goodbye. He had some private time at the gravesite, and from the car, I could see him crying, holding his hands to heaven, and talking (but couldn’t hear the words). He spent about 10 minutes at the site, I sat with him for another 10, then he had another few minutes alone before deciding it was time to go. E seems to be in a good place since then. Hoping he found closure and peace, too.
  • Work: Started a new job yesterday. From agency to corporate to academia – lots of changes, but hoping that THIS is exactly what we all need. I’ll have a lot of flexibility, which I’ve NEVER had. I have a lot of work to do in the next two weeks before classes start, but I’m looking forward to it. I really think this will be the answer we all need.
  • Life insurance: Related to making the new work situation possible, the final life insurance check arrived. Now I just need to find a financial planner to help me sort through what to do with it. It definitely eases the financial hit of this new job, but I also need to be responsible and invest a substantial portion of it. Figuring out the money stuff remains on the to-do list (but now there’s hope that I can actually DO my to-dos!).

 

The Last Decision

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I heard from the cemetery guy this week. He picked out a “nice” spot, near a new walking bridge, close to the river, on the side of the cemetery closest to campus. “You can walk to Saint Joe’s from there,” he told me. I’m sure it’s a lovely spot.

We even settled on the date to lay Mike’s ashes to rest – August 17.

In my mind, I envision this as a very private moment for the kids and me. Maybe one of the college priests. And my mom, of course. In a way, I just want the closure. Just want it to be done. The bigger a deal is made of this, the harder I think it will be for Ethan, and that won’t be good. And, I really don’t think Mike would have wanted this to be a spectacle.

But…

I’ve thought a lot about if I want to involve Mike’s parents. They ignored me at the showing and the funeral mass. They haven’t reached out to me or the kids (other than sending the kids each very impersonal card for birthdays). There’s no relationship between me and them or them and the kids. Hell, Mike didn’t even like them and made sure I knew it every time I talked to him.

Honestly, his parents were always assholes. There was a deep-rooted, one-way hatred toward my dad. (And my dad was the most laid back, likeable person you could EVER imagine.) It made my dad laugh, when Mike’s dad would start something with him. The laughter and trying to blow off the situation only infuriated Mike’s dad more. Which just continued the cycle of my dad irritating him and laughing. Over and over.

Things didn’t warm up with Mike’s “condition.”  They refused to come to St. Louis when I called them during Mike’s last binge. The blaming that started with the phone call telling me Mike died. The way they acted toward me, the kids and my family at the funeral. The planning of the post-mass lunch against my direct orders to NOT have a lunch.

I’m sure there’s NOTHING harder than losing a child, especially one who refused to get help. One you watched waste away, knowing there was nothing you can do to stop it, to change it. And I can’t imagine talking to my child, then finding him dead in the morning. That has to be the most difficult, awful thing imaginable.

Have I reached out to them? No. We didn’t talk when Mike was alive. They would call his cell phone – not the house phone – to make sure they didn’t have to talk to me. (Sidenote: when I say Mike hated them, this is a good example. He would let their calls go to voicemail every time. He would have to work up the strength to call them because he knew it was such an ordeal to have a conversation with those people. He usually wouldn’t return the call for two or three days, and when he did, Mike was a grouch in the hours before he placed the call and for hours afterward.)

I have no reason to reach out to the former in-laws – I am the mother of their only grandchildren. I am the keeper of the ashes. I hold the cards. And, I don’t have anything nice to say to them.

Still…

The question remains: should they be invited to the, what should I call it?, the ceremony (seems too great for what I’m planning), the event (again, too lofty), the burial (um, maybe). Involving them would only make a difficult day more awkward and painful than it needs to be. Ethan and Lauren really don’t know these people, and involving them would be weird. I don’t know how they would react to being there and part of it, so I can’t prepare the kids for what would be an amazingly dramatic performance, I’m sure.

Besides, after the mass luncheon fiasco, I can’t trust they would honor my request to keep this a very small, private, intimate affair. I imagine they would invite all sorts of random relatives who would like to spend a Friday afternoon at a rural cemetery ignoring me.

On the other hand, is it wrong to NOT notify them? Can I send a letter after the fact with the location of his remains? Am I stooping to their level of asshole-ishness if I don’t “invite” them? Does it matter? What if I sent a nice note with a map to the cemetery afterward?

I have a few weeks to decide what I’m going to do…