Tag Archives: death of a spouse

Follow up: teacher meeting – OMG

Posted on by

3

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.

In-law mail

Posted on by

3

Since moving to Wisconsin, I’ve maintained two addresses – our home address as well as a postal box. I’ve been transitioning my personal mail to the house address, but I keep the box open for things relating to Mike’s death – creditor letters, estate requests, correspondence from his parents.

I checked the box just before Christmas. Nothing from his family. Not surprised. We hadn’t heard anything from them since the weirdo birthday cards for the kids and the message that she left months ago. (Nope, never called her back. Figured if it was important, she would call again or just send the info in the mail.)

We don’t go to the box often. There’s really not much coming there anymore. But Ethan and I were out running around last weekend, and I popped in to get the mail.

Tons of catalogues. Creditor letter for Mike. Random crap for my mom. I almost missed the two envelopes. I started to open the one addressed to the kids, but stopped. I decided to let Ethan open it.

I handed him the envelope and mustered up my cheery voice, “Oh look, Eth! I think this might be a card for you and Lauren!”

He reached for it and tore it open. He read it aloud. I asked to see it.

The cover of the card read: To my granddaughter and my “grandson.”

“What the hell is wrong with these idiots?” I thought. This isn’t a card for kids. It’s a card that a grandparent would send to her GROWN granddaughter and her granddaughter’s HUSBAND – hence, the quotation marks around “grandson.” (I hate grammatical and punctuation stupidity, so this offense was particularly…offensive.)

There was some mushy bullshit preprinted in the inside of the card, along with a brief handwritten note: “Ethan and Lauren, the best part of this time of year is thinking about both of you. Love, Grandpa and Grandma (LAST NAME).”

So, they only think about their ONLY grandkids around the holidays? Nothing about “hope you had a good Christmas” or “would love to hear about school” or “maybe we can come see you sometime.” Nothing about “we still have your dad’s Christmas presents from LAST YEAR that we want to give you.” Nothing about “we’ll be sending all your dad’s stuff that your mom requested at the funeral because it’s stuff she wanted to give TO YOU BOTH !”  Absolutely nothing else in the card – no gift cards, not a check or a savings bond. Nothing.

My kids don’t need anything. I’m providing for them just fine. But a stranger (to them) sent holiday gift cards, and their grandparents sent… only a crappy-ass card?

I set the card aside and picked up the second envelope from them. This one was addressed to me. “Maybe they’re sending the kids’ gifts to me?” I thought, knowing that wouldn’t be the case. “Maybe this is an apology letter,” I thought, knowing I was wrong.

Nope. Envelope number two contained no handwritten note or even a “hope you’re all okay” note. It was just a statement from the storage company that the rate on Mike’s unit was increasing as of January 1.

And so, as I approach the one year anniversary of Mike’s death, he’s still gone and the in-laws are still assholes.

Still dead, but thanks for checking

Posted on by

0

Mike died (basically) homeless, unemployed and in major debt (mostly from law school loans). We were separated and going through a divorce.

I certainly didn’t want, nor feel responsible for, his bills.

I worked for months talking to his various creditors, explaining that there wasn’t an estate and the bills would not be paid. I thought everything was taken care of.

On Saturday, I received a notice in Mike’s name from a collection agency for one of his credit cards. There was an 866-number and “Mike” was instructed to call the number immediately.

I dialed my cell phone on my way to the grocery store. “Damn it!” I thought. “This is all taken care of.”

I knew I had talked to this particular creditor MONTHS ago. In fact, I knew the last notice with my notes on the conversation was filed with his other bills (and their notes).

I told the woman who answered that I was calling on behalf of my late husband and that I was pretty sure they had written off the debt several months ago.

“Of course,” she said. “We just want to make sure there’s no change to his status.”

“Um, his status?” I asked. “His status is dead. January 25, 2012. Dead. Do you get many status changes from death?”

“Well you never know,” she answered. I could hear her fingers clicking on her computer keyboard.

“Nope, I’m fairly certain the death status is pretty final,” I responded. “Is that all you need? Just to make sure he’s still dead?”

“That’s all,” she responded. “Thank you for calling and we’re sorry for your loss.”

WTF? Not sure if I’m being scammed, but I’m really starting to dislike credit collectors.

Unsolicited advice: needing a man

Posted on by

8

“I’ll tell you exactly what you need – you need to find a man.”

I was standing outside talking to Ethan’s teacher on Friday afternoon. We had just wrapped up a meeting about enrolling Ethan in speech through the local public school when she made this ridiculous statement while offering (unsolicited) advice about how I could help Ethan through this tough time.

Honestly, after she said this, I lost track of what she was saying and why/how a “man” would solve all my problems. I was just pissed.

I don’t doubt that having a strong male role model would be good and healthy for Ethan (and Lauren), but to make a broad, bold statement like this is just… stupid. (SIDENOTE: I have started the process of matching E with a Big Brother, but it could take months for the right match to be found.)

Ethan and Lauren (and I) don’t need a “man.” If I started dating TODAY, it would be a LONG time before I’d introduce someone to my kids. If a man from church or school offered to take Ethan fishing or bowling or to play video games, I would be very hesitant to let my son go alone with someone. (Think of all the horror stories…) His teacher recommended sending Ethan on a playdate with a friend when the friend’s dad would be around (right, because men are KNOWN for participating in kids playdates…)

No, a “man” isn’t the answer. (See my previous entry on men and unicorns.)

There isn’t a man in our lives, and we don’t live close to family or close friends. But Ethan sees women (me and my mom) doing all sorts of things: sleeping on a submarine, taking out the garbage, hanging shelves, building things, watching sports, talking about his personal care and hygiene, going fishing (my mom takes E, not me. Fishing is where I draw the line), discussing urinal etiquette, killing spiders. Not to say these are all “men” things or that these are the only things men are good for. Quite the contrary. Even if Mike and I were still married, I’d probably be doing most of these things (and arguing with Mike at the same time). The point is that Ethan sees us doing all sorts of things to keep life moving. We do all this without complaint, without being told, to keep everything running smoothly. And at the same time we’re doing all that, we’re also making meals, cleaning the house, doing laundry, grocery shopping, hemming school pants, walking the dog, reading bedtime stories, helping with homework, kissing boo boos, and on and on.

Ethan and Lauren are witness to a fully functioning household – with or without a traditional family structure.

Now I understand that both kids would benefit from being around a strong male role model, to have a real reference point for what it means to be a good man/husband/dad/friend. But that’s the thing. It isn’t about exposure to a random old testosterone-filled person. It’s about finding the “right” man, a good man, from whom my kids could learn and grow.

And those don’t sell those at Target.

Little girl (alternatively titled, Assumptions are the worst)

Posted on by

2

She walked up slowly to the table of cookies and popcorn. Her big brown eyes and unruly curly hair stuck out immediately.

“I want a cookie please,” she said in a tiny voice.

I was behind the table, volunteering at a fundraiser at Ethan’s school. We had turned other kids away who approached us without money, asking for food. I didn’t know this little girl. Had never seen her before.

“Do you have any money?” asked one of the moms working with me.

The little girl, probably 4 or 5 years old, shook her head.

“Then no,” said the other mom and she turned away from the little girl.

“Honey, cookies are 50 cents, but I’ll give you one for a quarter,” I said bending down to her level.

What I said next has haunted me since Friday night. It was exactly the thing I hate hearing. That I dread will be asked of one of my kids someday. An assumption of a “typical” family – a mom, a dad, two kids, white picket fence. But the words just came out.

“Why don’t you go find your mom and your dad?” I asked.

“I don’t have a dad,” she said. “He died. He was really sick and he died. He’s dead now.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. One of the other moms put her arm around my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, honey,” I said.

But by then, she disappeared into the crowd.

I dabbed my eyes, and she came back with 50 cents. I gave her three cookies.

“Do you know her?” I asked all the other mom volunteers. “Have you ever seen her before?”

But no one knew the little girl. (Unusual that no one knew her since this is a small school in a very close-knit church community, and a little girl with a dead daddy would certainly be memorable.)

The tiny little girl, so young but so confident, handled the situation beautifully. She was poised and eloquent. She answered liked it was no big deal, and maybe to her, it wasn’t a big deal. I don’t know her story.

But to me it was a big deal. I wish I knew that little girl. I want to give her a hug. To cry with her mom. To say, “ I get it and I’m so sorry I assumed you had a mom and a dad and I know that it’s hard.”

I haven’t seen the little girl since.

Lesson learned.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

On a related note, the mom who assumed that Ethan would be “over” the death of his dad was volunteering at the event also. Early in the evening, she pulled me aside.

“I need to tell you that I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what?” I asked.

“That night at the meeting. That was so STUPID of me to say. Of course Ethan is grieving. I’m sure you are, too. It’s a huge loss for you guys. I feel so bad about saying that. I didn’t mean anything by it. I went home and cried to my husband because it was just wrong to say. It came out SO WRONG. I’m so sorry that I said that,” she said.

And I forgave her.