As I sat in church yesterday, a young family got up to perform a special musical number. The father was on the piano and the mother stood with the children. As I was watching them I was so touched by the sweetness and completeness of this little family. I looked at the three oldest. 9, 7, 5. I was suddenly overcome with feelings of grief. Grieving the years that have passed. Those innocent and precious children were the age my children were when their father passed. So young, so sweet. So wonderful to see this family - we were once a sweet little family as well. The tears started and wouldn't stop. I started getting strange glances from my children. The tears just kept coming and coming. Long after the musical number was over, I was still crying. I felt like I was holding back... allowing the tears but blocking the sobbing that so wanted to come out. I contemplated making a run for the bathroom but felt like I was already making a spectacle of myself and thought that may just exaggerate that. So, I sat and let the tears continue to fall.
I can't say for sure what brought it on - but I can say that the topic of "mourning the years gone by" has been heavy on my heart lately. In moments of frustration the kids have retaliated at me with 'facts from the past' concerning my bad parenting behavior. It has left me reflecting on years I don't care to think about again. Years that I can't re-do. Years that have been wasted. Or so it seems.
The question is really... what would / could I have done differently. My 'bad parenting' is a reflection of trying to be a parent to children who were reacting with anger to their father's death, while trying to grieve the loss of my husband. My patience was short. I was trying to process through my own grief and that left little brain capacity for disobedient children. I was quick to yell, to lose my patience. I was incapable of of doing it.... well. I became this crazy mother that was nothing like I had once been. I look back and wonder what could have changed things. How could I have maintained the happiness and love in that little family and just continued on? Perhaps there is another widow out there that has considered this more or been more successful that could share some tips. For me... I need to forgive myself. I need to let go of the thoughts that they have been years wasted and I need to make the most of the years I now have.
Showing posts with label crying. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crying. Show all posts
Monday, February 28, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
PIANO
I have made a few trips to the Cancer Center about an hour from here in the last few weeks. I have had the opportunity to continue to accompany my husband's cousin to her doctor appointments and treatments.
I have been pleasantly surprised at how well I have done with it all. It seems every time we go, we walk into another place that has memories that takes me back. Amazing how many waiting rooms I sat in years ago. Each for a different reason, a different test or scan, a different doctor, a different treatment. When my stay in the waiting rooms was long, I would sometimes walk out into the hall. Each floor in the Cancer Center (aside from the hospital room floors) has a balcony that overlooks the lobby. There are volunteers that come in and perform in the 'background' their various musical talents. I remember the piano. I don't know who, and perhaps it was several different people, but I remember laying on the bench floors above the lobby, passing the time while listening to someone play the piano. It was soothing.
A couple years ago, I had stopped into the Cancer Center around Christmas time as I was looking for a particular item I knew they sold there in the Gift Shop. When I walked in, I was struck by the sound of the piano. I walked into the gift shop, but was overcome and I had to leave.
With my recent visits there I have seen guitar players and other instruments, but this past week I walked in to a pianist. It felt good. He was young and talented. I watched him. He was casually watching the hustle of the lobby while playing a beautiful and soothing piece. He caught my eye, and I smiled. I was grateful. Grateful that time has passed enough for me to feel the soothing peace in the music and grateful for people like him that share their talents so people like me can feel some peace in their storm.
I have been pleasantly surprised at how well I have done with it all. It seems every time we go, we walk into another place that has memories that takes me back. Amazing how many waiting rooms I sat in years ago. Each for a different reason, a different test or scan, a different doctor, a different treatment. When my stay in the waiting rooms was long, I would sometimes walk out into the hall. Each floor in the Cancer Center (aside from the hospital room floors) has a balcony that overlooks the lobby. There are volunteers that come in and perform in the 'background' their various musical talents. I remember the piano. I don't know who, and perhaps it was several different people, but I remember laying on the bench floors above the lobby, passing the time while listening to someone play the piano. It was soothing.
A couple years ago, I had stopped into the Cancer Center around Christmas time as I was looking for a particular item I knew they sold there in the Gift Shop. When I walked in, I was struck by the sound of the piano. I walked into the gift shop, but was overcome and I had to leave.
With my recent visits there I have seen guitar players and other instruments, but this past week I walked in to a pianist. It felt good. He was young and talented. I watched him. He was casually watching the hustle of the lobby while playing a beautiful and soothing piece. He caught my eye, and I smiled. I was grateful. Grateful that time has passed enough for me to feel the soothing peace in the music and grateful for people like him that share their talents so people like me can feel some peace in their storm.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
WATCHING THEM GROW UP
I was just watching the movie The Last Song. I didn't know anything about the movie... it just looked like a good clean family movie to watch.
My father-in-law died in an industrial accident years ago, before he was my father-in-law. Our families were friends, so I still remember very clearly when I was told he had passed. There had been an explosion, he was burned badly. He had survived a couple days, but then passed.
In the early days of the TV Show ER, I used to enjoy watching it. My mother-in-law would watch with me. I remember one time the subject matter of the show was a case involving a burn victim. My mother-in-law left the room. She couldn't watch. I understood, but didn't understand what that felt like.
Tonight as I was watching the movie, I found it was about a father who had been estranged from his children. He has them come stay with him for the summer. As the movie unfolds you discover he is dying from cancer. It is still hard to watch that. I find it impossible to watch it - without feeling those feelings all over again. Without looking at the 'reality' of life as I know it.... as my kids know it. Without feeling the pain all over again of my kids growing up without their father. Now, years later, I can truly understand what that must have felt like for my mother-in-law. Why she preferred to change the channel on those nights.
In the movie the older sister comments regarding her younger brother that her dad won't get to see him grow up.
I would just like to disagree with that, if I may. My kids are not the little kids they were when their father passed. They have grown up. They are turning into teenagers, young adults with mature thoughts and decision making power. They have missed the daily interaction with their father. Had he been here, they would have become someone else. But, even though he was not here... I know that he has watched them grow up. He has been there for them in moments he could not have been otherwise. He has not been able to physically hold them or discipline them, but he has been able to help them feel his love for them when they needed it. He has watched them grow up. Death takes away many things, but that is not one of them.
My father-in-law died in an industrial accident years ago, before he was my father-in-law. Our families were friends, so I still remember very clearly when I was told he had passed. There had been an explosion, he was burned badly. He had survived a couple days, but then passed.
In the early days of the TV Show ER, I used to enjoy watching it. My mother-in-law would watch with me. I remember one time the subject matter of the show was a case involving a burn victim. My mother-in-law left the room. She couldn't watch. I understood, but didn't understand what that felt like.
Tonight as I was watching the movie, I found it was about a father who had been estranged from his children. He has them come stay with him for the summer. As the movie unfolds you discover he is dying from cancer. It is still hard to watch that. I find it impossible to watch it - without feeling those feelings all over again. Without looking at the 'reality' of life as I know it.... as my kids know it. Without feeling the pain all over again of my kids growing up without their father. Now, years later, I can truly understand what that must have felt like for my mother-in-law. Why she preferred to change the channel on those nights.
In the movie the older sister comments regarding her younger brother that her dad won't get to see him grow up.
I would just like to disagree with that, if I may. My kids are not the little kids they were when their father passed. They have grown up. They are turning into teenagers, young adults with mature thoughts and decision making power. They have missed the daily interaction with their father. Had he been here, they would have become someone else. But, even though he was not here... I know that he has watched them grow up. He has been there for them in moments he could not have been otherwise. He has not been able to physically hold them or discipline them, but he has been able to help them feel his love for them when they needed it. He has watched them grow up. Death takes away many things, but that is not one of them.
Friday, January 14, 2011
CRYING.... ALMOST
My girlfriend just walked in the house carrying a priority mail box. I glanced lightly at it, assuming it was another of my youngest son's many airsoft guns. He has become obsessed with the sport and spends every dollar he gets on a new gun or accessory.
On my glance it caught my eye as saying "Kimmy" not "Kim" or "Kimberly", so I got up to take the package from my friend. I knew right away it was from family. No one else calls (or could get away with calling) me "Kimmy". Upon ripping the package open (I am still like a kids when it comes to opening presents) I started screaming and jumping up and down. My girlfriend just watched curiously. Then I got teary eyed. They love me. My family loves me. They know what I want, they know what is important to me and despite the many miles between us.. they do what they can to lend a helping hand. I pulled out the card, and read it "Kimmy, Just a little something to let you know we're all thinking of you. It's been six tough years- Here's to moving forward, reaching your goals & being your best self. Love, your siblings" My voice cracked as I read it. I am so blessed with such a loving and supportive family. My girlfriend was so excited to be here to witness the emotions... the teary eyes.
The gift... A Body Media FIT Armband.
The "Thank You" I say does not come close to expressing my gratitude for all they do.
On my glance it caught my eye as saying "Kimmy" not "Kim" or "Kimberly", so I got up to take the package from my friend. I knew right away it was from family. No one else calls (or could get away with calling) me "Kimmy". Upon ripping the package open (I am still like a kids when it comes to opening presents) I started screaming and jumping up and down. My girlfriend just watched curiously. Then I got teary eyed. They love me. My family loves me. They know what I want, they know what is important to me and despite the many miles between us.. they do what they can to lend a helping hand. I pulled out the card, and read it "Kimmy, Just a little something to let you know we're all thinking of you. It's been six tough years- Here's to moving forward, reaching your goals & being your best self. Love, your siblings" My voice cracked as I read it. I am so blessed with such a loving and supportive family. My girlfriend was so excited to be here to witness the emotions... the teary eyes.
The gift... A Body Media FIT Armband.
The "Thank You" I say does not come close to expressing my gratitude for all they do.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
SOMEONE IS GOING TO H***
Can you believe I made that my title? It is harsh, isn't it? And, it probably isn't even true... But SOMEONE... SOMEONE is going to realize what they did someday and pay the price of the sorrow they caused.
Chris loved trees. I am not sure why he had such a proclivity for the green things, but he did. He used to buy baby trees every spring and plant them. When I was mowing the lawn, in my careless ways, I would occasionally run over one. Sometimes I would analyze the scene and consider if I should take out a couple more - and then perhaps Chris would not even realize there was one missing. He would maybe just forget that row was there all together.
Unfortunately for me, that was not the case. He knew every tree he had. You would have thought they were like his pets. He cared for each of them.
One year Chris planted a few fruit trees, including a peach tree, along the border of our property. The following year, was the year Chris was very ill. It was so surprising that there were FIVE peaches growing on that tree. Usually fruit trees take much longer to bear fruit... but there were FIVE peaches. Chris would sit in his blue recliner every day recovering from surgery. He wasn't able to eat much at that time, but he would admire those peaches and was bound and determined that when they were ripe, he would eat them.
Every day, he would check on them. His body was struggling with recovery, and eating was difficult, but he maintained his position that he would eat those peaches.
One day he looked out the window to check on them. They were gone. All five. Gone. Someone had picked them. They took his peaches. He was so sad. He had spent so long looking forward to them being ripe, they were just about there, and someone took them. I felt so badly for him. It was his opportunity to enjoy the literal fruits of his labor, and his last opportunity.
I was in my old neighborhood today. My neighbor was out walking his dog. I gave him a hug and petted the dogs. I smiled with the memories of my kids laying on the neighbor's back yard letting the dogs lick their face. They had so much fun with those dogs. The new owner to the house was out painting the trim. I said hello and complimented the work he has done in keeping the place looking nice. I asked about the peaches. Did they ever get any? Never. I think even the tree was heartbroken that day his peaches were stolen. I just envision this tree working so hard to provide FIVE peaches to his loving owner... only to have them stolen. Now, the tree produces none.
Chris loved trees. I am not sure why he had such a proclivity for the green things, but he did. He used to buy baby trees every spring and plant them. When I was mowing the lawn, in my careless ways, I would occasionally run over one. Sometimes I would analyze the scene and consider if I should take out a couple more - and then perhaps Chris would not even realize there was one missing. He would maybe just forget that row was there all together.
Unfortunately for me, that was not the case. He knew every tree he had. You would have thought they were like his pets. He cared for each of them.
One year Chris planted a few fruit trees, including a peach tree, along the border of our property. The following year, was the year Chris was very ill. It was so surprising that there were FIVE peaches growing on that tree. Usually fruit trees take much longer to bear fruit... but there were FIVE peaches. Chris would sit in his blue recliner every day recovering from surgery. He wasn't able to eat much at that time, but he would admire those peaches and was bound and determined that when they were ripe, he would eat them.
Every day, he would check on them. His body was struggling with recovery, and eating was difficult, but he maintained his position that he would eat those peaches.
One day he looked out the window to check on them. They were gone. All five. Gone. Someone had picked them. They took his peaches. He was so sad. He had spent so long looking forward to them being ripe, they were just about there, and someone took them. I felt so badly for him. It was his opportunity to enjoy the literal fruits of his labor, and his last opportunity.
I was in my old neighborhood today. My neighbor was out walking his dog. I gave him a hug and petted the dogs. I smiled with the memories of my kids laying on the neighbor's back yard letting the dogs lick their face. They had so much fun with those dogs. The new owner to the house was out painting the trim. I said hello and complimented the work he has done in keeping the place looking nice. I asked about the peaches. Did they ever get any? Never. I think even the tree was heartbroken that day his peaches were stolen. I just envision this tree working so hard to provide FIVE peaches to his loving owner... only to have them stolen. Now, the tree produces none.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
HOW DID IT GET THIS WAY?
Tantrums... Crazy tantrums from the kids with no real cause. How do you deal with it? They don't want you. They want their dad.
_____
The whispering voice of your spouse... telling you what to do, when you don't think you can do it and you don't know what to do.
_____
Seeing the sadness in your children's faces. And feeling your own. How can you be what you need to be and work through all you need to work through - the two don't seem to exist simultaneously.
______
Being late and feeling as though you have become this incompetent parent. Your kids are late for school and missing half the things they need. How did it get this way?
______
Feeling out of sorts at work. You have fallen off your game a little and somehow need to play that part as if your world didn't just crash around you.
_____
The whispering voice of your spouse... telling you what to do, when you don't think you can do it and you don't know what to do.
_____
Seeing the sadness in your children's faces. And feeling your own. How can you be what you need to be and work through all you need to work through - the two don't seem to exist simultaneously.
______
Being late and feeling as though you have become this incompetent parent. Your kids are late for school and missing half the things they need. How did it get this way?
______
Feeling out of sorts at work. You have fallen off your game a little and somehow need to play that part as if your world didn't just crash around you.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
ARE YOU GOING TO BE OK?
Are you going to be OK?
Of course I am.
But inside you are crying harder than you have ever cried and you wonder... will I? Will I really be OK?
______
Get away from it all and cry. I don't look pretty when I cry. No one needs to see that. But I did need to cry. And cry. And cry.
______
Doesn't death seem easier? I just want to go so I can join him. Why didn't he die when we were old... so we could have been one of those couples that die within days of each other?
Of course I am.
But inside you are crying harder than you have ever cried and you wonder... will I? Will I really be OK?
______
Get away from it all and cry. I don't look pretty when I cry. No one needs to see that. But I did need to cry. And cry. And cry.
______
Doesn't death seem easier? I just want to go so I can join him. Why didn't he die when we were old... so we could have been one of those couples that die within days of each other?
Sunday, April 25, 2010
CRYING MY EYES OUT OVER MY EYES
A couple years ago I had the opportunity to have our family photos taken by a professional, who also happens to be a friend. I was so thrilled with how well they came out. The family photo was great and each of the children had individual photos that really captured them. It was really great to have a nice photo that I could display of our "current" family (i.e. minus Chris) that I was happy to look at.
Last summer when she was in town I decided to have another photo session and get an updated photo. It is amazing how much the kids grow and change in one year. I was so excited to get the photos back. Aften was very fast with the turn around and I had them back within a week! She gives me a CD version and print versions. I took the CD and popped it in my computer. The photos, once again, were great! Except for one thing. I looked awful! Really. Now, I know it may not be natural to view a photos at 400% zoom - but how is it possible that I look that much worse in just one year. My eyes were horrible. I started crying. I am not an overly emotional person... but I just sat there looking at myself wondering how I let myself fall apart in one year. I looked terrible.
Admittedly, it was not as noticeable until you zoomed in on my eyes... but nonetheless... it was there. Pictures don't lie. Take a look at yesterday's post... Hello!!! What is going on? Not only was my life spinning out of control... but it was starting to wear on me. I am certain people have whispered about me behind my back "Look at her... You can see the stress is getting to her. She looks awful." I am sure it has been said... and possibly not even said that nicely.
Crying... I just sat there crying. And I vowed to take better care of me this year.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
CRYING THROUGH THE HYMNS
It took me a few years to be able to sing certain hymns in church without crying... Somedays I still do. This is one of my 'new found' favorites. I feel these words when I sing them....
Be still, my soul: The Lord is on thy side;
With patience bear thy cross of grief or pain.
Leave to thy God to order and provide;
In ev’ry change he faithful will remain.
Be still, my soul: Thy best, thy heav’nly Friend
Thru thorny ways leads to a joyful end.
Be still, my soul: Thy God doth undertake
To guide the future as he has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul: The waves and winds still know
His voice who ruled them while he dwelt below.
Be still, my soul: The hour is hast’ning on
When we shall be forever with the Lord,
When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,
Sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored.
Be still, my soul: When change and tears are past,
All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.
(Hymns, Be Still, My Soul, no. 124)
Be still, my soul: The Lord is on thy side;
With patience bear thy cross of grief or pain.
Leave to thy God to order and provide;
In ev’ry change he faithful will remain.
Be still, my soul: Thy best, thy heav’nly Friend
Thru thorny ways leads to a joyful end.
Be still, my soul: Thy God doth undertake
To guide the future as he has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul: The waves and winds still know
His voice who ruled them while he dwelt below.
Be still, my soul: The hour is hast’ning on
When we shall be forever with the Lord,
When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,
Sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored.
Be still, my soul: When change and tears are past,
All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.
(Hymns, Be Still, My Soul, no. 124)
Friday, March 26, 2010
SHUT THE WORLD OUT
After having friends watch over my youngest for two years as caring teachers, I was more than a little nervous to see how he would do on his own now. I counseled with the school about my concerns and requested that careful consideration be given to who would be chosen as his teacher. I knew that it would make all the difference in how he would do. A male teacher was chosen. One who was soft spoken and kind.
Kyle did so well. When I went in for Parent Teacher Conferences in the fall, I was so pleased to find that there had not been any issues. Kyle had never not followed directions, or not completed an assignment he was asked to. He was kind and well behaved. I was thrilled, although prayerful and concerned that he was not all the way there, yet. He was just on a good path. But, to have made it a couple months in and YET to have an incident where Kyle refused to participate or engage was good news.
About a month later I was at work when I received the following phone call: "Hello, this is Mr. X, the school counselor." *** "Yes, Mr. X, how are you? What can I do for you?" *** "Well, I was hoping you might be able to offer us some advice. Kyle is in the lunch room and won't leave". At this point my mind is asking all kinds of questions, like... Did he eat? Is he still hungry?... The counselor continued, "His class left an hour ago, but we can't seem to get him to leave". I really didn't know what to say, as I could not understand the cause of this behavior. I simply offered, "Do you need me to come there" *** "If you could, that would be great". *** "I will be right there".
I drove to the school confused... not understanding what was going on. When I arrived his teacher and the counselor were at the door waiting for me. As I walked in, they explained that he had gotten in trouble from the lunch lady and was asked to sit at a desk in the corner for the remaining time of lunch. He put his head down and had been sitting there for an hour and a half. He refused to speak to or look at anyone. He had missed recess and library. He just wouldn't leave.
I walked into the lunch room feeling a bit intimidated as the teacher and counselor both watch anxiously, wondering what it was going to take to get him to leave. I walked over to him, pulled the chair out that he was sitting in, took his hand and told him it was time to leave the lunchroom. With a solemn face, he stood up and walked out with me. I asked the counselor if I could borrow his room to have a few words with Kyle. He quickly agreed. When we walked in and I shut the door, Kyle broke down in tears and I just sat there holding him. He sobbed.... letting out all the frustration from the day. I just held him.
When he was done, I asked what happened. He explained that he told a joke at the lunch table (alright, think back to third grade and repeat what I say "I"... "P"... get the idea?) It was a joke that had been told by many... for many generations... but the kid he told it to, didn't like it... and told on him. The lunch lady had yelled at him and sent him to the desk in the corner.
He didn't feel like he should have been yelled at and ostracized that way. He was embarrassed... and as he had in the last couple years, when things were too much for him to deal with, he curled up in a ball and shut the world out.
Kyle did so well. When I went in for Parent Teacher Conferences in the fall, I was so pleased to find that there had not been any issues. Kyle had never not followed directions, or not completed an assignment he was asked to. He was kind and well behaved. I was thrilled, although prayerful and concerned that he was not all the way there, yet. He was just on a good path. But, to have made it a couple months in and YET to have an incident where Kyle refused to participate or engage was good news.
About a month later I was at work when I received the following phone call: "Hello, this is Mr. X, the school counselor." *** "Yes, Mr. X, how are you? What can I do for you?" *** "Well, I was hoping you might be able to offer us some advice. Kyle is in the lunch room and won't leave". At this point my mind is asking all kinds of questions, like... Did he eat? Is he still hungry?... The counselor continued, "His class left an hour ago, but we can't seem to get him to leave". I really didn't know what to say, as I could not understand the cause of this behavior. I simply offered, "Do you need me to come there" *** "If you could, that would be great". *** "I will be right there".
I drove to the school confused... not understanding what was going on. When I arrived his teacher and the counselor were at the door waiting for me. As I walked in, they explained that he had gotten in trouble from the lunch lady and was asked to sit at a desk in the corner for the remaining time of lunch. He put his head down and had been sitting there for an hour and a half. He refused to speak to or look at anyone. He had missed recess and library. He just wouldn't leave.
I walked into the lunch room feeling a bit intimidated as the teacher and counselor both watch anxiously, wondering what it was going to take to get him to leave. I walked over to him, pulled the chair out that he was sitting in, took his hand and told him it was time to leave the lunchroom. With a solemn face, he stood up and walked out with me. I asked the counselor if I could borrow his room to have a few words with Kyle. He quickly agreed. When we walked in and I shut the door, Kyle broke down in tears and I just sat there holding him. He sobbed.... letting out all the frustration from the day. I just held him.
When he was done, I asked what happened. He explained that he told a joke at the lunch table (alright, think back to third grade and repeat what I say "I"... "P"... get the idea?) It was a joke that had been told by many... for many generations... but the kid he told it to, didn't like it... and told on him. The lunch lady had yelled at him and sent him to the desk in the corner.
He didn't feel like he should have been yelled at and ostracized that way. He was embarrassed... and as he had in the last couple years, when things were too much for him to deal with, he curled up in a ball and shut the world out.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
THE GOOD TEACHERS
I have repeatedly commented that my oldest child struggled. Don't get me wrong though, he was not the only one. They all had their ways.
My youngest was in kindergarten when his father passed. He made it through that year, and we were fortunate enough in first grade for him to have a friend as a teacher. This was fortunate as she didn't require as much parental involvement as another teacher may have. One of his ways of 'coping' was shutting down. No doubt there were times that his poor little brain just couldn't process any more. So, to ask him to sit and learn - when all his brain wanted to do was process the fact that his daddy is gone, was just too much some days.
When the teacher would ask the class to come sit on the carpet... sometimes he would just want to stay at his desk, in his own little world. My friend didn't worry about this, she would simply pick him up and bring him where he needed to be. This worked (of course sometimes he objected and she might have been seen carrying a flailing child who, much like a two year old being taken out of a toy store, would grab a hold of the door frame attempting to inhibit her ability to take him away).
In second grade, he again had a friend for a teacher. She was such a loving and kind women. In fact I have given you a sneak peek at what a wonderful woman she is.. remember this and this? Well, I don't think it is a coincidence that teaching Kyle ended up being her last year before she retired.
When life got too tough for Kyle he would just sit in his locker... "Mrs. R, Kyle is in his locker". "I know... he'll come out when he is ready". Or should he be asked to write something and the task seemed too daunting... he would simply go under his desk and cry. "How about you tell me what you want it to say, and I will write it for you."
She was soo good to him. She allowed him the space he needed to heal... to cry... to check out of life a little without a harsh reaction. Such a contrast to the reaction my oldest son was receiving.
I don't know that I thanked them enough. Both of my friends, for the service they offered as patient loving teachers to my child.
My youngest was in kindergarten when his father passed. He made it through that year, and we were fortunate enough in first grade for him to have a friend as a teacher. This was fortunate as she didn't require as much parental involvement as another teacher may have. One of his ways of 'coping' was shutting down. No doubt there were times that his poor little brain just couldn't process any more. So, to ask him to sit and learn - when all his brain wanted to do was process the fact that his daddy is gone, was just too much some days.
When the teacher would ask the class to come sit on the carpet... sometimes he would just want to stay at his desk, in his own little world. My friend didn't worry about this, she would simply pick him up and bring him where he needed to be. This worked (of course sometimes he objected and she might have been seen carrying a flailing child who, much like a two year old being taken out of a toy store, would grab a hold of the door frame attempting to inhibit her ability to take him away).
In second grade, he again had a friend for a teacher. She was such a loving and kind women. In fact I have given you a sneak peek at what a wonderful woman she is.. remember this and this? Well, I don't think it is a coincidence that teaching Kyle ended up being her last year before she retired.
When life got too tough for Kyle he would just sit in his locker... "Mrs. R, Kyle is in his locker". "I know... he'll come out when he is ready". Or should he be asked to write something and the task seemed too daunting... he would simply go under his desk and cry. "How about you tell me what you want it to say, and I will write it for you."
She was soo good to him. She allowed him the space he needed to heal... to cry... to check out of life a little without a harsh reaction. Such a contrast to the reaction my oldest son was receiving.
I don't know that I thanked them enough. Both of my friends, for the service they offered as patient loving teachers to my child.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
THE DECISION
Along this path my oldest child was choosing, some additional bad behaviors were magnifying. He became an expert at smooth talking, expanded his story telling techniques, and found a way to get some tangible things he wanted.
We continued visiting bi-weekly with the psychologist. I hoped we could break this cycle… but the weeks and the months passed and things were only on a slippery slope down hill. One day as I sat waiting outside the office of his psychologist for their appointment to be finished, I overheard my son sharing a story (some may just call it a lie) of what was happening at home. I couldn’t believe it… and it made me start to wonder if this expense of resources to drive an hour every other week and pay the fees was helping any more. Had my son healed to the point that he wasn’t ready to do any more and perhaps was content with where his life was? He saw no danger, no sadness as I did when I looked on him. I considered these thoughts for the next couple weeks, and then joined him during his next session. At that time I explained to the doctor and to my son that there sessions were done. My son needed to want to change, and until he did my resources were being wasted. I have two other children at home, which were somehow being ignored… and left with what was left of my energy when done focusing on their brother. Sadly, that was nothing. I felt like I was sacrificing two for the sake of one. How do you choose? What is the perfect balance?
I began to tell my son that we were done. There was no more of this behavior allowed in our home. You are to show respect by letting me know where you are at all times, and only leaving when it is permitted. It did not change his actions, but I kept saying it. Over and over. I started to look around my life… it felt like total disarray. How do we get off this slippery slope?
I reached out to a family member who tried to be sympathetic, but pointed out that it may not change until I find a male role model for him. I spent the next two weeks in prayer. Was there someone who could help me? Asking this of anyone would be a huge burden…. and I didn’t know who I could even ask. Reflecting back on offers from family, I felt it may be time for a ‘shake-up’. I didn’t feel that minor changes regarding who was involved in his day-to-day were the solution. We were sliding fast and only a complete change of course would offer the recovery we needed.
In faith I sent an e-mail to a few family members explaining the situation. I clearly outlined all of the bad habits he had become accustomed to. I informed them that I needed an intervention. But accepting the challenge of having him come to live with them would not be easy. He had a lot of learning and growing to do. The e-mail was received with open arms and it was decided he would finish the school year at his Uncle’s.
This was one of the hardest decisions I have made in my life. I was fearful if I sat on it too long, I may shrink. I bought the plane tickets the next day.
He had just finished a growth spurt so I scheduled a shopping trip – took him for all new clothes and then we went to dinner. He wanted steak. I acquiesced, and as we waited for our meals I told him what was happening. It was Saturday night. I explained Monday he would have the opportunity to say good bye to his friends and Tuesday he and I were flying to his Uncle’s home where he would finish the school year.
He curled up like a small child and cried. I cried too.
We continued visiting bi-weekly with the psychologist. I hoped we could break this cycle… but the weeks and the months passed and things were only on a slippery slope down hill. One day as I sat waiting outside the office of his psychologist for their appointment to be finished, I overheard my son sharing a story (some may just call it a lie) of what was happening at home. I couldn’t believe it… and it made me start to wonder if this expense of resources to drive an hour every other week and pay the fees was helping any more. Had my son healed to the point that he wasn’t ready to do any more and perhaps was content with where his life was? He saw no danger, no sadness as I did when I looked on him. I considered these thoughts for the next couple weeks, and then joined him during his next session. At that time I explained to the doctor and to my son that there sessions were done. My son needed to want to change, and until he did my resources were being wasted. I have two other children at home, which were somehow being ignored… and left with what was left of my energy when done focusing on their brother. Sadly, that was nothing. I felt like I was sacrificing two for the sake of one. How do you choose? What is the perfect balance?
I began to tell my son that we were done. There was no more of this behavior allowed in our home. You are to show respect by letting me know where you are at all times, and only leaving when it is permitted. It did not change his actions, but I kept saying it. Over and over. I started to look around my life… it felt like total disarray. How do we get off this slippery slope?
I reached out to a family member who tried to be sympathetic, but pointed out that it may not change until I find a male role model for him. I spent the next two weeks in prayer. Was there someone who could help me? Asking this of anyone would be a huge burden…. and I didn’t know who I could even ask. Reflecting back on offers from family, I felt it may be time for a ‘shake-up’. I didn’t feel that minor changes regarding who was involved in his day-to-day were the solution. We were sliding fast and only a complete change of course would offer the recovery we needed.
In faith I sent an e-mail to a few family members explaining the situation. I clearly outlined all of the bad habits he had become accustomed to. I informed them that I needed an intervention. But accepting the challenge of having him come to live with them would not be easy. He had a lot of learning and growing to do. The e-mail was received with open arms and it was decided he would finish the school year at his Uncle’s.
This was one of the hardest decisions I have made in my life. I was fearful if I sat on it too long, I may shrink. I bought the plane tickets the next day.
He had just finished a growth spurt so I scheduled a shopping trip – took him for all new clothes and then we went to dinner. He wanted steak. I acquiesced, and as we waited for our meals I told him what was happening. It was Saturday night. I explained Monday he would have the opportunity to say good bye to his friends and Tuesday he and I were flying to his Uncle’s home where he would finish the school year.
He curled up like a small child and cried. I cried too.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
WHO I NEED TO BE CONCERNED WITH
It has been five years since my husband passed. I suppose that is a fact we have covered. What is next in life? I was 29 when he passed, had three children who were all school-age, and had lived a very fulfilling life. Those eleven years were full of life and living and 'getting somewhere'. Now. Now I feel as though I do less thriving than I do surviving. I go to work at a job that does not carry with it a possibility for much a future or the ability to really use and develop my talents on a regular basis. Don't get me wrong. I have a good job... it is just not a source of personal fulfillment. I come home and am faced with the challenges of raising teens and pre-teens. Is there something more? In ten years, what will I say I have accomplished? I get frustrated with myself sometimes, as I think I should not question this or worry as the only success I need in these ten years are good, solid, strong children.
I don't get 'down' too often in regards to this - but sometimes there are incidents that happen that bring me down. As is the case now.
Someone whom I respect made an attack on my integrity and my character. He was wrong. Whether a fabrication or misinterpretation, I don't know. But it left me wondering what else I have to cling to. When I come home at the end of the day and my bucket feels as though it has been emptied... and there is no one to fill it... it leaves me questioning myself. Every action, statement, personality trait to see if I could figure out why this attack had been made.
I spent the evening trying to distract myself with mindless tasks that needed to be completed. I worked until very late, then I climbed into Chris' pajamas and went to bed. Overall feeling very low. I crawled into bed exhausted both physically and mentally. I turned the radio on in hopes of gleaning some distraction from my thoughts. Immediately the song Live Like You Were Dying was playing. This song takes me back to when Chris was sick, as it was released just months after his diagnosis and the words were very relevant to our lives. Instantly I could feel him there with me and the tears flowed. I think I apologized for being such a dork. For allowing something like this to bother me and affect me to the level that I needed to bother him. That he needed to come and comfort me. Certainly there are REAL issues in life - and someone attacking my integrity and character does not equate me being a person of poor integrity and character. But, sometimes that is hard to feel in the moment. So, I layed there and absorbed his presence and his strength.
The next morning I was faced with a daunting 'to-do' list but was still feeling burdened with the events of the previous day. I talked to a friend who pointed out that Satan will attack those things, such as our integrity, that are important to us. She was right, and if I want to keep evil influences out of my house - I needed to let this go. I got on my knees and prayed. I asked for the evil to leave my home. Then I sat down to read my scriptures, hoping the Lord would be bound to bring me peace from those words. I opened up my Book of Mormon to the book of Alma, 4th chapter and I read. I finished the chapter, feeling better, but needing more. I kept reading. I made it half way through Chapter five before I found the message that was there... just for me... This is what I read:
The tears flowed again, but this time there was gratitude in those tears. For a loving Heavenly Father who reached out... who reminded me WHO I need to be concerned with. Which is Him, my Savior Jesus Christ. If my works are pleasing to Him, despite what others may say, I can press onward with steadfast faith and leave the evil one behind.
I don't get 'down' too often in regards to this - but sometimes there are incidents that happen that bring me down. As is the case now.
Someone whom I respect made an attack on my integrity and my character. He was wrong. Whether a fabrication or misinterpretation, I don't know. But it left me wondering what else I have to cling to. When I come home at the end of the day and my bucket feels as though it has been emptied... and there is no one to fill it... it leaves me questioning myself. Every action, statement, personality trait to see if I could figure out why this attack had been made.
I spent the evening trying to distract myself with mindless tasks that needed to be completed. I worked until very late, then I climbed into Chris' pajamas and went to bed. Overall feeling very low. I crawled into bed exhausted both physically and mentally. I turned the radio on in hopes of gleaning some distraction from my thoughts. Immediately the song Live Like You Were Dying was playing. This song takes me back to when Chris was sick, as it was released just months after his diagnosis and the words were very relevant to our lives. Instantly I could feel him there with me and the tears flowed. I think I apologized for being such a dork. For allowing something like this to bother me and affect me to the level that I needed to bother him. That he needed to come and comfort me. Certainly there are REAL issues in life - and someone attacking my integrity and character does not equate me being a person of poor integrity and character. But, sometimes that is hard to feel in the moment. So, I layed there and absorbed his presence and his strength.
The next morning I was faced with a daunting 'to-do' list but was still feeling burdened with the events of the previous day. I talked to a friend who pointed out that Satan will attack those things, such as our integrity, that are important to us. She was right, and if I want to keep evil influences out of my house - I needed to let this go. I got on my knees and prayed. I asked for the evil to leave my home. Then I sat down to read my scriptures, hoping the Lord would be bound to bring me peace from those words. I opened up my Book of Mormon to the book of Alma, 4th chapter and I read. I finished the chapter, feeling better, but needing more. I kept reading. I made it half way through Chapter five before I found the message that was there... just for me... This is what I read:
And now behold, I ask of you.....
Have ye spiritually been born of God?
Have ye received his image in your countenances?
Have ye experienced this mighty change in your hearts?
Do ye exercise faith in the redemption of him who created you?
Do you look forward with an eye of faith, and view this mortal body raised in immortality, and this corruption raised in in-corruption, to stand before God to be judged according to the deeds which have been done in the mortal body?
I say unto you, can you imagine to yourselves that ye hear the voice of the Lord, saying unto you, in that day: Come unto me ye blessed, for behold, your works have been works of righteousness upon the face of the earth...
The tears flowed again, but this time there was gratitude in those tears. For a loving Heavenly Father who reached out... who reminded me WHO I need to be concerned with. Which is Him, my Savior Jesus Christ. If my works are pleasing to Him, despite what others may say, I can press onward with steadfast faith and leave the evil one behind.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
NOW, WHAT WOULD WE DO IF THERE WAS A BREAK THROUGH?
I have certainly seen the worst of people through the years. I have many such stories... and a few stories of seeing the best. But, here is one of the worst...
My oldest really struggled. I didn't know what to do for him. He wouldn't talk to anyone and in every way "checked - out" while he was at school. They were sending him to meet with the school counselor, but I also knew he was taking frequent trips to the bathroom during the day. I understood. He needed to get out... to get away... he needed to cry. So, he would. He would go to the bathroom to cry.
We had a wonderful counselor that was working for Hospice at the time. She was good at what she did and she understood kids and grief far better than I did. I spoke with the counselor at the school and inquired regarding his knowledge / experience in dealing with grief. He admittedly had none. I talked to the Hospice counselor about whether or not she could work with the counselor at the school. My son would not talk to her in the evenings, she would come to the house and he wanted to be left alone... but I thought maybe he would at school. And, at the very least, the Hospice counselor could teach the school counselor a few things that may help.
The counselor was open to this, so, with a plan in hand... I went to the Principle to seek permission to arrange this. His reaction: "No, I don't think that would be a good idea. I mean, what would be do if there was a break through and he was crying?" My reaction: "You are right. It is so much better for him to go to the bathroom and cry where the adults don't have to be made uncomfortable by his tears of grief. "
I didn't win that battle.
My oldest really struggled. I didn't know what to do for him. He wouldn't talk to anyone and in every way "checked - out" while he was at school. They were sending him to meet with the school counselor, but I also knew he was taking frequent trips to the bathroom during the day. I understood. He needed to get out... to get away... he needed to cry. So, he would. He would go to the bathroom to cry.
We had a wonderful counselor that was working for Hospice at the time. She was good at what she did and she understood kids and grief far better than I did. I spoke with the counselor at the school and inquired regarding his knowledge / experience in dealing with grief. He admittedly had none. I talked to the Hospice counselor about whether or not she could work with the counselor at the school. My son would not talk to her in the evenings, she would come to the house and he wanted to be left alone... but I thought maybe he would at school. And, at the very least, the Hospice counselor could teach the school counselor a few things that may help.
The counselor was open to this, so, with a plan in hand... I went to the Principle to seek permission to arrange this. His reaction: "No, I don't think that would be a good idea. I mean, what would be do if there was a break through and he was crying?" My reaction: "You are right. It is so much better for him to go to the bathroom and cry where the adults don't have to be made uncomfortable by his tears of grief. "
I didn't win that battle.
Monday, January 25, 2010
SOMETIMES I'M SO SAD I CRY IN MY BODY
One of the elements of healing is helping the children heal.
My oldest (9 when his dad died), as I have mentioned before, has struggled the most. I think he truly didn't want to let go of the grief or the anger - because the grief and anger allowed him to feel connected to his father still. It was his way of proving and FEELING like he still missed him. Of course, I am no psychologist... just a mom with a gut feeling.
My middle child, who is a girl (7 when her dad died), has taken it in stride for the most part. I have watched her shed more tears over her gerbil that died or the bird's eggs out her window that were smashed than I have her father. Of course, when she was upset or hurt - she used to go to her dad. That's right... I think he was more nurturing than I - so even if it meant waiting for him to get home from work, she would go crying to her dad the minute he walked in, as if the injury had just happened. He put on her band aids, not mom. I have watched her cry a lot over minor injuries or little things where a little kiss on the forehead would have made her better in an instant before. I think those have been her moments of mourning and grief. Her daddy wasn't there to run to.
My youngest (5 when his dad died).... oh how I have ached for him. Once he was upset over something... I think he had gotten in trouble (he is a sensitive one... doesn't like to do wrong). He was in his room crying after the incident and I walked in to see him curled up in his bed hugging a photo of his dad.
Another time, at the age of six he spoke the words I think each of us could understand... for we had all felt that way. We were talking about Dad... and he simply said.... "sometimes I am so sad I cry in my body".
My oldest (9 when his dad died), as I have mentioned before, has struggled the most. I think he truly didn't want to let go of the grief or the anger - because the grief and anger allowed him to feel connected to his father still. It was his way of proving and FEELING like he still missed him. Of course, I am no psychologist... just a mom with a gut feeling.
My middle child, who is a girl (7 when her dad died), has taken it in stride for the most part. I have watched her shed more tears over her gerbil that died or the bird's eggs out her window that were smashed than I have her father. Of course, when she was upset or hurt - she used to go to her dad. That's right... I think he was more nurturing than I - so even if it meant waiting for him to get home from work, she would go crying to her dad the minute he walked in, as if the injury had just happened. He put on her band aids, not mom. I have watched her cry a lot over minor injuries or little things where a little kiss on the forehead would have made her better in an instant before. I think those have been her moments of mourning and grief. Her daddy wasn't there to run to.
My youngest (5 when his dad died).... oh how I have ached for him. Once he was upset over something... I think he had gotten in trouble (he is a sensitive one... doesn't like to do wrong). He was in his room crying after the incident and I walked in to see him curled up in his bed hugging a photo of his dad.
Another time, at the age of six he spoke the words I think each of us could understand... for we had all felt that way. We were talking about Dad... and he simply said.... "sometimes I am so sad I cry in my body".
Friday, January 22, 2010
YOU HAVE TO BE RICH TO BE INSANE
Losing your mind is not a luxury for the middle class.
My husband was always a dare devil. He found joy in high-risk type activities and "boy toys". I had lots of accidental life insurance on him. I don't know if it was my own insecurity or if my Heavenly Father was preparing me... but I always thought he would die early.
I would have been set for life, if he only died while out riding a four-wheeler or driving too fast down the road. One thing I never considered was that he would die from health issues. He was extraordinarily strong and very healthy. In fact when he first went to the doctor when he was having issues, his doctor told him not to worry about it - he was young and healthy "it's not like it's cancer." Or... it is!
When my husband passed... my life insurance policy was sufficient to pay off a couple bills, pay for the funeral and hospital bills. Then, I was on my own. A single mom with three kids to support and raise. I only took a week off of work. Then, we started to get on a schedule. I would get the kids off to school then get myself dressed up and head for work. I would cry the entire way there. When I would pull in the parking lot I would wipe the tears from my eyes, take a deep breath - and be glad my office was just off the back door.
I had a family to support. There was no time to let myself go completely off the deep end. I had to stand on the edge... half functioning... half crashing. I think I would have gone insane, completely insane, if I didn't have to remain in working order. Yes, you have to be rich to be insane... losing your mind is not a luxury for the middle-class.
My husband was always a dare devil. He found joy in high-risk type activities and "boy toys". I had lots of accidental life insurance on him. I don't know if it was my own insecurity or if my Heavenly Father was preparing me... but I always thought he would die early.
I would have been set for life, if he only died while out riding a four-wheeler or driving too fast down the road. One thing I never considered was that he would die from health issues. He was extraordinarily strong and very healthy. In fact when he first went to the doctor when he was having issues, his doctor told him not to worry about it - he was young and healthy "it's not like it's cancer." Or... it is!
When my husband passed... my life insurance policy was sufficient to pay off a couple bills, pay for the funeral and hospital bills. Then, I was on my own. A single mom with three kids to support and raise. I only took a week off of work. Then, we started to get on a schedule. I would get the kids off to school then get myself dressed up and head for work. I would cry the entire way there. When I would pull in the parking lot I would wipe the tears from my eyes, take a deep breath - and be glad my office was just off the back door.
I had a family to support. There was no time to let myself go completely off the deep end. I had to stand on the edge... half functioning... half crashing. I think I would have gone insane, completely insane, if I didn't have to remain in working order. Yes, you have to be rich to be insane... losing your mind is not a luxury for the middle-class.
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