SEVEN YEARS

I was messing around a bit online yesterday and came across a blog of a recent widow.  In the part I read she spoke of her loneliness.  I could so relate to what she was sharing.  I remember that feeling that she described and I remember having those emotions.  I am glad I read it - because in so doing I saw how far I have come.  How that is starting to feel like a memory.  It is no longer a part of my life.  I can't say for sure when the switch flipped for me... perhaps a little over a year ago.  My poor girlfriend who is recently divorced just looks at what a slow healer I have been and always says "I hope I don't have to wait that long".  I think my 'waiting' so long was due in large part to my way of grieving... put it all in a box and when there was a spare second... deal with it.  I somehow was very good at not having free seconds.  I think it was when my oldest was living with his uncle... life really slowed down and cleared out.  The clouds parted and I could start to see what was left in that box to deal with.  Today life is filled with challenges beyond grieving.  Mostly I deal with challenges associated with single parenting. 

My oldest turned sixteen today.  Sixteen!!  Sixteen is nothing like the nine year old he was when his father passed... It seems like a world a way. He is a young man.... looking forward to driving and talking all kind of car talk that has me glazing over.

Seven years ago today Chris was diagnosed with cancer.  The funny thing is... I hardly gave it a second thought today.  Seven years. 

I do believe the blog has been very therapeutic... I have captured the embers from the journey and in so doing I have left the ashes and shut some doors.  Life is not all easy street now... and sometimes when it feels hard I wish Chris was here to take care of it all. But, life is good.  Really really good.  So, for all the newer widows out there hold on to that.   I love my life.  As a whole I really do. 

Happy Sweet Sixteen my son.. I love you, I do.

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.

MAKING A SPECTACLE OF MYSELF

I mentioned a couple days ago that watching me.... is painful. At least when I am functioning in life on my "own". When the Lord is not using me, and therefore not making me better so I am usable... it is truly a painful experience. I have come to find that if there is a way to draw attention to myself in a negative way, I seek after these things. Not intentionally, mind you. For instance, my last day of work I was walking up the stairs from the lobby and I tripped on the step and fell on my face. It made quite the racket and the receptionist jumped. But, when she turned and saw that it was me, she just shook her head. That is a move she has seen too many times before from me. There was another associate in the lobby who was startled, but relaxed once I rolled over onto my back laughing at myself. I felt it appropriate that I would go out that way. I have made that move in front of numerous visitors who were patiently waiting in the lobby over the years.

I have a new way of drawing attention to myself these days. A couple days before Christmas I had returned with the children from Christmas shopping. My oldest, with an agenda I am sure, announced that he would be happy to clean out the car. I was grateful as we had accumulated quite the amount of garbage in there. I called a friend to pick me up and went to his home to wrap gifts. Christmas Eve we were going to dinner with friends and as we got ready to run some last minute errands before heading out of town, I realized I could not find the keys. I questioned my oldest regarding where the keys were. A blank look spread across his face and despite the hours spent that day, Christmas day, the day after Christmas, the week after Christmas... we never found the keys. So, celebrating my free time to take care of such inconveniences, I spent unemployed day two having the car towed about 45 minutes away to our closest Subaru dealership. Apparently, my car is full of security features, one of which is a feature within the key that requires having the car in a Subaru shop in order to make a copy (or a key from scratch).I didn't spend the extra $130 on the little push button thing to lock / unlock my car.. perhaps that indulgence will be for when I am employed again.

Again celebrating my new found time, I left the dealership with my new key and headed for Sam's Club. I manually (OK - by manually, I mean I pushed the button from in the car since I don't have a little remote any longer) locked the door and headed in to do some shopping. When I came out I put the key in the lock and unlocked the car. Upon doing so my car alarm went off. HONK..HONK..HONK..HONK..HONK.. I quickly got in the car and started it - which luckily turned the alarm off. After one more errand with the same results I called the dealership wondering what I was doing wrong. Nothing. Apparently that is just one more security device the vehicle has. For as long as I put off spending $130 on a remote... I won't be able to avoid making a spectacle of myself every time I get in the car.

I have gotten used to it now. But, I just shake my head in awe. It is so me. So painful to watch me trying to function in life. Sometimes I think Chris must get a kick out of watching my insanity!

YES, I LIKE NAPPING

After my husband passed and the funeral was over, the next step of picking a gravestone came. I went to the shop and talked to them about options, materials, sizes, etc. I had taken my oldest son with me. I hoped this would be a healthy step for him to have some input into what the gravestone would look like. I picked the color, size and material and turned the rest over to him.

Had I designed the stone, I am certain I would have put something religious - a testimony of our Savior and of His plan of happiness for us. But, I let go.. and let my son have complete creative rights.

He chose to let the stone show the memory of what he loved doing with his dad. The stone was designed to show a man fishing on a boat. Beside him were two boys, one taller than the other. With a little girl at the helm. The man in the etching had hold of a huge fish with his fishing line.

As I looked approvingly at the picture, I coyly asked my son where I was. He quickly responded that I was down below the boat's deck taking a nap~!

CHARITY - THE PURE LOVE OF CHRIST

We are nearing the end of the school year, and when summer comes my oldest will be back home with us.

I am glad. I miss him. I want our family to be back together.

I have thought so much about my decision to send him to live with his aunt and uncle a year ago. I don't regret it. He is in such a better place now than he was. They have been so great to have made the tremendous sacrifices they have to help us.

Making the decision for him to go, ranks up there as one of the greatest times of personal trial for me. It was those moments of wrestling with questions like, "if the Lord doesn't give us more than we can handle... I must be a failure - because I am not able to handle him. To the point that I have to have him leave my home."

I would try to console myself with the reminder that I was acting under inspiration. But, I felt like a complete failure. I was not able to be the parent my child needed me to be. I felt guilt, so guilty for my short comings as a mother and for allowing his actions to hurt the other children.

If I was spiritually where I should be, shouldn't I be able to handle any trial that comes my way?

Part of the lesson we have to learn in life is that we are imperfect. We will not always be able to be everything we need to be.

Through this I know my Savior loves me. His love is perfect enough to accept someone like me... imperfect in so many ways.

It makes me wonder if I show that same love to others. I need it from my Savior, but do I in turn show it to others? Complete acceptance for who they are, despite what their short-comings may be.

HOPE

A week ago my oldest son had the opportunity to meet Dallin H. Oaks. For those of you who do not know who he is, Dallin H. Oaks is an apostle of the Lord. Elder Oaks was in the Dallas area speaking about the mantle of one's calling and that he never feels worthy of the calling of an Apostle. So he called Christopher up to help him demonstrate- having him stand on a stool so all could see him. Elder Oaks then took off his suit coat and had Christopher try it on. Naturally, it was too big on him, and using that analogy, he said one has to grow into his calling.

I was of course not there, but am blessed to have this photo. I love this photo for a couple reasons. 1. How cool it is to see your son standing with a smile next to an apostle of the Lord. 2. Hope.

Elder Oaks was raised by a widow. He was the oldest of three children and was seven (two years younger than Christopher) when his father died. He had to learn to work early and hard. He was raised by a widowed mother who used her faith and his parents’ temple marriage to make his departed father a daily presence in his life.

I want to be like Dallin H. Oaks' mother. I want to be able to raise children worthy of being an apostle of the Lord.

HEALING WITH MEDIA

As I working away at work one day this past week, I received a phone call from my youngest's teacher. She began to tell me this long travelogue about how she was reading the children a book that she had never read herself prior to reading it in class to the students. She was very apologetic about this and continued by explaining that she had seen the movie and it was such a sweet story, etc. etc.

As she was telling me this whole story, my mind could not fathom where she was going with all of this. Then she explained. In the movie they quickly touched on the fact that the little boy's mother dies. But, in the book, it went into great depth regarding his feelings about this.

The teacher stated that while she was reading, she continually would glance up at my son to ensure he was OK. He seemed to be, so she kept reading. She called to let me know this had happened in class today and to offer to stop reading the book if I felt that was necessary.

I assured her that she was fine, and that there should be no reason to stop reading the book - but that I would check-in with my youngest that evening to see how he was doing.

I have never been one to shy away from any type of media that addresses death... I actually embrace it. I think it is healing for the kids to be able to read or watch how another child handles the same trial they have been given. Isn't there something about feeling validated? That is a piece of why I write this blog... for all the widows out there who go through some of the same insanity... so they can be validated. Kids need that too. And books and movies are a great source. They also allow for us to engage in some seriously healing conversations.

GRAFFITI

Although I can say I was not hesitant to jump into the world of dating, the children did not necessarily feel the same way. There were not any open rebellions to the first person I started dating... but as things go, that fizzled and I met someone new. I dated that person for a short time and then there was someone new. I suppose the kids felt this was too much. They didn't understand why I didn't just stick with the first guy and marry him.

My oldest, as with most things, had the hardest time with this. On one occasion when Guy #3 was visiting he decided to show him just how he felt about his entrance into my life. He proceeded to go out in the garage, find a can of spray paint and spray paint Guy #1's name all over the place.

How do you react to that?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

We still celebrate my husband’s birthday. We treat it just like he was here and use the opportunity to celebrate him.

A couple years ago we were returning from my son’s visit with his psychologist and we stopped at a shop that had become a favorite bakery. We had plans that afternoon to take a picnic lunch up to one of our favorite state parks and enjoy the day. As we were examining the options for a ‘birthday cake’ it became evident to the lady behind the counter that we were looking for the perfect dessert for a special occasion. She innocently asked my son, “What’s the special occasion?’ My son easily replied, “It’s my Dad’s birthday”.

We decided on a pie and my son pointed out to her the perfect one. She promptly boxed it up for us to take. She cashed us out and then sweetly commented, “Tell your dad happy birthday for me.” My son smiled and assured her that he would. As we walked out of the bakery, my son turned to me and with a wry grin and asked, “How do you think she would have reacted if I told her we were buying a birthday pie for a dead man”. I laughed. Some things are too much information for others, but we find the humor ourselves.

FORWARD WITH FAITH

I spent the first few weeks of my oldest being gone reminding myself that this was the best thing to do. Then, bit by bit, I started putting the house together, fixing things that had been broken in careless moments and so on. I cancelled my plans for spring break – because it just didn’t feel right to be going on vacation when we weren’t together as a family.

The other two children had mixed feelings; well mostly they were fine with the break from the chaos that had become the norm in our home. But, one night my youngest son was particularly sad over the most recent change and he commented, “We just keep losing members of our family. First Dad, now my brother. It doesn’t even feel like our family any more.”

It broke my heart.

There wasn’t a time frame to this plan, but my son seemed to do well in his new environment. His grades were much better, and there, of course, were not any problems with his after school activities.

I wanted him to come home for the summer – but he did have a class he still struggled in and had to attend summer school. He still didn’t pass the state testing after the first round of summer school so they had him go through another round. He finally got to come home the end of July for a month. He had changed so much…

In the meantime, I had decided that it was time for me to move closer to family (yes, another move), so things were up in the air at home. Certainly my oldest continuing on a solid path until I settled seemed to be the best option.

It has been one year since this change in our family dynamics. I crave the day that we can put our family back together – but I am overwhelmed with gratitude for my family that has reached out to help.

A NEW BEGINNING

Tears soon turned to anger as the reality of what was happening hit my son. I questioned myself a hundred times, but I felt it was right and I didn’t feel there was even a possible plan B that would result in success. We had to stop this before we had serious issues.

I was up at 3am on Tuesday morning to pack the car and my son and to depart for the airport. There wasn’t much to say. He didn’t want to understand why this was happening. He just said (and told all his friends) I was kicking him out of the house. How do you convey how deep your love is for your child and how much you ache for him to be able to stay when you are indeed ‘sending him away’? My reminders of love were met with angry sarcasm.

We arrived at his Uncle’s to open arms and a bedroom prepared. We had an appointment with the guidance counselor at school. As I met with her and signed paper work giving my sister-in-law parental rights I sobbed. He was mine. For good or for bad – and there was a part of me that felt like I was giving that up. I wasn’t of course, but the pain that weighed on me that day certainly felt like it. When the paperwork was in order the counselor took us for a tour of the school.

I was a mess. I could not stop the tears that were running like an open faucet. I met every one of his teachers and saw every one of his classrooms through blurry non-stop tears. I couldn’t stop crying. He accompanied me with a confident ‘don’t care’ front.

When the tour was complete, we returned to my sister-in-laws and relaxed for a bit before it would be time to pick up her other children. As I sat there, I had a seizure. Too much stress, too exhausted. I showered and napped.

The next day I got his clothes unpacked and had his room settled before getting back on a plane and having hours to think about and question what I had just done. I just had to breathe deep and go by faith. I just had to be grateful for family that was there when we I needed them most.

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.

SPINNING

How do you define normal when your children are entering the teenage years? It seems what could have one been classified as ‘normal’ behavior is no longer in existence. I think the combination of grieving his father’s death mixed with the entrance into the puberty years had to have had an effect on my oldest. Or at least it would offer some explanation as to why we seemed to go to such extremes.

As much as the psychologist was working and making strides with my son, in some areas he was starting the slow steady spin that would one day feel out of control. One area that has been a trial with this child, even when his father was here, was getting him to do his homework. I think he viewed this as a violation, an interruption to HIS time. As he graduated to higher grades, the importance of this homework grew. Not in his mind. He was not eligible to participate in any extra curricular activities which only meant he was home from school by 2:30. That was too early when I was at work until 5:30. As his grades declined, I reduced his interaction with friends, etc so he could spend that time at home on his homework. He reacted by taking back HIS time by not coming home from school. He would go find some friends to hang out with, although the only other children that were free that time of day were other children of single moms. There was a small pack of these boys. Some were good kids, others I questioned their influence on him. I would never really know where he was or what he was doing. I still don’t. Most days he would make it home shortly before I did.

I checked with the school regarding whether it could be enforced that he get on the bus to come home. They said they would try. He still never made it home. I felt as though this was larger than me. I didn’t know how to wrap my arms around it and control it. You can’t really control children. They have their own little spirits with a desire to be free. We can only teach and discipline them. The trouble is that in order to learn…. you have to want to. No discipline was too harsh – because he was free for three hours a day. It didn’t seem matter. He would give up anything – because in those three hours he was free. He was ‘winning’.

He started to keep less track of what time it was and did not always make it home before I did. He missed guitar practice repeatedly, as he was not home to go. One day I arrived home to discover he was yet again missing. I drove all over town looking for him. Nothing. I came home. I said a prayer. It was getting late – going on 8pm now. He had never stayed out this late. Six hours since school let out… what is a thirteen year old doing for six hours? I had checked the homes of the boys he hung with. They weren’t there. I told Chris that this has to be one of the benefits to not being limited by the mortal body. He should know where his child is. I asked him to find him, and send him home. He arrived home half an hour later.

It felt as though life was spiraling. How do you personally have time to worry about anything other than surviving… when your children are consuming your every thought? When the fear that what you feared the most seems to be exactly what is happening… or at least your child is opening the door for it to happen. How do you make it all stop?

A STEP IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION

The signs were evident from the very beginning that my oldest son would not take the same path as the other two children in healing and grieving his father's death. Not that any one's path is the same - but his would be longer and more painful and difficult.

Within a couple months of Chris' death I was in contact with Hospice (or perhaps they were in contact with me). They had a wonderful woman who was working as a Counselor specifically for children. She would come to the house and talk to the children. My oldest refused to have anything to do with it. We tried the counselor at school. They pulled him out of class almost everyday to visit with the counselor. This did not seem to help either. We did things at home, that I hoped helped - but he needed more than what I could offer him. For two years this game continued. I tried to let him be - wondering if he could work through it. No. He was angry. He was angry that me and the other two children had somehow 'moved on' and forgotten. I tried to assure him, we had not forgotten. I think of Chris every day. Everyone just shows their emotions a little differently.

I asked around regarding an excellent male (I had determined he needed a male) children's psychologist who had knowledge and expertise in grieving. I didn't want someone who would classify him as depressed or some other label - I needed someone who would know what to do and how to work through this process with him. I had no luck in finding what I was looking for.

I was in for my yearly check-up with the doctor, and different that any other time I have been in for a similar appointment, the Nurse Practitioner saw me. She was interested in how things were - was I healing, were the children? I shared with her a little of what was going on and my frustration in finding what I was looking for in a Children's Psychologist. She told me that she thought she knew of someone who might help. He had a great reputation and she had heard a lot of good things about him. I eagerly accepted his contact information.

Making the phone call to his office just a day later, I inquired regarding his expertise and experience. He sounded as if he could be a match. We made our first appointment and took the hour long drive to his office. On the way up I talked with my son about how this would be a waste of time unless he wanted to feel differently. This doctor could help him, but only if he wanted to let go of some of the anger that he was feeling. He was surprisingly receptive. I was grateful.

Our first appointment went well and we established a pattern of every other week on Thursday nights or Saturday morning. The drive up provided us some quality time to visit and he was making progress. I began to see less anger, more smiling. After one year I was amazed at how far he had come. I was so grateful.

I was grateful to my Father in Heaven, for his divine intervention in giving me the nurse practitioner that day, not the doctor. For the nurse, that I had never met before, who cared enough to ask how the kids and I were doing. For a doctor, who cared and for my son being open to healing.

We had made some steps in the right direction.

HOUSTON, WE HAVE CONTACT

As we sat at the dinner table last night my 10 year old inquired as to if his teacher had called. "No, should I expect her to be calling?" **shrugs** "If she were to call, what might she want?" "I lost my backpack" Now this is a fact that is well-known. I have looked everywhere for his backpack to no avail. "She is going to call me because you lost your backpack?" "It has a library book in it" "She is calling me about a late library book?" **shrugs** Moments later the phone rang... Yes, it was his teacher. Of course the story was a little different from her end. He was missing some homework assignments. :)

Does that ever happen to you? Just after you mention something, it happens. Well, this was the first of two for last night. After dinner I went to the gym. As I walked in, there was one of my husband's friends. Remember? One of the ones I said finds me invisible. As I walked in I didn't notice him at first, but then he caught my eye as he looked RIGHT AT ME! Maybe it was the fact that I was wearing my husband's jacket, shoes and ring. Maybe that is what caught his eye. Either way, I decided I was going to make contact tonight. No more running. No more pretending you don't see me. I situated myself on the treadmill closest to his that was open. Spent some time there, then went on the elliptical right in front of him. He continued running, and I went to the weights. I finished a set and all of the sudden realized he was not on the treadmill any longer. No! I didn't just lose my chance, did I? I looked around and did not see him. crud. I moved down to the next weight machine. As I was in the middle of my set - he walked by me. Yes. I am going to get him. All of the sudden I realized I didn't know his name. I mean, I know what his "nickname" was that my husband always called him, but I COULD NOT think of his name! I thought and thought. nothing. oh well. I finished my sets, stood up, took my headset out of my ears, walked over to the machine he was on, looked at him and said, "Hi G" (I called him by the nickname my husband used... I am just protecting the identity of the innocent). He replied "oh, hi. Kim, right?" "Yes" "I thought when I just walked by you, I uh, I thought you looked familiar". We continued and had a nice conversation.

THE TALENTED CHILDREN

For any new 'widows' out there please note #2 in...

Lesson Manual: How to Be a Widow
2. Learn to forgive because there will be many, even your closest friends, who will behave badly. People will say things that hurt your feelings. They will judge you. As a widow, you don't need the baggage. It gets far too heavy to carry. You have to let go or it could drown you.

My oldest just struggled. He was in the fourth grade when his father passed. In the fifth grade we moved to a new school as a result of my selling our home. For the other two children, there were many things about this school that were better for them. But, the oldest brought out all the bad in this school district.

By the end of fifth grade, he had many "F's" as a result of his 'checking out'. I felt that he needed to be fed. He needed a boost to his spirits. His F's were not a result of mental know how - they were emotionally based. We could not expect his grades to rise simply by imposing additional consequences on him. We needed to lift him out of the hole he was sitting in.

That spring the college was putting on a production of The Wizard of Oz. I had inquired if they might need some young talent, but was informed it was already being taken care of. I discovered many of the children in my son's school were participating in the play. About a month before the production I was contacted by the director. They needed another child - so Christopher was invited to audition. He was awarded the role of a 'flying combat monkey' and a 'munchkin'. The director asked that he join the practices with the other 'munchkins' on Friday mornings before school. The practice was held at the school and ended 10 minutes after school began.

I informed Christopher's teacher and principal that he would be participating, therefore he would be a few minutes late on Friday morning. They let me know his grades were not such that they felt this was wise. I let them know 10 minutes on a Friday morning would not make the difference between "F's" and "A's". In response, I was curtly told that ONLY THE TALENTED CHILDREN were allowed to participate in this production, and HE WAS NOT AMONG THE TALENTED CHILDREN. yeah. those are fighting words.

This is one battle I won! :) And, If I do say so myself, I have never seen such an adorable flying monkey beating the lion up!!

PROPER FUNERAL BEHAVIOR

It is one thing to expect proper behavior from your child in public under normal circumstances... but tell me, how do you expect it at his father's funeral?

My youngest was five when his dad died.

As we sat at the funeral my family lined the front row of pews in the church, along with members of my husband's family. I was sitting there with my sisters right beside me and my children. The youngest, for some reason, refused to sit next to me as the services began. He gravitated towards the casket and ended up sitting directly under it. We tried to coax him out - but he would not come. I had two options... 1. Make a scene with him screaming as I attempted to drag him out from under there in the middle of the funeral or 2. Leave him there.

I opted to leave him alone...

As the funeral progressed, my sisters and I had our peripheral vision on him. He just sat under there for awhile... then he untied his shoes. Gradually he began tying the shoelaces of one shoe around the foot of the stand which held the casket. He then tied his other shoe laces to the stand next to the casket that was holding a bouquet of flowers. Once he had finished his task, he sat.

The funeral services continued and my sisters and I enjoyed the services with one eye up front and one eye on the little five year old boy sitting under the casket. Finally, he grew tired of his position under the casket and went to move. Just as he snapped his legs back to allow himself to move out, the stand that was holding the flowers started to topple with the flowers. The attendees behind us, no doubt, got a chuckle at seeing a row of girls dive in unison to catch the falling flowers.

At that very moment my son remembered he was still tied to the stand and settled back in to untie his shoelaces. The stand stood back up. The flowers went back in place and the service continued with only a questioning glance from the presiding leader from our church.

I returned the look with a smile and my sisters and I took a deep breath and welcomed my son as he rejoined us in the pew.

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.

ANGER

People ask me sometimes if I am ever mad at my husband for dying.

I sometimes feel like he got out easy. I am left to raise three kids and support them emotionally and financially while raising them to be strong contributing members of society. That is not an easy task. My oldest has had a hard time accepting and adjusting to his dad's death. He has had a lot of anger, and I am sure out of 'safety' takes it all out on me. We have struggled through so many struggles and in my moments of despair, when I don't think I have the strength or the energy to keep up the fight... in those moments I miss him. I need him. I yearn for him. I am not angry with him, because if I sit still and let my heart be still, I can feel him. I can feel his pain as he watches my trials with no way of physically helping me. I do not doubt he has shed tears as he has witnessed mine.

With the same thought I am not angry at God. He is all I have some days. No matter what - He has not left me. When I married my husband - we made a promise to God. With that promise our marriage became a three-way bond. Me, my husband and God. My husband may not be able to be here like he was - but God is here even more. When I turn to Him for help, if I am but patient, the help always comes.