It’s 4 am on “Black Friday” and I am not awake because I’m going shopping. Gawd no. I’ll avoid that like the plague, thankyouverymuch.
No, Mouse woke up at about 1 this morning. I’d thought it was Baboo, who still wakes up most nights at least once, but it wasn’t. Poor Mouse had thrown up. After I’d gotten her cleaned up and settled back down, I stayed awake for a bit, waiting to see if this would be a one shot deal or not. I was fearing we were in for another round of rota virus, like we had the Thanksgiving before last, but it wasn’t.
But she seems fine and though I did doze a bit, I still couldn’t go back to sleep, so I got up to make a cup of bedtime tea and while I was down stairs and waiting for the water to boil, I’d wash Mouse’s sheets (they’re not any better now than they were a few hours ago) and finish this post. I’d started it yesterday, but the day got away from me and it sat unfinished, as things happen sometimes. And here I am.
So, Turkey Day. If you had to work, I’m sorry. You’d have thought that we’ve all worked hard enough to turn this damn economy around to deserve one freaking day off to be with those we love and care about. I was so sad to hear from my friends how many of their family members had to work on Thanksgiving and to see how upset they were. However, whether you were home or at work, I hope you had a pleasant and peaceful day.
It was Thanksgiving, that holiday that’s more American than America and though we’ve lived in the States for over 10 years now and fully understand the sacred significance and generalized traditions, we did not cook a turkey. (does that mean we are going to be deported?) It’s not that we don’t LIKE turkey, we do. And I think I’m getting pretty good at cooking them. But well, we just HAD turkey when we celebrated Canadian Thanksgiving with my folks and brother in October, and then I’ll be cooking another turkey when Hubsters’ folks come for Christmas next month, so to have turkey 3 months in a row, just seems like overkill to me.
Nope, no turkey; we had barbequed steak, mashed potatoes and veggies instead. However, we could not give up the homemade pumpkin pie (made with pumpkin from our Halloween pie pumpkins) with hand whipped cream. We’re not total barbarians! It was ALL delicious!
Today, maybe I’ll make turkey pot pie or something with the leftovers from our last turkey because anything “pot pied” is sublime in my eyes and mouth. And I’ll consider that using up our ‘leftovers’. Ha.
We did not watch football, or put up Christmas decorations or even visit with anyone. Wednesday night, we shampooed our family room carpets, so right now our couch and tv are crammed into our kitchen area. So while the carpets were drying, we stayed in our pajamas until 11 am. We watched cartoons and part of the Macy’s parade. We danced with the dancers and shouted out every time we saw a float we liked. Then we squealed over all the things we have no intention of buying while looking at the Black Friday fliers. I took the girls Christmas card photo and we all just kind of hung around all day. The weather was cold and rainy and nasty, but we were cozy and happy.
It wasn’t fancy, or ‘traditional’, but we were together and I’m very thankful for that.
If you’re shopping today… I hope things go well and I feel the urge to say stay safe/be careful. I certainly hope no one dies this year while trying to get a bargain. No deal is worth that. I so don’t get that frenzy.
On a separate note, yesterday was my 1 year blog-iversary. One year ago yesterday, the 26th of November, I started this blog. And though I haven’t accomplished all my goals, I’ve done a few. I’m still teaching Pilates, have jumped into the site ads and am still plugging away at it. I’m still not sure where it’s going, but it’s an outlet for me and a record that one day, I hope I’m happy to have.
Here is a link to my first post.
And here is a link to last year’s Thanksgiving post.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to change the laundry over, find a way to get the smell of vomit out of my nose and hopefully try to get some sleep. Enjoy the rest of the weekend!
Friday, November 27, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Craft Crazy
I don’t know what’s worse, that Mouse is crazy about crafts or that crafts make me crazy. Together, we are not such a great combination.
Lately, I’ve felt like a craft cruise director, needing to provide all manner of crafting supplies in copious quantities at any given time. Usually, she requests this at my LEAST patient time of the day.
Now, when we’re talking about “crafts” I use the term very loosely. I wouldn’t have a problem if even SOMETIMES she’d be open to a suggestion to a useful craft, (like ornaments etc) especially one that I can, ahem, move on from my house. But crafts at this house involve piling mountains of popsicle sticks, buckets of glue, covering it all in embroidery floss, shiny rocks and sparkles and googly eyes and standing back to admire the creation.
And of course with every addition, I must “ooooo and ahhhh” and personally inspect.
We’ve had 2 playdates that have had to involve ‘crafts’ this week. We’ve gone through a whole set of Christmas foamies with popsicle sticks and google eyes, 9 skeins of embroidery floss, almost 1 bottle of white glue, and an entire large bottle of sparkle glue. All globbed on flimsy construction paper.
I try to be supportive of the creative process and most of the time, I’m ok with it. I get that she needs to create. But I have to say that after a while of just watching this stuff go into the garbage, because a) where do you store this stuff and b) what can you DO with it c) how do you deal with 25 of them, a month, it's hard not to go a little crazy at the wastefulness of this excessive 'crafting'.
And all crafts must BE for someone. She can’t just make them to make them. At some point she will say “Mommy, I’m making this for….”. And most of the time, it’s me. I should be grateful, and generally I am, but today, after helping 14 kindergarteners for the last 2 days with school crafts and cooking projects, is one of those days where I just can’t watch. I will turn my back, plug my ears and pretend I do not see the "crazy crafting" happening behind me. Sigh.
Lately, I’ve felt like a craft cruise director, needing to provide all manner of crafting supplies in copious quantities at any given time. Usually, she requests this at my LEAST patient time of the day.
Now, when we’re talking about “crafts” I use the term very loosely. I wouldn’t have a problem if even SOMETIMES she’d be open to a suggestion to a useful craft, (like ornaments etc) especially one that I can, ahem, move on from my house. But crafts at this house involve piling mountains of popsicle sticks, buckets of glue, covering it all in embroidery floss, shiny rocks and sparkles and googly eyes and standing back to admire the creation.
And of course with every addition, I must “ooooo and ahhhh” and personally inspect.
We’ve had 2 playdates that have had to involve ‘crafts’ this week. We’ve gone through a whole set of Christmas foamies with popsicle sticks and google eyes, 9 skeins of embroidery floss, almost 1 bottle of white glue, and an entire large bottle of sparkle glue. All globbed on flimsy construction paper.
I try to be supportive of the creative process and most of the time, I’m ok with it. I get that she needs to create. But I have to say that after a while of just watching this stuff go into the garbage, because a) where do you store this stuff and b) what can you DO with it c) how do you deal with 25 of them, a month, it's hard not to go a little crazy at the wastefulness of this excessive 'crafting'.
And all crafts must BE for someone. She can’t just make them to make them. At some point she will say “Mommy, I’m making this for….”. And most of the time, it’s me. I should be grateful, and generally I am, but today, after helping 14 kindergarteners for the last 2 days with school crafts and cooking projects, is one of those days where I just can’t watch. I will turn my back, plug my ears and pretend I do not see the "crazy crafting" happening behind me. Sigh.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
It's Hippopotamus!
I’ve got a gaggle of girls in my house today. This afternoon, Mouse has 2 girls from her class over for a play date. In the car on the way home from school, they were all singing a song they learned at Halloween, and Baboo though only knowing the first line, was not to be left out, so she kept repeating it. I now think I’m a mean old witch with my hat, riding on my broom with my cat… I think I’ve been brain washed.
While they were eating lunch (a child’s buffet of grilled cheese, mac ‘n cheese, O noodle soup, apples, grapes and grape juice) they kept taking “polls”. One of the girls would YELL “Raise your hand if you like RAINBOWS!” and whip her hand into the air. Of course, the other girls would wave their hands as high as possible (cos, really, who DOESN’T like rainbows??) . They’d look at each other around the table, smile knowingly then yell… It’s UNANIMOUS!! ( A new word they learned at school recently).
Then Baboo enthusiastically raise her little hand up and yell after the big girls “It’s Hippopotamus!”
Close enough. I think I might have snorted some of my very grown-up pumpkin soup trying not to laugh.
Repeat for the yellow, blue, orange, green cups, kitties, and all things sparkly. Apparently, everyone hippopotamusly, I mean, unanimously loves these things.
I guess this is table conversation when you’re 5.
While they were eating lunch (a child’s buffet of grilled cheese, mac ‘n cheese, O noodle soup, apples, grapes and grape juice) they kept taking “polls”. One of the girls would YELL “Raise your hand if you like RAINBOWS!” and whip her hand into the air. Of course, the other girls would wave their hands as high as possible (cos, really, who DOESN’T like rainbows??) . They’d look at each other around the table, smile knowingly then yell… It’s UNANIMOUS!! ( A new word they learned at school recently).
Then Baboo enthusiastically raise her little hand up and yell after the big girls “It’s Hippopotamus!”
Close enough. I think I might have snorted some of my very grown-up pumpkin soup trying not to laugh.
Repeat for the yellow, blue, orange, green cups, kitties, and all things sparkly. Apparently, everyone hippopotamusly, I mean, unanimously loves these things.
I guess this is table conversation when you’re 5.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Ice Puppies
I PROMISE that my very delayed Halloween recap is coming. Soon.
However, let me regale you with a “frosty” tale. Behold, the wonder that is our ICE MAKER.
We have owned our fridge, a very nice, stainless steel, French door fridge WITH an ice maker (oooo, ahhhh) for 5 years. When we first bought it, we did not have the appropriate plumbing at our old house to set up the ice making capabilities, so it never was connected.
When we moved into our new house, a YEAR ago, the plumbing and tubing were available and waiting for us, but because I a) find that ice maker ice cubes get funny tasting after a while and b) wanted every inch of freezer space for FOOD not FROZEN WATER, we did not connect the already available hose to the back of the fridge.
We do have old fashioned ice trays and occasionally we used them. I tried to remember to fill them for gatherings, but I often forgot. There’s something that makes you feel like an inadequate hostess when you don’t have ICE. Someone would ask expectantly, “Oh, do you have any ice?” and I’d sadly have to shake my head with an embarrassed look on my face and say “Oh, I’m SOOO sorry. I DON’T.”Oh the shame.
The other problem we had with the trays is that despite carefully wedging them into the freezer between the peas and the chicken, balanced precariously on top of the pizza and peaches, they’d often tip over and spill before they were solid, turning everything under them into a chunk of ice. Or, though the cubes themselves wouldn’t come out of the tray no matter how hard you twisted, but 5 would just slide right out inside the freezer when you weren't looking and slip of the basket and onto the floor to melt into a puddle every time I opened the freezer drawer.
Or someone (*ahem*) would use the last cube of ice and forget to refill it and then one of the kids would get a bump that I wanted to put ice on, and GAH… no ice.
Ice, who knew it could be such a pain in the ass?
So, all in all, 9 times out of 10, you wouldn’t get ice at our house.
However, now that we have our new FREEZER (whoo!) I decided while moving some items from the fridge freezer to the upright in the garage, that we certainly could justify the space for ice. Everything was RIGHT there and we figured it wouldn’t be a big deal to hook up.
So, yesterday, we dug out and dusted off the fridge installation instructions, then tried to remember where we put the bin to hold the ice cubes (I had it in the pantry holding snacks. Hey, I use what I have), then , Hubster dragged the fridge out and wedged himself in behind to fumble around in the dimly lit area with old kinked, copper tubing and a stripped hex connector (don’t I sound FANCY knowing all these technical fridge-y terms??). Well, our “everything is there, so just connect it and have ICE” plan didn’t work so well. Not surprisingly, it leaked. And hissed angrily.
The short version is that several curses and 2 trips to the hardware store later, we’re patched up and connected with water flowing freely into our fancy-smancy ice maker.
Last night, Hubster and I waited expectantly, checking the installation instructions numerous times to see WHEN we could expect the first pieces of ice to be delivered. We kept walking by the fridge, shining the flashlight behind it to make sure it wasn’t leaking and listening with an ever-cocked ear for the clattering rumble of ice dropping into the plastic bin.
It was like waiting for a baby to be born. Or, maybe because we expected so many; endless frozen babies; puppies. Ice puppies.
A few hours later, we heard the first rattle and clunk. Across the room we smiled at each other triumphantly and then ran to the freezer, pulled open the drawer and admired our first 3 ice cubes proudly. I think I might have wiped a tear, saying “Look, Honey. Ice. WE have ICE”. Hubster smiled knowingly at me and nodded.
Though we had to throw the first batch of ice magic out, all day, the ice maker has been slaving away, popping out ice. This afternoon, Hubster and I enjoyed a COLD class of pop WITH ice. It was a warm day and it was very satisfying. Then, Baboo’s soup was too hot at lunch, but it was nothing a piece of ICE couldn’t remedy. Oh, yes, ice. We’ve got it.
So, if you come to our house now, you will be offered ICE. Maybe even for your coffee, but rest assured, there will be ice.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, the ice maker as just dropped my next ice installment, a new ice puppy has been delivered and so I think I will go and get a nice cold, ICY glass of water.
However, let me regale you with a “frosty” tale. Behold, the wonder that is our ICE MAKER.
We have owned our fridge, a very nice, stainless steel, French door fridge WITH an ice maker (oooo, ahhhh) for 5 years. When we first bought it, we did not have the appropriate plumbing at our old house to set up the ice making capabilities, so it never was connected.
When we moved into our new house, a YEAR ago, the plumbing and tubing were available and waiting for us, but because I a) find that ice maker ice cubes get funny tasting after a while and b) wanted every inch of freezer space for FOOD not FROZEN WATER, we did not connect the already available hose to the back of the fridge.
We do have old fashioned ice trays and occasionally we used them. I tried to remember to fill them for gatherings, but I often forgot. There’s something that makes you feel like an inadequate hostess when you don’t have ICE. Someone would ask expectantly, “Oh, do you have any ice?” and I’d sadly have to shake my head with an embarrassed look on my face and say “Oh, I’m SOOO sorry. I DON’T.”Oh the shame.
The other problem we had with the trays is that despite carefully wedging them into the freezer between the peas and the chicken, balanced precariously on top of the pizza and peaches, they’d often tip over and spill before they were solid, turning everything under them into a chunk of ice. Or, though the cubes themselves wouldn’t come out of the tray no matter how hard you twisted, but 5 would just slide right out inside the freezer when you weren't looking and slip of the basket and onto the floor to melt into a puddle every time I opened the freezer drawer.
Or someone (*ahem*) would use the last cube of ice and forget to refill it and then one of the kids would get a bump that I wanted to put ice on, and GAH… no ice.
Ice, who knew it could be such a pain in the ass?
So, all in all, 9 times out of 10, you wouldn’t get ice at our house.
However, now that we have our new FREEZER (whoo!) I decided while moving some items from the fridge freezer to the upright in the garage, that we certainly could justify the space for ice. Everything was RIGHT there and we figured it wouldn’t be a big deal to hook up.
So, yesterday, we dug out and dusted off the fridge installation instructions, then tried to remember where we put the bin to hold the ice cubes (I had it in the pantry holding snacks. Hey, I use what I have), then , Hubster dragged the fridge out and wedged himself in behind to fumble around in the dimly lit area with old kinked, copper tubing and a stripped hex connector (don’t I sound FANCY knowing all these technical fridge-y terms??). Well, our “everything is there, so just connect it and have ICE” plan didn’t work so well. Not surprisingly, it leaked. And hissed angrily.
The short version is that several curses and 2 trips to the hardware store later, we’re patched up and connected with water flowing freely into our fancy-smancy ice maker.
Last night, Hubster and I waited expectantly, checking the installation instructions numerous times to see WHEN we could expect the first pieces of ice to be delivered. We kept walking by the fridge, shining the flashlight behind it to make sure it wasn’t leaking and listening with an ever-cocked ear for the clattering rumble of ice dropping into the plastic bin.
It was like waiting for a baby to be born. Or, maybe because we expected so many; endless frozen babies; puppies. Ice puppies.
A few hours later, we heard the first rattle and clunk. Across the room we smiled at each other triumphantly and then ran to the freezer, pulled open the drawer and admired our first 3 ice cubes proudly. I think I might have wiped a tear, saying “Look, Honey. Ice. WE have ICE”. Hubster smiled knowingly at me and nodded.
Though we had to throw the first batch of ice magic out, all day, the ice maker has been slaving away, popping out ice. This afternoon, Hubster and I enjoyed a COLD class of pop WITH ice. It was a warm day and it was very satisfying. Then, Baboo’s soup was too hot at lunch, but it was nothing a piece of ICE couldn’t remedy. Oh, yes, ice. We’ve got it.
So, if you come to our house now, you will be offered ICE. Maybe even for your coffee, but rest assured, there will be ice.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, the ice maker as just dropped my next ice installment, a new ice puppy has been delivered and so I think I will go and get a nice cold, ICY glass of water.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Reluctant Grief
Remember this post? Let’s refer to my birth father (which sounds so awkward) as G. Well, I did find a card and I wrote a letter, included a family photo and send it. It was kind of an awkward letter, I mean, really, what do you say after 14 years of no contact? It was weird. It wasn’t like I could say “get well soon”, because well, that likely wasn’t going to happen.
“Hey, I grew up, I had a couple of kids, I’m still happily married and have a lived a whole life you know nothing about. Sorry to hear you’re dying though…”
After I put it in the mailbox and put the flag up, I kept walking by the front door looking at the mailbox, watching for the mail truck, wondering if I should change my mind, run out and get the letter and forget the whole thing. I was afraid of the can of worms I was opening. However, the letter went out, and according to some friends who were sitting with him in the hospital, receiving it cheered him. And so, I’m glad I sent it.
A few weeks ago, it did seem as though G rallied and was getting better, but within a week, he was back in intensive care, with a tracheotomy to help him breathe and feeding tubes. We learned that he had severe pneumonia that was not getting better and that his remaining leg needed to be amputated due to diabetes complications. (His first was removed a few years ago). The leg was slowly poisoning his body. But the operation couldn’t happen until the pneumonia cleared up. It was a viscous cycle.
This past weekend, my aunt who lives closest to him and is listed as his next of kin, went to see him to make some arrangements. While there, he crashed but the doctors managed to revive him. The order was given to remove life support and he died on Monday evening. I found out by email Tuesday morning.
Hubster read the email with me, saw me start to cry and asked me if I was ok, just as Mouse walked into the kitchen. I was surprised at how upset I was, but knew I had to pull it together to get through the day, so I stuffed my feelings way down for a while so I could be “MOM” and function. Though, I’m sure the kids have overheard us talking, I haven’t explicitly talked to them about G or who he is or that he died. I fumbled through the day, tired and dazed and trying not to think about it. I was functioning on about 3 hours sleep, if you call it functioning, because I had been up a lot with a sick Baboo the night before.
We made it through the day; I talked to my Mum and brother and figured things would eventually hit me, but sincerely believed I could deal with whatever would come and it would be no big deal. Insert another night with no sleep, and Wednesday was a horrible day. By witching hour, 5 pm, I was “Nasty Mom”, complete with spinning head and flaming eyes, getting ready to sell the girls to any circus that would take them. I yelled, I stomped and I nearly threw food across the room. And then Hubster talked me down, told me to just hold until he got home. I apologized to the girls, fixed them dinner and put on a movie and wished the ground would open up and swallow me. I felt like sh*t for taking this out on the girls. I knew I had to deal with this, but couldn’t seem to get a grip on time.
Insert ANOTHER night with about 3 hours sleep.
Hubster gently insisted on staying home yesterday to give me a break and that’s exactly what he did. I rested, he took care of the girls and I did a lot of thinking and a bit of grieving.
I’m not a stranger to grief. This is not the first time I’ve lost a family member. I’ve known deeper pain, one that still lingers 6 years later. In this circumstance, I wasn’t sure what to feel, and wasn’t sure what I wanted to ALLOW myself to feel.
I hadn’t had direct contact with G for almost 15 years. At my invitation and effort, after a few years of little contact during my teen years, he was a part of my life for a while, right around the time Hubster and I were married. That was 15 years ago. G and his current wife attended our wedding. Hubster and I went to visit him shortly afterwards. We wrote back and forth for a few months and then one of my letters was sent back with a “return to sender” stamp on it. He vanished. I never heard from him again. That stung for a long time. I was mad for a long time. And hurt. So hurt. Once again, as I did when I was a kid and never heard from him, I wondered what was wrong with me. Why was I not good enough to be around?
And over time, I realized it wasn’t about me. He did it to other people, other family members. I stopped being mad. I don’t hate him. I never did. I let it go.
Occasionally, I heard about G through the grapevine, like when my grandmother died about 11 years ago and when he had his first amputation about 4 years ago, but I never heard from HIM again. I remember when my Mum called to tell me about him being in the hospital and she mentioned that my aunt had said he was surprised to hear he had a grandchild (at that time I just had Mouse). Hubster and I had been married over 10 years at that point and I was over 30, and I remember thinking “He really has no concept of a normal life!” Through the same grapevine, I wished him well, but didn’t contact him. I did say he could find me if I wanted to. He never did.
On top of not hearing from G, I almost never heard from his family either, despite making efforts to stay in touch over the years. Again, I was hurt and mad, and then I let it go.
However, this past summer, I tried one more time. We were in town, my Aunt was available and we had a very nice visit. She was the first to meet and acknowledge my girls. We stayed in touch and then we got the news about G dying. And since then, my Mother, myself and my 2 aunts have been in very close contact. I’m grateful for this contact and hope that we don’t lose it. But, I’m cautiously optimistic. I know that there was a reason why we got in touch this summer and I'm glad it happened before we knew about G.
I carefully considered going to see him when I first found out he was ill, but decided not to. There were many reasons why, none of them vindictive. I also considered going to his memorial service this weekend, but the highly prohibitive cost and previous obligations got in the way. And frankly, I felt as though, if I didn’t go when he was alive, why would I go when he is dead and won’t know I’m there? Hubster suggested that I go for closure, but I think I can find closure here. I wanted to go to support my aunt who had to make all these hard decisions herself. I felt OBLIGATED to go and guilty for not wanting to. The memorial is for his few friends who knew him most recently and it’s unlikely that many people from his “past” will be there. He’s closed us all out and I feel as though, what’s done is done at this point.
I have been reluctant to start to grieve, but it came about anyway, with me kicking and screaming the whole time. While I never wished him ill and certainly, during this whole thing, I never wished him dead, I wanted to be removed. I didn’t want to care as much as I have. I wanted to believe that he was just some person who didn’t matter to me anymore. I don’t know this man and he doesn’t know me. Other than the little history we have, there isn’t much there. What was there to grieve? I wasn’t wishing for a miraculous father daughter reunion. I have a wonderful father. He’s my stepfather, but it offends me to refer to him as such. He’s a Dad in every way to me and I think of him only in that context. I wasn’t hoping that G would swoop in to be Grandpa to my girls. In fact, I kind of worried what I would do if he ever did come back around. What would I say to the girls? Would I really want him there? What if he vanished on my kids like he did to me and I had to try to explain that to them? I didn’t want my girls to have to go through that. My kids have grandparents, Grandpas, who ADORE them. My DAD is a knock out Grandpa who lives for my girls and they adore him just as much. He’s earned that right and privilege and it’s not one he takes lightly.
So, why am I so sad? I’m sad because he died, by his own choice, almost alone. He could have had people around him who loved him, but he chose to shut the door on them. All of them. I’m sad because I’ll never hear him say “I’m sorry” to me, my brother and my Mother. I’m sad not because of the “what could have beens” but because there never was. I’m sad because someone I did care about, and still do to a degree, I guess, has died. A life is over and that alone is worth grieving.
One day, I'll tell my girls about him. They'll know where I came from and what happened and who he was from my viewpoint. I hope that I'll learn from his mistakes and keep those closest me to me, close. I certainly don't want to die alone.
“Hey, I grew up, I had a couple of kids, I’m still happily married and have a lived a whole life you know nothing about. Sorry to hear you’re dying though…”
After I put it in the mailbox and put the flag up, I kept walking by the front door looking at the mailbox, watching for the mail truck, wondering if I should change my mind, run out and get the letter and forget the whole thing. I was afraid of the can of worms I was opening. However, the letter went out, and according to some friends who were sitting with him in the hospital, receiving it cheered him. And so, I’m glad I sent it.
A few weeks ago, it did seem as though G rallied and was getting better, but within a week, he was back in intensive care, with a tracheotomy to help him breathe and feeding tubes. We learned that he had severe pneumonia that was not getting better and that his remaining leg needed to be amputated due to diabetes complications. (His first was removed a few years ago). The leg was slowly poisoning his body. But the operation couldn’t happen until the pneumonia cleared up. It was a viscous cycle.
This past weekend, my aunt who lives closest to him and is listed as his next of kin, went to see him to make some arrangements. While there, he crashed but the doctors managed to revive him. The order was given to remove life support and he died on Monday evening. I found out by email Tuesday morning.
Hubster read the email with me, saw me start to cry and asked me if I was ok, just as Mouse walked into the kitchen. I was surprised at how upset I was, but knew I had to pull it together to get through the day, so I stuffed my feelings way down for a while so I could be “MOM” and function. Though, I’m sure the kids have overheard us talking, I haven’t explicitly talked to them about G or who he is or that he died. I fumbled through the day, tired and dazed and trying not to think about it. I was functioning on about 3 hours sleep, if you call it functioning, because I had been up a lot with a sick Baboo the night before.
We made it through the day; I talked to my Mum and brother and figured things would eventually hit me, but sincerely believed I could deal with whatever would come and it would be no big deal. Insert another night with no sleep, and Wednesday was a horrible day. By witching hour, 5 pm, I was “Nasty Mom”, complete with spinning head and flaming eyes, getting ready to sell the girls to any circus that would take them. I yelled, I stomped and I nearly threw food across the room. And then Hubster talked me down, told me to just hold until he got home. I apologized to the girls, fixed them dinner and put on a movie and wished the ground would open up and swallow me. I felt like sh*t for taking this out on the girls. I knew I had to deal with this, but couldn’t seem to get a grip on time.
Insert ANOTHER night with about 3 hours sleep.
Hubster gently insisted on staying home yesterday to give me a break and that’s exactly what he did. I rested, he took care of the girls and I did a lot of thinking and a bit of grieving.
I’m not a stranger to grief. This is not the first time I’ve lost a family member. I’ve known deeper pain, one that still lingers 6 years later. In this circumstance, I wasn’t sure what to feel, and wasn’t sure what I wanted to ALLOW myself to feel.
I hadn’t had direct contact with G for almost 15 years. At my invitation and effort, after a few years of little contact during my teen years, he was a part of my life for a while, right around the time Hubster and I were married. That was 15 years ago. G and his current wife attended our wedding. Hubster and I went to visit him shortly afterwards. We wrote back and forth for a few months and then one of my letters was sent back with a “return to sender” stamp on it. He vanished. I never heard from him again. That stung for a long time. I was mad for a long time. And hurt. So hurt. Once again, as I did when I was a kid and never heard from him, I wondered what was wrong with me. Why was I not good enough to be around?
And over time, I realized it wasn’t about me. He did it to other people, other family members. I stopped being mad. I don’t hate him. I never did. I let it go.
Occasionally, I heard about G through the grapevine, like when my grandmother died about 11 years ago and when he had his first amputation about 4 years ago, but I never heard from HIM again. I remember when my Mum called to tell me about him being in the hospital and she mentioned that my aunt had said he was surprised to hear he had a grandchild (at that time I just had Mouse). Hubster and I had been married over 10 years at that point and I was over 30, and I remember thinking “He really has no concept of a normal life!” Through the same grapevine, I wished him well, but didn’t contact him. I did say he could find me if I wanted to. He never did.
On top of not hearing from G, I almost never heard from his family either, despite making efforts to stay in touch over the years. Again, I was hurt and mad, and then I let it go.
However, this past summer, I tried one more time. We were in town, my Aunt was available and we had a very nice visit. She was the first to meet and acknowledge my girls. We stayed in touch and then we got the news about G dying. And since then, my Mother, myself and my 2 aunts have been in very close contact. I’m grateful for this contact and hope that we don’t lose it. But, I’m cautiously optimistic. I know that there was a reason why we got in touch this summer and I'm glad it happened before we knew about G.
I carefully considered going to see him when I first found out he was ill, but decided not to. There were many reasons why, none of them vindictive. I also considered going to his memorial service this weekend, but the highly prohibitive cost and previous obligations got in the way. And frankly, I felt as though, if I didn’t go when he was alive, why would I go when he is dead and won’t know I’m there? Hubster suggested that I go for closure, but I think I can find closure here. I wanted to go to support my aunt who had to make all these hard decisions herself. I felt OBLIGATED to go and guilty for not wanting to. The memorial is for his few friends who knew him most recently and it’s unlikely that many people from his “past” will be there. He’s closed us all out and I feel as though, what’s done is done at this point.
I have been reluctant to start to grieve, but it came about anyway, with me kicking and screaming the whole time. While I never wished him ill and certainly, during this whole thing, I never wished him dead, I wanted to be removed. I didn’t want to care as much as I have. I wanted to believe that he was just some person who didn’t matter to me anymore. I don’t know this man and he doesn’t know me. Other than the little history we have, there isn’t much there. What was there to grieve? I wasn’t wishing for a miraculous father daughter reunion. I have a wonderful father. He’s my stepfather, but it offends me to refer to him as such. He’s a Dad in every way to me and I think of him only in that context. I wasn’t hoping that G would swoop in to be Grandpa to my girls. In fact, I kind of worried what I would do if he ever did come back around. What would I say to the girls? Would I really want him there? What if he vanished on my kids like he did to me and I had to try to explain that to them? I didn’t want my girls to have to go through that. My kids have grandparents, Grandpas, who ADORE them. My DAD is a knock out Grandpa who lives for my girls and they adore him just as much. He’s earned that right and privilege and it’s not one he takes lightly.
So, why am I so sad? I’m sad because he died, by his own choice, almost alone. He could have had people around him who loved him, but he chose to shut the door on them. All of them. I’m sad because I’ll never hear him say “I’m sorry” to me, my brother and my Mother. I’m sad not because of the “what could have beens” but because there never was. I’m sad because someone I did care about, and still do to a degree, I guess, has died. A life is over and that alone is worth grieving.
One day, I'll tell my girls about him. They'll know where I came from and what happened and who he was from my viewpoint. I hope that I'll learn from his mistakes and keep those closest me to me, close. I certainly don't want to die alone.
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