My Name is Kris and I Blah-g

I once saw a person eat a tomato like it was an apple. There’s nothing wrong with that. I am sure that if you’re a tomato person (and I am NOT), it can be an enjoyable experience. But if you have ever seen a tomato – and I am sure you have – and if you have ever tried to slice a tomato with a dull knife, you will undoubtedly know that it can be a messy thing. The same can be said when someone bites into one. The person that I witnessed engorging themselves in tomato bliss, although enjoying themselves, fell victim to the tomato. Most if it ended up on their shirt instead of inside their mouth. It was a mess. The only thing worse than watching this person obliterate the tomato all over their shirt was watching a lady in the car next to me at a stop light pick her nose and then eat her new found treasure. True story. But that’s another blog post. So why even mention this? Well, I always thought that I wouldn’t ever want to be such a slob. I mean, I am no beauty queen. I am about as graceful as an ox on a frozen lake. But I wouldn’t want to prance around town with a tomato stain on my shirt either.Then I became a mom.I don’t know exactly when it happened for the first time. But I started to notice that I had a drinking problem shortly after the birth of my daughter. No. My vice isn’t alcohol. I just can’t for the life of me take a drink of water, milk, soda – anything without it dribbling out the corner of my mouth and dripping off my chin. Inevitably if I eat spaghetti, for example, I will leave the dinner table with a new design on my shirt – polkadots made of sauce. Or pizza? I may find an olive, dried up and shriveled and STUCK to my shirt an hour later. My personal favorite is popcorn….I keep a treasure trove of that in my bra. My mom once told me that it was what happens when you become a mom. It almost sounded like a badge of honor that I should be proud to wear. Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE being a mom. I just don’t like looking like I am 4 months old and can’t hold my rice cereal. My mom has accepted that this just comes with the territory. In fact, it doesn’t even register with her that a Cheerio from 3 days ago can be a snack for later on today. What’s so wrong with that?So, anyway, what’s the point? I was just thinking about it as I was washing off the chocolate milk that I dribbled down my shirt a few minutes ago. I was thinking about how different my life has become. I’m not complaining…well, not really. Some parts of my life really suck. Actually, ONE thing really sucks. My husband is dead. It is a reality that I live with daily. What’s weird is that sometimes I forget that part of it. I just get so busy and although that’s really great to be busy, it’s a huge depression of my mood when I realize, “Whoa! Mike is DEAD! When did THAT happen?” But I digress….this isn’t supposed to be some wo is me post. It was only spilled chocolate milk, for Heaven’s sake. I shouldn’t cry over it (ha ha). I never really understood what it meant to be one of those frazzled – do everything Moms. At one time, I had a partner. He and I shared lots of the responsibilities – mainly getting Michaela to school, picking her up, etc. For years I would get up in the morning, get dressed and go to work. I’d work the 8-5 job and come home. Some nights Mike was there cooking dinner when I got there. Other nights when it was his turn to work, I would pick up Michaela from my Mom’s and do the nightly ritual of dinner and put the kid to bed. It was a ritual. It was the same every day. It was comfort.Now, it’s different. Now there is a sense of urgency in my day. Now there is a nagging need to make sure that I do it all. Sure I am bringing it all on myself. Gimme a break. I’ve never been through this before. I have heard people talk about how humbling it is to give service. Try letting some one render you a service. Those chocolate milk stains won’t seem so bad…

The realtor called today. The buyers have finally accepted the terms of the sale and now all I have to do is wait. They had hit my last nerve the other day with all of their demands and then had the nerve to want me to lower the price even more. I was about to throw in the towel and keep the house. It just seemed like it was worth more to me than them. In many ways it feels like a chore to go there. It’s a good 20 minute drive to get there. But then once I am there, it’s home. I lived there with my husband and child for 4 years. When I stand in my living room, I would think that I would feel immense sadness because that is where Mike drew is last breath. But, I don’t. Nothing about the house creeps me out. If anything, I feel closer to him there. And now with the sale of the house appearing to actually happen, it’s the so called proverbial start of the next chapter. I feel like I am closing the book, though. I mean, if my life before all of this was Chapter 1, that is one heck of a long chapter.We go through periods in our lives that see changes. We have our birth. Our adolescence. Our teenage years. Our 20s. Marriage. Children. And I would think that if you stick on that same course, you’re within the same book. But when you face the death of a spouse, all of a sudden your whole outlook changes. Who are you as an individual? Are your goals the same? Do you want the same things as you did before he died? What do you want to be? What is your path? Nah…this certainly doesn’t feel like a new chapter to me. This definitely feels like a new book. My old book will end with the sale of my house, I think. It’s my last material connection to Mike.Of course, he’ll always be with me. Every time I look at Michaela, he’ll be there looking back at me. Every time she bites her nails I will be cursing him through clinched teeth because that was one of his bad habits that drove me crazy. She looks just like him doing the same thing and what’s ironic is that she didn’t get the habit until after he died.  *sigh*To some degree, the idea of starting new is a little exciting. There are a lot of possibilities. But on the other hand, it’s scary. I look at that picture at the top of this post and I remember that moment so well. And I end up missing him so much. And it makes me want to keep that old dusty book open so I can re-read some of those chapters. But you can’t go back…Here’s to looking forward.

Note: I started to write this on Valentines day which can explain a lot. And I didn’t want to publish it because at the time, I just needed to “get it out.” But today is different. I have been reading a lot of articles online about last night’s episode of American Idol. A lot has been said today about Danny Gokey. Frankly, the comments have been mean. The references to his deceased wife have been offensive. And it has had me thinking a lot about who we are and where our humanity has gone. It’s not in a good place, let me tell you! So, I’m publishing these thoughts anyway. But I preface this by saying to those who have been with me the past year, have made an effort to communicate with me and have offered support, this post is not a reflection on you. You know who you are. And if for some reason what I say touches a nerve, um..well, all I can say about that, is think about why it has and promise yourself you’ll do better. I don’t need to know about it. I don’t even need to know who you are. Just take it for what it’s worth…There is a term that is used on the widow website that I lurk on – Don’t Get It – or DGI. This is what widows call people who do something or say something that is insensitive to the widow. I have contemplated writing about this for a while and haven’t done so because (1) it can sound petty and (2) I don’t want to offend anyone who would think I am singling them out as a DGI. Heaven forbid! But this topic keeps surfacing in my thoughts and today it did again for no particular reason although I think it was because today was Valentines Day and although I don’t think much about this day in general, I can’t help but think about what’s not in my life any more which leads to thinking about other things of which includes some of the stupid things that have been said or done that I have taken in a way much differently than I would have taken them had I not been a widow. Still with me? I have decided that becoming a widow completely makes you lose your mind. You can get pieces of it back from time to time but most of the time you are in a state of freak out and how you process information is totally and completely different than how a “normal person” would process information. Yes. I am being deliberately vague. Deal with it. There should be a handbook of instructions for what to say and do (or not do). Because unless you’ve been there yourself, chances are you are going to say or do something that will make the widow feel as if her beloved’s died all over again. I can’t say that you’ll never walk in my shoes. Other than taxes, nothing else is sure other than death. If you’re married or with someone, odds are that either one of you will die before the other. But until then, I can best liken widowhood to losing a limb – ripping your heart from your chest – taking your breath away – having no identity – being awake but not alive. It is the opitomy of loneliness and pain. And the very last thing in the world a widow needs is abandonment of his/her friends. A widow feels abandoned enough already. It’s only worse when those who promise to be there, aren’t. Or when asked by and old “friend” who may not be aware of your new reality, “what’s new?” and you tell them your sad story, the only response you get in return is the sound of crickets. It’s times like this when you find out who your friends really are. Now… to the obvious people who will read this, take heart… This is NOT about you. I for one, am so grateful that despite my grief and dwelling on the unfortunate reality this is now my life, you have stuck around anyway. Like I said, you find out who your friends are. I am grateful beyond words for the love and support I have been given. But… In searching for who I am, I have looked backwards to friends and acquaintances of old perhaps to recapture some of the magic of my youth and yes, I have heard crickets. Is it the fear of saying the wrong thing? Is it this fear that I’ll dump all my crap on you? Or is it just simple avoidance of the awkward and uncomfortable? I dunno. But it’s left me wondering if had the roles been reversed would I react in the same way? I would hope not. I would hope that I would reach out my hand say that my heart aches because you, my friend are hurting. I would hope that if I offered anything to you, my promises wouldn’t just be hollow rhetoric. I would hope that I would treat you no differently than I had before your tragic loss. I would hope that I would count you among my friends. Someone you could turn to to just have a simple conversation with. We wouldn’t even have to talk about the bad stuff but if we did, I would listen. I would hope that I would be that friend for you. I have been fortunate to witness some amazing things these past 13.5 months. I consider myself one of the lucky widows who has had wonderful family and a close group of friends to love and support me in my time of need. I read often of the plights of others who have suffered similar tragedies and aren’t as lucky. I read with amazement how so many are tortured by in-laws who go after inheritances or speak ill of the widow(er) freely or worse. I am not one of those people. I haven’t experienced anything as horrible as that. So, I am blessed. I know that. But that isn’t to say that I haven’t had my disappointments this past year. And as disappointed as I have been in some, I am thankful for the opportunity it has given me to acknowledge the imperfections in others so that I may rise above the imperfections in myself and one day, if given the opportunity, I can extend the hand of friendship to someone who is lonely and in need.