Ten Years On
 |
| Our ten-year wedding anniversary, Dec 3, 2009 |
 |
| Scattering ashes in Michigan, August, 2010 |
January 23, 2010 is a date I'm afraid to remember and scared I'll forget. It's the day Sean died.
I wanted to write about the weirdness of marking ten years since Sean’s death, but it’s almost too big
a task. It’s like straining to hear what my kids are asking from the other room while the kettle is boiling
in front of me; like trying to figure out how to build a bookshelf when the instructions are cryptic
pictograms.
How to talk about a decade of living, loving, grieving? It’s like a trip to the moon and back ten times
and also like a walk to the corner store. It has been a long odyssey and a quick jaunt.
and also like a walk to the corner store. It has been a long odyssey and a quick jaunt.
What no one can tell you about the years stretching between death and this-new-normal-kinda-life is
how your perspective will change. What once seemed important now seems trivial, and the person
you were back then is different from who you are today. The last part is true for us all, no matter if
we’ve lost a great love, or not. The current of our lives changes constantly, carrying and cleansing
debris, gushing, then trickling in times of torrent and drought.
how your perspective will change. What once seemed important now seems trivial, and the person
you were back then is different from who you are today. The last part is true for us all, no matter if
we’ve lost a great love, or not. The current of our lives changes constantly, carrying and cleansing
debris, gushing, then trickling in times of torrent and drought.
My 49-year-old self is different from 39-year-old me. Beyond the obvious physical deterioration,
I have a new mindset. I’d like to think I’m less naive and more sure of who I am. My good friend,
Becky, recently shared with me how she announced to her family she’s a “grown-ass woman” (GAW)
who makes her own decisions and stands behind them. She gets to call the shots - her time, her
talents, her choices.
I have a new mindset. I’d like to think I’m less naive and more sure of who I am. My good friend,
Becky, recently shared with me how she announced to her family she’s a “grown-ass woman” (GAW)
who makes her own decisions and stands behind them. She gets to call the shots - her time, her
talents, her choices.
I had imagined maybe I needed by be retired to achieve GAW status, as I wouldn’t be so concerned
about what people thought in my older, unemployed state. But if I were truly worried about satisfying
other people, I wouldn’t live in New Zealand. In my un-coupled condition, there’s no reason to be here,
except my teenagers are settled into school, friend groups and sports; I have a community of friends
and work I enjoy, and this is a wonderful place to greet each day (keep this between you and me, as
my town is quite full and the traffic can be hideous).
about what people thought in my older, unemployed state. But if I were truly worried about satisfying
other people, I wouldn’t live in New Zealand. In my un-coupled condition, there’s no reason to be here,
except my teenagers are settled into school, friend groups and sports; I have a community of friends
and work I enjoy, and this is a wonderful place to greet each day (keep this between you and me, as
my town is quite full and the traffic can be hideous).
Seeing photos of the kids from when Sean died - January 23, 2010 to today - is evidence we haven’t
just switched our geography, we’ve time travelled, too. Fiona and Finley’s milk teeth and chubby
cheeks have been replaced with braces and slimmer faces. Neither child says they remember what
their father sounded like; we need audio recordings as a reminder.
just switched our geography, we’ve time travelled, too. Fiona and Finley’s milk teeth and chubby
cheeks have been replaced with braces and slimmer faces. Neither child says they remember what
their father sounded like; we need audio recordings as a reminder.
I still grieve Sean’s loss. Even ten years later, how could I not? He’s the partner and father I chose
after I decided it was more than okay to set fire to the kindling of our friendship. He’s the only partner
who not only pursued me in the early, fun years, but also stuck by me in later, more turbulent years.
A premature baby, infant operation, hellfire son, job wins and losses, chronic illness, moving from
house to condo, to apartment to house, to house… Sean bolstered me and didn’t leave when things
got tough. He was mature and selfless.
after I decided it was more than okay to set fire to the kindling of our friendship. He’s the only partner
who not only pursued me in the early, fun years, but also stuck by me in later, more turbulent years.
A premature baby, infant operation, hellfire son, job wins and losses, chronic illness, moving from
house to condo, to apartment to house, to house… Sean bolstered me and didn’t leave when things
got tough. He was mature and selfless.
My attempt in New Zealand to recreate a four-person household with another man flopped. You could
say I leaped too soon by starting to date only a year after Sean died; or I was lonely and vulnerable.
Or all of the above. I railed against the stereotype of solo mom and wanted someone with whom I
could share a life. I fell in love, or something like it. Perhaps my picker was broken. Perhaps I was
broken, and still am.
say I leaped too soon by starting to date only a year after Sean died; or I was lonely and vulnerable.
Or all of the above. I railed against the stereotype of solo mom and wanted someone with whom I
could share a life. I fell in love, or something like it. Perhaps my picker was broken. Perhaps I was
broken, and still am.
But life breaks all of us, doesn’t it? Bit by bit, it steals our people, our health, our looks, our fortunes
and too often, our memories. If we could only see the emotional scars our fellow humans bear, we
might be a lot nicer to each other. The brilliant woman with equally savant husband and big house
has clinical depression; the man driving a big rig up and down the local highway seemingly without
a care years ago lost an adult son; the gorgeous, slim blonde who looks fit and healthy battles stage
4 cancer; the guy who seems outgoing and confident during the week routinely drinks a liter of spirits
on the weekend to numb his pain...
and too often, our memories. If we could only see the emotional scars our fellow humans bear, we
might be a lot nicer to each other. The brilliant woman with equally savant husband and big house
has clinical depression; the man driving a big rig up and down the local highway seemingly without
a care years ago lost an adult son; the gorgeous, slim blonde who looks fit and healthy battles stage
4 cancer; the guy who seems outgoing and confident during the week routinely drinks a liter of spirits
on the weekend to numb his pain...
Give it time, we’re all walking wounded.
Which is to say, I’m not special. Your losses, no matter what they are, are just as painful as mine.
Two years, ten years, 20 years… another rotation around the sun doesn’t change the fact you loved
your person in the flesh and still love him or her in spirit. But dammit, I really want the flesh.
“Always in our hearts…” F that. How about always in my house? How about here in front of me,
where I can cup Sean’s face and look into his blue-gray eyes and say, “I love you” one more time?
Two years, ten years, 20 years… another rotation around the sun doesn’t change the fact you loved
your person in the flesh and still love him or her in spirit. But dammit, I really want the flesh.
“Always in our hearts…” F that. How about always in my house? How about here in front of me,
where I can cup Sean’s face and look into his blue-gray eyes and say, “I love you” one more time?
“He’s here in spirit” will never be good enough. I’m a grown-ass woman and I say these things
because for me, they’re true.
because for me, they’re true.
But there’s something else: failure to see the silver lining would mean blindness to beauty around us.
We live in a place of relative safety and comfort, nestled between sea, sky and green hills. We have
health care that’s accessible because we’ve already paid for it with our taxes. Most of all, we have
friends who laugh, cry and get angry on our behalf. We don’t have Sean, yet still live in abundance.
We live in a place of relative safety and comfort, nestled between sea, sky and green hills. We have
health care that’s accessible because we’ve already paid for it with our taxes. Most of all, we have
friends who laugh, cry and get angry on our behalf. We don’t have Sean, yet still live in abundance.
Yet I grieve for the fact my children are growing up without a father. I grieve there’s just me mucking
about in the dark. As a therapist recently told me, “You have to be mother, father and psychologist.”
He also said the children’s teenage shenanigans sounded like - teenage shenanigans. Being a widow
has opened up a kind of paranoia for me, because it’s easy to blame behaviors I find either
unacceptable or borderline criminal (there was an egg-throwing incident that could’ve ended very
badly, but didn’t) on the lack of a father.
about in the dark. As a therapist recently told me, “You have to be mother, father and psychologist.”
He also said the children’s teenage shenanigans sounded like - teenage shenanigans. Being a widow
has opened up a kind of paranoia for me, because it’s easy to blame behaviors I find either
unacceptable or borderline criminal (there was an egg-throwing incident that could’ve ended very
badly, but didn’t) on the lack of a father.
Then I remember teenagers from intact families also do stupid shit. Dad or no dad, these kids have
their own minds, their own judgement (or lack thereof). Teens have an underdeveloped prefrontal
cortex which controls rational thinking, decision-making and awareness of long-term consequences,
regardless of whether they lost their dad at age six or whether Dad is sitting across the room in his
recliner.
their own minds, their own judgement (or lack thereof). Teens have an underdeveloped prefrontal
cortex which controls rational thinking, decision-making and awareness of long-term consequences,
regardless of whether they lost their dad at age six or whether Dad is sitting across the room in his
recliner.
 |
| Christmas in Fiji, 2019 |
Ten years on, I’d like to think my additional scars have made me tougher. Ten years on, neither child
has (yet) been to juvenile detention or moved in with a significant other. I’ve had a decade of
wheedling, cajoling, sheparding and loving Fiona and Finley that Sean hasn’t had. I’m sad without
him and thankful for this precious time.
has (yet) been to juvenile detention or moved in with a significant other. I’ve had a decade of
wheedling, cajoling, sheparding and loving Fiona and Finley that Sean hasn’t had. I’m sad without
him and thankful for this precious time.
For most of the past three years, I’ve had to learn to live again as a solo parent. I’m slowly embracing
the notion I’m enough. I’ve made peace with my status as an uncoupled widow - one who doesn’t
need a partner to be complete. One who will not settle due to loneliness or societal expectations.
the notion I’m enough. I’ve made peace with my status as an uncoupled widow - one who doesn’t
need a partner to be complete. One who will not settle due to loneliness or societal expectations.
They say a triangle is the strongest shape. Ten years after Sean’s death, Fiona, Finley and I are a
triangle. A trio. A strong, often strange shape every bit a unit as its four and more-sided brethren.
Inside, we carry not only grief, but memories of a husband and father who in his brief life, loved and
lived well.
triangle. A trio. A strong, often strange shape every bit a unit as its four and more-sided brethren.
Inside, we carry not only grief, but memories of a husband and father who in his brief life, loved and
lived well.
This was stunningly beautiful and I am great full to have read it. I hope you and yours are happy and safe still! ♥️
ReplyDelete