Knowing Alone

You don’t know.
I’m glad you don’t know.
There are so many things I know that I didn’t know before.
I keep learning things that I don’t want to know.

It hurts to be alone with these things I’ve never wanted to know.

Still, nobody can know them except for me.

I know sadness. I know pain. I live grief. But I don’t know what to say to you about your sadness, pain and grief. I know that words never brought me comfort.  Not much has made sense in the AFTER. I’m not saying that there aren’t words out there that can bring someone suffering a loss some comfort and peace. But I don’t know what they are.

I just know what you don’t know.

You don’t know how the most innocuous statements can trigger me so unexpectedly.  Like when my son was in his honor choir concert and the announcer man was talking about the importance of music in schools and thanking all the parents for getting their kids to the extra practices on time because that is a “part of parenting”.  Fine statement, right?  But I started crying. Because getting my kids to practices doesn’t seem like “part of parenting” to me at all.    It seems more like being “part of cruise directing”.  Because parenting for me is not about the logistics of getting 4 different kids to different places at the same times.  I have so many wonderful people helping me with that part.  Parenting for me is living, in my mind, the worst possible case scenario for anything and everything that happens with my kids. The phone rings and before I can pick it up I’m already sitting at Harborview at the bedside of someone I love waiting for the doctor to call time of death.  Reliving. Parenting for me is listening to my youngest son cry “I want to be with you” when I’m walking out the door for the fourth evening that week and leaving him with a sitter because I either have to work or attend another one of my kids’ events that will run past his bedtime.  It’s wondering what sort of damage I’m adding to what’s already been done.

You don’t know the sadness that comes with the knowledge that my support group has grown too large.  There are too many of us.  There is a waitlist to get in.  You don’t know that as much as we all need that support group, every one of us is ready to give up our place so that nobody has to be on a fucking waitlist to get some help.

You don’t know that my mind races so quickly I can’t even keep up with the thoughts.  Or maybe it races so I don’t get stuck on any of the more horrific thoughts.  Like how every time my pre-teen son gets upset and slams the door to his room, I am petrified–beyond petrified–that he’s going to hurt himself–because of something I said or didn’t say and because it “runs in the family”.

You don’t know how it actually feels like a physical punch to my gut-it practically doubles me over in pain, every time I walk into the preschool and see an announcement for an upcoming “Daddy-Daughter Dance”.  I know that sign is posted there.  But it’s like a sneaky, scary monster hiding behind the door that jumps out at me.  I am startled by it,  every single time. You don’t know this because there’s no way you would.  What you see is my Kristen suit and a smile on my face as I greet my little guy who may or may not be happy to see me (depending on whatever matters to a 5-year-old at any given moment).

You don’t know how difficult it is to watch one of my kids do something really cool (like the honor choir) and know without a doubt that my husband would be so proud of him.  But how sad it is for my husband that he doesn’t get to be here.  Even more sad for my kids who don’t have their dad in the audience to support them.  I can be present at as many events as I can physically attend, but I can never make up for daddy’s absence at these events.

You don’t know how I can’t get good mental health counseling for my children.  Good counselors do not accept Medicaid.  Counselors will accept cash.  I will give them cash to help my children.  But then I sit through session after session wondering why I’m listening to this person who is not there.  Who doesn’t know.  At the end of the day, there is just me.  I am the only person on this earth that loves and cares for my kids the way I do.  At the end of the day, I am alone in this parenting.

You don’t know how my 6-year-old daughter’s counselor has been listing off the characteristics of a child with ADHD and I’m thinking–“Holy shit.  She’s talking about me.  I have ADHD”. Then in the next moment I’m sitting on my hands to keep from tearing my hair out because what does this ADHD stuff have to do with my child’s anger and grief? I am paying CASH for fucks sake.  PLEASE stop reading this book to my child about how all dogs have ADHD.  I’m about to scream.

You don’t know how counselors that I pay CASH for come up with ever-loving complicated “systems” of reinforcement and consequences for my kids.  They don’t know how asking me to pull together and maintain this “system” is maybe the thing that will put me over the edge.  But I still try.  They tell me that I need to put together a “simple” collage book with my child-one that’s all about said child and daddy.  Put it in a plastic baggie and close it with duct tape so it can never get dirty or wet.  WHAT?  I don’t have time to check my kids’ homework, let alone spend time ALONE with one child (what are the other kids doing at this time?) to make a book that they can’t ever take out of the bag?  Maybe this is my newly, self-diagnosed ADHD kicking in-but I don’t understand the sense of that.

You don’t know how much my body shook as I held my mother-in-law last weekend because she is going in for major surgery and I know she is terrified that she won’t come out.  You don’t know how I locked myself in her bathroom and cried because–oh my gosh.  Because of so many things.  My kids cannot suffer another loss.  I cannot lose her.  I have grown to love her and appreciate her.  We have a relationship. She is Jake’s mother.  Jake would’ve been by her side every step of the way, giving her courage and making her laugh.  I have no courage to offer.  I have fear.

You don’t know how much I hate myself for wanting to do things for myself.  I’m not just talking about a “nice bath” or a girls’ weekend getaway.  I am not going to pretend to be selfless or some kind of martyr.  I want things too-things that don’t have to do with the kids at all!  But I know kicking and screaming and flailing myself around on the floor doesn’t actually work.  I don’t know how to make it work and if I figured it out-would I just hate myself for actually doing that thing for myself?  In our modern American culture, people give you lip-service about how moms need to take care of themselves in order to take care of their kids–the whole airplane/oxygen mask thing.  But then society frowns upon moms who do just that.  Because how are we supposed to squeeze in “me” time between extra honor choir practices, birthday parties, “mandatory volunteer hours” (okay what the fuck is that even supposed to mean?), work, counseling, laundry, sports practices, math team, school projects that are supposed to be completed with “limited parental involvement”, all while making sure our kids are eating organic, well-balanced meals, brushing their teeth WELL, flossing (haha), showering WITH soap, changing (and/or wearing) underwear, and taking them on field trips to homeless shelters so they can truly understand how privileged they are?   I want more than that.  I hate how selfish that sounds.  But that’s my true confession.

You don’t know these things, because how would you?  Just like I don’t know you.  I don’t know what to say to loved ones who have lost (or are losing) their loved ones.  I don’t know what to say to strangers who are suffering loss.  I don’t know what’s under your suit-the things that hurt you and scare you.  But it’s so important that I realize that I don’t know and you don’t know.  The best looking, fanciest, perfectly creased, cleanest suit could be hiding fear, pain, grief, trauma, illness, anxiety, nightmares, sadness, panic, anger, guilt, regrets and more.  I wish I had known more about what was under the Jake suit before it was too late.

 

 

 

 

Hill from Hell

Before I get started-I have an update. The Midnight Sun Brewing Company did get back to me and shared that “Berserker” will be landing in 22 ounce bottles in Seattle soon.  I don’t know what “soon” means, but she didn’t have an exact date.  Yay!  Be on the lookout.  In the meantime, my brother gave me a lovely present to tide me over:  IMG_0954Woo hoo!  I have become a huge fan of the porters and stouts that have been aged in bourbon/whiskey/scotch barrels.  Very excited to share some of these with my friends.  One thing about the Pacific Northwest–you cannot beat the beer!

Another thing I love about where I live-are the many trails I can choose to run on. I love prancing through nature!  I tend to stick to my favorite (with the stump–more on that later) but know that running different places for different purposes is what is going to help my running overall.  There is a trail that is commonly referred to as “the hill from hell”.  Jake used to use this hill as part of his training.  He would go there and run up (and down and back up) 5-6 times in a row.  His particular goal was to elevate his heart rate to a certain number (yeah–that’s what kind of shape he was in–he had a hard time even getting his heart rate up into his target zone). My goal is to actually make it up that hill-once per run-without having to stop or walk.  Hills are not my friends.  I don’t like discomfort.  Today, I ran up the hill from hell.  The trick for me is to NOT look up at the top of the hill.  Today as I was trudging, dragging, crawling up that hill, I reflected on the metaphorical nature of running up that hill from hell, and what’s going on in my life right now.  As I ran, I thought to myself, it doesn’t matter how slow you go, it doesn’t matter how long it takes you, just keep moving and you will get there.  It hit me–these are DEEP THOUGHTS! Stop looking up at the top of the mountain thinking that you’ll never get there.  Instead, focus on one step at a time and don’t stop moving. When I reached the top of the “hill from hell”, I thought to myself “powerful human”.  You did it.

Earlier this week, I ran my favorite trail–you know the one with the stump with all the stuff on it.  Someone left me a gift on the stump.  IMG_0956 I loved my gift–thank you–you know who you are.  However–the STUPID JERKS WHO STEAL THINGS OFF THE STUMP THAT MEAN THINGS TO OTHER PEOPLE–have returned.  This time they stole the Jesus figurine that actually turned out to be Luke Skywalker.  We thought he was Jesus for a while–until we realized he wasn’t.  Anyway, Jesus/Luke Skywalker is gone and I would like him to be returned to the stump please.  You are more than welcome to take the creepy ceramic cat head that is sitting on top of a stick in exchange.

Also earlier this week, I connected with someone who had lost his wife in a very tragic and unexpected way.  Unfortunately, we have something in common that we both wish we didn’t. He had just passed the three-year mark.  We have mutual friends, so this boy called and talked to me for a long time.  I’ll admit, for the first part of our conversation I was more in tune with the sexy New England accent (which made me homesick) than what he was saying.  But, he had a lot to say-a lot to share about his own experience and how he’s doing now.  He stated a lot of insightful and thought-provoking tidbits drawn from the wisdom that comes with experience.  He was also very straightfoward, honest, and no-nonsense (which also made me homesick). I have thought about that conversation for days.  This boy, although he misses his wife and loves her, is actually happy.  According to him, happiness doesn’t just come to a person.  One has to choose to be happy.  (I am simplifying the conversation down to some of the points I’ve had running around in my brain).  He spoke of his current girlfriend and his experiences with dating after he lost his wife. I got off the phone feeling very optimistic and hopeful.  Yes–I was going to forge ahead.  Yes-I was going to choose to be happy.  It was going to be that simple.  However, I spent the next couple of days in agony because I was doing to myself the exact thing that I despise–comparing myself and my grief to someone else’s.  Duh.  Although we have this horrific event in common-we are two different people in two very different places.  I took what he had said so personally–that I thought I should be happy because I could just choose to be.  Move on with my life.  However, I realized that by “pretending” to be happy-I was doing the same “door slamming on the memories” that I had done before.  That didn’t work out so great.  In the past week a few things have become very clear to me:

1.  I am sad.  I miss Jake–more than miss him. I spent 14 years with this man, I grew up with him.  We bought homes together, got a dog together, moved around the country together, traveled together, had four kids together, and parented together.  But our lives weren’t all about those bigger moments.  When we were dating, we used to go on “dates” every Sunday to the Home Depot. Yes–the Home Depot.  We did whatever we had to do at the Home Depot and then there was a shed outside the store that sold “food”.  I always had a warm pretzel and Jake always had a hot dog.   Our closeness came from the little, everyday experiences –quick phone calls and texts, short conversations (because who can have a conversation once they have kids?), big hugs, and “how was your day”s.  We did somehow manage to have one 30-minute phone conversations which included every little detail about the septic tank inspection.  The little things that add up to a giant thing–one that is bigger than the sum of its parts.  I am still in a place where I freak out when I realize that there will never be another picture taken of Jake.  I am still wishing for him to come back–and I think if I wish hard enough, it will happen.  Memories catch me off guard at the strangest times and places. I still can’t even believe he is gone.  I did not choose this.  I do hope that someday I will be happy again.  It’s just not that easy.  I need to stop comparing myself to the experience of another person-regardless of the commonalities.  I am sad-very sad.  And that’s okay–I’m not going to beat myself up over it.  I’m going to let it ride-let myself feel whatever it is I feel at the moment-even if it sucks.

2.  I am in no way, shape or form, ready to begin dating again.  I believe this boy told me he started thinking about dating again after about 6-7 months.  So, I put myself through even more agony wondering what was wrong with me–maybe it was time for me to start dating?  But the very idea of it, made me sick to my stomach.  I do not need to be dating.  I do not want to be in a relationship. Not now–maybe not ever-who knows?  But that doesn’t preclude me from someday being happy again.  I can be alone and still be happy.  What was I thinking in those few crazy moments this week?  Once again–comparing.  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

3.  I have the most incredible support system–one that spans the country.  This boy I spoke with–we don’t even know each other.  But he took precious time out of his day to reach out to me and let me know that I wasn’t alone–that someone else out there can empathize with me.  I realized that I came away from that conversation with the completely wrong message. He wasn’t trying to tell me to “be like him”.  I put that on myself.  He was extending a hand to hold onto–something to ground me and keep me from floating away with my sadness and longing.  He was trying to send the message that “someday”, I will feel better.  But it doesn’t have to be by anyone’s timeline but my own.

My brother and sister-in-law have a sign in their bathroom that says “Do more of what makes you happy”.  So, I’ve been thinking about what makes me happy now.  Really good beer=happy.  My new favorite bar=happy.  My supportive, loving family=happy.  Pinkabella coconut cupcakes=happy.  My incredible and hilarious friends=happy.  My running=happy.  My kids=…..depends on the moment 😉 When my three-year old tells me he loves me without me saying it first=happy. When my kids sing and when they belly laugh (even if it’s just because somebody said poop or fart)=happy.  I have happy moments now-I need to recognize them more when they happen.  I need to be aware and present in those happy moments.  I don’t think it’s about making a choice.  I don’t think it’s that simple.  But I am going to try.  One step at a time and don’t stop moving (even if the tears are flowing at the same time).