Awkward: A conversation in year 6 of widowhood

First grade assignment. (She's a much better writer now.)

You might think I'd end up in fewer awkward conversations at almost seven years after my husband died.

Fewer, yes. But still pretty damn awkward.

It was one tangle and took all of three tense minutes. We were talking about my first husband's artwork.

Me: This is a piece by my late husband.
Random lady: Oh! I'm so sorry for your loss!
Me: It's okay. I mean, it's not okay, but it was almost seven years ago.
RL: Well, how are you doing?
Me: I'm doing okay at this point. It is a comfort that he left such a wonderful legacy as an artist. His work is appreciated by so many people. Of course, we have his work hanging in our home, and we look at it every day. One of my favorite pieces is a giant drawing of a bunny sculpture in the National Gallery gardens. My husband wants to hang it in his office.
RL:  (Puzzled look)
Me:  Well… my new husband. I am remarried.
RL: Oh! I'm so glad for you.

The Bunny -- Cernnunos

Me: (Feeling awkward that this other person was just feeling sad for me a minute ago, but also feeling that it's not fair to let her think that remarriage is what "fixed" the loss. But then, wasn't I just trying to avoid a conversation that included any pity for me? Because it's been seven years and I don't need that any more?)
(Pause while I also realize that I don't want to blurt out, "my new husband isn't what fixed my life. Time and perspective is what made it better.")
(Pause while I wonder if in my head I also insulted my new husband by implying that he isn't a big part of my life, or perhaps that he isn't number one in my life, which he is.)
(Realize that clarifying everything would turn this into a non-casual conversation and a teaching moment that might be better suited to a blog post.)
(A lot of over thinking happens during this long moment when I do not actually say anything.)
Me: Um… thank you. It was seven years ago. (Realize I just made her feel a scootch bad for no good reason.)
(Pause while I silently, without moving, hit myself over the head.)
RL: So you have remarried?
Me: Yes, and we are doing well, thank you -- he and I and my daughter.
RL: Oh, you have a daughter?
Me: Yes, but it is his (points to artwork) daughter….
(Pause while I think, "as if that fucking matters?" and find a way to hit myself again).
(In all this pausing, I am so absorbed with over thinking and trying to find my way out of it that I have no idea what thoughts are occupying her pauses, or what she can see on my face.)
RL: Oh! How old was she when he….. ? Does she remember him?

And then we have that whole OTHER semi-awkward conversation, which didn't need to even start, but which is, at least, familiar and which I sort of have a "spiel" for, which is a balance between a tiny bit of education and reassuring the other person that my life is not one giant trauma. At least, because I've had that conversation so many times, I am safe from over thinking or stumbling any further. I accept that people are curious about this, but I think, do I always have to be someone with history? I could have avoided bringing the whole thing up.

My attitude is such a contrast with the first six months or so, when I felt obliged to tell everyone I met. It came out all the time -- even in a grocery store line --  "my husband died" as if I were saying "awful weather, isn't it?" My personal needs came first; I couldn't have cared less about causing social awkwardness -- it was my truth and 100% of my reality then.

Now, at this stage, my husband still really, truly died (well, my FIRST husband). It shouldn't be ignored -- and it's not acceptable or okay for people to die young or leave a young child behind. And it's important to demonstrate that you can live on and it's valuable to share your testimony. But maybe not every day. It has truly been a while -- this is the first notable awkwardness in probably a year. Most of the time, these days, when I discuss my loss, the context is comfortable and appropriate. This is, in a way, a milestone.

(Another major milestone was the first time I forgot to tell someone who needed to know!)

Yes, it's good to "normalize" these things for other people, but how much did my awkward pauses and unnecessary raising of topics "help" this person understand better?

It wasn't her fault, not one bit. And I appreciate that I have developed "spiel" for part of it. Sometimes, I can balance all these different needs: social, advocacy, personal.

But sometimes I am just tired of having a backstory.

Gavin's Final Valentine's Day

Dear Supa,

Tonight, I was browsing through Facebook and I noticed someone posted a picture of their kid making a valentine. I burst into unexpected tears as I was flooded with the memory of the valentines-making party you held in February 2006. I thought about a night I hadn't thought about in a long time -- how we made great art as expressions of love; how happy Gavin was. I wanted to share that memory with you.

(heart) (heart) (heart)
Nellie

I'd nearly forgotten too, so I cried, too. That last year, as things started more quickly to fall apart, I hosted a party. I invited everyone (not just artists... neighbors, and kids, and church friends) to come over and glue things together. I presented them with our dining room table, stretched to seat 10, covered with an array of blank notecards and pretty much everything red or white I could find (art supplies of every type, odd bits of fabric, beads) and every damn sticker in the house, including cows, tiny ants, and giant Hello Kitty decals. It was what we had.

We used to host collage parties once in a while; sophisticated and very drunken versions had been part of Gavin's bachelor artist life. They had an idea of "collage" as a philosophy of life, maybe the opposite of deconstructionism: find an object and put it with another, apply glue, smoothe the seams. There were quiet collages that called moods, and rowdy Mardi-Gras'-on-Bainbridge-board wherein the man (or woman) holding the glue would cut up and stick together pornographic playing cards, calendar pages, snapshots of strangers, candy wrappers, and their own discarded, preferably torn, drawings.

One of my survival instincts is: if you don't know what to do, invite people to be messy with you. February 14, 2006, was a day when we projected. We put our love down on paper and we used anything we wanted. My little girl, barely 2, created some notable compositions, quieter than I expected, each complete and clearly satisfying to her. Nellie, our beloved babysitter, came with most of her family. A few artists, a few beers, and we had a party.

That February was one of the months Gavin "lived" on the couch under the eroding spell of Nexavar... he was not happy most of the time. But that evening, he shone to see people. It was the right kind of energy to bring into the house.

I could not keep it together that February, as Gavin died, none of us could say the right thing, ever, but somehow, gluing things on paper and sharing our confusion with everyone I could find was the right thing to do.

(This year, we did a quiet celebration, Mr. Fresh and Shortie and I. We weren't fighting off any immediate disasters, but we could have ice cream with crumb cakes and I cut a few dozen strawberries into hearts to ornament the plates. Hence, the image above. This year, getting by, showing love, takes a different form. 

I have those valentines from 2006 somewhere, but I want to relish these cut up berries just as much because that's what this February has been about... plus they were delicious.)

The Fish is Dead, Long Live the Fish

Winny, the third of three beta fishes (and the fourth pet if you count his best friend Fasty, the snail) has died. We are more or less certain that the fatal injury was incurred on a playdate by a mischievous friend wielding a cheap piece of jewelry.

Short Stack wrote this letter to the alleged perpetrator:

Dear Sophia, I'm sorry to say but you stuck paart of the necklise in the fish boll. My fish is dede now. It is not todally your falt. It's my mom's falt too!! Fish water: if you stick something (metle) in the fish water when you take it out, it is dry, that is how fish water works!

(Man, it was really fun to frustrate autocorrect there! Nyah, nyah!)

He's going in the garden in this scheme:

• Fasty: under a tiny rosemary which has since, um, not flourished
• Reddy (Bob): at the foot of a young redbud
• Winny: in the hole I dug for a new hydrangea paniculata
• Daddy: half, in the base of a young but noble elm tree (half still on a bookshelf).

(Sadly, the first fish, Goldy, was unceremoniously flushed because he died when I was out of town. But we're regretting that now).

Does this all help my daughter understand her great loss -- of her father -- any better? It's really hard for me to say. On the one hand, I think she's overly preoccupied with death. On the other hand, I just read that 7-year-olds tend to be a bit "goth" as part of their internal development. She's certainly not as bad as above mentioned Sophia (who believes that she is secretly a vampire and she keeps her little brother's secret powers in her jewelry box). She hasn't even been as sad as I'd expect after each loss, even though she expresses great affection and interest in each pet. And we are talking about fish here.

I mean, fish that she READS TO ("the Night Before Christmas"). Fish that she teaches TRICKS to. Fish that she has tried to get to pronounce the word "FOOD."

This kid knows how to love. She invests, even in small scaly things. And she doesn't get real upset, even while blaming me. It seems to me she has grown into her loss -- that she and I are more intermeshed because of it -- but it hasn't stopped her (or me) from attaching to Mr. Fresh. She is so at ease with having had two Daddies.

My child is such a comfort and a curiosity.

And she is campaigning for a cat.

Me and Casey Anthony

My daughter, Short Stack, was 2-1/2 when Gavin died, and Caylee Anthony was nearly 3 when she “disappeared.” So every time I heard someone say, “how could a mother possibly hurt a little angel like that?,” speaking of what Casey allegedly did to her little girl, I took it a little personally.

That first year that Shortie and I were alone — the year from 2-1/2 to 3-1/2, which started on the hot summer day we came home from hospice without her Dad — was, in many ways, hell.

LGBT Families Matter in Grief Support, too

I had followed and supported the "issue" of gay marriage like most other good Unitarians, but I didn't really think this niche of civil rights was all that big a deal (most of my gay friends seemed pretty lukewarm on it) until I became widowed. Well... a little sooner... I "got it" when I became the caregiver for a dying man. Then, I KNEW how serious it was if your partner would not be allowed to visit you in an ICU or other secure hospital situation.

After I was widowed, and coped with the bureaucracies from insurance companies to my own and my child's health insurance, to the MVA and how my home was titled, I realized how many essential privileges I'd had by virtue of marriage -- and how I'd taken them for granted. How their denial would make life so, so much more difficult at the worst time in my life already.

Bloggers, Win a Scholarship to Camp Widow! UPDATED with all entries!

• THIS POST IS UPDATED with all the posts from entrants. The contest is CLOSED! Thanks to all who participated or helped spread the word!

In August, Camp Widow, the premier event for connecting widows and widowers, will held for the THIRD YEAR.  Please visit the website for location, list of speakers and workshops, registration, and (my favorite) Frequently Asked Questions. This is the only event run by a non profit organization BY widowed people and it's an exception weekend of support, new friends, and the freedom to "come as you are" -- where EVERYONE "gets it." The event is inclusive (men, women, LGBT, all ages, all parenting statuses) with content and social events to meet all needs and interests.

I strongly encourage widowed folks to attend. To make it easier, I am helping to run this blogging contest, funded by a group of friends.

Widowed Bloggers -- win a ticket to Camp Widow!
Write a post sharing WHY you want to attend Camp Widow 2011. Notify us that you posted by leaving a comment on this post (below) to make sure we see it (you can also send us a note.)

Camp Widow is a exceptional weekend for widowed people of all ages. We will choose one (possibly two) bloggers to receive a PARTIAL scholarship that covers Camp registration and some incidental expenses. NO ACTUAL CAMPING IS INVOLVED. Learn more about this event, which is in its third year, at campwidow.org.

How do I enter?
Please write and publish a blog post telling the world WHY you wish to attend. You can include topics such as how you expect to benefit, or share about some of the widowed people you've already met. You do not need to demonstrate financial need though if you wish to write a separate note discussing your financial circumstances, you may do so.

Who is eligible to compete?
Widows and widowers of all ages who started blogging before 4/1/11 and who are interested in attending Camp Widow 2011. Please note: you should be prepared to pay for and arrange your travel to and from, and your lodging in San Diego. (We can help you find a roommate to reduce costs). If our generous donors can pay more, they will, but please don't apply unless you are prepared to make the trip (including arranging child care, taking time off work, etc.).

Summary and dates

• You must publish your blog post AND notify us by midnight EST, * * * Tuesday, June 14. * * *
• We will notify the winner(s) within 2 weeks.
• Camp Widow will be held August 12 to 14. Details are at campwidow.org. 

Winner(s) MUST arrange and purchase their own travel and hotel reservations. Scholarship covers Camp Widow registration fee plus some incidentals.

Questions? Want to help fund this scholarship? We want to hear from you.

(Disclosure: This competition is hosted, managed, and funded by an independent group of widowed bloggers. We're not being compensated for creating this competition and those judging entries are not eligible to win.)

Here are the folks who've entered our competition so far!:

1. Carolyn, Through a Widow's Eyes, We Widowed as Community, Camp Widow as Village Square
2. James, JamesPinnick.com, Camp Widow 2011
3. Christine, Widow Island, A new beginning... again 
4. Maria, Missing Jorge, Fantasy Camp 
5. Greggie's Widow, And I thought I loved you then..., Love, Tears, Laughter, Support, (In Person) Hugs... Camp Widow 
6. Nancy Drew, Get a Clue with..., Camp Widow
7. MPdaCNA, If I could write a book..., Thursday... It's almost here
8. C, Letters to Elias, What does it mean?
   
9. And our last entry... Kim, Live from the 205, Camp Widow 2011!

These posts are terrific -- thank you! The reviewers will do THEIR THING and read 'em all and winner/s will be notified around July 1. 

Two Kisses for Maddy: A widow reviews Matt Logelin's memoir

Two Kisses for Maddy: A Memoir of Loss and Love, the new memoir by our friend, Matt Logelin, stands out among the passel of recent books by widowed people about their experiences. With a combination of grace and profanity, Logelin shares his life and love leading up to the death of his beautiful wife, just a day after delivering their daughter, Maddy, and his path upwards as a father and as a man since then.

Readers of Logelin's blog are familiar with his "story" (uh, we used to call it a "life?") but will be happy to find the book not only original, but as heartfelt and black-humorous as his other writings. It's meaty without being gloomy at all.

What Short Stack gets, part 3: Cancer

[Read What Short Stack gets, part 1 and part 2.] 

Bad news, Mommy.  Really bad news. You know that really really terrible sickness where everybody's hair falls out and then they die?

Uh… probably...?

Well, it's going around.

(Pause) Honey, most of the really bad sicknesses like that aren't catching. It can't be spread around at your school.

But lots and lots of people are getting that sickness. It's very dangerous.

Maybe... do you think those kids are talking about cancer?

(She spun around, excited.) Yes, cancer, that's it! It's going around at my school and lots of people are going to die from it.

(I owed you a post anyway, about my mixed feelings about cancer advocacy AND my analysis of the current environment in cancer research based on being a science writer and advocate and family member at the same time for 2 years. About how hope sucks sometimes (even though yes, I'd want it!) and no one who understands research on most cancers is really reaching for a cure anymore, anyway. It would have been a black and confusing post that failed to conceal my vitriol and hurt. You're better off with this one, anyway, at least for now.)

Ah, well, cancer. Mommy is an expert at cancer.

Really? Amelia said more than one half of all people will get cancer and so that means they will die!

(This is actually as severe a misunderstanding of this basic statistic as I heard from a 40-year-old at my HS reunion last year. Demonstrating, I guess, that it wasn't a very good high school, and that my 7-year-old could, by tomorrow, be ahead of that adult in her understanding of statistics.)

Well, Amelia is not quite understanding what those numbers mean. That's not how cancer works and even though it can be very dangerous, not that many people will die from it. I can answer a lot of questions about cancers, if you want to talk about it. I used to work with doctors and other smart people who study cancer. And remember, your Daddy had cancer.

That's what he died from?

Yes. But there are more than 200 different kinds of cancer, and the one that Daddy had was one of the very, very strong ones. There are a lot of different kinds, and some of them are easy to take care of. You don't have anything to worry about. Maybe some of the other kids know someone who had a cancer, too?

Yes, Francie says that her mommy's sister had it and her grandma and that her mommy had it, too.

That's very sad. I'm sorry to hear that.

And Joey's little sister is only three years old, no, one years old maybe, and she has it, too.

That's terrible, when a little kid gets sick. I mean, we know a little kid didn't do anything to catch the cancer, right?

How does somebody catch cancer, Mommy?

Well, we really don't know all the reasons why someone gets cancer, but we do know some things that no one should ever do, that are super duper dangerous, like smoking cigarettes.

My Daddy used to smoke a LOT LOT LOT!

Well, not quite, he stopped smoking a long long time ago, but yes, he did used to smoke when he was much younger. For most people if they get cancer, there usually isn't just one reason.

Are you going to get cancer and die?

Well, everybody has to die sometime, but I hope that my body lasts for a long, long long time, until you are all grown up and for some time after that too. But hardly anyone in my family has ever had cancer which means I am very very lucky. Sounds like a lot of people in Francie's family have had cancer?

But Daddy got cancer and died! That means you could get it, too.

No, I am not related to Daddy in that way -- I was married to him but my parents don't have any cancer in their families. Remember that show you saw about DNA?

(She knows just enough about DNA to know it's sort of like Google, because later the same day she told me: "I know how the Magic 8-Ball knows everything. It has DNA in it, and the DNA goes out and asks everybody in the world and then the Magic 8-Ball gives us the answer." Which, I suppose, is slightly more accurate than her previous belief that the Magic 8-Ball was really magic. She has not got to ESP yet, or, the Magic 8-Ball can read your mind.)

My DNA from my healthy family means that I will probably not get cancer, or at least, probably not for a very long time.

But I am in Daddy's family! I could get it!

I don't think you will, honey. Even if you get some kind of cancer, maybe when you are very old, you might get one of the cancers that is easy to treat.

(I didn't go into how research is advancing so quickly that by the time she is older, there will already be cures for most of those 200 types of cancer. Which, remember, I'm totally not on board with. But I might have to be, now. Right? Because you can't live in this world without hope and comfort and without simplifying some of the pictures in it?).

Sweetie, it's normal to be scared about very bad sicknesses like cancer, but we also have to remember to cross the street carefully, and stay away from foods that might have a little bit of a peanut in them. I don't think you have too much to worry about with cancer or too many of the other dangerous things in the world. Just be as careful as you already are and maybe a little tiny bit more. You're going to be alive for a long, long time and I will be with you as long as I can, honey.

Widowed Village is LIVE!

My new online community, Widowed Village, a collaboration with the non-profit organization, the Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation, went live at midnight Monday.

It really WAS like giving birth, including the whole "9 months" part. This is a service widowed people have been asking me for ever since I energized the widowed space on Facebook late in 2009, but it's something that couldn't happen without a whole community behind it. Thanks to the many folks who helped -- and boy is there a lot to do coming up, too!

Thanks for your enthusiastic reception and all the ideas you've shared in the past few months. Badges for your blogs, a press release to make it easy to "get the facts" right, and other features will be coming soon. 

Parenting your grieving child, #4: Q&A with the founder of Rainbows, grief support for children

In this post, my friend, Suzy Yehl Marta, founder of Rainbows For All Children (LINK), answers real questions from widowed parents who I know from this blog, from several Facebook pages, and from Twitter.

Suzy originally agreed to write four posts, one for each Tuesday in October, and this is the last of that series. Tell me: would you like to hear more in this format? Has this been helpful to you? Do you have a question to share? Let me know via a comment (below), email (address at right), or on Facebook.

Suzy is the author of “Healing the Hurt, Restoring the Hope.”  She has been working with grieving children for nearly 30 years. Rainbows has programs for children and teens, ages 3 to 18, in all 50 states and many international sites. Find a program near you by calling 1-800-266-3206. Please see my note at the bottom of the post for details on how you can take a minute or two this month to "vote" online and gain financial support for Rainbows.

* * * 

I have a girl age 8 and two boys age 6 and 4. For myself I have noticed an extra set of emotions not that it is coming up to the one year mark, Do kids experience this too? I know time can be a hard concept to grasp at these ages.

The anniversary of the death of a loved one impacts every family member. While your kids are all young, your 4-year-old might not understand the permanence of death at all. However, kids are perceptive and pick up your emotions and listen to your tone of voice or your conversations.

Have you planned a celebration of their Dad on the anniversary? Gather everyone together and ask what they would like to do on this day. Face it head on. Perhaps a dinner of Dad's favorite foods, rent his favorite movie, or a trip to the cemetery to give him "gifts"...pictures they drew, cookies, etc.. Maybe they would like to write a note to their dad, tie it to a string of a helium balloon (you do one also) and together let them go up, up in the air. This can be very symbolic and healing. Let the kids be creative in designing the day.  


My son was 10 and my daughter was 6 when my husband died. They are now 12 and 8. My daughter seems to be doing ok. My son however seems so unhappy. When he is at school with his friends he is happy but when he is home he is so unhappy. How can I help him? He misses his dad so much. They used to do SO much together. I know therapy would be good and he's willing to go. He seems fine after church. So I am trying to go to church every Sunday. But my heart just breaks for him.

The death of a parent is such a searing pain to youngsters. Keep in mind, it takes years for children to wind through their grief, as the loss is reopened at their various benchmarks of maturity. It seems as if your children are handling the death in their own ways. While your daughter seems okay that does not mean she is not still struggling with the death. And your son has real reason to be sad.

As parents we want our children to be happy and enjoy their childhood. But sadness is also part of a healthy range of emotions and it's important for them to understand that these feelings are normal. While therapy could be helpful for both of the kids, a good first step is to find an outlet to meet with their peers who have had a loved one die and the opportunity to talk about their feelings and concerns in a comfortable setting.

You may find it really helpful to all of you if you can talk with your children about the death - separately and together. Perhaps you can call it "Daddy Time." As the parent, you will want to learn as much as you can about what they are feeling, believing, and needing. It is a rare child that will say they want to talk about their parent's death, it is our responsibility as parents to open the doors of conversation.

In my book, “Healing the Hurt, Restoring the Hope,”  I devote an entire chapter to conversation starters and activities you can do at home with your kids or riding in the car. It is most helpful if you are able to take the sting and fear out of talking about the death, the loss you share, and the all the feelings associated with it. Once you become comfortable with the discussions, they will too, and while it will still pain you to see them hurting, you'll also see them grow.

Your son and daughter both may also benefit from having another adult to hang out with. Think about family members, neighbors and family friends you can ask to do some of things he and his Dad did. Some single parents find this kind of support through their church or with the parents of their child's friends.

* * *

How you can help support Rainbows programs
Rainbows For All Children is participating in the Pepsi Refresh campaign. From Oct. 1 to 31, log on to the Pepsi Refresh web site and vote for Rainbows every day. And please help spread the word! There are just a few days left.

With $250,000 from the Pepsi Refresh Project, Rainbows will:

• Provide emotional support to 2,500 youth through 100 new sites nationwide
• Help children and youth strengthen problem-solving and coping skills
• Improve communication in their families and peer relationships
• Prevent destructive behaviors including violence and substance abuse.

Day of the Dead 2010: MASTER POST with Linky

This is the HOME POST for the Day of the Dead 2010. This post will be updated every day or two with new participants, new activities, photos, and other sharing as part of our individual rituals and memories.

We got started, you can catch up EASY

Join us! (Call to action)

This post (wait, you didn't miss it!) which includes the badge for your blog! Pick up the badge here: <a href=" http://freshwidow.blogspot.com/2010/10/day-of-dead-2010-master-post-with-linky.html"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie2H-blWIbMvQbsEmQ7ogEhv3M8v5slIy8NUMqYe5we1HfACRdBDr_tLVx2cBEQ7nhq21jdkptpewXEELnjA57EiK14wCIcBm8mTHEgsvis4tfIPl2tNa4p6Ug2Sltt4ktq7D7sJGXaN4/s1600/FINALDOTD.jpg" width="150" /></a>

Example: Ofrenda for my daughter.... (Alive and Mortal blog)

Book review: Rosita and Conchita (for kids)(Alive and Mortal blog)

Top 10 items to include in an offering.

It’s not Halloween! (Cultural overview)

Craft project: create marigolds, the traditional Mexican flower, from crepe paper. No skills required!

NEW Craft project: Skeleton flags for kids (easy peasy!) (Alive and mortal blog)

What’s coming up

10/25 – Gather objects that will call all souls.

More examples of work in progress or thoughts...  including YOURS?

11/2 (Tuesday) – night of the festival – join us on chat or Twitter, or gather a few friends or family members to share memories of your loved one(s).

Sign up and visit the others who are participating! (If you aren't sure how to participate or don't have a blog, write to me at Supa DOT Dupa DOT Fresh AT gmail DOT com and we'll figure it out together. I GA-RON-TEE it!)

Parenting your grieving child, #3: Q&A with the founder of Rainbows, grief support for children

Most of my mission online consists of peer support: helping widowed people connect with each other, share stories, and find validation and new friendships. Last summer, as part of an extremely active conversation on my Facebook page, it became clear that widowed people with kids at home wanted more: you asked me for the comfort of an authority on what to expect in your grieving children as they grow. I posted a quick signup and got more than 100 widowed parents showing their interest!

This series is the first outcome of your requests. I asked my friend, Suzy Yehl Marta, founder of Rainbows For All Children (LINK), to answer your real questions. Suzy is the author of “Healing the Hurt, Restoring the Hope.” Suzy has been working with grieving children for nearly 30 years. Rainbows has programs for children and teens, ages 3 to 18, in all 50 states and many international sites. Find a program near you by calling 1-800-266-3206.

This is the third of four posts by Suzy – one for each Tuesday in October. Questions were selected from those submitted by widowed parents on my Widowed Village page on Facebook. You can “like” that page at right, and ask your own question here. You can read the first post in the series here and the second one here.

Please see my note at the bottom of the post for details on how you can take a minute or two this month to “vote” online and gain financial support for Rainbows.

* * *

At what point do you insist on making your child attend grief counseling? I never pushed it with my 18 year old and now am wondering if I am doing him a disservice by not giving him a safe place to express his concerns about our new family structure and his feelings about losing his ather. (Both he and my 14 year old son watched their father die of cancer 2.5 years ago).

I worry about their ability to form healthy relationships as adults now that they do not have a consistent male role model in their lives. I have no family where I live and my husband's family is absent. I am currently dating someone who has long-term potential but don't want to make this man feel obligated to help my sons. Suggestions?

This is a tough question because grief is a normal, natural way to process the death of a loved one. The death of a loved one impacts each family member differently. If the death was a homicide or suicide, other painful concerns and responses surface compared to the death of an elderly grandmother who was 90. Other factors that influence how a child is able to process the death is the age of the child, the family’s ability to talk together about the death and their individual feelings surrounding it, and the type of relationship to the deceased the child had. Most people do not need grief counseling, but rather need to learn more about grief and have the emotional support that enables them to grieve at their own pace, in their own way.

Grief counseling can be helpful but the best is if your sons and you to talk as a family on regular basis about the loss and actually take a “pulse” of how your sons are doing. Secondly, getting your sons enrolled in a grief support group with kids their age who have had a loved one die allows them an emotional safety to feel “ordinary”…their companions on the bumpy journey of grief. This support group needs to be led by a trained adult facilitator. Many communities offer such opportunities, as well as Rainbows for All Children, Inc which has programs in schools, churches, synagogues and agencies across the country.

You are wise to be aware that your sons need male role models/ mentors. As a single parent of sons, I sought out male mentors. The obvious ones were my Dad and brother, and you don’t have these options, I also enrolled my sons in sports (coaches), scouting (pack leaders) and asked husbands of friends to help me with teaching them things about being a man. Things from tying a necktie or shaking hands with a solid grip. Another great resource is Big Brothers. And lastly, I invited the school to be a partner with me… keeping me aware of needs or concerns that might arise that the teacher or social worker are observing. While your 18 year old is either out school or heading for college, your 14 year old has years left in high school.

I pushed myself to learn about the various sports and other interests of my sons. All three were so different which added variety to our family life and conversations. I learned over time while I could not fix their bikes or teach them how to pitch a ball, what sons need is a good role model of unconditional love, integrity, humor, consistency of values and expectations, as well as dependability.

You are prudent to not expect the man you are dating to be pressured into taking on this role. First, your sons may very well resent him for assuming the role of Dad or male mentor because he is not their Dad. This needs to develop naturally over time. Just having him around your sons and including him in family activities is a huge step. You did not mention if your friend has kids and if so, this may add more challenges -- and more opportunities -- to the situation.


Read the other posts in this series:
October 5, #1
October 11, #2
Or ask your own question.

* * *

Please help support Rainbows programs!
Rainbows For All Children is participating in the Pepsi Refresh campaign. From Oct. 1 to 31, log on to the Pepsi Refresh web site and vote for Rainbows every day. And please help spread the word! With $250,000 from the Pepsi Refresh Project, Rainbows will:

• Provide emotional support to 2,500 youth through 100 new sites nationwide
• Help children and youth strengthen problem-solving and coping skills
• Improve communication in their families and peer relationships
• Prevent destructive behaviors including violence and substance abuse.

Parenting your grieving child, #2: Q&A with the founder of Rainbows, grief support for children

Suzy Yehl Marta is here answering your questions about parenting the grieving child. You can read the first post here. Her organization, Rainbows For All Children, has been working with grieving children in every state in the U.S. as well as internationally for more more than 27 years. Rainbows has programs for children and teens, ages 3 to 18. Find a site near you by calling 1-800-266-3206.

Suzy is also the author of “Healing the Hurt, Restoring the Hope.” 

This is the second of four posts by Suzy – one for each Tuesday in October. Questions were selected from those submitted by widowed parents on my Widowed Village page on Facebook. You can “like” that page at right, and ask your own question here.

Suzy and I created this series in response to your many requests for information and support. Please see my note at the bottom of the post for details on how you can take a minute or two this month to “vote” online and gain financial support for Rainbows.

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How do I explain death to a 4-year-old? Are there any good books out there that will help? I've found several support groups for my older son, but NO ONE in our area offers these kinds of groups to small children, so not only is he confused about the death of his father, but he's now feeling left out, cause mommy and brother have a "meeting" and he doesn't!

Grief support for pre-schoolers is rare. It seems as if society feels that since the kids are not talking, they are doing just fine. We know this is not true.

Explaining death to a pre-schooler is heart rending. Complicating the emotional turmoil, a child that young simply cannot comprehend the complexity of the death of their Dad. Since you are unable to find a support group for your son, create one of your own within the family. Set aside a special time every week when you both can be alone. You can even name your special time, such as “ Sharing Time.”

All things in life to a 4 year old are black and white. So when you explain death, it must be simple – the heart stops beating or Daddy is not hungry anymore. The best way to open the conversation is to ask what your child wants to talk about. If he is hesitant, you could say that you are missing his dad. Or something specific like, “Your Dad made the best pancakes and I wish I knew how to make them.” Take the lead from your son. Sometimes he might dive into the conversation and others he might want to talk about school or a television show. Each Sharing Time does not have to be heavy but rather they are building blocks of trust, so when he is ready to talk or ask a question he will feel comfortable enough to do so.

Children cannot sustain the intensity of grief so they will grieve in spasms. It comes and goes. So in the middle of what you would think is a great conversation, he might stop abruptly and say he is going out to play. Hug him and encourage him to go. However, keep in mind what you both were talking about so the next time you are together, you can lead with that topic. The questions you want answered to help you understand and support your son during this grieving time are: What is he thinking, believing, feeling and needing, and it can take some time to draw these out.

My organization, Rainbows has a program, SunBeams, for kids aged 3 to 5. Find a site near you by calling 1-800-266-3206. Children at this age may also appreciate a terrific program put together by Sesame Street called “When Families Grieve.” Preview the materials (and family activities) online, or order your DVD kit (includes supplemental materials) through Rainbows or the Fresh Widow blog (email address at right).


Read the other posts in this series:
October 5, #1
October 19, #3
Or ask your own question.

* * *


How you can help support Rainbows programs
Rainbows For All Children is participating in the Pepsi Refresh campaign. From Oct. 1 to 31, log on to the Pepsi Refresh web site and vote for Rainbows every day. And please help spread the word! With $250,000 from the Pepsi Refresh Project, Rainbows will:

• Provide emotional support to 2,500 youth through 100 new sites nationwide
• Help children and youth strengthen problem-solving and coping skills
• Improve communication in their families and peer relationships
• Prevent destructive behaviors including violence and substance abuse.

Wordless Wednesday: Huh? In the mirror, they look great!

Handmade birthday present from a first-grader (iron-on paper and magic markers plus 100% cotton).

* * * Please connect! I love comments! * * *

Parenting your grieving child: Q&A with the founder of Rainbows, grief support for children

I’m so happy to introduce you all to Suzy Yehl Marta. Suzy is the founder and president of Rainbows For All Children, an international nonprofit organization that helps kids grieve and grow after loss. Founded more than 27 years ago, Rainbows is now in 17 countries and all 50 states. Rainbows has appropriate, community-based programs for children and teens, ages 3 to 18. Find a site near you by calling 1-800-266-3206.

Suzy is the author of Healing the Hurt, Restoring the Hope, a guide for parents helping children though loss of a parent or sibling and divorce. Their programs recognize that every child, every family, and every loss is unique. See the note at the bottom of the post for details on how your online “vote” can help support Rainbows.

In response to your many requests, especially on Facebook, Suzy and I are working together to create one post for each week in October. Questions were selected from those submitted by widowed parents on my Widowed Village page on Facebook. You can “like” that page (at right), and ask your own question.

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I was pregnant when my husband passed. It's been 3.5 years since then and I have a 2-years-9-months old boy. He is just starting to realize that daddy is missing from his life and is asking a lot of questions. "When is daddy coming home," "I want to talk to daddy," stuff like that. I have taken him out to the cemetery so he knows where daddy is physically and have told him that daddy is in the sky so we can talk to him whenever we want. He now throws a fit every time he sees a cemetery because he wants to see daddy. How do you teach a 2 year old about death and what should I do about the cemetery tantrums?

Your son is so fortunate to have you so willing to help him begin the process of grieving the death of his Dad, who he never knew. A 2 year old is too young to have any understanding of death. A glimpse of understanding does not even start until a child is 6 or even 7. In the interim, your willingness to answer his questions to the best of your ability is laying the groundwork for helping him grapple with the reality that his Daddy died before he was born. He is too young to understand Daddy will never come back to be with him. This is undoubtedly why he is upset when he sees or visits a cemetery. Kids learn early on, that if they cry loud enough or long enough, they often get their way. He wants his Daddy and maybe if he is cries loud enough, Daddy will come back or you will bring Daddy home. We understand that.

The first steps are for you to initiate the conversation about death generally and then tie it back to his Dad. There are excellent books you could read to him. While he will not grasp it yet, still explain to him that everyone dies, it is part of life. And that people die at different ages and for different reasons. If he asks, "Will you die?" say "yes, because we all die." Tell him you hope you will be really, really old. Explain death in concrete simple terms your son will understand, such as when someone dies, their heart stops beating; they are never hungry, etc. Invite him to ask you questions or share his worries.

Then talk to him about who is Daddy was - hair color, eyes, hobbies, what he did for a living, where he grew up, etc. If he looks like his Dad or smiles like him, let your son know that, too. "Introduce" your son to his Dad. Since he has no memory of his Dad, you can help him create it.

Keep in mind your son is only 2, so the conversations are usually quick and simple. He will come back and ask you to repeat it often, just as kids will ask about the day they were born.

A few specific suggestions:

1. If you have a picture of his Daddy give it to him for his bedroom or any room in the house where he wants to keep it. Saying Daddy is in the sky is too big of a concept for this little guy to grasp. He can talk to a photo and even hold it in his hands.
2. Do you have anything of his Dad's you can give to him as a keepsake? This is something he can sleep with, put on shelf, or just keep close by to touch.
3. Together make a keepsake box (shoe box decorated by him) that he can keep things that we would like to show his dad. You might enjoy watching the Sesame Street "Memory Box" video for ideas about things to include.
4. If the cemetery visits are traumatic, stop going for now.
5. If and when he asks to go use this time to "give" his Daddy gifts. He can draw pictures and leave them at the grave, or bring Daddy something from his keepsake box, or even have a picnic with Daddy at the graveside.

Keep in mind the death of your son's dad is intricately woven into his personal tapestry. He will never "get over it", but rather accept it is part of his life's story. As he grows up and reaches benchmarks of maturity, he will more than likely re-open his Dad's death and want to talk about it again in depth. This is very healing. Expect these conversations -- you may even find yourself learning from them!

How can we be sensitive to the grieving child when their behavior is completely unacceptable? 1 1/2 years after our loss, my 7-year-old son seems okay when it comes to feeling sad but he gets very destructive when angry. How can I tell if it is part of his normal course of development or a result of grief?

No matter what the root cause is -- grief or simply being a child, your child needs the appropriate consequences for unacceptable behaviors. This must be given with patience and love. Communication is the key. Misbehavior is always driven by a need or the inability for the child or teen to communicate what is going on inside, emotionally. Kids act out what they cannot verbalize. As a parent, create a "talking spot" in the home where you and the child are alone and you know you can be there a while to work with your child to uncover why they are acting this way. You might have a discussion in your child's bedroom, in your room, even in the pantry sitting on the floor (You should be comfortable so you can allow the conversation time to develop!) The goal is to teach your child that you are safe to talk to, you care about them deeply, and you want to teach them the words they are searching for and help them find appropriate behaviors. Hitting a parent when they are frustrated or angry is not right, hitting a chair with an old tennis racket is.


Read the other posts in this series: 
October 11, #2
October 19, #3
Or ask your own question.

* * *

How you can help fund Rainbows programs
Rainbows For All Children is participating in the Pepsi Refresh campaign. From Oct. 1 to 31, log on to the Pepsi Refresh web site and vote for Rainbows every day. And please help spread the word! With $250,000 from the Pepsi Refresh Project, Rainbows will:

• Provide emotional support to 2,500 youth through 100 new sites nationwide
• Help children and youth strengthen problem-solving and coping skills
• Improve communication in their families and peer relationships
• Prevent destructive behaviors including violence and substance abuse.

Camp Widow: Your chance to hear witness

Peer support saved my life when I was widowed with a young child. And while the internet is great for “cybergrieving,” there are many advantages to seeing other folks on similar journeys in the flesh, or, as we’ve come to call it, “in real life.”

Young widows (under 55) tend to be rare enough that most of us don’t have someone nearby or even access to a support group. We’re usually left with our websites, bulletin boards, blogs, and Facebook. While there are invaluable, you shouldn’t forego a chance to see – hug – exist together in a room with dozens of others like you. And actually -- even with those of different ages, different paths of life, different parenting statuses: the connection of losing a partner overcomes the differences between us.

It’s odd to me, an agnostic, that I must use religious language to describe this: I say “witness,” “testimony.” The first time I met a young widow – before Gavin died – I was in awe simply that she existed. This was hope to me, and healing: to SEE someone ALIVE after a similar ordeal, including the next bits, which I couldn’t imagine, and would surely be much worse: her husband was not just ill but had DIED. I was still in denial, but meeting her helped me see that his death was possible and my life after was likely. Why? I don’t know, it’s magic. But there is more powerful to touch than to read: even though sometimes we find a friend, sister or twin from reading the words of a widow we can be changed being faced with a real widow who you can hug or ask a question (“are you real?”). Maybe it's more "real." Whatever makes it so, presence matters.

So Camp Widow is a unique chance to witness the hope and healing of a hundred people like me, like you, each different – but with similar challenges and a commitment to get through them. This is the second year of this exceptional event, which will be held August 6-8 in San Diego. Camp Widow is hosted by the Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation, a non-profit, non-sectarian organization which publishes the exceptional blog, Widow's Voice.

This year I’ll be presenting a session about how we share online. But it wasn’t my online friends that got me out of my rut: real widowed people in a real-life peer support group were my rock and my energy drink, combined. So I have been talking about Camp Widow a LOT on Facebook and Twitter, where I connect with a few thousand bereaved people and those who love and support them.

And you know, I hear objections, obstacles, and problems. Like:

I don’t want to be in a room full of strangers.
That’s funny, because some of the people who attended last year said it was one of the few times they felt they were NOT alone:

“Last year I went on my own. Hadn't talked to any other widows online that were attending, no faces to look for, no previous connections. As soon as I walked in the room I no longer felt alone.” (Jerilynn)

“Everyone was on the same page. It was as if there was an unwritten code that we could talk freely with one another without fear of being judged or criticized. Everyone was so supportive. Nothing was ‘off limits.’ The weekend wasn’t a pity party, but one of support, validation, and laughter…I felt comfortable. I felt understood. I felt accepted....” (Mary)

This year it will be even easier to fit in. A cadre of extroverts will serve as “ambassadors” and make sure no one is hanging back. If you need an introduction, a hand to guide you, or some help choosing from the 24 amazing workshops, an ambassador will be there for you!

The last thing I need is to be around a bunch of weepy depressing old ladies.
YOU have obviously never been around a group of bereaved people in their natural settings.

“Widows know how to party. … It was powerful to be with 150 people who have at one time cried like I cried, curled on the floor in desperation, and believed that we would never stand again. … What connected us was not death, but it was having had to consciously decide to live.” (Melodie)

“You probably would not picture a whole bunch of crazy ladies at a Pops-in-the-park concert getting shushed and then ignoring the shushes by jumping up in seats, screaming, dancing and waving their arms wildly to the music … Such aliveness you never did see.” (Abby)

All right, I’m fun. But there will be no one else like me.
There will be: Men. Women. Widowed people of ALL AGES. LGBT widowed people. People who are actively parents, and those who are childless. Americans. Canadians. Married, umarried, partners of all legal status, and REMARRIED widowed people AND their partners. People of color. Writers, bloggers, artists. People who want the world to change. People who are grateful for today. We’re all different, but we can ALL learn from each other.



“It took about 10 seconds meeting widows at the first Widows Conference last summer in San Diego to get that we do get it; we get each other; we understand the journey; the diversity of the stuff and oh how we wished each other the most authentic of all good stuff to happen.......” (Sandra)

“The bottom line is we all fit into each others shoes. That was the magic.” (Carole)

I’m doing just fine… dammit!
I’m sure you are, honey. But you know? You don’t have to say that around us. We’ve been there… or as close as it gets. You’re an extraordinary person with inner strength and a really supportive community and a freezer full of casseroles. You can do it all on your own.

Grief is not an illness. It can’t be “fixed.” But it’s a lot easier to get through with energy, ideas, and the kinship of others who’ve been there. Yes, each path is different and there are parts where you must walk alone: but we need all the help we can get – and when that help is fun, who can say no?

“Words can't begin to describe what a wonderful time I had in San Diego this past weekend! I learned and healed more than I have in the last 1 1/2 years, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate the opportunity to go and be a part of this experience.” (Deborah)

“I have made some close connections that I know will stand the test of time. The other thing I saw happening is that women in the throes of grief were able to see, feel, and touch hope.” (Mie)

Fine! I’ll come. But I hate hugs!
No problem, dude/ette. We’re making a special badge for you. It smells really bad and should keep away unwanted physical affection. We’ll still be happy to see you – just stand over there, please!

But I don’t want to be a widow. Maybe I’ll come next year. Wait, next year I hope I really won’t feel like a widow.
The last word is from Melodie: “I felt... normal. I love these people now, because over these years we shared the most intimate and profound of life experiences. …Who would have guessed that it would take a widows' conference to enable me to stop feeling like a widow?” (Melodie)

Camp Widow details
Registration
Workshops
Questions
Twitter
Facebook

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Open House

So I went to an open house at the Divinity School one evening a few weeks ago. Over a meal, we introduced ourselves. I started off the third table of prospective seminarians:

“Hi, I’m Supa Dupa Fresh, I live nearby with my husband and young daughter. I’m an agnostic, but I am evangelical about three things: 1) Unitarian Universalism, my chosen religion; 2) technology and its power to connect people, especially small communities who would otherwise be dispersed; and 3) the incredible ability we each have to recover from loss, which I lived through when I was widowed nearly four years ago, when my daughter was a toddler.

“Unlike the rest of you, I have to say I’m not really sure WHO it was that called me… [pauses for laughter… hears crickets] but I’ve received a call to ministry very similar to what several of you have described and I think in a lot of ways it would be a terrific direction for me. I’m fortunate have the opportunity to explore new options at this stage of my life, and I thank all of you here tonight with me for being part of my journey.”

I told Mr. Fresh how my joke fell flat and how that, in itself, was funny to me. He tends to be very realpolitik about social interactions, which is a very gentle way, I think, to say that he thinks about war more than warmth.

“You have it all wrong,” he said (I expected that.) “First of all, they don’t know what a Unitarian is. I doubt many of them even know what you meant by ‘agnostic,’ and if they did, all they thought when they heard you was about the points they would get by converting you after dinner. You were just FRESH MEAT.”

As sweet as these future peer seminarians were (every single one an earnest Christian), I kind of think he has a point. But if I do go to Divinity School, I won’t be at all afraid: I know what I believe and that it’s a journey. I’m not attached to agnosticism – if anything, I’d like to be certain once in a while and maybe right a small percentage of those times.

At least around my husband.


* * * Please connect! I love comments! * * *

What is a "remarried widow?"

A remarried widow shouldn’t exist. People ask her, “how can you call yourself a widow if you’re also married?” She’s milking the label. They don’t know what it was like to be married, widowed, and single all at the same time, 3 labels she never chose to wear together. She’s already cheated on a dead man. Nothing gets more absurd beyond that, so she keeps the labels that fit.

A remarried widow may be two things at one time, but she can never be what she was before.

A remarried widow is used to being a problem to somebody. She knows there’s not that much in life that she can control so she doesn’t accept a lot of the rules that others live with.

A remarried widow is grieving, but she is not alone.

A remarried widow is comfortable being two things at once, satisfied with ambiguity, and secure in her definition.

A remarried widow raises children who have one Daddy who died and another Daddy who met him a few times and thought he was a good guy and who will show up at soccer practice.

A remarried woman has made some tough decisions, and has also been presented with some easy choices.

A remarried widow enjoyed her independence, for a moment.

A remarried widow is sharing a story with a happy ending, and she knows you’re comfortable hearing about it only because of the last bits. She accepts this frustrating aspect of socializing but she is still thankful to own all the earlier parts of the story, too, as well as what may be next.

A remarried widow says, in public, that she knows how lucky she is to have had two great loves in one lifetime. Secretly she thinks it’s an option for everyone.

A remarried widow is not remotely interested in your “epic” kitchen remodel.

A remarried widow inspires women whose lives are recently broken, especially those who can’t imagine kissing someone new.

A remarried widow wears black, but never to weddings.

A remarried widow is pretty judgmental about most divorces.

A remarried widow recognizes her duties and her pleasures.

A remarried widow cries at weddings, funerals, and birthdays.

A remarried widow has really good life insurance coverage and so does her husband.

A remarried widow does not want to go through it again, but doesn’t want to die first, either.


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One widow’s mother-in-law story, part 7, reflections (the last one, I promise!)

(If you really want to start at part one, I started this story back in May. [Yes, May of "this year!"])

The story of my late mother-in-law and how I cared for her after my husband died has been drawn out nearly as long as I possibly can. But the more I hear myself tell it – now that it’s over, two years later, now that she's really, truly dead (remember that she wanted me gone instead of her son, and to steal my child) – the more I learn about my first loss, and the one before that, and the ones when I was young. At least one of these bears telling through the lens of Audrey.

I’ve written about how hard it is to care for someone who doesn’t want to be cared for, and who doesn’t have long to live anyway, compared to a youngish, healthy man with a child and much more to live for, and compared to caring for a child who is purely on the up-and-up. I’ve shared how I feel the system of protecting our rights harms elders, creating paradoxes that our independence shouldn’t be expected to resolve.

I haven’t really ruminated much about what older folks, including widows what seems like a few years older than my group, face when they lose a partner: a wall, a future that’s shorter, their own mortality. I know Gavin and I couldn’t face it with his diagnosis, with failing treatments, with rapid decline. Death is not something you can look at: it’s too large. And what does that look like when you’re in your eighties or older? As a young widow, I’m grateful that it’s obvious to everyone I have many good years left, even if that isolated me from every single human I met while I was grieving. Maybe, even looking at Audrey, I still can't think too much about this. Others can, and I envy them.

I lost something else. I haven’t mentioned, not much, that Audrey and I had, apart from the end-stage Oedipal conflict, a warm relationship. One Valentine’s Day years back I gushed that she’d been nicer to me than my own parents, and in some ways, on some days, it was true. We were both completely “out of it,” as they say, after Gavin died. What a hole he left in our lives, how little we thought of our lives in those moments that lasted for months. But her dementia did more than distance her and stress me: it meant that I lost the possibility of her comfort and the chance to help her cope with the loss, too. We were robbed of a chance to grieve together, to live through the first year and the second year, too, as any sort of family.

Now that I know more about grieving families, I suppose all I missed during that time was the chance to have her judge me more (when in fact, she barely understood any of the things I was doing, as she forgot the world and its workings). I didn’t get the delicious opportunity to have her judge my dating. Strangely enough, even as I burned everything, she was too messed up to even criticize my cooking.

I learned, too, that grieving is a learning process: my daughter and I were on the upswing in life – we had to go on – and so each day of grief was like a lesson. Since Audrey’s couldn’t remember things, she couldn’t learn. Did she not experience the grief or did it just go nowhere, into depression and continued decline?

And there’s another insight about letting go. After she died, I held on to her notes, pages and pages of scribbled phone numbers with too few or too many disordered digits, questions to herself about whose name was what, the script declining and precipitously disobeying the fair blue rules on notepaper of every conceivable kind. Countless letters were drafted, front and back, to the editor of everything asking to be set free from involuntary captivity. Lack of comprehension abounded, and it seemed all the paper stayed balled up together in her purse or photo album, among sugar packets, none of them ever sent.

I wanted to save it all. I felt I needed evidence. I wanted forgiveness, an excuse, something to help me explain (to Gavin?) some vague day why I had to put her in the nice apartment and then later, in the nicer dementia ward. Even when the cousin from Ohio was responsible, it was clear I was still the “local relative,” I was the one the staff saw. There were ways in which I felt still responsible, even though I know I was off the hook. It was, after all, me that they called at 4:00 a.m. one night to tell me she was in a diabetic coma with blood sugar of 13 and that I should not request that she be sent to the hospital (of course I called the cousin).

I craved the evidence of her disease. But Mr. Fresh, who accompanied me to identify her body, who had never met her, was wise. He made me throw the papers, envelopes and sheaves of scribbly torn crazy pages, out. That’s not how you want Short Stack to remember her grandmother, he said. You don’t have to explain anything to anyone.

He was right. There is no audit for grief, and no standards in the large areas of action – outside of medicine – that we call “caregiving” and “managing care” that’s done by family. Audrey received the best care, later than she should have, but earlier than anyone else would have arranged. She probably lived longer for my assistance. And by the time she died I no longer felt I had to do it “for Gavin,” or the way he wanted. I had let go of those ideas at last and that marked some kind of change. In my new life, I strive to be less lawyerly. It's not that hard a habit to lose.

About Short Stack: although losing her Grandma did happen when she was older, closer to understanding loss, it didn’t seem to affect her any more than losing Daddy did. It gave her some new questions and then some new understanding, but she “got” more of Grandma’s illness. Over the course of the next year, as she learned about nutrition and avoiding apple juice, she seemed to be able to absorb that Grandma had died because she didn’t eat and drink enough. Shortie’s life was not framed by two losses: it was built of memories, like her last date with Grandma playing catch with a pink balloon in her nice bedroom on the dementia ward.

My last impression is of identifying the body, frail and pale, eye black like a panda’s from falling against a doorknob. A duty that hospice, who shot a Polaroid as they admitted Gavin, had saved me in the first case. I felt like steel next to her cold body in that large empty room, crossing the inlaid marble floor, in the midday. She was like a queen there and I was doing my job.

The cousin and I organized a memorial service – at which I didn’t tell anyone I was engaged to Mr. Fresh, even informally – and that was the last time I saw some of Gavin’s dearest friends, just a dozen people showed up including several of the old ladies who’d shared our vacations.

And to be honest, after everything, it was hard to be sad for any of that loss. Audrey had had a better life than she'd ever expected -- she had the satisfaction of dying with her secrets untold (probably unremembered) -- and she didn't know she was on the way out. It was a simple relief and one less weekly duty and with the second anniversary of Gavin's death coming up, I needed all the breaks I could get. Audrey wouldn't have understoodd my remarriage. She wasn't coming with me into my new life.


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Guest Post: Defining the Widow/er

On Facebook, I asked for jokes about loss and this appeared in my inbox. Since he's published it only via email, here is a guest post from my friend Jo Rozier:

Widow, n (‘wi-do)
Bipedal primates belonging to the mammalian species Homo Sapiens Alone-ous. Involuntarily solitary, widows are social by nature and can be fearsome predators. Athough they have a reputation for unprovoked anger they are often quite insecure especially about their appearance. Because of this they will rarely initiate a charge. If they do attack, it is usually a blind one to scare off those who are less than comforting...or to scare up affection. More often than not, the widow will use stealth techniques to ambush its prey, rather than speed.

Widower, n ('wi-do-wer)
The male version of the bipedal mammalian species Homo Sapiens Alone-ous. This creature, formerly known for its great strength and cunning, now cries at the sight of butterflies and can be seen looking at pretty flowers. Now that it has to run the household on its own, the widower quickly realizes its former mate was much smarter and more organized than he. Its appearance is often characterized by excessive amounts of gray in its mane or what’s left of it. Although involuntarily solitary the widower can be reluctant to engage in a new relationship for fear that its first partner will somehow find out and he’ll still be in trouble. Particularly susceptible to the attentions of a widow. Approach with caution.

Children of Widows or Widowers, n (children of wi-dos n wi-do-ers)
Long term: the offspring of a widow or widower are observed to be very capable and surprisingly well adjusted. While some may exhibit problems making lasting commitments because of their painful past experience most develop the capacity to live and love to an astounding level. They take little for granted and are often a source of incredible compassion for others who have been hurt deeply. They are the embodiment of resiliency and strength.

Short term:**** WARNING, APPROACH WITH EXTREME CAUTION AND PROTECTIVE EQUIPMENT. DO NOT APPROACH UNLESS YOU’RE IN A LARGE GROUP !!! ****

These members, especially the “teen” version of the species, are capable of extreme fits of rage and destruction. Do not be deceived by quiet members of the clan, they are merely resting between rages and sizing you up for a meal. Can render great physical harm merely by looking at you. They do not suffer fools lightly. For more handling information go to your local library and look up anything on pit bulls, piranhas, great white sharks, or category 5 hurricanes.

(Thanks, Jo!)

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