Day in the Life

DITL was a term in one of my jobs.  It was even the nickname of one of the guys I played softball with… yes, pre-children I played a lot of work co-ed slow-pitch softball!

Today, two-thirds of my children threw up… one in the car on the way to school, one at the dinner table.  They have incredible gag reflexes.

Today, after the months-long process of calling MetLife critical illness insurance to check on my claim, calling doctors, getting a friend who works at the hospital to physically stalk doctors, getting my company benefits administrator to call, fax information, seeking clarification, giving my claim or certificate number, my DOB, address and contact number should we get disconnected…over and over and over again… today, it got to me.  Today, I found myself shaking with rage, and then, as close as I’ve ever come to bawling my eyes out at my desk at work.    It’s dirty money.  Insurance money.  That’s how it feels.  Critical illness, or life…insurance feels like dirty money.  I remember one life insurance check specifically stating “death benefit” and it made me feel like I was going to vomit (which I know never to do in front of my little gag-masters.) But I survived, I got through the day. (Stay tuned because Critical Illness insurance is still not resolved, even though Tim was critically ill close to 6 months ago.)  I even finished a compliance training.  I drove home.  I played with A, R, and D.  We read books.  We talked about the sunny, stormy, and surprising parts of our days.  I got everyone to bed. I listened to a podcast while I made egg salad and did the dishes.

And you know what?  I conquered the car seat cleaning.  That was always Tim’s self-appointed job.  There have been many car trip puking incidents… and on each one I handled the cleaning of the child, and Tim handled the cleaning of the car seat.  Once, on our way to Richmond in 2015, we pulled over to the side of the road IN THE SNOW, jumped out, I cleansed and changed R, and he cleansed the car seat.  We were back on the road in record time and Tim gave me a huge high five and was incredibly proud of our efficiency.  Never did I imagine that was something we would get good at together as a couple, as a team.  But we did.  We were quite a team.  We handled a puking in the car seat child with the best of them!

Tonight, I reinstalled the clean car seat cover, and the car seat back into the car.  I didn’t want to, but it was a necessary evil.  I missed him.  And not just because it was a gross annoying job I didn’t want to do, that he did valiantly without complaint…. but because I just plain miss him all the time.

This is a day in the life of a 36 year old widow with three small children.   Thanks for asking.

Time

Time marches on.  It’s so hard to believe.  Tim used to make so much fun of me for my obsession with dates.  I’d always remember dates, birth dates, anniversaries, compare year after year, put significance in dates… when it was 12:23, I’d say it was my birthday in time… point out my sister’s birthday in time too.  He thought it was crazy, over-the-top. Mostly, I think he just liked to tease me about it.

At his bedside on June 11th, I promised I wouldn’t make a big deal out of the date, because he wouldn’t want me to. I’ve mostly kept to this.  I noticed 7/11… partially because it is his mother’s birthday, and because it was the date of the blood drive my company had in his name.  I largely let 8/11 go by unrecognized.  Mainly because I was packing for the beach. I didn’t acknowledge 9/11 in a big way other than to reflect on 9/11/2001.

But today I gave blood.  Which means it was 2 months or 8 weeks since the last time I gave blood.. the drive that was  in his name. The drive that was a month after he died. 3 months ago, my Tim breathed his last breaths on this earth.  It’s hard to avoid all that.  So I didn’t really try.  One of his friends told me we have to mark the passing of time.  Like it or not, I do.

This weekend we will celebrate what would have been my and Tim’s 7th wedding anniversary.  I have two big events planned – the dedication of a bench at the Vineyard where we were married and the planting of a tree in a nearby park that we liked and was where we took our family photos since moving to Fairfax.  It might be a lot.  But I wanted to fill the time… so I can’t wallow.  I look forward to this weekend and am grateful for all those who plan to join us!

It’s just so hard to believe.  As recently as early May, Tim was asking me what I might want to do for our anniversary this year…that seems like yesterday, and it also seems a lifetime ago.  Which I guess it was.

I can’t stop time, I can’t slow it down. I simply have to live in the present.  Breathe, survive the present.  Survive with my constant companion, Grief.  Try to recognize the wonderful moments with my little ones as they come.

Try to make a difference.

Any way that I can.

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Packing for the beach

Today, I packed for the beach.

It was really, really hard.

It should not have been.  With Tim here I still would have done all the packing.  But this time, I also loaded the car.  That wasn’t hard.  But this time, Tim wasn’t talking to me about whether I had packed yet, or whether I had remembered abc or what time we were leaving, or where was his xyz.

Mostly, it was hard because he should be here.  He should be going to the beach with us. This house that we stayed at last year when I was large-and-in-charge pregnant.  Where we walked on the beach together.  One of our favorite things to do.  And talk about the future.  All the possibilities.  Now I am living a future we never imagined. A future we never discussed.

Everyone worries about me and what I call “the logistics.”  I understand this.  I can take myself out of my life for a minute and imagine what I would feel/ think for a friend if this had happened to a friend and not to me.   I would worry about “the logistics.”  Because in early May  of this year, and every minute before, raising these tiny humans was hard, and exhausting, all-consuming.  And there are so many logistics.  All that is still there, I know.  But it seems completely different now. The logistics are no longer what is hard.  I seem to just know that somehow (and with lots of help from a lot of amazing friends and family) the logistics will be taken care of each day.  I will find the strength to handle the details – the bill-paying, the working, the child-caring.  It’s the sadness and the broken heart that make the future truly unimaginable.

Sometimes the missing him makes my throat close and the air seem so hard to swallow.