Entropy

• We have “lost” 5 people since August at work
  
• We have lost about 60 people at work in the 13 years I have been there
  
• Sometimes I really hate work
  
• I don’t have an up-to-date résumé
  
• I can’t change jobs anyway
  
• What would I do?
  
• How would I afford our mortgage?
  
• The financial advisor we saw today figured we would have had 3 months at current debt ratios before running out of money
  
• I need to work more, not less, according to the bank
  
• I feel like I hardly ever see my children
  
• Christmas shopping- arrggh!
  
• How can I still have so many boxes left to unpack? We’ve lived here for a year now
  
• My BFF is moving back to BC
  
• She and her parents just saw our house for the first time
  
• The house was assessed at a higher value when we bought it than what we actually paid for it- score!
  
• Will the assessed value of the house now allow us enough credit latitude to wait out the remaining payouts on Willis’s estate? probably
  
• Do you have your wills written?
  
• I don’t, not completely
  
• Sigh
  
• I know what I would like to do at work, but I’m not sure how to go about being able to do it
  
• That’s part of the problem with being indispensable
  
• or is it being an enabler?
  
• Willis’s birthday is coming up
  
• Rob and I figured out our Christmas gifts, and purchased most of them today
  
• Rob says screw housework and chores next weekend- we’re going to see the iMax and the trees at the Empress
  
• Sounds good to me!
  
• I am a better money manager than this
  
• I supported Syd’s daycare manager today, by telling her that the parent who just took a strip off her was acting badly and did not reflect on the quality of care she was providing, and what was he doing blasting her in public anyway?
  
• We have a credit with Westjet, and we’d like to fly somewhere warm, but what to do about the kids? and how to afford a hotel?
  
• Sigh
  
• I’m actually pretty happy with my life: I own my own home (sort of), with a man I love, who is secure enough to share me with a dead man, who does not cause me too much trouble (lately), and I have kids and step-kids I love, and I have some wonderful pets, and although my folks are coming to stay for a couple of weeks after Christmas, I know it will be okay, because my mother is better behaved on my turf, and because I really do love my parents
  
• I think I might pre-write my mother’s epitaph, for my own therapy, and to share with her while she is alive how wonderfully intricate my feelings for her are
  
• One day, the ache in my jaw and the knot in my back and the weasel in my neck will give way to other, newer maladies
  
• I really do love blogging as an outlet
  
• I am very grateful for online friends
  
• Grin!

Time

I have tried in recent weeks to operate from a position that time and time-keeping are an arbitrary human/western concoction, and that I am actually in tune with universal rhythms and that it is okay to be that way. Unfortunately, my attitude is not making me on time, nor is it currently helping me to be okay with being late. Problem is, I’m up against a pretty big societal more, and I need to meet some minimum requirements for timeliness, or deal with the consequences of tardiness. I guess that’s my goal: to be on time, when I need to be, or be okay with being late, and accept the consequences of a society that says it is not okay to be late. 

There are two circumstances where I have particular trouble with being okay with being late. These are Sam’s school drop-off and Sydney’s daycare pick-up. The rest, I am either okay with the consequences of being late, or I will deal with those situations later.

I hope that exploring the history, emotionality and psychology around my tardiness, in story form, may get me to some peace and possibly changed action behaviour, as well as changed thinking/feeling behaviour. Ready?

There is a girl-child in a meadow, exploring. She is perfectly content. Time is immaterial, because she is busy with the world around her. Birds and butterflies dance in the sunshine, flowers buzz and wave, the trees are telling stories. The colours are vibrant and welcoming. The meadow is warm and safe. All the animals passing by are friends, and many of them choose to stay and rest in her lap, or at her feet. This is a happy place and a happy time.

There are no interruptions or demands here. Hunger seldom intrudes, and tiredness is resolved by napping peacefully. Boredom is a long way off. Loneliness is an occasional visitor, and may signal a time to leave the meadow for a bit.

The world outside this meadow is not at all pretty. It is, in fact, downright ugly. There is anger and violence and noise and chaos. There is no time for exploring or questions or safety. Everything is rushed and threatening or indifferent. There is no room for caring; there is too much judgement and not enough compassion. Why would she ever want to leave the meadow and be in the noisy, dirty, gray place?

Clearly, she would not choose to leave the meadow very often. The sad reality is that children are not allowed to make all their own choices all the time; sometimes, choices are made for them. Sometimes, when the choices are made with compassion and grace and gentleness and presented without rancour and stridency, other people’s choices are not so bad, and leaving the meadow is ok. Especially if the meadow remains to visit another time.

Problem is, often, choices are made for children, for girl-child in particular, and these choices are not made gently and are not presented with compassion. Sometimes, girl-child is wrenched from the meadow, not by force, but with violence none-the-less. Sometimes, the consequences of refusing to leave the meadow, in a timely manner, under duress, are shattering.

It takes a lot of uninterrupted meadow time to make up from being wrenched from the meadow without permission, at someone else’s beck and call, without recognition that the meadow exists and is important.

The meadow is a special place, and girl-child has the right to be there. She needs to be there to refresh, grow, re-energize. Without the meadow, girl-child may die. Perhaps girl-child does die a little inside every time she leaves the meadow, without knowing whether she can come back, without knowing whether the meadow will even exist when she does come back.

The meadow is special; girl-child is special. Meadow time is special and necessary, and girl-child’s time there should be honoured. Not everyone is invited to have a meadow, and those that do should be honoured, not ridiculed, for having a meadow.

Girl-child should not be made to leave the meadow with the threat of violence, nor without permission or acknowledgement that she has been in the meadow and may need time to say good-bye to the meadow.

“I need you to finish up what you’re doing (even if it appears to be nothing), because I need us to leave/go somewhere/change activities in 5 minutes. I will not stand over you during that 5 minutes to insist that you stop your activity in my way. I will not hurt you if you do stop, nor will I hurt you if you don’t stop. I will try very hard to come to your level if you have not finished your activity in 5 minutes, and I will lower, not raise my voice, to help you change activities. If you need more than 5 minutes, I will try to be patient, and remember that I do not have all the answers and that my agenda is not the only one of importance in our relationship.”

Girl-child has the right to be. Girl-child is. I choose to honour girl-child for having a meadow. I will do my utmost to remember to leave the meadow gently, and to ask girl-child and her cohorts (offspring?) to leave the meadow gently. I will spend time in the meadow wisely. I will acknowledge to myself when I am in the meadow and I will feel the joy and the peace of the meadow. I will avoid living in a perpetual state of fighting to stay in the meadow without appreciating what it offers. When I do not remember to appreciate the meadow, and get lost in nothingness which is not refreshing, I will be gentle with myself. When I let myself BE, truly BE in the meadow, I will feel calm and refreshed afterwards. I will enjoy my time in the meadow. I will choose to spend time in the meadow. I will protect my time in the meadow, and I will remind myself not to squander time in the meadow. I will let writing and exercise stand for time in the meadow. I will come back to the meadow soon.

(YOU GO GIRL!)

A letter to a certain child

Dear Child,

You had it tough growing up. You really did. It is a testament to some real strength deep within you that you survived your childhood, and without resorting to drugs or other self-destructive behaviours. You did not escape childhood unscathed, though, did you?

I hear you. I wonder how many instances there were where you were belittled or criticized or judged and found inadequate? It still happens. It happens so frequently, that it is no longer possible to tell when it does not happen. The whole sum of the transactions are coloured in such a way that if there are positive transactions, you are not even aware of them.

When each transaction, even the innocent ones, contain a barb, perhaps not meant to injure, but nevertheless piercing and painful, it becomes very difficult to stay whole and sane, doesn’t it? You have done so well. I am so sorry that this has happened to you, and still happens to you. You are a lovely person and do not deserve ill-treatment.

Abuse is a funny thing, isn’t it? It may not look like abuse from the outside. It may not feel like abuse in the moment. But the accumulation of years of put-downs and jeering comments is truly devastating. I’m sorry you still have to be dealing with this. This is not fair, and is undeserved.

You are very special. “What has she done now?” is a question that does not reflect the reality of who you are. It reflects a perception of inadequacy which exists solidly because of the deficits of the questioner. Other people can see and do see and do love the good that is within you, without treating you as though you are the total sum of your habits, quirks, idiosyncrasies. Some people even love those things about you; in fact, many people love you because of those habits, quirks and idiosyncrasies. I am one of those people.

In fact, it is those characteristics which make you interesting and successful and YOU. Please believe that it is those character traits which come under the most attack that I love best in you. Sometimes these traits are challenging, even for you, but please do not allow yourself to be diminished because some other person says you are not good enough. No one else has the right to judge you or to bludgeon you into different behaviour.

If you are behaving badly, in some way, which does happen from time-to-time, please know that guidance and correction can be offered in a loving and supportive manner. When you are chastised for some behaviour, please believe that that chastisement, while hurtful, does not offer up a reflection of your worth as a person. Truly, you are a good person. Your entire goal in life seems to be to help people and to build them up. I so wish that you could be such a cheerleader for yourself, and that when you are such a cheerleader, that you could hear and believe in the messages you give yourself.

Let’s try. Put on your best calming, reassuring, loving voice. You are an amazing “whisperer”. Do it for yourself now.

• You are an exceptionally kind person. You would never intentionally hurt someone. When you do hurt someone unintentionally, you try so hard to make it right, as soon as you are able. 
  
• You are so honest. It is quite amazing to watch sometimes.
  
• You listen amazingly well. You hear so much more than is being said. 
  
• You care so much about people. You like people, and people like to be with you because of the way you make them feel.
  
• You always look for the good in any situation. You can find a positive attribute in the most dire of circumstances. Good for you!
  
• Do you see how well you communicate with animals? You know how to love and speak lovingly to them, and they hear that and respond. You do this with your family sometimes, too, and it always works well when you do.
  
• You are so willing to learn.
  
• You work so hard at being considerate.
  
• You are so playful.
  
• You are amazingly strong, and amazingly resilient.
  
• You wrote this for yourself and from yourself recently: “ Love is an amazing force; joy can be found almost anywhere, anytime, in playing and listening to each other; laughter is infectious and tickling games create solidarity; when in doubt, a hug is never a bad idea.” There is so much wisdom in this. You are wise beyond what you give yourself credit for.
  
• You are often a truly amazing parent and spouse. You are always willing to work on becoming better, which is perhaps the more impressive attribute. Please give yourself credit for being willing to change and to grow.
  

A mixed bag

Today's is a two-part post. We travelled to Ontario today. The traveling itself had crappy enough moments to make me fear and dread my arrival; as is often (but not always) the case, the anticipation of said arrival was worse than the event, sort of.

Here is my in-the-moment take during traveling:

I feel absolutely alone in this experience, and yet I know others have been here before me and will also come after me. Being a solo, as opposed to single, parent is god-awful. I truly hate it sometimes. It makes me miss Willis, and lament my lot in life in a big way. I don’t give in much to boo-hoo-hoo, poor-me sentiments often, but sometimes, that self-pity is the only gentleness and compassion I can conjure up for my situation.

The specific situation is thus: I am currently on a plane, in the midst of traveling for 10 hours. My children are with me. I had about 1 hour of sleep last night. For many, a plane trip might present an opportunity to catch up on sleep, reading or writing. My children are almost-eight and four. They need activity, stimulation, companionship. Ten hours of watching video is not going to happen, nor should it. I brought a supply of new toys and activities and snacks, but boredom and mischief are setting in. I’m going somewhat mad with the effort of keeping these two children, with such different interests, from creating a ruckus on the plane.

I have, nominally, a traveling companion on this journey. Rob is here, too, with his 2 boys, aged 10 and 12. His boys have never flown before. The youngest was experiencing, as is normal for him, acute anxiety. We had anticipated this, and used medication and some desensitization to good effect, and he has done very well. Both of his boys are calm, occupied. One of the activities brought for Sam was a new DS game. Oliver also has a DS, but he doesn’t want to play right now.

I’d like to change seats with Rob for a bit, but neither he nor his kids are at all interested in that. Much as Rob loves my children, he has no interest in scraping them off the walls and ceiling at the moment (or at any time, really). He is older, his kids are older, he has done this before. When he did this age, though, he had a partner. Now, when he needs a break from his kids, he can count on them being with their mother 3 days a week. He used to get child-free time, but not so much since I came along.

I wish I had someone else who had equal responsibility for my kids. Sometimes, parenting them is just so overwhelming, and I long for a partner in the process. I kinda of have a partner, but in many ways, I do not. I chose this for myself; I had Sam as a single parent, so I feel I have little right to complain about this sorry situation. That said, my blog is my place to say whatever needs saying, and right now, in this moment, I’m saying that I wish the buck stopped somewhere else.

Soon, we will land, and a whole new set of circumstances will present themselves, rife with their own challenges. For instance, Rob and his kids are going to stay with his parents tonight, and my kids and I will with mine. My parents no longer even have an animal with whom I can commune when it gets tough. I may be here a lot this week. Wish me luck.

Then we landed. 

I met Rob's parents for the first time, and we all (me, Rob, the kids, my folks, his folks) headed to their house for a meal together. Their house is full of ornaments and treasures, lovingly displayed on a variety of surfaces throughout their home. I have a four-year-old who loves shiny, sparkly objects. O.M.G. Stress level looking astronomical here- what have I done to myself? Who's got my back?? Yargh! 

As I was trying to talk myself down on the plane, I came to the realization that in actual fact, my kids have my back. It goes kind of like this: I'm theirs- they're mine. This is absolute and unchanging. Even when Sydney screeches that I am a "bad mama", I know that my love is unconditional, and that, no matter what, we have each other. And I know that my kids have an extraordinary amount of wisdom in them (as do all children and animals, if we care to listen). I don't know all of the wisdom yet, and maybe I never will, but some parts of it are unassailable and oh-so-obvious in hindsight (and Robert Fulghum was right on it): love is an amazing force; joy can be found almost anywhere, anytime, in playing and listening to each other; laughter is infectious and tickling games create solidarity; when in doubt, a hug is never a bad idea.  

So, with this in mind, as the house became an increasing minefield, Syd and I went outside. There is a playground around the corner from Rob's old house, and we walked there and played enough to be able to come back in good humour, and enjoy the meal. We enjoyed our "new", extended, stitched-together family. We got a glimpse into Rob's childhood. It was good. Then it came time to leave. Again, really questioning why I thought it would be a good idea for my sweetie and I to be in separate houses. With whom would I get to unwind and review and replenish at the end of the day, with my guy and his kids at his parents' house? Okay, maybe I never thought it would be a good idea, exactly, but the best we could come up with at the time. 

So, off we go, with me imagining that my own "homecoming" with my kids (although we have done it many times before) would be tense, awkward, full of half-seen pitfalls. That my parents' house would be unfamiliar and uncomfortable and not home. Here's where the anticipation was so over-the-top, compared to the reality: 

My parents' house is home; it is familiar (we are, afterall, family), and it is lovely and welcoming. The house has been lovingly updated over the years, the garden is a garden-tour quality showpiece of barely-tamed wilderness, and I can hardly wait to show it off to Rob, his kids and his parents. I know there will be challenges ahead- my mother and I do the mother-daughter thing very well, but this home is a pretty decent place to call home, at least while I am away from my own home-on-the-hill.

Random Rantings

I want to be in charge of my life, dammit- time to stop being late all the time!

My therapist called- I’m going back there next week- maybe we can get the tardiness/insecurity better controlled this time round.

They destroyed a dam, and drowned the dad beaver in Surrey- beavers are endangered here, and this reappearance of beavers so close to an urban setting should have been a good thing, no? There was a “danger” of “flooding”- wtf? There were wild creatures returning to co-mingle with us after we as a species had abused them as a species most heinously for centuries. Death by drowning? Goddamn people anyway!

I haven’t said recently that I hate that Willis is dead. I do hate that. But. I know he’s gone, never coming back. This is my life and his death, not the other way around. I WILL NOT give up on learning out to extract the juices from my life because of adversity, no matter how intense. I will not give that message to my children. I will not.
What I will do is remember Willis, be gentle with myself, channel as many of his finest qualities as I can... I will whine as little as I possibly can, especially about things I can change, and about things I can’t change (Serenity Prayer, anyone?). I am so proud of my widda friends who have seized the brass ring and embraced life again, and so impatient with those who continue to see their immense loss as giving them the right to whine indefinitely. Yes, this sucks: none of us deserved this, it is a profound loss and it is completely disorienting to lose one’s spouse and partner, BUT, our job as inhabitants of this beautiful planet is to GROW, cherish, be thankful, do less harm, honour the planet’s other inhabitants with our thoughts, words, feelings and actions. (I may be ranting, here, and I’m gonna blame PMS and the damn beaver story.)

I met a young widow today at the clinic- 3-4 weeks out. Her cat is sick, she has no $ and her world is shattered. Do all you widdas remember how disorienting that time was? I barely do remember, but I know that the first few weeks were astonishingly raw, and the disbelief was huge. This girl surprised me by saying that she was grateful to hear that there was light at the end of the tunnel, and that things would get better. I guess that makes me “vintage” and able to mentor someone newer than me on the widow-road. It’s an odd feeling, and I hope that I truly can help her a little, if only by example and compassion, and that my tendency to impatience, as noted above, will not scar her more. Less than a month? Ouch. A very painful time, and I like to think I have all the patience in the world for her, and that I will not put her on a timeline (which I hated to have done to me).

Okay, enough ranting. Time for family and supper and joy again.

Almost!

We were close to on time for Sam's school this morning, and I was a bit late to pick Sydney up at daycare this evening, but not by much. Tomorrow, I think Sam may need to be at school 30 minutes early, so I know he will at least be on time for class...

I also spoke to Carol, and have made preliminary arrangements to pick up her kids and bring them here on Friday after school.

I still need to finalize plans with Carol, and get up and out on time tomorrow, but my comfort zone pushing has begun, in little increments.

Widow fallout? SOS fallout?

I pretty much live my life without much reference to having been widowed. I have a “new normal”, complete with husband and family, and life is good. When I occasionally get slammed by an emotional response that seems out of proportion with the precipitating event, I wonder whether I have hidden layers of under-resolved trauma from having been widowed by a suicide-like event.

Willis’s death was not classified a suicide (nor an accident) by the coroner, but he was very suicidal in the months leading up to his death, and he was particularly suicidal on the morning of his death. My take is generally that he was very ambivalent. He was reported to have been pacing back and forth on the bridge near where he was killed- I imagine that he considered throwing himself off the bridge onto the highway below, but couldn’t bring himself to do it, for which I am very grateful. There are also reports that he was hitch-hiking on the highway below- it is easy to imagine him turning his back to the traffic that was not stopping for him and drifting into the path of that big truck. It is also possible that he stepped deliberately in front of the truck, which did its best to avoid him.

He was struck from behind, which makes me prefer the inadvertent scenario, but the effect is the same- he is dead, my children don’t have their dad, and I am left with questions and repercussions about why someone would appear to prefer death to living with me and the kids. This is, of course, an over-simplification. Suicide and mental illness is not really a choice, and the pain that Willis was experiencing was profound and unbearable. He certainly believed we would be better off without him, and I ache for him that he believed that was so.

I have spent hours in therapy, addressing all sorts of issues arising from being widowed and surviving the de facto suicide of a spouse. Like I say, mostly this is a part of my history, and not really a part of my present.

But...

Rob and his boys went to Vancouver this weekend to visit Rob’s sister. The boys haven’t seen Trish in a couple years, and it was time for them to make a road trip, as a family, as in times past. Me and my kids weren’t invited along. This is appropriate- logistically and for the emotional well-being of Rob and his boys. My head knows this. My heart and psyche have been aching, crying, raging, writhing about this. I hate the feeling of being rejected and excluded. The boys are 10 and 12- of course they want to have some time without their new family, and with their dad all to themselves.

We will go to Vancouver next weekend to visit with Hannah, Willis’s other daughter, and her mother. Rob is cherishing the idea of time alone at home. He is reveling in it, and why not? He was a half-time dad before we came along, and a bachelor the other half of the time. Much as he began to get lonely after 4 years of this, and much as he loves us all, it can be taxing to a fifty-year-old to be suddenly raising a 4-year-old daughter full-time. He is an introvert, and needs some quiet time alone to recharge. Sam is an extremely active, extroverted boy- much as Rob loves Sam, he finds him taxing sometimes (as do I). Of course Rob relishes the prospect of some time to himself. My head understands this and delights in the chance to offer this to Rob. My heart and psyche cry with feelings of rejection and loneliness that Rob can hardly wait for us to be gone.

After several anguished and stormy conversations with Rob about how painful I was finding the prospect of these two weekends, and how bewildered he was at my response, that references to Willis began to seep into my consciousness. Rob and I had not come back to equilibrium after one such conversation, and he was heading of in my car to pick up the babysitter. I told him not to crash the car, and added, in an angst-filled voice, for him not to take that as me condoning him crashing or harming himself. On the morning of Willis’s death, as we were preparing lunches for the kids, he told me how he couldn’t stop thinking of “it” (suicide), and how he couldn’t stop thinking of driving into something. My response? “Just don’t use my car to do it.” I will probably wish forever that I had added that I really didn’t want him to harm himself either, but it is doubtful that he would have heard it anyway.

After that comment, Rob came back to finish the conversation. In further discussion, we agreed that the emotionality of my responses was likely to be about my experiencing echoes of the ultimate rejection of suicide, and the terror of not knowing whether I would have a husband at the end of the day. The whole damn thing hurts. I may never forgive Rob if he doesn’t outlive me, and the separation of these two weekends and my upcoming conference in Florida is a terrifying prospect. This relationship better last a damn long time, because I don’t want to prove that I have the moxie to outlive another husband.

And in the balance...

Syd’s daycare has a late pick-up policy, which includes fines, and after 5 lates in 6 months, immediate expulsion from daycare. We are at 4 lates, and are actively seeking another daycare. This has been a pretty big downer for the last two days since we got our “probationary’ notice- lots of tears and angst on my part, and lots of feeling shamed and blamed- score one for the dark side.

Rob and I have been together for a year. This is our “anniversary” weekend. We had each arranged 3 days off, and I had vague ideas of a low-key celebration of this life-altering event. Rob, it turns out, had no such vagueness. He arranged for our babysitter to come over, his boys to be at their mother’s and for us to go to the world-class Sooke Harbour House resort, overnight, without children. The man is a wonder and a blessing, and we agree that we have reaped a well-deserved reward from life in finding each other- score one for the bright side.

After our exquisite supper at the resort, we were deciding whether to use the oceanside hot tub, the fireplace or that big, inviting bed first when my cell phone rang. There was Sam, in tears, barely discernible through a fading cell signal. The kids were both still up, missing mum, filled with over-tired, late-night anguish about mum being away (is it because I’m a widowed parent that I imagine they fear that I won’t return?). I did what I could to be reassuring over the phone, and suggested that they could sleep in my bed while I was gone for the night. Let’s hope that that suggestion doesn’t backfire... The phone call was disconcerting, which would seem to be another point for the dark side.

As I write this, though, I am relaxed from the hot tub, at peace from the sound of the surf outside, full from a delicious meal, warmed by a crackling fire and snuggled with a man who loves me (in spite of my forays into the dark side), and who wants to spend the rest of his days celebrating life with me. The balance looks pretty healthy from here.