June 16, 2013
Today is Father's Day. For our house, it is Fatherless Day.
My oldest son has not seen nor heard from his father in about 25 years. We think we know where he is, but he has chosen to stay away. It astounds me that any man would choose to not see their child grow and become a part of their adult world. My son's father was originally a nice guy. Good looking, talented artist and very athletic. We had a great time together and of course, made a child together. Unfortunately, our relationship grew sour - very sour and we divorced early in my son's life. I tried to do the right thing and assist with the bond, supporting visitation and time with his father, but it soon became evident other things were more important to his father. Drugs being the most destructive. With time, drugs became his companion and my son was a mere memory.
As my son grew older, he did have moments missing and wondering about this guy called "dad", but he had a strong mom who moved the mountains and the earth and he did not need a dad. That's what he would tell me anyway. He would give me a Father's Day card now and then to make the point that I was enough. I was all he needed.
I did marry again, unfortunately to divorce again 10 years later. Another man in and out of my son's life. Sadly, that man abandoned my son and left him fatherless once again. A few years later, I met my true love, my soulmate, partner and best friend. My husband Ron. He stepped in and stepped up in a way I could never have imagined. He wasn't always easy, but my kids all knew who he was and where he stood. He loved them all fiercely and soon, my oldest son softened and while he would never call him "dad", he was in every other way - the only REAL father he had experienced. Ron taught Chris about tools, told dirty and inappropriate jokes, taught him how to drive, shave and how to treat a woman with love, kindness and respect. He would chastise, warn and reprimand when necessary and worry, fret and get angry when they didn't see eye to eye.
On that terrible day, just a year ago, my son once again lost another father. This time to the unchangeable. Death. He is thankfully a grown man now, nearly 30 but it was still a painful loss. I want to erase time and give him the consistency of a father who never leaves, but that is not possible.
Now, my youngest daughter must live her life similar to her brother - she will be fatherless as well. It makes days like today particularly painful because I can't change the fact - there is no more daddy to make cards for. When all the kids at school excitedly put together the projects to present to daddy on the Sunday morning - she will be left out or given another project to do. Always reminders will surround her - she doesn't have a daddy.
Today, the Universe provided for both of them as they came together, the 29 yr old man and the 7 year old girl - both 'celebrating' Fatherless Day by being together, playing silly games and pretending it was just another day. Just another Sunday. I can only hope their bond continues and they can find solace knowing this man called Daddy, dad or just Ron loved them both so much and would be very pleased to see them supporting each other through love and a smile and true understanding.
Monday, June 17, 2013
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Transitions
June 12, 2013
In two days it will be a year. A year since Ron suddenly and unexpectedly died from a massive heart attack.
Life is full of transitions, birth, childhood, college graduations, love, marriage, friendships gained and lost and death. They say it is not what happens to you in your life, but HOW you deal with it that counts the most. I have been told repeatedly how "well" I am handling Ron's death, with strength, grace, poise and class. It is wonderful to hear such praise, yet at times I feel as if people don't really know or understand this grief process I have had to endure.
The smile on my face, the ease of my steps and the strength of my presence are a mere facade and do not allow much of a view into the hurt, pain, anger and sadness beneath. It is a daily struggle when I wake each morning knowing my life will never be the same and the person I loved will never again hold my hand, touch my face or kiss my lips. I must make an effort each day to get up, pull up my big girl pants and step firmly into my new normal with as much confidence and backbone as I can muster.
This transition to becoming a widow is in the grand scheme of life, just another turn in the road. It is a HUGE turn, but a turn nonetheless. Friday, I have decided, is the day I will remove my wedding band. It is symbolic of the end of our marriage by death. Til death do us part. I won't stop loving Ron, but the symbol of our union, our marriage must be set aside. It is time to take another turn, as a widow, and face the world without the protection of our partnership. I must accept that I am no longer a married woman and be the strong, independent, single woman this transition has created. This doesn't mean I am ready to date or even consider a new relationship, first I must reconcile the new relationship I have with myself and my daughter. I have work to do, but this internal work must be done alone. Not saying I don't need my Village - oh I need you all more than ever! Without that support, I could never take another step.
I have two more sleeps until I must relive that terrible day - and yes, it is inevitable that I will relive it. I will play each and every moment of that day over and over in my head, trying to connect to any little memory, feeling or sensation that brings me closer to the memories of Ron as he was that day. I will approach that bridge to the other side, the second year of being a widow and I will cross over. Like all the other transitions in my life, I will breathe, smile, cry, sob, laugh and most of all - I will LIVE.
In two days it will be a year. A year since Ron suddenly and unexpectedly died from a massive heart attack.
Life is full of transitions, birth, childhood, college graduations, love, marriage, friendships gained and lost and death. They say it is not what happens to you in your life, but HOW you deal with it that counts the most. I have been told repeatedly how "well" I am handling Ron's death, with strength, grace, poise and class. It is wonderful to hear such praise, yet at times I feel as if people don't really know or understand this grief process I have had to endure.
The smile on my face, the ease of my steps and the strength of my presence are a mere facade and do not allow much of a view into the hurt, pain, anger and sadness beneath. It is a daily struggle when I wake each morning knowing my life will never be the same and the person I loved will never again hold my hand, touch my face or kiss my lips. I must make an effort each day to get up, pull up my big girl pants and step firmly into my new normal with as much confidence and backbone as I can muster.
This transition to becoming a widow is in the grand scheme of life, just another turn in the road. It is a HUGE turn, but a turn nonetheless. Friday, I have decided, is the day I will remove my wedding band. It is symbolic of the end of our marriage by death. Til death do us part. I won't stop loving Ron, but the symbol of our union, our marriage must be set aside. It is time to take another turn, as a widow, and face the world without the protection of our partnership. I must accept that I am no longer a married woman and be the strong, independent, single woman this transition has created. This doesn't mean I am ready to date or even consider a new relationship, first I must reconcile the new relationship I have with myself and my daughter. I have work to do, but this internal work must be done alone. Not saying I don't need my Village - oh I need you all more than ever! Without that support, I could never take another step.
I have two more sleeps until I must relive that terrible day - and yes, it is inevitable that I will relive it. I will play each and every moment of that day over and over in my head, trying to connect to any little memory, feeling or sensation that brings me closer to the memories of Ron as he was that day. I will approach that bridge to the other side, the second year of being a widow and I will cross over. Like all the other transitions in my life, I will breathe, smile, cry, sob, laugh and most of all - I will LIVE.
Pieces of You
Catching up on some posts I started a while ago, but never finished...
March 7, 2013
Today, I received a bill in the mail from my infertility doctor, Dr. Brian Acacio. It was for a year's worth of sperm storage. This piece of news takes me completely by surprise and shakes me to the core of my being. To think that living matter belonging to my husband still exists on this planet when he is no longer here makes me want to run as fast as I can to grab it and go through a cycle to conceive a baby, OUR baby. The baby we were supposed to have together. I had no idea there was anything left to store after our attempt to conceive 2 years prior. We wanted to expand our family - together. It was our desire to bring another child into our fold and while we thought it might not be possible to have a biological child after so many failed attempts and a loss, there was still hope.
I still struggle with the missing pieces and what path would be appropriate given my current situation. Who in their right mind would even consider bringing a baby into a home with 7 children and a dead daddy. I know I have so much going for me and my world could soon be my own. I have lived my entire life raising children and focusing on the needs of others, should I now shift and start to meet my own needs? Could it be that my own needs ARE to meet the needs of others? I try to imagine my life without little ones running around, wiping noses, doing piles of laundry and shuttling kids off to soccer practice and dance class - and just don't get excited.
The idea of adoption also weighs heavily as just the night before Ron died, we sent an email to an attorney inquiring about the adoption process. We really did want one more child. We were open to bringing a child who very much needed the love we could share. The gift of our love for each other, our family and life in general. Maybe I could sign up to foster children first to see if I am really ready or equipped to handle bringing another child into my home.
This is as of June 12, 2013 an unanswered question, although I truly believe the Universe will bring forth exactly what should be - it always has.
March 7, 2013
Today, I received a bill in the mail from my infertility doctor, Dr. Brian Acacio. It was for a year's worth of sperm storage. This piece of news takes me completely by surprise and shakes me to the core of my being. To think that living matter belonging to my husband still exists on this planet when he is no longer here makes me want to run as fast as I can to grab it and go through a cycle to conceive a baby, OUR baby. The baby we were supposed to have together. I had no idea there was anything left to store after our attempt to conceive 2 years prior. We wanted to expand our family - together. It was our desire to bring another child into our fold and while we thought it might not be possible to have a biological child after so many failed attempts and a loss, there was still hope.
I still struggle with the missing pieces and what path would be appropriate given my current situation. Who in their right mind would even consider bringing a baby into a home with 7 children and a dead daddy. I know I have so much going for me and my world could soon be my own. I have lived my entire life raising children and focusing on the needs of others, should I now shift and start to meet my own needs? Could it be that my own needs ARE to meet the needs of others? I try to imagine my life without little ones running around, wiping noses, doing piles of laundry and shuttling kids off to soccer practice and dance class - and just don't get excited.
The idea of adoption also weighs heavily as just the night before Ron died, we sent an email to an attorney inquiring about the adoption process. We really did want one more child. We were open to bringing a child who very much needed the love we could share. The gift of our love for each other, our family and life in general. Maybe I could sign up to foster children first to see if I am really ready or equipped to handle bringing another child into my home.
This is as of June 12, 2013 an unanswered question, although I truly believe the Universe will bring forth exactly what should be - it always has.
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