At this moment, I am taking a time out from pulling things together (and perhaps packing) for what is my first significant business trip in a year or so. I’ve done some shorter trips-one and two-day and always relatively close to home. This time it’s 2/3′s across the country and for a week.
During different points of my career path-travel has been a significant player-and admittedly during the last three year’s it’s been a little tougher. Not the travel itself, but the getting the house lined up so I can be relatively worry free and focused on whatever business responsibilities I have ahead of me.
In talking to people I’ve worked with over the years who are married (either with or without kids at home), generally business trips are stressful. There’s the getting sh*t done before you leave, and the constant tug to be connected to home. It’s tough to turn that off and be 100% focused on business, but then is that really significantly different than the day-to-day grind?
For the single parent, along with fetching dry cleaning, making sure the underwear is clean, trying to narrow down the shoes that will make the trip, and the last-minute run to CVS (and the all important iPad movie rental purchases), there is also the home management.
Who’s going to be with the kids for the time? The assumption is this will be someone you trust so you should at least get on the plane with some clarity of mind and peace of heart. But then there’s also stocking the house with food, making sure all the carpools are covered, are there any school projects?, and then managing the stress on the kids-becuase it’s never easy on them.
And for the single parent, this comes after negotiating a regular week with all the challenges.
In temple last night I was idly chatting with someone and the subject of the kids came up (with regard to a temple event) and I mentioned I’d have to see what the girls were up to. The person-who did not know I was widowed-asked if it was my weekend with the kids. I responded it’s always my weekend.
Being a parent is 24/7-no one will doubt that. Being a single parent though at times is like 36/7, because there’s always slightly more to do and one more hurdle to overcome.
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Today was a planned work from home day for me. It’s a day I can have dinner with the girls and just make sure I am around. Lately I’ve been trying to schedule two of these a week and try to give them a chance to talk or just hang and not have to worry about sitters and other distractions.
Tonight 10.5 had hebrew school, and with Purim in the rear view mirror, temple attention (at least for the Hebrew school set) turns to Passover. In the world of Hebrew school that means the model seder. Today, home came the list of things I have to send it. Its broken down by class-and that became the jumping off point for a discussion I was no way prepared for, but had to deal with.
In explaining the classes beyond 13, when they have their Bat Mitzvah I tried the metaphor of – right now everything you are learning is about being Jewish and getting ready for Bat Mitzvah. After that (if they choose to continue) they learn how to be Jewish in life-and begin to identify for themselves what role (if any) religion will have in their lives….
Which somehow lead its way to my dating life, and the gulf between the girls on the subject matter. 8.0 is exuberant in her support of my dating-can’t happen fast enough. I had to temper her exuberance with a reality check-her mother and I dated for nearly 10 years before we got married.
10.5 has a very different outlook. She cast it as I am not ready, after all my wife died three months ago. When I asked her about this, and why she thought it, the reality is she is not ready to have me date.
And it seems the same exuberance that 8.0 has for a female figure, 10.5 is guarded against. It’s an interesting split in the girls. If I had to guess (or if I was sitting in the comfy chair at my therapist) I would guess it has to do with Risa’s physical capabilities from birth to three or four for both. After 10.5 was born, Risa physically was able to bond and be engaged. With 8.0 it was much more of a challenge for Risa. There was no less love (it seems gratuitous to add this, but I feel like I need to) but the ability to manage a 2-3 year old and bond with a baby was just not as robust.
The next interesting part of the conversation came when we talked about specific people-who are single and I could possibly date–10.5′s outlook changes a lot. Could it be the worry is about her having to bond with someone new? The challenge of creating relationship dynamics at 10+ rather than having it instilled?
One of the things I have struggled with over the last year, and has been asked of me a lot over the last few weeks is the sense of normalcy.
As anyone who reads this blog knows, I have spent a lot of time and energy making sure things were (and are) normal for my girls–despite all that was going on around them. And I think by any measure I can say I was pretty successful in that. Now in the just about two weeks since Risa’s passing, I get asked by very well-intentioned people, “Are things back to normal yet?”
My answer to that question is usually something along the lines of we are getting there, or slowly things are getting there. But I think realistically neither I nor the girls know what “normal” is. And beyond that-for them at least they are back in school, Hebrew school, Girl Scouts–so all is as it was…
Which leads me to think, maybe that is normal.
Is it possible that I am searching for something that is already in place? And that sense of normalcy was disrupted last week, but has returned? I am beginning to think that is in fact the case. Afterall, trying to achieve normal has been frustrating because I am not sure what I am looking for–so I can accept that we have it.
Now, we just need to pick up the pieces, and continue normalcy for a sustained period. And who knows, after that, maybe we can all find comfort in our normal?
Before I get into this blog, I want to let anyone know who reads it that it will not be the usual trial and tribulations of trying to raise two girls. While it is about them, this specific post is really a place for me to put some of my own thoughts about the passing of my wife last week into one place.
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A odyssey that began in the ER at a tiny hospital in Irving, Texas in October of 1997 essentially ended in a hospital room in Port Jefferson, NY in December of 2010. What’s funny as I sat with my wife as she was “actively dying” I could not help but think back to that day 13 years and half a country ago. The moments in time were so similar.
In 1997, I was there fighting tears as my wife of 11 months was told she had brain tumor. I even remember the ER doctor showing us the CT scan that had the evidence. Somewhere in the middle of that, one of my wife’s co-workers came in to check on her (my wife had collapsed at work and they were just checking on her). I could barely speak, but my wife came up with a joke, “I’m fine,” she told her co-worker. ”Except for a brain tumor.”
And so my crash course on tumors, treatments, brain tumors and reading scans began. One piece of great advice I got from my cousin, one of the top cardiologists in Florida, was simple and I used it as a guide throughout the next 13 years. I can’t become a doctor by reading the internet.
As my wife went through an initial biopsy of the tumor and we found out the initial diagnosis based on the scan was correct–she had an oligodendroglioma Based on that diagnosis we made decisions in 1997 that would set the course for the next 13 years (although at the time we did not know what life expectancy was).
While anyone diagnosed today with the same type of tumor now receives a course of surgery to debulk the tumor and then regular scans to monitor its practice–in 1997 the recommendations was surgery followed by radiation followed by chemo. The problem was we wanted to have a family.
In mid-November 1997 my wife went for surgery. The conversation we had the week before that surgery would stay with me. It was a time of stress and worry. We had just had our first anniversary and we were talking about her expectations for a funeral, signing living wills and making sure I was able to speak for her and follow her wishes if she did not survive.
One of the isolated moments that really stands out is the morning of the surgery. My mother in-law arrived in Dallas the day before (in a wheel chair for reasons that continue to escape me). Despite our instruction to meet in the surgical waiting room, she decided to join us. There she got to hear our discussion about organ donation (organs yes, skin no).
But my instructions, if something did happen were clear. No heroic life saving techniques. Make sure dignity is maintained. And if she were to pass, the funeral would follow Jewish tradition as closely as possible. This was my first set of promises to my wife. Promises I would keep 13 years later.
A year or so after that surgery came the OK from her team of doctors to “resume” life. And by resume life, I should point out meant going to MRI scans four times a year and blood tests twice a month. If the scans would stay stable during that first year, a family would be possible.
So in 1999 after series of four or five stable scans–we started planning our family. For us the reality of the situation was always omnipresent. There was no telling what would happen–this would not be normal. But the one thing we agreed to was when the time came–whenever that would be, my place was with our child (and soon children). She was going to go through a lot of personal risk to have children, and it was my job to make sure there was never a doubt about what was important or where the focus would be.
At first, despite the ongoing scans and tests things were mostly normal. After she gave birth to our second child, things started to change though-symptoms returned and after a scare in a Tampa hotel room, and the second birth, it was also time for a second surgery.
Although we did not have the in-depth discussion this time, she made it clear to me what I was to worry about. Our children. Yes, I would be at the hospital for the surgery. And yes, I developed as good a relationship as I could with the surgeon and the staff–but my focus was on the kids. There would be no sleeping at the hospital this time. Instead I had to be there for breakfast each morning with the girls.
It was a lot of long nights driving the LIE from NYC to our home-but I was keeping my promise.
Six years later, as her condition worsened, it was those conversations from 1997 and 1998 that I used to honor her, and make sure her wishes were realized.
In May, a month after her 41st birthday, I was planning her funeral. Traditional Jewish. I had a lot of help from the Rabbi at my temple-and at the time it looked like the downward slide would continue and things were imminent. But things stabilized—and the end that looked so near became a much longer and drawn out process.
But that didn’t change the focus. For as long as I could, I brought the girls to see their mom-even eat dinner with her sometimes. When she lost the ability to feed herself, I had the girls feeding her. If you want a heartbreaking moment, watch a 10-year-old try to feed her mother, and know its being done out of pure love.
But even that connection ended as symptoms worsened even more. With her wishes for her funeral set, my focus was on the kids, and making sure they were prepared for what was happening and have the support they needed.
Then came the call–on a Thursday morning. Things took a turn for the worse and I learned the hospice diagnosis of “actively dying.”
For the uninitiated, and I hope that is everyone and no one ever has to hear a term like that, it means the body is shutting down and the living process is actively ending. ”Is it hours, days, weeks?” was the question I asked. Days was the most likely scenario I was told so I planned accordingly.
At that moment, what I really needed was time to figure out the best way to activate the plans I had made six months ago and manage the message to my kids. No one was going to tell them anything until I did and no one was going to answer their first questions until I could.
As ironic as it sounds, the Long Island Rail Road gave me my best option to simply have a chance to take a breath and work it through. I needed to get with the rabbi from my temple–a different one from May, but one I had been talking to for months and who knew what was going on. My wife’s sister needed to be told, my mother needed to be alerted, my brother told and somehow I needed all of this to not get back to the girls until I was there.
Oh yeah, I also needed to get the hospital and say good-bye to my wife.
So there I am sitting in her room, fighting back tears and telling her how brave she is and there is nothing to worry about–I have things squared up. 13 years prior it was the same thing–and that’s a thought I can’t get beyond.
The next five days would be easily the worst in my life–and I hope the worst ever. Each day I had to do the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do–starting with that Thursday night–and telling my kids their mom was dying and the end was near. Friday was spent telling key people who would help me spread the word to friends and family and managing how my mother was handling the news.
Saturday morning I had to take my kids to see their mother and tell them how to say good-bye. ”I love you,” they said. ”Be peaceful and rest now.”
By Saturday afternoon-while preparing to host a Hanukkah party I had to tell them their mom had died.
In a perfect world, I would have been there–with her at the end of the odyssey as I was at the beginning. But my world right now is not perfect. Instead though I was where I promised I would be-with our children.
Finally came the funeral, which I have written about here.
It sounds a little folksy, but the gauge I use to measure if I am doing the best I can is if I can look into the mirror when I am shaving. If I can look the guy in the mirror in the eye, then I am doing OK.
As I look back not only on the last week, but on the last 13 years, I have no regrets. My wife lived the life she wanted. We have two really great kids. I kept my promises, and that guy in the mirror–I’m OK with him too.
So as anyone who reads my social media blog knows, I had a recent brush with unemployment. Now, not the kind where you panic, but the kind that makes you think about where you are, where you’ve been and where you are going. All in all, for someone who can spend a lot of time in their own head, it was not as bad as it seems.
Things for me at CBS (my former employer) really got sideways at the start of the summer–and through the combination of pressures not related to the job and a sense of apathy toward the job I really was not all that concerned about it. I once had a room-mate who used to find my never-ending quest for a new job funny by saying that when thing go wrong for me in the workplace I don’t look to make it better–I look to make a change.
So when things went sideways that’s what I did. Ultimately that helped cushion my landing a lot, in that I had so much of the networking done and my resume was on the street.
But at home–there really was not anyone I could talk to about it. I am not one to open up to a neighbor. My closest friend has his own job woes going on (I am trying to get him a gig at my new job now) and my therapist is paid to listen….
My girls were great through the process, although I don’t think they completely understood what was going on, or how on the edge we as a family unity were (and really are). But support I got from them…but not being able to look across to someone and get a reassuring smile that it was OK. No one to bounce a resume off for an opinion or to give me a quick read of a cover letter, or to let me know if my tie matched my shirt for an interview.
And the reality is my life has been that way for longer than I am generally willing to admit. Now, I have a great network of friends both personally and professionally–and I got a lot of feedback on the resume, on the jobs I should be looking–and on the message. All of that helped me land a job within weeks of being paid to walk away from CBS.
But that sharing moment is missing–and its been missing for a really long time.
Tonight is the first night of Hanukkah, and I kind of missed it in total. Grandma was here to be with the girls and get them to an event and do presents (and her presents tonight were by design). But as I was taking 8.0 to an appointment she told me she made a wish when they lit the menorah. I asked her what it was–and she wouldn’t tell me because “it won’t come through.” I kind of knew that was the answer.
But what she doesn’t know is the hospice nurse called me today–and mom is slipping off a little more. Not able to take her meds, not able to open an eye…
And me, I just have to walk the line one careful step at a time.
This morning was sign-up and orientation at our temple for the coming year’s Hebrew school. Now this is something that I was never a part of until this year, so it was a learning curve.
The easy part was negotiating the forms and dealing with the minutiae of check writing, getting books etc. Much tougher was the realization that even in the imperfect world I live in I need help.
So with some help from some friends I have set up carpools for the girls. The reality is I won’t be the actual driver very often. But again it’s more moving parts that ultimately I will have to juggle. In theory though this should keep the pressure level lower and make for better overall peace. We’ll see I guess.
This year my relative simplicity of the girls on the same school schedule was tempered by the realization that Hebrew school has moved from two nights a week to four. Add in other commitments and despite the same starting points it will be 10 months or orchestrated juggling.
As I look at my day-to-day I’ve come to realize I am a walking dichotomy or perhaps even more. And maybe we all are, and my own self awareness to this is just now coming up, who knows.
For the most part, I have never been much of a planner. Yeah, I would plan a vacation or make plans for an event-but pretty much I knew my work schedule and other stuff kind of fell around it.
Then I became a dad and had to adjust. But with kids, there is some run up to being event-driven and focused on moving one thing to the next with them, so its been a gradual process.
The process I am in now though, with my girls at home, working, their mother in hospice care–there are just so many things to focus on and try to execute.
There is the daily: getting the girls up and ready for school and fed and then showered and into bed, visiting mom, helping with homework, school stuff, hebrew school stuff, extra curriculars etc.
Then there is the near term stuff: one child’s birthday next month, preparing both girls for reality, figuring out how to make sure my wife is cared for in a dignified manner, being ready to execute a funeral, figuring out the days and weeks after the funeral.
Then there is the longer range: what’s next, how do I pull it off, whats next for the girls in development, do I move.
Layer into that are the usual curve balls that life throws. The wife was taken to the ER because of something called a confracture. Who even knew that existed. The call today from my mom, “there’s a noise in the house, who should I call?”
Suddenly my life of knowing my work schedule and then scheduling around it is not quite what I do. Now I try to stay one step ahead.
The metaphor of the juggler is the one that rings so true. A juggler can keep seven things moving nicely in a circle, nothing ever falls. Throw that eighth item in though, and it all comes crashing down.
Like the juggler in the metaphor, I pick up the pieces and start all over again.
So yeah, maybe its more like a quadchotomy. I don’t know. I just hope I become a better juggler.
So, it was a hectic day–lots of running around, and one of those moments where the differences between a 9.5 year old if not in puberty, poised to be in puberty conflicts with a 7-year-old who is still a very young 7.
The day started at their grandmother’s where I picked them up and had some breakfast. A bagel was good enough for the older one, but the younger one needed a custom breakfast–good thing this was grandma’s.
Then it was on to a Purim carnival at our temple. Not completely sure what the older one had in mind, she put a bandanna on her head as a do-rag and one over her mouth. This was her costume, I called her the hamantashen bandit. The younger one, put on a dress and called her self Queen Esther. Whatever.
After 2 hours of a carnival at the temple (it was really loud) they broke into the regular service for Purim (it was snowed out on Friday by snow-mageden). I just didn’t have it in me, and we left 45 minutes in–besides we had to go to the hospital where their mom is.
For the second time this weekend, and third time in five days I took the girls. They continue to fight over the wheel chair–and it’s just draining to keep them under control. But I also don’t want them not to go.
Me, I have a colonoscopy tomorrow, so I have to cleanse the colon, and make them dinner still.
Just trying to get to Monday at this point.
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