This is really the first time I've heard how my mom really feels and I'm proud of her for being willing to share it. She said it was hard enough to write even though it's short. I feel that we've grown a lot closer since we lost Dad. I really love my mom and I'm so glad we still have her. It is a little scary though. It's like donating a kidney, and now we've only got one left, so we gotta protect it. I find myself missing home more than I ever did because my mom has 3 young kids by herself AND she's in nursing school. She started going back to school when Dad got sick, just in case. We are all amazed by her. I know that when I'm having a hard day, deep down she's hurting just as much or more than me.
"When I first realized that this was real, it felt surreal, like a dream. Part of me felt like I had known this was coming because there had been a voice deep in my thoughts that could see that Bill wasn't getting his strength back. But another part of me was in complete shock. He had been in the care of doctors every day that week. How could they not see and warn? But while it felt this way, I felt that all my energy had to go to my kids - how they were feeling, how they were processing it, what they needed.
Everyone was wonderful and extremely helpful at first. I couldn't have managed without that. But as time has passed, people have still been loving and concerned, but they have also gone back to their lives. I think they're either afraid to ask more in depth questions, or they are just preoccupied. I could truly go the rest of my life without hearing another, "Is there anything you need?" Don't ever say that. If you really want to help, offer something specific.
Contacting people was pretty hard. Luckily, I only had to contact a few people and then I let them spread the word and took the phone off the hook. Every time I told someone, it felt like ripping off a band-aid and it was hard. But it was probably also helpful to talk about it often, over and over. It probably helped to process things in my mind. It was nice to hear so many things from people too: their memories and their most recent talks with Bill. I found myself comforting them often too. About 4 days after Bill died, our water pump guy called with a new idea for our water problems. It was kind of surreal and nice to talk to someone who didn't know, and I didn't tell him. I was a reminder that life was still going on outside of our bubble.
I think I have gone from thinking about this every day, all day, in the forefront of my mind, to now always having it on my mind, but I can move it to the back when I have more to do. But one little thing can bring it right back to the front. I have spent so much time being sorry, and angry, and sad, and serious. I would love to be able to tell Bill, "I'm sorry, I thought it was a marathon. I didn't know it was a sprint."
He loved unconditionally. He was sentimental: one of our favorite things to do was to watch romance movies. He liked to dance. I never felt like I was a good dancer, but he didn't care. He just liked to dance. And he would always say yes to me. He often fixed problems that I created and he never brought them up again to me. He was such a hard worker for his family. He could work circles around me. He never stopped and he never gave up. I think that is why ultimately, it was taken out of his hands; he would have kept going for us and we would have wanted him to.
I miss having someone to talk to, especially to vent. I miss having someone to bounce ideas off of. I miss being with someone who actually likes me and appreciates me. (Although this has definitely changed my relationship with the kids and we are all kinder and more protective of each other.) I miss being able to pass off the parenting baton to someone else for a bit. Bill did a lot of driving and errands. I am really missing that. I am a private person and Bill wasn't. He did all the hard things that I didn't want to do, like talk to people and go to events. He was a problem-solver and fixer. I miss my fixer. I am noticing that each new season brings things that Bill did that I now have to figure out. He could either fiddle with something until he figured it out, or he would know who to call and get it fixed. He was a very connected man, and I don't have those connections. We complemented each other quite well.
Ricky, my 8 year old son, writes something to or about Dad about once a week at school. He incorporates it into his assignments. I'm grateful for his teacher this year because she lost her mother when she was 7 also. While no teacher is equipped to deal with a grieving student, she has been a very good fit. She has been very proactive and willing to go above and beyond. One day, the class had a sub and Ricky went missing. The kids found him under a table and he said he was just sad. Now his teacher checks in with both Ricky and I regularly. She can spot when he's zoning out and handles it early.
A grief counselor that I met with once told me that kids grieve differently than adults. They are still kids and it doesn't consume them with sadness like we'd expect. They play and then they go "touch" grief for a moment, experiment with it, and see what it's like. Then they go back to playing. They do this frequently, experimenting with their feelings and the responses of the adults around them. But they don't remain in a state of grief. They touch it and play. I have decided to be very open about how we talk about Dad and I think this seems to give Ricky permission to talk about it too."
Lara Parker
I remember that morning in the hospital. Ricky didn't quite know what to do or what to feel. He didn't really cry, he just looked stoic. He got very fidgety and scared. When we took him to see Dad, he began to get anxious seeing just a body. My heart ached more imagining all the events a young boy should have his father for. We had to distract him with cartoons on our phones in the hospital hallway, I bet it pulled him away from reality.
When we got home that morning, immediately he asked our mom if his friends could come over. Obviously we didn't really want people around so he had to settle with playing by himself. I was in disarray and found myself laying in the middle of the driveway sobbing. Ricky was riding his scooter and I remember he drove up next to me and said, "What, are you sad that we have a dead dad?" And then he moved on with his scooter ride. What he said left me in a bit of a shock, but as time has gone by, I've realized that's how his little mind processes it all.
A month after Dad passed away, we went out to pick pumpkins for Halloween. We loaded up all our pumpkins and rode in the back of the car with the trunk open as we drove to the checkout and weigh-in. My siblings were joking about pushing each other out of the car. Then Ricky yelled, "Pick me! That means I would die and then I can be with Dad." We all looked at each other speechless.
Ricky has since slept in my dad's place in bed next to my mom. He told her, "This is my spot now so you don't get lonely mom."
