Musings of a Widower

Of all things, it was a spoon that did me in today.  An orange, dishwasher safe, plastic spoon.  I was fishing around the kitchen drawer looking for a spoon.  What I found was her spoon.  The spoon that she used when things went from bad to worse and we were modifying utensils and dishware to help her feed herself. I think we switched to the plastic spoon because it was lighter and easier for her to operate. Those are memories I’ve tried to forget and have largely succeeded…until today.  This innocuous fucking spoon opened up the floodgates. I replayed the countless meals we had right there at the kitchen table where I coached her on where things were located on her plate (she couldn’t see).  Or, later, when I would feed her like she was a toddler and not the most beautiful, smartest, person I’ll likely ever know.  Anyway, I cried hard enough to alarm the dogs because of a stupid piece of plastic.  I could probably end this entry right here.  I think this does a pretty good job of illustrating the razor’s edge widowed people live on.  Where an otherwise nice day can get completely derailed by an inanimate object. But I haven’t posted anything in ages so I should probably try to get some of this out of my system. 

I’m past 6 months now.  I’m past most of the monumental ‘firsts’ that all widows/widowers struggle through – holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, etc.  None of them were easy but Charlie and I survived them.  I still go to weekly individual and group therapy and I’m guessing I will continue to do so for a long time.  It’s hard to say if it’s helping at all but today’s spoon incident suggests that I have a lot of work to do.  But, if nothing else, it’s a place to dump my grief and give my friends and family a much-needed break.  Not that anyone has abandoned me, but life goes on. I belong to three bereavement groups.  I belong to one at the Cancer Wellness Center that meets twice a month, one at the JCFS that meets weekly (6-week program), and then Gilda’s Club which meets every Friday from 11am – 12:30am.  My individual therapy is once per week, but my therapist is advocating for twice weekly sessions which should tell you how I’m doing. You’re probably thinking, that’s a lot of therapy.  You’re right and yet, it doesn’t always feel like it’s enough.  To be clear, most of it isn’t really ‘therapy’ but rather a bunch of grieving folks looking for a safe, judgement-free, space to be sad. You see, the more distance we get from our person’s death, the more the world expects us to be okay.  I get it.  But it’s not as easy as it sounds and grief doesn’t follow a specific, linear, pattern where each day gets a little easier.  God, I wish that were true.  

My day-to-day existence is weird.  Sometimes it feels like I’m an actor in a movie about someone whose wife died. I feel like I’m going through the motions and I’m slightly disconnected from everything.  It’s an unsettling feeling because I have more responsibilities now than I’ve ever had in my life.  I know this doesn’t make sense, but it still doesn’t feel real.  It just doesn’t seem possible that she’s gone.  I sometimes wonder if I feel this way because I have nearly constant reminders of her.  For example, our house is still largely the same as it was.  Her clothes still fill our closet, her bathrobe is still on its hook, etc.  I have started to purge some things – like her massive collection of skin balms, hair products, and makeup – but they were all hidden away in drawers so it doesn’t really do much more than create empty space that will likely never be filled.  I try to keep busy but it’s hard.  My attention span is still pretty limited. I find myself starting things and then never finishing them – books, TV shows, projects, etc.  This blog or whatever it is, is a good example.  I’ve started and abandoned dozens of entries.  By the time I return to them, whatever I was feeling at the time has long-since passed and I can’t pick up the thread.  I returned to work in a full-time capacity back in October but I still don’t know if it was the correct decision.  I told myself that I wouldn’t make any major changes for the first year and walking away from a career that I started over 30 years ago would certainly qualify as “major.”  But I feel overwhelmed and have lost confidence which in turn makes me feel guilty.  My ownership has been unbelievably patient and supportive, so I want to do right by them, but I feel like I’m letting them down at every turn. 

My social life is disjointed as you would expect.  I mostly wait to get invited to things and have something to add to my calendar.  There are weeks when I have nothing and weeks where I have a lot of things to do.  Really, not much different than when Shelli was alive.  The off weeks usually involve bad dietary choices, TV binging, and a strong indica.  Funny, but there was a time when that would sound pretty good.  Maybe Shelli was going out for a girls’ night and I’d settle in for a night of bad TV.  But it’s a bit different when it isn’t optional and she isn’t going to come home, slightly tipsy.  I hesitate to use the word ‘lonely’ to describe how I feel. First of all, I don’t think it’s really accurate. At least for now, I still have Charlie at home. Second, it’s so much more than that. I can find people to spend time with. What I don’t have and may never have again, is a partner. Not just a companion but someone who knows me as well as I know myself and who is an extension of me. Who do I unpack my day with? Who do I hate watch The Bachelor with? Who do I get to plan a future with? That was Shelli and I miss her so much that it makes my stomach hurt and I want to crawl back in bed and sleep. It’s weird to suddenly be operating in a world where I can be totally, unapologetically, selfish. Where there’s no one to say, “Honey, you already have 5 ski jackets. Do you really need another one?” So it’s a good bit more than just loneliness. It’s being ALONE with my thoughts, decisions, and my entire life. Yes, there’s Charlie of course. But he’s 18 and becoming more and more independent.

Speaking of Charlie, I took my first trip without him a few weeks ago.  It is a ski trip I’ve taken dozens of times before and with some of my closest friends.  If I’m being honest, I dreaded it.  I had a really hard time leaving Charlie even though Linda came in to keep him company.  I was a weepy mess on my flight out but once I arrived and settled in, it was great.  My friends really are amazing.  They all knew that it wasn’t easy for me, but they gave me space and kept things light and entertaining. Vail is one of those places where Shelli and I have/had many great memories so there were times when the heaviness crept in but, overall, I enjoyed myself.  It was a little strange in that it was the first time that I’ve had to explain to anyone that I’m a widower.  Everyone in my social orbit knows Shelli died.  In Vail, people we met asked me if I was divorced, or, why I was wearing my ring on my right hand. It was hard to admit the truth to others when I can barely admit it to myself.  It was kind of my widower coming out party.

Charlie is doing okay.  I hesitate to say ‘good’ because I honestly don’t know if that’s true.  He and I seldom talk about anything serious and we definitely never talk about Shelli.  I reference her as often as I can without it being forced.  I share little anecdotes or will say something like, “mom would be so proud!” but he has never once brought her up.  I have to trust that he shares more with his therapist.  In the meantime, I keep telling him that he can talk to me about anything, anytime, and I will shut up and listen.  Maybe someday he will.  As much as I’m stressed about him leaving for college in roughly six months, I think it will be good for him.  He’s spending way too much time locked in his room and on his computer.  He needs to hit the re-set button and find his own path forward and that won’t happen in Evanston.

Probably the best thing I’ve done is some light volunteering at a dog shelter in Northbrook called Border Tails.  I’ve gotten to know the people there a bit and their passion and energy is contagious.  We’re still trying to figure out how I can best help them but in the meantime, just playing with dogs that were given up nourishes my soul in ways that I can’t express.  I also think that Shelli would approve.  Charlie joined me last Sunday and it was the best day we’ve had together in a long time.  Who knows?  Maybe this will be the next chapter in my life. 

Lastly, I still want to use this forum to share stories, anecdotes, details, and facts about Shelli while they’re still somewhat fresh. I don’t ever want my memory of her to be distilled into some generic composite of who she was.  I want to give it life by filling in the fine details.  Here are some random, stream-of-conscious, things about my girl:

• She hated citrous-based desserts which is weird because she loved citrus (usually as a cocktail garnish).
• She got motion-sickness.  When we’d be on a boat, she’d wear these wrist things that put pressure on some nerve to reduce nausea.  This made her decision to go on rides at Universal Studios, while receiving cancer treatments, an act of bravery. 
• She would sometimes order meatless fast-food hamburgers.  Just everything except the burger.  It was always a confusing order.  “You want a Quarter Pounder but with no meat?”
• She liked iced skim lattes or unsweetened, iced, green tea from Starbucks but they had to be medium sized in a grande cup for some reason.
• She liked champaign, prosecco and bloodies for brunch.  She didn’t really have a ‘go to’ drink though.  It’d probably be a dirty vodka martini, up, with blue cheese olives.  Had to be the right amount of dirty though which was always tricky.  She developed a taste for (my) expensive bourbon and tequila too.  I’d make her a Manhattan on occasion. 
• Her favorite color was yellow or that’s what she would tell us.  So pretty much everything Charlie bought her for Christmas was yellow. 
• She was very fashionable in a casual, effortless, way.  She looked adorable whether she was going for a walk or going to the grocery store.
• She liked to cook.  Most of it was vegetarian.  She’d make stir fry and would season the vegetables to within an inch of their life.  She was very liberal with her use of spices.  Her specialty was egg challah souffle.   She’d always make it for celebratory brunches  
• She liked seafood but only if the fish didn’t taste like fish.  If I made her tuna, it would be overcooked to the point of having the consistency of chicken.  Shrimp was completely hit or miss.  Crab legs was once a favorite but she seldom ordered later in her life.  During her first trip to Nantucket, I took her to the Lobster Trap.  We ordered lobster (duh) and she was very upset that they served her a whole lobster.  She draped a napkin over the lobster’s face and I spent most of the meal shelling it for her.
• She wasn’t shy about making special requests at restaurants much to Charlie’s horror and embarrassment.
• Speaking of Nantucket, when she was pregnant, I got us lost in the fog walking back to our house.  She was not happy and forever accused me of having a bad sense of direction.  For the record, I really do have a great sense of direction.  Hers was terrible though. 
• If you were to ask me her favorite music, I couldn’t tell you.  It was so random.  She did love John Denver and Kenny Rogers though.  Not to the point where she’d seek it out to listen to but if it came on the radio or someone played a cover at a bar, she was in heaven. 
• I made her a mix tape that I played in the delivery room when she was giving birth to Charlie.  Here Comes the Sun was on the mix and was playing when he entered the world.
• She hated running and hated shorts.  I can probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen her in shorts.  She loved walking though and was a serious walker the last few years.  She didn’t really like yoga either and wasn’t a fan of sweating.  She was a fine skier but that is the extent of her demonstrated athletic prowess.  She wasn’t good at catching things.  Toss her a TV remote and no matter how softly she would react like you whipped it at her. 
• She would love to suggest we order food and when I’d ask her where from, she’d say “you pick.”  She would then shoot down every suggestion.
• She loved spas and spa treatments.  Who doesn’t?  Wherever we went on vacation, she was sure to spend some days at the spa. 
• She was smart.  Very smart.  Arguing with her was a challenge because she would very calmy destroy your argument.  She would apologize if she was wrong (which wasn’t often) but it would usually contain a few “buts”.  Like, “Okay, I may have been mistaken, BUT…”
• She would always listen to me but wouldn’t be afraid of challenging me.  She didn’t just nod in agreement.  If I was upset about something, she would help calm me down but wouldn’t be shy about telling me if it was me that was in the wrong. 
• She was a lot more sensitive than she would ever let on.  Her feelings could be hurt.  Not easily but things would upset her more than she would ever admit.
• While we didn’t host a lot of parties she was an amazing hostess. 
• She loved gadgets of any variety.  Some were useful and some cluttered our junk drawer.
• Packing for a trip was a source of significant stress.   She would start packing days before a trip.  It was rare that we ever were in need of something that she didn’t think to pack.
• She loved games and cards, especially gin.  She didn’t tolerate sloppy card playing. If Charlie misplayed a card in gin, she’d slap his hand.