The feel-good movie of the year

My body decided to stay home from work yesterday. After a nap to recover from driving Critter to camp, then watching daytime television for about 18 minutes, I decided to look for a movie on Netflix. The home page boasted a category created just for me: Understated Dramas Featuring a Strong Female Lead.

I burst out laughing.

When it's all over, I would love for my life story to have been interesting enough to hold a viewer's attention. It certainly had its tense moments, but the redemption in the second half and the happy ending made it the feel-good movie of the year. Not a big studio production, but one of those quiet indie cinema verité flicks, maybe shot with a hand-held camera. Understated.

I wonder how many other people's "just for you" categories so perfectly describe their innermost desires for their own lives.

The Village People

I’ll dispense with the self criticism about how long it has been since I have written here, and instead confess that the impetus for starting again is the guest post I wrote for my friend Kristi’s new blog that will be accompanied by a link to this one when it is published sometime soon.

The timing couldn’t be worse, really, because I don’t like to be a whiner. But I am sick. And in my still-newish life as a sole parent, few things get me down more than being sick. A pox on the houses of my coworkers who have been coming to the office and spreading their filthy upper respiratory crud.

My eyes are burny and watery and twitchy, I’m hot and cold all at once, my head is pounding and I want my mom to make me some soft-boiled eggs. I want to lay on the couch and watch the televised results of paternity tests. I want another adult living here, because although I boldly declared myself off-mom-duty three hours ago, I eventually took pity on Critter and boiled some frozen ravioli for dinner.

Yet for all of my whining, I’m really not alone. A friend’s offer to go to the drug store or pick up groceries or just visit brought tears to my eyes. When I told Critter she was on her own tonight and she asked me how she’d get dinner, I told her that calling Kristi was probably her best bet. I was kidding, but it’s true – with one call, she could have been eating a far better dinner with far better company. In fact, she could knock on the doors of several neighbors and easily scrounge up dinner on any given day.

I am so grateful for the family of friends we have found here in Tampa. I’ve been using the term “sole parent” because “single parent” sounds more like a marital status than a state of being. I think, though, that I need to come up with something new, something that involves the word “village.”

Too much hubris

A friend, also widowed, asked me what was coming up for us. I knew he was talking about difficult milestones, but it felt almost as if the question didn't apply to me. I talked about the anniversary of S's death next month, which will be quickly followed quickly by our wedding anniversary. No surprises here - I know the dates and I have full understanding of the passage of time. As long as things don't sneak up on me,  I can manage them. Right?

It hit me this morning. During this week last year, the week before school starts, we headed to the mountains for our last family vacation. We had the best time we'd had in months, and I was cautiously optimistic that we were through the worst of S's illness. Laughing with my family in a boat on the cool mountain lake, I had no idea that his final decline would begin on the way home from that trip. Then came the beginning of a new school year, then Pickle's birthday, then my birthday. Then the last tortured weeks, then his death, then the funeral, then our anniversary, then Critter's birthday.

Just a week ago, when asked what was coming up, I shrugged off the question. Now I see a rough road ahead for the next six weeks or so.  So it's back to basics for a while. I'll try to get plenty of sleep and exercise. I'll check in with my therapist and take a day or two off of work to just breathe. I'll spend time with the most special people, the few who don't need me to pretend everything is fine. I'll celebrate the girls' birthdays and surround them with the family and friends who love them most. Who knows? Maybe I'll even throw a birthday party for myself.

61 minutes well spent

I just watched Young Widow: Naked in the Memorial Playground, a documentary by Elizabeth Titus. I'll have more to say about it later, but wanted to quickly share this list from the film:


Top 10 things you don't say to a widow

1. He died for a reason
2. God never gives you more than you can bear
3. I've been through a divorce, so I know exactly how you feel
4. My dog died, so I know exactly how you feel
5. My 89 year old grandmother died, so I know exactly how you feel
6. At least you didn't have children
7. At least you had children
8. It was for the best
9. God wanted him more than you
10. Are you over it yet?

I have been on the receiving end of versions of #2, #4, #5, #8 and #10.

The elephant in the room

We have moved into a new neighborhood, the kids are getting involved in more activities and I’m taking small steps back into polite society. With this comes meeting new people.

At what point do I tell them? Being a single parent isn’t unusual, so I thought I could do without explanations at first. I really don’t want this to define us for the rest of our lives. But not telling our tale quickly becomes challenging. How is it that I’ve come to have stepdaughter, but no husband? Do I explain right away, or do I let the awkward moment form like a little raincloud as the person tries to sort out our complicated little family, then dissipate while I change the subject?



Sometimes I blurt it out, almost too casually, as an aside, leaving me feeling tactless and the other person searching for the right thing to say. It happened today at the Apple store as I was trying to sort out transferring content to Pickle’s new iPod. The nice genius and I couldn’t figure out why some songs wouldn’t transfer. 



“Were any of the songs downloaded using a different iTunes account?” he asked.

“Oh yeah!” I exclaimed, happy that a solution might be at hand. “Yes, probably my husband’s account. That makes sense.”

“All you’ll need to do is log into the account, and you’ll be able to transfer the songs.”

“Yeah, but he’s dead,” I said.



Then I saw the stricken look on the nice genius’ face, and I started stammering.

“I mean, um, he put the songs on the iPod and I’m not sure if I have his password but I probably do, it’s probably on that list of passwords I have at home and if it is, then I’ll transfer the songs, no problem. I know how to do that. Um, I can do that. Thanks for your help. Thanks so much. Bye.”



My wise friend Kristina advocates getting things out in the open right away to prevent them from becoming uncomfortable later in the relationship. This approach can be used for anything anything that might become an issue in the future, big or small. 



So, if Kristina and I were to meet today instead of 20 years ago, our conversation might go something like this.

“Hi, I’m Kristina,” she’d say. “I don’t like ham.”

“Hi, I’m Jennifer,” I’d reply. “I’m a suicide widow.”

14 things I do now that I didn't do before

1. pay the bills
2. lock the house at night
3. mow the lawn
4. grill food
5. buy plane tickets
6. rent movies
7. check the weather report
8. move furniture
9. buy batteries
10. change the air conditioning filters
11. set the clocks
12. take out the trash
13. troubleshoot wireless connectivity issues
14. kill bugs

Three tickets to paradise

Sometime in the last 10 months, I have developed an odd sense of entitlement. It's odd mostly because I have lived my entire life lacking a sense of entitlement, even to things to which I was clearly entitled.

Now, though, I feel strongly that the girls and I somehow deserve some peace. We have been through enough and now need to coast for a while, thank you very much.

As last week's Caribbean vacation approached, I put a lot of stock into the trip. I saw it as a turning point - a chance to breathe, to feel lighter, to move forward. I could feel the pink sand beneath my feet and the cool umbrella drink in my hand. I could see the girls frolicking nearby with new friends. I could feel our collective sense of relief.

The trip got off to a great start. We arrived at the resort with our friends and were welcomed by a large group of impossibly enthusiastic staff. Our room was awesome - not only did each of us have her own bed, but the girls actually had a separate bedroom. The pool sparkled and the sea beckoned.

The next day, Critter was sick to her stomach for a few hours. She recovered pretty quickly. The next day I was sick, and it knocked me out for two days (I will never again use the phrase projectile vomiting lightly). When I recovered, Critter got it again, worse the second time. Our physical woes were set against a backdrop of broken air conditioning and a malfunctioning toilet in the room, along with animated but empty promises that they would be fixed immediately. We visited the kind doctor in the resort infirmary, who filled us full of meds and advised us to only eat white rice, plain pasta, boiled potatoes and bananas for the rest of the week.

Pickle hit a low point when Critter started her second bout of illness. I broke down in tears after the fifth cheerful promise that the air conditioning would be fixed. We deserved to be having a perfect vacation, and damn it, this was not it.

Despite it all, though, we really did have a good time. We spent a lot of time together and with our friends. We made some wonderful new friends. We floated weightlessly in crystal clear water. Critter swung from a trapeze and Pickle drank her weight in smoothies.

I do believe we have become experts in making lemonade out of life's lemons. Next time, though, I will make my lemonade with bottled water.

I feel the earth move under my feet

One day about six weeks ago, I woke up feeling totally like myself. It was so good, that old familiar feeling of knowing who I am. I thought I was through the worst of it, never mind the mountains of literature that told me grief comes in waves throughout the first year and beyond. I was somehow better than that, faster.

So this second wave of grief took me by surprise, an intense aftershock just when I began to trust the earth beneath my feet. I’m back to crying in my car and spending the workday choking back the tears that hover at the top of my throat. I’m back to lying awake for long stretches at night, then going through the day in a fog. I’m back to losing things and forgetting to pay bills.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about mourning dresses. For most of history, widows in many cultures wore them for a year or more. We have gotten away from the tradition in the last hundred years or so, and I’m coming to think that might not have been such great progress.

This isn’t to say that I’m wishing for a black wool dress and crepe veil, just some small outward sign to show the world how raw my heart is. To remind people that it has only been seven months, which sometimes feels like the blink of an eye. To ask for just a little more patience and kindness when people have already been impossibly patient and kind.

But today is Friday, casual Friday. So I’ll put on my jeans, go to work and hope for the best.

Never turn your back on the sea

S and I took Critter to the beach for the first time when she was about six months old. From my position on the beach chair holding a sleeping baby, I saw him diving into the water over and over. I thought he was looking for sand dollars. It went on for a really long time, calling my sand dollar theory into question. I motioned for him to come to us, and he motioned back to wait a minute, then kept diving. Finally, he came to the beach and told me he had lost his wedding band. He was so upset that he didn’t want to leave the beach that day. The ring had always been too big, and he was kicking himself for not having it sized. I told him it was just a thing, and we could get a new one.

A couple of weeks ago, I took care of my friends’ three kids while they took a fabulous trip to Seattle. Laboring under the delusion that I had superpowers, I decided to take all four children to the beach. When we had been there for a few hours and I was starting to feel like it was too hot and too sunny and everyone was too hungry, Critter came out of the surf sobbing.  She had lost her ring, the ring S gave her. I didn’t even dive down to look for it – she didn’t know where she was when it fell off, and I didn’t want to give her false hope. So we sat at the edge of the water and I held her while we both cried. I told her the story of S’s wedding band and how we were in the same spot when it was lost, so it was kind of nice to think that the two rings were together in the sea.  The other kids didn’t know what to do – one went away, the other hovered (the third is only two years old, so he continued to fill his bucket with water and dump it out over and over).

We packed up, rinsed off and headed for home. Critter perked up in the car. When she got into bed that evening, though, the tears came again. She was holding a charm that she said allowed her one wish. I asked what her wish would be and she said, “You think I’d want the ring back, but I don’t. I want Dad back.” 

And that is how my baby started grieving.