Diary of a Widower

Daily entries by a husband, who stayed behind with his two sons

Archive for the category “Back to work”

30 Dec 2012

‘My dearest colleagues…’

WEDNESDAY, December 30  – Sent an email to the newsfloor. ‘Dear colleagues, on the eve of 2010 I want to express my heartfelt thanks for…’  Short and sweet, I tell them how heartwarming their support was, and is, but that it’s time for me and the boys to shoulder the burden of our personal sorrow. This will give me a chance to return to my work in Hilversum with renewed energy.

In closing, I call on all of them to at least consider the idea of registering as an organ donor. Two birds with one stone. No doubt this will give rise to a variety of reactions. So be it. Our loss belongs to us. It’s private, not public. Plus, this is also a good way to get back into my work routine.

At least I hope so. I know full well that we won’t be making a whole new start on New Year’s Day. Misery doesn’t just disappear overnight;but, with luck, things will start to get a bit better. I feel entitled to my New Year’s resolution, even though I’m not really convinced.

Posted in Back to work | Leave a comment
18 Dec 2012

Fighting a war of grief

FRIDAY, December 18 – Why not, I thought. If it makes such an impact on friends, why shouldn’t other people who follow me on Twitter?  Right now there are over two thousand who do, so I twittered:

This is a shameful – make that a proud – plug: Sign up as an organ donor. My late wife Jennifer has made it possible for four people to live on.

It reached a great many people, which was the object of the exercise. I hope it results in a slew of registrations. Some people have already announced their intentions on Twitter and tomorrow I’m going to issue a subtle reminder. Short-term activist … always better than long-suffering widower.

23.50 – Just back from a small farewell party for my colleague P, who presented his last broadcast tonight. I stayed for an hour or so, spent most of the time with M., a dear colleague. She compared the impact of my loss to that of her Jewish mother, who lost her entire family during the Second World War – all exterminated by the Nazis. Her mother’s life was shaped by the war.

According to her daughter she would have said,  ‘This is Tim’s war.’

Tim’s war? That’s not the way it feels or the way I see it. Maybe I should sleep on it. Tim’s war?  Tim’s battle? Tim’s amputation? Tim’s betrayal? Tim’s revolt?

But then I knew. Tim’s victory!

Posted in Back to work, Grieving, Remembering | Leave a comment
03 Dec 2012
1 Comment

Taking off my wedding ring

WEDNESDAY, December 3  – Before the clock has struck 7 a.m., Eamonn is walking around with a song in his head, which he sings at the top of his lungs and then hums under his breath. He tries out the melody on his electric guitar, waving the instrument around the way only The Beatles could.

Here comes the sun …

Just as I’m getting ready to take the dog out, he announces:  ‘Papa, I’m going to let my hair grow, just like Ringo Starr.’

That’s an excellent idea, my son, an excellent idea. The rest of the morning I can’t get the song out of my head. It feels good.

Here comes the sun

Dootin doo doo

Here comes the sun

And I say it’s alright…                                                                                            

Weddingring15.20 – At work, and it’s alright, doo da doo da.  Everybody in the building stops me – on the news floor, in the hall, by the elevator, even in the restroom – just to ask me how I’m doing which is not surprising given the mass outpouring of sympathy in the week after Jenn’s death. The organization was deeply affected by the news and the sincere involvement of my colleagues with our well-being has continued to grow.

I choose my moments of visibility and contact with the hundreds of people who work here. This creates the illusion that I’m back, batteries fully charged and raring to go.  Which, of course, is not the case.  I just walked out of a meeting because I had totally lost interest in the topic being discussed.

I also find it difficult to concentrate since my attention is riveted on the wedding ring on my left hand.  While all sorts of important business is being discussed, I can’t think of anything but the very pressing issue of whether or not I should remove my wedding ring, whether the other people at the table have noticed that I’m still wearing my wedding ring, and whether they can tell that I’m thinking about my wedding ring.

In short, let the record show that on this day, at 15.09, I removed my wedding ring.  So be it.  Totally without ceremony, here at my desk, in an empty office.  Now,  let’s see if anyone notices or ventures a comment.  In any case, it’s only a ring.  I put it in my wallet.

Posted in Back to work, Kid's grieving
30 Nov 2012

‘Papa, what if you also die?’

MONDAY, November 30 – Shit, shit, shit!!!  I screamed my lungs out on the way from Amsterdam to Hilversum.  Eamonn couldn’t get going this morning and wouldn’t let me leave the schoolyard.  I left him behind, took care of a few things at home, and bought some presents and stuff for the St. Nicholas celebrations on December 5th.

I was in the store when my phone rang.  Eamonn.  Headache, stomach ache, but basically his heart was bleeding. I tried to be stern, but couldn’t.  I promised I would arrange for him to come home early.  How?  I simply didn’t know, and on the way to work I burst out crying.  I swore.  Shit, shit, shit!!!

I’d been in the office less than ten minutes, when the phone rang again.  Someone from school. Both Sander and Eamonn were now sitting disconsolately in the counselor’s office.  All sorts of things were going wrong.  Every imaginable complaint had been laid on the table, but behind it all was the pain in their heart- a pain which I shared. I turned to my colleague and said I had to leave.

On the way back to Amsterdam I realized that right now there is no cure for what they are suffering from. The best we can do is to stick together, at home on the couch, battling what fate has sent our way.

15:00 – Sander and Eamonn on the couch, with me in the middle.  Frantic attempts to understand it all. But it’s quite simply incomprehensible.

Sander: ‘It’s all true, and I still can’t believe it. That she’s gone forever.’

Eamonn: ‘I think of her every second of the day.’

No one says anything.

Eamonn: ‘Papa, you need a backup.’

Me:  ‘What do you mean?’

‘In case you die, too. Someone will have to take care of us.’

‘Do you have someone in mind, Eamonn?’

‘I was thinking of Grandma, or Grandpa.’

‘Or one of your uncles?’

‘Yeah.’

‘But listen:  I’m not planning to die in the near future.’

‘I know that.’

Sander: ‘But why Mom? Why her?’

Posted in Back to work, Grieving, Kid's grieving, Three Guys | Leave a comment
27 Nov 2012
1 Comment

Royal chat about this and death

FRIDAY, November 27 – A long afternoon of largely superfluous questions, during the fiftieth anniversary of the Society of Editors-in-Chief. Or were the answers superfluous? Not many people knew what we were going through. (As if I knew.) So everyone was walking on eggs.

It felt good to be with colleagues. We could address The Subject and deal with it.  Which was good for them, and for me, since it was a kind of leitmotif trailing me wherever I appeared.  One or two people were unaware of the situation, and I was happy to leave it at that. In a way it was easier: we reverted to journalistic chit-chat. No problem.

After the official celebration, I was one of a small group of colleagues who’d been invited to a personal meeting with Crown Prince Willem-Alexander. After a round of handshakes, His Royal Highness began by saying, ‘I want to offer my condolences on the death of your wife’. He realized that it was ‘difficult for others to comprehend what has happened to you.’

He also noted that it must have required considerable courage to attend the event. I said that I appreciated his sympathy, and stammered a few other things that I don’t remember.  In order to avoid a tense silence, I asked him a question about his own manner of ‘consuming the news’. Ten minutes later the meeting with the future king of the Netherlands was over, and people could refill their glasses and revert to the usual shop talk.

Posted in Back to work
23 Nov 2012
2 Comments

First day back at work. Sorta

MONDAY, November 23 – Exhausted after my first full day at work, not that I did a great deal. I was there. Talked to a lot of people and gave three German colleagues a tour. They didn’t know about what had happened, which was great.  My concentration was good.

Attended several meetings where I was conscious of the way people were conscious of me. Every minute or so my thoughts began to wander, or that’s the way it seemed. Attended the editorial meeting.  Came home to find two cheerful youngsters waiting for me.  It wasn’t a bad day, they reported.

We felt grateful. Eamonn gave me an exceptionally big hug before he put on his pyjamas. Sander came downstairs and said he’d called Mom’s answering machine again. Eamonn wanted to do the same, so I picked up my cell phone and called her number.  On the speaker phone.

It lasted barely ten seconds. Nothing out of the ordinary, actually quite businesslike for her. She can’t come to the phone right now, but if we leave a message, she’ll get back to us as soon as she can.

‘Maybe I’ll leave a message,’ said Sander. I think we were all hoping against hope that she would one day emerge from that lengthy meeting, or return from that business trip that had lasted far too long.

Posted in Back to work, Three Guys
05 Nov 2012

Feeling her presence. Really

THURSDAY, November 5 – Settled the first misunderstanding. This morning I realized that Sander doesn’t have the faintest idea what I do for a living. He went to pieces and had a crying fit – complete with reproaches and desperation before, ultimately, a confrontation with me.

‘Why are you always working, Papa. Why don’t you ever have time for us?’

‘Working?  Me?’  I said.  ‘Come with me,’ and Sander was more than eager to comply.  He hates gym class, especially first thing in the morning. Off to Bagels & Beans for a cappuccino instead. Then I explained to him just what I’d been doing the last few days.

The mortgage, bank business, taxes, the two lawyers I’d approached, etc., etc.  Sander’s face lit up. All along he thought I was back at my job with NOS, simply because I was at the computer and busy calling people.  His mind is at rest, but mine isn’t.  It’s a big job, at least that’s how it feels right now and yet quite simple.  One thing at a time and if it doesn’t get done today, there’s always tomorrow.

I’ve already made that our family motto. Eamonn laughed himself silly when I ordained: Today is today, tomorrow is tomorrow, and we only worry about tomorrow when tomorrow is today.’  The reasoning is watertight and it’ll do for now.

14.30 – Off for a long walk with Eamonn and Elsa nearby Haarlem, together with F who’s promised to take our dog out for a run a couple of times a week. It was a fun afternoon that included nine other dogs.

It happened on the way back to the car. Eamonn and I were walking side by side, with Elsa just ahead of us. I felt Jenn’s presence. It’s hard to describe exactly what it was. An attempt.  I was aware of a visible and tangible dimension, with several vibrating layers. A kind of undulating focus around us.  It felt good, reassuring.

Eamonn said that he had noticed it, too, after I mentioned it.  He talked about it quite casually:  ‘Look, Elsa’s walking alongside Mom.’ Seconds later it was gone. Beautiful.

Posted in Back to work, Remembering, Three Guys | Leave a comment

Post Navigation

Newer Entries →