Diary of a Widower

And what does Google say?

WEDNESDAY, February 10 – Everyone is vain, including me.  So, on occasion,  I google myself. Like just now. I noticed that other people apparently google me, too, since Google gives previous search terms as a suggestion. It appears that I am now a media widower, given the following terms:

Tim Overdiek with the search term Twitter: 2350 results

With the term wife 1350

Wife deceased 471

Jennifer 1100

Facebook 2120

NOS 4440

Death of wife 497

Well, what can I say?

WEDNESDAY, February 3 – Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fucking hell!

So near and yet, so far

TUESDAY, February 2 – So near and yet so far. Solitude, loss, the gaping hole. I wander the streets of Amsterdam in the rain without a clue where I’m heading, looking for her, getting drenched in the process. Where are you?

I have to run the whole show on my own: organize everything, deal with the snags, make the decisions.  E’s arrival was meant to be an extra pair of hands but today I feel as if I’ve gained a daughter. She doesn’t have a clue. I have to explain everything, step by step, with the patience of a saint which I sometimes find difficult to muster.

Now the moment has come to entrust the children to her care. She will be taking over part of my role, which means she’ll be responsible for their well-being while I’m at work and that will be more often and for longer periods than at present. She’ll pick them up from school and I won’t be there. For three months I was their sole guardian, and now there is also our au pair.

It feels unnatural – as if I’m the only person the kids can (or should)  trust or fall back on. It seems there’s no alternative. That’s the way it is. It only serves to increase, retroactively, the immense admiration I had and still have for Jennifer as a mother. She was a fantastic Mom and the tears come when I think about the cruel termination of that role.

So tired. So far away and yet so near.

Determined to risk it all

SATURDAY, January 30 – This morning I am determined. I, of course, know that determination can be treacherous, but I’m willing to risk it. I let my Facebook friends know that ‘This morning nothing, I repeat, absolutely nothing can ruin the excellent mood I’m in. As far as I’m concerned, it can only get better.’

With unflagging cheerfulness, I thank the neighbor who ran into the three of us on the street and who nearly burst into tears. She offered to come and cook for us, but that wouldn’t be necessary, I said. We’re doing just fine. No, we’re not miserable or pathetic. We’re managing quite well, especially today, since it’s such a beautiful day, with both sun and snow.

Then I talked to my brother on the phone.  For once in recent months  I didn’t send him straight to my voicemail.  He wanted to know how was I doing, so I switched to automatic pilot, informing him of my daily trials and tribulations.  A ten-minute chat sufficed.  At one point, you hear yourself blabbing on and the mental energy quickly fades. That’s the signal to stop.

I open a new book and finish it at one go:  You May Call Me Anytime by a Dutch woman, who recorded her experiences after her husband’s death, are gripping and should actually knock me for a loop. Instead, I simply smile and nod at the recognizable situations. At the end of the evening, I put the book back in the bookcase, grinning at the familiar situations and the sheer lunacy of death.

I wasn’t even dispirited by Eamonn, who came downstairs crying after having a bad dream. By Sander who also came out of bed and began demanding that his mother come back. I was in a really great mood from then until I closed my eyes that night. The next morning a smile reappeared on my lips and refused to be banished.  I had no idea why and, for once, I wasn’t even going to ask myself.