Diary of a Widower

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

Archive for the category “Remembering”

21 Nov 2012

It was all just a dream

SATURDAY, November 21 – Dreams. A dream about confusion and another about lack of understanding. I’m muttering all sorts of sentences addressed to no one in particular.

‘But Jennifer will do it.’

‘Why won’t Jennifer do it?’

‘That’s something Jennifer will have to decide.’

No specific questions or situations, and I’m the one who announces that there’s no problem, since ‘Jennifer will solve it’.

I wake up and realize where I am: I’m in my bedroom, in my bed; but, Jennifer isn’t there and I realize that Jennifer will not be solving the problem. Not any more.

Eamonn came in at five-thirty.  His alarm clock had gone off.  He couldn’t sleep. He stayed in my bed for half an hour. Then he decided he was hungry and went downstairs.

I stayed in bed, fell asleep again, and dreamed that we were cuddling. He said something sweet to me.  I looked into his face and resolved to tell Jennifer all about it.  Woke up again.  Eamonn was gone.  Jennifer wasn’t there and again I realized that there wasn’t anything to tell Jennifer.

Not any more.

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19 Nov 2012

Do not hurt our ‘baby’!

THURSDAY, November 19 – Number 22 has got to go. One of Sander’s incisors is in the way – a legacy from his mother. The dentist frowns.  ‘We’ll have to get rid of this one.’ Sander looks up and asks me to stay. Why? Because Mom always did. His adolescent body moans in pain as the anesthetic shoots into his jaw.

Suddenly I’m reminded of the summer of 1997, when baby Sander was due for his first injections.  In his buttock or his upper leg, I can’t remember which.  He screamed louder than any baby I’d ever heard. The sound was heart-rending.  And at that point tears came to my eyes.

I remembered how Jennifer gazed in bewilderment at the injustice to which her child was being subjected.  I was angry and blamed the doctor, who just stood there, half smiling.  It was a primeval reaction… the sense of parental responsibility during those first months as young parents.  Now, over twelve years later, that sensation returns in all its intensity.

Leaving the dentist’s office, I put my arm around my tall son, who has long towered over his mother. Then and now… the protective hug. The loving, comforting words:  ‘Don’t be afraid, little guy, you’re safe with Mom and Papa.’

The emotions are the same, twelve years and one dead mother later.

11:30 – Ah, a letter from the crematory, about the destination of the ashes. A tasteful folder with creative suggestions, accompanied by the price list.  I feel like writing something really cynical, just to get it out of my system, but then I think better it.  I’m tired.  Dead tired.

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17 Nov 2012

Clinging to me like a 3 year-old

TUESDAY, November 17 – On the radio I hear an account of the controversial political decision not to screen American women for breast cancer until the age of fifty.  Up to now the eligible age was forty.  Jenn would have been furious.  On her behalf, I am incensed over this ridiculous decision. I sense her outrage and that brings some relief.

17:00 – Eamonn has a guitar lesson today, the first in a long time. He’s cheerful, chatters a mile a minute, and is happy to be doing something different.  This morning was awful. In the schoolyard he was overcome by his emotions and wouldn’t let me go. He clung to me like a three-year-old on his first day at the day care center. Read more…

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16 Nov 2012

What’s my wedding date? Uh…

MONDAY, November 16 – Sander walked into the bedroom this morning and reminded me about the instances when I had felt Jennifer’s presence. Twice in the woods, with Elsa and Eamonn. He gave me a penetrating glance and said: ‘I don’t know, but I haven’t felt anything yet. No Mom. Nothing at all.’

It was a simple observation, clearly not a sign of anxiety.  I told him that was okay, too and that when the time came, he would know. I left it at that, especially since we were late for school.  Made a mental note to talk to him about this later tonight.

9:00 – My Facebook post for this morning:  ‘Lawyers, diplomats, psychologists, bankers and police commissioners; all of them on the agenda for this week. But what on earth do you do when your nine-year-old is havinghas a crap moment?’

10:30 – Fuck, fuck, fuck.  Had to fill out a whole slew of forms for the American Consulate and my lawyer. Couldn’t for the life of me remember the date of our wedding. That’s how fucked-up the whole situation is.  I’m going crazy.

22:00 – Sander brought it up himself. This afternoon he’d been busy trying to get his hard drive to work. He’d been fooling around with it for over an hour when he saw his Mom lean over his shoulder and heard her say ‘Isn’t it about time you took a break?’ Sander said it was creepy, scary. I told him there was nothing negative about it, and that he ought to cherish the experience.  It’s possible that he was making it up, because he’s been so anxious to feel her presence. On the other hand, what right do I have to cast doubt on his experience.

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15 Nov 2012

Feeling a body no longer there

SUNDAY, November 15 – For the first time since the accident, I have trouble sleeping. I wake up to find myself entangled with Eamonn, who at some point has crawled into bed with me. It’s still strange to find him in the spot where Jennifer lay for eighteen years.  We were bedmates, she and I, whereas, Eamonn and I are now fellow sufferers filling the emptiness of that same bed with our combined presence.

I’m confused. My eyes are open but my head isn’t awake yet.  Confused because I’m seeing Eamonn while I’m thinking of Jennifer.  I always used to caress her warm body when I got into bed. Read more…

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13 Nov 2012

Playing dead for ten minutes

FRIDAY, November 13 – There was only the one letter on the doormat. From Swarthmore College where Jennifer went to school.  It was a  letter of condolence which contained this notice: ‘In keeping with our tradition, we will place a book of remembrance in the McCabe Library Collection in which is engraved JENNIFER  M. NOLAN, CLASS OF 1990.’  I burst into tears, fell to the floor, and lay there crying until Elsa came down the stairs and lay down against me. After ten minutes playing dead I got to my feet.

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11 Nov 2012

Pain feels like a paper cut

WEDNESDAY, November 11 – Math is no longer Eamonn’s favorite subject.  In fact, he says he hates it.  Why, I ask him, as he keeps repeating that mantra while we wait in the schoolyard. I hate math, I hate math.

‘But why, Eamonn?  You’ve always been good at math?’

‘Yes, I know, but I still hate math.’

‘I don’t understand. Explain it to me.’

He drags his feet.

‘I hate math because Mom always signed the tests I brought home. And now she can’t anymore.’

Oh, shit.

‘It’s the little things that hurt the most, isn’t it?’ I say.  ‘But from now on I can sign your homework.’

But, of course that’s not the same.

‘Do you know what it feels like, Papa?  It feels like a paper cut.’

Damn, he’s right. That sharp pain you feel when you cut your finger on some stupid piece of paper. Brief but intense.

Eamonn explained.  ‘A paper cut so small you can hardly see it, but it really hurts.’

I was astounded.  What a metaphor for the wounded life that all three of us are living at this moment. I thanked him for those lovely words. ‘You just made my day’.

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10 Nov 2012

Blue scarf and sturdy boots

TUESDAY, November 10 – I was throwing out odds and ends. Starting with the contents of her purse. Was the word ‘horrible’ invented for moments like this?  Her tampons, lip gloss, a small pink bag with a pair of panties, in case her period came unexpectedly. Lifeless crap. A sales slip from the hairdresser’s : Coloring €48.50.  The Tuesday before the accident we’d gone to the hairdresser’s together. I’d just taken photos of the dog in the park.  With the boys.  With her. Got a fabulous shot of her with her unruly curls, trimmed and tinted that same afternoon.

15:30 – You were here again, Jennifer. This time in the park, where Elsa and Eamonn and I were racing around on a field of grass. Again, we sensed a presence, a perceptible dimension suspended all around us: your presence, a tangible blanket that made itself felt briefly – but long enough to get the lay of the land.  I let it come over me, and accepted it for what it was.  Beautiful.  I don’t ask myself questions.  I don’t want to hear that it was just my imagination.

Ten minutes later, we were walking down the street and I hear the sound of boots. It’s a woman who wants to pass us.  I look around, half expecting to see your curly hair, the black leather jacket, the blue scarf and those sturdy boots. It wasn’t you, Jennifer. It was just someone who sounded like you.

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08 Nov 2012

Empty couch, hard to stomach

SUNDAY, November 8 – Jenn couldn’t stand the smell, while I love it. Clean the mackerel, add crispy toast (just short of burnt), melted butter, and plenty of salt. Yum. The three of us are having a great time and, as in the past, I look at the last bite, the bite traditionally reserved for her, and then into the living room where Jennifer should be sitting. I should be walking over to her now, to put that last bite into her mouth. The thought of having to eat that bite myself comes across like a punch in the solar plexus.  It leaves me breathless.  Literally.

23:00 – ‘A smile on my face. My dear son Sander just ironed a shirt for me,’ I twitter. Too many wrinkles, let me do it, he had said. A burst of uplifting energy, but only for that quick ironing job. For the rest of the evening Sander was inconsolable.

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06 Nov 2012

Crying over her obituary

FRIDAY, November 6 – Good morning, Jenn.  You would have loved this. Eamonn is sitting on the couch with your laptop.  (Naturally Sander knew what your password was.)  He’s just started on a book, and prefers writing to watching TV. The story is about living food, and Uncle Pete appears in the form of a peach.

10.50 – Our first session with the family therapist.  N is petite, just like Jennifer.  Her office is near Vondelpark and is, thus,  close enough to go to by bike. She’s British and we speak English with her.  It feels strange. The boys wonder why we’re there. Let them discover that themselves. Read more…

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