Diary of a Widower

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

Archive for the category “Three Guys”

12 May 2013

Time to celebrate again

WEDNESDAY,  May 12 –  I never knew we had such beautiful plates and cups and stuff. All of it was stored on the bottom shelf of the cabinet in the dining room and I’m seeing it for the first time, as I unwrap the various pieces.  Dinner plates, bowls, serving dishes.  Magnificent.

Never seen them before – or maybe never noticed them, due to lack of interest. Everything was unused. No doubt wedding gifts from aunts and uncles, carefully tucked away, afraid something might get broken which would have been a shame.

There were more surprises. Things the boys had made over the years, which I had long since forgotten. An imprint of five-year-old Sander’s hand in a plaster heart, for Mother’s Day. A snowman made out of an old sock, with ‘Eamonn’ scrawled across the front. The most touching memento was hidden in the wooden shoes someone gave us when Sander was born:  a handwritten card accompanying the flowers that Eamonn had bought for Jenn last year:

Happy 41st* B-Day Mom!

The asterisk was clarified on the reverse in red letters:  ‘Even though you look 25’.

This afternoon Eamonn came up with the idea of organizing a party on the 28th of this month, her birthday and to ask the same people who were invited to the Halloween Party that was cancelled last October. Eamonn declared that ‘it was time to celebrate something again’.

I told him he was a wise child.

Posted in Grieving, Kid's grieving, Three Guys | Leave a comment
11 May 2013

Moving on after moving move

TUESDAY,  May 11 –  Moving on after a moving move, I scribble on my Facebook wall. Especially after the moving van arrived at our new address and the four moving guys  distributed the furniture and boxes throughout  various rooms. When the foreman asked me where I wanted everything, I was initially at a loss.

My first impulse was to say, ‘I haven’t a clue. Ask my wife.’  Every time we moved, she’d taken charge:  she was the conductor, the traffic cop, the linchpin.  I felt a shiver go down my spine and asked him to wait a minute. I walked out on the balcony, took a deep breath, shook my head, and then turned around and got on with the job.

There was no stopping the movers: a couple of hours later, the second floor was full of our stuff and we lived somewhere else.

Posted in Three Guys | Leave a comment
08 May 2013

Moving on with less ballast

SATURDAY, May 8 – The whole process of moving is now seriously getting on my nerves.  Wanna get it over with. I long for it all to be in the past.  Then, we can sit down and await events to come. I throw away more than I should. On the other hand, it’s liberating to move forward with as little ballast as possible.

What would I do without Eamonn? I asked him to go along to IKEA to pick out some lamps. The kid has impeccable taste – I’m jealous. In less than five minutes he chose lamps for every room in the house. I didn’t even take a second look and cheerfully paid the bill.

Posted in Three Guys | Leave a comment
03 May 2013

Contemplating ‘that way out’

MONDAY, May 3 – Eamonn is bored stiff, to the point where he himself decides that even the computer is monotonous.  Nothing on TV, nothing playing at the movies, it’s pouring, so no baseball on the corner lot and the bowling alley is fully booked. As a last resort, I suggest we go to the indoor driving range. I try to pep him up – getting out of the house is the first step. We take a bucket of golf balls up to the top floor, where it’s quiet.

We don’t get any further than ten balls. He’s angry and it looks like he’s ready to bash something, just to blow off steam. He sits down and then he seems to fold.  I sit down next to him and he moves closer. Let’s not do anything for a while. Just talk, he says. Good idea.

We talk about ‘him’, the one we’re angry with. Eamonn hates him.

We talk about ‘her’, the one we want back. Eamonn misses her.

I allow myself to say the word ‘dead’. He says: that’s a horrible word, I don’t want to say that word, or even think about it. And yet, it keeps going through his head and filling his thoughts. We hit the last ball together. Then he leans over the railing and asks me what would happen if he jumped.  You’d break both your legs, and if it was a bad fall, you’d be dead.

I tell it like it is since I’m starting to suspect something. As we gather up the golf clubs, I ask him if he has recently wished that he was dead.  Yes, of course, he says. Was that really what he had wanted. No, not really. When was this?

‘Three months after the accident. I didn’t want to go on living like that,’ Eamonn said simply. When I asked him why he didn’t tell me, he said it was because I hadn’t been home at the time.

At any rate, the feeling did go away and as I go on asking him questions, as carefully as I can, he says that no, that isn’t what he wants. He’s sure about that. But what if thoughts like that enter your mind… ‘Yes, I know, then I’ll come to you.’

Or your brother, okay? Yes, that’s settled. I promise myself again and again that no matter what, I’ll be there for him. Being there – that’s become the key to our life together.

Posted in Kid's grieving, Three Guys, Traffic victim | Leave a comment
02 May 2013

We need a break from life

SUNDAY, May 2 – At eight o’clock this morning I dropped Sander off at his friend’s house.  He’s going to spend a week in Switzerland with the rest of the family. Yesterday we had a bit of a crisis. ‘I don’t want to go, and I’m not going!’

He was dreading the trip. ‘I’ve seen enough of my friend already. And we’re going to a country where I don’t speak the language. What am I supposed to do there?  Stupid mountains. They don’t even have internet. All I need is a break from life.’

He has a point there. That’s what we all need, but staying at home is not a good idea. And at this late date, he can’t back out. So, I summoned up the patience of a saint – for me, a true accomplishment – and managed to convince him. Or rather, I bribed him by letting him borrow my camera. If things get really difficult later in the week, I promised to jump in the car and drive to Switzerland.

And I meant it. If necessary, I’d drive the nine hours there and nine hours back in one go. Luckily, Sander’s mood soon changed. The sun came out and continued to shine right up to this morning. But then my eyes started to blur and the tears came. It’ll be the first time since October that he’s slept somewhere else. And for a whole week. Big deal for this Daddy.

I’m going to miss him and I hope he’ll miss me, but that guarantee lasts only until the moment your soon-to-be teenager closes the car door just after eight o’clock and disappears behind the horizon. And that’s as it should be.

Posted in Kid's grieving, Three Guys | Leave a comment
30 Apr 2013

Colour of grief today is orange

FRIDAY, April 30 – The flea market in Amsterdam South on Queen’s Day is always worth a visit. Sander learned from his experiences last year and now he has a reserved spot, with his keyboard and loud-speaker. The sign next to his top hat reads PLAYING FOR IPAD.  He comes home with 42 euros.

Eamonn and I walk around, keeping an eye out for possible bargains. He throws two raw eggs, one of which hits the organizer smack in the face. That made his day. But not mine. Wherever I look, I see jaunty earrings, daringly short skirts, unusual shoes, or other crazy objects that remind me of Jennifer’s taste.  We don’t buy anything.

In another respect today reminds me of last year. I was home that afternoon, glued to the TV, listening to the radio and clicking my way through our website. The big news was a failed attack on the royal family – something I wanted to follow, even on my day off.

I remember everything about that day, but what suddenly comes to mind is totally different:  the moment when Jenn stood in the doorway looking at me. She pointed out that now that I had a day off it might be better to do something with the boys.  It wasn’t so much her words as the withering look she gave me that will always remind me of that Queen’s Day. An ominous premonition.

Posted in Remembering, Three Guys | Leave a comment
24 Apr 2013
2 Comments

Where to find peace? And how?

SATURDAY, April 24 – Nervous. The boys notice. They want to know if I’m okay. Yes, I’m okay.  We take the boat out, Sander at the helm. Then a walk in the park, lying on the grass with Eamonn. It’s a Saturday that feels like summer, but I can’t seem to relax.

This morning I called my brother and begged off.  He’d emailed me that it was a good idea for us to meet. He called to pick a date, but didn’t mention whether he’d be coming alone, with his son, or with the whole family.  I was open to all options, I said, so he would have arrived in one of the above combinations.

I cancelled this morning.  He sounded relieved. I can’t blame him. Where can I find peace?  And how?  And when? Things are not good:  I am not okay.

Posted in Family & Friends, Grieving, Three Guys
22 Apr 2013

Playing hooky at 6 month mark

THURSDAY, April 22 –  An ingenious plan, if I do say so myself and worked it out down to the last detail.  It started with a small act of vandalism. When I took the dog out, I let the air out of one of Sander’s tires.  Then, I emailed the school informing those concerned of the conspiracy and which the main figures – Sander and Eamonn – are still unaware of.

An ordinary morning, with the familiar rush at quarter past eight: looking for the P.E. stuff, packing the lunches, and leaving the house, on the double. Then Sander discovers to his horror that he has a flat tire. Okay, jump in and I’ll give you a lift. Bingo!  All three of us in the car heading for school. Right on time.  Quick kiss, see you this afternoon, and the car door swings open.

‘Hey, guys, wait a minute. Close the door.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I have another idea. We’re not going to school today. We’re going to spend the day at the Apenheul Zoo.  Let’s go see some monkeys!’

Astonishment, silence, no resistance from the back of the car.  The youngest has a big grin plastered all over his face. Whatever. Playing hooky is playing hooky. ‘Any time, Papa,’ he said once when I came to pick him up early.

But the oldest isn’t so sure. ‘We can’t do this, Papa. The whole school is going to be mad at us. This is going too far.’  Relax, Sander, the school already knows. It’s beginning to dawn… ‘Did you let the air out of my tire?’  I can’t help laughing.  Sander shakes his head.

So we’re on our way!  It had been Jennifer’s idea, for the fall vacation in October.  But the visit to the monkey zoo had been postponed because that was the week Elsa had arrived from Spain. Jenn loved the idea of a zoo with nothing but apes of all sorts and sizes. ‘When you get right down to it, we’re all monkeys.’

The accident had happened on this day, exactly six months ago. At first I just wanted to let it pass: today isn’t really any different from yesterday or tomorrow: but, in the end, I decided to mark the occasion by taking the day off and doing something with the boys. In the car on the way to Apeldoorn, we talked briefly about The Six-Month Moment. We didn’t attach great significance to the occasion but focused on the fact that we were together, enjoying the zoo.  And, of course, we were aware of how much Mom would have loved to be there with us.

We got back in good time.  Eamonn put on the Avatar DVD – a good long one, while Sander and I bought flowers and walked to the crosswalk. We laid the flowers near the tree and shortly afterwards walked back home.  It’s rotten, but life goes on.  Tomorrow everything will be normal again.

Posted in Grieving, Three Guys | Leave a comment
20 Apr 2013
4 Comments

Love is that fleeting second…

TUESDAY,  April 20 – So tired, dead-tired. This is all I was planning to write today.  Things turned out differently.

I was in the Mini on the way to an appointment in the city…  good-looking  women on bicycles sped by. It was a lovely sight and in the back of my mind I saw Jenn on her bike going over the bridges, saw how people looked at her in her denim mini-skirt and purple leggings, her black leather jacket and pale blue scarf. And the black-brown locks with those incredible curls.

Then I began to cry – and I’m still crying as I write it all down.

Why was all that taken away from her? It’s that question – to which there is no answer – that makes me so sad.  Sad for her. Not so much for myself.  She’s dead and I’m not. I’m alive.

I couldn’t shake off that feeling and during the business lunch I felt my mind drifting. Two colleagues were trying to provoke each other. I was the chair and I should have intervened, taken over, and gotten the meeting back on the rails.  But I couldn’t care less.  At that instant I was painfully conscious of the futility of it all. What the fuck am I doing here?  I excused myself, walked out of the room, put on my coat, got into the car and went home.

Home to my children. Love, that’s what I needed right then and that’s what I told Eamonn later in the car, on the way to baseball practice. That’s why I was waiting for him in the schoolyard at 3:30 which was a surprise, since he had expected his brother to pick him up. ‘You know why I enjoy picking you up, Eamonn?’

No, he didn’t know.

‘Love is that fleeting second when our eyes meet.  When I see the little rush of surprise.  Hey, it’s Papa!  You’re standing there. The quick smile of recognition, of affection, of closeness.  This afternoon, Eamonn, I needed that moment.’

Oh, okay. And he accepted my words for what they were worth.  We were both still for a moment. ‘Or do you think I’m a jerk, Eamonn?’  He laughed out loud. ‘That sounded funny, Papa.’

Posted in Back to work, Grieving, Remembering, Three Guys
19 Apr 2013

Playing Mom. And hating it

MONDAY, April 19  –  I start the day by emailing my brother.

‘Hi Brother,

These phone calls don’t really seem to work, for either of us. Why don’t you just come by this weekend?  I’d like that. With the whole family, with your son, or alone.  Whatever’s convenient. These perfunctory phone calls at regular intervals aren’t getting us anywhere. Take care!’

8:00 – It’s cold this morning. I remind the boys:  make sure you put on a coat. Eamonn says okay. Sander bargains. A sweat shirt without a jacket or a T-shirt with a jacket.  I say:  ‘a sweat shirt with a jacket’. He says no. I say:  ‘I hate having to play Mom.’  He says, ‘Then stop giving me a hard time.’  I laugh. At him and myself.

Posted in Family & Friends, Three Guys | Leave a comment

Post Navigation

← Older Entries
Newer Entries →