Diary of a Widower

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

28 Jan 2013

“My Dad is #1”

THURSDAY, January 28 – Don’t have a clue what I meant when I wrote down last night’s terms. Can’t remember much about yesterday. What on earth does Auschwitz have to do with Sander’s half-birthday?  Jennifer perfected? Dammit! I’m losing my marbles.

Well, maybe that’s not such a bad idea.  A chance to catch my breath. Maybe that’s what I need most at this point.

I quickly, however, reject that idiotic idea. My mission, my life task, could not be clearer:  the children. Nothing but the children. And then myself. I have to take care of myself and it was a good thing that  I gave in to my fatigue, left the dancing letters to their own demise, and went to bed.

I found Eamonn in my bed.  During and probably because of my absence he had become upset and vomited all over the stairs. Sander called me during the meeting. The babysitter assured me that it wasn’t serious. ‘Entirely psychosomatic’ was my diagnosis, and I hung up after suggesting that Eamonn might want to crawl into my bed.  That helped.

This morning he came downstairs with a poem, written specially for me. Tears immediately came to my eyes. ‘It made me cry, too,’ Eamonn said. It’s called ‘My Dad’.

“My Dad

Is #1.

I love

To hear him hum,

His meals

Make me say yum.

My Dad

Is #1.”

I hang it on the wall.

(The book is now for sale. Click here for more information)

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27 Jan 2013

Reflecting on th… Need sleep

WEDNESDAY, January 27 – Fighting against sleep. Why don’t I go to bed? I want to reflect on things. I just got back from my first obligatory evening meeting since October. This one was with the staff of the Kids News regarding their plans for the future and the notes drawn up by the senior staff.

The future hmm… it remains a pretty vague concept.

Scribble down some notes on a piece of paper. Gotta work on this tomorrow: dog kibble Auschwitz commemoration, ideas for Sander’s half-birthday.  Jennifer perfected.  Off to bed.

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26 Jan 2013

When there was still hope

TUESDAY, January 26 – During a meeting I was leafing unsuspectingly through my business notebook.  There were a few sheets of paper at the back and, suddenly, a card fell out. It was a drawing Eamonn had made for Jenn.

Get well soon, Mom

He’d drawn a big heart around the text, which read:

Dear Mom, I hope you get well soon, because it’s lonely here

without your humor. Get well soon. From Eamonn, Sander, Oma.

PS:  Elsa wants to see you. PPS. Bodhi also wants to see you. I hope

you feel better.

I must have turned a ghastly shade, since within seconds I felt the blood draining from my face. For an instant my body froze, and then collapsed helplessly. No one noticed or, at least,  they all pretended they didn’t see my tears. The note was written the morning after the accident, when Jenn was already in a coma. It was full of concern, but also childlike hope which was to remain unfulfilled.

Posted in Back to work, Remembering | Leave a comment
25 Jan 2013
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Who am I? Why am I here?

MONDAY, January 25 – I’m concerned about my memory. I forget everything, literally everything or at least that’s the way it feels. I walk into a room to do something, and before I get there I’ve forgotten what it was I came to do. Then, I’m distracted by some other chore that needs doing and begin on that instead. I’m a stranger in my own house. I make lists of chores that need doing and then forget where I left the list.

And I almost never know where my keys are.

Today there was a painful moment when I called the American Embassy to apply for Social Security benefits for the children. Simple question:  When were we married? I replied, with some hesitation, September 6, 1996. Then, immediately added, ‘At least I think so. It may sound stupid, but I’m not absolutely certain.’

Well, it didn’t make that much difference, according to the civil servant at the other end of the line.  But I didn’t agree and after we’d gone through the next couple of questions, it began to bother me. ‘You know,’ I said, ‘I can check the date, it’ll only take a minute.’ I went into my office, picked up my wallet, and took out my wedding ring.

Engraved on the inside, alongside our initials, was the date: September 7, 1996.  Slightly embarrassed, I corrected my mistake on the phone. The man told me ‘not to worry too much about it’. I laughed wryly.

The imprint of the ring is still visible on my finger.

Posted in Grieving, Remembering
24 Jan 2013

How are you today? Great!

facebookpicSUNDAY, January 24 – I’m rested, my energy is returning, and my dirty house must pay the price. I feel an urge to embrace the outside world, starting with Facebook. Sometime ago I turned my back on most of my virtual friends.  My scribbled messages were too personal. Now I want to make friends again, invite them to become part of our daily life again. There’s nothing to hold me back: the windows are wide open again.

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23 Jan 2013

Let’s filter fine fatal figures

SATURDAY, January 23 – It’s encouraging news, that’s for sure, and I was able to say so without a trace of sarcasm when I saw the news item put out on the website of my own organization, NOS News. ‘In 2009 the number of traffic fatalities continued to drop. The figure is now below 700. To be precise, the police registered 605 deaths.’ I feel the inclination to make a sarcastic remark about our protection forces, but I decide to let it pass.

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22 Jan 2013

Memories are merciless

FRIDAY, January 22 – Three months since Jennifer and the boys went to the park with Elsa which had been only the third day she’d been taken out for a walk. It feels like three seconds ago.

I remember clearly that around four o’clock, Sander had called me at work. Come right away. Mom’s had an accident. He couldn’t tell me what had happened. Just come home. Now. Okay, Sander, I’m on my way.

It happened right around the corner. In our minds, it’s still right around the corner. What a waste, what a crime, what a ridiculous, absurd, unacceptable, unfair accident. Have we come to understand it? No. Do we realize that?  Sometimes. Are we dealing with it now?  Yes.

We have no choice. The choice was made for us. Three months ago. Three beings that will never forget. The memory will always be there. I hope with all my heart that we will remember the right things. Memories are merciless.

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21 Jan 2013

Just one of those (many) days

THURSDAY, January 21 – ‘Do you think about Mom, Eamonn?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘And what exactly do you think?’

‘Everything. But this ‘everything’ is totally blank.’

‘How about if we sit down on the couch and look at photos of Mom?’

‘Okay.’

‘Good, where shall we start?’

‘You know what,  maybe we shouldn’t do that after all.’

‘Okay, Eam. What shall we do instead?

‘I don’t know.’

‘Maybe just nothing.’

‘Okay.’

Tomorrow I’m going to let him play hooky. He’s earned it. In fact, he needs it.

Posted in Kid's grieving | Leave a comment
20 Jan 2013

Facts of the fatal collision

WEDNESDAY, January 20 – Late this afternoon I received a copy of the provisional criminal prosecution files. The cover of the  100 page report reads:  Fatal collision, October 22, 2009 at or about 15:50, at the crosswalk Stadion Road in Amsterdam. Summons number 2009 036333’.

All the details are there, technical and forensic, but the most important documents are the depositions of the witnesses, which are highly incriminating for the motorcycle cop. He is fucking toast. Fucking, fucking toast. I’m very, very angry at him. What an incredible bastard. The other people in the coffee place, where I have sat down to read the files, are giving me strange looks.

I shake my head. Emotional material. Description of Jennifer’s last moments, over and over again, in the words of the eyewitnesses. I’m not going to examine all that now.  When I get home, I’ll study it carefully.  Tomorrow my lawyer and I have an appointment with the public prosecutor.

I’m close to home when it all gets to be too much for me. Walking down Beethoven Street, I’m about to step into the crosswalk when the driver of a Land Rover, after initially slowing down, blows his horn and drives straight through. I catch up with him, knock on the window, and call him everything under the sun. I also explain why I’m so angry. He doesn’t say anything.

When I get home, I ask the babysitter to stay for another ten minutes. Upstairs in my bedroom, I start crying, and then get hold of myself. Eamonn needs me. Early this morning he told me that he thought some of his classmates were making fun of him behind his back.  No proof, of course, but the suspicion is preying on his mind. I have to reassure him: right now that’s more important than the proof of Jennifer’s death.

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19 Jan 2013

Cat’s gone. Fearing the worst

bodhiTUESDAY, January 19 – The cat hasn’t come home. After almost 24 hours outside I’m beginning to worry about the cat, of course, but even more about what it would do to the boys if worse came to worse …

21:00 Crisis averted. Late that afternoon I told the boys that Bodhi was gone. Of course, those weren’t my exact words. I said simply, ‘He’s still outside.’ Sander was about to leave for conservatory, and didn’t pay too much attention, but Eamonn was immediately concerned. He wanted to go outside and start looking for him.

‘We’re going to have dinner first’, I said, which we did, even though Eamonn couldn’t eat anything. We called his name, looked under all the parked cars, walked down all the streets in our neighborhood, except for the street that we had carefully avoided since October. When we got home, Eamonn decided he was going to have posters printed to hang up all over the neighborhood.

It was clear what was going through his mind as well as mine and Sander’s. ‘I don’t think I can handle losing another member of the family,’ he said quite frankly as well as thinking that, ‘Maybe Bodhi is looking for Mom.’

This is the sum of anxiety and mortality, I realized when I saw the panic in Eamonn’s eyes. As the printer was busy spitting out twenty posters and Eamonn was putting on his shoes and coat, we suddenly heard a clear ‘meow’ on the other side of the front door. We both yelled his name. ‘Bodhi!’

Never before had I been so glad to see the annoying Siamese feline. The animal was oblivious to our concern and immediately demanded a bowl of food at the top of his voice which immediately arrived with a bit extra – just this once.

Posted in Three Guys | Leave a comment

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