Diary of a Widower

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

08 Jan 2013

Tomorrow never dies

FRIDAY, January 8 – I was still dreaming when I got up at 5:48. In the final scene I went downstairs, where the whole family was strolling around. Jenn had just put on her coat and we were about to say goodbye to her. Mom was finally going to go on that week-long meditation retreat she’d been contemplating for so long.

Until I woke up, that is, initially still in a cheerful mood. It disappeared within a second and a half, when I realized that I had experienced all that in my sleep and that Jennifer had left for a retreat that would last forever. I felt an icy shiver run through my body. I went for a shit and then headed back to bed.

When the alarm went off at 6:15, I didn’t feel like getting out of bed. I stared at the ceiling until 6:45, when I had to answer the call of duty. Children, dog, breakfast, lunch, school, and then what?  I stayed home, didn’t feel like working, dilly-dallied with odd jobs. Found a morsel of satisfaction in the most minimal chores. Tomorrow’s another day.

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07 Jan 2013

Celebrating his ‘Half-Birthday’

halfbirthdayTHURSDAY, January 7 – Had a sudden crying jag this morning. I miss her so much, her presence in our day-to-day life.  No doubt this is due to the fact that today we’re celebrating a crazy family tradition:  Eamonn’s Half-Birthday. Today he is precisely nine and a half years old.

Jenn came up with the idea. Because both boys were born in July, their birthdays were celebrated at a time when most of their friends were away on vacation. So we had always ‘pre-celebrated’ their birthdays halfway through the year. The celebrations are accompanied by the traditional Super Cookie, which has the dimensions of a pizza. I made one last night with M&Ms. I also baked brownies, which are inextricably bound up with Jenn’s skills as a pastry chef. Had to look up both recipes on the internet. I found a brownie mix in the supermarket  in a spot I had not discovered before and got the KitchenAid mixer out of the closet.

It took me a while to figure it all out, but I discovered that it wasn’t really that difficult. No complicated culinary fireworks.  Just mix a few things together and shove it all into the oven.  The house smelled great. Sander sampled a brownie. ‘Not bad for your first try’, observed the overly-frank critic. ‘And maybe you should use a bigger pan next time.’

Eamonn had almost forgotten about it, until I wished him a Happy Half-Birthday.  Go look in the oven, I said, which he immediately did. ‘Wow, that looks great!’  I agreed, but his sincere compliment and my sense of pride dissolved in the face of the sadness that suddenly came over me. That’s why I cried then, Jennifer, and why I’m crying now. Because I miss you so terribly.

11.30 – I couldn’t help smiling when I took her ATM cards to the bank and the woman wrote down Jennifer’s balance on a piece of paper. I had absolutely no idea. Well done, Nolan, very well done. At the same time, I felt like a posthumous peeping Tom and a bank robber.

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06 Jan 2013

Finding a wedding treasure

THURSDAY, January 6 – Sometimes you’re actually searching for something, but more often these things appear an accidental discovery. Like the way sudden reminders of Jenn present themselves: brief but tangible memories that suddenly come to mind.

The most recent link with our past must have been lying hidden for over thirteen years: a folded piece of paper in a drawer of the hall table.  It was Jenn’s hand-written list of all our wedding expenses.

Dress material  $454.28

Appliqué?  $17.30   (No idea what this is, too lazy to check it out)

Shoes  $89.95

Bra  $26.00  (Can’t remember what it looked like)

Chapel fee $500  (Without air-conditioning.  Catholic cheapskates)

Deposit Cranbury Inn  $100  (Country inn, opposite a small but picturesque church. A different religion, but we inquired if Catholic services could be held there. Soon learned it was a stupid question) Read more…

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05 Jan 2013

Not there. Except for me

WEDNESDAY, January 5 – The missing wedding ring is still visible.

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04 Jan 2013

Widower buys new house

soldsignMONDAY, January 4 – In the end, it was a joyful occasion: the actual closing on our new house. The boys were excited and enthusiastic and their mood rubbed off on me. I felt thankful for this since I had woken up this morning with a strange feeling, conscious of the bizarre day that lay ahead.

After a final inspection, we were off to the notary public by bike. The seller is, himself, a widower. His wife had owned several apartments in Amsterdam which he is now successively selling. The word closure has a double meaning. What I kept telling myself as I was getting  dressed was something that our American real estate agent had impressed on us after we’d sold our house there.

‘When all is said and done, the sale of a house is no more than a transaction.’

In other words: forget all the memories and emotions that lie hidden in your house. The new occupants will replace them. They’ll look at the rooms, closets, kitchen and bathrooms with different eyes. What takes place during the conveying of a house is that two parties sign their names on a pile of documents and that one party hands the other a check. It is a transaction, pure and simple.

But this morning such a down-to-earth approach proved to be a bit much for the boys. We had barely taken our seats at the large wooden table in the stately office of our notary public when they began to get itchy. I sent them out into the hall and suggested they occupy themselves with their iPhones. Luckily they quickly complied, since I had a premonition about what was to come.

On the first page of the contract, at the bottom, was a painful piece of text the notary was about to read aloud, and that was gonna hit me like a sledgehammer. Officially, this is who I am:

Mr. Thimotheus Henricus Maria Overdiek, residing at 1077 DN Amsterdam, Gerrit van der Veenstraat 37-11, born in Tilburg on the second of April, nineteen hundred and sixty-five, legitimating himself with his passport, number X, issued in Amsterdam on the ninth of June, two thousand and nine, unremarried widower of Mrs. Jennifer Mary Nolan and not presently or previously registered as partner, who intends to take possession of the above mentioned  house, henceforth known as ‘the buyer’.

‘The buyer’ had tears in his eyes when the notary came to the passage in question. He was handed a glass of water. The procedure was resumed. The boys came back just in time to witness the signing of all the papers pertaining to what was both a transaction and a joyous occasion.

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03 Jan 2013
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Early signs of acceptance

SUNDAY, January 3 – Eamonn brings up the subject in the car. ‘Where do you think Mom is right now?’  It’s a tough question. Fortunately,  he tries to come up with an answer himself since it is something he and his mother had discussed.

‘Mom believed in reincarnation, didn’t she?’

A difficult word, which he pronounces without a hitch.  He also says he understands what it means, my little smart aleck.

‘Yes, Eamonn.  And if that’s true, which no one knows for certain, then Mom lives on as a better person, because she was kind, and loving, and  because she was a good human being.  Don’t you think so?’

Silence.

‘But she could come back as anything, couldn’t she? Read more…

Posted in Grieving, Kid's grieving, Remembering, Three Guys
02 Jan 2013
2 Comments

Another death. Her car’s battery

miniSATURDAY, January 2 – After five minutes behind the wheel of the Mini Cooper, I concluded that the battery was well and truly dead. Her pride and joy, the kick-ass little car we brought with us from England.

Until the arrival of the yellow Mini, Jennifer had shown no interest in cars.  However, she did  have to confess that while careening along the winding, wind-blown roads of the English countryside, she had finally discovered just how much fun driving could be. We disposed of our British Volvo without so much as a backward glance while it was a foregone conclusion that when we moved to the Netherlands in 2008, the Mini would go with us.

I must admit that she looked quite enticing, almost sexy, when she was behind the wheel. For the past month and a half now, the car has been parked two streets over. Coincidentally, and thankfully, it’s not been in front of the house. That would have been too painful.

Just what I expected, indeed happened:  the car wouldn’t start. The battery was totally dead. I’d brought along a garbage bag, so I could empty out the car, but in the end I just left everything as it was. I’m going to have to make a decision. Keep it or sell it? She was so proud of that car and especially the fact that it was registered in her name.  It belonged to her.

A few weeks ago I received a letter, as is standard procedure these days, simply addressed to ‘The Estate of J.M. Nolan’.  It stated that an automobile may ‘not remain registered in the name of a deceased person for longer than five weeks’.

Fuck the bureaucrats, I thought to myself. They’ll damn well have to wait until the time is ripe.  In any case, it’s her car, and right now nothing can change that.

Posted in Paper work, Remembering
01 Jan 2013

Return to the crime scene

FRIDAY, January 1, 2010 – In front of the house, three young men are loudly saying goodbye to  each other.  Apparently they’ve spent the first seven hours of the new year in a state of extreme  inebriation. One of them proclaims loudly that he’s ready for a good fuck. Typical macho blowhards.

I’m one of the poor souls who are not on their way home, but is up early in order to take the dog out and, to her horror, the sound of fireworks continues unabated even if off in the distance. Just after seven o’clock taxis are snagging their last and most lucrative customers. A fire engine races past with wailing sirens and flashing lights. It’s approaching the intersection where our life came to a standstill, above all, Jennifer’s.

The fire engine went through red – which it’s allowed to do – and in a split second I’m back to that moment when Jennifer, after duly waiting for the light to turn, quite unsuspectingly crossed the street.  That motorcycle cop went through red, and without warning. I wasn’t there, the children were, but I can still vividly see the accident happening as it did, down to the last detail.

I often cross at the ‘scene of the crime’, and each time a shiver runs down my spine as I leave a footprint behind on the very spot where Jennifer’s head made contact with the asphalt. No wonder Eamonn won’t go anywhere near it and Sander still refuses to cross the street. Reaching the park, I enjoy the last rays of a blue moon, that is, the second full moon in a calendar month.

Sander doesn’t regard the first of January as a totally new start.  Rather, it is the conclusion of a rotten year, as he had explained shortly after the big bang at midnight. Eamonn nodded in agreement. He was wide awake, eager to keep celebrating; but, I was exhausted and shortly before 1 a.m. we headed upstairs.

Eamonn was already in my bed. Sander just confessed that the fireworks made him nervous, so  we dragged his mattress into my room and the three of us snored our way into the new year:  2010. Am I justified in calling this a precious memory?  Before turning off the light, I made them a promise: we’re going to make up for all the parties we missed last year.

Posted in Grieving, Kid's grieving, Three Guys, Traffic victim | Leave a comment
31 Dec 2012

Wow! Two days without crying

THURSDAY, December 31 – The quiet morning hours provide the time and some breathing space to think about the final hours of this calendar year. I want to have a good talk with the boys. It won’t be about New Year’s resolutions… they don’t amount to much in comparison with the heavy burden we’re already carrying.

Again I announce:  Friday the first of January 2010 will not be a perfect kick-off in a new game. It is no more and no less than just the following day in a difficult, personal struggle. Yet, I want to be able to look back at the close of 2009 and compliment the boys on their admirable resilience.

But I must be careful, and not be tempted to think that everything is fine since such thoughts are deceptive.  On the other hand,  I haven’t cried once since we got back from the States. Two days without crying. That’s unprecedented. Is this progress? A false reality? Sometimes it’s as if it hasn’t registered. Am I suppressing reality?

Thank heavens there’s no danger of that with the boys around. In their own way, they manage to make their immense grief known to me. Understanding and patience, that’s what it’s all about in the reality of our everyday life. Let’s make that our resolution for the New Year. And may it be a reaffirmation of my commitment as a father. Quietly, I try to get through, one day at a time, with tact and understanding.

I love you, Jennifer. I love you, Sander. I love you, Eamonn. And yes, I love myself.

19:45  – Goddamnit, Overdiek, there you go with your pious promises about patience and understanding!!  This time I went off the deep end when I lit into Sander. He’d been working on some kind of building kit, gotten glue on his fingers, and came to me to complain. Not just any old glue, but ‘three-second’ glue. Try getting that off your fingers!

I called him a numbskull, a botcher, a stupid bungler – out of sheer frustration because I hadn’t been checking on what he was doing.  His mistakes were my responsibility and I realized that I couldn’t remedy those mistakes. While Jennifer would have undoubtedly known exactly how to remove the goddamned glue. All Sander and I could do was shout at each other.

Eamonn, the peacemaker, came between us. He begged us not to argue, especially on the last day of the year. He was right, of course. I apologized to Sander, who also said he was sorry. Together we fixed dinner.  Au Pair Meal: pasta with meat, according to one of Jennifer’s recipes that he remembered. He did a good job. It was delicious.

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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.

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