Diary of a Widower

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

19 Dec 2012
1 Comment

Kicking Oma out of the house

SATURDAY, December 19 – I just asked my mother to leave the house. It had absolutely nothing to do with her, well-intentioned as she is, but I could not abide her presence in the house for one more minute.

It would have been the same with anyone else. She arrived yesterday and wanted to stay for an extra night. Suddenly, something snapped in me. Four people in my house and none of them Jennifer.  Impossible.

It was horrible to have to tell her that it would be better if she left, but in the end it was better. For all of us. I’d come close to saying things that I would regret later on. She phoned to say she was home, as she always did and I let the phone go to voice mail.

15:00 – We’re in the park and I see Eamonn racing in our direction. Then suddenly he skids on the frozen ground and hits the back of his head. For an instant we stand there, petrified. The back of his head. Then he gets up, pulls a face, and says, ‘Don’t worry. I’m okay. And I still have my sense of humor.’

22:30 – That same conversation again with Sander. About death, about not knowing, about the explanations we search for and can’t find. It’s wearing, the interminable repetition of useless information, but I don’t lose my patience. Then there’s a pause. Sander is about to tell me something.

‘You know what, Papa? Last night when everyone was asleep, even the dog and the cat, I woke up and saw this blue light floating through the hall. It went straight into Eamonn’s room. I saw it, and then suddenly it was gone.’

I don’t say anything, waiting for more. Sander: ‘I think it was Mom.’

He admits that he was a bit scared. I tell him that it’s ‘a very special experience’. And that he should try to treasure such moments, even though we don’t know what it was or what it meant.

I’m reminded of something Jennifer told me. How once, in the middle of the night, she woke up and saw my father appear in a corner of the bedroom.  How he looked at us, and kept looking, and that he saw that it was good. Later on, when Jenn told my sister-in-law L about it, she was ecstatic. L had had the very same experience years before.

As far as I’m concerned, Jennifer is more than welcome to come by and take a look at her boys. In whatever way and in whatever form she chooses.

Posted in Family & Friends, Kid's grieving
18 Dec 2012

Fighting a war of grief

FRIDAY, December 18 – Why not, I thought. If it makes such an impact on friends, why shouldn’t other people who follow me on Twitter?  Right now there are over two thousand who do, so I twittered:

This is a shameful – make that a proud – plug: Sign up as an organ donor. My late wife Jennifer has made it possible for four people to live on.

It reached a great many people, which was the object of the exercise. I hope it results in a slew of registrations. Some people have already announced their intentions on Twitter and tomorrow I’m going to issue a subtle reminder. Short-term activist … always better than long-suffering widower.

23.50 – Just back from a small farewell party for my colleague P, who presented his last broadcast tonight. I stayed for an hour or so, spent most of the time with M., a dear colleague. She compared the impact of my loss to that of her Jewish mother, who lost her entire family during the Second World War – all exterminated by the Nazis. Her mother’s life was shaped by the war.

According to her daughter she would have said,  ‘This is Tim’s war.’

Tim’s war? That’s not the way it feels or the way I see it. Maybe I should sleep on it. Tim’s war?  Tim’s battle? Tim’s amputation? Tim’s betrayal? Tim’s revolt?

But then I knew. Tim’s victory!

Posted in Back to work, Grieving, Remembering | Leave a comment
17 Dec 2012

Four people live. Thanks, Jenn

THURSDAY, December 17 – Snow! Recuperating after a bad night. Have to keep an eye on Sander, who spent most of the night on the toilet. I decide to bite the bullet and tackle some paperwork. If you’re sick anyway, you might as well deal with those damned  documents.

First the matter of succession laws:  I have to sign in a couple of places, scan the documents, and send them back. Then a phone call to the notary about the upcoming transfer of ownership of the new house.  Then two more tax documents:  one Dutch, one British. I email Jenn’s American accountant and talk to our investment advisor in Washington D.C.

Then the rest of the mail. I’m tempted to chuck it all out without even reading it. They’ve all done their best to find the right words, but all they do is confront me with reality. I don’t need this. Like the Christmas card from English friends who haven’t heard. ‘Best wishes to all four – have a great 2010!’ I toss it. They’ll find out somehow.

It’s almost four o’clock when I get the phone call. This is what I post on my Facebook wall:

The news is accompanied by tears of love. One woman (25) received her lungs. Another woman (64) her liver. Two men (55 and 63) each received one of her kidneys. All are doing well. Some had been on the waiting list for a long time. Thank you, Jenn. We love you.

Heartwarming responses. Several people immediately sign up as organ donors. Cautiously I inform the boys. They immediately want to know all the details.  They’re both enthusiastic and, separately from one another, they reach the same conclusion.

‘Thanks to Mom, four people will have a better and a healthier life.’

I am overcome by happiness. Tears of love, tears of joy.

Posted in Paper work, Remembering, Traffic victim | Leave a comment
16 Dec 2012

Life in the sick lane

WEDNESDAY, December 16 – Sick as a dog. Felt my temperature shooting up yesterday. Diarrhea.  Sander offered to take the dog out, but then he got sick, too – only after he’d tucked me into bed and made me promise to check my temperature.

Eamonn had a sleepover at a friend’s house and I asked if he could stay an extra night. He preferred to come home: ‘I want to be with my dad.’ He brought me an extra pillow.

Better sick now than later in the week:  Monday we’re off to the States.

Posted in Three Guys | Leave a comment
15 Dec 2012
1 Comment

Suddenly she was there again

TUESDAY, December 15 – Last night the nightmare was briefly suspended. Not because I woke up, but because I dreamed about it. Suddenly Jennifer had walked into the living room. Not our living room, but some random place where her father and I were sitting at a table.

She walked into the room, as cool as could be. Smartly dressed. High heels. Tight-fitting jeans and a blouse I’d never seen before. A silk blouse with a colorful pattern. She was wearing make-up, her hair was short, and had earrings on that were just a bit too big.

My father-in-law and I were too surprised to say anything. ‘I know,’ said Jennifer, ‘it’s hard to believe, isn’t it? I’ve been conscious since twelve o’clock. No problem. That’s why they released me.’

I looked at my father-in-law, and again nothing was said. So it was possible.  Stupid! We’d taken her off the machines because she was totally brain-dead!  So miracles do exist.

Jenn went around the room, adjusting things here and there. I got up and walked over to her. You’d expect an embrace, but we kept some distance from each other since she was busy gathering up some papers and was bending over just about to deposit them in a recycle bin.

At that moment it became clear to me that it was a dream and I fought against waking up. I wanted to get back into the dream. I did everything I could, fully aware how difficult this was. Awake is awake.

I buried my head even deeper in the pillow in an attempt to recapture the dream or at least anchor that image of Jennifer in my head. I hoped it was still the middle of the night and not the moment when the alarm was scheduled to go off at ten to seven on this vacation day.

It was ten to seven. The alarm went off and I was back in our nightmare.

Posted in Grieving, Remembering
14 Dec 2012
2 Comments

Mom in the present tense

MONDAY, December 14 – Scene 1, near the stairs, 8:15, on the way to the front door. Sander and me.

Me:  ‘It’s way too cold out, you need a scarf.’

Sander:  ‘No, I don’t.’

‘Yes, you do.’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Here, take this one.’

‘Papa, I’m okay. Just leave me alone.’

‘You’re not okay. You were under the weather on Saturday, and yesterday you said you had a sore throat. So put the thing on.’

‘Oh, all right.’

In the car he puts it on. But the minute he gets out, he stuffs it into his schoolbag. It’s too late to intervene. And his coat wasn’t buttoned either.

Scene 2, in the bedroom. Sander walks in. Read more…

Posted in Three Guys
13 Dec 2012

Kids look after their dad

SUNDAY, December 13 – No shortage of options, ideas, and suggestions, but the boys can’t agree. Until Eamonn says, ‘Let’s go back to bed.’ It’s nine-thirty and I concur wholeheartedly. We jump into the big bed, where we snuggle up to each other, laugh, and try to lie still as long as possible without moving a muscle. The record is 32 seconds before someone starts to grin. Just imagine: we make tangible progress by simply lying in bed, being silent and motionless.

11:00 – ‘Papa, it’s about time you started going to the gym again. Go on, we can stay home alone,’ Eamonn is advising me unsollicited. He wants to make sure that I stay healthy and he’s been caluculating how often I should go to the gym in view of the fact that I now take the dog out every day. I am touched bythesesimple questions and the almost philosophical musings of my youngest son.

So, off I go, for the first time since Jennifer’s death. Easy exercises on the various pieces of equipment under the watchful eye of G, the in-house physiotherapist and trainer. During a break, I told him what had happened, which explains why he hadn’t seen me for a while.

I continued to sweat my way through the exercises until I notice that suddenly he’s standing next to me, with tears in his eyes. He just wants to give me a quick hug.  So there we stand, my sweaty torso in a close embrace with his muscular body.

At home, the boys were playing.  Indeed, they really are old enough to stay home alone for an hour or so.

Posted in Three Guys | Leave a comment
12 Dec 2012
2 Comments

So where is she now?

jennmeditationSATURDAY, December 12 – My alarm clock was set for 5:15, so that I’d be up well before the boys. I felt the need to meditate. It’s been 49 days since Jennifer’s death. Her Buddhist friend N had written me to explain that according to the Tibetan Book of the Dead, Jennifer – or her soul – would now be entering the next phase of the bardo.

Forty-nine days after her first passage, her consciousness finally undergoes the process of reincarnation. This is our last opportunity to do something for her.  Meditation is one way of helping the roaming spirit to achieve the most positive reincarnation.  N also added that he was not entirely convinced that this was true.

And I certainly wasn’t… and yet, like N, I felt that, at least, we should not let this moment pass. So, I knelt down on my meditation cushion to wish Jenn a good journey, but on this day I never actually reached a meditative state.  In spite of my frantic efforts. I was trying much too hard to breathe slowly in and out, in an effort to achieve a higher level of awareness.  It was hopeless. Read more…

Posted in Grieving, Kid's grieving, Remembering, Three Guys
11 Dec 2012
5 Comments

Phantom pain in an empty bed

FRIDAY, December 11 –  Every morning, somewhere between dream and reality, I still stretch out my arm to feel whether you are lying next to me. I run my hand over the mattress. Not that I expect to feel your bottom or your back, but, simply, because after eighteen years I’m still not used to lying there on my own in that huge bed.

Your pillows aren’t there anymore. They’re in the dresser. Every night I quite effortlessly fall asleep on my side of the bed.  Not in the middle of the mattress, but on the right, where I belong. Read more…

Posted in Grieving, Kid's grieving, Traffic victim
10 Dec 2012

Dealing with kitchen ghosts

kitcheTHURSDAY, December 10 – This is something only one person can decide.  Jennifer.  And no one else.  In any case, not this afternoon and not all on my own.  I really, really didn’t want to have to do this, but I had no choice.  The question needed to be answered. What color counter top did I want in the kitchen?  The salesman was waiting for my answer.  How am I supposed to know?  And besides, I couldn’t care less. Fuck off!

The doors were called Ivory or something.  Never knew there were that many different shades of white.  I’m your typical husband, who pretends to be interested and involved, and can even discuss the pros and cons with a quasi-practiced eye despite the fact that I haven’t a clue. Read more…

Posted in Remembering | Leave a comment

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