On grief

Since Neil died a few people have made oblique comments along the lines of I don’t know how you do it. Recently a man in his late thirties died suddenly, and a friend of his wife asked me if she could talk to me about how I managed when Neil died, so she could help her friend who is left with three little kids.

I may have blanched when she said that, despite saying of course, call me anytime. Because I knew there would be nothing I could say that was going to help her friend. She hasn’t come back around to talk, so my guess is she’s changed her mind, or she’s heard through that great gossip vine that maybe Neil’s death and this man’s were different (as if there was such a thing).

Anyway, here’s what I would tell her, what I would tell anyone. It’s like someone has just handed you this giant, ugly, scratchy sweater and told you that you have to wear this every second of the rest of your life. That your burden to bear is this gigantic uncomfortable sweater.

So you put it on, that first day, and you think there is no way I can wear this. It’s too heavy, it swallows you up and goes on and on. It hurts. I won’t be able to do this, I won’t be able to wear this. And it pisses you off, and makes you sob and makes the passage of time terrifying. Everybody can see you’re wearing this heavy sweater, but they can’t do a damn thing about it, and they’re relieved it’s not their sweater. They think wow, I don’t know how I would handle something like that. Like it’s a secret. Or some skill set that you’ve been given.

There is no secret to it.

The days go on and on and on and on and you wear that fucking sweater around while you help your kids with their heavy sweaters. You get mad that people look at you and your family with your heavy sweaters like maybe it’s contagious.

Then one day, many many days later, you realize that the sweater shrunk. And your arms got longer. Or maybe all of you got bigger, but you can see that the sweater isn’t so big anymore. It’s still big, and some days it seems to have stretched because it feels like it did that first day again. But most days, the sweater is smaller and you are bigger.

And this will go on forever. No matter what you’re wearing, no matter whether people can see your sweater, you’re always wearing it. It’ll fit better most of the time, but it will always be there and you’ll make peace with it. It won’t scratch all the time, the sleeves won’t hang below your jacket anymore.

I decided to write this down today because I came home from church and started sobbing. I’d like to say it was for no reason, but it was because I was thinking about my son’s heavy sweater, how it’s caused juvenile PTSD and how he works through that every day. I wish I was a better shepherd for him, I wish I could tell him in his kid language that he’s going to be ok, that I’m going to be ok (because that’s his biggest fear).

OK, I feel better now. I just had to get that out.

Now I have to go to Home Goods cause I don’t have a spring wreath for my door and I’m gonna get me one.

- H

Peace and tranquility? Aisle 7

I had quiet moment of clarity the other day. One of those things that sneaks up on you. Not like an Oprah A-HA moment, those kind of hit you over the head. See, I'm shopping a lot.

I know, you'll be thinking to yourself Heather, you've always shopped a lot.

And you'd be right because I do like to shop.

But this feeling, this is different. This is shopping for something I can't find in a store. I've been here before. A long time ago, so long ago I can say it was in my twenties. Before Y2K. I put it away for a long time, and now I think it's crept back into my life.

Luckily, I can quickly brush through the crap and ask the real question - why am I shopping so much right now? What's bothering me? And that's the harder part. There's just such a plethora of choices, I'm having a hard time narrowing the field.

• Neil [for the record, since I stopped writing lo those many years ago, this is now my go-to question for all issues that arise with me or my children or my extended family or strangers or new neighbors or new neighbors' children or garbage men]
• Nanny [Is it that she's on another date tonight with yet another new guy she's met online?]
• Work
• Children

It could be Neil. I told my therapist I will be happy to get to a place when an entire hour can go by where I don't think about him. It hasn't happened yet.

But I think I'm just lonely. I think that's how I felt in my twenties, too, the last time I found myself wookin pa nub in the aisles of Target. Here we've moved to a wonderful new home in a wonderful new neighborhood with a school that makes my son (the one with PTSD now, thanks Neil) feel warm and comfortable and safe 95% of the time, and I'm still lonely. I still don't fit in. Next month we'll have been here a year! It's hard to believe.

When I'm lonely, I start watching QVC. That's embarrassing to admit out loud. I do, I watch it at night when I'm in bed and then this week I ordered some stupid conditioning shampoo that doesn't lather but is supposed to turn your hair from fried to luxe. Hey, you know what? My hair isn't fried! And I like lather! That's how crazy my relationship with QVC is.

Hey you know what?? Maybe that's why I want to have my boobs fixed, too! Maybe it's just another form of shopping! Holy shit. That's an A-HA moment.

Or it could just be that it's February. And I want it to be April. And all the other aforementioned items on bulleted list above.

Well, hells bells. So glad we had this hour together (surely you read faster than that) that didn't cost me $200. Very successful therapy session, thank you.

- H

I'm writing a book. So there's that.

I'm a-gonna write a book.

So that's why I'm writing this here blog post instead. Cause writing a book is HARD.

And before you're all like "oh, Heather, you must be writing about how whacked you and your crazy family are" NO, it's not that. I'm writing a children's book. Sort of.

See, you may have noticed, I have boys. And boys like boy things. And guess what? Now that my oldest is reading (or really trying hard to become a reader), there aren't a lot of cool books for him to read for his age. There are short stories about sports and there are "baby books" (his term, not mine) but there aren't cool, intriguing stories written for a boy in first or second grade.

Enter his mother, stage left. I had this moment the other night, not aided by wine or anything, where I decided I wanted to write a story that he would love to read. And then his brother, in a few years. And then maybe another story, and another, and then pretty soon I was totally the guy who wrote Diary of a Wimpy Kid and made it into three movies. Which of course means we're millionaires and all that. But first, the story is the most important thing.

So I'm working on it. I took myself to lunch today and outlined my idea for the first book.

I also need an illustrator.

And I might need a new laptop.

I have a feeling this "book" is going to be very expensive.

- H

I am resolute.

I spent some time this freezing afternoon reading through old posts. I want to come back, I really really do. But it's hard to find my words some days. Anyway, I read something I wrote three years ago, at New Year's 2010:

In putting together that post, I got to read a lot of my old posts. A lot. And that's when I realized, that's what this blog is good for.

If you're a blogger, you've undoubtedly had one of Those Moments. The moment when you think "why am I doing this? What is this all about anyway?" You start to get bogged down in the popularity contest instead of just enjoying what you're doing, and why you started doing it in the first place. It starts to feel like a chore instead of a joy. 

That's why I'm back, why I like doing this. Because in reading all those old posts and walking down memory lane I felt warm and cozy. Even when they weren't warm and cozy posts and even though we lost Neil. I can't tell you why, but it's good to have my words reminding me what life was like when Griffin was a baby, when Cooper was a toddler, when Neil was with us.

I wasn't going to make resolutions this year. Because yeah. Everything changed this year, so much so that I don't actually have habits I need changing. For the last sixteen months I've been in a modified survival mode, every month better than the last. Plus, I already started Pilates again last fall. My posture is so much better, my back doesn't hurt every minute of every day anymore. I don't need no stinking resolutions! I thought.

And then when I was sucking down the large Pepsi from Taco Bell, the one that helped me wash down the Chicken Burrito with sour cream (highly recommend if you're at Taco Bell), I thought yeah, maybe I should get off the sugar sauce again. So that's my first one. No more large Pepsis for lunch, unless I like the bloated belly that sticks out farther than my boobs these days.

And then I have another one, The Big One. I'm gonna go do something drastic to myself. Something I've wanted to do for a long time, since I was in my twenties. I'm gonna go do some mammary sculpting (please refer to previous resolution). I don't need a second career as a stripper. I just want to look like I used to, back before I had kids. Before gravity did her awful thing to me. I'll keep you posted, I'm still in research stages of this thing.

- H

My fingers itch.

Blogger has changed. A lot. It's symbolic, really. I stepped away for my life while it spun and Blogger did too. I've missed writing, and having a way of seeing how we grow. So much has changed since I last read this blog, let alone wrote anything. I love it, though. I came back tonight and love every word of it, even if it's hard to read. Here's a quick update, and then maybe I can get on with it. We moved. We have new friends. We have some of our old friends. We lost some. I look a lot older. So do my kids. This is like physical therapy. The first session is always bad. -H