Tired

We've been on a school holiday this week and thanks to my parents, who took the boys snowboarding and stayed with them at their condo on the ski hill, the boys had a wonderful holiday.  I spent most of my time at my parents' house working on a course that I'm taking and getting caught up on my marking.  I did appreciate having some time off from being an only parent and I accomplished a fair bit of work.  But my grief was omnipresent, as always.  It was even in my dreams this past week as I dreamed about Austin almost every night, which is unusual.  In every dream he was dead, but we were reconnecting in some way.  That sounds like it would be sweet and comforting, but it had the opposite effect as every morning I woke up exhausted, and on one occassion I was bawling, tears and snot all over my pillow.  I'm now home, getting ready for us all to go back to school tomorrow and catching up on my blogs.   The Sunday blog post on Widow's Voice today struck so close to home. 

Kim Hamer is the Sunday blogger on Widow's Voice and today she wrote about how tired she is of this whole widow thing.  I found myself nodding my head the whole way through and crying by the end of it, seeing myself in many of her descriptions.  So I thought I'd borrow Kim's words and personalize it a bit to make it my own.  If you'd like to read Kim's original blog, check it out here: 
http://widowsvoice-sslf.blogspot.com/2011/02/tired.html#comment-form

I'd like to thank Kim for her words.  As so often happens out in the blog world, her words today explained what's going on in my life.


Austin, I’m tired of being a widow.

I’m tired of bringing the van to the mechanic when the "check engine light: visually screams at me.  I remember the first time it came on.  You weren't home and I panicked, calling you immediately.  You calmed me down, told me not to worry about it and you handled it when you got home.  I wish I'd appreciated how significant that was.  Back then, before, that was just something you did.

I’m tired of the fridge looking empty and me being responsible for getting more.


I’m tired of waking up by myself.

I’m tired of being solely responsible for:
Bringing in all the income
Paying all the bills.
Making sure the kitchen is clean.
Making sure the kids get everything they need to school on time (instruments, homework, lunches, spirit day dress up stuff, etc. etc. etc.).

I’m tired of not hearing “Daddy!”.
I'm tired of not being able to say "Check with Dad."   or   "Please ask Dad to help you with that."  or  "Love, could you please......".


I’m tired of hearing “Mom!” from two different voices in 3 seconds.


I’m tired of being interrupted while I am trying to hear what the first "mom" yeller call was about.


I’m tired of telling people new people I’m a widow.


I'm tired of people I know giving me the "How are you doing?" sad look but rarely engaging me in conversation like they think your death may be contagious.

I'm tired of people who knew you not mentioning you, like they think it will upset me because surely I must have forgotten you, or your death, by now.  I love i t when people mention your name and I wish more people would.  It shows the boys and I that others think of you, just a little, and they haven't forgotten you.  And that sure makes us feel better, if only for a moment.

I’m tired of going to parent-teacher conferences alone.


I’m tired of having to deal with continuing to teach the boys how to be responsible in school and in life all by myself.  Sometimes I feel like if one more issue comes up I will break.

I’m tired of taking the kids to doctor’s appointments, picking up the prescriptions and administering them by myself.

I’m tired of listening for that horrible cough in the middle of the night by myself or being woken up to the sound of vomitting in the bathroom in the middle of the night, and knowing that I am completely on my own to help our sick child.


I'm tired of having to deal with medical decisions by myself.  Does his swollen knee need to be looked at by a doctor or does it just need an ice pack?  Do I need to get a doctor to look at his acne or just make sure he's using his facial cleaning products twice a day?  What if I make the wrong choice? 


I’m tired of holding our children as they cry because they want you to come back  And in the next breath I wish they would cry more, so I don't have to worry that they aren't getting their emotions out like they "should".


I’m tired of my powerlessness to fix their grief, and their normal teenage problems.


I'm tired of having to decide about grief counsellors and grief camp by myself.  Do they need it?  Will it help?  Will they be scarred for life if they don't go?  Will they be scarred for life if they do?


I’m tired of trying to convince myself that they will be better people for your death.

I’m tired of my over reaction to everything.  I'm tired of being grouchy, crabby and tired.


I’m tired of not knowing what will trigger sobbing.


I'm tired of the guilt I feel because our sons don't have a father and as teenagers they need your guidance and influence more than ever.


I’m tired of being awed by all that they are doing and then, in the next breath regretting that they won’t ever know the joy of looking up and seeing you smile at them after they did it.

I’m tired of  of my friends' bored voices when I need to talk.  Their lives are busy, they've moved on.  They know some days are hard for me, they know I miss you and I can almost hear the bla, bla, bla in what sounds like their patient listening voices.


I’m tired of having to decide important things without you here to discuss it.  Should I sell the boat? What should I do about the driveway?  Do we need a new vehicle, even though I can't really afford it?


I’m tired of being lonely, sitting in our living room at night and even in a room full of people.


I’m tired of writing about widowhood


I’m tired of crying.


I’m tired of missing you.


I’m tired of forgetting, in very brief moments, that you are dead.


I tired of reminding the kids to practice their instruments, do their shovelling jobs,  make sure their homework is done, make sure the pets are fed. 

I tired of keeping up with how things are going with friends, teachers, and all the different things each of them are interested in.  I adore them, they are wonderful kids, but it can be exhausting to keep up with everything all my myself.


I’m tired of asking:
What is your homework plan?
Did you write that thank you note?
Will his parents be home?


I’m tired of fearing dates:
6 months,
1 year and now
two years dead, (in only 21 days).

Your birthday (which is only 5 days away) or
Dylan's or
Aidan's or
Or mine.


I'm tired of the boys asking questions which we used to answer together but now I'm the only holder of the memories (and your memory was often better than min).  Was it a deer or an antelope that danced in front of our truck 5 years ago?  What exactly happened the day they were born?  How tall were they on the day you died? 


I’m tired of crying in the van then getting to a place and having to check my face so I don't have black streaks running down my cheeks.

I’m tired of trying to remember if something occurred before you died or after.  That's getting harder and harder and time goes on.


I’m tired of looking forward to the weekend, only to realize the weekends offer no break from the kids, from the grocery shopping, from being an only parent.  And since you died on a Friday, there is no TGIF in my life anymore.


I’m tired of not having someone to tag team with.


I’m tired of not having anyone to look horrible in front of but still be loved.


I’m tired of having no one to discuss my day with.


I'm tired of missing your backrubs.


I’m tired of thinking about the energy and time it takes to get into a new relationship, yet feeling like there could never be someone who would be good enough to be allowed to enter our sons' lives.  I defeat myself before I even begin.


I’m tired of wanting to be held, of needing to be touched.


I’m tired of wanting someone to take care of me, so I can have the energy to take care of everything and everyone else.


I’m tired of clean sheets and a clean body and no one to enjoy them with.


I’m tired of wishing I could see you and feel your arms around me just one more time, just one more time.


I’m tired of watching the anguish in our kid’s eyes as they miss you.  I'm tired of seeing their shoulders sink when a friend or T.V. show makes reference to a father, physically deflating them.


I’m tired of writing about you.


I’m tired of talking about you.


I’m tired of telling stories about you to our kids so they can know you.  Their memories are strong but memories fade as time moves on.  And I want you to remain a strong presence in their lives.


I’m tired.


I am so, so, so bloody tired.


So love?


When the hell are you coming back?   'Cause I’m tired of this life without you...