Monday, November 30, 2009

don't read - just venting . . .

Why did you have to kill yourself in the fall? Why? The weather is only getting colder everyday. I have a nice long miserable winter stuck in the house to look forward to. That is just great. Why couldn’t you have done this in the spring? Maybe even on my birthday – that would have been just freaking perfect. At least in the spring there is summer to look forward to, swimming at the beach, the park, the sun – anything outdoors. But no – you didn’t. You picked the fall. F*cking great.

I am tired of the world today. Tired of answering the phone and talking to people on the street. Really tired of the phone, the mail, the e-mails, the texts, the everythings. I hate everyone and everything today.

I am frustrated with life. I am tired of being tired. I am tried of making plans or putting off making plans – I hate the calendar. I hate this feeling of hatred which has replaced whatever was there before. I am still grateful and for everyone and everything but I hate it all too. I am tired of saying I am fine. I really want to say I am really freaking crappy – aren’t you glad you asked me how I am doing. I hate my fake smile and my fake face.

I hate this blog and my computer and the Internet service connected to it. I hate my new bed comforter that my mother gave me. It is not soft and comfy like my old one. I had it for seven years and it was perfect. Now in one swift moment she comes riding in and replaces my old bed with a new one. Does she think a new blanket is going to make me forget my husband is dead? That I won’t look at the bed and still think of him every night. I am not sure. I know she is trying but I hate that everyone is trying to put a band aid on a gashing bleeding oozing wound that a million stitches couldn’t fix.

I am not fixable. I am not even close to knowing what fixable is. I know I am supposed to be looking for a therapist right now – I promised after Thanksgiving I would start to look. But guess what I HATE THERAPY! I hate talking and talking and talking about my past problems, my future problems and the problems I will have and don’t even know about yet.

I actually had a good day with the kids – some minor drama – but all normal stuff. Everything else was just hard today. I am tired of having a hard life and tired of struggling to keep my head above water. I hate that my difficult life just got worse and it is all your fault. And you aren’t even here to yell at. I am the one picking up all the pieces. I am the one cleaning up this disastrous mess you left in my lap. I am the one left to raise two small children and pay the bills and not freak out day after day. The only advice you left me with was that I would be fine – F*CK FINE!!!!!!

My horoscope said that today would not be a good day – that I would want to be anywhere but here. Maybe I should call up the horoscope lady and buy her dinner- this one is a winner!

PS. I just read my own words and actually feel much better now. I don’t hate you and I feel fine!

Sunday, November 29, 2009


I am tired of feeling sad and angry. I am tired of grieving. I am ready for you to come home now. I am done with all this loneliness and feeling bad. I am really ready to see your face and hear your voice again. It seems impossible that you won’t. I am waiting.

I go through the nightly routine and put the children to bed and then I step outside in the backyard and look at our tree. The one we love to watch change every season, from the first spring buds to the giant leaves to the naked tree. You aren’t here tonight to see the naked tree. I stand outside and look for you in the sky and wonder how you are. Wonder if you can see my tears and hear my sorrow as it echoes through our yard. I wonder if you are still thinking I am fine. I am so not fine.

I spent the last three days in the house just hiding. Hiding from the world, the truth and everyone. A good friend came over today and suggested maybe we go to the park. You mean go outside I asked? We did go, for a little while. It helps to be with good friends. But I find if I am not obligated to leave the house, I really don’t want to. At least the children have school tomorrow and I will be forced to leave the confines of my own solitary confinement and join reality.

The stroller broke on Wednesday. I really needed it fixed for Monday morning. I waited all weekend for you to come home and fix it for me. You never showed up. So today I went into your workroom and had to pilfer through all your nuts and bolts and tools trying to figure out how to fix the thing. I had to stop myself from looking at your drill and missing you to find the right part. I actually fixed it. I wasn’t proud of myself that I did something without you. Not at all. I was pissed that I had to do it and you weren’t here to help.

I think about when we moved into the house and how we swore we would never move again. We finally felt like we were ‘home.’ You joked that you really were never leaving and wanted to be buried under the tree. I didn’t put you there – but I look at the tree every night and think of you. I think about long ago when we were so happy and times were good and am sorry they were so long ago. I am sorry I got caught up in the minutia of a crazy filled life and didn’t pay more attention to your needs. Through all of our marriage, the good times and the bad, I never forgot how much I loved you and am sorry, so sorry, I didn’t see you falling apart.

I can’t even remember if I said I love you on your last day. I think I did but it doesn’t stand out clear in my mind. I hope I did and at the very least I hope you took my love away with you and it is nestled deep in your soul.

I am trying to be brave and strong for myself and the children. I think I was better a few weeks ago – I feel less together as the days pass. I am past the shock. I am past the anger. I am feeling lost in my life. Feeling like there is a whole ocean ahead of me and all I am riding on is a little dinky raft.

I am waiting for you to come home and waiting and waiting. But you aren’t coming back – I know this. But the truth doesn’t make any of this seem better.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

A Love Story

I met my husband the day I walked into his restaurant. I had dinner with a friend, drank too many margaritas, and asked him for a job. He hired me the next day.

He loved to tell me that he fell in love with me that very night. It took me a while longer. When we used to tell people the story of how we met – our times were never the same. He would say that we were dating for six months before the date I said we were.

I just thought he was a great guy. We would go out after work, night after night and talk and laugh. We did a lot of laughing in those days and drinking of course. At some point in every night out he would tell me it was inevitable that we would be together. I told him it was never going to happen. I had a boyfriend at one point, he had a girlfriend – but it never mattered to him – either way. It is inevitable he would just say over and over.

He tried to get me to his apartment a million different ways. He would tell me he was having a party and I would ask who else was coming and he would just laugh. There was never a party. He got a new door put up and for months would ask me over for his ‘door party.’ He was relentless. But I was afraid. Afraid of course of the big commitment thing, afraid he was older than me, married before and had a child. He would just stay the course and tell me – it is inevitable. Someday we will be together.

He bought me a Tiffany bracelet, took me to dinner and to concerts – he did everything right and still I just said no. I loved every minute of my time together and just wanted to be with him all the time. He was the first person I called in the morning and the last person I spoke to each night. But I was afraid of marriage and baggage. I came from such a terrible divorced family I just had to make sure it was right before I could commit. My husband saved me from myself many times. If I was feeling lost or stuck in my life he always had good advice or just a shoulder to cry on. He was always there for me – no matter what.

He was my best friend for a year before I realized he was right. We were sharing a cab home one night – we always made two stops - and I was sad about my latest idiot boyfriend. I remember thinking why can’t I find a good guy? Where are they? And then I looked over at him and realized he had been sitting next to me for the longest time. The next day I called him up and asked him to go steady. He made me come into the restaurant to ask in person. I did. Three months later he proposed. He was not taking any more chances with me!

I sit here tonight with a whole in my heart, longing for his presence. I remember how much fun we had and how wonderful a man he was to me. He made me laugh like no one could. He only wanted to make me happy. It was his sole purpose in life for as long as I can remember. Despite it all he loved me with every ounce of his being and I just wish he knew how much I felt the same. I wish I could have saved him like he saved me and I feel so much pain about this.

I went hysterical today doing laundry. Not for the obvious reasons, but there weren’t enough clothes to do today. I miss how many times in a day he would change his clothes. If he looked at a shirt too long I would end up washing it. I miss doing even the smallest things for him. I just miss him so much.

A friend told me that experts say it would take four to six weeks before I really felt the angst of my situation. Well here I am, right smack at the start of five weeks and just seeing my last name in print causes me anxiety.

There are moments in a day when I think I really am fine – that I am over the worst. Then I am hit over the head with some bricks and it feels like the first day all over again. This grieving thing sucks. It feels like it will never end, never get better and never ever go away.

I write and write and cry and cry and nothing seems to make the pit in my stomach any smaller. The gaping wound in my heart seems larger than ever.

I am not sad. I am not angry. I just really really miss you.

Friday, November 27, 2009


There are just some things totally absurd about death. Like the fact that I spent twenty minutes arguing with the cable company to get your name off the account and mine put on. All they kept saying is that the primary account holder was the only one authorized to make changes to the account. All I kept repeating was that you were dead and that you could no longer make any decisions. This really did go on for twenty minutes, back and forth. I didn’t scream, I didn’t cry. I wanted to cancel the account then and there – but I am secretly in love with my DVR and just couldn’t do it.

Finally I said that there must be someone you report to – let me talk to that person. OK – have a nice day was the response. F*ck you, was my response – well in my head. So then I got to talk to a higher up who informed me that there were forms to fill out blah blah blah. I said I didn’t care about filling out forms, but why didn’t they just say that in the first place? Why did I have to repeat half a dozen times that my husband died? What kind of customer service training do they have anyway? He said he was sorry and gave me Showtime free for a year.

How nice. I have a dead husband and they give me free Showtime – absurd.

I am worried today about the children. Worried that when they are acting out or being quiet, it is because you are dead. It is hard to figure out when they are acting like normal children and when they are grieving. I find it difficult to discern when I am over reacting because that is what I do or if I am anxious about you being dead.

It is hard deciphering any of our emotions anymore. They are chaotic and unruly and as much as I understand the why – sometimes I really don’t. When are any of us acting ‘normal’ or is this a word I should just delete from my vocabulary. I have never been really normal, but the fun kind. This not being normal because of suicide, not so much fun and much more confusing.

Our six year was quiet today, intense in his coloring and all he wanted to do was watch TV. Is this him on vacation normal? Or is this him staying inside his own head because he misses you? Our four year old has been having tantrum after tantrum after exhausting tantrum. Is this her new gig now that she is four? Or is she acting out because she misses her daddy? I don’t want to miss any signs they need to talk, I don’t want to push them in a direction they aren’t ready for. I just don’t want to screw anything up – more so than I would normally anyway.

I feel lost in the parenting suicide death world. I walk this fine line of feeling like I am doing right by them and feeling like I am the worst parent ever. I promised to buy my daughter a car today if she would just stop crying. This is going to clearly come back to haunt me someday – but I was desperate.

I threatened my son that I would take away a night of Hanukkah if he didn’t start listening and then I felt awful. I just don’t know the right way to act with them sometimes. I am trying to be the same parent I have always been. Keep the same rules, love them and care for them like I always have. Instill good values and fill them with love, laughter and fun. They get punished when they are bad and yelled at when they are really bad.

I am trying to be the same parent I was before you totally screwed up my life and theirs. I am trying to be the same person I was before suicide, but maybe, just maybe that is the problem. Nothing is ever going to be the same and I must learn how to be me all over again. This I find totally absurd.

Thursday, November 26, 2009


I thought it was going to be bad day. I guess sometimes the anticipation is worse than the actual. It ended up being kind of a nice day.

I took the children to the NYC Thanksgiving day parade. It was the first time we had ever gone. It was really special and the children loved every second of it. We were amazed by it all and of course the larger than life balloons are super cool.

Then we went out to my Brother in laws – also a first for us. Thanksgiving is usually spent with my family. The children played with their cousins, the food was great and the company was even better.

Driving home tonight I thought about how the day went. We did a lot of firsts. It seemed to help that we were not constantly surrounded by the familiarity of years past. That “daddy isn’t here” moment didn’t occur. I realized that we made new memories today. We were grieving in our own way – but it wasn’t so obvious.

I think I learned something today about how to deal with our loss. I think that this is how we move forward. New moments in time, new experiences where we can go and do without looking back. There is so much in our lives that remind us of my husband. We see photos of him in the house, hear his voice and feel his presence everywhere we go. But when we make a change – shake up our routine, we are helping to put the past away and grow into the future. I am going to try and make a conscious effort to do more firsts with the children and maybe even myself.

My six year old did comment that daddy wasn’t at the parade – and we talked about how it would have been nice to have him there. Especially since every father had a kid on their shoulders to see better and my children had to stand next to me. But there were no tears from any of us.

I can only be thankful today for what I have, not what I have lost or never had to begin with. I am thankful for the children, my understanding family and amazing friends. I am thankful I live in a community I didn’t feel like I had to run away from and hide. Each person here has made me stronger than I could be on my own. I am thankful for the food on our table and our good health. I am thankful for all the people out there who fight for me without knowing me at all. I am thankful for G-d. Lastly I am thankful for all of you who read this blog and respond in such a kind and positive way. I hope we are blessed with a good new year.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009


Most of my friends have dreamed of you. They tell me that in their dreams you are happy, smiling and funny. They wake comforted knowing that somehow, somewhere you are at peace.

I am not that lucky.

I have only had two dreams so far starring you and last night's really was awful.

I dreamt that you came home and just started on your day. Then we were in the restaurant together and for some reason your presence really bothered me. It finally dawned on me that you were supposed to be dead. I looked at you and said you killed yourself, you are not supposed to be here. You told me that you were fine and continued doing something.

I remember waiting around for a lot of the dream for you to die. I knew it was coming. I was just looking at you, following you around and waiting . . . Finally at some point you started to feel sick and I knew it was coming. Then I watched you die in front of me all over again. I saw your face the way it looked the very last day. I am haunted by that face.

I woke up so shaken that it took me a moment to realize I was in bed surrounded by our two children snuggling me and stealing the covers.

Your son woke with me and the first thing he said to me was – “Every time I say Daddy I start to cry.” So we laid in bed, he and I, crying softly, feeling the weight of the world all around us while your daughter just snored.

We got up and started our day. Another day without you. I had been trying to shake the dream all morning. It had left me feeling disturbed, nauseous and haunted. I feel a little better now that I wrote about it. I am sorry if I make anyone else upset. Sometimes being so personal can have its drawbacks.

I figured the day was grey and I was feeling out of sorts - the prefect day to take my first trip to the cemetery. I was wrong when I said I would be laughing the whole way. That didn't happen. I cried. I listened to REM's song “Everybody Hurts” which in hindsight was stupid because who doesn't cry when they hear that song on a good day.

I visited your mom and sister first. But I didn't stay long. I just couldn’t put off the inevitable anymore. I found your grave, just a pile of dirt now and sat down. It was the first time in a long time that I have really been alone. No kids, no phone, no friends – just the silence. It felt peaceful in an odd sort of way.

I cried and screamed and threw rocks into the dirt and cried and screamed at you some more. I am really glad no one was around. They would have thought I was insane. It was very, very quite except for my constant sobbing. Then I stopped crying, screaming and saying I was sorry.

Suddenly I found myself just talking to you out loud. I told you all the things you had missed this past month and all the things I had been wanting to tell you but couldn't. It was really therapeutic. I heard you laughing with me as I told you about the children. I heard you sigh when I complained about my mom. I heard your advice that you would be telling me if you were here. I asked you what you want written on your tombstone – I am thinking Led Zeppelin lyrics – but I am not sure. Then I just said goodbye and left. I didn’t cry on the trip home.

I don't know how soon I will be back. Maybe it will take another month. But I am glad that I went. It was as horrible as I envisioned and yet it was also very soothing. To sit quietly, uninterrupted and just talk to you. The lingering uneasiness of the nightmare disappeared as I left the cemetery, which helped to clear my head. I miss you so much and wish you would come to me in a nice way while I sleep.

Then it was back to reality and dealing with the rest of the day. I am still having a hard time with the children. They are just not listening to me, which is really nothing new. Maybe my patience is just worn super thin. I get no breaks at night – it is just me me me all the time going.

Suicide and death, I think sometimes I can deal with that. Parenting – this is the toughest of all . . .

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

The Note

I got your note back last night. It took my wonderful friend a month to retrieve it from the police. They wanted to keep it in your file, but with his connections and hard work he got me a photocopy.

I didn’t remember it all. I read it once quickly the day you killed yourself and then it was gone, taken as evidence. I have been waiting and waiting to read it again. Thinking all this time it would answer so many of my questions. That it would unlock the mystery that has eluded me for so long.

I read it and realized that it was just another clue. It didn’t help at all. It didn’t tell me anything except you love me and you are sorry. Big f*cking help that is now.

So now I am back to the beginning. Back to my trying to unravel the past. What do I do with the note now? I have read it a million times and committed it to memory. Do I carry it with me in my wallet? Keep it under my pillow? Save it to show your children so they can wonder as well.

I feel like it is my last connection to you, and yet when I read it I feel like I never knew you at all.

You must have been in so much pain and yet still in the note your humor comes out. That was just you, making light of the darkest moments even in your last breath.

I wish you could read some of my notes. Read this blog and realize how wrong you were when you said we would all be fine. You never gave yourself the credit you deserved. You never realized how much you were loved. You never realized how very special you were and how much you did accomplish in your short life. Your children are your legacy and they will live on to honor you and cherish you. I will make sure they never forget you or what a great man you really were.

I want to go to the cemetery but I don’t know if I can. When I think about the cemetery I start laughing. I really do. Because the very idea that you could actually be there is so absurd to me that it is funny. Hilarious actually that you are there. Because you can’t possibly be there. There is just no way you are dead and buried. So if I actually get myself there this week I will be laughing all the way.

Then of course I will be crying too.

Monday, November 23, 2009


Tonight is not a good night. You are everywhere except where I needed you, at home.

I am not a good parent tonight. I lost my patience so many times and the kids don’t react to me anymore. I can’t call you at work to complain that your daughter had a thirty minute tantrum over a juice box which just started the day off terribly. I can’t tell you about the trip to the allergist and how badly getting their shots went. I can’t tell you anything anymore.

It seems that everywhere today I was reminded of you, which led to sadness and anger. I am not upset with you today. I am feeling sorry. Sorry that I couldn’t grasp how much pain you were in and sorry that you felt this was the only way out. Sorry that I wasn’t more understanding even in my ignorant position. Sorry that I saw you worried and stressed but never knew the direction your mind was going in. Sorry that I missed all the signs, while wrapped up in my conceited world of stuff.

I am dreading Thanksgiving in the worst way. Not dreading the day, but just your absence. Your favorite holiday of all time because you loved to eat until you might burst. You were always jealous when I was pregnant on Thanksgiving because I had those cool elastic bands around my pants, which let me eat and eat. You loved to carve the turkey no matter if you cooked it or not. Like a surgeon you would slice and dice and of course eat your mistakes when no one was looking. I will miss your terrible turkey jokes and the amount of food you could eat in one sitting.

The school guidance counselor called me today about our 6 year old son. He wanted to update me on his progress this past month. He told me that our beautiful boy is doing great and has transitioned back into school wonderfully. He has started writing about you and talking about you, which they are very happy about. He talks about you in the present form, which they say is normal. He does know that you died and aren’t coming back. The counselor told me that he is too young to realize how much of an impact this will really have on his life someday and I am devastated. The thought that the worst is yet to come sends shivers down my spine and grows knots in my stomach.

The counselor did say that a parent passing is a natural progression in a child’s life, but I don’t think it should have happened so soon. Natural or not, what you did defies the very meaning of natural, but you clearly weren’t thinking about that.

I am told that I will never understand what you were thinking on that day or the days leading up to your death. That depression is such a strong illness my clearheaded mind could never get to your point of reasoning, to make it somehow OK in my heart. That is hard for me to accept. On one hand I want to know how you got to where you left us and need to know the how and why. On the other hand, I don’t really want to feel the pain and blackness that overtook you and deep down know it won’t help me now.

Your children, despite their fighting, tantrums and acting their age crap are amazing to me. They are so resilient and stronger than I ever could be. They are great in school, play lovingly with their friends and love life so much it seems so unfair. So very unfair that they should have to deal with something like this. I worry about your 19 year old. He is at such a pinnacle point in his life – I only hope that he grows stronger from this and pushes ahead to have a beautiful life. I want the pain to go away from us all and let us heal quickly. But I don’t know how to recover from this – how does anyone? The pain seems to have set up camp quite permanently and I don’t know how to uproot it out of my soul.

Maybe I am wrong. I am angry and upset with you today. Anyone who knew you and loved you is angry with you. If they didn't love you they wouldn't be angry. There are a lot of tears and anger in my hood these days. I am angry that you left us behind. That you didn’t think we could fix what was wrong. That you lost your faith in yourself, in your family and in g-d. We have not lost our faith in you – and we will forever love and cherish the happy times and try not to judge too harshly for everything else.

I will try and be thankful for all the blessings bestowed upon me. I cannot possibly have greater family and friends. I am surrounded by an amazing community who showers me with love, support and hope on a daily basis. I am thankful for so many things and will just focus on that for now. What else can I do?

Sunday, November 22, 2009


I went to my nephew’s bar mitzvah this weekend. It has been on our calender for two years now. You weren’t there. I was preparing for it to be difficult; spending time with your family, seeing your father and just not having you there. I have been mentally preparing for this since you died. Mostly I wanted to get through the day without having a panic attack and give the children some wonderful memories. I also wanted to pretend all was well and enjoy the moment.

The service was less stressful than I thought. Saying Kaddish for you was the hardest. I have known this prayer since I can remember. But I have never been one of the people who stand up in mourning to recite the prayer. It seemed impossible to say the words, impossible that this was real. But I did it and with less tears than I anticipated.

I spent the rest of the afternoon preparing for the party, I even had a hair appointment. When I walked into the shop there was a girl being serenaded by a man playing guitar and flinging roses at her while he sang. A gift from her boyfriend all the ladies said. For the rest of my stint there all the other woman complained about their crappy husbands and boyfriends. How they would never get anything like that from them. I pinched myself from saying what I wanted to say. “Is your husband or boyfriend alive? Yes! Then just shut the f*ck up and appreciate them!”

I didn’t say this obviously. I just pretended that getting my hair done was a normal thing to do on a Saturday. Except it has been a month since you killed yourself, and nothing seems like it will ever be normal again. I cried when the hairdresser wasn’t looking. I didn’t want her to take it personally.

The party was magical and dreamlike. If you know my sister-in-law, you know she can throw one heck of a party. Her attention to detail is phenomenal. She reminds me of my mother and sister in that way. The amazing attention to detail, is a gene I did not acquire. I spent the evening wandering around taking it all in. Making sure the kids were having a great time and my 19 year old step-son had just enough to drink. The night was going great as far as I could tell. I was getting lost in the fantasy I had created in my mind. I was trying to talk to some people about anything but me, I was drinking cosmos and eating sushi. What could go wrong? Plus, my sister was there to help me with the kids and probably to keep a watchful eye on my mental stability. She was amazing and helping just enough.

It was late in the night and the party was winding down. The kids were besides themselves exhausted but on such adrenaline they were buzzing. I was wondering if they had been drinking too . . . The lights went out, my daughter immediately feel asleep in my lap and the photos came on, a montage of my nephew's life. They were great photos and the songs that went along were hilarious. About the third or fourth photo was one of you and your nephew as a baby. It was like someone punched me in the stomach with all their might. You had an expression on your face that I haven’t seen in a long long time. The expression that I fell in love with.

The tears just started to roll down my face. I sat at the table with your son, your father and brother and I could not stop the tears. I panicked. This was not the time to cry – I had been trying all night to stay away from the past and there it was on a huge screen starring down at me, reminding me of what I had lost. I got up from the table with our baby girl wrapped in my arms sleeping. I prayed that anyone who noticed me leave thought it was because of her. I sat away from the crowd, to a place where I could watch the photos in private. I sobbed harder than I had in a long time. I could not stop crying, I tried to but couldn't, and then I didn’t care. I had held it in all day that the pain was just seeping from every crevice in my soul. I tried all day to keep it together for everyone and myself and I just couldn’t do it anymore.

It seems that these moments just come and I am not prepared. I had gone the whole night strong and in one instance I was reduced to rubble. I am beginning to think that life is going to be just like this. One moment I am living and dealing and doing what I must and the next moment my breath is being forced out like the wind has been knocked out of me. I can’t possibly control myself when this happens. For the most part I can keep my emotions in check. But driving home today I had that image of you in my mind and if I thought about it for more than 30 seconds the tears would just come.

All of our children had such a wonderful time this weekend. They have memories that will last forever about their cousin’s bar mitzvah. I didn’t want this to be the event where all they thought “daddy wasn’t here” and thank g-d it was not.

My sister-in-law once told me that we have to celebrate the happy times because that is what life is all about. She is right. There will always be something stressful in your life, something to worry about and fear. But we do have to remember to celebrate and take part in life.

So I try and live everyday with joy and love in my heart and remember that I have to live more so now than ever before. Try to love more, try to forgive more and just try a little harder everyday.

Thursday, November 19, 2009


Today was my turn to drive the nursery school carpool. Some days there is nothing better than getting into a car with a bunch of 3 and 4 year olds for the ten minute drive. When they are not arguing about a book or a doll they are hilarious. They also laugh at everything and anything I say. They let me listen to the Spin Doctors and love the song “Two Princes” of course. Sometimes I am forced to listen to “their” music – but we learn to compromise.

Today as were just leaving it seemed like a beautiful day with the sun shinning bright. Then two minutes into the drive it started to rain. I looked up and there straight ahead was a big, beautiful rainbow. Stopped at a light I pointed it out to the girls. They were straining their heads to look out the front window to see. I was running late of course and thought maybe we would just wait and see it at school. But something made me stop – and in that instant I pulled the car over and double parked. I pulled everyone out of the car and into the street. I didn’t want them to see the rainbow through the car’s windows. I wanted them to just see it and behold its wonder and beauty. We stood there in the rain as I pointed out each and every color to them. They oohed and ahhed and it was amazing. The first rainbow I have seen in ages and it was huge as it arched across the entire sky.

I got them back into the car, re-strapped all of the car seats and when we finally drove off again I looked up, and the rainbow had disappeared. I was so glad we had stopped; we never would have seen it at school. I don’t know what made me do it. It was like some mystical force telling me to take every moment in and appreciate the beauty all around us.

Today I am also reminded about how many of my friends and family are grieving. I see it in their faces and hear it in their voices. They are in pain and sad. It is a difficult time for us all. I am still shocked by how one tragedy can trickle down and affect so many different lives. I am so sorry that this happened to my wonderful community. In a strange way this tragedy has made us stronger. Reminded us why we are all friends and neighbors. Reminded us all how much we love and are loved and that we need to focus on the good. I am still in awe of people and humanity. I am overwhelmed by everyone’s generosity and how wonderful they are. I can’t keep track of the niceness.

The kids and I are starting to get into a routine. I feel bittersweet about this. We have accepted that it is just the three of us and we are going about our daily lives. We try and talk about you as much as possible and sometimes we talk about how we don’t want to talk about you. I have figured out how to make coffee just for me. Your son realizes I am taking him to school everyday and not you. Your four year old does and says all the funny things you used to. She didn’t skip a beat and is taking up where you left off.

The plumber came today and told me how he lit candles at church for me. Then he told me he has been married to his wife for 32 years and doesn’t know if he could survive if anything happened to her. He just kept saying to me “I don’t know how you do it.” I didn’t have a response. I don’t know what I am doing. I am being a mom. I don’t know any other way. I am not magical or different. I just do.

This weekend is a family event. The first, but not the last that I will attend without. I think I am so worried about feeling sad that maybe I just won’t. I will look into your father’s 80 year old eyes and feel his pain. I will look in to your 19, 6 and 4 year old children’s eye’s and feel their pain. I will see your brother and your family and feel their pain. But I will not feel sad. I have my “fines” packed in a suitcase ready to go. I can handle the questions. I can’t handle the pity. I don’t need the look of concern or expressions that seem to question my sanity. If I am not crying hysterical people are worried. If I am crying people are worried. I am not sure how to half cry but if that would make you all feel better than I will try.

Like I said life has gotten into a routine. Then there are moments where it feels like you die all over again and that is scary. When I see fathers and daughters together I have to suck in my breath and hold it in for a moment. That is pain. Little league games - pain. Cars that look like yours – double pain. Couples holding hands in Home Depot make me want to vomit. Everything else I seem OK with right now – I am sure the list will get longer.

So I am taking a break from posting for a few days – collect my thoughts and think about what witty, sad and pathetic things I will say to you next. The sad I am sure I won’t disappoint, the witty takes more thinking. Just know I will be fine.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009


I am going to pretend I am 22 and my boyfriend just broke up with me. This is an experience I can relate to and understand. I have been broken up with and have had my heart broken a million times. This heartache I can deal with. This is an emotion familiar to me and one I know I can get past. Every time I was dumped I soon received a letter saying that they no longer wanted to talk or see me again. Apparently I am not a good breaker-upper.

So I am going to pretend that you broke up with me and never want to see me or talk to me again. I have gotten over many a broken heart. Some quicker than others, but still I am good at this.

What you did is so out of my realm of comprehension and understanding that I must put it into an equation that computes with me. I am good at pretending, like my daughter and her dress up – sometimes acting like someone you're not can be healthy.

Still I go about my day to day life. I am existing on the surface. If I dove down into the depths of my emotions I might never resurface again. Pretending is going to have to work for now. Maybe forever.

I do need to come up with a few new adjectives though. Saying I am fine is getting tiresome. I am asked all day long how I am doing. I say I am fine. The kids are fine. We are all fine. What the heck does fine mean anyway? I have said it so many times it has lost its meaning. Does fine mean I am about to throw a plate at the wall or my shoe across the room or cry and scream and yell at the top of my lungs? Then yes, I am fine.

The truth is, I don’t know how I am. I am not sure what I am supposed to be doing or how I am supposed to be feeling. Does anyone? What would you do? This experience is totally foreign to me. That is why I going to pretend. My world has been turned inside out and upside down and I can’t figure out anything at all. This I am not pretending.

My children still have their busy busy lives. I still need milk and there is always dirty laundry. My house needs to get cleaned and the phone doesn’t stop ringing. I do all of the things I did before and some new stuff. I just go and go and go and try not to look back. Am I pretending that my life is normal? Probably. I am not trying to be strong or take the weight of the world onto my shoulders. This is my life and I just do. I don’t feel special. I don’t feel like I deserve all the attention. I just do and go and feel numb.

My friends are worried about me. My family is worried about me. They are upset when I am upset and worried when I am not. I haven’t figured out how to make them realize that this is it. Life has been completely altered for the rest of my life. I can’t stay in bed all day and cry. I can’t smile every time I want to. I am stuck in the middle of some alternative universe and there is no other way.

I am angry and sad, tired and grouchy. I am trying to find my inner spirit again. Trying to figure out what used to make me happy and smile and get it back. Maybe my happy-go-lucky self is gone for good. Maybe she is just on hiatus.

I am stressed about a lot of things – mostly the things I cannot control. I am worried that my children are going to be scarred for life and try to figure out ways to avoid this. I used to worry that my tongue ring would cause their teenage years to be angst ridden – now I laugh at my simplistic thoughts and wish I had that innocence back.

So for now I am fine – there is always tomorrow. Maybe I will tell you I am OK.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

I F*cking Hate You

There is a Puddle of Mudd song which I happen to adore entitled “She F*cking Hates You.” That is the title of the song and pretty much makes up most of the lyrics. Despite what you are thinking, it is a great song.

Sometimes I sit down at the computer and wonder which part of my day I should write about. The good, the bad, or the pathetic. Today there was so much to write about I pondered for about thirty seconds. The answer was just too easy.

I talked to the children today about you. I am worried that your four year old won’t remember you. I am worried that as time passes she will forget or that her memories of you will become fuzzy. I personally don’t remember anything from when I was four – but I blame college for that. So I talked to them about starting a daddy journal. A book that we could write stories about you or memories they have of you or pictures they want to draw of you. It went really well. They were both excited about it and I was relieved. I took it a step further.

At bedtime tonight I read them a story called “I Miss You” a book my friend brought over for young children dealing with death. At one point the book says that it is OK to feel sad and cry. I reiterated by saying that crying is really OK and important. My six year old said, “Really? Crying is OK?” I told him that crying is a really great way to get all your yucky feelings out and mommy always feels better after a good cry.

Well that was it – both of them started to cry. The six year old was saying daddy, daddy, daddy over and over and the four year old was just crying. This went on for about a minute until they looked at each other. Then the crying went up a notch and it turned into wailing. Then it became who could wail louder and with more hysteria. They were both now fake crying of course and really doing an Oscar performance. They would leave the room to look into the mirror to see how good their crying face was. This went on for far too long. How could I stop them from crying after I told them a good cry was healthy?

I just sat there watching them thinking this is pathetic. I was really cursing you out in my head for all it was worth. I really hated you. If you were standing in front of me I would have punched you in the face. Here are two amazing, beautiful children making themselves hysterical from the loss of their father and it didn’t have to be this way. All I kept thinking was that you did this to us. I f*cking hate you because – you DID this! What should have been a nice quiet November evening was now a nightmare of epic proportion. We should have been laughing, talking about our day, thinking about the holidays coming up, anything but this. Instead your four and six year old babies are morning your loss and it didn’t have to be this way. Tonight I really f*cking hate you!

Then my four year old asked if she was going to get a new daddy. I said no, not right now. She started to cry again. So I said yes, she could get a new daddy. She started to cry harder. I asked her what the right answer was – she just cried. My six year old then told me he had a dream that he got a new daddy with a mustache.

Tonight I really hate you even though I really love you too.

Tomorrow night we are reading Dr. Seuss.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Lucky Girl

I am a lucky girl. I really am. It may sound a bit strange to you, me saying this, especially after the last few posts of mine. But today I realize that I am really lucky.

I am surrounded by people who love me. My house phone and cell phone can’t go five minutes without ringing. Someone is always calling to remind me how much they care about me and ask what they can do. My e-mail is always full, my text inbox is out of control. Facebook is working on serious overtime and will probably crash due to my friends! I need a personal secretary to get back to you all.

My husband’s brother and his wife are amazing to me. My husband’s ex-wife is so wonderful and loving to me and my children, it is beautiful. My siblings, my mother and step-dad never stop calling and doing. My aunts and uncles are always just a phone call away. My grandmother wants only to fly me to Florida to get away. My children’s teachers have given me their “private” numbers and are devoted to making sure my children stay on track and are feeling very loved. My community has stepped up in ways that are unimaginable.

My friends. My friends all deserve to be sainted. They bring me meals every night and call the plumber for me. They send cleaning woman to dust and bought me a washing machine. They call me night and day and listen to me cry. They understand when I tell them to go away and are there moments later when I change my mind. They are grieving almost as much as I am. They are worried about me and I am worried about them. We are all walking a tight rope together and no one is letting anyone fall. If we did – there would be a net – that I am sure of.

It has taken some time for me to shake this feeling of humiliation. That was my first emotion for days and days. Saying your husband is dead is hard enough. Saying he took is own life is impossible. I felt like everyone was looking at me like it was my fault. That I should be walking around with a scarlet S on my shirt. I felt like everyone knew and was blaming me.

But I am over that now. It was all me and my guilt and my sadness. I don’t feel humiliated any more. I feel sorrow and pain but the normal kind.

It seems strange for me to be doing ordinary things when my world is anything but ordinary. Going to the local supermarket has been the most difficult. I never realized how much I shopped with you in mind. Every freaking isle was filled with stuff I would purchase for you. I was able to bypass the cookie and ice cream sections with only a minor panic attack. I avoided the people working there who I normally chat with – I just didn’t want to tell them yet. The deli lady is going to be so upset – she had a mad crush on you – or me, we were never sure – nevertheless, I didn’t want to ruin her day today.

I picked up your shirts at the cleaners this morning. I have been dreading this for 23 days. A part of me was hoping there was going to be a secret message in your pockets to me – of course there wasn’t. I forget sometime that I am living in reality and movies are fake and can give you false hope when you have none yourself. I said goodbye to the lady at the cleaners. I will never go back.

It is hard to go to sleep some nights. The bed I used to complain about being too small now suddenly feels massive and empty. But then some time in the middle of night, the pitter patter of little feet come find me. I used to complain about the children coming into our bed, and now I wait for it. Even though my son grinds his teeth and kicks me in the head and our precious daughter mutters Redrum in her sleep, I need them to fill this roomy bed of mine. I grip them both so tight and listen to their breathing and their presence calms me.

They remind me of you. They remind me to be strong for you. The remind me to be stronger than you. They are my whole world and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Even though they still complain about my pancakes.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Mom - skip this one!

Tonight I feel pain. Tonight I feel all the hurt of you being gone and am suffering. Tonight it feels like you died all over again and all I feel is pain. Tonight I hear your voice in my mind and it is ravaging me and I feel like I will never be at peace with this. I feel sad and abandoned and hurt. Tonight I am not angry I just feel devastated.

Tonight it is hard to write because the pain is so bad. I am not sure why tonight I feel this way. Maybe because it is a Sunday. Maybe because it was a beautiful day and I never left the house. Maybe just because.

Maybe because I spent time with your 19 year old today and it was so great to see him. But so hard too. He misses you so much and it is hard to see that. It isn’t what he says, it is what he doesn’t say that hurts. We went through your records and cd’s and his baby pictures and I gave him lots of your stuff. He thanked me for giving it to him and I was only so sorry that I had to. Every time a piece of you leaves the house it is like you die all over again.

I am so wracked with sadness it is consuming. It is hard to see straight.

The hardest part of my day as been the nights. The last thing I do before I go upstairs is turn the light out. I never did this before you were gone. I always left it on so you could see your way when you came home from work. Every night when I turn the light out it is a reminder to me that you are, in fact, not coming home. It is a painful switch I turn each and every night, and it seems not to get any easier.

I don’t want to feel this way. I hate feeling this way. This overwhelming grief that crashes over me like a constant wave, building in strength until it threatens to drown me. I am sinking.

I am hungry but too nauseated to eat. I am tired but sleep eludes me. I am wandering around the house lost without knowing where I am going or what I am looking for. I ache in my bones and feel so hollow and empty inside.

I miss you more and more each day. I thought it would be the opposite. I thought I would feel better each day, grow accustom to this new situation. I thought I was growing stronger everyday and I feel weaker. I feel sorrow. Sometimes I just feel nothing.

I can’t find comfort in that which used to comfort me. TV shows I love I can’t watch. Books that I would get lost in are left unread. I can’t find my footing in my every day life. I am not myself and forget who I am. I am sad and I hate being sad and I feel like I will never feel any other way ever again.

I am sure tomorrow I will get a lot of phone calls from my loving concerned friends, for sure from my mother. I am sorry to worry you. Tomorrow I will be better, I am just sad tonight.

I think I feel so bad today because I hurt my back pulling your records out of a closet. It set me back a bit. I can’t deal with physical pain right now –I am fully stocked in the emotional kind. Physical pain hurts and brings to light my other fears about bad things happening to me. It is just me now and I need to be ok all of the time, no matter what. I can’t get sick. I can’t get hurt. I must stay strong for my children. I am also kind of a woose when it comes to pain and you aren’t here to complain to.

I am missing my best friend tonight. Tomorrow will be a better day – it just has to.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

21 days

I told myself I wasn’t going to keep track of days or weeks or time – because one day can feel like a lifetime and other days I wonder where it went. But today is three weeks, 21 days and I can’t believe how much you have missed in such a short time.

Sitting at dinner tonight just starring at your beautiful children I am angry at you. I am angry that you aren’t here to share anything with anymore. I wish you could see their perfect faces as they sit and eat and talk about their day. They are just chatting about how much fun they had today at a birthday party and Mc Donald’s and you are missing it. I wish you were sitting with us just starring at them in wonder, in utter amazement, that these perfect children are ours.

Then the fighting starts and food is thrown and there is crying and of course someone spills their milk all over and yet they are still beautiful and perfect and all I know is that you are missing this moment in time.

In 21 days you have missed your daughter’s 4th birthday, your son loosing a tooth, soccer trophies, ballet classes, parent teacher conferences and report cards. You have missed a Metallica concert with your oldest son, at least 21 temper tantrums, 21 dinners, 21 bedtime stories and 21 nights of spending time with me.

I try not to look to far ahead at what else you will be missing, it is just too painful to think about. Instead, I like to think that you are not missing any of this. That you are somewhere wonderful, sharing the last 21 days with us. I hope you are happy my love and at peace.

I actually woke up today not wanting to get out of bed. A first for me and I wasn’t prepared for how heavy the weight of the world felt. It was only because your son couldn’t find Sponge Bob on TV that I dragged myself into reality. Since it was raining and I figured the day was already on a decline, I would do something I have been dreading. So with the help of an amazing friend, we took your clothes away.

I couldn’t possibly do it alone. I tried once, but would just pick up a shirt, think about the last time you wore it and crumble under the enormous weight of a cotton t-shirt. I got the kids to their parties and play dates and prepared for the worst. I could take the clothing out of the closet or out of a drawer, but that was as far as I could get. My friend would put your clothing into a bag as I turned away each and every time.

I saved your wedding tux – it will hang in the closet until I am old and gray. I saved your Mets t-shirts – maybe someday they can be worn in pride. Mostly everything else went to the homeless and needy and I feel good about that. Maybe 21 days was too soon to part with your stuff – but deep down I feel like it could be 221 days and it would be too soon. Maybe tomorrow I will want to get out of bed.

Your daughter’s prayer to G-d tonight was hard. She told G-d to tell you to eat your vegetables so you could be alive again – I hope you heard her.

I told myself I wasn’t going to count the days and maybe this will be my last installment in reference to time – because in a way, the day you died time stopped. Time is now in seconds or moments that I hope I can get through without crying.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Cinderella the Widow

I grew up on fairy tales – happy endings and all that stuff. In fact, I love happy endings and hate surprises. If you know me well, you know how true this is. I despise surprises.

My husband proposed to me on my 30th birthday. I had no idea it was coming. Later that day we were supposed to meet friends for dinner. It ended up being a surprise party with all my family and friends. I was furious. No really furious. My grandmother loves to retell the story of how I looked at the table of smiling faces and turned to my husband and wacked him with my large kick-ass hello kitty bag!

I still hate surprises. I love to reread the same books over and over again. I find comfort in knowing exactly what is going to happen. If it is a new book I skip pages and then go back, less something unexpected happens, I am prepared. I watch movies in fast forward and then go back and watch them in real time. I am crazy, I know. I once told my therapist about five years ago how I hate surprises and she agreed that I was crazy – she really did. She told me that life is a surprise and I should embrace the good and the bad because it is beyond our control.

Suicide has become the biggest surprise of them all. How I lived with someone day in and day out and didn’t see the signs. How I saw pain in his eyes and thought it was something else. How he hid all his anxiety and stress to keep me happy is a burning I feel coursing through my veins. My heart aches when I try and put myself into his world. I think deep down my husband just wanted me to be a princess in a happy ending story. He just didn’t think he could be the prince anymore.

So now I look at life with a slightly skewed vision of the world. Do I let my children grow up in a fairy tale world or do I prepare them for the poison apple and the wicked witch? They don’t know how daddy really died. I told them that daddy had a boo boo in his brain and it made his body stop working and now he is in heaven eating all the ice cream he wants.

What more can I tell such young babies and for how long does it go on? How much more can I prepare them for bad things? How do I keep away the surprises? Maybe I am fooling myself and I can’t. I want to wrap them in my arms and protect them forever, but that is not reality – that is the stuff fairy tales are made of. I guess deep down I know the answer. I must remain strong and just let life go on and follow its lead. G-d give me strength.


I threw out your toothbrush today and wear your jacket every time I leave the house. My wedding band is securely on my finger and yours I wear around my neck. You are buried, Shiva is over and all I am left with is your stuff. I am comforted and haunted by all your things. The house is full of children and laughter and I still see you everywhere. I see you on the couch watching Fox News, pacing on the phone and eating ice cream. I hear your voice and feel you here in this full house, which feels ever so empty since you have been gone. When do I let your things go – how can I ever part with them? If everything stays as you left them does this mean you are coming back? If everything goes does this mean I will forget?

I feel faced with the impossible task of living my life without you. I miss you more than words can say and can’t stop looking at your photos on the wall. The kids and I hear the house creaking and think it is you. We hear the next door neighbor open their door and think it is you coming home. We all look at the door expecting you to somehow burst through with smiles and love for us and though we don’t ever say it – we are all thinking it. You are not coming home – ever.

Your children continue to ask me “is daddy still dead?” and I suck back tears as I nod my head yes because words are impossible – and when I turn away from them they ask why my face is leaking.

Your 4 year old daughter talks to you every night at bedtime – she turns into her pillow and whispers to you about her day – then she will turn to me and say “daddy said wow.” Your 6 year old son makes sure when we pray at night that you are safe and happy in heaven. I tuck them both in at night keeping a smiling poker face on and then go into the bathroom.

I cry in the shower so they can’t see – I sob with reckless abandon because the pain is so real now it feels like nothing else I have ever known. We miss you so much and still 20 days later can’t believe you are really gone.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Trickle Down

I am amazed by people. Bewildered, confounded and truly just amazed. This is actually saying a lot because once upon a time I really hated most people. I have a new found hope in humanity and I am only sorry it took such a tragic event to open my eyes.

My husband’s funeral was two days after his death – I told a few close friends and my family about it. Yet over a hundred people showed up to gather round a crowded cemetery to bring their love and support and share their tears with me. There were people there who I maybe said hello to in the neighborhood – people there I didn’t even know liked me. I was stunned. I remember standing next to the grave listening to the words of the Rabbi and seeing a sea of faces of people who cared so much about my husband - I only wish he knew how much he was truly loved – maybe it would be a different day.

There are so many lives connected to mine – more so than I ever realized. The way this tragic event has trickled down, across so many people’s lives makes me so sad. This didn’t just happen to me and my children – this happened to us all. From the community I live in now back to the people from my husband’s childhood – tears are falling from so many far and wide. I wish I was spreading happiness and peace to these people instead of sorrow. In a way I feel uplifted by their sorrow – I must be strong for my family and for others. I need to show them that if I can get through this so can they. I must climb up from the very thing trying to tear me down.

I hear stories of people who have reconciled difference over petty events. After something like this hits so close to home, you realize that life has meaning and value. We should stop and take inventory about what is important in life, stop holding grudges and release ourselves of the nonsense that just really doesn’t matter.

I am blessed in so many ways it is hard to keep track. My family is there for me always and I am grateful. My friends are amazing beyond belief. Each day I am reminded at how wonderful they are, as they all in their own way stop at nothing to show me support and kindness. I would be lost without them all. But it is the strangers who cause me to sob uncontrollably. The random people whose names I don’t know who stop me on the street to give me books on grief – a smile – and even a $20 for groceries. People who I never saw before and may never see again – these people give me hope.

My children will be well cared for by me, my family and friends – but it is nice to know that strangers are looking out for them as well.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

The Beginning

Where does one begin? I promised myself I should not and could not reveal the most intimate details of my life and yet here I am. Why then do I find myself here? I think mostly because I miss writing and hope that some where at some time another person can find comfort in my words or at the very least laugh because humor is all I have right now.

My husband died 18 days ago. He took his own life. He left behind three children. Two boys, 19 & 6 and a little girl, 4. He also left me - dazed, hurt, angry, sad, and a slew of emotions I haven't processed yet. Well, I really thought my words would flow a little bit easier right now - but I just got stuck. What can I say. I am still waking up each day expecting to see him, still walk to the phone to call him and still can't believe he is gone.

Time is moving in a way I cannot describe. The children still wake up each morning needing breakfast and I still make too much coffee because I make it for him. I take the children to school and run errands and talk to people and yet I have no idea what I am saying. I am smiling and asking neighbors and friends about their lives and still have no idea what I just said. I am a shell on auto pilot and people are saying I am strong. I have a deep ache that pounds away all day and all night and I don't think it will ever go away. In a way I don't feel anything, I am numb. I go through the motions of cleaning up an impossible mess and still look over my shoulder to see if anyone else is there to do it. I am constantly being reminded that I am the adult now and it seems ludicrous.

My children are my life - they come first and I am trying in baby steps to be a great parent - to make their days as normal as everyone else. I am faking every emotion because nothing seems real. Only when my babies tell me how much they miss their daddy - that daddy was a great snuggler or makes pancakes way better than me do I feel anything. Their pain becomes my own and I try and suck it out of them and take it as my own. I need to feel their pain because I feel nothing.

No one knows what to say to me - how could they? I don't know what to say to me either. If I was paranoid before about people talking about me my paranoia stage is over - I know everyone is talking about me - and I don't care. I used to be the most private person - I kept my problems and emotions inside. Yet now that suicide is here my life seems no longer mine alone - my marriage, my children, faults and finances are an open book for the world. Ironcially, here I am blogging complaining about my privacy. I must be out of my mind.