Thursday, December 31, 2009


I am not sad tonight. I am reflective, somber and alone. But I am not sad. Maybe it was the anticipation of it being a bad day that has kept the awful sobbing tears at bay tonight. The days I seem to fear the worst somehow end up manageable. The days where I don’t know what will happen or where life will lead me – these seem to be more difficult.

My six year old and I had a good talk at bedtime. We talked about our resolutions. He told me he was very upset that daddy would not see the year 2010. I agreed that it was very sad indeed, but we have to remember that we are alive and well and should live our lives as happily as we can.

He sniffled a bit and then asked me how it was possible he came out of my vagina. I really never truly thought I would be so happy to hear this question. This constant talking about death is getting to be so overwhelming – that it is a relief to talk about normal stuff with a six year old. I explained to him that he was very small – only seven ponds when he came out. I told him it wasn’t so bad.

He told me that when he was four he thought babies came out of their mommy’s belly button – but now that he is six he is more aware of things and knows where they really come out of. I sat there on the edge of my seat waiting for what I think is coming. But the next round of questions has been held off yet again – thank goodness. Instead he told me he learned a bad word. He spelled it for me. S. H. I. T. Yes, I said, that is a very bad word and it means poop. I said that he shouldn’t use it as he would not want people to think he was a bad boy. He agreed. I told him to say Sugar Honey Ice Tea instead – go mother of the year award!

I am actually amazed it took him six and half years to learn this – my all time favorite word on the planet.

I am going now to eat Indian food that my husband hated and would never let us order and watch my favorite vampire movie that he also didn’t like. Tonight is all about me – if I stay away from the wine I should be able to keep the tears away. Tonight I really am fine.

Tomorrow is another story . . .

Wednesday, December 30, 2009


I realized today that I don’t have good days and bad days; it is more complex in my world. It is more like I have good moments and horrible ones.

Today the children and I went to an ice skating birthday party. There was this moment when the three of us were on the ice together, a great song was on and we were smiling and having a wonderful time. I remember thinking that this moment felt so odd because it just doesn’t seem to happen often enough. It is hard for me to feel happy, despite how much I try. But in this moment in time my head was clear and I wasn’t dwelling on anything but what was right in front of me. It was an open window where I could see pure joy.

On the way home the children commented that daddy wasn’t with us today. I told them I like to believe that daddy is up in heaven watching us and enjoying all our happy moments. That he would want us to have fun and be happy and continue life just as we are. There was no response and I am not sure, but I think they both flipped me the bird from the backseat. I don’t blame them – I am trying to believe my own words too and it is difficult.

Your six year old is missing you more and more. I feel like a month ago he didn’t seem to notice as much. Maybe the realization is finally sinking in. He cries for you all the time and just keeps asking me “Why did daddy have to die?” It is a terrible feeling for a mother to have. I can solve so many of their problems. A kiss fixes a boo boo and bowl of ice cream or a Sponge Bob show can solve the rest. This dead daddy catastrophe doesn’t fall into any category. I understand a little bit of how my mother feels right now. All she wants is to make me feel better and all I get is angry at her for trying.

I cannot make my children’s troubles go away. Nothing can make their daddy come back from the dead and nothing can make this unbelievable situation feel any better. Time is supposed to help. Time seems to be the answer for everything these days. I don’t know about this. Time seems to stand still for this family. We are frozen right now in our sadness for daddy. I am starting to have a hard time looking at all the photos of him in the house. It used to bring me comfort seeing him all around us. Now it is starting to hurt when I look. I find myself standing in front of our family photo and looking deep into his blue eyes for answers I will never get. It is troubling.

I am truly devastated for my children in so many ways. I know that they will someday be in a better place – but right now time seems to have forgotten where we live.

There is a new dinner time routine which is just plain awful. At some point during the meal my four year old will say, “Daddy is dead.” The six year old immediately starts to cry and gets really upset. The four year old doesn’t really grasp what she is saying – all she knows is that these are the magic words to get her brother to cry. It is a freaking nightmare. I finally shushed her tonight because I realized what she was up to. It took a few nights of me coddling her to realize she was being devious and not just missing her daddy – girls – ugh!

So tomorrow is New Year’s Eve. Please don’t ask me what I am doing. It really doesn’t make a difference to me. It is just another night that my husband won’t be home. I don’t want to go to a party, have people over or do anything out of the ordinary. I just want to be.

Today I took off my necklace, the one with your ring on it. In my mind I did it because I was afraid it would get ripped off during skating. I think I will just let it sit in my drawer for now. The rest of my resolutions are null and void. I just want to take this New Year one day at a time. Be a better person and a better parent and try to get through each day with my sanity intact.

I am going to sit home and maybe watch my favorite vampire movie. I am going to try and do something that once upon a time brought me happiness. I am going to think about this past year and cry about my dead husband. I am going to wonder how at 38 I am a widow and raising two small children all alone.

I am going to look for another open window and find the strength to make 2010 a better year for all three of us.

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Just Missing You

I really miss you today. I miss you everyday, but today I miss you more than usual.

If you live near me you know how bitter cold it is outside. My bed is freezing at night and you aren’t here to warm my feet. I miss calling you at work to check in and tell you about my day. I miss hearing your voice and seeing you smile and cracking the worst jokes ever that made me laugh until my sides hurt.

I miss telling you everything and sharing with you.

The children are just so unbelievably amazing. I am sorry you are missing them grow up as they continue to astound me daily. Your four year old daughter seems to mature and grow each and every day and I miss looking at her with you in wonder that we made her. Your six year old son is so smart and so good – he is learning magic tricks. I hear him now upstairs in his bed practing for his soon to be audience. If you were here tonight, we would be giggling to one another about how cute and funny he is.

But you aren’t here and I am left to sit back alone and watch them myself. It seems so wrong that you don’t get to see this. I wish you were here tonight to witness the beautiful creatures that we created together. I am sorry it is just me.

I miss you for a million reasons and just want to sit and cry.

I wish you were here to ask your advice about my life and the children. About choices I am not sure what to do about. I miss your wit and sarcasm and I miss your beautiful smile. I miss all the things you used to do that would drive me crazy. How you would stand in front of the refrigerator door and look around eating this and that and I would yell that you were letting all the cold air out. You would just ignore me and go about noshing as if I never said a word!

I miss you watching Fox News and how annoyed you would get that I couldn’t care less about politics or the news. I tried watching a few times – but Bill O’Reilly just makes me want to weep.

I threw out your coffee cup today. I thought I would be able to use it but when I poured my morning coffee into it I just stared at the cup for a while. I miss bringing you coffee and I couldn’t even take one sip. I just dumped it all out – right into the trash. I can’t pretend anymore – you are dead and never coming back. Even though every day I try a little harder to accept this reality it still feels so fresh and painful that I am just stuck.

I found the birthday cards the children made for your last birthday and a Valentine’s Day card you made for me. I just don’t know what to do with all these things. It tears my heart open to see them and yet knowing you held these cards and smiled makes me want to keep them forever.

My jewelry makes me so sad. I have four rings on my fingers. One is from my grandmother, one is from your mother who died two years ago and two are from you. Every time I look at my hands I feel pain. I don’t know what to do. I only look at my hands oh maybe billions of times in a day. Yet I am just not sure what to do. How long do I wear my wedding band and engagement ring for? I look at my left hand and want to cry and scream. It makes me think of the day you proposed. How you looked at me and said, “There is a lot of love in this little ring.”

This ring that I have worn for so long, I can’t remember a time it wasn’t on my hand and yet it pains me to wear it. It feels like at times it is made of acid and it burns holes into me. It is a constant reminder of what I had and what I’ve lost. I just don’t know how long it can stay on my finger.

Maybe come New Year’s Eve I will take off my rings and take yours off around my neck and put it in a box for our daughter. Maybe someday I will be able to hand her this sad jewelry and it will be a better day. Yet just writing these words and the thought of taking off this ring causes me to sob so hard I fear I will wake the children. Maybe I will just try. Maybe I will sit with a bottle of wine and pry the rings off my hands and just not think about it and not look back.

I am getting my keyboard all wet and this can’t be good.

I have to think of something else to write about now because I am a mess. Nope I got nothing.

Did I mention the magic tricks?

Monday, December 28, 2009

9 1/2 weeks

There are nights when I just cannot breathe. I know there is oxygen filling my lungs but I just cannot breathe. Nine and half weeks – should have a sexier line coming but no. Nine and half weeks and life is just about not being able to breathe.

Dinner was totally normal tonight until out of the blue your six year old son starts to cry. “I miss my daddy! I miss my daddy!” he cried over and over again. Then your four year old starts to cry, but only because her older brother is in tears. She looks up at me and says, “Well when we are getting a new daddy anyway?” I say not for a while. But the six year old is past that – he is crying that he wants the daddy I already married. I am now crying too and look at him and say I want him back as well. The crying and the wailing and the screaming for you goes on for a while until I bring out ice cream covered in sprinkles. Then the tears stop – or maybe just postponed.

I just can’t handle this anymore. It is so painful to watch them go through this – it is like tiny shears are tearing out my insides slowly and meticulously. I am not in pain - I am in gut retching torturous agony every time they cry. I sit back and let them cry and tell them I am sorry. I am sorry you are gone and I can’t bring you back. I am sorry for them and sorry for me and so sick of this agony.

I am tired of the voices in my head aka other people telling me what they think I should or should not be doing. I am angry and lash out at everyone. Mostly I would just like the entire world to leave me alone. To pretend I am not sinking and drowning and just leave me alone. I am not myself and this person, who I do not know, cannot make decisions or think about the future. When I do try and look ahead I get sweaty palms and headaches and feel nauseous and can’t breathe.

Nine and half weeks and I still wear your ring around my neck. Nine and half weeks and I still cannot put my clothes in your empty dresser. I would rather cram clothing into my full drawers than even attempt to use yours. There are rooms in the house I have difficulty going into. Your office is awful. I go in only when I have to use the printer and spend as little time as I can there. I tried to go in and get rid of any piece of paper with your handwriting on it. It doesn’t matter. You are still there.

I have cancelled your cell phone, sold your car and deleted your e-mail address. None of this has done any good in my mind. You are here, there and everywhere. When I look at certain food I start to cry. When I look at the extra freezer fully stocked with your favorite ice cream I cry. When I try and feed the kids this same ice cream there are tears next to the sprinkles.

I feel like I am trying to go about my life. I am trying to live life and move on. Nothing seems to be moving fast enough for me. I wish I had a crystal ball that would show me six months from now – I just want to see us all in a better place.

I still feel like this is happening to someone else. I still don’t feel like this life I am living is mine. I drove through the city today and went by our old apartment. The one we lived in before marriage. I remember hating that apartment with the crooked stairs because we always felt drunk, even when we weren’t. Now I long for that apartment. I long for those days when we would laugh about anything and everything. I wish I could go back in time and figure out where we went wrong and how this happened.

But I can’t. I am supposed to be looking forward and healing. I am supposed to be strong and sometimes I feel very small.

Nine and half weeks – it seems like a speck of time in the real world. It feels like a millions years since you have died and it still feels like it was yesterday.

Friday, December 25, 2009


The children are home for winter break which makes accomplishing anything that much more difficult. It is also family time which is also very difficult. Yes there are plenty of new toys and movies and distractions - but nothing lasts very long.

I am in a rush to get this year past me. New Year's eve just can't come soon enough. This has been a bad year and I want it to end already. Of course I could look back and see all the wonderful things that happened - but somehow everything seems over shadowed by the death of my husband. Whatever good came out of 2009 seems to pale in comparison to the death of loosing the only man I ever truly loved.

The other day it was close to bedtime and I caught myself before I said - "hurry up and get into your pajamas so we can call daddy and say goodnight." I can't believe I thought those words let alone almost said them out loud. Where the hell have I been these last two months? How did that thought almost pass my lips. Sometimes I feel like everything going on has happened to someone else and nothing seems real.

There is so much going on now and so many changes yet to come. I almost dread the new year and the new life that awaits me, yet I am in a rush to get to a familiar place once again. I am trying to paint a happy picture for my children - it just seems that every day brings a whole new set of rules. They are going to be uprooted once more and my heart breaks for this change. But the mommy must lead the way - with a smile and hopefully happy children will follow. How much more can small children bear - I guess I will soon find out.

This lull in school and work is probably a good thing - but it also seems harder to be out of our routine. It leaves a lot of down time and we are struggling to not miss you so much. This holiday break only makes me think of last year - a happier and simpler time. How much my life has changed - it seems surreal. How different a person I am today than I was just mere months ago. I am still lost in my own head at times and struggle to stay calm and focused. I wish I could make it all go away - all the sad and terrible things that have happened. But that is not reality.

I am not really sure what is real anymore. What tomorrow brings and where we will go.

A very large part of me wants to take the children and disappear to an island somewhere far far away. Start over as someone else - because sometimes being me is just not so much fun.

But that would not be helping anyone - not really. It might be fun for a while, but reality would catch up with me sooner or later and I guess deep down you really can't run away from who you are and where you have been.

So I will try and spend this winter break playing more games and making art projects and reminding the children what a great family we are. That we love each other and need each other and hope the new year brings us happier memories.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Quiet Nite

Then there are the quiet nights where I am reminded how wonderful my life can be and to truly appreciate my children.

They still asked about you today and cried for you tonight. But it wasn’t awful. I am not sure why, but it just wasn’t. Maybe I am jaded a bit and realize this is just something we all have to deal with on our own time.

The children seem to notice your absence more recently than ever before. Maybe time just works differently for them. I have been trying to push forward to deal with so much life and not look back. All they have is what is right in front of them. But now it seems they are noticing what is not right in front of them and they are sad.

It seems ironic to me that the moments I think will cause them pain don’t seem to bother them. They don’t seem to notice when we hang out with other families that their daddy isn’t here. I am so conscious of it that I watch them with eagle eyes. It never comes. That moment where they look at the other daddies and then look around for their own. But then a random incident will occur later and they are devastated all over again. Maybe it is just delayed reaction. I don’t know.

I do see how much they love their friend’s fathers more than ever. They want their attention, want to tell them things and share stories as they would their own father. I am blessed that I have such wonderful men in my life. My friend’s husbands are more than willing to take my child onto their lap and listen like they would their own. It helps ease everyone involved and it is wonderful.

Tonight was a quiet one and I am grateful. I guess anything after last night is a good night. It leaves me time to reflect on the day, the week, the month and be grateful for my friends and family.

I am still getting dinners every night. Still getting hugs on the street and still people look at me with a special smile. I am blessed by all the people I share this life with and need to remind myself more of all the love around me.

My friend called me today to remind me that my husband didn’t leave because he wanted to – he had to, she said. It was like he had cancer – his depression left him no choice. I will try and remember that on the bad nights. The nights where his death seems raw and awful and the sadness and pain pull me to anger. I will remember that if he could see me now – in a better state of mind - he would be sad too. This was never his intention to hurt me or his family. I really do get that deep deep down. Sometimes it is easier to be angry than forgive. I am trying.

On a quiet night like this it almost seems harder to focus. Without a crisis to worry about I have a tiny bit more room in my brain to think about other things. I almost wish for a crisis so I have an excuse not to look ahead. I know soon I have to look forward, make big decisions and even indulge myself a bit to find my happy place.

I just need more time and more quiet nights – but I will get there.

Monday, December 21, 2009

Not Fair

I should not have to be dealing with this. It is not fair. Maybe I sound like my children now when I say these words. BUT IT IS NOT FAIR!

Tonight at bedtime I am trying to read to the children. Our four year old keeps interrupting and I am getting frustrated that I can’t even get through an eight page book without questions. Then she asks, “Why did daddy die?”

I say calmly that daddy died because he had a boo boo in his brain and his body stopped working. Our six year old says, “Wow, a boo boo in his brain, that must have hurt.” I tell them that daddy died very quickly and didn’t feel any pain.

I try and recover from this conversation and finish reading to them. When I tuck my four year old into bed she asks me, “Why did daddy have to miss Hanukkah?” I tell her because he is in heaven, but he was watching us and saw us celebrating Hanukkah. He didn’t really miss it. “I miss my daddy,” she says. I miss him too, I say. Exhaustion takes over and she thankfully falls quickly to sleep.

I climb up to the top bunk to tuck our six year old in. He is sobbing to himself. He looks at me and says, “I am crying because I miss daddy. I wish he were here right now tucking me in instead of you.”

I just look at him with tears rolling down my face. I know he isn’t trying to be mean to me. I stroke his hair and let him cry. “Why can’t daddy come down?” he asks. “I want my daddy and I want him right now!” he yells.

I tell him that heaven is such a wonderful place, that people don’t want to leave it. He asks me what heaven looks like and then I have to tell him I am not sure. He wants to know how I know it is so great then.

Then he looks at me and says, “Maybe if G-d hears me crying he will go find daddy and let him come home.” He starts crying again and I realize at this point there are no words of comfort for him. I can only hold him and let him sob. He is too young to really understand and to old for me to lie to him. I just snuggle him closer and let him cry.

He tells me to cover my ears and then he prays to G-d himself. “G-d please let daddy come home. His address is ____________. Let him come home to us G-d right now!”

He starts crying again and now he is speaking in Spanish. “Mommy do you know what I just said?” he asks. No honey I have no idea. He tells me he said, “Please come down, please come down.” I am not sure if I should be proud that he can mourn in two languages or just devastated that he is mourning at all.

I continue to lie next to him listening to his words as I am truly at a loss of my own. I am just crying silently because I don’t have the words to solve this. I am at an utter loss as to how to make him feel better. I feel awful. I feel terrible and I am just so upset and so devastated that this little six year old must deal with this pain and suffering.

Then he says, “Maybe daddy could just bust through the ceiling because he has wings. I think he also has a magic wand. If he comes home I will give him a big hug and then make a wish.” What would you wish for I ask? “I would ask daddy to make it snow but keep away all the yellow snow,” he says with a smile.

Then we start laughing and the tears are gone for a minute. We lie there together silently and I stroke his hair again and then he is crying again asking for daddy over and over and I just can’t take the pain I feel. It is unbearable and I wish I could take away their suffering. I just can’t. I feel like we are healing but the wound is so deep and wide still that even the little bit of time that has passed has not really stopped the bleeding.

Then after a few minutes he asks me, “When are we getting a new daddy?” I sigh and say I just don’t know. “Maybe we could get Mr. J (his kindergarten teacher from last year). I explain that he already has a girlfriend and is too young for me. “But he is really tall,” he says. Yes I said, he is.

Then he starts to tickle me. He finds that I have not shaved under my arms in a few days. The discussion moves to why men have longer hair than woman under their arms. I am utterly grateful for this change of pace that I go on and on about body hair until he is actually yawning at me. Before he gets upset again I kiss him goodnight and leave.

I am beyond upset and totally devastated. Yesterday I had such high hopes for today. Feeling like we had turned a corner on our healing. I learned that I know nothing about grieving. The process is one step forward and two miles back. I am crying tears of pain for my children and I am so angry.

I go outside after I tucked him in and threw snowballs at the tree. I wish I could yell and scream into the air but I would wake the house and the neighbors would call the cops. I am just in agony right now.

It is one thing for you to do this to me. I can take the pain and misery. I am old enough to deal with my emotions and deal with this pain. But your children, how could you! How could you f*cking do this to your children - you selfish selfish jerk. How could you do this to three defensive children who do not deserve this agony.

I should be dealing with the children complaining about their dessert being too small or the TV being turned off. I should not be dealing with this. This awful selfish choice that you made and left me with. I should not have to be dealing with this death stuff.

It is just really unequivocally not fair.

Sunday, December 20, 2009


There is a lot of snow out there. All I keep thinking about is what your grave must look like today. Barren, cold and alone is now where I picture you lying and it feels awful.

The children had bowls of snow for breakfast and then we went outside to play. I pulled them in sleds up and down our block till my fingers were numb. I tried not to think about your grave. I tried to enjoy their laughter and embrace this moment. I tried not to think about missing you.

I am trying not to think about how you felt your last day alive. I am trying not to picture you writing the note and then driving off to your demise. I just can’t go there anymore. I need to move past this pain. There is too much to worry about and think about these days. I need to think about the children and about myself. I can’t undo what has been done and can’t fix the past. I can, however, change the future. This is what I must focus on now.

I can’t spend every moment thinking about what if you were alive and how the days would be different. I can’t think about how you are missing this snow day. I have to live in the present, as difficult as this may be. I must force myself not to think of you. It seems selfish for me to try and think this way. But today I was angry with myself for not enjoying the snow more – for not looking at my beautiful children and giggling along with them. I have to stop dwelling in darkness and look toward the beauty of life I am living with.

If I spent every single moment thinking about you, I would be missing out on my own life. I owe my children more than that. I can’t make up for you being gone, but I can make them enjoy their mommy more and their life.

I go to bed every night wishing you were here and wake each morning looking for you. It is exhausting. Missing you and feeling regret is exhausting. I am past the point of blame and guilt. I am past the point of wondering how I missed the signs. You kept so much from me and I can only ascertain that you were trying to protect me. So now I must take your lead and protect myself further. I must make a decision to not think of you so much. Does this seem cold and callous? I wonder but almost can’t care if this is the case.

Your children and I will miss you forever. This I know to be true. It has been two long months of missing you. In two months our lives have been forever changed and turned upside down. I need the madness to end. I need to take control of our destiny and move forward. I am tired of feeling angry with you and sad about you.

These feelings will stay within my heart forever, but I also need to stop blaming you for my pain. I need more in my heart. I need love and kindness and peace. I will probably still think about you everyday but I need to think deeper and wider too.

Tomorrow when I am digging the car out of its snowy tomb I will for sure be thinking about you. But I will try and think good thoughts.

Friday, December 18, 2009

Two Months

It will be two months tomorrow that you are dead. Two months – I can barely believe it. I feel like it has been much, much longer and yet I still feel at times like you are coming home.

I have dealt with so much these past two months I can barley breathe. So many things I have done and so much I still have to do. There are major decisions on the horizon and I just can’t think about them – it is so hard. So impossible to think I have to make these decisions all on my own.

I am trying to remember what my life was like two months and two days ago and I can’t. It feels like someone else’s life I lived. I can’t remember feeling anything but what I feel now – pain and sorrow. Yes the past two months have been littered with happy times – but I couldn’t tell you what they were.

I still feel like I am sleepwalking and will awaken soon to find I have been living in a nightmare. Then I realize I am wide awake and the demons are real and you actually did kill yourself – you really did this and I am back to being stunned again.

Two months of worrying and not sleeping. Two months of caring for the children without your help. Two months of bills and decisions that I wish I didn’t have to make solo. Two months of waking up alone and looking for you. I just can’t believe this is really my life now – I just can’t.

I haven’t been to visit your grave in a while. I am sorry. I want to go and then I just can’t seem to leave the house. I am trying to figure out what happens next and wait for a sign from you and then nothing comes. I wonder where you are sometimes and if you are watching me and the children. I wonder if you realized how devastated I would be or if you thought I would walk away from your death just fine. I can’t imagine you would leave thinking anything but how awful my life is right now. I can’t imagine you would do this willingly, knowing you would leave me in this state. I have to think that you were just really not thinking at all.

I think I wrote once that I wouldn’t write anymore in reference to time. I am trying not to think about you on a timeline. I am trying to just live life and move forward. I just can’t believe how much my life has changed in such a short span. I went from being a carefree stay at home worrying about normal stupid stuff to a person I don’t recognize. I miss my old life or what I thought was normal. Nothing is normal now – everything is new and I am trying day by day to find my footing and sort out the impossible.

Maybe because tonight is the end of Hanukkah – our first without you and it was just awful, that I am feeling extra sadness. Every night trying to distract the children with presents just because their daddy is dead. Last night I asked your six year old son if he wanted to talk about anything. He said yes – but I don’t want to hear the word daddy or dead – we can talk about anything else. I really don’t blame him. I don’t want to talk about you either anymore. I am tried of talking and tired of wondering and trying to justify your actions in my mind or to my friends. I am tired of being a charity case and the sad one. I want me back and I don’t have any idea who she is supposed to be anymore.

This blog may be the only constant I have left. I just want what I had before – a happy family and now our family is broken and we are out of crazy glue.

On the plus side I have high hopes for the New Year. I have made zero resolutions which I would break by the third of January anyway - I only wish for peace and love and happiness for my family and all my friends. I don’t think I am asking too much and am hoping to catch a break on this one – just this time.

Thursday, December 17, 2009


I want to punch your smug smile through the glass of our wedding photo that hangs in our home. I am so angry with you today that I really just want to punch you. Then I want to wrap my arms around you and cry.

I am so worried about so many things. But today I am worried about the house. I wish you were here to tell me what the right thing to do is. I just don’t know. I am so angry for this very reason – that I just don’t know what to do. I am really not sure what you would even tell me. Leaving would probably make the most financial sense. But leaving feels like you dying all over again. It feels wrong and it feels like it would cause the children such stress, that I can’t see past this point. Maybe I want to hang on to the house for sentimental value. Maybe I just hate packing. I just do not know what to do. I wish you could just give me a sign.

I hate this feeling of uncertainty – I feel like the rest of my life is wracked with uncertainty and I loathe it. I remember once – not to long ago, how happy and complete I felt. I was married to a great man, have two wonderful children, lived in my own home and have a great community filled with wonderful people. I feel like I have fallen so far from this moment and don’t know how to pick myself up and where to go from here. You clearly hit rock bottom the day you killed yourself. You have since dragged me down and I am trying to climb up from this painful abyss and see the future that lies ahead. What happened to us? This is all I keep wondering.

All I kept thinking about today is that it really sucks to be sad. Every moment I spend in what should be enjoyable moments seem impossible to do with such a heavy heart.

Yesterday I spent the morning at our daughter’s school making potato latkes for Hanukkah. I was grating potatoes and onions and sneaking glances into her adorable class. Every time she caught me looking she would give me her mischievous smile. I should have been ecstatic about such a cute, fun day and I couldn’t. I was trying to enjoy this moment and trying to fake my happiness but it just doesn’t come easily. I am trying to appreciate what I have, but I am still just sad.

I would like to wake up one morning and not feel this way. Not wonder how it is truly possible that this happened. Some days I go and get your suicide note out and read it again, just to remind me that this is really real. Reality comes crashing down upon me, for a few seconds and then disbelief takes over once more.

I wonder when this goes away – this awful feeling of just what the f*ck . . .

Today I was looking for a flashlight and opened a drawer I never use. I found some of your sweatshirts I never got rid of. It is like a ghost that jumps out at me and screams BOO!!! when I see some of your stuff still untouched and just as you left it.

I am trying to forgive you and not forget you. I am trying to keep up my spirit and just keep going. I am trying to live life and remember you fondly and not dwell in sorrow and misery. I feel like most moments I am succeeding but I still really don’t feel like myself. I feel very alone in a world full of friends and neighbors and family. I feel like I will be alone forever and missing you forever and this doesn’t feel good.

I wish I could look into the future and just see beyond the pain and sadness for just a moment. I wish I could see me happy again the children enjoying their childhood and us living a full life as it should be. I guess I just have to trust that this will happen. I have to trust myself to make this happen and not rely on fate or time. I have to believe that this is as bad as it gets and it can only get better.

I just have to believe . . .

Tuesday, December 15, 2009


Back in August I could not sleep. I usually have a really hard time falling asleep, but August was worse than usual. My brain just does not know how to turn itself off. The only thing that would sometimes work was to wait until really, really late to even go to bed, and then I would still need the television on. The noise helps to block the voices in my brain. Anyway, in late August I decided to stop begging my family and friends for Ambien and try to get some myself.

I went to a new local doctor, who was recommend to me from a friend. She incidentally had no trouble getting Ambien from him. So I go and get the usual check up and tell him I am having difficulty falling asleep. He asks me a million questions about why I think I can’t fall asleep. I answer that there are a million reasons, but could I please just have some anyway. He asked me how much caffeine I consumed throughout a day and at what time. Yikes – I think. I told him the truth – stupid, I know. I told him I have about 3 cups of coffee in the morning and maybe one diet coke around 3. He told me it was way too much and way too late in the day. I told him I needed the caffeine, as I wasn’t sleeping but getting up early with my kids and going strong all day long.

He told me to try and cut out all caffeine and get back to him in a few weeks.

Then I asked him about another drug, the name of I can’t even remember. I told him that my mother thinks (and still does) that I should be on some kind of mental balancing drug. The doctor asked if my mother was a doctor – I said no but she is a neurotic Jewish mother and isn’t that the same thing.

He asked me if I was depressed - I said no. He said the drug I was asking about was an anti-depressant and that if I thought I needed it I should get therapy instead of getting drugs.

Needless to say I left his office without any prescriptions and still unable to sleep. I did try and cut back on the caffeine – but really that lasted all of five seconds.

Fast forward three months and one traumatic incident.

I called his office yesterday and asked if they would call in a prescription for Ambien. The nurse was appalled I would even ask. You MUST come in, she kept repeating, even when I said I was already a patient and the doctor and I had talked about it. She just repeated that I must come in.

So today – I have zero time, but in between school and Hebrew school, I run over to his office. I am sitting in the little room for a long time. Each second I am thinking about what I want to say and how to approach him. I am really just trying hard not to cry. Twenty minutes go by and now I can’t help it – I just start to cry. Mostly because I just want to get the hell out of his office and don’t really want to tell someone else about my dead husband.

In walks the doctor. “What’s new,” he asks.

I say, “My husband died 7 weeks and three days ago.”

“Oh my gosh,” he replies.

“Yes,” I say “and I am still not sleeping.”

He asks me how he died. The freaking dreaded question which I now answer almost robotically. “He killed himself,” I say.

“Was he depressed?” the doctor asks.

I don’t roll my eyes and just say, “Well, I guess so.”

He asks more details and then says to me, “You know, you really should go talk to someone about this. You have suffered a severe traumatic experience.”

“I am blogging,” I reply, “Can I have some Ambien now?”

He writes me a prescription, with refills – go me! Then he asks, “What else do you need?”

Wow I am thinking, this is a change. “Nothing,” I reply.

“Are you depressed?” he asks.

“I am sad, not depressed,” I answer. “I don’t need anything else.”

He looks really sad too. I feel bad that I thought poorly of him in August. He looks like he wants to help me more but doesn’t know what else to say. “You are young,” he finally says. “You have a lot of life left to live. You have two small children – there is a lot of good to come.”

“I know,” I answer.

He then proceeds to tell me his schedule for the next two weeks in case I should need anything at all. I thank him, grab the prescription and run for the door.

I haven’t filled the script yet. I am too tired. In fact, as I write, I am utterly exhausted. Maybe tonight I will sleep unassisted. Maybe I don’t even need the Ambien after all. Maybe I just needed a piece of paper that says I earned it.

Monday, December 14, 2009


My life seems to exist in a precarious balance between sorrow and cake.

Dinner tonight was the usual chaos. I try and get the kids to eat and then talk about their day. I have actually stopped asking my son questions during dinner because he would much rather talk than eat. So at dessert, while eating some Hanukkah cake I asked him how his day was. He said it was a good day, but a little sad. I asked why it was sad. Well, he replied, because daddy died. Then he started to cry and came around the table to sit on my lap. Of course then the four year old (who never stopped eating her cake, except when her older brother was getting some mommy attention) is now also climbing onto my lap.

We all had tears in our eyes and I said – you know we will all probably be sad forever. Ugh, I thought! I really did not mean to say that. I meant to say for a while – but no I said forever out loud – shit! My six year old looked up at me and said – not forever mommy - just until we get a new daddy. Oh, was my reply. Then my children remembered there was cake and both went back to their seats to resume eating. I sat there stunned – not eating cake and asked – when do you think we are getting a new daddy? My son replied – when you find the perfect man. Will you help me find him I asked? Of course they both replied and then happily started eating cake and smearing frosting all over their faces.

Then just like that, the sadness is gone and I am the one left recovering much slower than they do.

Some days I am just thankful they are in my life to remind me that cake can fix most sad things. The rest of the night went smoothly.

Until my son started to make me feel horrible that I am not going on his field trip tomorrow to that freaking Disney movie – but am taking his sister to her sing–a-long. He went on and on about how I never go with his class and I always pick her and the guilt was terrible. I will now forever be in the position of not being able to physically be in two places at once – and I don’t have another parent to go instead.

The fact remains in my mind – I would not be going to the movies even if my husband was alive. So this conversation would still be taking place – but Daddy could have possibly gone instead – or even better, I just wouldn’t feel so freaking bad about it.

Even though all my friend’s children are having their sibling rivalry stage, I feel like every emotional battle with the children is heightened to the extreme. It is the guilt that they only have one parent now. That they are stuck with just me and that daddy isn’t able to come to the rescue like he used to.

My friends and I say that in our world the mommy is always the strict one. The one who sets the rules and the daddy gets to break them. My husband would walk into a room and turn on the TV and in minutes I would walk in, scold them for not doing what they are supposed to and turn the TV off.

How do I become the good one and the bad one – it seems I am just not up to the task. I am trying to be the fun, silly mommy and then the mommy who makes them eat healthy, do their homework, be kind to people and then go to sleep.

There seems to be no room in between for another mommy. Maybe she will come over time – I am just trying really hard right now to live in the moment and not be sad mommy all the time.

Maybe I will give them cake for breakfast . . .

Sunday, December 13, 2009


I cry every time I drive over the George Washington Bridge. I just can’t help it. I see the signs and then tears start pouring down my face. I am grateful for the DVD player that distracts the kids from their sobbing mom who sits up front alone.

There are many trips I am used to taking without you. I never liked it when you had to work so much and I was going places without you, but I am used to it. The GWB trips are all you though. Heading to New Jersey is just so difficult without you. I am trying to get through this in a healthy way. In fact, this is my third trip out there without you, yet I still cry in the same spot each and every time.

This is probably one of those experiences that time will heal. Time seems to be the antidote to most of my ailments these days. Time moves in a very Twilight Zone kind of way. I am still wondering when it will all make sense. Someone once told me that my pain will always be in my heart – forever and ever. It is just that at some point the pain moves over a little bit and I will be able to feel other emotions. I am not sure if this is something I look forward to or fear.

There is a different kind of grieving when it is a suicide. I am just making this up mind you – but it feels right to me. If this was a natural death or maybe not so deliberate, I might feel worse about certain situations. Like the fact that I did end up ordering holiday cards or I am even acknowledging the holidays. I am grieving but with anger and guilt – such a healthy combo I must say. I am angry that you left us and almost want to punish your behavior by keeping my life as if nothing has changed. But I know there is no punishment here – you hurt yourself more than my New Year’s Card ever could.

The weekends seem to be hard on us all. The mornings where we aren’t running to go some place sound like a nice idea, after the craziness of the week, but there is emptiness in the house we can’t get away from.

We did finally get out of the house Saturday afternoon and helped friends decorate their tree and today we visited our family in NJ. The happy Hanukkah celebrations made up for the rotten night. Last night we all slept poorly. At 3 am both children were awake with nightmares and everyone ended up in my bed. Your son told me that your picture on the wall was alive and moving around. He said he waved to you, but you didn’t wave back. Your daughter was just up - I never got the reason. Me, I dreamt you were in the kitchen unloading the dishwasher. I was terribly upset to wake up this morning and find the dishes were still there. Maybe we are all just missing you more and wanting to see you even in some small way and this is how our brain is processing it.

This morning I made the children chocolate chip pancakes and they hate my pancakes. Both of them got upset when I wouldn’t let them help. They told me, “When daddy wasn’t dead he used to let us make them!” Wow – at 4 and 6 they are playing the death guilt card remarkably well. I handed over the spatula and let them do whatever they wanted. I just have no fight left in me.

I am not sure if I am being a good parent or not. I feel like I’m doing my best and don’t know how it even measures up. Sometimes I feel like I did the day I brought my son home from the hospital. I couldn’t believe the doctors were letting me take a child home – I had no idea what I was doing and they were like – OK, Bye now, have a nice life. Sometimes I look at my family and feel the same way – I have no idea what I am doing and my husband just went OK, Bye now – have a nice life . . .

I just tucked everyone into bed and they were so cute and cuddly. They remind me that everything I do is for them and to not be so sad. I am thinking that maybe tomorrow will start a better week. There is so much to do and so much on the calendar, I am sure I won’t have time to be sad. I will just start acting like the adult I am already supposed to be and try not to trip up on the grieving.

All I can say is that I will try.

Friday, December 11, 2009


I spent the morning wrapping Hanukkah gifts. I suck at wrapping. This was always your job. You always wrapped the gifts and now you aren’t here to do it. I was thinking about how life would be if you were alive today. Maybe you would be stressed about money, maybe you would be worried about stuff, but you would be here. Your children would have their daddy home and they would be happy. Maybe you and I would be smiling behind worried faces – but our children wouldn’t know this. They would only see their parents, sitting together, and drinking coffee while they opened gifts. We would sit and watch the joy spreading over their faces. We would just all be together and a family – the only thing that has ever been important to me.

Instead, I have my son telling me this morning “there are only three people who live in our house now.” I remind him how many people we have in our family and how much we are loved – but still he says, “They don’t live in our house.”

I am wandering around the house talking to you and crying. I am missing you terribly and can’t believe I have to celebrate the holidays without you. I am so very, very tired from faking my emotions for the “happy” holidays. As if life wasn’t difficult enough.

I had planned to give them a little speech tonight before I gave them their gifts. I was going to tell them that I am sorry daddy isn’t here, but we are all going to be fine and get through this together as a family. I sat on the floor with them, hugging their gift in my arms. I looked at their sweet, expecting faces and just said I love you both more than anything, and then I burst into tears. They both ran into my arms and began comforting me, telling me not to cry. I was amazed with their strength and compassion – I couldn’t talk so I just gave them their gifts and watched.

Then I was reminded how much assembling tiny parts was also never my job. I spent the next few hours putting everything together. I got past the tears fast as annoyance soon took over. But overall it wasn’t a horrible first night of Hanukkah.

Next week my six year old’s class is going to see “The Princess and the Frog.” I can’t go as my daughter has a sing-a-long and I am chaperoning. A friend saw the movie today and warned me about the film. Apparently the Princess’s father dies and there is a cemetery scene. Why Disney, why? That is all I can say without spewing curses – of all the movies for the class to see, the timing the everything - why the hell does Disney have to screw me like this? Why does the father have to die – what does that even have to do with a frog turning into a prince – why can’t the prince die – AHHHHHH!!!

So at dinner tonight I talked to my son about the movie. I decided he is old enough to make his own choices in this matter. I told him that the princess’s daddy dies in the movie and how does he feel about this? Do you want to skip the movie and not go I asked? “I will just close my eyes when this happens,” he told me. I said the movie might make him sad and if he cried that is totally fine. He said nothing. I will remind him again on movie day to see how he feels – but I think it will be fine. Maybe it will be consoling for him to see that he is not alone. That other children lose parents and hopefully the movie will have a freaking happy ending for him.

Baby steps. My friends constantly remind me. Baby steps to get through each day, each hour, each minute. Some days are easier than others – some just plain suck.

Therapy. The word that comes off everyone’s lips, by-passes my ears into the place in my brain not ready to comprehend. Do I need therapy? Do I need drugs? Do I need anything at all? I have refused to take any medication to numb me – it is just a band-aid for me and to be honest – sometimes the pain is the best therapy for me. I want to feel this pain, because sometime it is hard to feel anything at all. What is the point of drugs to control the pain I barely feel anyway.

Therapy. I realize at some point I will have to talk to someone other than this blog. I have a pile of names people have suggested I call when the time is right. This pile grows everyday and I just look at it and put it away. Getting therapy is on my ever growing list of things to do, right after make a will and before buy new jeans without holes in the knees. None of these things are going to happen right away.

Maybe when things get really difficult for me, or too sad, or just plain impossible, I will close my eyes too.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Six Year Old

He gets it. He really does. Tonight when I tucked in your six year old son I asked him, “what do you want to talk about tonight?” He said, “Daddy and Hanukkah.” I asked, “what do you want to say about daddy?” He started to cry and said, “it is really hard to talk about daddy – maybe we can skip it and just talk about Hanukkah.” I said, “maybe we should try and talk about daddy a little bit.” He covered his eyes and said, “I wish daddy wasn’t dead and I wish he would come home from work and bring us dinner and I wish I could tell him funny things to make him laugh.”

The tears are just pouring down my face as he talks. I remind him that it is healthy and ok to cry – mostly because I can’t stop. I am not sobbing like I want to – but the tears streaming down my face are just out of my control. I am smiling the whole time he is talking but the tears leak out nevertheless.

I once wondered how much he was grasping at such a young age – and I am painfully aware tonight that he really understands it. Maybe not where you are and certainly not how you died. But six weeks later he most certainly realizes you are never coming back.

Your six year seems to have a better grasp on reality than me. He is dealing much better than I am. I still can’t believe you are gone and he seems to not only believe it, but has accepted it. It is still really hard to admit to myself that this it – the finality of it all. I wish I had his courage and ability to admit what I don’t understand. I am in awe of my child tonight.

I am so angry with you now. As I sit here typing and think about the conversation that just took place. Why your perfect six year old must deal with this pain and grief. His life should be filled with happiness and joy. He has his whole life to deal with grown up shit, and here he is, six years old, dealing with pain some people never have to face. He doesn’t deserve this. He should be thinking about how many toys he will get over the next eight nights, why his sister drives him crazy and how much fun life can be. But no, he is upstairs now, talking to himself, pondering how daddy didn’t come tonight for dinner and how he never will.

I worry about your other children too. I really worry about your nineteen year old. A man is some respects but very much a little boy in others. He is aware of how you died and I can only imagine the inner struggle he deals with – or doesn’t deal with – depending on the day. I wish he lived with us sometimes so I could keep a better eye out on him. So he could spend more time with his younger siblings and we could all get through this together.

Your four year old. She is more like you than any of your children and she will probably forget you over time. It is heartbreaking to think she won’t remember her daddy. It is so unbelievably painful I don’t think I can even write about it now. I am devastated for her beyond words. She doesn’t even realize how much she will miss you yet. She has no concept of how important your relationship once was and how when she is older she will just need her daddy and you won’t be here.

Maybe I am being too melodramatic about this all. Everyone tells me how resilient children are. That they will get through this difficult time and come out stronger in the end. But my heart breaks a little more each day when I think about the pain they have and will have forever. The pain that will someday come when I must tell them the truth about your suicide. Then they will relive your death and wonder if it was something they did and if they could have stopped you. Wonder like I did why just being a family wasn’t enough to keep you happy and alive. Wonder why we have to be sad forever and miss you always.

Then there is me. I beginning to loathe this blog, because I think it essentially worrying people. I am really just writing to get it all out of me. Then my sad thoughts and feeling seem to be left with those reading it. You must know that I have a flair for the dramatic. If you ask my mom she will tell you that when I have written about my life in the past she believes it to be more fiction than real. But it is my opinion after all. So if you are reading and worrying, don’t. I am fine.

Sometimes during the day I have thoughts that come to me and think I want to write about them later. I should be carrying the tape recorder my Nana bought me – but I am too lazy to listen back and write later. I save ideas for when I have the time. Then of course I am kicked in the stomach with bedtime drama and anything I was going to write about gets kicked to the curb – because what my children say to me have much more value than any thoughts I may have had.

So instead of wrapping Hanukkah presents I am writing. Maybe it is part of my denial that tomorrow starts their favorite holiday – after their birthdays of course and their daddy won’t be here to partake. Maybe the presents will replace the sadness – I doubt it but I can dream . . .

Wednesday, December 9, 2009


Tonight I feel so fragile, like I could break into a thousand pieces. This was confirmed at bath time. My son got angry with me because I asked him to brush his teeth. He told me, “if daddy wasn’t dead I would have him tuck me in tonight instead of you!” I immediately began hysterical crying. I just couldn’t help the tears streaming down my face. He then started to cry with his face buried in the wall. My daughter who was lying on the bathroom floor said, “Daddy died?” and started crying as well. I scooped them into my arms and the three of us just cried and cried. I got us all to calm down and continued on our night time routine.

It has not been a good week.

I am tired of the drama with my family. You think you are helping me but you are not. You don’t have an inkling of what I am going through and feeling. You are lucky that you haven’t a clue. But don’t pretend you are trying to understand me and give me advice and help me – you are not helping me. You cannot fix me right now – I am grieving. To me grieving means leave me alone and stop asking me – anything at all.

This is a lonely road I travel. But some roads must be walked down alone. You cannot come with me, hold my hand or make me take a different route. This is my pain, my tragedy and my life. Maybe I should take this as sign my life is getting back to normal. The fighting with my family. It doesn’t feel normal though.

I feel like my back is against a wall and nothing is happening quick enough or easy. Six and half weeks – and life is still utterly ridiculously sad and hard.

This morning taking my son to school with my daughter in tow it was pouring and freezing. I pushed the stroller with both of them clinging to it as I cried – but no one could tell because of the amount of rain and I was yelling at you in my head. I was cold, very wet and so tired I felt like I was sleep walking and you are dead. You don’t have to deal with any of this crap. You are dead and I am doing everything – every little thing all by myself. Not just the parenting, but everything. Every decision I make I must do alone, every second of every day is just me. I hate it. I keep looking over my shoulder waiting for you to walk up and tell me everything is going to be O.K. Everything is going to be fine.

Nothing is fine – nothing is working the way it is supposed to and I am tired of it.

Then I remember that you are missing everything. The good and the bad. This just makes me feel worse. You are missing how smart and amazing your children are – you are missing being with me – you are missing all that life has to offer.

So then instead of yelling at you, I am yelling for you. I still miss you as much as I did the first day you died. Maybe even more. I am still walking the tightrope of emotions of love and hate.

I am still hoping a teeny tiny bit that they made a mistake at the hospital. That it wasn’t you I saw in the casket and it is just some terrible mix up and you will walk through our front door and all will be as it should.

I miss you and wish you would visit me in my dreams. I don’t know where you are. I want to talk to you again so very very badly. I want you to answer me. I am tried of talking to myself. Maybe I am going crazy.

This week is almost over and it couldn’t come soon enough. Hanukkah is in two days. I am exhausted from the everything. I feel like I can’t make any right decisions. I feel like I am trying to make too many people happy or appease them and I don’t know which way is up.

I feel like hiding in my bed tomorrow and I can’t because it is Thursday and everyone has to go to school and I have more on my to-do list than I did yesterday.

Just freaking great . . .

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Fab Five

This has been the worst week ever and it is only Tuesday. Not a good sign. I am not sleeping well so I am utterly exhausted. Every moment is spent doing something and I am never even caught up a little bit. Then at the end of the day, when I am supposed to collapse into bed, I am just left alone missing my husband so much I ache in pain and sadness.

When does this madness end?

I wake each day hoping it will be better and I can start fresh. But it seems to always end the same – in tears.

I am just overwhelmed and drowning.

There seems to be no end in sight of cleaning up this mess. I guess in a way I am almost grateful for this giant colossal disaster of a life, as it distracts me for hours on end. It prevents me from looking at the bigger picture – my future. The one where I am left being a single parent without a career or even a step ladder to start on.

Do I sound utterly pathetic to you? I sound like it to myself. I do not want to sound like a victim or helpless – maybe it is just the sleep deprivation causing me to sound so bitter. I am trying to embrace the love and goodness around me – to recognize each day as a blessing and my children as a gift. I love them and every moment with them – it is just so hard sometimes to keep this positive outlook.

Every night I tuck the children into bed and say our night time prayers. It always starts with blessing the members of the family to be healthy, happy and safe. It always ends with please bless daddy in heaven. It still feels like a shock to the system saying the words out loud. Saying that you are in heaven feels surreal –like something you say, but don’t really mean.

I still can’t believe you are dead. I really cannot. I spend the day going and when I stop I feel you gone, so I just run faster and faster hoping to out run the pain of you being gone. I am never fast enough. It seems to always find me and never gets sidetracked. Sometimes I am just not sure this feeling will ever go away – it doesn’t seem to have subdued over time. Maybe the horror has peaked somewhat but the pain doesn’t subside – it just stays and stays with me day in and day out – minute by minute. You are gone. You are dead and are never coming back. I could write it a million times and it never looks real and never feels real and it really just feels awful.

My mother warned me that after time people would stop thinking of me and I would be left on my own. Actually in a way it is kind of a relief that the masses have stopped calling. I have 100 phone calls I never returned and more e-mails then I will ever get to. About a thousand thank you notes to write. The masses of concerned people has slowed down, but my mother doesn’t know my friends well if she thinks they are going to stop.

I call them my fab five – but there are more than that and each one has a special super power that keeps me going. One is my financial advisor, one is my spiritual advisor, one calls me every night to check in and vent about our day, one is my daily manager and keeps tabs on my day to day life, one makes me laugh every time we talk I snort, one is always there for me to talk to or go out drinking with, one lets me vent about our parents and offers wonderful advice, one helps me with my child’s Spanish homework and there are more who are just there with an ear whenever I need it.

I am blessed with such amazing people in my life – I am really lucky. I try and remember that when I am feeling sorry for myself. I try and remind myself I can always look down – someone somewhere is probably worse off than me. So I must try and think of all the good. I have to remind myself that my husband would want me to live my life to its fullest. To keep our children healthy, happy and safe. To remember him and remember to keep myself together for us all.

Monday, December 7, 2009

Two Faced

Today I am two people.

I spent the entire morning trying to figure out my bills and budget and all the adult stuff I never did before. Without tears, without anger, without emotion. It was not easy and I am not even close to being done. Whatever side of my brain does math usually doesn’t work and spent the morning laughing at me.

Then there is the other me; the one who is freaking out about the count down to Hanukkah and the “to send a holiday card or not to send” dilemma. I took my daughter to the bank for adult stuff and then to a Michael’s craft store to look for Hanukkah candles. It is just the dichotomy of the day that makes my head spin in circles.

I left the bank with a poker face on, showing no weakness and no emotion. The craft store I left in tears. All the holiday music crap and people shopping with happy smiling faces; it is too much to take in. At least in the bank everyone looks miserable – not so hard for me. But this racing to the finish line holiday season is just more than I can handle.

What would my husband want me to be doing, was all I kept thinking about today. Would he want me happy and smiling and trying to not think about him, or would he be insulted that we hung decorations around the house today.

I am not sure what direction I am going in anymore. I feel like I've come such a long way in six weeks. Yet if I close my eyes I still hear his voice and see his smile and realize I have gotten nowhere.

I seem to go back and forth between my two people today. The adult who is trying to take charge of my life and the emotional wreck who doesn’t want to talk to anyone, make plans or think about what is coming up next. It is really draining being two people sometimes and I am tired of feeling like this. I just want to be me and then I remember I have no idea who I am anymore – and that is another exhausting thought.

The future holds endless possibilities and I fear them all. Fear the day I wake up not thinking of you when I make coffee and fear that I still think of you every single time I make a cup.

The children asked for a new daddy for Hanukkah – how do I even shop for a single toy when deep down that is all they want. What is the point? Of course your daughter then asked for a Ken doll – so maybe I can make her happy despite it all. But your son; he asks for dinosaurs and trucks in one breath and then reminds me how funny daddy was last year lighting the menorah.

We have no choice but to revisit last year’s holiday this time round. I can try and shake things up but there is no getting around you not being here at all. This will be a hard year. That there is no doubt in my mind.

I had this thought today that you were following me around. That maybe you could be a little proud of me and what I am trying to do. That you were pushing me into the bank to make decisions and threw me out of Michael’s because it was too much. I just had this idea that there was something lingering around me all day. Maybe I am just tying to comfort myself. Maybe I just want to believe that you are here – watching us, taking it all in. Maybe I just wish you weren’t missing a single moment of your children growing up.

So for them and you and maybe even me – I will try and have a happy Hanukkah. I will make the most of these long eight days and think about happy times past and present.

But seriously, if you think I am going to be anywhere but hiding on New Year’s Eve you’ve got another thing coming.

Sunday, December 6, 2009


I have writer’s block this weekend. Or maybe there has just been so much going on, I haven’t had time think a unique thought in days. Some days the words flow so freely from my brain it takes zero effort. Some nights, like tonight, when I do get a moment to think and reflect - it is like wow! So much has happened, so much is going on, so much to do tomorrow. Sometimes I wish I could just press pause to catch up with life.

Let me start with Friday night. Benefit night. I think the reason I have writer’s block is that words just cannot possibly describe how I feel. It is like trying to describe the most beautiful sunset when the sky is a million shades of pink. Or to try and put into words the feeling you get when your child looks lovingly into your eyes. Your heart skips a beat and there is a swirling of emotions coursing through your veins. Words just cannot describe Benefit night in any way to give it justice.

I could describe the scene to you from my eyes and it still would be unworthy. The weeks on end my friends put into the planning, organizing and collecting items to be auctioned off; the food, drinks, signs, getting volunteers, making fliers and getting people there. The zillion details I probably don’t even know about – wow! Hundreds of people came, many I haven’t seen in twenty plus years – it was like a Samantha this is your life kind of moment. I could sit here and write thank you over and over and over again, but thank you sounds so crass to me – it just doesn’t say how I feel. Nothing does.

The love I felt in the room from friends and strangers. The idea that my husband made an impact on people or that I made any kind of impression to someone to make them come – it spins in my mind, the confusion and joy.

I can’t possibly express the gratitude I feel – I am only happy I saw a lot of drunk smiling faces – I hope you all had a good time. My face hurt the next day from smiling so much, seeing you all there made me smile. I didn’t shed any tears – it was easy not to. There was too much to be thankful for that night. All I kept thinking was that I am happy to be alive and healthy, have two wonderful children and family and friends who really love me a lot. I just smiled.

Saturday I spent the day nursing two sick children back to health. Puke will help keep you occupied for hours on end I realize. In fact at some point yesterday I actually forgot you were dead. Life was just whirling along and the kids had me crazy and there was just so much to do and I am on auto-pilot go go going. I forget you were dead. It is just like you are at work and I was home doing what I do – and then it hits me. You are dead. You are dead and you are never coming back. It is a thought that continues to take my breath away.

So last night I did something stupid. I sat in bed and looked at our wedding album. I think back to that day seven years ago – the smile on our faces, the glimmer in our eyes. The look that we both shared that said how wonderful we were feeling and our future together is so exciting and new.

Then I close the book, put it under my bed and stare off into space. Where did we go wrong? How did we fall so fast so quickly? How did you have this amazing day with me, have two children with me and then kill yourself? How did this happen?

I remember since I am very young only wanting a family and a house. I wanted something of my own so badly. I hated my divorced screwed up life at times and only wanted the picture perfect family I saw everywhere else. I wanted a “home.” So I found the perfect man, we bought a house, started a beautiful family and then you died. Now I have a house, two amazing children and am left all alone to figure out every single moment solo. It is a horrifying feeling. A desperately terrifying and sad feeling. This is not the future we planned together. This is not the fairy tale I wanted. To be alone, unsure and widowed at 38. This is not at all what I want.

So for now I will readjust my idea of a ‘home.” Because I do have one – a wonderful home. A house full of love and laughter and children. I do have exactly what I’ve always wanted. I just have to tweak my brain a little bit. So what that I have to do this alone – life is about being strong on your own.

I am determined to not live in a house of sadness and misery. I owe it to my children to smile and laugh more and worry less. I owe my amazing friends and family who care and worry about me to take better care of myself and stay strong. I have this wonderful gift of my life and my children and I am won’t fail them. I just won't.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

A good day

Today was a good day. Dare I say it out loud, but a good day. Maybe because it was a beautiful sunny day in December – but a good, good day. I feel like I need to write about the good days because I don’t know when the next one will come. Maybe because yesterday was such a bad day that this one seemed better still.

I did wake up worried and upset. I was anxious about yesterday’s blog. Upset with myself that I was so harsh to you and you aren’t here to argue your point. I went to the cemetery today to tell you in person that I was sorry.

Today was a beautiful Thursday – your normal day off from work. It didn’t feel right not seeing you today, so off I went. I ran through the cemetery in such a rush to visit your grave. I sat down under the warm sun and just began to cry again. Sobbing is more like it. I cry so hard and so loud at your grave – I just can’t help it. Probably because not a living soul is around to hear me. It is quiet and comforting in a way and I feel like this is the only place I can truly wail and grieve in private. I was just missing you today – missing you so much. Your beautiful smile and your terrible sense of humor. It is hard to know you are deep in the ground. I sat there picking at the grass just crying and then I started talking to you again. I complained to you about a lot of things and then I filled you in on what you have missed. It is so bizarre to be so close to you and yet so very, very far from you – just bizarre.

I left the cemetery and went on with my day. Doing normal things on a not so normal Thursday. Picked up the children from school, went to the park, did homework, made dinner. There was no fighting today, no drama. We laughed and joked and had a great bedtime. We had a good day together.

As I sit here and write about the day, I don’t feel so sad. I seem to always feel better on the days I visit you. I am not sure why. Maybe I just have to learn to give in to my new reality. To embrace my life as it now is, be thankful for what I have and stop being remorseful and angry. I am sure I will slip up and fall back on past feelings. But for tonight, I am feeling good and look to tomorrow to being another good day.

Tomorrow night my friends, family and neighbors are having a benefit in your honor. It is a hard pill to swallow. When I think about all the time and effort and commitment people have been sacrificing for our family I am humbled. When I think about the people who will come tomorrow to support me I am overwhelmed. I wish there was some way to repay them all for this act of kindness. I wish there was something I could do for them.

It is a helpless feeling to realize you actually need others to help you get through this life. That I couldn’t possibly do it alone. But in the end I must rid myself of the shame and grief I feel; and realize that there are people out there who love me, pray for me and are willing to help when I feel helpless.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

M & M

The man and the monster. This is all I have been thinking about today. The man I loved and the monster that left us. I am torn up inside with this dichotomy of emotions. The love and anger – the sadness and the rage. This tornado of emotions has been swirling around inside my soul all day. All I wanted to do today was to hear your voice. Then all I wanted was to call someone and ask “is this real?”

I don’t understand how the man I married and loved, had two children with, could have done this. I just don’t get it. I just don’t believe he is gone. It is impossible. I feel like he is going to walk in that door any moment home from work. The fact that he isn’t – I don’t know. It just feels so very wrong.

I find myself doing something – making lunch or some other mundane thing and I just space out. I lose minutes at a time lost in my own head – wondering how this is possible. Thinking about our last days – his last minutes. I am loosing my mind.

The man I loved would never have left us. He never would have walked away from his three children. He would not have wanted to miss tonight’s dinner conversation; how our four and six year old described in detail how your body works when you throw up. He never would have left this. How could he have been so adamant that we were meant to be together? How could he have known from day one that he was going to marry me and then kill himself? How does that happen?

Then there are the moments when I feel like he was a stranger – a strange and awful monster to have left me alone to struggle through this ordeal. This man who left without a care in the world – with a stupid note that gave me no answers, just saying that I would be fine. Left me trying to clean up impossible messes and ruined my life. Left his three children fatherless. He must have been a monster, to live only in the moment and not look ahead to better times. To think whatever problems he had weren’t fixable or worth trying to solve. To think we would be better off without him. Only a monster could do this, not the man I loved.

I went hysterical in Costco today. If you were there and saw some girl crying in the toilet paper aisle – that was me. Because the sight of 300 rolls of toilet paper only makes me think of my dead husband. Because so much of my daily shopping was for him; paper goods and snacks, I will never be able to look at them the same.

The children don’t mention you as much these days. I will casually ask around bedtime if anyone wants to talk about daddy, or what we remember about daddy or what we miss. Sometimes they respond, some nights they both shake their heads no. I never push. I worry though, on the nights they don’t want to talk about you. That maybe their short memories are fading right before my very eyes. Sometimes I worry that I won’t be able to picture your face in my mind like I can now. But on the nights we don’t talk about you, as much as I worry, I am relieved. It is so hard to keep the poker face on at night. I feel like I wear it all day long that by evening, I am just worn out. I don’t want to wear any face – I just want to be.

Meanwhile my children keep asking for more and more nightlights. Their room could light up Broadway. They say they are scared of monsters – that makes three of us!

Tuesday, December 1, 2009


I have nothing eloquent to say today. No poetry, no heartwarming stories to tell. Nothing meaningful or significant is going to spew from my brain today. My thoughts are chilled like the winter that is so closely upon us. I am getting colder by the day literary and figuratively.

The phone rang less today – I guess you all love me and are listening – or else I pissed you all off. Maybe I need to rant less or more – still not sure what is working for me.

I walked into Toys R Us today and did an immediate about face. It wasn’t the store or the shoppers – it was the fact That Hanukkah is upon us. That the happy season is descending faster than I can keep up. How do I celebrate the happy times when I feel such unbelievable sorrow? But wait, where did November go? How is it almost six weeks since you died? I don’t know where it all went. I can’t picture doing the holidays without you and I am not even really into the holidays to begin with. I would like December to just go away – but I will probably think that about January and I am seeing a trend beginning.

I am feeling not so angry today – maybe because I am in touch with my true feelings – wait, no I’m not. They change so fast, they are spinning on a pin wheel. Flick the arrow and see what I feel now, flick it again and again and again. This is how I go through my day – up and down just spinning till I am dizzy.

Taking the children to school everyday is so difficult for me. I watch all the fathers taking their kids to school, kissing them goodbye and going off to work. It is painful sometimes because that used to be our life – our schedule. Now it is just me. I find I have to look away from their sweet parting because I am so jealous. I want you back for them so much. Me, I will deal with your loss. I will find some way to get through it. But your babies – your sweet, adorable babies didn’t deserve this life they now have. The pain they will carry for the rest of their lives – it is unbearable to think about. Your sons won’t have you to go to for fatherly advice; your daughter won’t have you to walk down the isle. These moments in time, when I look ahead, they crush me under the weight of sadness. Your children deserve so much better than you left them with – it is so unfair.

I just try to remember how blessed we are, that we have so many people who love us. So many people willing to fill the role you walked away from. I couldn’t possibly keep track of how many family and friends have come to show their support, kindness and love. Almost six weeks since you died and I am still feeling like they are all holding my head above water. No one wants us to feel like we are lacking. I pray to g-d every night with the children and thank him for everyone he has put into my life.

Yet at the end of each day – when it is just the children and I – nothing can take away the ache and the pain. Not the love, not the kindness, nothing. I lie with them at night, reading bedtime stories and your absence is so clear to me. You used to be there, lying next to us – reading with us – laughing with us and now you are just gone.

I miss you again today. Your children miss you too. Hanukkah starts in ten days and we are going to have to do it without you . . .