tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86493722041734909122024-02-20T01:57:15.414-08:00Returning to WholenessMy husband died of a cardiac arrythmia in April 2008. This blog is the record of my work to return to wholeness.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.comBlogger93125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-9969662066967570232013-01-23T21:00:00.000-08:002013-01-23T21:00:42.877-08:00<br />
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I think I am back to blogging. At least, I’m trying it out. I’ve been having a significant urge to
express myself through the written word, to share my message, and while I can
dream about someday writing a children’s book, or a self-help guide, or the
great American novel, I actually can post to my blog now, today, and as often
as I want. So here I go.<o:p></o:p></div>
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To catch up any former readers (yay for RSS feeds that never
get cleaned up), and set context for new readers, here’s the brief synopsis of
my last 5 years:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">My husband died suddenly and unexpectedly in his
sleep in April of 2008, at the age of 48.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Probable cause: heart arrhythmia.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I was 45 and our daughter was 21 months.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Sucked Big Time.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I grieved, I learned, I grew, I integrated my
loss.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I am still doing so.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Gets old sometimes.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I am a peer counselor at our local grief support organization, and I get a huge amount of fulfillment from contributing in this way.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">If my experience can ease the way for just one other person, it will be pain well spent.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I left my high-tech Silicon Valley job in the spring
of 2011 to do something that held more meaning for me.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Hardest and best thing I ever did.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I launched a coaching business in the fall of
2011, which continues to grow and evolve.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I will receive my CPCC and ACC certifications in the next month or
so.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">WOOHOO!</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I sold our marital home in early 2012
and downsized to a townhouse half the size in the same city. </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Great decision, great timing, absolutely no
regrets.</span><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
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<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I have dated a handful of nice men, but haven’t
found The (next) One.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I’m somewhat fixated on
remarrying, though when I examine my life and opportunities, I wonder why.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">It’s all so good the way it is!</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">But bottom line, I’m lonely.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I yearn for intimacy, to belong to someone
and have someone belong to me.</span></li>
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So that’s the latest.
I’m excited to be putting pen to paper (fingers to keyboard) again, and
look forward to restarting the journey of discovery that writing launches.<o:p></o:p></div>
Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-62321184335514000542012-04-27T21:28:00.003-07:002012-04-27T21:55:34.520-07:00Do you believe in magic?<blockquote><i><blockquote></blockquote>I'll tell you about the magic, it'll free your soul</i><div><i>but it's like trying to tell a stranger 'bout rock and roll</i></div><div><i>-- John Sebastian</i></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; ">It's been magic around here lately. I put my big house on the market in February, after a fair amount of work to get it polished and perfect. My real estate agent and I planned for the most advantageous timing; I moved out so the house could be staged. I stated my intentions regarding price and ease of the transaction, then trusted it would all work out. And it did! Exactly as I had hoped, with an even better price that I had imagined. WOW.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; ">The apartment we moved in to has been perfect. Three bedrooms, nice little patio, quiet location in the complex, very close to the old house and the kids' schools. All my furniture fit and a talented decorator friend helped me make it beautiful. I requested a six-month lease, which will be up at the end of May.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; ">Yesterday I put an offer on a townhouse. It's in a tranquil, serene setting, with beautiful old trees and lots of open space. The unit itself is gorgeous, with high-end appliances, soaring ceilings and a detached two-car garage. It's close to B's new school, still in the town I've lived in since 1995. There were two other offers expected, per the seller's agent, so my agent and I decided on a pretty aggressive price. A price that made me a little nervous. Just in case the other offers didn't come through, though, we had a more modestly priced offer as Plan B. And darned if the other two potential buyers didn't back out! Plan B was accepted last night, and as of May 11th I'll be a homeowner again. WOW! And not only that, but the timing allows me to move us out of the apartment when the lease is up. Just like I planned! MAGIC. It feels like I'm in the cosmic flow, following my heart and stepping up to a bigger life. And the universe is stepping up to meet me!</span></div></blockquote><div></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-51502137351431745752011-11-05T21:59:00.000-07:002011-11-05T23:02:55.659-07:00Grief LandmineYes, things are going really, really well. I have hope and excitement for the future, energy and passion for today, and gratitude for the wonderful memories of the past. And I am still grieving.<div><br /></div><div>I am exploring the world of life transition coaching: immersing myself in training, coaching and being coached. Yesterday I went to a coaching workshop, and as always occurs in these workshops, I was coached by some very talented people. Finding my next life partner is always a hot topic with me, and by the end of the day I was wrung out, exhausted, and sadder than I have been in a very long time. I felt overwhelmed by the burdens of living and parenting alone; making decisions about schooling and housing without an invested partner seemed more than I could bear. It was less about missing T directly and more about missing the state of being married to someone I love who loves me, but wow, I guess I forgot about how painful the missing and longing is.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thankfully, I'm feeling much more stable today. I mean, I have this great life! But holy cow, will the yearning for a life partner ever wane?</div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-79488676609882203082011-09-14T20:23:00.001-07:002011-09-14T22:16:27.084-07:00Dear Old LifeDear Old Life,<div><br /></div><div>I am breaking up with you. We've had some great times, and I wouldn't change a thing, but I'm in love with My New Life. My New Life makes my heart beat faster, my spirits rise, my eyes sparkle. I am following my heart, not what I <i>think</i> I should do, or what I have always done in the past, or what I think others want me to do. What I Want. Wow, it's a whole new world.</div><div><br /></div><div>There are many things I will miss about you, Old Life. The routine, the professional clothes, the sense of adding value (back when I was adding value). The big house, the luxurious vacations, the companionship and partnership. The focus, the limited need to choose, the automatic pilot.</div><div><br /></div><div>And here are the things I won't miss: feeling stuck, feeling helpless, feeling hopeless. </div><div><br /></div><div>There are SO MANY things I'm excited to do. My days are filled with conversation, learning, exercise, play, celebrating life. I'm starting two businesses, consulting, teaching, volunteering, reading, napping. Staying up too late. Good night!</div><div><br /></div><div>So have I returned to wholeness? Yes, I think I have. And more. But I won't stop posting.</div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-68967914720073553172011-05-15T22:24:00.000-07:002011-05-15T22:25:13.763-07:00Tomorrow is the First Day of the Rest of My Life<div style="background-color: transparent; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><span id="internal-source-marker_0.6998801527079195" style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; ">I couldn’t face it anymore. Tomorrow is my first day of a leave of absence from work, and I don’t expect I’ll return. What will I do for a job, for money? I have no idea, but I know it will be fun and scary to figure it out.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; "></span><br /><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; ">What contributed to the situation? Probably not PMS or PMDD. The third anniversary of T’s death was April 24th (Easter this year), and with the focus on rebirth, renewal, re-creation of the Easter season, my stuckness probably just got too painful. A small windfall from T (stock options from T’s company that had been under water since the crash are suddenly worth something) was just enough to tip me over the edge. I had said I didn’t want to run FROM something, but rather run TO -- but I seemed incapable of making any progress on what the TO looked like while sapped of all energy and motivation.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; "></span><br /><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; ">All weekend I’ve been alternating between believing this was the best thing I’ve ever done, and panicking. What will I do for money? Can I really define a dream, go for it, and make it happen? Have I done irreparable harm to my professional chances, should I decide to go back into high tech?</span><br /><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; "></span><br /><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; ">It feels really strange, almost butterflies-in-my-stomach nervous-making, to know I’ll wake up tomorrow morning and not go to work. I’ll have to get B off to preschool as usual, but then … I am a free woman! A spin class, lunch with a dear friend, some reading, and perhaps a nap are on the agenda. I’m giving myself some time to de-tox before kicking the career investigation into high gear.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; "></span><br /><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; ">And then, watch out! Anything could happen!</span></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-83420846241025378752010-10-26T22:20:00.001-07:002010-10-26T22:20:24.610-07:00Nevermind<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; ">OK, so what was THAT all about? Today I feel pretty much back to normal. There's a residual level of "I don't care about what I'm doing so it's hard to generate energy to actually do it", but I no longer feel like screaming and running away when I imagine doing this job for another two months or six months or whatever it ends up being. My therapist said that I wasn't "presenting symptoms of depression", and we speculated that it could in fact be PMS (or PMDD, she called it, premenstrual dysphoric disorder), or my subconscious realizing that T's birthday is coming up, or perhaps it <i>was </i>depression and the anti-depressant I've started taking has actually kicked in, or maybe it was the phase of the moon... Who knows? The plan is to see her again, continue with the anti-depressants, and pay attention three weeks from now when I'm premenstrual again. And not take the medical leave that had sounded so appealing last week, but seems quite unnecessary and even (dare I say) boring today. When I leave, I want it to be under my own power, as it were, if at all possible. Not, of course, that taking advantage of help, support, and a safety net is anything to be ashamed about. But only in the case of real need, and the need isn't there right now. As Emily Litella on Saturday Night Live would say, "Never mind!"</span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-28728664826089952802010-10-25T21:53:00.000-07:002010-10-25T21:54:04.425-07:00Guilt<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >I decided over the weekend that I felt capable enough to stick it out another four weeks. I couldn't face the thought of my co-workers hating me for disappearing, for dropping the ball on them. (I think I have an over-inflated sense of my own importance.) And I haven't told my boss yet, either ... feeling guilty for potentially gaming the system, convincing my doctor that I'm having a harder time than I really am. I mean, I manage just fine most of the time, right? No crying over the weekend, or today, for example. Or is my judgment impaired, clouded by the chemical imbalances of depression?</span></div><br /><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Tomorrow afternoon I go see my therapist, someone who helped me through an emotionally rough pregnancy, postpartum depression, and T's death. Clearly, she knows me very well and will help me sort this all out. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" >I feel very fortunate to have such supportive professional help.</span></div></span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-40360950585120581952010-10-22T11:03:00.000-07:002010-10-22T11:04:48.399-07:00A Surprising Development<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Well, now we have an interesting development in our story... </span></div><br /><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >On Tuesday, that brutal day of pain and hopelessness, I contacted my doctor to follow up on the thought that there was something more to these big feelings than just work-related dissatisfaction. I saw her yesterday morning, and though I wasn't as emotional as I had been at other times in the last little while, I still cried as I described my struggle to perform and care about work. Surprisingly, she was pretty adamant that I take a medical leave, starting immediately. </span></div><br /><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >She thought that a big contributor to my difficulties may be garden-variety depression -- a little Zoloft and talk therapy, and 3 months off, would help get me back in balance and enable me to approach the career transition question with more equanimity. I talked her into letting me stay for 4 more weeks, to complete the big event I'm in charge of pulling off, but now I'm even questioning that (the waiting, that is). </span></div><br /><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >After the initial shock of the idea of "giving up" and "running away" and "letting down my co-workers" by taking a medical leave, I must say it's SO wonderful to imagine having peace and quiet in which to unwind and restore myself. I'm not thinking about a medical leave the same way I was thinking about a personal leave -- for a personal leave, the goal was to find my next purpose. For a medical leave, the purpose is to simply be. Make no decisions, don't try to learn or plan or make progress on a path. Just read, and walk, and meditate, and do yoga, and have lunch with friends. With a medical leave, I'm not making any statement about the job, and it will be there when I come back. If I'm feeling better and my doctor agrees, I can return before the 3 months is up. If I'm still in turmoil, she extends the leave.</span></div><br /><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >So I'm going to take the weekend to come to terms with the idea of a medical leave, and think about whether immediately or in 4 weeks is best for me.</span></div></span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-43693170690932079042010-10-20T21:46:00.000-07:002010-10-20T21:47:08.113-07:00It comes and goes<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; "><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Wow, yesterday was brutal. I felt like I was back in those terrible early months after T's death, where I couldn't think straight for the emotional pain I was feeling. It wasn't the same pain of loss, exactly; it was more like the hopelessness of seeing no way out of a nightmare. Of course, my job is nowhere near a real nightmare -- I have a wonderful supportive boss, all the flexibility and freedom I need, and the opportunity to use my brain every day. So what is so bad? What triggered yesterday's melt-down? (All is not exactly hunky-dory today, but I do feel much better, and capable of slogging through the work for at least a few more months.)</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >PMS aside, I think it might have been a combination of things. Last week I was given a new project to take on, ironically the type of project I've been asking for for a very long time (years!). But I was already so far gone in my disengagement that having to commit to something new, summoning all the needed energy, motivation and focus, felt beyond my abilities. I don't doubt my skills and capabilities to do the job, I told my boss, I doubt my motivation. (See? I am so fortunate to have a boss I can say that to, and not feel at risk for my job!) Committing to something that just doesn't feel in line with my life's purpose anymore felt so <i>wrong.</i> My essential self was screaming "NO!"</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Of course, it probably didn't help to have spent so much time in spreadsheets, planning and plotting how I'll be able to afford not working. Knowing it's possible for some period of time makes it very seductive to imagine quitting when the going gets tough.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >And on the "quitting, doing something new" side of the equation, I've been a software professional </span><span class="Apple-style-span" >my whole career, pretty much </span><span class="Apple-style-span" >all my adult life. That's more than 25 years of identity I'm considering stepping away from. What am I, if not a program manager? Will I be able to add enough value to the world if I don't leverage the experience and knowledge I've gained over these 25 years? Not knowing where I'm pointing yet, and contemplating jumping anyway, was really scary.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >So I have reassured my essential self that I am serious about doing something different. I just need to get to know her better, to understand all of what is meaningful and energizing to me, before making any significant moves.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >If you have gone through a career transition, what was it like for you? How did you know what the right next step was?</span></p></span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-6852482576249704672010-10-19T21:53:00.000-07:002010-10-19T21:54:43.051-07:00Spreadsheet Wishing<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; "><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >I spend hours in the evenings with spreadsheets and budgets, estimates and what-if scenarios, trying to find a way to feel comfortable walking away from my job. How long can I be unemployed? Do I downsize the house, and if so, how much? I feel unwilling to give up the luxury of this house, but I can cut my expenses in half if I downsize and do after-school care for B instead of have the nanny. Why don't I just do it?</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >I spent much of today crying on the job. Is that grounds for termination? I talked with HR, I talked with my boss. I met with a good friend tonight to review my many spreadsheets. The prudent thing to do is stay at this job until the next step becomes clear. When will that be? My boss and I agreed that with a new project, you need a couple months under your belt before even knowing if it's got the potential for being satisfying and/or engaging. Can I get through the next 2 1/2 months, until January? I have a small stock grant that vests at the beginning of February, and the final class in a certification program is held in March. Can I make it that far? Do I even care about professional certification in a profession I don't know that I'll remain in? Oh, I can't wait to be on the other side of this turmoil and see how it all turns out.</span></p></span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-65279838419028149762010-10-17T20:55:00.000-07:002010-10-17T20:57:12.329-07:00The Work Continues<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; "><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Since the Grief and Growing weekend in August, I've felt like I've turned another significant corner in my grieving. I feel done with active grieving, and my life feels normal again. I don't automatically cringe when seeing a happy family together, or feel the urge to share my story with new acquaintances. I am more sensitive to how that story makes others feel, and I just don't need to be heard so much anymore. Sure, my life is not what I want it to be, but it is what it is, and I'm comfortable in it. There are many positive things about it, including being able to make my own decisions, having quiet evenings to do my own thing, and being able to develop a really strong and secure bond with B. Of course, it's lonely, and I don't want to be in this situation forever. B has taken to asking "Why are we all alone?" and I think it comes from a need to hear me say again "because Daddy died".</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Our anniversary was on September 21, and I just so happened to be having dinner with T's sister, father and father's wife that night. We toasted to the event, ruefully and with a smile. A few weeks later I set aside an evening and pulled out the wedding album and video, and reminisced about that happiest day of my life in 2002. Interestingly, I also was reminded of one or two things I didn't like about the wedding -- how T frowned and gestured to me as I came down the isle (OK, so the bouquet was bouncing somewhat dramatically), how I forgot to get a photo of our hands together in our wedding rings (I loved T's hands and have no real pictures of them). How our life together wasn't always what I had wanted or hoped it would be. But it was what it was, and I still sometimes miss him so much it aches.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >So if my active grieving is complete, what's next? Well, the work issue has really come to a head. I have such a hard time going to work, focusing on work, caring about anything I do. The only thing that motivates me is helping others, not letting others down. My boss's requests keep me productive, otherwise I would just drift away and forget all my commitments. What am I going to do?</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >I've engaged a life coach to help me through this crisis. It's painful and difficult to live in the moment, but exciting and energizing to visualize doing something with my time that matters to the world and brings me joy. And I know it's out there -- I just have to do the work to find it.</span></p></span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-22130932494147576772010-08-31T22:11:00.001-07:002010-08-31T22:11:32.733-07:00Losing a Child or Parent, Losing a Husband<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; "><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">This weekend, B and I went to a camp for grieving families. There were a number of people there mourning the loss of a parent, a few who had lost siblings, a reasonable group of those who had lost a husband (no widowers, of course), and one family who had lost a teenager. B and I had gone last year, when it was an intense, painful, exhausting experience, though also incredibly supportive, loving and nurturing. This time, I wasn't expecting such intensity, and my intention was to work on bringing T forward into my life now and into the future. And it wasn't nearly as intense, though the love and support was still very evident.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Driving home, I found myself thinking a lot about the differences and similarities in various types of losses. In a sad coincidence, the stepmother of the teenager who died was a high school classmate of mine, which brought into sharper focus what it must feel like to wake up every morning knowing that your child is gone. Maybe I'm comparing to make myself feel better, but it seems to me that my loss is easier to "get over". T and I were together 8 years, married 5. I loved him with all my heart, but I'm not sure I would have described him as my best friend, or my soul mate. That saddened me, but it may make it easier for me to imagine being with someone else, perhaps finding what I felt was missing with T. What brings me to tears these days is the loss that B suffers -- the loss of a parent, and especially before she ever really knew him. He can't be replaced in her life, nor can his role in my life as the co-parent of a child.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">For the loss of a child, and the loss of a parent, no matter what you do, you can't replace that person. You can have more children, but they will never be that particular child, with that child's future. And you can develop a close relationship with an in-law or other parent-aged person, but he or she won't be the one who taught you to ride a bike, or fed you soup when you were sick. They won't ever know you like your parent did.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Maybe I'm kidding myself, but I believe that I can "replace" or recreate major parts of my relationship with T. Yes, T and I had history together, but really, was it that much? We knew each other for most of my thirties, but as activity companions for the first half of our time together, rather than in any very deep way. We didn't grow up together, make many major life decisions (other than to have a child!) together. Our lives were intertwined, but not our deepest identities.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">T's death leaves a huge hole in B's life that can never be completely filled by any new husband of mine. T's death also brought me to a close, personal relationship with loss and the eternal questions of life and death. And his death leaves me lonely and struggling as a sole parent. But it does not leave me unable to find another life partner, another person to BE my husband.</span></p></span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-36297233545220164342010-08-05T22:11:00.000-07:002010-08-05T22:17:00.509-07:00Another Vacation<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfeYX_bfyntN5TAmc_pOEMnYdY5baRrkhqS-6LeD5EFzpEeka4PVZvj10Wl_dGMf8noKZHii_fteNLw_91bjOVAGbC04SfEGxpGS8n-5vjZerUb-vZXRH-rSggaEN68m1llpfYBMx085i6/s1600/100_1227.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfeYX_bfyntN5TAmc_pOEMnYdY5baRrkhqS-6LeD5EFzpEeka4PVZvj10Wl_dGMf8noKZHii_fteNLw_91bjOVAGbC04SfEGxpGS8n-5vjZerUb-vZXRH-rSggaEN68m1llpfYBMx085i6/s200/100_1227.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502160978575683682" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Verdana;font-size:13px;"><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Tomorrow B and I leave for 11 days on the beach in Rhode Island. Hurray! We have no agenda, no schedule -- just bathing suits, seafood, and a stack of books.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">The genesis of this now annual trek across the country is a silver lining story. As I have mentioned, T had a son, D, from a previous relationship. D's mother grew up in Philadelphia, and her family owned property across the street from the beach in Rhode Island. (As I'm getting tired of using a single letter naming convention, let me call her Tall Blonde, or TB, because she is in fact quite tall, and blonde.) TB and I were always friendly when T was alive, but T was the primary conduit for planning and execution of all things related to D, so I didn't have much of a relationship with her. She was always very gracious and thoughtful, though, saving D's baby things in case T and I had a child, then welcoming B with open arms and no apparent jealousy.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Then T died. Instantly, TB and I were alone in the world, as it were, raising the children of T without him. We quickly formed a bond not unlike close family, helping each other out, celebrating holidays and birthdays together, ensuring the kids have a strong sibling relationship because each was the only sibling the other would have. Admittedly it's a little weird, and I wouldn't have necessarily picked her as a close friend in other circumstances, but I so appreciate TB's straightforwardness, lack of drama and emotional baggage, and open-hearted generosity. (What do I call her? My parallel parent? Co-parent or parenting partner sound too intimate. I haven't found the right terminology to properly explain our relationship.)</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">That first summer after T died, TB invited B and me to join her and D at the family place in Rhode Island. Sure, I said, feeling like it wouldn't matter if I were on the moon, I was so numb. But I had a very pleasant time, being pampered a little by her family, people who had met T a few times but didn't have the same experience of loss that TB and I did. Last year we went again, since it worked so well the first time. By this year, it's become an annual event, and one I am very grateful for.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">I can't help but wonder, though, what will happen when I'm in a relationship again. I imagine we'll stop going ... and I'll be a bit sad. But in a strange way, I can imagine I might be glad, too, to have something else to do with a new love, putting the haven I needed after T died behind me. But I'll cross that bridge when I get there.</span></p></span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-66050869589947674412010-08-02T21:19:00.000-07:002010-08-02T21:21:25.961-07:00I'm Forty-Eight<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7bY5XdkwuN_730dXYo-uv3eDcb18tl_nBQQyKGxq4RTjlqagrKO9PgDbkT29SKGDyaGN-ilQgDbMuUOCaoa-7dOYP0_1qCLqYMuOnDrgrN3-LfL3RgEJWT83oEKLLQ_7E18XtTk_Gh150/s1600/birtrhday+candles.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7bY5XdkwuN_730dXYo-uv3eDcb18tl_nBQQyKGxq4RTjlqagrKO9PgDbkT29SKGDyaGN-ilQgDbMuUOCaoa-7dOYP0_1qCLqYMuOnDrgrN3-LfL3RgEJWT83oEKLLQ_7E18XtTk_Gh150/s200/birtrhday+candles.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501033818314126082" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; ">I'm forty-eight, and I'm tired. It's been a sad day, one where I had trouble concentrating at work. When the going gets tough, I just don't seem to care enough ... and the going was not even particularly tough today. I'm just not where I wanted or expected to be at this point in my life, and I'm staring down 50 like a freight train headed straight at me. I don't know why it should bother me so much, but not being settled in a committed relationship, not being married and comfortable, especially at this age, is very unsettling. I am practicing reframing to look at the positives, appreciate what I have, blah blah blah. Sometimes it works. Sometimes I just need to acknowledge that it sucks, and I'm sad.</span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-84032728311430444212010-08-01T21:55:00.000-07:002010-08-01T21:59:17.947-07:00Marking the Passage of Time<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtXFKh5H-UvDKWp207dJkZoT9RZLkQqm9Xur7FhWOULC9yur5p1ty5OCyK7QoWdPnn6eSALg_tNgAW_3m20xy2YzgwwBdoJMCaH0lKdZimhQBKA_W1Cs0X479nHc9msj9XoY07xwglzWNR/s1600/Time+passing.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtXFKh5H-UvDKWp207dJkZoT9RZLkQqm9Xur7FhWOULC9yur5p1ty5OCyK7QoWdPnn6eSALg_tNgAW_3m20xy2YzgwwBdoJMCaH0lKdZimhQBKA_W1Cs0X479nHc9msj9XoY07xwglzWNR/s200/Time+passing.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500672370068013714" /></a><br />This weekend I attended my 30th high school reunion. I had a very nice time catching up with people, but as expected, I felt a little let down and blue driving home this afternoon. At the party Saturday night I talked about losing T, but not exclusively. I found myself leading with it, then changing the subject after a sentence or two. With people I hadn't known well in high school, I sometimes didn't even feel compelled to share it at all. I was envious of the married couples, but there were plenty of divorced and a few never-married people to help remind me that not everyone is in a perfect relationship. I guess what made the weekend bittersweet was the reminder that the last time I really knew these people, I had my whole life in front of me, and I was full of optimism and certainty that it would be a grant adventure. And yes, it has been a grant adventure for the most part, but darn it, it's half over now! And on that subject...<br /><br />Tomorrow is my 48th birthday. I don't like celebrating my birthday alone. Luckily, D's mother is throwing me a birthday dinner, bless her heart. I love being a little pampered, and she does a nice job. She's bringing dinner over, and we'll have wine and there will be presents and I will miss T but not unbearably so. I haven't decided what to get for myself for my birthday; it may be permission to buy nothing, since I don't NEED anything and I'm becoming less and less of a consumer over the years. What I really want is for someone else to organize a party for me with all my friends, or to take B for the weekend so I can go away for solitude and spa pampering. Maybe I'll get myself organized enough to make the party happen next year, and come to think of it, the nanny is standing ready to take B for a weekend any time. If I pick a date, I can make that wish come true!<br /><br />T was 48 when he died. Next year I'll be older than he ever was.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-27473173071462438102010-07-19T21:47:00.001-07:002010-07-19T21:47:43.487-07:00More Evidence of the New Normal<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">I forgot to mention (more evidence of the New Normal) that I had one of those potentially awkward widow situations during B's birthday party. B's best preschool friend is new in her life this year, and I only know the parents slightly. They are lovely people, and I was pretty sure they weren't aware of our backstory. Sure enough, early on in the party the dad said, "So where's your husband?", looking around as if he might be hiding out somewhere. "I lost my husband 2 years ago", I said, steady but rueful. He was taken aback, and apologized several times. Later his wife said she hadn't known, and was very sorry. It gave me a chance to talk about how much easier each year is than the one before. And it is. I missed T like I always do these days: </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">wistfully, bearably, normally.</span></span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-74327205500470852012010-07-17T21:37:00.000-07:002010-07-17T21:42:00.631-07:00Happy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizxYNEkUXiB5l-kGyJ023MNaRpqX47lgL1hyphenhyphenkGjsQwSGJb2ywmriskXU3WTUjpaDsZNiwJGiujYMhL8GPha0mbF1dyWxxsxKq4FfLRj5b_3fO7ykd5klb6Lxg2avwQSzP4LWZ2jwLHFpdw/s1600/birthday+candles.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 112px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizxYNEkUXiB5l-kGyJ023MNaRpqX47lgL1hyphenhyphenkGjsQwSGJb2ywmriskXU3WTUjpaDsZNiwJGiujYMhL8GPha0mbF1dyWxxsxKq4FfLRj5b_3fO7ykd5klb6Lxg2avwQSzP4LWZ2jwLHFpdw/s200/birthday+candles.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495101857092122786" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Verdana;font-size:13px;"><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Tonight, I am happy. Unreasonably happy, perhaps. I'm not entirely sure why, other than having pulled off a successful birthday party for B and an evening BBQ with dear friends. Apparently, I love entertaining, and when things go well it fills me with contentment.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">First, the birthday party. B turns four on Wednesday, and I have always tried to keep her birthday parties low-key. This is the third year without her Daddy, and I guess I've gotten used to him not being around. The first year, with him, was family. The second year, raw without him, a very close friend brought cupcakes and her family and carried me through the ordeal. The third year, I had a little more resilience but still asked our wonderful nanny to plan and purchase for the event. She brilliantly came up with a beach theme, and we had a wading pool and shells and visors and beach balls. And 3 friends, since B was turning 3.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">This year, I was able to carry it on my own. We ended up inviting 5 friends even though 4 was the limit, because I really wanted to include B's best friend from preschool along with B's closest friends (really, MY closest friends!) from two of my moms' groups. We are fortunate enough to have a nice pool in the back yard, so I hired the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">daughter of a good friend, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">a certified life guard, and the party was a smashing success. What's not to enjoy about warm sun, a cool pool, pizza, and cupcakes?</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Of course, the day was not without its challenges. B woke up complaining of a tummy ache, and after consuming half an English muffin and listening to a story, proceeded to lose the muffin on the hall carpet. Then she lay down and fell asleep. What to do? Cancel the party and attempt to reschedule? I called several of the invited guests, and got wonderful, thoughtful advice. I cried a little, too, thinking that if T were here, I would have someone to share the decision-making process with. In the end, B woke up from her short morning nap as chipper as a sandpiper, and off we went. Must have been something she ate, because she had no trouble enjoying her friends and the pool and two cupcakes.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">She had a late nap by the time the last guests left (helping me clean up first -- what wonderful friends!). Then we zipped to the store for some fresh Alaskan salmon, and I BBQed salmon, sliced sweet potatoes and asparagus for the friends who introduced me to T. A warm evening on the patio, good food and company, wine and ice cream, and I'm overflowing with happy feelings. I made it through another milestone event unscathed, perhaps even with joy, and I sit here at my desk looking out the window at the half moon and counting my blessings.</span></p></span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-4538020682558120142010-07-07T06:55:00.000-07:002010-07-07T06:58:05.250-07:00Coming Home Blues<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; "><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Even though, as I mentioned in the prior post, I'm mostly feeling "back to normal" these days, whatever that may be, I still had a bit of a bumpy reentry coming back from vacation. Last year, arriving home from our annual Montana trip triggered a long, difficult sad period. We had missed our flight (yikes!) and rather than having the nanny pick us up at a reasonable time mid-day and keep B occupied and me company while I unpacked and she prepared us dinner, I had to call in a big favor from a friend to collect us from the airport late at night. We arrived home to a dark, very empty house, and my heart and soul felt dark and empty for what seemed like a long time afterwards.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">This year, the effect was much lessened, but I still feel blah-ish. Our flight was delayed an hour or so, on the ground in Missoula while we waited for SFO visibility to improve, and I was fine. A dear friend who lives near the airport picked us up in our car, and I took her back to her place before heading home. No problem. The nanny had done the grocery shopping and was preparing a crock pot dinner as we arrived. Great! But it wasn't going to be ready in time for dinner. Huh. OK, I'll make quesadillas. Nope, we are out of refried beans and the nanny didn't pick up the shopping list before going to the store today. There was nothing else fresh in the house for dinner -- I had to thaw some leftovers. And that was enough to send me over the edge into testiness. What's the big deal? We'll have the crock pot meal tomorrow, and the leftovers were tasty and easy. But it was the disappointment, the mismatch of reality to expectation, that got to me. I had a grand vision of being taken care of, of not having to think or manage for a few short hours after being ON for nine days. It was painful to arrive in the kitchen 10 minutes before dinner time (and nanny quiting time) to discover that I had to take care of myself and B after all, that I had to manage. It was a trivial but recognizable echo of losing T suddenly and unexpectedly, after marriage and baby and the expectation of having a partner to share the care and management with. I am just hopeful that the after-effects won't linger this time.</span></p></span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-30019898851482300442010-07-05T21:45:00.000-07:002010-07-05T21:52:42.490-07:00Feeling Healed<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTFDLYNp3uu-zax5Ob1z6MzSYdZV1oIhICQy0MdrYF4kmk9FSAG6imMrGjZixvFeHOkw_b_5j2_q3el6VndAM_fzp8s6hg07vvCsJ1vUMskfdvQKRhYXBpaniUpY30UlKZpQXkspvLtrdF/s1600/Flathead.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 113px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTFDLYNp3uu-zax5Ob1z6MzSYdZV1oIhICQy0MdrYF4kmk9FSAG6imMrGjZixvFeHOkw_b_5j2_q3el6VndAM_fzp8s6hg07vvCsJ1vUMskfdvQKRhYXBpaniUpY30UlKZpQXkspvLtrdF/s200/Flathead.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490651405380015954" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Verdana;font-size:13px;"><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">B and I just returned from nine days in Montana, where much of T's extended family lives. I am very fortunate that B is such a great traveler, because I like nothing more than planning a trip, throwing a few things in a suitcase, and heading off to new adventures. This was a great trip, and I am very glad to be able to continue building our relationships with T's aunt, cousins, and their families. In some small way, I think I was responsible for the family reunion that occurred on a beautiful Montana lake last week, where 24 people ranging in age from 76 years to 3 weeks, all related by blood or marriage, spent time enjoying each other's company. It sometimes takes an outsider as catalyst to bring the blood relatives together. (Photo credit: Robin Spielberg)</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">While on the trip, I had a small but nice reminder of how far I've come on this grief journey. Sure I had moments of deep sadness when I reflected on T's absence, my loneliness, or the challenges of sole parenting, especially while traveling. But in the parking lot of our hotel early in our visit, there was a truck (this is Montana, after all) with "Just Married" messages decorating the windows. "How sweet", I thought. And went about my day. Later in the week, another Just Married vehicle appeared in the parking lot, and it was then that I realized I didn't get that zinger of pain, that visceral reminder of my widowed state. I'm not a fresh bruise, sensitive to everything. The wound is mostly healed, and I'm so thankful to have arrived at this state.</span></p></span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-22534832288635882202010-06-24T21:50:00.000-07:002010-06-24T21:51:30.080-07:00The Power of Choice<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; "><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">I shared with my boss the other day my recent job interview experience. As I have said, I love my boss, and knew there would be no unpleasant consequences if she learned I was open to a new job. In fact I believe, as does she, that it's important for a boss to know when an employee isn't getting what she needs, so the boss can adjust the role as appropriate, and help find a new role if necessary.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">I learned that my boss has identified me in </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">the upcoming review cycle </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">as ready for a new role within the company. That was comforting to hear, as I would like to stay at the company if I can. (It's easier, and I get lots of vacation for my tenure -- two important considerations!) But more importantly, I suddenly stopped feeling trapped, victimized by my job. Suddenly I felt like I was there by choice, not by necessity, and that gave me a whole new level of patience and resilience in the face of difficulty. "I can handle this! I know I won't have to do it forever, so it's OK for now." seemed to be my thought process. How powerful, how valuable! A lesson well worth remembering, that reframing a situation in terms of choice can make it much more bearable.</span></p></span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-29123535545545299682010-06-23T22:32:00.000-07:002010-06-23T22:33:12.994-07:00Emotional Fragility<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; "><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">It struck me recently that I'm really much more emotionally fragile at work than I used to be. I guess I was always emotionally invested in my job -- how well I felt I did, how I perceived others as valuing my contribution, how much I enjoyed my day-to-day tasks. But in the early days after T died, I really didn't care much about work. It was something to fill my days, it wasn't too taxing (luckily a lull at work coincided with my world falling apart), and I had no emotional energy left to worry about my career. Recently, though, I've started taking more of an interest, as I face the thought of spending most of my waking hours at work, doing something that doesn't really thrill me.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">So I've been dissecting what isn't working for me. And a big piece seems to be related to partnership, collaboration, and engagement with a peer (or several) who cares like I do about what we're working on. Being the only one out in front leading the charge, or more commonly pushing a rope, just isn't satisfying for me. It's in fact exhausting. I know I could handle the rope-pushing better if there were one or more people pushing it right along with me, to strategize and sympathize and celebrate with. And that insight leads me to wonder if I'm looking to work to try and fill the partnership void in the rest of my life. It's not the only place I have relationships with adults, but it is the only place where those relationships are expected to produce something; where there is a commitment to see things through even if it gets tough (not unlike a marriage). Hmm, I guess that also says something about my orientation toward friends. I have a number of wonderful friends, but I think I always expect in the back of my mind to have them just disappear one day -- there's no formal commitment in friendship like there is in marriage, or a job title.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">My boss recently gave me some positive feedback on how well I drive organizational change, and hearing that helped my attitude quite a bit. Knowing that what I'm doing is really hard, and valued, and recognized, makes a big difference. But why should it? I'm a grown-up. I should be able to take pride in my work knowing that I'm doing my best, whether others recognize it or not. Is this another symptom of the aftermath of grieving? Or a more fundamental need for validation?</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">I guess I was expecting a silver lining side effect of grief and loss to be a more inwardly-focused sense of accomplishment, and less worry about what others think. Life is short, after all, sometimes too short. Do what's right for you, and forget about what others think. If that is indeed a result of great loss, I'm still waiting for it to manifest for me.</span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div></span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-37313143897801658462010-06-21T21:52:00.000-07:002010-06-21T21:55:27.434-07:00Definitely Not<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitnGOp8jfnXHfJy8NtDtQPg3GImyCk4TPvHmdN47XTHzPY3rbQNckOQso4NLS39GGqbU6XCsdG9Oh8i1CJXCdkbyibwo_ru1-LorqrIKrGbeqCjQky9zKuvYpMdsyMPfnrx_e43vGGj2DX/s1600/stop+sign.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 135px; height: 101px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitnGOp8jfnXHfJy8NtDtQPg3GImyCk4TPvHmdN47XTHzPY3rbQNckOQso4NLS39GGqbU6XCsdG9Oh8i1CJXCdkbyibwo_ru1-LorqrIKrGbeqCjQky9zKuvYpMdsyMPfnrx_e43vGGj2DX/s200/stop+sign.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485456814638285682" /></a>Apparently I hadn't done too badly at my first round of interviews at my old boss's company, because I was asked back for a second round on Friday. I felt better about my performance this time, and was expecting an offer today. What would I do? I didn't feel strongly enough about the opportunity to be willing to give up my Fridays off, but otherwise I was leaning toward taking the chance, doing the more active thing.<br /><br />And then the hiring manager called and said they weren't going to be making an offer.<br /><br />Oh well, it means I don't have to make the hard decision. But it was disappointing not to be wanted. He gave me two reasons: first, my hands-on software project management experience is a little stale (which is one of the reasons I want to make a change), and second, the environment is more high-stress and difficult than he thought I could be happy in. I value his feedback, and accept his assessment of the degree of challenge, but still would have liked my first job interview in 13 years to have resulted in an offer. Now my confidence in the desirability and applicability of my skills and experience is a little less firm, and I'm tired already, imagining the effort involved in mounting a full-on job search. But I've started -- I reached out to another old boss for any referrals (he'll keep his eyes open) and a LinkedIn recommendation (he committed to posting one in the next week).<br /><br />On a side note, I purchased a deck of oracle cards after I got back from Sedona, to have fun while exploring various avenues of spirituality. Twice during this job interview process I did readings asking "Should I take this job?" The first time, I got the "Practice, practice, practice" card. The second time, it was "Autumn". At the time, I didn't really understand how to interpret the readings, but in retrospect, it's very clear -- this was a practice round, expect to practice more, and be ready for a new job in the fall. Whether one believes in the magic of the cards themselves or not, the message is pretty obvious: I've got to work for what I want (practice) and the outcome will eventually be positive. Which is no different than what I've always known, and always experienced. But it was fun to get to that place again through a new path!<br /><br />What do you think of oracle card readings?Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-28831655733261473382010-06-18T20:31:00.000-07:002010-06-18T20:34:22.353-07:00Equality<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">I got to thinking the other day about how, while I'm not living the life I wanted to or expected to be living, I also probably wouldn't have gotten what I wanted even if T hadn't died, at least specifically around shared parenting and balanced personal time. Sure, it's an old story, and just about all women struggle with it. I would do well to remember, when I fantasize about other women's happy, intact families, that I would probably still have had a lot of weekend time with just me and B. T was a very active dad to his son D, which I was very much in favor of. I was proud of his dedication and commitment, and pleased to support him. Except when I wasn't... because there were occasions when I resented the time he spent on D, away from me and B. He mentioned once that it wasn't really fair -- if D were our child, instead of just his, he would be getting all sorts of brownie points from me for coaching basketball and baseball, going on cub scout camp-outs, taking D to birthday parties, and the like. Instead, as much as I wanted to be gracious and generous, it sometimes felt like he parented D and I parented B, and I didn't like it. In the very early days after B was born, I felt like we started developing a family identity, but somehow the coming and going of D (we had him every other weekday, and every other weekend) diluted the sense of wholeness, the sense of all being focused on the same thing together.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">It also meant that often enough, on the weekend, T would be off coaching, or camping, and I would be home alone with B. Or at a mom's group play date -- I belonged to several because having company in the new world of parenting ended up being very important to me. And when we vacationed, it was the four of us. Other than those very early days and weeks when T was a very hands-on, equal partner in figuring out the newborn stuff, I don't remember much that involved just the three of us. Maybe things would have changed as B grew, and D's needs evolved as well, and again, I wouldn't have wanted T to have been a less involved parent. I guess it seemed to me at the time that he was more involved with D than with B, because he counted on me to carry the load with B, and as a much older child, D's needs were more time-consuming, or at least time-specific.</span></p><br />I raised the issue not long before T died. I felt a little petty doing so, because I was asking T to be more of an equal partner knowing that he had a whole additional responsibility in D. Maybe if I hadn't felt somewhat under-appreciated by T in general, I would have had more capacity to be OK with the lopsided situation. However, after that conversation, T started getting up in the mornings while I was showering to start B's morning routine. I would take over, usually during or just after the diaper change. It was a small thing, but it helped. I don't know what would have helped with the weekend situation; and it doesn't matter now.</div><br /><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; ">But I do recognize that some of my grief is in recognition of what I didn't have, along side the pain of losing what I did have.</div></span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-13494841450206223192010-06-15T21:52:00.000-07:002010-06-15T21:56:28.435-07:00Maybe Not<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjADsQX2DBTqOL0apTnP66Vd2i8LjQexp9ef8X-cYbED46X86wFDda6cntokaEJPwkHHFZH8hyqtbFeQgnhdQSVwH2cc_td6__RqflnADDnShfQXkpI4ac_7uqAyrIJllME6GcS9ror8fwE/s1600/resume.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 89px; height: 125px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjADsQX2DBTqOL0apTnP66Vd2i8LjQexp9ef8X-cYbED46X86wFDda6cntokaEJPwkHHFZH8hyqtbFeQgnhdQSVwH2cc_td6__RqflnADDnShfQXkpI4ac_7uqAyrIJllME6GcS9ror8fwE/s200/resume.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483230484461986018" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Verdana;font-size:13px;"><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0in; "><span style=" ;font-family:Verdana;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;">My job interview on Friday went fine, but not great. I liked most of the people I interviewed with, and believe I could enjoy working with them. The company is poised to do great things. With the first few people I talked to in particular, I felt I was less than compelling in my answers to the now-standard questions that start with "Tell me about a time when you..." I need to brush up on past projects, remind myself of what I did, how I did it, and what I learned. I got better at it by mid-way through, though for some of the questions it was hard to come up with positive answers. I feel like so many of my projects haven't end well, for various reasons (none of them my fault, of course). </span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0in; "><span style=" ;font-family:Verdana;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"> </span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0in; "><span style=" ;font-family:Verdana;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;">I didn't feel the pull, the excitement to dig in and get started, that I want to feel when choosing a new job. Now I'm second-guessing my expectation to feel that ... is it still too soon to have that level of positive energy in response to a job? When I took my current role, 5 years ago after my then-current position was eliminated, I was SO not excited to do the job. I had been burned out by that previous position, my confidence shaken and my professional worth bruised, and all I wanted to do was crawl under a rock, or at least do something easy where the resulting value was clear.</span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0in; "><span style=" ;font-family:Verdana;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"> </span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0in; "><span style=" ;font-family:Verdana;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;">In some ways I feel similarly now. My confidence isn't as badly shaken, but I'm not happy with my track record these last few years, even before T died. Too many projects that started and then fizzled; too much pushing a rock up hill only to watch it roll right back down when I paused to take a breath.</span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0in; "><span style=" ;font-family:Verdana;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"> </span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0in; "><span style=" ;font-family:Verdana;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;">I know I should write thank you notes to the people who interviewed me, and call the hiring manager to ask all the questions I didn't have a chance to cover with him during our hour together. But I'm lazy, or mildly depressed, or just not interested enough right now. And I'm not sure they're going to want to pursue me, given my mixed performance during the interview.</span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0in; "><span style=" ;font-family:Verdana;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"> </span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0in; "><span style=" ;font-family:Verdana;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;">I did reach out to one person at my current company today to ask for career move advice. He has a broad purview of the company, to know what might be available, and also a good perspective to help me clarify what I really want. Ready or not, willing or not, the job search begins in earnest.</span></span></p></span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8649372204173490912.post-48761593229876093002010-06-09T21:19:00.000-07:002010-06-09T21:20:10.385-07:00When One Door Closes, Another Will Open<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; "><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">I had a bad day at work today. I got so upset at one point that I had to take a walk outside or I would have burst into tears or exploded. I imagined my escape, considered just quiting, thought about the steps necessary to do a thorough, effective job search. Change is coming. It must -- I'll make it happen.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">I've gotten several messages from the universe today that what is required will be provided. The title of this post came in my fortune cookie tonight. Unpacking a bag of hand-me-downs for B from a neighbor, an identical but one-size-larger Hana Andersen dress appeared; just the one B and I decided we needed to replace with a larger size. I just need to trust that the right opportunity will come along, and I will recognize it.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">But I really hate being so emotional. Tears yesterday, big upset today; I'm usually on a more even keel than this. Maybe it's PMS.</span></p></span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07711099868038554656noreply@blogger.com0