More Evidence of the New Normal

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: wistfully, bearably, normally.

Happy

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.

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.

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 daughter of a good friend, 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?

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.

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.

Coming Home Blues

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.

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.

Feeling Healed

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)

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.

The Power of Choice

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.

I learned that my boss has identified me in the upcoming review cycle 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.

Emotional Fragility

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.

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.

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?

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.

Definitely Not

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.

And then the hiring manager called and said they weren't going to be making an offer.

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).

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!

What do you think of oracle card readings?