Finding Normal

I’ve been struggling the last few days to figure how to say what I want to talk about, with regards to the new year and current life choices I’m making. This year will be very different from others for me in obvious ways. I’ve come to realize I’m not a single mom- I’m a widowed mom. You might ask what the difference is, and actually I don’t think there is much difference. Yes, I’m a single parent. But their dad isn’t “out there somewhere.” So I’m a widowed parent. (And if you think that I’m slamming single parents, you are definitely wrong. Single moms and single dads are badasses, because we just keep on moving like the Energizer bunny until hours after our kids are asleep.)

This Friday is my last day of work. Surprise! I’ve finally realized the mistake I’ve been making since last year. What was normal before doesn’t work for me now. Bob and I worked so hard to keep things “normal” for the kids- they were in daycare while we made all of our appointments, and with us as much as possible when we were home. But there were a lot of other people in our family dynamic last year, to help with all the goings on. And after he died, I went back to work because I wanted some sense of “normal.” Go to work, kids in daycare, home on the weekends. But it wasn’t normal. I tried and tried to make things “normal” again, pick up where I was/we were before Bob was sick. I went back to school. I went to work. I visited family. But it…. it was unfamiliar to me. It wasn’t normal.

When I went to talk to someone about Bob, he told me Bob kept telling him I was “closing the door.” I thought he meant an actual door, and told Bob he better stop messing with the lock on the front door, because that has to be locked when I go to bed and no excuses. (Side note, since then I’ve never had a problem locking that door.) The second part of this conversation (which actually was told first but try to keep up) is that I was being pulled in many different directions, but not always by other people. I was doing it to myself. And “I wasn’t going to let anyone tell me what to do, because that’s just who I am.”

Fast forward to the Friday before Christmas. I took the day off because I had a TON of work to do for finals. I also finally went to yoga again for the first time in months. Bob saw this opportunity of my “not doing anything” to reach out again through my yoga person. She isn’t a medium, but he was determined. She also had never actually met Bob for more than a minute, so it wasn’t like she completely knew him. She just knows him through me. And it was very forcibly mentioned that I am stressing myself out and holding everything together in my life for no reason. I have been trying so hard to keep my life normal, and there isn’t anything normal left about my life. I’m the only one in our circle of friends I can think of to be in this situation. While I’m incredibly grateful for that (and don’t think I’m not) I had no idea how Bob’s death would change my life. I had no idea the girls would get survivor’s benefits from the government. I had no idea our having life insurance wasn’t something everyone did. I had no idea what my own limits were. I had gone from a wife, to a caregiver, back to a wife, back to a caregiver, to a widow in less than a year. So school, work, and kids should be fine. Back to normal.

Short answer, shut the hell up Laura. Bob told me in October I was doing to much. And I didn’t listen. As as I sunk deeper into work, and sunk deeper into school, there wasn’t much time for anything or anyone else. And when he basically turned to yelling that I need to slow down in December, I was ready to listen. That door I mentioned paragraphs ago? It wasn’t my front door. It was the mental door that I shut when I have to “focus.” It’s the door that gets closed because of all the shit in my head going on about what I have to do. I literally have to de-clutter my brain. So I looked it over, and I’m going to focus on school. Focus on my kids. Focus on myself. And I’m going to write. A lot. Be prepared.

But I still struggled with this. I’ve worked since I was 13. I was obviously in school and didn’t have kids, but since I’ve graduated college I’ve always worked. If I didn’t like my job, I still worked because I had bills to pay. That’s just what you do. And I didn’t know anyone (not retired) who did things differently. So when I decided I was going to quit and wasn’t going to another job I felt… guilty. Guilty that I didn’t have to work while others did. Then a friend revealed to me that she did know people in a similar situation from me, and they also had time when their kids were little that they didn’t work, or didn’t work as much. There was no reason I had to continue stretching myself this thin.

So I’ve decided it’s time to stop running and filling my time with everything so I don’t have to be in my own head. I’m going to finish school. I’m going to finish in April, it ends a week after the anniversary of Bob’s death. I’m going to get things settled with this house, contractor projects and the like. I’m going to write. Ultimately, I want to write a book. But my main focus will be on opening that door and keeping it open. This “journey” or whatever you want to call it has not gotten easier. It’s harder as time goes on. As Char tells me, “Daddy’s in Heaven forever.” And forever is a very long time. When school is over I’ll decide what will come next. For now I’ll focus on what I really want to do, and that is harder to figure out than anything else in the last year of my life.