Mid-CenturyModernMoms

A Useful Kid to have around

Margalit is still being  held hostage by the big Boston hospital that she checked into last week to undergo a simple procedure.  Margalit should know that NOTHING is simple regarding her body, but especially that, if she drives herself to the hospital- she will ALWAYS be there MUCH longer than expected.  This has happened often enough to be a tried and true rule.

But she is still checking up on The Boy and The Girl, along with a host of other adults.

But in Ora's world, a disaster happened.  The TV decided to stop working.  But not so completely that you know that the TV died, no this is more complicated.  Part of the input via the cable (FIOS) works, (you can see the channel guide) but you can't watch anything on TV or worse, anything that was stored on the DVR!!!  

The TV showed something like this, but with different colors!!

So Margalit's Boy is a cabling guru.  He came over to take a look at the 2 loose cables hanging out and see if anything could be done.

But alas, nothing is easy in Ora's world and the Boy couldn't figure it out- not even after looking at the manual!!!  (And the other TV in the house, also on FIOS and DVR, works just fine!)

So we know that it's NOT the main router coming into the house.

So we descended into the dread world of Verizon customer support.

But once we actually got to a real-live (as opposed to computer response) person, things got better.  The Boy and the voice talked cable this and HDMI that and coax and....... And understood each other.  And made Ora's TV all better.

It turns out that Ora's cable box wanted a little vacation, just like Ora had last week and it needed to have its cables pulled and reset and whatever.

So all's well that ends well.  The Boy got a few bucks for 1/2 hours work, Ora got a working TV and the Boy is signed up as the resident TV geek- and everyone is happy (even Margalit from her hostage hospital bed).

A Sad Thought

Something happened last Saturday at shule (synagogue) that bothered me.

The background is that in the Jewish tradition, when a parent dies (at any age), the child is supposed to recite the Mourner's Prayer (called the Kaddish) for 11 months following the death.  I mean each day for 11 months.It needs to be said in the company of a religious quorum (a minyan).

This was certainly too much to expect of Abe and Rosie following Jim's death in May.  Especially since Abe attends a special needs residential school that doesn't go to services of any kind. And since I would have to drive Rosie every morning and she would still be late to school and I would be late to work.

A spouse is supposed to say Kaddish for one month, daily for the deceased spouse.  And I did that.  Rosie came with me a few times during that month, but only on weekends or days that school started late.

I had left it up to the kids' and their consciences about going to services and saying the prayer.  But on days that I was going to shule with them, I always make sure that they are in services (from outside talking to friends or reading) when it comes time to say the Kaddish.

So this past weekend, I go searching for the kids.  Rosie is sitting in the hallway, chatting with friends and she promises to come in before the prayer is said.  After some searching, I find Abe and get him to come along.  But I asked him "Don't you want to say Kaddish for Daddy?"  He didn't really answer me verbally, but I got the idea that he really was only doing it to make me happy.

Which made me sad.

Jim always believed that death was much further down the road, or he never felt the need, but he never tried to make amends with Abe for all of the bad times that they had together.  Yes, many of them were due to Abe's neurological problems, and there were also a lot due to Jim's neurological problems.  Towards the end, I got both kids to see that the brain mets (and maybe other conditions) were causing him to behave like he was.  I, and therapists and friends, even asked him whether he wanted to try to end things on a brighter note within the family (the answer was no).

So with Abe's response, all I could think of was that I was reaping what Jim had sowed- and it wasn't pleasant memories from at least one of his children.

Daddy dearest

Yesterday was Father's Day. The day we honor our fathers. The day our children honor theirs. The day we remember that without fathers, we would not be mothers.

In my house, this day can be a little odd.

You see, my daughter's father is dead. He died when she was 3 1/2, and she has very little memory of him.

Quite frankly, this is probably a good thing. He wasn't exactly a stellar example of humankind.

My sons' father is NOT dead, but for all the time they spend with him, he might as well be. If you ask Z-man about his dad, he will arch one eyebrow and say: "Who?"

This makes me sad. Not because I particularly like my ex, but because he made his bed with linens made of broken promises, inflexibility and distrust, and now he is forced to lie in it. Without the love and devotion of his children.

My stepdaughter's father is my husband. She worships the ground he walks on.

In fact, it is precisely this man -- my third husband -- who actually takes the role of father.

For his child ... and for mine.

It is this man who drives carpool for my daughter.

It is this man who rushes to the aid of my sons when their cars malfunction.

It is this man who accompanies me to every cheer competition and football game and graduation.

It is this man who treats my children as his own.

It is this man who my kids mean when they refer to "my parents."

It is this man who my daughter cheerfully wished a happy Father's Day yesterday, knowing that, although he had no part in her conception, he is indeed her dad.

And it is THIS man who stands by my side as we parent OUR children.

I don't know what I'd do without him.

Daddy dearest

Yesterday was Father's Day. The day we honor our fathers. The day our children honor theirs. The day we remember that without fathers, we would not be mothers.

In my house, this day can be a little odd.

You see, my daughter's father is dead. He died when she was 3 1/2, and she has very little memory of him.

Quite frankly, this is probably a good thing. He wasn't exactly a stellar example of humankind.

My sons' father is NOT dead, but for all the time they spend with him, he might as well be. If you ask Z-man about his dad, he will arch one eyebrow and say: "Who?"

This makes me sad. Not because I particularly like my ex, but because he made his bed with linens made of broken promises, inflexibility and distrust, and now he is forced to lie in it. Without the love and devotion of his children.

My stepdaughter's father is my husband. She worships the ground he walks on.

In fact, it is precisely this man -- my third husband -- who actually takes the role of father.

For his child ... and for mine.

It is this man who drives carpool for my daughter.

It is this man who rushes to the aid of my sons when their cars malfunction.

It is this man who accompanies me to every cheer competition and football game and graduation.

It is this man who treats my children as his own.

It is this man who my kids mean when they refer to "my parents."

It is this man who my daughter cheerfully wished a happy Father's Day yesterday, knowing that, although he had no part in her conception, he is indeed her dad.

And it is THIS man who stands by my side as we parent OUR children.

I don't know what I'd do without him.

Tossing It Out

Rosie has been a big help to me in shredding documents and wiping data off of old 3x5 diskettes and REAL floppy disks!

This is all part of cleaning up after my deceased husband.  Boy, did he leave a mess!!!  I can't even begin to tell you about all fo the stuff that we had to go through...... computer equipment, class notes from the early 1980s, lots of computer books and manuals and carton-fulls of old paper!!

Before he died, Rosie couldn't undestand why I was so pissed off over all of his mess.  And Rosie did agree that it was a mess.

But after I started cleaning up, Rosie saw how much that I was throwing out- and she started helping a lot more,  There are boxes and boxes of old checks.... these all need to be shredded since the account information on them could still hurt me (if it fell into the wrong hands).  And was there financial information on that trashcan full of disks?   We didn't know, but we didn't want to leave the possibility open.

Rosie has been a big help in cleaning her Dad's stuff up.... but she's certainly not interested in cleaning up/out her own!!!

The Aftermath

This is part of the continuing saga of the death of J.  Specifically, this is about how the kids are reacting.

Shiva is over now, but while it was going on there were masses of people at the house in the evening, and a much more manageable amount during the day.  Margalit was very right in saying it's like putting on a wedding quickly, or at least all of the casual family events that tend to surround such an occasion.

Rosie had the support of lots and lots of her friends, even at the cemetery.  The friends were at the funeral too, but neither of us really saw the people who came.  

Abe, too, had lots of support.  I didn't know this at the time, but while we were waiting for the funeral service to start; when we were off in a private room not accepting (many) visitors; Abe was out wandering around in the crowd and greeting people.  Specifically, he evidently made a bee-line for some of our closest friends, and people that he is especially close to at our shule, in order to get enveloped in their hugs.  One of my friends told me that it was the cutest thing seeing these (relatively) little, old ladies hugging my 6 foot tall 18 year old.

Abe also had the support of some of the adults and kids from his Boy Scout troop.  They came to the service, they came to the cemetary, they came to shiva and they are here right now getting him ready for next week's backpacking trip!  This wonderful group has been picking Abe up at home, taking him the Sunday evening meetings and then taking him back to school.

Or another weekend, not long in the past, one guy picked up Abe's bike at home, someone else picked up Abe at school and then the troop went on a bike ride.  Then they brought Abe back to school and his bike home.  I don't know whether these wonderful guys are so great because they are Boy Scouts, or good Jews or just wonderful people; but each one of them has turned down my thanks for these efforts, saying it's just great to help Abe blossom at their events!

Rosie has had all of her friends around her, especially the friends with whom she spent years and years with at her Jewish day school.  One girl, one of Rosie's closest friends, made it a point to come to shiva every single night!

Both kids are doing well, although I'm sure that both kids have, and will have, some difficulties in dealing with our new reality (especially on the financial side), but there are lots of supports available for them (and for me, including financially) and they actually are talking to people about their feelings- BOTH of them!!

Update on Ora

Because Ora won't be posting this week, I thought I'd give you a small update as to how she and the family are doing.

Obviously, the funeral was very hard. Abe did so well, acting like such a gentleman and showing what a grown up young man he's become. During the service he cried a big, but his grandma was sitting right next to him and tried to comfort him.

Rosie completely broke down. She brought a teddy bear with her to the service and then to the cemetery and she was clutching onto it for dear life. She sobbed so hard I couldn't watch without sobbing myself, and we ended up all doing the ugly cry. She sat next to Ora who held onto her so tightly, and they both got through the service. A very close friend of J's spoke first and did a wonderful speech that really described J perfectly. Then Ora's brother spoke and gave a very similar speech, both of which focused on the stubborn but resilient parts of J's personality. Even Ora laughed at parts of the speeches.

Then the most amazing thing happened. We all got into our cars to go to the cemetery, and for some inexplicable reason, the state police closed down the entire highway just for us. Nobody in front of us. Nobody behind us. Every entrance blocked by a motorcycle cop, and down we went, 75 or 100 cars long, at 30 mph on a completely empty highway. Every entrance we went by I kept saying "Those people hate us." because we must have made everyone really late. Nobody has ever seen anything quite like this, and we all have relatives buried in the same cemetery and have been there many times. I95 closed for us! How cool is that.

The cemetery part was hard. When that first shovelful of dirt hit the casket we all jumped at the sound. Ora stood off to the side. She couldn't watch and I don't blame her at all. We all did a few shovelfuls and then it was time to leave. No police escort on the way back.

Since the funeral we've been keeping Shiva twice a day every day, and Ora is really visibly better every succeeding day. Her color is back, she's more like herself, and finally all her family has gone home except her dad. And we love him.

That's pretty much it.

Unwanted anniversary

Today marks 4 years since my husband died suddenly while playing soccer.

How do I mark today appropriately?  How do I talk to my teenagers about the significance of this day?

I don't know the answers to these questions but I need to work something out pretty fast!

I know that my gut has been tied in knots for no apparent reason for the last week.  I know that I burst into tears just last night while I was preparing dinner, and while shopping in the supermarket tears sprang without warning to my eyes.  I'm a person not much given to public tears, so I find these unannounced outpourings tricky to say the least.  Clearly my grief is not as neatly tucked away and dealt with as I would like. 

The death of their father is of great consequence to my children, but I don't know if I help or hinder their processing of it.  We speak of him often as a normal part of our family life - usually with humour.  It's the sad sentimentality that I don't do so well.  I've read that children need to keep reprocessing the impact of a parent's death on their lives as they reach different stages of maturity, and I've seen that happening  with my children, and I guess I'll keep seeing it for a few more years yet.

I want to talk about Rob's death without sinking into glum, sorry for ourselves, chip on our shoulders, everyone else should feel sorry for us, territory. 

I'm not even sure my children know the exact date of their Dad's death as I haven't marked it in previous years.  I guess I'm an emotional bottler in that if I don't think I can control my feelings sufficiently, I keep them locked inside.I'm much better at happy sentimentality than sadness.  I can do silliness, I can do amusing, I can do serious, I just find sad really challenging.  It involves revealing my own unhealed wounds to them, and that makes me shy from it.  (Perhaps I'm a control freak - something I've not really considered before!)

I think what I'll do this year is to initiate conversation with my teenagers about their Dad, mention that today is the anniversary of his death, and spend some time in prayer with them before dinner, giving thanks for the love he had for us, thanks for the love we had for him, and for the courage and wisdom to live our allotted days on earth well, remembering that we don't know the number of those allotted days.

It's a plan.

It's Getting More Serious or Telling Them Worsening News

The health news in our household continues to get worse.  Specifically, the news about hubbie's cancer.  So, unfortunately, it was time to tell the kids.  Luckily, earlier that day I had had an appointment with a social worker who knows both of us and I mentioned that I was telling the kids that night.  She very kindly helped me work out a script to ease the news to them.

I also employed a bit of psychology.  At dinner that night, I told them that I had 2 things to discuss with them.  The second being tasks that they needed to do around the house during school vacation week.  "Don't talk about that now, Mom.  Tell us the first thing."  So I did.

Rosie cried and climbed into my lap.  Abe got very quiet.

And then I went back to talking about the upcoming week and what we needed to do and they both perked up a bit and we had a very pleasant dinner together.

Rosie is back to sleeping with me at night for comfort, and that's just fine.  But the biggest surprise of all was Abe.  One of the tasks for the week was to mow the front lawn.  He asked when it should be done.  And went out and did it right after dinner!!!  And did the whole thing without stopping and having to have me yell at him to finish up!!!

She so smart!

Remember the New Boyfriend? The one who seemed to be all right at first, but soon turned out to be rude, disrespectful, stupid, cynical, and manipulative? (Yes, all that! Quite the prize, this one.) The kind of boyfriend, who, with any luck at all, is soon consigned to the "What was I THINKING?" file in your mind.

When I last wrote, I gave him a week. And I kept my fingers crossed. I did also talk to Rebekah, but in my typical non-directive way. No, "That guy's an ASS, Rebekah! What on EARTH are you doing dating him???" Not my style, and too likely to make a teen dig in her heels, anyway, if only to save face.

Nope, instead we had a conversation as I walked her to work. (Given that she's 15, not five, I "walked her to work" as in "kept her company", not "held her hand while she crossed the street". It's a half-hour walk, nicer with company, and she not infrequently asks for mine. Which, of course, warms my heart.) As we walk, we talk, in part about the boyfriend.

"He says stupid stuff as if he knows what he's talking about, and I didn't know if I could deal with it in front of you guys the same way I deal with it when it's just the two of us."

Which is how, exactly?

"Well, he knows I'm smarter than him, so when he starts, like he did at dinner about universities, I'd just say, 'Have you ever been to a university?', and of course he hasn't, he doesn't even have a sibling who's been, like I do, and then I'd say, 'So you don't know what you're talking about, then, do you?' and then he shuts up."

Well. THAT's straight-talking. Seems my daughter did not inherit my non-confrontational style, but I can't say I disapprove. But still, do you want to be in relation with someone whose opinion and intelligence you don't respect?

"So, is he a good boyfriend, all in all? Does he treat you well?" (The answer is obvious, but it's not a rhetorical question. We all know what I think. I'm betting I know what you think. I want to know what she thinks.)

"He's not bad, when he's not being an idiot."

Which makes me laugh. "And how often is that?"

Which makes her laugh. But she doesn't answer.

A week later, recovering from the exhaustion of starving herself and staying up half the night, Rebekah sleeps far later than is usual. She and her friend Cate, who spent the night, have left remarkably little debris in their wake. All that's in the living room, apart from the ever-present backpack, is a stray sheet of paper, which I glance at to determine whether it's destined for the recycling bin or her room.

And then I sit down and read it.

It is a pair of lists. One is headed "Pros". One is headed "Cons". At some point in the sleepover, Cate and Rebekah, in the fine tradition of adolescent girls everywhere, started talking boys and boyfriends. New Boyfriend has been analysed. In methodical fashion, two different sets of handwriting co-operate in itemizing the good and bad of the boy. 

The "con" side is considerably longer. This makes me smile.

I smile even more when I see one of the items on the "con" side. This one's in Rebekah's handwriting.

"Parents don't like him."

"Parents don't like him"!!!
-- I didn't say so directly, but she heard me anyway.
-- AND she respects my judgment enough to put it on the list! It matters enough to her to be a point against him! I feel so, so... affirmed!
-- AND (and this one will mean most to anyone who's in a blended family), she said "Parents". Not "mum", but "Parents". Giving me and her step-dad equal status as parents. Meaning that my husband's -- her step-father's -- opinion/judgment matters equally to her. Awwwww...

I am delighted! On so many levels! Woo! And now I'm giving the boyfriend 48 hours. Woo!

I was wrong.

Rebekah staggers downstairs in time for lunch, groggy but cheerful.

"Oh, mum? I broke up with New Boyfriend last night." (On IM.)

It wasn't wrong to high-five the girl, was it?