Fight or Flight

 

 

 

Things are not going so well these days.  I am in a constant internal battle of fight or flight.  Every single thing feels like a battle and I'm almost out of the ability to fight anymore. 

 

Fight.  Fighting for my voice.  Fighting for my kids....fighting WITH my kids.  Sophie is having some behavior problems at school, and her response is "my life completely sucks mom, this is the best I can do".  Boy do I feel this statement all the way to the bone.  She is right too.  Life does suck right now.  Surviving this storm = success to us.  I don't want the loss of her dad to be a crutch in life, but the poor girl needs some leeway.

 

Fight.  Gabriel still has a lot of anger that he's working through.  We were doing well for several weeks, but his "Hulk Smash" mode comes out when he's overtired, which seems to be constant these days.  Now that I'm traveling for work again, he is pretty distraught with abandonment fears.

 

I cannot even imagine what the kids are going through.  I know my loss sense of loss is breath taking and profound at times, but they have that extra layer of losing their innocence, their security, and not being fully aware of how profound and life changing this will be, for now and forever.

 

Flight.  We've decided (in daydreams) that we'd like to move to London.  Gabriel wants to ride in double decker buses and get a new accent.  Sophie wants to meet Sam Smith and be his straight girl best friend.  This seems like a legitimate life goal for me sometimes, even though it's ridiculously impractical.  For now, we'll stay here in Mount Airy, our original "flight plan".

 

Flight.  I'm hopping on another plane tomorrow for a three day business trip.  This is my second trip in as many weeks, and I feel like everyone sometimes forgets how hard it is to juggle everything now.  What used to be a normal morning flight now requires me to get up at 3:00am, secure child care, and fill out paperwork three days in advance.  What used to be a normal trip now provides me with several days of anxiety both before and during the length of the trip.  I am hoping this lessens with time, but it almost overwhelms me right now.

 

This is such a morose post.  Maybe it's just the nonstop rain that's got me down.  Maybe my exhaustion is catching up with me.  Or possibly I've hit that stage of grief called depression.  Any way I look at it, I need a break.



Random.

Dear Chris,

There are so many little ways that I miss you.  Sunday was really hard for me, because it was opening weekend for the NFL.  A tradition we looked forward to and spent together for the last 12 years.  I missed trash talking about your Tampa Bay Buccaneers.  Their new uniforms are pretty epic, but they still sucked.  You would have been in a pretty bad mood over that game.  Instead, it was a blurb across the screen for me.  I didn't have the heart to stream it....little, mundane things like that are still unspeakable in a way that nobody around me can understand.

Speaking of football, you'd be so proud of Gabriel.  He's working hard and listening to the coaches, just like you taught him.  He has lost his first two teeth since you've been gone. I am still too squeamish to pull them.  This is hopefully something I'll learn as time goes on.

Sophie's birthday is coming up this weekend and we cannot get comfortable with the idea of celebrating without you.  I miss having you to talk to about that day she was born.  How you left the hospital to take a nap because you thought my labor was too slow, and when you came back I was a raging ball of misery.  How we took Sophie to the beach in Charleston when she was just a few days old and I was afraid we'd drop her in the ocean. 

Sophie doesn't want a party, but I think it's an important step for all of us.  Of course we don't feel festive, but I don't think is how you'd want us to act.  We can't feel guilty for the bits of joy we are trying to find again.

I keep changing things about myself and I wonder what you'd think.  You'd hate my bangs....they were never your "thing" (even though you used to tell me that my forehead was almost as big as Peyton Manning's).  I don't think you'd care for the blonde highlights, but you'd understand.....my hair turns red when I'm stressed out, and I just couldn't stand it anymore.

We miss you babe.  Sometimes I feel your presence, but I wish it was around a bit more.  I feel pretty lost and alone without you.  It's amazing how alone you feel even when there are so many people around.  Take care of us.

Amy

Working Mom Woes

Before this massive life changing gut punch, I was a very hard-working mom who worked outside the home.  Many people didn't know then, but most know now, that Chris left his job several years ago in order to focus more time on the kids while I pursued my career goals.  Back in 2011, this was pretty ground breaking, but more and more dads are becoming the "at home" parent these days.  It was fantastic for us - I traveled quite a bit, and the kids were able to maintain after school activities that they would not have otherwise been able to do.

In addition to the grief, sadness, and pain, we are also learning to adjust to me being the sole parent.  This has been one of the hardest adjustments.  For the first time in my life, I have to plan my schedule around school holidays, find before and after school care (thank you again to my wonderful family), as well as do homework, pack lunches, etc.  My typical day is this:  wake up at 4:45, shower and get dressed, pack lunches, wake kids at 5:45, leave home by 6:15, arrive at work by 7:15, get off work at 5:15, home at 6:30, dinner, homework, showers, family time, and in bed by 9:00 for the kids.  The sliver of time between 9:00-10:00 is the precious amount of time that I have for exercise (I wish), meditation, or active grieving.  These are on days that I'm lucky enough to get the kids to bed and sleeping at a decent hour.  Add in two days per week for a 2-hour football practice, and it's easy to see why I'm always completely exhausted.

My work family has been incredibly accommodating and I've managed to avoid travel for work up until this point.  However, that all ends later in September with two consecutive weeks of overnight travel that will take me to Atlanta and Wisconsin.

I've really been dreading the first overnight trip.  My last trip was just days before Chris passed away, and I've been obsessing a bit over the "what ifs".  However, I think WE are ready.  The kids need to see that some things in life have to get back to normal, and one of our normals is that mom is a full time marketing professional who has drive, ambition, and is pretty successful in that aspect of her life.

I am thankful for Skype and living near family.  And while I feel sure the kids will be OK without me for a few nights, we will still take any prayers you want to send our way to make this next adjustment a smooth one!

How Are the Kids?

This is the question that so many people ask.  It's been a struggle for them really, but I wanted to do a check in since we are approaching the four month point.  There are things I've done well, and things I wish I'd done differently.


Sophie

The night that Chris passed away is a span of time I'll never forget.  One of my biggest fears was that the kids would wake up and walk into the most unimaginable scene.  When I woke Sophie that next morning, she just wasn't herself.  She told me that she heard some scary noises that night, and heard me on the phone with 9-1-1. She was very reserved and looked worried, but wouldn't ever tell me the full story of what she heard.  To this day, we still haven't discussed it.

In the days and weeks that followed, Sophie was my emotional child.  She would weep hardly and loudly, and called Chris her "life soul mate".  And that was true - they are identical in personality and have these quirks that us mere mortals just cannot understand.

Slowly over the summer, Sophie shrunk into a depression and became very reserved and shy.  Almost self conscious.  For anyone that knows her, this is a seismic shift in her very DNA.  Counseling helped some, but the pinnacle of her self-doubts and sadness came just before school started in early August.  We had an epic meltdown at the middle school open house, and I was worried that moving back home to Mount Airy was the worst decision ever (more on that later).

I'm thrilled to say that Sophie's guardian angel has been looking out for her.  She has made some friends at school already, and I am already catching her sending texts on the iPad when she's supposed to be sleeping.  We even got a note sent home today about her excessive talking in class.

For the first time ever, a note home from the teacher about her excessive talking absolutely makes me beam.  I think Sophie is finally coming back.


Gabriel

Gabriel has been more of a challenge for us all.  Every emotion in his being transformed into rage for about six weeks.  He directed most of this rage at me, which I took.  After all, I wanted him to know that he could hate me, yell at me, and even hit me and I would not leave him.  I prayed that in time the rage would calm itself.  I really understood what he was going through.  I myself have a lot of anger, but it's (unfortunately) not socially acceptable for a 39 year old woman to punch people in the stomach and/or toss themselves on the floor at Walmart.  Despite what you sometimes witness at Walmart :-)

Counseling was a double edged sword for Gabriel.  While he seemed to look forward to those days, the aftermath was absolute torture for the rest of us.  He was typically most angry, sad, and unreasonable after being forced to discuss his actions.

Finally, we found Gabriel's savior.  He started football in late July, and the change was almost instant.  I think maybe he now has a physical hobby to focus his energy on, and maybe he is now just too tired to fight the world.  Whatever the reason, football has been a life changer in so many ways.

Gabriel is also adjusting really well to his new school.  The smallness of his elementary school helps him feel loved and taken care of.  His teacher is an angel and knows what he's going through.  Sometimes the benefits of a small town are immeasurable.

_______________________________

Both kids are now starting to open up and share fun memories about Chris.  We are trying to watch some of his favorite TV shows that we all enjoyed together (we went three months without watching a single episode of How I Met Your Mother, which had to be a new Tagle record).  We are listening to some of Chris's favorite music at night, and finding this is a way to fill the silence that he left behind.

Kids really are resilient.  In many ways, maybe even all ways, they are the reason I keep chugging along.  When you have two extraordinary little people who depend on you to keep your shit together, then keeping your shit together becomes your ultimate goal.

The Agony of Decision Making

In the first few weeks after Chris died, I remember that even the simplest decisions were hard for me.  What to wear, what to eat....I couldn't make a single choice and relied on everyone to make the simple choices for me.  I'm grateful to everyone for those weeks.  Just waking up and surviving those mornings with the kids and nights were all that I had in me.

Time has dulled that initial raw pain, but I'm still having trouble with decisions.  I wonder if this is a normal phenomenon for widows....every single decision in life goes through the "what would Chris do/want/think".  I think this is probably very normal, and it's slowly maddening.

Chris and I were a lot alike in our most basic philosophies in life, but he would definitely say that I am the soft parent while he was the disciplinarian.  I spoiled the kids while he kept a reasonable amount of humility in their lives.  He was also the ringleader of our hijinks, while I was the one who made sure the kids got to bed on time.  Quite simply, we agreed about 80% of the time, and the other 20% was healthy discussion and consensus.  That grey area is now what keeps me up at night.

Sophie wants an iphone for her birthday.  Chris would have never agreed to this, but I'm considering it for a number of invalid reasons. Mostly I'm still just not comfortable telling the kids no when they've been through so much (this must end soon).

Gabriel wanted Diet Dr. Pepper at the grocery store yesterday.  Chris would have never allowed soda in the house, much less diet soda.  I bought it....in addition to being fresh off the Whole 30 and craving diet soda like it's liquid gold, I also just couldn't muster the energy to debate soda with my seven year old. 

I'm trying to find balance in the balance beam of life.  For big, life changing decisions, I will absolutely stop and consider how Chris and I wanted to raise our children.  That includes school decisions, moral lessons, and just being as present as I possibly can.  But for the occasional carbonated caffeine, I'm going to give myself a break.  I need to trust my own beliefs now and also trust that sharing my life with Chris for almost 12 years means that a hell of a lot of his beliefs are ingrained in my personality now.

In a fit of independence, I bought some girly soap for the first time in about 10 years. Chris would not have appreciated the skin softening, lavender scented goodness, but I don't think he will mind one bit if I do.

I'm Almost 40, Time to Get Some Cats.....

It's so stupid to worry about such a thing as loneliness when I'm only 16 weeks into the loss of my husband, but holy shit am I afraid of living my life alone.

When you are in a happy and stable marriage, you never really contemplate life alone.  Over the years, you fall into a comfortable rhythm.  Your life partner is so interwoven into the tiniest details of your day.  When you lose that partner, it's amazing how even the small things are changed forever.

Chris had the liveliest, loudest, most fun personality you'd ever encounter.  He spent his last hour on Earth laughing on the phone with his best friend while watching hockey and listening to the Grateful Dead. When Chris was in a room, the room was always full of energy.

Our house seems like a library these days.  It's like we are all afraid to make a noise because our noises just don't compare to the Tagle Family Ringmaster that we all miss terribly.

I turn 40 in a couple of months.  We'd been talking about this birthday for awhile, and had really epic plans to celebrate it.  Now I'm all alone and will probably spend my milestone birthday in pajamas with wine and my own self pity.

I'm trying really hard to keep the loneliness at bay, but this miserable friend of mine keeps rearing her ugly head anytime my mind or body rests.

Rage Against the Machine

 

I still remember the five stages of grief from my high school psychology class.  What I didn't learn in class is that those stages are fluid, and some of them fit you like a warm blanket.  My stage of choice these days is anger.

I get irrationally rage-y against people who are innocuous in their selfishness.  Rational Amy knows that their words and actions are not meant to directly hurt me, and that humans are just innately selfish, but I still spit virtual venom at these harmless acquaintances daily.

My favorites are the "well, I have no idea what you're going through, but I have been through a nasty divorce" people.  I get at least one of these well meaning but misplaced ass hats weekly.  To these people, I say:  Please don't try to find our common ground.  I was in a happy marriage and my husband died in my arms.  I'm sorry your husband/wife/partner was a cheater or lazy, but we are not even close to being in the same atmosphere.

These days I also have a very low tolerance for your first world problems. Stressed out about moving?  Yeah, no. Stressed out about your job?  Poor thing.  I have weathered levels of stress that would destroy many people.  I wish others could experience just one day of real world problems, and they'd realize how completely ridiculous 90% of our daily complaints really are.

To those who have experienced the new, bitingly frank Amy, I would like to apologize, but I'm actually quite liberated by my new perspective.

Surviving the Aftermath - Talking to Your Kids

The hours immediately following Chris's death are both clear as glass to me now, while also feeling like it was some kind of nightmare from which I would eventually awake.  The completely insane thoughts that go through your head and unimaginable.

My parents drove to our house, an hour away, but weren't able to make it before Chris was declared dead.  I was kept outside while a parade of total strangers (all kind, but still strangers) kept vigil inside my home.  Please - if you aren't someone who regularly goes to a family physician, please change that now.  Unknown to me, if you die unexpectedly at home, and aren't under the care of a physician, then your body is under the jurisdiction of the state medical examiner.  It was three long, laborious hours before my house was quiet again.

During this time, I was constantly worried that the kids would wake up.  Whether you are a religious person or not, nobody can tell me that the grace of a higher power wasn't keeping their hand on my children's bedroom doors that night.  I utterly cannot believe they never woke up during the time that our house was filled with paramedics and coroners.

That night, I never slept a second.  I was utterly sick with nerves, and worried and fretted about how to tell the kids.  Gabriel would be waking up on his birthday, so my choices were to either fake it for a bit, or ruin his life in one immediate fell swoop.  I'd like to say that I was being rationale in my decision to give Gabriel a few hours of happiness, but in truth, I was being a coward.

At one point during the night, I even Googled for advice on telling the kids.  All I could find was advice on losing a pet or a grandparent.  Apparently even Google wasn't prepared for the task that lay ahead for me.

I woke the kids once the sun rose, and lied my face off.  "Did you hear some noises last night?  Daddy got really sick.  He really feels bad, but wants you to go to school this morning.  I'll come get you before lunch."  This act of cowardice allowed me some time to get my shit together, while also giving Gabriel the chance to have his classroom party.  I took the kids to school, then asked to see the guidance counselor.  I explained what had happened and asked her to be on standby later in the morning.

After making all necessary family calls, I went back to school where the principal kindly gave me an empty office.  I didn't want to break this news at home, because I knew so many negative memories would be associated with that instant, and to be honest, "home" was already perfectly obliterated for me.

The kids came in, and as gently but directly as possible, I told them "kids, the worst thing has happened to our family.  Daddy did not make it.  I am so sorry babies, but I am here for you and we will be really strong as a family".

In the hours that followed, I have never seen two children more in love with each other.  They held each other for the entire ride home, and later for the ride to my parent's home, where we would start funeral arrangements.  Sophie, my oldest, cried a lot and vocalized her despair.  Gabriel was very quiet and dazed.  These were emotions that I would grow accustomed to.

Looking back, I'm trying to not see myself as a coward in talking to the kids.  There is no right way or wrong way to explain death and loss to your babies.  It is unthinkable to tell them that their hero is gone forever, when forever is a concept that is nearly impossible for ANY human to understand and make sense of.