The Widowhood │ Preparing for Manhattan

A little under two months into our late-night phone conversations and messaging, John asks me to go and see a Broadway play with him. Out of all the worldly and cultured things I have done in my life and in my traveling, I somehow missed the Broadway play side of things. It would be my first time going to see a Broadway show and it would be the first time in over 10 years that I would be setting foot in New York City. A fact that would probably make my younger, 20-something self shudder because as an undergraduate at Rutgers, New York City and art history were my very existence.

The big event would be falling on Mother’s Day weekend, my first Mother’s Day as a widow. I had hoped my mother would just give me that and watch the kids so that I could have a true Mother’s Day: one that was about me and the cute guy I was pretty taken with at the moment. She agreed, though I felt somewhat begrudgingly. It would be the first time that I would be without all three kids and I couldn’t wait. My entire world since Phil had died had been taking care of my kids and for a moment, I got to have a weekend where I was getting to do something that I liked.

My mother had already begun trying to be in control of and become exceedingly intrusive into the entire weekend. I learned from my younger years that the best thing to do was to give answers that were truthful but did not give all the information that she was prying for. For instance, she did not need to know I would be staying in New York City that night.

Sasha Facetimes me to show me how to turn on my location for her and for my friend Lindsey who both knew I was staying in New York City that night.

“I really like the dress,” she says as I do a little twirl in front of my phone. “What are you wearing underneath it?”

I laugh. “We decided to take things slow and this whole overnight in New York City is more about just time together and not having to rush back to New Jersey.”

“And he knows you have three kids?”

I laugh again. “Yes, and he asked me if I wanted more and yes, I told him about my desire for one more. I left it open to two more because he doesn’t have kids of his own and I don’t want to take something away from him just because I am coming in with three of my own should we get serious.”

“How did he take that? Well…I’m assuming since you’re now setting up for this big date.”

“He sent me a picture last weekend when he was out with his friends of two geese with their four gooselings,” I send her the picture.

“That’s kind of adorable. Maybe the kid thing won’t be the big deal that you think it’s going to be. Are you going to answer my question about what you’re wearing underneath it?”

I show her the new underwear that I bought specifically for the new dress I also bought.

“It looks good! It’s a shame you decided not to show it this weekend,” she added slyly.

“Oh, I can’t even really think about that. I mean it’s not like I don’t want to, but for 10 years, I have only been with Phil. And then I had three kids, it all looks and feels different now after two kids naturally and a c-section. And to share that with a man that is not their father? I mean, how do you even?” I feel my face turn about 10 different shades of red.

Sasha is laughing at my innocence over the entire thing. “I think it will come naturally when you’re both ready and if he likes you, it won’t matter that your body has had three kids and is not 20-something years old anymore.”

I sigh. “I know you’re right, but not this weekend.”

“Alright not this weekend. Can I ask how long it has been?”

I hesitate. “Well, if Violet is turning two this summer and then add being pregnant with her on top of that, I mean we are heading into three years.”

“Seriously?” She’s visibly floored.

“He was a heart patient, after the last hospitalization that side of our relationship really scared me, but we wanted to try for another kid, so we did and then after that, he scared me especially after that life vest.”

A life vest is a vest that is worn by people in heart failure. It monitors the person’s heart and should their heart stop, it will shock them back into a beating heart. It is extremely sensitive, and the slightest movement will cause the vest to misread it as if their heart has stopped, causing it to send out all kids of alarms that it is about to shock the person back. People in heart failure are also very tired most of the time, so when this would happen with Phil, it would often be at night and would wake all of us up, but not him. I would then have to wake him up quickly so that the vest wouldn’t shock us both and kill me in the process. Those were some of the longest nights after his final hospitalization because after I would have him resettled and correctly monitored, I would then be putting down one if not all the children that were also woken up by the vest.

“I had no idea. And you never, I mean not like I could blame you if you did, but you never with anyone else?”

“Nope, was never even a thought. I loved my husband and I thought he would get better, and we would become better…I better go and finish packing, he’ll be here in a couple of hours.”

“Wait…you’re letting him pick you up?”

“Yes, I asked him to. I am allowing him into the inner sanctum,” I chuckle. My house has been a sort of sanctuary for me and the kids since Phil died and to allow people outside of my immediate circle into it, is kind of a big deal for me.

“Have a great time. I will check your location periodically, though I think this is going to be good. It’s really nice to see happy Katherine again, I haven’t seen her in quite a long time.”

We end our Facetime and I return to packing. I put on the soundtrack to The Notebook, the show that we were going to be seeing that night and I let my thoughts ease up. John starts texting me first with a cute video of his friend’s kids wishing him well on his date and then songs from The Greatest Showman. And despite myself, I just melt.

Dr. Katherine Kuzma-Beck HartLeave a comment

The Widowhood │ Daisy

John and I begin to message back and forth quickly. We start talking a lot of small talk about what we like and things that we do. It isn’t forced and it is not all the time, some days we do not message at all, but there is consistency in our exchanges. I find myself beginning to look forward to them, however small that they are.

          Then one day John mentions something about being at the beach and watching the sunrise. Something I used to do in another life when I was free to roam around and was not raising children. He offers to upload a picture of it to e-harmony so that I can see it, only e-harmony will not approve pictures for your account unless they are of you. In the end, he sends me his number and when I respond in a text message, he sends me a picture of the sunrise at the shore. It’s a beautiful sunrise and it’s framed nicely too, suggesting that beneath his machismo there is a creative streak and maybe even a little bit of an old soul in how he sees the world. This becomes my second favorite picture that he has sent me.

          After that the texting between us seems to grow and I find myself sharing funny stories about my arch nemesis: David the Squirrel who is the obnoxiously fat squirrel that is always doing something that ends with me and the dogs chasing it around the yard with a broom. I sometimes wonder if David is the same squirrel or if I am calling five different squirrels David. John seems to appreciate my squirrel stories.

          “Are you still talking to the guy from the internet,” my mother inquires.

          “Yeah, we’ve been texting a lot more. I have been enjoying getting to know him” I say with a little too much excitement that is enough for my mom to pick up.

          “Is it just texting, or have you guys actually spoken?”

           “So far we have just been texting pretty consistently and talking about small things, nothing major yet.” I immediately want to change the subject. My mother has a way of being very critical of my feelings and of the men that I choose to date. She will find problems where there are none and thus, begin to cause problems where there are none. And this time, I am feeling very protective of John, the internet person who I really enjoy texting and looking forward to his little messages about his life and his days.

          “Would you be as into this man as you are now even if he sounds like Donald Duck?”

          I chuckle. “I really do not think he sounds like Donald Duck.”

          “But…you don’t know that.”

          My mother has now placed the Donald Duck brain worm inside of my head because what if he does sound like Donald Duck? I am already running through a plethora of scenarios inside of my head from him being some kind of weird child predator that wants to get close to me to hurt my kids to what if he is the love of my life to what if I get so wrapped up into him and then one day he looks at me and tells me that he is done because my kids are too much? The mental Olympics that I am putting myself through daily has become exhausting and then the idea of me going through all of this and he sounds like Donald Duck in the end? I think I would be devastated. Then the next side of my overthinking pops in and I begin to question myself as to why I would be devastated if an internet person who I have only been texting sounds like Donald Duck. And then I realize: because I like him.

          In our texting exchanges of that week, we begin to discuss talking on the phone for the first time and I use it as an opportunity to make a couple jokes about what if I sounded like Daisy Duck? Would he still be interested in me? This transpires into an ongoing joke that I don’t think he ever fully understood. We plan on talking that night after I put the kids to sleep. I become eerily calm about the entire thing, and I begin to wonder what his voice really does sound like because my gut feeling is that he does not in fact have a Donald Duck voice.

A little after 8PM that night, I shoot John a text that the kids are asleep and that I was ready to talk when he was. Then, I nervously sit down in my recliner and wait either for him to respond or to call me. He shoots back a text about getting some privacy and that he would call me shortly. I exhale. It’s either Donald Duck or bust!

The quiet of my living room is broken up sometime later with the ringing of my phone. I sit staring at it for several moments before I answer it. I hold my breath and wait to hear his voice for the first time. I think I had even closed my eyes.

I do not remember how he started the conversation that night because we ultimately would become like two teenagers again, staying up for hours on the phone for weeks and being exhausted when our alarms would go off in the morning for work. I loved that innocent time of our relationship though where it was new and exciting, but also comforting.

What I do remember is how it felt to hear his voice for the first time. It was low and calming, strong and soft, but also reassuring. It was a mix of someone that I knew grew up in New Jersey and someone who has spent much of his life moving around the country, with hints and pieces of all the places that he has been. And the first time that I heard it, I was a puddle in my recliner trying to keep my own voice steady and not give a hint of the swarm of little butterflies that had suddenly found their way to my stomach.

We talked for hours that night, Violet had even woken up at one point during it and John had made a sweet comment about hearing her falling back to sleep in my lap. I have fleeting thoughts about maybe this does work out and he won’t be scared off by the idea of a widow with three small children.

Towards the end of our conversation, I even make the joke, “So, are you sure you want to keep talking to a widow with three small kids?”

He laughed. “Well, you being a widow is something that drew me to your profile and now that I know how old Logan is, I assume you were with Phil for a while?”

“Yes, we were married for almost six years and together for almost 10.”

“And he married you which means he could stand you.”

I laughed. “I guess that is a different perspective of marriage and widowhood.”

“It’s late and I am sure you would like to get Violet back to bed.”

“I would, but I have really enjoyed talking to you.”

“Me too, I am twitterpated. Goodnight, Daisy.”

I am thankful he can not see the goofy smile I am sure is plastered across my face. “Goodnight, Donald.”

I click off the call and the room is silent again. I remain sitting in my recliner with my daughter, enjoying the silence. It has somehow changed all together. The room feels different, like the heavy weight that had permeated the house lifted and a new and welcome change is coming through. I am still smiling like an idiot when I ever so gently go back upstairs with Violet and lay down.

I too am twitterpated.

Dr. Katherine Kuzma-Beck HartLeave a comment

The Widowhood │ E-harmony

I cannot get over the cost of e-harmony, it is blowing my mind. For whatever reason, maybe it’s the loneliness or the desire that has begun to grow within me about being with someone again, but whatever it is, I find myself sitting in the darkness of my living room completing the personality profile. I figure that the worst case is that somehow it matches me with Todd again if he was still out there and the best case would be that I would meet someone that I liked. I was pretty much convinced that this was not going to lead to anything, but I was feeling ready to be open to the possibility of meeting someone.

Then, I dragged my feet for much for February to buy into the $600 price tag. The secret to e-harmony I found during that time is that the more that you say no to them, the more they email you offers of better pricing until you do finally commit to the weird world of online dating. And so, for $250 and a payment plan, I had finally committed to the Melanie-approved e-harmony where people who are serious about finding a long term committed relationship sign up.

Fairly quickly, I had men messaging me which surprised me because while I did not divulge everything about myself, I did say that I was a widow and that I had three small children. While I knew that this was going to be a lot for me, allowing a new man into my life, I also knew what I was not going to be able to accommodate. I knew I did not want someone who had been married because I did not want to deal with an ex-wife, and I also wanted someone who was going to be new to the marriage game if the relationship went there. I wanted that because in so many ways, I too would be new to the marriage game. I spent so much of my first marriage as a care giver and a provider that I wanted someone who was going to figure out how a marriage was supposed to be, how you take care of each other and figure out what each of your duties were going to be with one another. I didn’t want someone who had a ton of baggage from a failed marriage, but rather someone who was looking forward to finding someone that they wanted to make that kind of commitment to and I them.

I didn’t want someone with kids because I knew it was going to be hard enough with my three kids. I thought that if I dated someone with their own kids, it would just be too much on me and too much on my kids never mind what that meant for the man that I was dating. The Brady Bunch lifestyle was not something that was too appealing to me and even now, I still can’t say that I would want to date someone with kids because you also then have to deal with their mother, and it is not very often that co-parenting situations are amicable especially when it comes to women. Being a widowed mom is hard enough.

And what some of my friends or as I came to call them, my e-harmony tribunal, thought was the most shocking was that I did not want to date someone in education. I had and still have zero interest in dating someone within the same field as me and that is because I wanted someone who could teach me new things and talk about their career and their aspirations that were very different from what you find in the educational system. I did not want every discussion we had to be about school, school politics and the shenanigans that you can often share as a classroom teacher. I am also more conservative than a lot of people in education and therefore knew that politically it would cause conflict as well. I would frequently repeat what I told my mother just after Christmas when she began this e-harmony push: I wanted someone like my grandfather who was moral and conservative, who worked with his hands, but was smart and educated and creative in their own way and enjoyed the outdoors and gardening. Someone who came from a big family and loved his mother but was not a mama’s boy.

The first attempts at taking myself out of a 10 year long relationship was responding to messages from men that did not fit what I knew I was looking for. There was Zach, a man that was about Phil’s age so another eight-year age gap. He also divorced and had two kids, but they were teenagers and he lived nearby. We spent a week talking about movies we liked before it just kind of fizzled. Then there was Shawn, a man who was recently separated from his wife that had been his high school sweetheart and he had a teenage son. He was very nice, but I did not like the fact that he was still married. I did not want to get involved with a married man, even if he was separated and it was also clear that he was still reeling from his wife of 25 years deciding that she didn’t want to be married anymore. I eventually stopped responding because I knew that we weren’t going to go anywhere. Then there was a guy whose name I can not even remember, but he immediately became very pushy with me about meeting me and sent me a picture of his new tattoo and it was one on his hand between his thumb and pointer finger that said, “your throat here.” I immediately blocked him.

I felt myself getting discouraged. I have never had the best dating stories. I often will attract men who have commitment issues and who will date me and want all the good parts of dating me, but when it comes to a conversation about what we are or where we are going, it all just falls to pieces quickly. Before I met my husband, I had spent over a year with Aaron. We got close very fast, but then when I would ask what it was that we were to each other, I would be told that we were friends. It was a constant back and forth. He was too screwed up from his ex-girlfriend getting an abortion behind his back some years before and I was getting fed up with being treated like an option. Ultimately, we became very serious very fast and then broke up just as quickly as it all had changed.

After that, I swore to myself I would never again want to be with a man that wasn’t serious about life and who liked to drink. We both enjoyed a lot of cocktails together and a part during that period of my life. After my husband died and I entered a reflective period, I looked back at the big relationships from my past, including Aaron, and I found out that he had eventually gotten married and had a daughter. I smiled when I saw that because despite his issues, I always knew that he was going to be a good partner and a father, and I was happy that he had finally found someone that made him want to become that man even if that woman wasn’t me. I wished them well.

          In many ways, it was because of Aaron that I chose my husband. I thought that Phil’s nerdiness was safer than choosing a more manly man like Aaron. Phil also was ready to commit to me very quickly and I liked that, there were no games or second guessing, we had gone on a date and saw each other almost every day for two weeks after before we sat in his car after too many beers and declared that we were together. It had been that easy and the rest was history.

          Only now in the haze of grief and letting go of my 10 year long relationship with Phil did I realize how much I missed that sort of masculinity that comes from a more manly man. I wanted someone who would stand up to me and mean it, I wanted someone who could fix things and build things, I wanted someone who loved through providing and protecting. I craved a masculine man in my life and men whining about soon to be ex-wives were not going to cut it.

          “So, are you just replying to men that contact you,” asked Sasha, in her loving but intrusive voice that she has perfected over years of love and friendship.

          “Yeah, of course what else do you do in dating apps?”

          She sighs. “Katherine…YOU can like THEM.” She gives me her Sasha doing Sasha things stare.

          I roll my eyes. “That is just so, I can’t even think about that.”

          “Look if you’re ready to put yourself out there, then really put yourself out there. If you come across someone on here that you like, then send them a like. The worst case is that they will not send you one back, but who cares then? No?”

          I snatch back my phone. “Stop doing Sasha things.”

          She grins. Sasha has been one of my best friends since college and whenever she would come over, some big project always ensued because Sasha is the kind of friend that wants you to do better so she makes you do better even if you’re not in the right mindset to. Phil would call this “Sasha doing Sasha things.” It was the perfect way to describe it and a sentiment that has become part of our friendship lexicon ever since.

          Later that night after I got the kids to bed, I sat again in my dark bedroom looking at e-harmony. I guess she was right because what did it matter if I liked someone and they didn’t like me back, this wasn’t middle school gym anymore. With a soft exhale, I pull up the list of men in my area and I expand it to most of South Jersey, including the shore. Can’t hurt, right?

          I scroll through many profiles that don’t resonate with me. I liked a couple but didn’t really care much as I did it. Then, I swipe into John’s profile. It’s different than other men on the site. All his photos are ones taken of him doing outside things and fishing. There may have been one selfie, but other than that he did not come across as a man that was too into himself. There aren’t any weird ones of him hanging out with a borrowed kid or posing with some weird toy to show how great he may be with kids or how playful he is, something a lot of men do on these sites that I always thought was weird. The only thing that gives me pause is that he has the same name as my high school sweetheart. I laugh at myself, the original John and I had dated through college and out of all of my relationships, it was probably one of the better ones and even to this day, after all of these years, if I were to call him he would pick up and we would catch each other up on our lives as the old friends that I think we always truly were over romantic partners. His parents had even reached out when they had heard that Phil had died and sent my children Christmas gifts that year. They were my adoptive family at a time in my life where my own family was crazy with my parent’s divorce, and I am thankful for the years of Friday night pizza and Saturday night Chinese food that were most of the years of my late teens and early twenties.

          I am most taken by a photo of John standing in a room somewhere in his tool belt. His eyes are very bright in that photo, and they are a piercing blue. They are kind and honest eyes that make me feel very drawn to him which also makes me feel a little uneasy and nervous because this was just a picture of a guy on the internet. I think to myself: this man is going to have absolutely no interest in me with three small kids and a dead husband, but if he likes me back, I would love to talk to him. I hit the like button and put down my phone, unable to stop thinking about the man on the internet with the piercing blue eyes.

          By the next day, he has liked me back and for a moment I sit there staring at the e-harmony prompting of why don’t you message him? Because e-harmony, if he truly liked me then he would have messaged me so we will wait there for Mr. Blue Eyes to sit down and write a message.

          “And? Did you like anyone last night,” Sasha asks over the noise of her car and her daughter. She calls me when she gets out of work to check in and is usually taking her daughter to a practice or whatever else.

          “I did, several of them.” I sit back in my recliner, folding my free arm over my stomach. My kids are playing with mega blocks and completely occupied for the moment.

          “That’s great! I am proud of you. Anyone good stand out?”

          I get quiet. I take a moment. “Promise you’re not going to think I’m weird?”

          She laughs. “Katherine, we have been friends for almost 20 years, I know you’re weird and I love you for it.”

          I smile, she’s right. “So, there was one guy that kind of stood out. He has down to earth photos and even his profile of what he is looking for is normal and there is this one photo I have probably looked at one too many times because his eyes are just, I don’t even know how to describe it and yes, I know it’s weird because it’s an internet person!”

          Sasha is laughing. She knows when I like someone. “Are you guys talking now? Send me a picture, I want to see him.”

          “No, we liked each other.” I text her the picture that I have looked at too many times.

          “Katherine! Message him.” She’s interrupted by her daughter, but she quickly follows up with, “Oh well he’s cute. I get it.”

          “It’s the eyes, right?” I try to hide this weird little swoon thing that I keep catching myself doing. “Well, he can message me. I mean what do I even say?”

          “Hi is a good place to start,” her voice trails off, preoccupied with whatever her daughter is asking.

          She rushes off the phone, mom life is calling and soon it is calling me too.

          Alone again in the darkness of my room, I am staring at my open like from John. I could just message him and say hello, but I keep reminding myself in my head that I am a widow with three kids and who would ever want to deal with all of that? If he really wanted to get to know me then he would message me.

          Two weeks later, he did.

Dr. Katherine Kuzma-Beck HartLeave a comment

THE WIDOWHOOD │ A MIXED MARRIAGE

The things I loved about Phil were the opposite of the things that I hated about Phil. I loved that he was creative and smart. I loved that he was a romantic and would do things like buying me a gold rose for special things and anniversaries so that in the end I would always have a dozen roses in the house. In the end, he didn’t make it to a full 12 before he died, but he got close.

When we were dating, he would call me instead of texting me. He would write me cards and letters when he felt moved to share feelings. He told me he loved me often and never made me second guess him, which in many ways played into the total breakdown of my romantic love for him when I found out about the cheating after he died. I had never felt romantic love for someone die so quickly and I was shocked at how fast it happened considering that he had been my husband and that we had children together. It began after the call from Scott, but I don’t think it was fully truly dead until I called his mistress several months later and asked what had gone on.

“I knew he was married,” she said. “But, it was what it was and eventually I did cut things off. It began around late 2017.”

We had been married in November of that year and I was already pregnant with our eldest by that point. He was his father in the end. I was floored.

She went on about other things, about the last time they saw each other a couple of nights before he died and swore that all that had happened was actual moving and she may have touched his arm. Was that supposed to make me feel better? She had the audacity to ask about my boys and if they were talking. I would come to find out later that this is something that Phil would openly put down our children about which I found amusing considering that their speech stuff was inherited from his side of the family. His mother’s sister told me in one moment of clarity that her children all had speech issues.

After our eldest got a diagnosis, I began to read and research all that I could about what he had going on and what I could do to help him. Would he ever talk? Would we all need to learn sign language? I was relieved when it was clear that he would talk, that he would most likely overcome this with regular support and therapy. My research also led me to the reality of how my life choices in choosing Phil as their father played a role in the speech issues.

Phil came from a family where alcoholism, addiction and womanizing where things that you talked badly about, but for the most part was largely accepted because everyone either was one or all three. They would run their mouths about it when the person was being an addict, an alcoholic or a womanizer, but it was always accepted in some regard because it was what it was. However, if someone in the family showed something like a learning disability, it was immediately shunned, swept into a dark corner and blame assigned wherever they could but never something that came from them, because their bloodline was so perfect. It was a very weird juxtaposition and one that I never understood. It led Joanne and Kaitlyn to calling our son retarded among many other hurtful things to the point where I told my husband before he died that I was absolutely done with all of them. In many ways, I was thankful when they chose to stay away over us protecting our children instead of enabling a chaotic addict.

However, it was this inability within his family to love and support someone who was developmentally different that I believe led to the kind of life that my husband led. Our eldest carries a diagnosis of childhood apraxia of speech which means that he can think of the words he wants to say but there is a disconnect between his brain and his mouth that deals with motor planning so he can’t always say what he wants to. Apraxia can present often with autism, but our son was tested, and we were told he was one of the super small segments of the population that is not autistic, but is apraxic and that with the proper love, support, and speech therapies that he would most likely over come it and be a fully articulate adult. The good news is, that after years of supporting him, he is now intelligible and people outside of my family can understand him. He will navigate school on his own next year for the first time and at the end of last year even earned student of the month for his grade level because of how far he has come and how much he has recovered academically. I am very excited as his mom to see how he blossoms in the new school year, because I truly feel that this is the year where he levels out and he hits his grade level all around.

It was in my research of childhood apraxia of speech that I discovered some studies that were hinting at a link between having a parent with ADHD and the child developing with apraxia. In the 10 years that I spent with my husband and in the 15 years of experience I have in special education, I could tell you without even taking that man to be screened, that he was the epitome of an undiagnosed adult with ADHD that never had the therapies or supports needed to become a fully functioning adult. A conversation with Joanne in earlier years, confirmed my thoughts when she had mentioned that they had had my husband tested but they found that he only had a touch of ADHD. I knew when she said it how full of it, she truly was, because even in the 1970’s to 1980’s no doctor or child study member was going to tell you that your child had a touch of anything—your child either has a diagnosis or they don’t. And I am sure that my husband did have one and it was ignored for much of his life because that is just something that could not possibly exist in their family.

As creative as he was, he was also a mess. He was scattered in his thoughts, he always had little piles and little things scattered around the house, often stepping over his things instead of acknowledging them. He always had to be moving or entertained by something, or he couldn’t control himself. His lack of focus on pretty much everything in life was sometimes all together mind blowing. In hindsight, I wish I could have seen his struggles earlier, but the adult problems I faced when we were married and having to be someone’s full on support took over being able to have clarity in all situations.

However, it was this chaotic mess that I think also made Phil very funny. His mind would race faster than the words that he could get out of his mouth most times. When he became impassioned by something, he would go on what we would call a Phil Rant. They would be epically long rants, full of strung together thoughts about whatever made him angry in the moment. They would be about anything from friend gossip to political opinions to one of his timeless rants about Rory in the Gilmore Girls. Sometimes he would become so enthralled in them that you would be laughing so hard that it would hurt to breath. That was Phil though, a larger-than-life persona who knew how to make people laugh, make people feel comfortable like you knew him your entire life and command a room. Those were the good parts of him and the parts that I hold on to when his children ask me about their dad. Sure, they will ask me about the other stuff too especially now that I have chosen to publicly write about it, but the one lesson I got from my marriage and loving Phil, was something that my dad said to me in the kitchen after my husband died and I told him about the cheating and how I just couldn’t understand why he just didn’t take care of himself while I did everything else.

“Katherine,” he said, “Sometimes, love is just not enough.”

  A simple, very truthful statement coming from my very German, often overly stoic father that I have held onto since. In the weeks and months since I found out about the actual state of my marriage, I have found myself in the selfish thoughts about how could he have done this to me and our family, but then I stop myself because I realize that he had done all of this not because of a lack of love for me or even for our kids, but a lack of love for himself that supersedes my appearance in his life. He was born out of another’s man’s chaotic life of jumping from woman to woman, family to family and in turn never got what he needed to become a fully functional adult capable of making a real commitment to me or let alone to himself. He lacked stability in his most formative years and that played out well into his adult life. However, his charisma and his charm always seemed to get himself out of hot water and on a snowy January evening, caught the eye of a young teacher who thought that his nerdy hobbies were cute and at least that meant he wasn’t a bar scene kind of a guy.

One of the last heart to heart conversations that Phil and I had with one another before he died happened in our living room. He had come in from somewhere, walked over to me and gave me a kiss.

I probably said something like, “What was that for?”

He smiled at me, the tender smile that he would give me when he felt total love for me in a moment. “Thank you. I was never about the house, and the dogs and the kid stuff, but having done this with you, it just feels…really nice. I never knew how nice it could all be.”

I gave him a heartfelt smile, because even when it was hard between us, there was still those moments where it was…really nice.

“Sometimes I have wondered if you love because you’re not big on expressing your feelings, but then I think about times like when I came home from the hospital this last time and you had the entire house set up for me to recover in, including a refrigerator filled with kale and it’s the stuff like that, that when I think about it, I know how much you really do love me.”

I gently reached over and touched his hand. “I love you, Phil.”

“I love you too, Pigeon. Thank you for being my wife.”

And we hugged for a bit, both teary eyed before Phil sat back and made a joke about how crying wasn’t manly and that someone must have turned the heat up because he is sweating and needs to go wash his face. I returned to whatever it was I had been doing before he came in. It was these moments that made me hold onto the idea that Phil and I would always find a way back to each other even in the chaos of kids and the house and the dogs and whatever else life was going to throw at us because I always did believe that love was enough.

It took me falling out of love with Phil to realize that my dad was right. Love is not enough, it also takes a shared vision, loyalty, and unwavering commitment to one another for love to last a lifetime. Things that Phil was just not capable of offering me though I have no doubt he loved me and our kids in the best and only ways he knew how to. I think that the reason God brought Phil and I together was so that I could have three kids and learn what it meant to be a wife in the hard times. I think the reason God gave me to Phil was so that Phil could know what it was like to be loved loyally and honestly until his last breath because that is not something that he had not had in his lifetime before me. My dad is right in that love is not enough sometimes, but I think sometimes love is meant to teach us and to lead us home. For Phil, that was to the end of his life and back to God. For me, I think that story is still being written.  

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The Widowhood │The First Christmas

By the time the first Christmas is coming, my entire life has become upheaved from the summertime. I went back to work at a new job, I was a single mother and not much of my life made sense anymore. I knew though that if I just kept going that my kids would be okay and that in time life would feel okay again.  

My mother has started her prodding of me. “Well, you know, Melanie, my hairdresser told me that when you’re ready you should go onto eharmony because people on that site tend to be looking for real relationships and not just hookups.” 

“Mom, it’s only been three months. I can’t even think about that right now. Maybe I am just meant to be alone for the rest of my life now?” 

“Oh Kath, please. You’re meant to find someone who is going to be a good husband to you and a father to those kids. I get it though, you’re not ready, but when you are…Melanie tells me it’s eharmony.” 

I roll my eyes. “Don’t you remember Todd?” 

She laughs. “Cloth napkin Todd!” 

“Yes, big Valentines Day dinner cloth napkin Todd who came off of eharmony and then dumped me because I wasn’t sleeping with him fast enough.” 

“Well, he was named…Todd. But maybe you’ll meet another widower with kids and you will be like a modern-day Brady Bunch.” 

“I have no desire.” I start to pace around my living room, stepping over kid’s toys.  

“For what meeting someone or brady bunching?” 

“Both, but if I met someone, I don’t want someone who was married, I don’t want someone with kids and I surely do not want another widower so we can both sit there and cry over our dead spouses. I want someone who likes what I like and wants to do things and likes my kids.” 

“So, I am hearing that you have thought about this.” 

I put my fist to my forehead and squint my eyes. “I guess somewhat, yes, I have thought about what kind of man I want to be with if there ever is another man.” 

“Well, how far did you get? What kind of man is he then?” 

I sigh, I should have just stopped talking, but I didn’t. “He’s a man like grandpa. He’s moral and believes is Jesus. He’s conservative and he works with his hands, likes the outdoors and taking hikes. He’s creative in his own way, it doesn’t have to be painting and writing like me, but something that he’s into maybe photography. He likes old houses and thrifting and gardening. He’s manly, but nerdy and likes watching old movies with me. He comes from a big family, loves his mother, but isn’t obsessed with her.” I clear my throat to stop from crying. “And he wants to be a husband. He just doesn’t want me to be a wife.” 

“This is very detailed for something you haven’t thought about. And very you, you always did want a big family.” 

“My thoughts are all I have once the kids go to bed.” I start to pick up the toy field that is my living room floor. I really should have stopped talking.  

“I get it though, you’re note ready. When you are though, there’s eharmony!” 

“Yes, I know, Melanie approved eharmony. Got it. Mom, I must go one of Phil’s friends is calling me.” 

“Okay, bye. I love you, Kath. You’re doing good.” 

I am not ready for a mom call and a Phil’s friend call all in the same hour, but it is what it is. I see Scott’s name coming across the screen and switch calls.  

“Hey Scott, what’s up?” I continue picking up the toy field. 

“Oh hey Katherine, not much just figured I would give you a call and check in and see how Christmas and stuff went with the kids.” 

“That’s nice of you. It went well, just kind of trying to get the house in order. I started to go through Phil’s things. I was able to get into his phone.” I paused as I remembered what I wanted to ask Scott. “I got into his Discord. I saw some messages between him, and I think it’s your ex-girlfriend.” 

There’s a weighted silence. “Oh well uh yeah, I guess if you’re ready to talk about that. We can.” 

This was not a response I was expecting. Talk about what? “Yeah, there was some stuff that I thought was weird, like not fully inappropriate, but not things you should be saying to someone if you’re in a relationship let alone if you’re married.” 

Scott clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to say, but knowing all to well there was no backing away now. “Katherine…it was before we dated. I mean she is whacked out of her mind, we all know that, but you know how Phil always had a way with people.” 

I feel the air catching in my lungs. The room is becoming unbearable. I drop all of the toys that I was holding.  

“Look, she told me about it before we made it official. I knew about it before, I told Phil he needed to stop and if he didn’t that, I was going to go straight to you just like he did when I cheated on my ex-wife.” 

There is no air in the room. It is like a vacuum chamber.  

“I know she was the last one of us from the friend group to see him, I don’t know if they did anything that night he was at her apartment.” 

“At her apartment,” I choke out. The last thing Phil did two nights before he died was help his friend Mike move, what would he have been doing at her apartment.  

“Yeah, when he helped her move in. I just know it was a lot of online stuff for years.” 

A heavy silence falls in between us. My mind racing back to when we were first married and I was pregnant with our eldest. His last girlfriend that he had had before we met had come back around and to me, he had said that she wanted closure. I later found out she had been trying to rekindle things and now I had wondered if they had? Then I thought back to Kaitlyn’s wedding and how he had disappeared with one of her friends and Kaitlyn took great pleasure in telling me that he cheated on me with her, though Phil and the family that he had been with swore up and down that Kaitlyn was exaggerating a drunk walk Phil took with her back to her hotel room to make sure she got into it okay.  

“Katherine? Are you there?” 

I’m suddenly sucked back into the airless room. “Yeah, Scott, I have to go the kids are getting into something. We’ll have to talk about this later.” 

I hang up and walk upstairs to where my kids were playing in the boys’ room. I help them clean up their toys, give them their lavender baths and lay down with them until they are asleep. I get up after they are asleep and take one of the anxiety pills that my doctor told me to start taking to help with the panic attacks, I keep waking up into thinking that someone is dying again. It is just a high dose of Benadryl but it usually allows me to sleep, only it is not doing a thing to me that night. 

I find myself on my computer googling eharmony. I start doing the much too long personality test that they make you do. I get about halfway through it when I see the $600 price tag. I close my computer and sit in the darkness of my bedroom.  

“You truly are unbelievable, Phil, wherever you are.”  

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The Widowhood │When the After Isn’t Forever Either

I follow a lot of young widows on social media. In the early days, it was how I got through the hard stuff. I would watch them and think that God has a plan for me and the kids and that in the end, we were going to be happy again.

I did not have an easy marriage. In order to make my relationship and eventual marriage work, I had to move to Phil. I had to take on over an hour-long commute despite constantly applying for more local jobs that never happened. I had to live 6 minutes away from his abusive family. And then when our eldest was only a year old his health stuff began, and I went from wife and new mother to his constant care giver. I did everything. I was the provider, I was the caretaker of the house and when I was not working, I was with our kids. He appreciated none of it and as I look back now, I realize how much of a narcissist he truly was. Everything was ALWAYS about him unless it came to his friends that he would bend over backward for because he liked how it made him look and if I didn’t do the one thing he wanted at that moment, it was always flipped into “I wonder if you love me?” Really? And even after he died, I stayed the very true widow and made sure he was buried the way he would have wanted. I did the duty that I felt I owed from my wedding vows. Imagine the gut punch feeling I got when I later discovered his mistress and six months after he died sat on the phone with her finding out how this had all begun in what I would have described as the happy years of our marriage. In the end, he was just like his womanizing father– something he said he always never wanted to be like.

That is another story all together, but it made me begin to pray a lot. I prayed that God would send me a life partner, someone who loved me and my kids. Who wanted to be a husband, someone who was just not looking for a wife. Someone who would want to have a baby with me and give me the chance to really be a mom, not the exhausted one my kids have been used to. Someone who wanted me to be their wife, because I really want to get to be a wife since that too is something I feel like I was cheated out of the first time.

And I believed what other widows told me, that I would meet someone and it would happen quickly because God has a way of watching out for widows. So, I began online dating and after talking to several people, I thought I had met someone that seemed to want what I wanted: honesty and connection. I have never in my life been as vulnerable or as honest as I was from the moment I entered that relationship. If asked, I shared it no matter how hard it was. Only as time had gone on I felt as though I had opened up my entire life to him, but he never did the same to me. Sure, he did very loving things, spent most of his time with me and my kids, but never seemed to want to take it further, never wanted me in his life. After a year and some months, I finally ask about living together and it was just met with a total stone wall. At first it was avoiding me altogether and letting me sit in very hurt feelings for weeks and then it was coming over to talk, but I knew if he came with a truck he had already made his decision. He was already packing up what he had here, and we hadn’t even talked about us yet. And then suddenly I am told how he doesn’t want to be a stepdad and it’s not like my kids can even talk (they can, but one is overcoming CAS and their siblings are overcoming growing up with an older sibling with CAS as well as the trauma of having their dad die in front of them). And then suddenly I am standing in my driveway, alone and crying at 2 o’clock in the morning with my heart doubly broken as first, a woman and then as a mother.

I don’t know why God directed me to him in this life. I spent too much time grieving an unfaithful husband and then I opened up my whole self, my whole heart to someone that despite the ridiculous marriage I had…that I trusted and in turn, looked at me like what I had said I wanted was the craziest thing, even though we had talked about all of this on probably or second or third time together. So, I have spent a lot of this summer crying and also cleaning out my life and facing the things I couldn’t before like the dogs I had to handle. And also, the toxic things that lingered in my life that I should have addressed when I was married but always let it go. I can see that is where I was not a good wife nor girlfriend and I should have handled that differently than I had.

I am starting a new job in the fall and that has kept me anchored in that I will once again be lecturing college and teaching high school seniors. Between that and the kids, it has kept me going even on the days where I wish I could just crawl into bed and cry myself to sleep for days. And at night I still say a prayer to God that out there somewhere is a man who is going to love me and my kids and want to be a stepdad to my kids and want to be my husband. And who wants to complete my family…our family with me. Sometimes your faith and hope are all you have because sometimes a widow doesn’t get her happy ending, but rather another heart break that she has to recover from.

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The Widowhood │Clarity

I think one of the things that no one understands until they themselves live through a totally traumatic experience is that there is a fog that settles over you. It’s almost like when you are small and jump into a pool and open your eyes. All of your senses are present, but everything else is dull and muffled. It’s all very real, but it’s also very filtered…foggy.

That is what the aftermath of trauma feels like. I think it is even worse when you continue to live in the same place where that trauma happened. Everything around you has stayed the same, but there is a big hole where the hand of God came into your life and ripped something big away. Well-meaning people come in and want to tell you all that you have to do, but that’s the worst thing you can do to someone who is traumatized. People need to learn that their opinions aren’t fact and what is more helpful is to just shut up for a long time because what comes after the initial trauma is the heaviest grief. The old metaphor of grief being like an ocean is so very real. Only that ocean of grief then sucks you into a tunnel. It’s a dark tunnel that you feel like you’re looking up from. You’re at the bottom, things are less muffled you’re feeling more again, but it’s still not the same as before so you keep squinting and looking up at the light of hope and remember that while your husband’s life ended, your journey has not and there is more to come.

You start to begin your life again. You start dating again. You start building new friendships. You start thinking about what life is going to look like without your husband who in end turned out to not be the life partner you thought you had. I still can’t tell you what the bigger betrayal is when I look back on my life– that one relationship you thought was going to be something when you were young and dumb or your husband choosing not to take care of himself and die at 43 years old totally abandoning you in a life that sets you up for one of the loneliest lives as a single mom of three kids. Anger begins to bubble.

Your anger turns into making your space your own again. Maybe it’s small little things like painting and clearing spaces. You get rid of their stuff, saving things for your children that in 20 years from now they too will probably throw into the garbage but at that point it will be their choice to have done it. You think life is moving forward again. Things are good.

Only then your little raft begins to crumble because these were merely bridges in the end. And you plunge back into grief again, but it’s a new grief. The grief of things not working out which in turn brings a clarity with it that you needed. The clarity over people and situations that for your entire life you tolerated their behavior, never speaking up because there would never be any talking, there would just be how you were the problem. Only with clarity you see that you never were, but that keeping your mouth shut to keep the peace was in fact a trauma response in and of itself. Then suddenly your voice erupts quite loudly and to your surprise people begin to shut up.

And you begin to face wrapping up the last of your life from before. This has been an entire series of events in my recent life, but the big one was finally addressing the dogs that I had with Phil. After another blow out fight with my dad about it, I realized that I had been holding onto the dogs because the kids got them with their dad and it was Phil who named them, one of the last things he did with us. And then on the morning that he died, he had died taking the dogs out that morning. It was all so wrapped up in that Saturday and the months before he died, but it took me this long to realize it. To everyone else it’s so easy oh, just start over, but starting over even with the dogs is a journey. A very personal one and the answer isn’t always just to do it to make your life easier. Sometimes, what you need is to hold onto something until you’re ready to let it go.

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The Widowhood │ Nighttime Reflections

I was 27 years old when I met my husband.

I was 37 years old when I was burying him.

Three kids, two houses, all of Europe, most of the East coast and a whirlwind of life later, I was alone again.

I had met him on a blind date. A coworker of mine had insisted that I meet him.

We went out to dinner, got coffee and grabbed a movie. And that was it, we were together from that point forward.

I had spent the six years previous to meeting him getting my career together and graduate school completed and dating emotionally unavailable men because I was really still in love with my ex-boyfriend. Though, at the time I would never have admitted that. And then I met my husband, and I thought THIS WAS WHY it all had to play out like it did and wasn’t I glad that it did, because it meant I had found my other half.

I had only ever wanted to get married once and I wanted it to be with the right person. He was the right person for me.

Only God had other plans and now I am sitting up late when I should be asleep, going over my life in my head and wondering what do I do with my life next?

The first six months were almost easy in that I knew it meant that I had to get the house and my life together to maintain my kids’ lives. And I did that. However, now I think about me. What does life have in store for me?

Had you asked me that last summer I would have bubbled over about my book deal and having my last baby.

I am turning 38 this summer and I put the book deal on hold to focus on kids and unless I meet someone with the next couple of years, my daughter will be my last baby. I am okay with that I guess…I just wish I got to have that moment most women have where they choose that they are done and are an active part of letting go of that part of their life. For me, it was chosen for me unless I meet someone who wants kids relatively soon. Just like it was chosen for me that my marriage has ended and I am a widow after only having been married for five almost six years.

Maybe this is me finding my anger in my grief?

I should just crawl back into bed and cry to the Kacey Musgraves version of I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You…if you need a good cry yourself, turn that puppy on. Gets my glasses foggy every time.

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The Widowhood │ Six Months In…

Life comes at you pretty quickly. I thought that I had mine figured out for the moment…I had the house I wanted to grow old in with the husband I wanted to grow old with and three amazing kids. I was getting up for a wine festival…my first thing to do kid free in years and I came downstairs to find my husband in full blown cardiac arrest on our deck.

And in that instance, I would never be the same again. We would never be the same again.

It’s been over six months since I lost the love of my life. And for the most part, life has found it’s calm again. My main focus has always been our home and our children. In that respect, I have existed almost in a bubble of their life and needs. It has only been recently that I have wanted to de-bubble somewhat.

Eating when you’re grieving I think it the strangest thing. I know that I have to because of my kids and because I am still breastfeeding our youngest, but since he died nothing tastes the same anymore. Nothing is the same. On the nights that it gets really bad I often will make just a side. I call it grief sides and it’s manageable to eat a bowl of stuffing or Texas toast on the super hard nights though even then not enjoyable as you would think.

Doing anything beyond what I had to do has been hard. I don’t read books or paint unless it’s related to getting the house in order. I find myself zoning out to energy healers on YouTube after my kids go to sleep until I finally fall asleep.

Because the anxiety of being a widow is something else. I worry about being the sole provider for my family. I worry about my kids now growing up in a single parent household. I worry about what is happening to my husband’s body. And then very recently, I started to think about what my life is going to start looking like moving forward.

Will I be alone for the rest of my life? Will I find love again? Will I get to have more children? Why did this happen to us? Why did this happen to me?

I was never lucky in the love department. I had two big loves in my life–one I left because I was so in love with him and it was clear he was just going to play games and then the other, died randomly on a bright fall morning taking our dogs outside. For years, I thought I went through all that came before my husband so that I could meet my husband…the night that I met him I came home, called my mom and told her I had met the man I was going to marry. That’s how *right* it all felt with him from the moment I met him.

And I guess the point was that we would come together, have a really good marriage and have three amazing kids…but I just thought we would also get to see our kids grow up together as we grew old, watching our bodies fall apart and laughing and dancing our way through it all.

I guess I just wonder what is next…will I raise my kids and travel the world looking at cool art and cultures by myself? Will I meet someone again?

I just don’t know, but I do know, I am having such an urge to find myself in all of this. I lost myself to marriage and motherhood for a long time and now I guess I have time to reflect on it all and am realizing that there is more out of life that I want and somehow I just have to find the courage and the energy to move passed the exhaustion of grief and being a single mom to find those pieces of myself again and nourish them.

.

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The Widowhood │ You’re Going to Cry Over the Weirdest Shit

The first time I realized that grieving the love of my life would mean crying over the weirdest shit was when I was in the midst of planning his funeral. I had to get clothes together to bury him in and that meant, I would have to do a load of his laundry, so he had clean underwear.

This would be the last time I would be washing his underwear for him.

I was emotionally unraveled at that point. There was the active role I played in his death: finding him, trying to save him, the 911 call, the police, the paramedics and so on. Then, I had already had to deal with people I could go with never having to see again in my life, I had to write his obituary which was a day long saga filled with many tears and sobs trying to get it like I knew he would want it to be, and then came the drama of not having a plot to bury him in until hours before his funeral. I got myself through it all though.

I would have loved in my bathroom never had painted tiles or spray paint over all of that wallpaper.

It was the underwear though that sent me into sobs on our laundry room floor.

However, the next morning my daughter and I went to the funeral home and delivered an outfit I knew he would want along with clean underwear and socks. And on the day, he was buried, he looked very much like he did in life with everything I knew he would have wanted with him.

I have been doing alright since. Some days are so hard and other days it feels okay again. Christmas was really good, but the days that followed were very hard. Then, so much of the house decided to fall apart: the chimney, the fence, and our bathroom all decided in one way or the other to just fall apart.

Thankfully, I have been able to deal with most of it. Tomorrow begins what I am sure will be a saga with the bathroom. However, it was once again something weird like a bathroom that sent me into tears on the floor. So much of Phil’s health problems revolved around that bathroom. I would often be scared that it would be the bathroom that I would find him in. However, it was not in the end.

Oh did I cry though as I cleaned out our bathroom today because by tomorrow it will look nothing like our bathroom anymore. I should be thankful for that and I am, because it was the one room of our house I absolutely hated. It was beat up, painted over tile that renters went to town in. They even spray painted over the wallpaper that had been in there. It was just a terrible room that no matter how much I cleaned it, always felt dirty and old and the paint was just peeling off of every tile. I was able to go through his things, paint our bedroom and make space for myself…but this dumb bathroom was going to send me into sobs on the tile floor…

Because it is something else that is moving me on from the space I shared with my husband. Our married couple space will be completely different from the one that we shared.

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