The Widowhood │ The Magic of New Beginnings

 Logan’s last year of pre-school was a difficult one. Everyday at the end of the day if I wasn’t there to pick him up, he would sob. It didn’t matter that Phil was still alive at this time and would be the one getting him, no, Logan needed his mom. Sometimes I would be able to get him if my schedule allowed and if I drove like a crazy person to get back to town from the capital city. It was a hard year for us both and ultimately made me come to conclusion that I was needed at home more than I was needed at a job an hour away.

          This was when my resentment for Phil truly began to build. He was healthy enough to work and cleared to do so by his doctor, but he never really tried to get the kind of job that could make me dial back on the 16 hours days that I had been doing for years. It had been a deal that we had made early on, that once I got us into our forever house, I would be able to dial back on the crazy work hours and focus more on the kids. Only, it never happened and then the summer before he died, he lost the okay-ish job that he had found over a stupid fight about a cup. I remember when the call came in that he was fired as we stood in the driveway, having just gotten back from the lake with the kids. Phil was very good at name calling and put downs when he was mad, but I believe if you love someone you don’t talk to them like that even when they hurt you or are mad at them. Words can do more damage than you think.

          After he got off the phone with his old job, I looked at him full of rage and disappointment as this was the first summer I had taken off and had completely trusted him with the house. “What is wrong with you? You have absolutely fucked us, I hope that you know that.”

          He looked at me like I had said the worst thing known to man and he walked away to call his friends to complain about how I spoke to him and how he was so hurt. I wanted to hit him. I didn’t, but that was one of the times in our marriage where I thought about the satisfaction of punching him in the face would feel like. By the next morning, I was delivering groceries and trying to scrape together any money that I could get my hands on to get us through until I was paid in September.

          By August, I was thankful for the job offer that came in which meant that I was going to be able to pick Logan up from school. I felt like I could breathe again until my old job said that even though I was resigning in August that I was going to be held for 60 days as per my teaching contract. At first, I was rage-filled about it, but looking back I can see the hand of God in that. I was able to go back to work and pack up my things, I got my first full paycheck and then the next morning, I woke up to my husband collapsing and dying at my feet, but because I had been held to 60 days, I now was able to use all of my personal time and be written out for the rest of my holding period. I never went back to the classroom that I had managed for over 10 years.

          And then I arrived shell-shocked and traumatized to my new job. I remember the briskness of the day that I arrived and having to sit in front of my new supervisor and tell her what had happened, asking what paperwork I had to redo since I was no longer married. I was in front of new people, new work and out in the world for the first time in three weeks since our tragedy had found us. I remember how the fuzziness of the world around me seemed to dwindle and for the first time since that Saturday morning, I was looking forward to life again.

          It is almost poetic in a sense that I am now leaving that job for something new and have had a summer of grief and turmoil leading up to it. During my time here, I started to date, I fell in love, I thought I had a future with someone, got my heart broken, had to give away my dogs, had multiple surprises with cars and my house and somehow, made it through it. And next week, I will be sitting at New Teacher Orientation learning about what the next chapter of my life is going to be. Maybe it’s the hand of God again, maybe it’s the end of a cycle—either way I am hopeful today as I am trusting in the magic of new beginnings.

The Widowhood │ A Sperm Donor

After John left, I had the pretty stark realization that when he left, he also took a year and a half of my life with him which now put me just shy of 40 and further away from my late thirties. It made me sad in ways all over again because when I had made the decision to start dating again, I had done so because I wanted to get married again, I wanted my children to get a father figure in their life and I wanted to have one more baby. I wanted my family dream that I have had since I was little and to my core, I have always wanted a happy traditional family because I think it is important for a woman to have a husband and I think it’s important for children to have two parents.

Between the tears I cried over John that summer, I also found anger too. Anger towards him for taking all that time from me with no intention of having a life with me even though he knew from the very beginning a life with someone was what I wanted and up until that night in my driveway, he had led me to believe that he had wanted that with me too even telling me things like he could never leave me and that he didn’t really understand it but when the kids and I weren’t around, life felt weird. In the end, I guess it was what guys do—feed you a bunch of lines of things they know you want to hear. When I would get to that thought, the anger would become a new level of hurt all over again and new tears would come. It was a very hard summer.

Towards the end of it, I found myself in the same spot I was in when I had decided to start dating again. I started thinking how I could make my family be what I had always wanted it to be without a man involved in it. I was excited that my job with the state had ended because it meant that I would be eligible to be a foster mom if I chose to be. Only after nearly two years of working with kids in the system, I pretty quickly realized that I did not want to be a mother to a kid that had been in the system, and I did not want to deal with the constant presence of a social worker in my life until the adoption was finalized.

I thought back to earlier times in my life where I wasn’t convinced that God was leading me to physically create the children that I knew in my heart I wanted, and I thought back to private adoption. It had been something that I had looked into briefly before Phil and I had gotten married, and I remembered how expensive it all was outside of the cost of raising another child on my own. It was not going to be a viable option for me. Which then led me to googling sperm banks in the quiet of my bedroom after my children had gone to sleep and what I continued to do the following morning when I got to work. I was pretty invested in it when my co-worker came in to check in.

“What are you doing,” she asked.

I shut my laptop and looked up at her. “Good morning. Promise not to laugh?”

“Maybe?” She sits down in front of my desk and eagerly awaits my explanation of what I am so engrossed in.

“Sperm donation.” I flip open my laptop and show her the website.

She doesn’t laugh. “You must have an interesting search history,” she adds as she starts scrolling through the list of potential options.

“Oh, never look at the search history of a widow. In the early days, I was so obsessed with what was happening to Phil’s body that I was constantly researching body decomposition because I couldn’t fathom the idea that he was dead let alone no longer Phil and, in the ground, becoming a skeleton.”

“And now you are here. You have had an interesting life.”

“I guess you could call it that.” I take back my laptop. “It surprised me how easy it is to knock yourself up if you decide to.”

“You know most people find a friend that they trust and make some sort of arrangement for this kind of thing.”

“No, if I must do it alone, then I will do it alone. And look how easy it is. For up to $1500 you pick your baby daddy and how good of a sample you want or need, they send it to your house or to your doctor in your ovulation window and bam you try to knock yourself up.”

           “That is very…expedited. Are you going to do it?”

          “I don’t know, I think it is kind of weird and I still hold out hope that I do meet someone, but now I am even more afraid of allowing someone around me and my kids for them to get attached to a man again only for him to decide he doesn’t want us.” I grab a tissue and dab away the fresh tears that have come.

          “You’re not ready for this if you want my unsolicited opinion.”

          “You’re right, I’m not, but at least I am starting to think about it.” She nods. “And then I also think about my luck with things. Knowing me, I would commit to doing this, knock myself up and then meet the man of my dreams and have to explain how I got pregnant.”

          She laughs. “That would happen to you, yes.”

          “And then he wouldn’t want to deal with that level of crazy and I would once again get hurt and become a hermit with my three and a half kids.” I exhale and force myself to stop tearing up. “Then I also think about that episode of The Golden Girls where Blanche’s daughter decides to go to a sperm bank to get pregnant and every time, she has to say sperm back, she cringes and whispers it all awkward.”

          “That’s a pretty good episode. I also like the one when she has the baby and Blanche keeps calling the baby Oreo.”

          I chuckle. “I always thought it was weird that she had a son named Skippy but made fun of her daughter for Aurora.”

          She agrees.  “Maybe look into having your eggs frozen and then that way if you do meet someone you bought yourself back some time.”

          “I don’t know what’s weirder to me, a sperm bank baby or a petri dish baby.” I grab another tissue and dry my leaking eyes. “Alright, enough of this, I have to get it together to get through the day.”

          My co-worker offers to make some coffee and I gladly accept it, eager to be away from my depressing thoughts about the state of my life and the weird things I find myself looking into.

When I was younger, I used to like that my life wasn’t planned out and that the uncertainty of life brought with it exciting surprises, but now after being widowed and after John, I found myself not liking that aspect of life so much and I really began to crave comfort and consistency. And I had begun to realize that as much as a good relationship brings that, you can also bring it to yourself. I began to out more things into God’s hands by the end of the summer and began to truly believe he does have a plan for me even if it meant I was alone with my kids for the rest of my life. It just hurt to think about it that way, never getting to have a husband or raise our child together along with my kids I had with Phil. The loneliness of it all really began to sting even though I knew I was going to figure it out either way in the end even if it meant, a sperm bank.

The Widowhood │ Sure, What’s My Dating Handle Going to Be?

One of the things that I like about my job is that one of my co-workers is in her middle-20’s, without kids and is actively dating and trying to meet someone. She keeps it real with me and I appreciate it because while I am not actively dating, she keeps me thinking about it and working over one day trying again and seeing if there is someone out there for me to build a life with.

          The other day she comes in and sits with me by my desk, scrolling through her dating app and becoming increasingly more frustrated with it. Has modern society really made it this hard to find someone? Probably.

          “Did you ever sign back up to e-harmony,” she asks me, flicking down her phone and over whatever app she was on.

          I sigh. “I started to do the personality test and then I just started to cry so I figured that I was probably not in the best mindset to be doing this and I was not ready to try again.”

          “That’s fair. My best guy friend told me last night that my profile was horrifying and that’s why I wasn’t getting anyone interested in me.”

          I paused what I am doing. “Well, do you think he was right?”

          She begins reading to me her profile. I last a couple of seconds before I put my hands up. “Yeah, he is absolutely right. That sounds crazy and demanding and not at all what you should have in a dating profile.”

          “Well! I AM JUST SO TIRED OF IT! I am so tired of something starting and it just falling apart. I am so tired of putting myself out there and it being nothing in the end. How do you start yours when you’re doing it?”

          I chuckle. “I keep it light and honest. I think when I met John mine had said that I was a widow with three kids and that I was looking for something meaningful.”

          “What is light about being a widow with three kids?”

          “Not a whole lot, but it’s honest and I didn’t want someone to be surprised by that because—” She cuts me off.

          “Because you didn’t want someone who was going to leave over the kids and hurt you and the kids,” she says, having listened to me cry many times over the summer about the state of my life.

          I’m teary eyed again. “Yeah, pretty much and then that happened anyway so here we are. I guess I don’t know a whole lot about dating either.”

          “Have you thought about using a free app? Might just get you a couple of dates and gets you out of the house a couple nights? Gives you a break?”

          I snort. “You mean one of those sites that you need to even create a handle for? What would mine even be? Something like widowedmomofthreewithfreshexboyfriendbaggage,” I say flippantly.

          She looks at me and busts out laughing and then suddenly I am laughing with her, a real laugh. One I haven’t had in many weeks and then we’re both laughing so hard that we are in tears, and it hurts to breathe.

          “What,” I manage to choke out, “Is that too crazy and pressure filled?”

          “Yes,” she laughs. “But it is also so perfect all in one.”

          “Do I need a handle for whatever app that you’re using,” I ask, regaining my composure.

          “No, but this one has you answer questions like what is your favorite cry to song.”

          “What is yours,” I ask, tucking my feet up underneath me on my chair.

          “Well, my best guy friend told me I need to set it to ‘Back That Ass Up’ and that would make men message me because it’s funny.” She starts humming the lyrics.

          “And did you?”

          “Oh yeah, I did, and you know what? He was right, men are messaging me asking me why that song.”

          “Maybe we should just have him write our profiles and see where it goes,” I laugh. “I don’t think my issues are the profiles though. I think mine will always be the dead husband, the kids and my John created trust issues over my insecurities about the kids and the dead husband.”

          “The right guy is going to love those kids though and the dead husband is kind of a blessing really, they don’t have to deal with an ex-husband.”

          “You’re not wrong. I just don’t think I’m ready.”

          “You’re not. You’re just out of your first long relationship after being widowed and it’s pretty clear you still love John.”

          I nod, teary eyes returning.

          “But when you are ready, please use that handle and let’s see how it goes,” she says laughing.

          “Maybe we can just do a social experiment.”

          “Don’t tempt me.”

          Ultimately, we decide against doing a social experiment and we sit scrolling through her free dating app and looking at the messages that she got from turning her cry-to song to “Back That Ass Up,” while she sings it loudly.  

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 Hart Home │It Was the Best of Times, It Was the Worst of Times…It Was the Stove-less Times

We went through the ringer in getting into our forever home during the insanity of this pandemic and for that, I say a prayer to God every night because it really was through divine intervention that everything fell into place and we got our house. We had crazy buyers for our beach house that just caused all kinds of drama and delays on top of everyone else being so overwhelmed in this market in trying to get our own new house to closing, that by the end I was surprised that I hadn’t drank more wine during the entire ordeal.

Ultimately, we closed on the sale of our house by the ocean on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving and moved into our forever house on Black Friday and rented it until we closed the following Tuesday. The house needed work. I wouldn’t say it was anywhere near our beach house when we bought it– no heat or hot water, brown walls everywhere, dirty, gross– on and on I could go about that place, but our new house needs love more than total rehab like our first house did– it needs to be decorated, painted and updated. Unlike our little house by the ocean, I am taking my time with our forever house and picking things I really like and working hard not to take on debt while I do it. In this pandemic life, I fear debt because I saw how quickly our income was impacted by all of this. I lost out on some and my husband lost his job completely. It definitely was an eye-opener on how quickly life could change last March. I started with the kitchen because there were renters in here for awhile and renters don’t clean and care for a house the way an owner would, so I made sure we got a new microwave and refrigerator to start.

Then, on Christmas Day, as I was cooking my family our small feast, the stove decided that it too was ready to be replaced. It takes twice as long to cook anything in the oven and we are down to one burner that too does not heat up completely after the knobs starting popping off in my hand. Since it was a rather cheap electric stove, we have been pretty beat as we waited to get money together to buy a new one and then wait forever for it to be delivered.

This will be my last appliance that I ever buy from Home Depot. Our fridge delivery was stressful, the microwave had to be delivered twice and the guy that put in the one that stayed broke our cabinet. We had a plumber come out to tell us how it would be over $4,000 TO START, to pipe gas into our kitchen. We already have it in the house and I was floored by that because, I was thinking maybe $600? He gave us this elaborate story about how there is not ENOUGH gas to power all of our stuff and then the stove so they would have to re-do it with larger piping, but since we live in the Pine Barrens with very sandy soil, digging could start and then re-start as the trenches gave in. It was very believable.

So, I ordered an electric stove and was really bummed out about it. I love cooking and I love to bake so an electric stove just sucks, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to afford thousands of dollars to redo gas piping plus lose all of our landscaping only to eventually replace that as well. Home Depot then pushes our delivery out for another three weeks. In the middle of the wait, I was telling one of our friends about our gas saga and he’s looking at me like, that guy was just trying to swindle you out of a lot of money because none of this makes sense and he clearly saw you as a woman who just bought a new house and would go for it. Which annoyed me greatly because he seemed very trustworthy and we had already been through it with moving companies trying to get us to pay thousands of dollars to move, because they all were trying to make money on this crazy housing market too. Can’t anyone just be honest anymore?

He looks at it. We don’t need to re-pipe a gas line and surprise! There was already gas to the kitchen, but it was nubbed off because they moved the stove to the other wall. Awesome. Easy fix! I cancel the electric stove and order the gas stove that I had really wanted. Only that too took two weeks to get my money back for before I could get my order through on the gas stove because “it needed to be sent back to the warehouse.” In the age of Amazon Prime when things are delivered in hours if you order it at the right time, where the hell is that warehouse that it will take that long to get back to? I digress…

We are now 3 months out from the start of all of this. I had to get up an hour early today, excited for the delivery of my new stove. I was working and waiting for the arrival of it between 7AM and 11AM, checking every so often to see where I was in line. It started off with only three ahead of me, then we got to two and we stopped moving. At 11:15, I called to check and was told they were still coming but delayed. 11:30 they call me and tell me some BS story about the truck breaking down which by that point had to be hours ago, so glad I was kept up and waiting around for a stove for four and a half hours. They can’t deliver it until next week.

So somewhere in this fine state, my stove was jostled around to be put on a truck. Left on a broken down truck. Jostled around back to a warehouse to only be pulled out again next week. To add to my petty frustrations, our couches did not fit in our family room so I had to buy a new set. We have not been able to watch TV since we moved in because we have no place to sit other than kid chairs and we did do that on NYE with the kids because we wanted to watch the ball drop on the weirdest ball drop ever. I ordered a set back in December. When are they coming? Mid-April, because there is a furniture shortage.

I am tired, couch-less and stove-less. In the grand scheme of everything we all have lived through, it is also a petty inconvenience, but compiled with everything this year brought from a pregnancy that my husband was shut out of midway through because he couldn’t come to appointments anymore, to laboring in a hospital with a dumb nurse that was more worried about a mask than me, to selling and buying and having people trying to rip you off as you go…it’s just been enough big and petty stuff to last me years.

I don’t know about you all, but I am tired and I would just like to cook a meal for my family in a timely manner on multiple burners while they get to watch TV in our family room on comfortable couches.

Don’t mind me…today, I am just frustrated with petty inconveniences and needed to vent. This year has been hard and we have survived it, but I just miss life when it was easier to get things done and didn’t require masks, and wait times and so much red tape for something as simple as buying a couch or a stove.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

Book Review│Jack Kerouac is Dead to Me by Gae Polisner

jackJL Markham is a 15-year-old girl who is out of sorts with her world around her. She lives with her mentally-ill mother, has lost her best friend to a group of other girls and her dad is on a business trip that keeps getting extended. She decides to write a long-flowing letter to her friend Aubrey, letting her know what has happened since the two girls had parted ways. She is hopelessly trying to cling to things from her old life even if those things are leading her down a path of self-destruction. 

Additionally, JL is also madly in puppy love with a senior named Max who is rough on the outside, but also shows her that on the inside he has the soul of a poet. Their age difference causes problems in that Max is ready to pack up and get the heck out of town once senior year ends, but what about JL? At only 15, she’s stuck between staying and disobeying her parents to run away with Max.

Gae Polisner’s Jack Kerouac is Dead to Me is a story of coming of age and the frailty of female friendships during that pivotal time in young women’s lives. JL is stuck between who she is going to become and who she is going to have let go of. It is never an easy time or decision to begin living in your future instead of your past. This is Polisner’s fifth young adult novel and she shines with it. The voice of JL is poignantly 15-years-old and not overly dramatic or overly subtle like some writers go when writing younger characters. Jack Kerouac is Dead to Me is a believable story of a young girl trying to find herself on the other side of adolescence while not completely losing who and what she was before. I would recommend this book for adults as well as middle-grade readers who are looking for something a little more in-depth.

While a 15-year-old’s love story might not be something most adults would pick up, I think you will find that Polisner has written this so well that it brings you back to your own time as a young girl in love for the first time, trying to navigate your relationships, your friendships and your own dreams. The darkness and the tragedies that befall JL show the strength of youth in times of adversity and how even though we may be young when we face them, we very much feel them every step of our journey through them. When you pick this one up, get ready for an authentic and emotionally raw journey through adolescence and your first love.

Book Information

Jack Kerouac is Dead to Me by Gae Polisner is scheduled to be released on April 7, 2020 from Wednesday Books, an imprint of St. Martin’s Press with ISBN 9781250312235. This review corresponds to an advanced electronic galley that was supplied by the publisher in exchange for this review. All thoughts are entirely my own and I have not received any compensation for this review.