Help for Healing

Bitter & Sweet, living daily with grief


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Screwed Up Priorities

Frankie is an avid athlete. He gives 110% for any sport he plays. Currently, he is a cross-country runner and a hockey player. You can see his effort and passion just by looking at him.

DSC_5798.JPGI have been making sure lately that I am thanking his coaches. When I go to meets or games, I am often appalled by the behavior of other coaches and parents. We have truly been lucky to have had great role models 90% of the time.

At a recent hockey game, I was sitting near a kid who looked like he was in sixth or seventh grade. He yelled on and off during the entire 75 minutes of the game. His mother sat next to him not responding in the slightest. He was belittling the referees by calling them “zebras” and “blind zebras” over and over again. At some point, everyone gets frustrated with refs and yells out, but there is a difference when you are denigrating them. If for no other reason, this young kid should show respect to them simply because they are adults. What is this kid’s future going to look like?

Cross country showed some unsavory characters as well. One coach was screaming at the guys, “You are running against these guys. They are not your friends. Stop running with them.” I can’t give you the intonation in written word, but it was awful. Frankie’s team supports each other and have each other’s backs. They cheer each other on and want everyone to be successful.

The worst was when I was talking to the girls after their race. They were talking about the moms from one of the other teams. She said one mom yelled out to her daughter, “At least you can burn off those calories you ate last night at dinner.” I was proud of our girls for realizing that was inappropriate. Plus, they had seen how that girl reacted to her mom and it wasn’t good. All I could think about was how she was a shoe-in for developing an eating disorder.

Competition is good for us. It motivates us and challenges us. Not everyone can have a trophy. But what I adamantly believe, is that my son needs to be a great human being first, and a great athlete second. Winning is NOT everything. Character IS everything. I’m extremely grateful for the coaches and parents we are surrounded by that seem to agree with that.

By the way, I’m pretty damn proud of Frankie- his skills as well as his sportsmanship. Well done!


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ZZZZip it!

You know how when you are saying something that others don’t want to hear, they look at you and say, “zzzzzz” while acting like they are closing a zipper? I get that done to me every now and then. I did it to myself though this week and it worked out rather well.

Dave- Cross Country

Frankie runs with cross-country which is just amazing to me because I can’t run to the end of my driveway. I’ve been complaining this summer though because he practices Monday through Saturday which means waking up at 6 or so. What about summer break? Then I remind myself that soon he will be off to college and then I will singing the blues because he isn’t here to ask for rides anymore.

One day this week it was pouring out. I mean really, really pouring. I woke Frankie up and asked him if he was still running. Yep. The other carpool mom took him and it was my job to pick the boys up afterward. He called me to get them and asked me to bring as many towels as I could.

Whining in my mind again. Of course I can but they are all in the gazebo which means getting soaked myself to go get them. I grabbed four, figuring two each. While I was driving there, you should have heard what was going on in my head.

This is utterly ridiculous. They aren’t training for the Olympics or anything. Can’t they skip days when it’s pouring out?  I mean they run six days a week.  They take this too seriously. Besides, it’s no wonder that Frankie’s $80 sneakers only last a couple of months. You aren’t supposed to run in a flood. I’m going to tell them how silly this is and hope they make a better decision next time.

(Oh yeah, I don’t have much time left to be “inconvenienced” and then I’ll be sad. Besides, they ARE teenagers. They probably think this is fun. This is my much smaller voice.)

I pull in next to another vehicle. I recognize the grandma that usually picks up her grandson. She’s driven my kid about a thousand times too. She rolls down her window and says, “Those crazy kids!” You said it Grandma.

Frankie runs over with a smile on his face and grabs the towels. I then watch with pride as he gives the other towels to all his teammates. They were so appreciative and I could tell he was thrilled to be the thoughtful hero.

He and his buddy get in the car and I can’t resist saying, “Maybe you guys should skip rainy days?” Frankie replied with, “MOM! You don’t understand the grind.” His friend chuckled in the backseat and then, of course, the radio was turned on and blaring.

Frankie was in rare form. He was singing and dancing with gusto and silliness that had me and his friend cracking up. I realized he was high on life. Honestly, sometimes I am such a dope.

The next morning the weather was great again and I woke up at 6:30 am without the alarm and panicked. I woke Frankie who said, “Nah,  I’m not running today.” Go figure.

Please feel free to comment or tell one of your own stories!


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The Real Talent

Some of you that know our family might remember when Frankie was 6 years old in kindergarten. It was his big year. He wrote a story called “The Kite and the Snowflake” and won third place in the Reading Rainbow contest out of 700 entries. (He clearly should have gotten first, of course!) It was an amazingly thoughtful and poignant story. The principal made it into an actual book and held a school-wide assembly for him to read it to the student body. He got invited to the Board of Education for the same. It put him on the map. I credit his teacher for discovering it, buried in the middle of a scribbled journal.

He is now 15 and I ask him to clean out his folders once every six weeks. He puts everything in the recycling bin and then I fish it out. I keep a few things here and there for his memory boxes. I caught this poem written on the back of a sheet of paper. I confirmed he actually wrote it and he even gave me permission to post it which surprised me. Anyway, I know I have a mother’s bias (obviously) but I think he is the real writer in the family. Let me know if you agree this is pretty great. It has the hallmarks of a teenager that make you chuckle, but overall I thinks he captures a deep understanding. The assignment was to write a poem from a Jewish perspective. (Thank God I never got assignments like that when I was in school!)

Where is my God?

My fellow Jews and I stand alone.

There’s nowhere to go or no place to call home.

My friends hidden behind ash.

Here I stand with no cash.

We are torn down by being beaten or blasted.

Maybe Hitler thinks all Jews should be trashed.

One thing that is not really cool?

All Jews are segregated from the great German schools.

Our God seems to be unreliable.

Therefore, us Jews are considered undesirable.

My depression is growing because my God isn’t near.

I can’t numb the pain because I can’t afford beer.

One thing is for sure, my God is not found.

Life is hard without Him around.

 

Yep, I’m a proud mama.

 


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Deja Vu

I had a visit from Tim the other night. It didn’t come in a dream or in the form of a hummingbird. He came embodied in his now 14-year-old son, Frankie. We have season Sabres tickets (NHL hockey). Tim had them for years and years. When I first met him, it drove me crazy. I thought the household passion for hockey was ridiculous. I remember Colin and Matthew playing mini-stick hockey in the living room and I would say in disgust to my mom, “Who the heck plays hockey in the living room?”

Of course, I have had to eat my words (and my attitude) about a thousand times since them. Frankie and his brothers and friends still play mini-stick hockey all the time and of course, the best place to play is in the living room. I get it now.

We often struggled financially for the first few years of our marriage. I finally saw a purpose for those damn tickets when the Sabres made the play-offs. People could sell their tickets for enough money to pay for the entire next season! Tim was mortified at the mere suggestion of  selling play-off seats and I couldn’t believe it. Then I went to a play-off game with him. Holy cow. I couldn’t believe it. The energy was out of this world. I never asked him to sell those tickets again. The Sabres in the play-offs? Priceless. No amount of money would be worth it. (Ok, maybe a million bucks or something.)

Usually Colin and Frankie get the tickets. They are super great seats. Here is our view of the ice:img_20170110_185749335

See what I mean?

Anyhow, I decided to take Frankie to the game this week. He is a teenager, so of course he wasn’t thrilled with the idea. In fact, he said no at first, but then he came to his senses. Now, he was only eight-years-old when his dad died, but sometimes it freaks me out by how much he can mimic him. Part of me was thinking that I’m the parent so I need to put my foot down. Then I thought better of it and decided not to rock the boat any more than was necessary. Getting him to spend the evening with me was miracle enough.

The first argument, I knew, was going to be parking. Tim knew where to park so you didn’t have to pay. I would only go to one game a year so I would tell him that I wanted to park close and pay. It is cold and miserable in Buffalo in the winter, but he was driving so I always ended up walking and freezing my ass off. Frankie is quite indignant about paying for parking. He thinks it’s ridiculous. It was raining and the winds were horrid, but we parked where he told me to (which was of course, where his dad used to) and walked to the arena. I was cursing under my breath…LOL.

I tried to engage him in conversation throughout the game, but unfortunately I am hopeless. I kept saying the things that absolutely drive him bonkers. Such a woman. I don’t get the intricacies of the game so I comment on things I know. “Hey, number 90 is Ryan O’Reilly? He is the fathead you got for Christmas right? I didn’t realize who he was. He is my favorite player.” Frankie looks at me in shock. Why is he my favorite player? Now I am silent. I can’t possibly explain to him that last year when Emily was in town, she and her friends and I went to a game. Number 90 always warms up the same way and he is different from the other players. He does these stretches that look incredibly sexy and naughty on the ice. I just tell Frankie, “No reason.”

More dumb comments from a mom. Hey, a lot of the players have beards now. What’s up with that? What will they do when it is play-off time when they are supposed to grow beards? Again, Frankie just says, “Grow their beards longer.” He hates that the only thing I seem to notice is the looks of the players. What can I say? I’m a single woman and some of the players that still have teeth are pretty hot.

A second miracle occurred. Frankie agreed to a selfie and even said I could post it. You can tell by his face that he wasn’t thrilled, but he let me.img_20170110_185509102

It was a great game. We actually won. There was a big fight in the first period. Other than embarrassing Frankie by dancing when we scored, we managed quite well together.

Then the drive home (after the long walk to the car) and more arguments about taking the side streets home rather than the thruway. I spent the night with my teenage son and my deceased husband. It was a great night!


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Guest Blogger: My Son, Frankie

We are getting ready for school and I tell Frankie it’s Thursday. Blog day. As usual, I’m stuck for an idea. Somehow it morphed into him writing it. Perfect! When he was five, he wrote a beautiful and poignant story called, “The Kite and the Snowflake,” that won third place in the Reading Rainbow contest, which was a huge deal. (Sorry, brief bragging moment.) Anyhow, here it is, an interview/blog from 12-year-old Frankie.

What will you write about? “Nothing is more important than football.”

Why would you say that? “It’s true.”

Can you be more specific? “Cause it’s fun to watch guys tackle each other.”

Seriously, what makes it interesting? “There are a lot of different positions. Then there a lot of different players that fill each position. It’s not a run-on game. The clock stops and starts. Passing, running. Contracts are interesting- how much the players get paid.”

Anyone that knows you, would have expected you to say that nothing is more important than hockey. Why the switch? “I don’t know. The Sabres suck! Hockey gets boring. For football, every team has a phenom player.”

What the heck is that? “A phenomenal player.”

Who are some of your favorite phenoms this year? “I don’t even know how I got into writing this blog! Are you going to write down everything I say?”

At this point, Frankie grabbed the computer himself and typed, “Sammy Watkins, Mario Williams, Jerry Jughes, Kyle Williams, Marcel Dareus, Leodis Mckelvin, Dan Carpenter, Peyton Manning, Aaron Rodgers.” The bus came at this point and he handed me back the computer saying, “I can’t possibly write them all down.”

This blog doesn’t do him justice. He can hold a conversation with any adult about any sport- hockey, football, basketball, baseball. Men (usually it’s men!) are amazed and have often told me he knows more about sports than most adults they know. One guy actually hired Frankie to help him with a fantasy draft last year. He knows the history, every team in the league, every player, their stats… It’s crazy. He wants to be a general manager someday so he has written HUNDREDS of drafts for teams. Hundreds. Knows every NFL and NHL player’s salary.

Anyhow, this is one of the best mornings I have had in a long, long time. Frankie has been shutting me out for a couple of years now. Getting him to interact with me is a heart-wrenching and usually futile endeavor. This little interchange between us is monumental. It was a connection. I will take it. Thanks for sharing it with me :).


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Knights in Shining Armor

This week’s blog is inspired by a comment that was made on my last blog “Sisterhood.” The comment was “we can’t believe there’s a knight in shining armor that will come swooping into our lives and take all of our stress away. I think if we believe that, no man will ever have a chance or be capable of providing that to a woman.”

I couldn’t agree more and I thought I had kind of indicated that in my blog about my widow friend. She still grieves and aches, even with a special guy in her life.

One of my strengths is that I’m pretty self-aware and honest about where I am. I can be brutally honest and hard on myself, which then becomes more of a detriment than a strength. Anyhow, throughout my life in my quest to experience love, I generally haven’t suffered from looking for Mr. Perfect. I’m relatively realistic about people and relationships. I have no misguided aspirations of someone swooping in and I certainly have no vision of having a stress free life. If there isn’t a man in my life, it isn’t because I have held up impossible standards that no man could possibly live up to.

Having said that, it is possible for a loving man to relieve some stress though, and most particularly the stress of loneliness. When examining many of the failed relationships I’ve had throughout my life, and especially those since Tim’s death, there are always those “hindsight is 20/20” things that stand out. For Frankie, there are two that stand out to him and every once in a blue moon he opens up about them.

The first man who touched his life, was the first guy that I dated after Tim’s death. Here is how some of that conversation goes. “Frankie, he definitely loved you. The two of you had a great relationship and he was really good to you. Unfortunately, he wasn’t very good to me. As much as I loved him for you, I couldn’t stay with him for that reason.”

Then there is guy number two. He was only around six short weeks, but they were powerful ones. That conversation goes a little differently. “Frankie, he definitely cared about you. You had a great relationship with him and with his son. He was good to me, too. He fit in with our family almost perfectly. But he left us. We don’t really know or understand why, but he didn’t stay with us.”

Other conversations with Frankie reveal more of the pain he feels. He talks about how he doesn’t want to know anyone, male or female, because people just end up leaving. That’s when I want to punch that guy. No one can blame someone for not wanting to stay in a situation they are unhappy in. No matter how happy Frankie and I were, I would have never wanted someone to stay with us that didn’t want to be with us. However, there are better ways to leave than others.

In reality, he was like that knight in shining armor. Not because we were living in an unrealistic cloud nine state. Things were just smooth and they fit. We felt grounded. I experienced contentment, possibly for the first time ever. The problem I have, is not having a clue as to why he left. And even more bizarre to me is there was no attempt to try to correct whatever it was that was bothering him. He just ran. No real explanation. No real goodbye. But even worse, there was no goodbye to Frankie. There was no goodbye between Frankie and his son. His son was probably fine with it. But then his son has a living father and mother.

That doesn’t seem like an unreasonable standard to have for someone. Is that not something that a man should be capable of providing for a woman? If you are going to enter into our lives, then at least have the decency to leave with some sort of closure. After what Frankie and I have been through, a loss like that was cruel.

In my mind, the knight in shining armor became much more like the cowardly lion. How disappointing.


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Sisterhood

One of the perks of writing a book, is getting to meet some amazing people. I guess I need a stronger word than “perk.” It’s one of the things that actually makes it worth it. I think at some point I have blogged about my new friend, Trish. She read my book and then sought me out. She is my age, was widowed not long after I was, and has six kids. She also is a multi-business owner.

She always calls me her hero and I just laugh. Other than writing a book, I don’t see much to call me a hero for. At least not for HER to call me a hero. I call her MY hero. In fact, I call her that in the next book that I wrote. I have four kids. But I met three of them when they were 13, 16, and 19. I didn’t raise them from birth. Now I have one adult living here, and one 12-year-old. She has SIX. Like I said, she is MY hero.

Because her husband was self-employed, I get about three times as much social security benefits for my one minor I am raising, than she gets for all six of her kids combined. And I worry about money?

We had lunch this week. We’ve been talking and texting about things that we feel like no one else understands sometimes. She recently had a person close to her lose a loved one. She was worried that she didn’t feel the compassion and sympathy she normally would. Boy, did I get that. I think we are just already tired out from death and dying, even though some time has passed. Living with the fallout from death and dying continues to be exhausting, probably even more than caretaking was.

She met a great guy. She was ready to give up on the dating scene, just like most people who are in the dating scene are. Then she met him on Match and he seems great. I listen to her talk and I’m amazed. He actually seems to really love her and WANTS to help out with the kids. He is ready to take on what it might mean to be involved with all six of them. He hangs out when her family comes to town, even though he doesn’t “have” to. I’m envious, but I am happy for her. She deserves it. She absolutely deserves it.

Even with that support in her life, she still struggles. It’s a reminder to me that meeting someone like that won’t take all the pain and stress away. It helps immensely, but life is still hard. And I’m sure they have lots of adjustments and changes down the road to get through.

When we hugged goodbye after lunch, she said something about how much she enjoys getting to spend time with me. I laughed. I sincerely laughed. I asked her if she was kidding because we had spent the majority of lunch with me down in the dumps, teary eyed (like I am several times a day) feeling hopeless and stuck. I can hardly stand my own company and she actually expects me to believe she ENJOYS me? I wasn’t trying to be dramatic. It was just a genuine reality check moment for me, like “Hey, I know you love me, but let’s be honest. I’m not exactly fun to hang out with.” I didn’t say that, but I think she knew what I meant.

About 15 minutes later, I got a text that said, “I just want you to know I do love being with you! I wish I could make it all better for you. You will be ok. I know it!” I texted back, “Back at ya, sista!”

She really is my hero.