Category: Uncategorized

When is it OK to answer, “What does your wife do?”

How do you answer those awkward questions about death

Share
Tweet
0 Shares

There’s a series of simple questions that become complicated to answer.

What does your wife do?

 Does mom live in the same house?

What’s moms contact number? 

Switch it around and replace wife and mom with husband and dad, and the questions still linger in the air.  Thoughts rapidly flutter the mind with how you are supposed to answer. The TRUTH is usually the first thing that comes to mind, but I’ve learned that it’s far easier most times to play along and not create an awkward scene.

In the immediate aftermath of Maureen’s passing, we all put on a good face most days, but we were trying to keep our stuff together.  There was a gaping hole in our lives, and we were still in shock, trying to figure out how to get through our days without breaking out in tears.  We had a vacation planned about two weeks after Maureen’s Celebration of Life.  It was supposed to be five days of relaxation by the beach because Maureen said that was what she wanted to do that summer.  I put it out to the kids, and they all agreed that we should still go. I admired their courage. We packed our fragile and heartbroken bodies into the car and headed south.

Putting the questions to the test

We were learning to deal with a lot that trip, and there were times when thoughts of her loomed over us, with her presence being ominous.  The check-in at the hotel was the first time that I had been asked the question, “Does your wife need a key?”.  Of course, I was still wearing my wedding ring.  I fumbled my way through it and was glad the kids were preoccupied and didn’t have to watch me search for the right answer. It must have created an emotional moment for me because it struck me that it was something we needed to discuss together. It can be a simple question about your mom, but one that brings back emotion and sends the mind racing.

I don’t remember how the initial discussion started because we were all trying to take care of each other. I wanted to keep these conversations ongoing and was open about bringing up difficult and emotional topics as they arose.  Humor is good therapy, and since we’ve developed a bit of dark twist in our perception of the world, death gave us good material for keeping the subject alive and active. Keeping the subject active was important back then.  We could cry, but we could also laugh, and memories are much satisfying when they make you smile.

Dark humor is good therapy.

While not my favorite family vacation, it is memorable because of the time we had to ourselves, doing something fun, and learning how to keep going.  We hadn’t been able to agree on a correct response, but the talk was ongoing with some wild ideas.  We were having a good day with lots of smiles when we decided to get lunch.  Kids were busy deciding what kind of tasty beverage they were going to enjoy when the waitress approached and asked, “Will your wife be joining you?” Before I had time to think, I replied, “No, She’s home resting…In Peace”.  It was a very deliberate pause.  I could hear the kids all giggling as I answered with my straight face, trying hard to hold back my grin. It wasn’t the response for the long term, but for right now, it was good and something to hold in your back pocket for emergencies.

It gave us the chance to make light of serious questions and allowed us to avoid it for a while.  The proper response has not yet been found by any of us though.  It’s usually a pause and awkward silence followed by some lie, or worse yet, the truth.  Spill out the facts a few times, and you realize it was a mistake.

I try to have a healthy relationship with death and am still working on it. The passing of my wife was shocking, but I’ve learned that life can be random and even cruel. That was a startling realization for me.  I’ve had many fairytale moments and many more still to be had, but I also accept that there will be more heartache and pain.  Part of that acceptance is learning how to cope with Maureen’s passing and other family members that are now just part of my happy memories.  I needed to do some soul searching on how death fits into my life because it was all around me.

More on relationships with death. http://onelobotomyplease.com/whats-your-relationship-with-death-like/

It’s hard, though, to bring up death randomly in communication, and you get tired trying to figure out how.  Perhaps it may be that after so many times of creating that conversation ending response, you stop testing people with it.  I want to be honest, though.  I want to be able to tell people that I’m widowed; the kids don’t have a mom, and she passed away. I don’t want to evade the truth.

It’s a real thing and a significant event in my life.  It sometimes feels like a dark secret that I can’t tell anyone.  I offer the truth as my way of being at peace with where I am.  When I speak of admitting that my wife will never again be physically joining us for dinner, I’m not trying to make you feel uncomfortable; it’s that I don’t want to hide from who I am. Yes, I am widowed, and I am a happy, relatively normal person. Life continues.

You learn how to gauge people and perceive who can handle the facts and who can’t. If I drop the truth on you, it is because I trust that you understand it’s part of my life and that I don’t feel sorry for myself. It does not happen often, though. Some can accept the truth; maybe they confronted death in their life or have exceptional people skills. Whatever the reason for their acceptance, it is relieving to let it out without it impeding communication.

Many times though, you guess wrong.  You make a connection, perceive something that lowers your guard, and the truth slowly spills out of your mouth and cast a dark shadow of silence over the room.  Most times the awkward silence is nervously followed up with a feeble change of subject.  Almost often, though, if the person has a way to escape physically, they will. I’ve sent people scurrying, not understanding why the honesty about my life scares them away.

I still give out Maureen’s cell phone as a contact number.  There are still teachers that think mom is home helping the kids cover their books or helping with homework.  I have business contacts that think I’m happily married.  There is an entire population of people that are going to be very shocked someday when they learn the truth. It’s not because I have intentionally tried to deceive them. It’s because the fairytale version is what they want to hear and death does not fit into that illusion.

“You may find this sad”

When I feel the situation is right, I’ve learned to preface my response with a disclaimer.  I’ll start by saying, “You might find this sad,” or “That’s a difficult question to answer.” Sometimes that little indication that I’m not going to come back out a typical response is enough to soften the blow. It is the best technique I have found for me.  There are other times, though, where I get tired and frustrated and willingly let it out, knowing that it is going to sink like a lead balloon. 

I don’t know yet what the proper answer is or if there is one. I’m sure that there are others with similar situations, where society does not see their life as typical and are having to create a false identity continually.  If you are proud of who you are or have accepted where you are, then you don’t want to have to hide it. I have a good life.  My kids and I are happy.  I don’t flaunt my situation, but I don’t want to pretend it does not exist. If we are honest with you, it is because we trust you and think that you can see the good in our lives and not the tragedy. It’s an honor if we are brave enough to tell you the truth.

When Death Comes for an Extended Visit

Death used to scare the hell out of me. Any wake or funeral that I had ever been to was awkward. I never knew what to say and always found myself fumbling for words. I could see the heartache and pain in people, but I had never known it myself and wanted to keep my distance. All that pain and sorrow I saw, just wanted me to turn it off and hide.  It was far easier to pretend death did not exist and that I would never have to figure out how to deal with the agony and suffering.

Then death came for an extended stay…

Maureen passed away in July of 2016. In November of that year, my next oldest brother passed away after a short battle with a rare and very aggressive liver cancer. He was receiving treatments and care while Maureen was going through her final challenging months, and I was still trying to claw my through the grieving of Maureen. It came too fast for both of us. For him, it was much too soon; it was as if cancer never gave him a chance, coming on fast and furious and taking its toll. For me, I was still numb.

I don’t know if my reaction to his death was a result of me being mentally and emotionally overloaded, or me just trying to come to grips with how death fits my life. My heart ached for his wife who was suddenly without the love of her life. High School sweethearts, best friends with years of happy companionship, all suddenly gone. I knew this feeling. I knew how she felt; having your heart torn out and your life turned upside down. That was heavy for me. I didn’t turn it off, but I could immerse myself so much into the emotional turmoil.

Then there were the kids. He was a hero to his kids; a good role model, loving, playful and supportive. I couldn’t fathom the thought of his children having to come to grips with his passing. Witnessing my children over the last three months and the obvious devastation that I would see on their face, knowing there were nights that they lay in bed weeping. It’s a pain no child should ever have to experience, and watching his four children grieve his loss opened up my wounds, not even close to being healed.

I felt guilty at first like I wasn’t properly grieving his loss. Wasn’t I suppose to be sad and upset that he was longer in my life? Maybe it was self-preservation? I had said goodbye to him long before his passing, and on my last visit, I knew that I might never see him again. Still, the day the news came, I sat in my room and cried. Tears came because I would never see him again; tears came because death had invaded my life again, and mostly, tears came because I knew how traumatic and painful this would be for his family, bringing back a flood of agonizing thoughts and feeling for me. My grieving became more about reliving my loss, feeling that same pain in others, and less about no longer having my brother in my life.

Why is there so much death in my life?

In July of 2017, almost exactly one year from the day that Maureen left us, one of her best friends(Kate) passed away as a result of a horrible traffic accident. Kate looked after Maureen tirelessly while she was sick and dealing with the poisoning side effects of chemo. She was a woman with two young children, a loving husband, and an active member of our close-knit town. It was devastating; she left the house in the morning and never returned. Her family would never see her again. The town was rocked by the tragedy, two years in row that a mom was taken away from their families much too soon.

The similarities opened up scars not quite healed for many and created new anguish for many more. It’s so close to home for many, making them look at their own lives and giving them a new appreciation for waking up and seeing your family every morning, realizing it can vanish in a flash. For me, it was reliving the previous July all over again, throwing me back into the throws of my deepest sorrow. What I was feeling was also different though. The sorrow I felt was related to my loss but mostly because I felt the pain of the husband and two children and not wanting anyone to endure the dreadful experience of figuring out how to carry on once your heart had been violently ripped out. I attended the service knowing it would be a challenge. I kept my distance, fading into the background not wanting to get too emotional and draw attention but somehow feeling that my understanding presence was enough to show my support. There were no words needed.

“Fear grows with ignorance.  I know and understand my fear”  Amit Jupi

While Maureen was going through her ordeal with colon cancer, my next younger brother was dealing with prostate cancer. His cancer metastasized and spread to his bones, and he’d been through numerous forms of treatments to keep cancer from spreading, but 2018 was a challenging year for him, and his quality of life was deteriorating. He was constantly in pain and no longer able to live the life he wanted to live and eventually decided that the treatment was worse than the disease. He accepted the consequences of that decision and began preparing for his precious final months.

I would occasionally make the trip to visit, never knowing if it were the last time I’d spend time with him. Things were changing for me, and I was more open about death and accepting the inevitable outcome. The conversations were often powerful and emotional as he wanted to know how I prepared for Maureen’s passing and how we managed in the aftermath. I was comfortable sharing this and knowing the hardship that would ensue, felt it was important that I was as open with him as possible, hoping that maybe it would help them all prepare.

When I last visited him, by the time I left, I knew it was my last visit. He had not been out of the house much, so I took him out to run some errands and grab breakfast at the local diner. He showed me the church where his funeral service was going to be held, and we talked about his end of life plans, discussing ideas for what to leave behind for his wife and children, but mostly we enjoyed the precious moment of two brothers hanging out and talking for maybe the last time.

As I headed back up the road, my thoughts were consumed by the cruelty of yet again, a young family losing a loving parent. Four daughters that will need to come to grips with never seeing their father again and his loving wife that will somehow be expected to pick up the pieces of her shattered life without the support of the person she needs the most. I felt the tears coming as these thoughts and emotions boiled up inside of me, and I was overcome with excruciating sadness. I pulled off the road, put the car in park and sat and sobbed with a pain in my heart, knowing that weighty days lie ahead for him and his family.

No rest for the weary

As I sit here and write this, my father has just finished his first treatment for Lymphoma, and I realize that this cycle is going to repeat itself. As far as I know, it is going to repeat itself for everyone in my life someday, myself included. Death comes to us all, often before we are ready for it and it’s really hard to fill that void for those we love. It can be devastating, and I know this now. I have felt that pain and sorrow and have let it wash over me. There is nothing I can do to alleviate that pain and each person needs to find their way to come to terms with their mourning and how they are going to let it shape their lives. What I can do, though, is offer an understanding hug, a shoulder to cry on(or with), or offer my presence and be with them in spirit. Like most scary things in life, once you get to know them, they are not that scary.

Discovering the Paradox of Grief

One of the more difficult aspects of grief for me has been trying to explain that connection between the great sadness I have experienced and the life changes that have been influenced by that grief.  I would happily turn the clock back a few years and have events unfold much differently than they did, but I cannot change what has happened, and I have had to learn how to look forward with hope and optimism.  There are still days when my heart is heavy, life feels overwhelming, and I wonder how I ended up here.  I have had to learn to adapt and find my way through the paradox of pain and growth.

mike mcenaney loss and learning

Certain times of the year and certain events bring back memories of what once was.  Over the course of the summer, we have July 2nd, our anniversary on Aug 5th and Maureen’s birthday on Aug 27th.  These are all important dates in my life and the kid’s life, and we always acknowledge them and honor them for their significance to us all.   I wouldn’t necessarily say that we celebrate those days with raucous fanfare, but we quietly savor them and the deep meaning they have for us.

 

This past year, our wedding anniversary hit me like a ton of bricks.  The date fell on a Sunday, and it was a typical summer weekend, with activities and adventures out in the sun that kept me preoccupied.  Settling down at the end of the day, the weight of the event finally hit me.  While sitting in a relaxed state, my mind was flooded with details from our wedding day back in 2000.  I have often said, that our wedding was one of the best days of my life(OK, the best day).  My eyes became heavy as I replayed events from that day in my head and I was filled with sorrow, daydreaming about what once was.

 

I was very aware of what was happening and where my mind was going.  I could have gotten up and made myself busy, attempting to distract my mind and push the thoughts out of my head.  I didn’t do this though; I wanted to sit and be with these thoughts.  I sat and let my mind wander.  I went back in time, picturing that day and all the beautiful memories of her brilliant smile and the happiness that flowed from the both of us.  I became completely wrapped up in this dream and caught myself with not only a tear in my eye but with a grin on my face.

 

I have tried to mindful of the powerful emotional effects of grief.  I picture grief coming to steal my soul and leaving me depleted and lifeless.  I’ve been respectful of its overbearing nature, welcoming it in where I can keep a watchful eye on it.  I’m afraid of those dark corners, where grief may unsuspectingly jump out and consume you.   Given this awareness, I was not surprised at my decision to sit with sorrow on this day, although I was surprised by the grin.

 

The grin on my face spread as I replayed happy memory after happy memory in my mind and I was struck by the extreme contrast in emotions.   I was struck because this is grief, the mourning that is so difficult to explain.  It can tear apart your heart and bring you to your knees one moment, and it can also lead you to mind-blowing perspective changes that facilitate personal growth and forever change your view on life.  It may seem strange, but at this moment, I was thankful for my sadness.  I have anguish in my heart because of a deep, meaningful and loving relationship.  Death does not change what was.

Real love doesn’t die.  It’s the physical body that dies.  Genuine, authentic love has no expectations whatsoever; it doesn’t even need the physical presence of a person.  Even when he is dead and buried that part of you that loves the person will always live.

-Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

 

Grief can be hard.  It can be stoic and icy cold.  It is tempting to push it away and keep it under the rug because it is much too painful to let it in.  There have been days where I just wanted to pull the covers up over my head and make it go away.  There have been days where I did just that.  That pain has a lesson though.  That suffering is the result of love, and the contrast/interrelatedness between love and pain is the same contradiction that exists between loss and the journey that follows.  It is both tragic and inspirational at the same time.

 

I’ve learned there is sadness because there was also incredible happiness.  Our life together has helped shape who I am today.  I am filled with those life experiences of laughter, tears, adventure, and love that we shared over the years.  They are embedded in my soul and will be there forever.  I’ve learned to welcome grief into my life and don’t turn it away when it comes knocking.  It is like an old friend dropping in for a visit, and I’m not going to pull down the shades, lock the door and shut them out.

Mike McEnaney Loss and Learning

I think it is sometimes hard for others to understand because they only see the sorrow and not how that pain can also bring comfort.  I accept that grief will always be part of me and will forever influence my decisions, relationships, dreams, and desires.  It has drastically changed my life.  Gut-wrenching and tragic, yet horribly beautiful, it is the ultimate paradox.  A love that is lost, yet entrenched in my soul.

Mother’s Day Musings

Every once in a while, I have one of those days that leave me feeling melancholic about how life has changed.  Mother’s Day this year was one of those days.  Of course, mothers everywhere deserve their special day and should probably have more than one day per year honoring them, but when your children no longer have a loving mother, it makes the day somewhat atypical.

It gave me a chance to look at how far we have come.  I don’t think of us as being unlike other families.  We have grown and adapted and have been able to carry on in our own unique and sometimes unorthodox ways.  It struck me on this day though, that life is different for us, even though we choose not to focus on it.

I’m in awe of my children on a daily basis.  Sometimes it is because of the immense strength and character that I see in them, and other days because they can’t figure out how to pick up their dirty and wet towels off the bathroom floor!  I don’t think that someone unfamiliar with our history, would look at us and think, “There is a family without a Mom.”  Sure, they may run off to school with clothes that are kind of shabby, probably not matching, hair and teeth not brushed, and homework not all up to date, but they are happy, well-adjusted kids, thriving and full of life.

“Mothers are like glue.  Even when you can’t see them, they are still holding the family together”  Susan Gale.

The most difficult days for Maureen and I were those days when we would think about emotional harm to the kids.  We both found such joy in our children and our family life, thinking those days would last forever.  Thoughts of how cancer and death would affect the children always brought us such pain and heartache.  No child should have to watch their mom get sick and die.  It was usually a roller coaster ride.  There was good news one day that gave you hope followed by lousy news another day that left you in tears searching for strength.  Those tears were almost always for our children.  Somehow wishing we could make things better for them.

The strength of character that she exhibited throughout her ordeal with cancer is a cherished gift and lasting lesson for all of us.   I remember the end, when we finally had to admit defeat.  The doctors at Maine Medical breaking the news that cancer had spread and informing us that Hospice was the next step.  There wasn’t much else we could do, our optimism had run its course, and now it was a reality.  We sat and held each other for a long time, trying to wrap our minds around the looming hardship. A lot of sadness and tears, as we pulled ourselves together, heads spinning with the heaviness of the last few days, reluctantly accepting our fate and thinking about how to proceed.

Facing her death, Maureen was still an extraordinary Mom, thinking about what was best for her children.  We had often spoken about the tremendous sadness of not being able to watch the kids grow up.  I can’t imagine how devastating that must have been or even how a mom comes to grips with that reality.  It has to be the most horrific experience a parent has to endure.  Despite that, she put her fears and sadness aside and asked that I go home to get the kids and bring them back to the hospital so she could talk to them.  This conversation with the children was one the bravest and most courageous actions I have ever witnessed in my life, finding the fortitude to be “Mom,” knowing that she was also saying “goodbye.”   It was one of the saddest yet most beautiful and powerful acts of love imaginable.

“The strength of a mother is like no other.  During times of stress, she may struggle to find her way because she is facing her demons, but her child’s welfare comes first.  She’s not perfect and makes mistakes but never doubt her love; it burns deeply in her heart”.

As I sat out on my front steps pondering these thoughts on Mothers Day, my mind drifted across the street to a house where a neighbor’s 93-year-old mom had just passed away only a few weeks ago.  I realized that we are not different.  There are many people out there with mothers and/or fathers that are no longer with us physically, but the love that they have for their children endures forever.

mike mcenaney loss and learning

I look at my children and see the strength and love their mom in their soul.  They may not realize it now, but someday they will realize that their mom gave them a remarkable gift and she is with  them always.

Everything Is Going To Be OK

Sometimes you just need a little reassurance when things to start to feel a little overwhelming.  It’s just a simple saying that can have a calming effect.  “Everything is going to be OK”.  It is something I have always been able to say with confidence, because after 53 years, I can look back and see that everything has been OK.

The last few years have been filled with tremendous upheaval and change.  Having your heart ripped out and trying to figure out how to carry on with a somewhat normal life while striving to maintain a career, fill the massive void left in yours and your children’s life, and juggle a mind-boggling amount of changing responsibilities and emotional crises has been harrowing.  There is no playbook for what I/we have encountered.  There is no prescription or right way to go about picking yourself up and moving on.  The uncertainly about how to move forward can be paralyzing.  It has been paralyzing at times.

Everything is going to be OK!

 

I used to think that I was a grounded person.  Perhaps I was, but I have learned that it is easy to be grounded when life is good, and you are living under the false assumption that everything will always continue to be as it is.  The real challenge is being able to remain grounded while your life as you know it suddenly falls apart and you are thrown into chaos.  Being grounded takes on an entirely new meaning when your future plans have vaporized, you’re no longer sure who you are, and no idea how you are ever going to manage raising four children, make a decent living, get to doctor’s appointments, soccer games, school meetings, college planning, boyfriends, girlfriends, etc.  The list goes on and on it is daunting.

It is not humanly possible or healthy to dwell on the many facets of how life has changed.  At times, it has been a struggle to keep myself from getting beaten down from stress and succumbing to the pressure.  I have had to learn how to deal with uncertainty as a fact of life and not to expend my energy and brain power on the many scenarios that I have little or no control over.  The details have never been my strong suit and my “go to” answer when faced with a potential dilemma/problem has become: “I don’t know, it will all work out”.  Of course, some days these words are more easily believed than others.

Viewing life as a constant state of uncertainty and change, has also left me more open minded and aware of the many different possibilities and opportunities in life.  Embracing this change has had many positive effects and many occasions to experiment.  Some of which have lead to behavior and habit change and some that were just bad ideas, but nothing ventured nothing gained.

Recently, I was invited to attend an energy healing clinic.  I had no idea what this was all about, but I envisioned someone connecting with the healthy and unhealthy energy in my body and helping me to understand or eliminate negative energy that was not helpful to me.  With an open mind, I agreed to attend, since I’m interested in anything that will help keep me a peaceful and calm frame of mind.

With no frame of reference for what would take place, I was a little surprised when I was lead to a room with a bed, and four energy healers that would work with me.  I lay down on my back and closed my eyes, while they proceeded to poke and prod my body, constantly pulling on my limbs and rubbing my head.  At first, it was all I could do to keep myself from bursting out in laughter, but I slowly relaxed and let myself be present with the session.

As they continued their work, they spoke of a powerful conflict they felt with my energy.  One half of my body feeling grounded and down to earth, while the other half feeling tense and anxious, the two opposing forces in a struggle.  I agreed with them because I have worked hard over the last year to “let go” of the many pressures that sometimes build up in my head and stay with the “It’ll all work out” mentality.

While working around my body, they asked me where I felt the anxiety and tension.  First touching my head, then my neck and my shoulders.  I was very aware in this moment and knew for sure that my anxiety was not coming from any of those places, but I was not positive where it was coming from.  It was a bizarre setting because not only were they attempting to understand and feel my energy, but I was also receiving energy from them.  Another voice from inside the room asked me where in my body I felt uneasy, and the answer became instantly clear.  It was in my heart.

What happened next was one of the most powerful experiences I have ever had.  The healers in the room where overtaken with my energy, the deep sadness that is entwined with my heart.  They were consumed with the powerful emotions of grief that have become part of my being.  This was the conflict and dilemma that they felt within me.  Half of my body moving forward, embracing change, growing and learning but being driven by the other half and the sadness and grief that I have experienced.

I sensed the sadness and could feel the tears from the healers in the room that came from the powerful emotions within me.  I explained how my heart is the focal point of my pain because of the loss of Maureen and they told me that they knew and that she was here, in the room with us.  A picture appeared in my mind, clear as day, of Maureen sitting on the edge of the bed.  They told me that she had something to say to me.  I was there with her and she spoke.  She told me that everything was going to be OK.  I had tears in my eyes, but also felt a sudden sense of relief and calmness to my body.  I felt at peace.

These were the words I spoke to her so often throughout her battle with cancer.  When things got overwhelming, when we had one of those awful doctor’s visits where we felt like the world was going to end, I would comfort her with my calming words.  When she was facing her last days and she looked at me, concern on her face and tears in her eyes, still worried about her family, I told her with confidence and conviction: “Everything is going to be OK”.  Those were the words she needed to hear, but those are also the words that she never had a chance to tell me.  The calming voice, the smile, the sincere words that soothed my soul.

Everything is going to be OK.  Things always work out!

Celebration of life for an amazing woman

This was written days after Maureen had passed, wondering if I would have the strength to stand in front of the crowd and read it, without becoming an emotional mess.  As I read this now, almost two years later, it is a thoughtful tribute to my lovely wife, but not as deep as some other material I have written.  It was very fitting for the celebration of a wonderful woman.

 

Mike McEnaney Loss and learning

 

Earlier in the week, I was asked if Maureen had any special things that I wanted to bring and put on display tonight for the Celebration of Life.  I looked around the house, and I asked the kids what they thought moms special things around the house were.  My modest child, Audrey, said, “dad, I thought we were moms special things”?  I stopped and looked at her for a second, and said, you are right, you are her most special things.  So they are here tonight, Aidan, Liam, Audrey and Hazel.  Maureen’s most precious things.

As a family, we’ve never really been very materialistic, so when I looked around the house for what else I could bring, I found two other items:

  • A blanket that was given to her prior to the March surgery with signatures and well wishes from most people that are here tonight.  You all are part of what she valued most in life and you are now also on display as some of her special things.
  • I also found a yearbook from Wells Junior High School, signed by many of her students. Her students were such a huge part of her life.  She worked tireously for those kids, and believed in each and every one of them.  Her students loved her and she will be sorely missed.
  • A final item I thought of, was this place. Maureen loved spending time here in the sunshine, salt air and positive vibe.  I think she was happiest when she was here, acting as a mentor and coach and serving as a positive role model to all.

I met Maureen in August of 1998.  It was on a blind date, but I have to clarify.  Her obituary stated that we met on a blind date then got married.  There were actually a few years in between that first date and the date we were married, even though Maureen always insisted she knew on our first date that she wanted to marry me.  We married two years later in August of 2000.  It was one of the happiest days of my life. (imagine how many kids we would have had if had gotten married right away)

I remember a lot about those first few dates that made me realize Maureen was someone special:

She was easy to talk to.  Even though she liked to embellish just a little bit, she had a lot of stories that would bring a smile to my face.

She told me that when they were young they used to walk back and forth to the neighborhood school and that they would sometimes be encountered by the neighborhood bullies.  Maureen said that she used to protect her brother and sister from the bullies.  I know that she was tough, but I’m picturing this pint sized little, fiery redhead trying to scare off boys twice her size (picture Ralphie and Randy from the Christmas Story).  We all know Maureen was tough and that she was not afraid to stand up for what she believed in, no matter how scary the battle.

What Maureen lacked in height, she made up for with attitude.  I was surprised to find out on our first date that she ran men’s hurdles while she was in high school.  This skill has been passed down to Audrey and Hazel as well, who are blessed with long legs.  While Maureen’s legs were a little shorter, she was blessed with strength and athletic ability and received a college scholarship for hurdles.

On our honeymoon, we went to Portugal.  We had only booked a hotel for the first night and figured we would see where we would up for the rest of the stay.  Our flight was delayed and by the time we made it to our hotel, they had sold our room.  We ended up sleeping on a mattress on the floor of a garage at a house next to the beach and it was perfect.  Little did we know that this would be a signal of how the rest of our married life would be.  There always seemed to be some type of diversity to overcome, but we both agreed that except for that cancer part, our life was perfect.

After Liam was born we decided that we wanted to move out of the neighborhood we had settled in.  We found a piece of land in West Kennebunk that we could build a house on.  Sitting on this piece of land was a vintage 1970’s single wide trailer, complete with classic shag carpeting throughout.  Maureen (always the practical one) decided that we did not need to rent and that we could just live in the trailer with the two boys through the winter while the house was being built (by the way, she was pregnant again).

At the time, Maureen was working at York adult education.  I came home one early winter evening to find her on hands and knees curled up in pain on that lovely shag carpeting in the bathroom.  It was obvious to me that she was in severe pain, so I asked what I could do to help.  I think she managed to ask me if I could feed the kids so she could get ready to go to work.  Maureen was one of the most dedicated and hardworking people I have ever met, but I was not going to let it happen on this night.  I made her call in sick and went off on one of our many adventures to ER.

Things we learned through our adventures at ER:

  • A leg cast will cause more harm than good when you misdiagnose rheumatoid Arthritis.
  • When you’re told that your daughters shattered elbow will never be the same, don’t believe them.
  • Letting your 4 year old son tell the doctor how he cracked his head open can be incriminating.
  • An ER doctor may tell you that you’re going to die soon. It probably is not true.
  • When they tell you your baby has four legs and four arms. It’s probably twins.

The second most amazing thing I’ve seen Maureen do, was give birth to the twins.  It was in the early morning hours of an Easter Sunday.  The hospital was short staffed and there was no time to help with any of the pain.  Audrey was born very shortly after we arrived at the hospital, and Hazel took her time, enjoying all the extra space for an extra few hours.  Neither of the girl’s lungs were fully developed yet and they were rushed off, in separate ambulances, to Maine Med.  About an hour after birth, the doctor came in and told Maureen, “I know that you want to be with your girls, I will release you whenever you are ready”.  About 2 hours after giving birth to Hazel, we were back home eating breakfast before heading up to see our precious girls.

The most amazing thing that I have ever seen Maureen do, was just a few weeks ago.  I believe the words she used were, “Grace and dignity”.  Accepting her fate and putting the needs of her children and myself before her own, was one of bravest and most amazing acts I have ever witnessed, from anyone.

As we started down this road a few years back, we both agreed that our time as a family was most precious and we needed to continue to raise happy, healthy, strong children.

Speaking of children; If you look around at the pictures and the slide show, you’ve probably noticed a red headed boy in most of those pictures with a devilish look in his eye, looking like he is up to no good.  That is Aidan, and he gets that from Maureen.  Like his mom, he’s mellowed a little bit with old age and he can usually be found now with a book in front of his face.  Maureen actually considered herself an introvert.  She used to tell me of her childhood days reading books in bed with a flashlight until the wee hours of the morning.  In college, when she went to parties, she told me that she could usually be found sitting in a corner, snuggled up with a delightful book (I think she told me that we were dating though, probably trying to make a good impression).  All that reading has also given him another one of Maureen’s characteristics, a superb vocabulary.  Go ahead and feel free challenge him.

And then there is Liam.  Take a look at that face – need I say anymore?  Many of you may not know that Liam has had juvenile arthritis since he was about 4.  He used to be in a lot of pain with severe joint swelling.  There are still some days that his knees and hips ache, he can’t use his fingers, but I bet that no one here has ever heard him complain.  He has the strength and determination of his mom, and never lets pain get in his way of what he wants to do.  He is also a good friend, a defender of the underdog, and will stand up for what he thinks is right, sometimes to his own detriment (sound familiar).  He can sometimes be a little moody, but I think that’s on me.

Maureen had a deep, jolly laugh that could fill a room.  Hardly seemed to fit her petite frame.  Go ahead and tell Audrey a joke, and you’ll see that she has inherited that jovial laugh.  Being in Maureen’s presence always felt very calming to me.  Very rarely did you see her overreact to a situation.  I watch Audrey and the world could be exploding around her, while she calmly surveys the situation and nonchalantly chooses her course of action.  Always easy to smile, just like her mom.

Hazel always seems to come last.  I guess that’s what happens when you are the youngest, even if it is only by 2 hours.  But do not underestimate her and let her quiet, sweet nature fool you.  She has the mental toughness of her mom and then some.  If you ever want to challenge Hazel, tell her that you don’t think she can do something, then stand back and watch.  Like her mom, she is a generous soul and always making everyone feel welcome.  She has inherited Maureen’s love of learning, and can often be found doing “extra homework” for fun.

I have had an odd feeling of satisfaction lately, seeing how Maureen’s life and death have caused many people to reevaluate their life and relationships with loved ones.  She would be happy to know that her spirit is still alive and exist in us all, and most definitely in the hearts and souls of her children.   So whenever you find yourself missing her, just open your eyes and look around, she is everywhere.

Material Belongings Come to Life

The process of going through Maureen’s belongings took a long time.  I immediately found a few of her treasured possessions to give to the kids because I thought they needed something right away to still feel some closeness.  They have some jewelry, clothing, stuffed animals, etc.  It’s hard to explain how some material items suddenly took on this new spiritual characteristic filled with memories.  I left a plastic bin open in the bedroom, and whenever I came across something that was too emotional to let go of, or something that I thought the kids may want someday, it went into the bin.  The bin is now locked away in the attic to be opened some day when we all need it, or the time is right.

There are still a few things hanging around the house that we keep as reminders.  We have wedding photos and family photos from separate phases of our life.  We’ve never been much for material possessions, but there are few things that Maureen picked out/accumulated that remind me of her, so they have stayed.  I still have many of her teaching books in my bookshelf because they were such an important part of who she was, that I have not been able to part with them.  There are still some nice dresses hanging in the closet, that I was hoping the girls might some day wear, but it does not appear that they are ever going to stop growing and would probably look like mini-skirts on them at this point.   Her ski jacket was also still packed away with most of her ski gear, but I never really gave that any thought.

Getting ready for the ski season is always a major undertaking.  It’s easy to spend a small fortune outfitting everyone, especially as the kids have aged.  I feel as if I’m outfitting a small army.  I start early by asking everyone to try on last years clothing, making a mental note of what needs to be replaced and what can get us by for another year.  This hardly ever works as planned though, and the first day of the season always brings a few surprises.  This year, it was Hazel, finding out the night prior to her first ski trip, that Jasper had decided to snack on her jacket and it no longer had a zipper that worked.

mike mcenaney loss and learning skiingmike mcenaney loss and learning skiing

(early years)                                                         (now)

We’re always trying to stretch the years out of the clothing.  Buy it a little large and wear it until it is a little small.  The poor girls were always wearing the boys’ hand-me-downs when they were younger and although they never complained, were over the moon when we bought them their own “girls” jackets for the first time.  I didn’t really have a back-up plan for replacing a ski jacket last minute.  Our trip to the attic to rummage through the bins of old clothes that don’t fit anyone or just too plain hideous for anyone to wear, was unsuccessful.  Hazel was not impressed with the options her unsympathetic siblings (and father) were offering.

Audrey and Hazel took a lot of Maureen’s shirts when I was cleaning out clothing, at least the ones they thought were fashionable enough for a 13-year-old to wear.  None of us in the house thought twice about wearing her clothes, it was not really a big deal for us. Whatever the kids didn’t want ended up going in the trash.  While I had no problem with the kids wearing Maureen’s clothes, I couldn’t fathom the thought of donating them and recognizing her clothing on some random stranger.  I know there are plenty of people that could have used some of this clothing, but it just seemed creepy to me and I couldn’t do it.

When Hazel suggested that she could wear Mom’s ski jacket, I thought it was a brilliant idea.  She tried it on and was a little bummed that it was not color coordinated with her helmet and ski pants, but it fit well, and it had a working zipper!  It was a woman’s jacket, and she seemed to be enjoying the fact that she was able to wear adult clothing while her twin sister was still stuck in last years youth clothing.  My mind may have been slightly swayed because I was so used to seeing Maureen in that jacket, but it looked good on Hazel.  Problem solved.

Apparently, I am not the only person that finds it creepy to see someone walking (or skiing in this case) around in Maureen’s clothing.  Many of her friends immediately spotted the pink jacket zipping around the mountain and thought they were seeing the ghost of ski seasons past.  I was approached by numerous people, looking slightly shaken up, faces a little chalky white, asking if one of the kids were wearing the jacket or if it was some hallucination or mystical reincarnation.  What once was just an extra jacket used to solve a ski gear dilemma, suddenly blossomed into something much more meaningful.  The spirit of Maureen McEnaney did still exist within her small community of friends at Sunday River, but now it was exuberant.  I haven’t looked at that jacket the same since that day.

mike mcenaney loss and learning skiingmike mcenaney loss and learning skiing

One afternoon, while heading home from the mountain, Hazel was riding shotgun and proceeded down this extensive list of names of people who had approached her to say “Hi” that day.  I smiled, because while Hazel was happy to be so popular on the mountain, she did not understand the meaning of the jacket and why she had suddenly become so popular.  I proceeded to tell her how many people think that she is Mom (one that came back a few inches taller, with a love of skiing moguls and getting air) and explained how it is a little strange for some to be seeing Mom skiing around the mountain.  Her smile turned into a beaming grin and entire body reflected a look of contentment and satisfaction.  She now wears that jacket very proudly.  It’s her super hero outfit, or maybe that’s just my projection?

Conquering Fear with Love

My attitude towards grief has been driven by my love for Maureen, my desire for our children to have her presence in their life and by fear.  It may be unusual to have these opposite extremes as motivating factors, but they are intertwined for me and difficult to separate from each other.

Over the years we had evolved to form a truly loving partnership that not only reflected in our love and respect for each other, but also filtered down to the love we shared for our children.  She will forever be their Mom, and while I can’t physically bring her back to share all those moments/milestones throughout their lives, I’ve felt that it is important for them to know she is still there with them in spirit.

It is out of this powerful emotion of love, that my fear is manifested.  It seems to me, that the more intense and profound the love, the deeper and darker the potential depths of grief.  While never previously personally experiencing the death of a loved one, I have witnessed the crippling effects it can have on people through real life experiences as well as books, movies, etc.  I’ve seen devastation; jobs lost, houses lost, lives turned completely upside down due to loss of a loved one.  Grief is a powerful and destructive force and is the source of my fear.

“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness.  It took me years to understand that this too was a gift”

Maureen and I had many opportunities over the last few years of her life to have candid conversations about death.  She also understood the damaging effects of grief and how we would cope in her absence, always seeking my assurance that I would do my best to pick myself up and carry on with my life in a positive manner (In retrospect, I was so naïve).   While I always thought she was brave in accepting and facing her illness and end of life, it is now clear how truly remarkable she was in helping us all prepare for life without her when it would have been understandable to become self-involved with her own bitter fate.

In the immediate aftermath of her death, my assurances that I was able to so confidently convey in life, now seemed nearly impossible.  There was a feeling of overwhelming sadness, coupled with the challenge of suddenly becoming an only parent while being completely lost.  I could put on a brave face most days, but I was befuddled. My mind was so preoccupied that it was difficult to remember things, stay organized, make decisions or even get out of bed in the morning.  Suddenly those fears of crippling grief were looming like vultures.

I don’t know how things would have been without children, but they were certainly a motivating factor for me.  Knowing that I had four children depending on me for strength, direction and support was significant.  Everyone has their own unique relationship with grief, for me, I knew I needed it out in the open.  As a day dreamer with millions of thoughts and ideas constantly running through my head (sometimes taking over completely), I was afraid that grief would destroy me if I did not let it out.  Grief scared the shit out of me, but I was not going to run away and hide from it.  I wanted it out in the open, where we could see it, where we could experience it, where we could really get to know it.

I talked openly with the kids about life without Mom.  One night/week we would share favorite memories.  We would make jokes about her and have a laugh at her expense (the bickering table is our favorite ongoing joke). We would talk about what makes us sad, what makes us happy and about what we miss about her.  Sometimes there would be laughter, sometimes there would be tears.  The grief was there with us out in the open, not some monster lurking in the darkness, haunting us every day.

“Those who don’t know how to weep with their whole heart don’t know how to laugh either”    Golda Meir

I have not conquered grief, I doubt there is such a thing.  I have however faced my fear of it.  Grief will forever be a part of my life and I never know when it will decide to come and visit me.  Some days there is a sense of sadness and melancholy and I just let it be.  I let it come and keep me company, listen to what it has to say and then let it go on its way again.  I’ve learned from grief, and let it change me (reluctantly at times). Sometimes it comes and decides to stick around for a while and try to take over. It’s during these times that I remember my assurances to Maureen.  “I will pick myself up and carry on”.  It’s not always that easy, but that is the least I can do for you😊

Children Mourning the Loss of a Mom

There are many ways that Maureen still touches our lives in grief.  I honestly believe her love is part of my being and is with me each day.  I’m fortunate to live with four children that carry her spirit with them every day, and sometimes I catch myself telling the kids; “That was just like your Mom”!  It is quite extraordinary at times to see her traits in their mannerisms and actions.

When Maureen was first diagnosed with cancer, the kids were 9,9,11 and 12.   We quickly realized that there is no one correct way to explain this to your children.  We decided to tell the kids about the cancer, but always explained that it was treatable, and that one-day Mom would be healthy again. We did this partly because both Maureen and I were hopeful that this was the truth and partly because if it was not the truth, we wanted to start helping the kids learn some skills to cope with less favorable outcomes.  This certainly was not anything we ever fathomed as parents.

At the time, Aidan (the twelve-year-old) was always the last child to go to bed.  Since he is a quiet person, it was nice for Maureen and me to have that one on one time with him every night.  It was when he was at his most talkative and we both loved having that quality time with him.  One night, shortly after the initial diagnosis, we could see that the wheels were spinning in his head and he was upset by the news.  Because of his multiple diagnosis of Asperger’s and ADHD, he was a clever child but not very emotional, preferring to deal with facts.  I vividly remember him questioning the both of us:

“I thought there was no cure for cancer?”

Through each stage of the cancer, we continued to take the same approach with the kids, not wanting them to carry that burden of the idea of losing their mom.  We felt they were too young to handle this weight (when it was not certain) and we continued to try to raise happy, healthy, strong children that one day would be able to face these challenges.  Aidan was never fooled.  There is always something going on in his head and I can’t imagine how he dealt with this conflict over what we told him, versus what he believed to be factual.

As a child, school was a challenge for him(He was actually kicked out of a Pre-school, but that’s a story for another day).  His ADHD and Asperger’s affected his focus and social skills, while organization was not his forte.  Teachers had a love/hate relationship with him.  They either loved him for his unique qualities, bright red hair and mischievous smile or they hated him because he was too rambunctious, wild and unfocused.  If it happened to be the latter, it was always a long school year, because he had a sixth sense when a teacher did not really like him, and he knew how to get under their skin and antagonize them!

Maureen had an incredible gift for working with children that were a little different.  She believed in the success of all kids and was a tireless advocate for them.  After working with them all day, she would come home and spend hours at the table with Aidan, helping with schoolwork.  The sessions were often tortuous, as he would push Maureen to the brink of frustration.  He hated school work and knew how to get out of it.

Mike McEnaney Loss and Learning grief mourning

Freshman year was a disaster.  Maureen was very sick for much of the year and Aidan was drowning with the independence and increased responsibility of High School.  We had to take him out of a few classes because he was completely lost.  Maureen did her best with her failing health, but things were changing.  The homework sessions were less confrontational, with Aidan willingly seeking out his Mom.  I remember Maureen commenting how much she now enjoyed sitting with him and how receptive he was having this special time with his Mom.

After Maureen passed away, there were many nights and days filled with tears from all of us.  However, to this day, I have never seen Aidan shed a tear.  I have had conversations with him about sadness and grief and being OK to cry.  Perhaps in his own space and in his own way he has, but I have never seen it.  I know for certain that he misses his Mom and I know for a fact that she is with him every day in spirit, because he has been transformed into a completely different person.

Grief affects everyone differently.   For Aidan, it has been taking all those hours spent with his Mom at the kitchen table and coming to the realization that he is smart, he is organized, and he can be a good student!  The below average student who struggled to occasionally make the honor roll, now consistently achieves high honors, is taking college level classes, has been taken out of the special education program and even builds computers from scratch for his friends, all while working 15-20 hours per week!  I remind him often how proud his Mom would be and notice a slight touch of moisture in his eye before he silently acknowledges and looks away, trying to hide the emotion I have stirred within him.

Grief is love with no place to go.

Last week we had our annual IEP meeting to discuss Aidan’s Special Education plan, and I knew that we were planning on taking him out of Special Education.  Every person in the room commented on how Aidan is the model student and how enjoyable he is to have in class.  It was so hard to control myself emotionally, knowing how Maureen would be beaming, hearing of his achievements and what a fine, successful young man he has become.   Aidan may not talk about the heartache of losing his Mom, but he shows his love every day by becoming the young man she always knew he could be.

Grief takes on many forms, sometimes it’s sad and sometimes it can be powerful and lifechanging as well.  For Aidan the spirit of his Mom is alive within him and that mutual love has been a force in his life.  That love is in a lot of places if you take the time to look.

A Reminder That I Love Being a Dad

I don’t often get one on one time with my girls.  The two of them are inseparable and it’s rare for them to go in different directions; which is why I found it strange to be in the car with Audrey, solo, for a ride to Gorham and back.  I don’t know if I have ever had that much alone time with her, because if I did I would have remembered how much she really loves to talk!  I seriously think that there was not a moment of silence for the entire ride there or back and I was amazed at how she continued to bring up one subject after another to keep conversation going.  If I answered with a short, dead-end answer, she would find a better question to ask.  Of my four children, she is the one that inherited the gift of gab from her Mom; that and the deep belly laugh – a carbon copy of Maureen’s.

Discussion turned to college, and how do you know what you want to go to school for?  As a fifty-three-year-old who still hasn’t figured out what I want to be, she found a topic that created some lively discussion.  I love talking about all the interest I have and the different work/hobby experiences I have had in my life.  It seemed like to perfect opportunity to discuss my idea of writing this blog and yet another example of how different paths emerge over life.

I discovered a long time ago, that I’m much better at putting my thoughts and feelings down on paper (or computer screen), than I am at vocalizing them.  For example, every year, since the birth of our first child, I would write a story and put it under the tree at Christmas.  I would make it a humorous recap of our life events for that year, because our life always seemed to be taking on these bizarre twists and turns.  I did it mostly for Maureen, because I wanted to give something that was from the heart; a creation of my own that reflected my love.  Today, the kids enjoy going back and reading them as they are filled with both fond memories from childhood, as well as memories of their Mom.

I was struck when Audrey asked me why I wrote those stories?  I took me a few seconds to let that question sink in, but really there was only one answer.

I wrote those stories because I love being a Dad! 

It was such a huge revelation to me at that moment (I could also see it brought a tear to her eye) and honestly I had not thought about the joys of parenthood in a while.  Life has been altered so much over the past few years.  My role has been transformed, my parenting has changed.  I’ve gone from having the perfect parenting partner in my life, to solo, stumbling, doubting single parent figuring things out as I’ve gone along.

I found becoming a single parent  such a shock to my confidence.  Yes, I always knew that I loved being a Dad, but being solo has been so intense, that I have not really thought about it for a while.  I’m certainly a different parent now; I’m always on, I’m the good guy, the bad guy, the enforcer (occasionally), the comforter, the teacher, the role model…  It never stops, but the truth is this, I still love being a Dad. Sometimes it just takes a question from an innocent child to make things clear.

 

Enjoyable conversation, but unfortunately, I think I may have confused her on the college question!