Tag: grief

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

How do you answer those awkward questions about death

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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.

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!

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.

Grief, stress and finding peace

I don’t raise my voice often. Family excluded, most people have never heard me yell. As a child I remember having fits of rage — which I’m sure where justified given the abuse I suffered at the hands of my older siblings!  As a young adult, I found myself able to leap tall buildings in a single bound at that point when I would just snap.  I’ve never physically hurt anyone in my life, but I have uttered enough hurtful words during a temper tantrum that I wish I could take back.  I’ve done this enough — and offered apologies—  that over time I’ve successfully learned to control myself and prevent myself from getting to that point of no return.

In the aftermath of Maureen’s death, life was a little stressful (understatement).  Obviously, the house was a bundle of emotions.  Not only was I trying to deal with sadness and grief myself, but the kids were also lost. There were financial implications, single-parenting implications, work implications.  The pressure was suffocating, all at a time when I just wanted to pull the covers over my head and hide.

If I’m going to lose my cool, it’s probably going to happen during times of intense stress, and life was a little stressful.  I knew that I should not be raising my voice and shouting, but it was happening more often, at a time when what the kids needed was kindness, compassion and understanding.

There was one incident around dinnertime where I ended up throwing dinner (food was flying everywhere) on the table in an emotional outburst, while spouting lots of colorful language (many have also never heard my colorful language; I did grow up in the trucking business) and storming away to bedroom to close the door, weep and feel sorry for myself.  I laid on the bed listening to the sounds of kids sobbing, knowing I blew it.  Sure, I’m human, but it was just heartbreaking knowing that my children were already so traumatized from losing their mom, and now I gave them a reason to miss her even more. I felt like such a jackass at that moment, and knew I was wrong.  Given my grief, it was normal for me lose control of my emotions. However, I was not being the parent I wanted to be.

These outbursts always led to good discussion though, along with my apologies. We talked about why I lost my temper, how life without Mom is hard, how we are in all this together and how we all need to look out for each other.  My kids were not used to seeing an angry side of me. I knew that it scared them, and I always promised I would try to get better, try to stay calmer.

As much as I hated the fact that I lost control, it was a learning process for all of us. My honesty with the kids and sincere apologies helped us get to where we are today. One day, while the girls were watching the television, I stopped because they were watching a Tai Chi video on YouTube, and it struck me as being a little unusual for them. The background music was soothing, and the person performing the routine looked calm and peaceful.  I asked the girls why they were watching and they both broke into laughter at the same time (identical twin girls are amazing).  They responded, “Dad, this would be good for you to do!”

I was not sure if they were joking or if they were serious? Given the ongoing temper discussion we were having in the house at the time, I thought maybe they were on to something? The person in the video certainly looked calm!  I was also genuinely determined to become a calmer, more focused person in the face of constant stress. The next morning, after the four kids all left for the day — I did not want them to see me — I tried it out.  I locked myself in the bedroom with the “do not disturb” sign on the door and had some quiet, peaceful time to myself.

I do not think the girls were serious about having me perform Tai Chi, I do however think that they wanted me to be the calm, happy Dad that I used to be.  They all got a good laugh at me and poked fun of my new morning routine, but I had found something that brought me peace.  It is now part of my morning routine, and it was a crucial step in me taking control of my life again, learning from grief and realizing that there is a new world of change out there. I found a whole new person within me, just waiting for me to explore.

True love is with us always

On July 2, 2016, my wife Maureen McEnaney passed away after a three-year battle with colon cancer.  This blog is not only my story about the pain and sadness I experienced while grieving her loss, but also about my journey of self-discovery, positive change and adventure as I wandered through my new world suddenly filled with uncertainty and ambiguity.

loss and learning mike mcenaney

Looking back, as much as I thought I had mentally prepared myself for that day, it was still a mind-numbing experience.  Maureen and I had fought as a team throughout the cancer, both of us remaining positive while at the same time preparing for less desirable outcomes.  I remember sitting by her side as she grew weaker and weaker; her last words expressing her devout love me.  I knew we loved each other, but as the tears rolled down her face, I experienced the most powerful expression of love I have ever felt in my life. We cried, holding each other dearly in a lasting embrace.  I’m a lucky man, to have known and seen true love, to experience it at its most vulnerable, to see the truth in it, to know it is real.  It is ironic how this moment of intense love and clarity is then followed by loss; our love is forever etched upon my soul and constantly gives me strength.

 

Her breathing became labored and erratic and I knew she would be leaving.   As her last breath was drawn, I froze.  Time seemed to stand still.  It’s one thing to prepare yourself for the concept of losing your best friend and soul mate, it’s quite another to comprehend the devastating reality.  Somehow, I mechanically was able to take care of the remaining business, but my spirit had been sucked out of me, I was empty.

 

A good friend drove me home, knowing I just needed to sit in silence.  Returning home to face my four children was daunting.  I was wondering, how I do this? Here was my first act as a solo parent, and it’s breaking the worst news of their young lives to them.  I had always loved being a Dad and considered myself a good parent, yet suddenly I felt incapable and incompetent without the support of my loving partner.  The physical act of death is so simple but the complex chain reaction of events that follow are so intense and emotional, that it’s impossible to fathom the severity and far reaching effects.  It’s like being stripped naked and dropped in a strange land, being left to figure out how to survive.

 

As I struggled for strength and direction, I knew that I was not going to let cancer beat our family.  It may have wreaked havoc on our lives, but I was not going to let it win.  Early on, that was my strength; it’s what kept me going.  My drive and my motivation today is to continue the fight and somehow keep our family healthy and strong, while also keeping the spirit and love of Maureen McEnaney alive within us all.