Tag: love

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.

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!