In 1998/99 I spent a year living and teaching English conversation in Japan. And up until recently, I would describe that year in many ways as ‘existing’, not ‘living’. But in retrospect, I had something resembling a life there, not a great one, but I was engaged socially with the expat community. Now at home, as a widow, I really find I’m in a…
widowed with children
This Woman I Do Not Know
Many have posted all over the net, and here, how the death of Robin Williams has affected them. Their surprise… or degree there of. The loss of his creativity and ability to shower abundant joy on others. Of how his catalogue of work is central to their childhood and youth. The stories of someone who, by the reports, was a kind and generous…
Wow, What a Widow Brain
I had intended to write about the crappiness of turning 40 over the weekend as a widow. How much I wish Ian was here to mark this milestone, and because he’s not, I had no real desire to celebrate or really mark the occasion. But have friends insisting that I do so (so compromised with a very expensive dinner for a small group of friends). But then…
Chicken and Lime
Some of the things I regret around Ian’s death feel exceedingly odd. Nothing about how we managed his care, death or funeral. But not getting his chicken, lime and coconut milk curry recipe out of him… THAT has bugged me beyond belief.That was his signature dish, the one he pulled out when we had company. It’s what he made me the first…
Seeing Strength
Chuck’s first anniversary just passed. We had a remembrance for him and danced for the love he left behind for all of us. But I also needed, somehow, to mark this past year in a very personal way that was about me and who I am now and who I’m becoming. Who I want to be for the rest of my life. Thinking about it became a spiritual mediation…
The little things
…that annoy me (and drive me to drink).Warning – disorganised tiredness and general whining follows….. Somedays I think being a widow has taught me patience, but there are other days when I realise my fuse is very short and I have no time for pedants and things that make my life harder.I question why, instead of helping to simplify my…
First Thursday
February 11 is a happy day for me (also marked with some trepidation) … it’s my son’s birthday. He who is so much his father, is turning three.But since I generally write ahead of time, making use of the time I can sit in front of a computer screen uninterrupted while he’s in child care, and I’m writing on February 7, John’s birthday…
Questions?
Where is…?Who put that there…?When…?Why is……the bottle of brown sauce in the crockery cupboard?Did I put it there… or did John? I don’t remember doing that… but I don’t remember seeing John in the kitchen while I was cooking dinner, either. It must have been me that put the sauce in there, but have no recollection what so ever…
Missing out
Last week one of the parents of a child I teach had a bit of a tantrum after school one day*. It seems her daughter missed out on having an iceblock with the rest of the class because she had been away the previous day. In her seething mother-rage, she shouted at me “It’s not FAIR that Cathy misses out on an iceblock. The rest of the class had…
Same old grief.
I’ve been thinking about what to blog about for two days now. And I haven’t been able to come with anything. At least, not anything new. The ironic thing is, grief has been so heavy for me this week. Yesterday morning in the middle of a random conversation with my two year old about daddy, I burst into tears, which turned in to full-out sobbing by…
A legacy of kindness….
I recently read a book (and then watched the movie) called “Cloud Atlas” by David Mitchell. I count it as one of my top ten reads of all time. It’s not an easy read, either in content (lots of death and savagery), nor in lightness (its complex, you can’t afford not to be 100% focused on the story or you will miss something important).But this…
Father’s Day
Last Sunday was Father’s Day. A day that I try to put on a happy, life-can-still-be-good smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. A day that I try to acknowledge with the children in a way that is not morbid. A day that always makes me feel sad. Not long after I woke, I heard sobs coming from my son’s room. This is the child who was 5 when his…