Becoming a Lefty
Wayne was my partner, on my team, completing the spaces that I didn't know were there, but now gape wide open. Wayne was my right hand, the one that knew what to do, how to guide, the strong one. Now, my right hand is gone, and I must learn how to be a lefty. I cannot be the same, and must use something different, something that is left. Using my left arm will make it stronger over time, but it will never be like my missing right arm.
When Wayne died, I was numb and in shock. Sometimes I read what I posted or wrote in the months after he died - and while I know there is truth in there - I recognize that I was trying to convince myself that I would be alright - and I was trying to convince the world too. I did and accomplished things in that time that were important but in this season of grief I now no longer have the energy for. The reality of the world has come at full force, and I simply cannot do it all, and have to accept my limitations at this time. I cannot be everything that I was once, and I cannot be everything I am meant to be all at once ... yet.
When my son and I are tired or sick, we miss Daddy even more. Wayne was calm, introspective and had the ability to think clearly even when tired. When I am sick myself, tired, or in pain, I tend to feel quite inadequate. When I am awakened in the middle of the night, I can feel like another creature roaming in the dark. Since Wayne died, I have been roaming quite a bit, hunched over, exhausted, feeling the absence of my teammate.
Back in the winter months, my son had a cough, no fever, but a very sore throat, as well as being sick to his stomach. Our pediatrician has walk-in hours, so we arose early and headed into the suburbs. We came to find out that he had a bad sinus infection and the post-nasal drip from that was affecting his lungs, causing reactive airway disorder (asthma/tightening in his lungs).
They brought in the nebulizer, and Adam asked if he was going to be intubated. His perfectly rational question, brought tears to my eyes, because I realize that this young child has seen so much. We then had to go to get a chest X-ray, and ended up at the facility where Wayne had procedures done as well. I sat in the same chair, hoping to remember and feel the presence of him, as if he were there. I could feel the memories flooding in, and how we sat in the double bench so we could be near each other, instead of separated by an arm rest.
When it was time for the Xray, I panicked a little when they closed the door and I could not see my son for a long 20 seconds. The Xray was clear - so no pneumonia. Thus 8 over the counter and prescribed medications, one of them administered every 4 hours, had begun. I remember being so grateful we were NOT admitted to the hospital, and didn't need an ER visit. Although we have no control over anything, I have learned to be more grateful even in hard and tiring situations.
In this past year my son also fell at the local bowling alley, and I felt myself go into a zone. People watching us would say that I went right into caregiving, calming my son, checking him over, putting an ice pack on his head and arm. I was hyper focused on him, but there was this piece in my mind that knew I had to take him to the doctor and this inner dread started to build up. I have dealt with far worse things but going to see the doctor strikes this bit of fear in me - everytime I took Wayne to the ER or hospital he ended up with complications that just further weakened him. My sister met me at urgent care, and thankfully my son did not have a concussion or broken arm. She made us and the doctor and nurses laugh, giving me a gift that doesn't come in packages.
Over the past year, there are others that have done this too - letting me cry on the phone as I talk, sitting with me and listening without words or advice, driving us places, grocery shopping for me, and watching my son so I can be alone - to walk, to go to the cemetery, or to sleep. I must admit that it takes a lot of energy to have more people on my team, and sometimes I simply prefer to be alone. It is part of my learning to be a lefty. Letting others help me, but also being independent, with a huge learning curve, is part of strengthening my left arm. However, becoming a lefty can be lonely, even amongst the willing people that offer help. It is because no one can fill that space like Wayne did. This is not meant to be ungrateful, for I am thankful for support, it is just that it is always different whether people help or whether I am alone.
Our world is a busy one, and I have found myself withdrawing, so that I am protected somewhat from the disappointments and the fragility of people's emotions, mine included, as well as the cares of the earthly world and politics that take place. Early on after Wayne died, I had this numbness and shock and I was able to do things then that I cannot do now. I cannot speak in front of large groups of adults without a wavering voice, I may struggle to make eye contact with other adults, my singing voice is muted with tears, and I am weary physically and mentally from constantly putting up a pleasant front, care-taking, and working.
Wayne was my partner, on my team, completing the spaces that I didn't know were there, but now gape wide open. Wayne was my right hand, the one that knew what to do, how to guide, the strong one. Now, my right hand is gone, and I must learn how to be a lefty. I cannot be the same, and must use something different, something that is left. Using my left arm will make it stronger over time, but it will never be like my missing right arm.
When Wayne died, I was numb and in shock. Sometimes I read what I posted or wrote in the months after he died - and while I know there is truth in there - I recognize that I was trying to convince myself that I would be alright - and I was trying to convince the world too. I did and accomplished things in that time that were important but in this season of grief I now no longer have the energy for. The reality of the world has come at full force, and I simply cannot do it all, and have to accept my limitations at this time. I cannot be everything that I was once, and I cannot be everything I am meant to be all at once ... yet.
When my son and I are tired or sick, we miss Daddy even more. Wayne was calm, introspective and had the ability to think clearly even when tired. When I am sick myself, tired, or in pain, I tend to feel quite inadequate. When I am awakened in the middle of the night, I can feel like another creature roaming in the dark. Since Wayne died, I have been roaming quite a bit, hunched over, exhausted, feeling the absence of my teammate.
Back in the winter months, my son had a cough, no fever, but a very sore throat, as well as being sick to his stomach. Our pediatrician has walk-in hours, so we arose early and headed into the suburbs. We came to find out that he had a bad sinus infection and the post-nasal drip from that was affecting his lungs, causing reactive airway disorder (asthma/tightening in his lungs).
They brought in the nebulizer, and Adam asked if he was going to be intubated. His perfectly rational question, brought tears to my eyes, because I realize that this young child has seen so much. We then had to go to get a chest X-ray, and ended up at the facility where Wayne had procedures done as well. I sat in the same chair, hoping to remember and feel the presence of him, as if he were there. I could feel the memories flooding in, and how we sat in the double bench so we could be near each other, instead of separated by an arm rest.
When it was time for the Xray, I panicked a little when they closed the door and I could not see my son for a long 20 seconds. The Xray was clear - so no pneumonia. Thus 8 over the counter and prescribed medications, one of them administered every 4 hours, had begun. I remember being so grateful we were NOT admitted to the hospital, and didn't need an ER visit. Although we have no control over anything, I have learned to be more grateful even in hard and tiring situations.
In this past year my son also fell at the local bowling alley, and I felt myself go into a zone. People watching us would say that I went right into caregiving, calming my son, checking him over, putting an ice pack on his head and arm. I was hyper focused on him, but there was this piece in my mind that knew I had to take him to the doctor and this inner dread started to build up. I have dealt with far worse things but going to see the doctor strikes this bit of fear in me - everytime I took Wayne to the ER or hospital he ended up with complications that just further weakened him. My sister met me at urgent care, and thankfully my son did not have a concussion or broken arm. She made us and the doctor and nurses laugh, giving me a gift that doesn't come in packages.
Over the past year, there are others that have done this too - letting me cry on the phone as I talk, sitting with me and listening without words or advice, driving us places, grocery shopping for me, and watching my son so I can be alone - to walk, to go to the cemetery, or to sleep. I must admit that it takes a lot of energy to have more people on my team, and sometimes I simply prefer to be alone. It is part of my learning to be a lefty. Letting others help me, but also being independent, with a huge learning curve, is part of strengthening my left arm. However, becoming a lefty can be lonely, even amongst the willing people that offer help. It is because no one can fill that space like Wayne did. This is not meant to be ungrateful, for I am thankful for support, it is just that it is always different whether people help or whether I am alone.
Our world is a busy one, and I have found myself withdrawing, so that I am protected somewhat from the disappointments and the fragility of people's emotions, mine included, as well as the cares of the earthly world and politics that take place. Early on after Wayne died, I had this numbness and shock and I was able to do things then that I cannot do now. I cannot speak in front of large groups of adults without a wavering voice, I may struggle to make eye contact with other adults, my singing voice is muted with tears, and I am weary physically and mentally from constantly putting up a pleasant front, care-taking, and working.
We all have a multitude of responsibilities in life. Within these responsibilities I take on the roles of mother, sister, child, employee, and I even need to be father-like - these are roles, that I shift between, or carry out at the same time. The role of widower is placed upon me too, although this is one that I still struggle to accept. It is a word I cannot bear to hear. While I can never be my son's father - I can instill the same things in him that Wayne did - reinforcing them, and keeping his memory and legacy active and alive.
My life with Wayne was very busy - and he was busier than I was. Now, I find it very hard to do what we did as a family of three and have enough energy left to properly take care of the home or even myself, because I am doing the work that two once shared. Retirement is very far in the future for me, but I know that God created us for work. I must admit I now know the daily struggle that single parents may face as they balance each day. My son comes first, and my goal is for him to feel safe, secure, and loved.
My back gives me much trouble, and recent events have made it much worse. I still go out and do things with my son. Sometimes our extra curricular activities involve going to appointments, but even the simple things, like eating out once in a while is a treat. Summer is when the bulk of home care and activities take place.
I feel that I used to be incredibly lazy at home. I am on my feet all day at work, busy mentally and physically. All I wanted to do was sit in the recliner and put my feet up. All of my life, I have experienced physical pain and tiredness ... and Wayne stepped in and graciously did more than his fair share of housework for me. I remember sometimes waiting until the recycling bin toppled and hoping I did not have to take it out. I would put dishes on the counter instead bending over to put them in the dishwasher. Even though Wayne stepped in and did these things, which may seem small, I feel this flash of guilt that I just let him, instead of helping. Now, I must be efficient and precise in order to keep the house in order, and I can see the importance of even taking care of the little things on a daily basis, so they do not become big things by the end of the week. Wayne taught me that, and I can live it out now. I am finding and managing the time to get these things done, somehow becoming a stronger lefty.
Wayne was also the chef, meal planner, and grocery shopper in our home. My skills in the kitchen are very limited, and my son's palate is very limited as well. In my house cooking means if it's covered with cheese, it's edible. I avoid buying things in a jar, because I struggle to open them. I buy food that allows me to prepare it quickly. We tend to eat the same things over and over, but there is some comfort in the routine of that. I do not have to think much about what I need to buy or prepare. It's a treat when we get to eat out because it's finally something different.
Often, I now wake early in the morning to take care of budgeting and housework. I think about how in the past I would get annoyed with how much time Wayne spent on the computer, but now I realize that he was paying the bills, balancing the budget, and not really doing fun things but was taking care of us. I wish I had appreciated that more because he took on the worry of such things so that I didn't have to. It is my hope that as my son grows older that he will be able to help more with the daily housework, but for now, he can be a kid. For now, he can cook his own mac and cheese in the microwave, hold doors open, set the table, and do some light cleaning. My left arm is getting stronger, and so is his.
Wayne was my earthly protector. His presence would ground me, keep me rational, and helped me gain perspective. Isn't that what a marriage is for? The person helps balance you out. So at times, without that balance that I relied so heavily on, I feel disoriented and unsure of myself. It can feel like I am in two different worlds. This sense of living in an alternate universe is one that wants to be in the past tinged with the longing to see Wayne again, and the one where I must step forward physically without him.
I still try to use my right arm. Sometimes I have moments where I feel like the "old me", which helps shape who I am to be; my foundation. The old me still works with my left hand. I will always have a relationship with myself (I am stuck with me!), and I must take care of me too. In the early months after Wayne's death, I tried to be who he was, but I realize that I can in no way ever be him as much as I try to do that. I found pronouns like "us", or "we", were a difficult thing to say, because it doesn't refer to Wayne and I in the present anymore, but I realize that Wayne too is holding my left hand, the one that wears our wedding band, and that he is still affecting and changing who I am.
My life with Wayne was very busy - and he was busier than I was. Now, I find it very hard to do what we did as a family of three and have enough energy left to properly take care of the home or even myself, because I am doing the work that two once shared. Retirement is very far in the future for me, but I know that God created us for work. I must admit I now know the daily struggle that single parents may face as they balance each day. My son comes first, and my goal is for him to feel safe, secure, and loved.
My back gives me much trouble, and recent events have made it much worse. I still go out and do things with my son. Sometimes our extra curricular activities involve going to appointments, but even the simple things, like eating out once in a while is a treat. Summer is when the bulk of home care and activities take place.
I feel that I used to be incredibly lazy at home. I am on my feet all day at work, busy mentally and physically. All I wanted to do was sit in the recliner and put my feet up. All of my life, I have experienced physical pain and tiredness ... and Wayne stepped in and graciously did more than his fair share of housework for me. I remember sometimes waiting until the recycling bin toppled and hoping I did not have to take it out. I would put dishes on the counter instead bending over to put them in the dishwasher. Even though Wayne stepped in and did these things, which may seem small, I feel this flash of guilt that I just let him, instead of helping. Now, I must be efficient and precise in order to keep the house in order, and I can see the importance of even taking care of the little things on a daily basis, so they do not become big things by the end of the week. Wayne taught me that, and I can live it out now. I am finding and managing the time to get these things done, somehow becoming a stronger lefty.
Wayne was also the chef, meal planner, and grocery shopper in our home. My skills in the kitchen are very limited, and my son's palate is very limited as well. In my house cooking means if it's covered with cheese, it's edible. I avoid buying things in a jar, because I struggle to open them. I buy food that allows me to prepare it quickly. We tend to eat the same things over and over, but there is some comfort in the routine of that. I do not have to think much about what I need to buy or prepare. It's a treat when we get to eat out because it's finally something different.
Often, I now wake early in the morning to take care of budgeting and housework. I think about how in the past I would get annoyed with how much time Wayne spent on the computer, but now I realize that he was paying the bills, balancing the budget, and not really doing fun things but was taking care of us. I wish I had appreciated that more because he took on the worry of such things so that I didn't have to. It is my hope that as my son grows older that he will be able to help more with the daily housework, but for now, he can be a kid. For now, he can cook his own mac and cheese in the microwave, hold doors open, set the table, and do some light cleaning. My left arm is getting stronger, and so is his.
I still try to use my right arm. Sometimes I have moments where I feel like the "old me", which helps shape who I am to be; my foundation. The old me still works with my left hand. I will always have a relationship with myself (I am stuck with me!), and I must take care of me too. In the early months after Wayne's death, I tried to be who he was, but I realize that I can in no way ever be him as much as I try to do that. I found pronouns like "us", or "we", were a difficult thing to say, because it doesn't refer to Wayne and I in the present anymore, but I realize that Wayne too is holding my left hand, the one that wears our wedding band, and that he is still affecting and changing who I am.
We still do things, even though I often feel separated from the world. Sometimes I catch myself distracted from the conversation, the presentations, the activity, and so on - my mind in grief, in memories, or just tired. Sometimes I startle easily because I am not fully present in the moment. I also think 'I hope I am acting "normal", like a real person'. There are moments when I forget my sadness for a while, and I find myself laughing, carrying on a meaningful conversation, or having a moment of peace - feeling fully present in the world. To be fully alive with grief is not easy, but it can be done. I try to make plans, and show up and I can accept that whatever I am is okay for that day, or that moment. I can say that what I am doing can be enough or it is too much.
Since Wayne's death, there are times that I do not know how to comfort my heavily grieving son. I grieve the future relationship of father and son. I can hug him and pray for God to comfort his soul. I was speechless once, when he said "I have not had any joy inside since Dadda died", tears running down his face, and then hiding under the table. Over time, bereavement camps and programs, and through conversation, my sweet child is maturing and putting a deeper voice to his feelings and understanding of them. His grief work is important, valued, and life changing. In this current season, he is trying new things, feeling confident, and is experiencing joy.
I have a huge responsibility in raising my son, and while they say it takes a village to raise a child, I am learning that I have to bring the village to my child. I entrust his care to teachers, to programs, to organizations, to friends that have his best interests at heart. So when I don't necessarily have the energy all of the time, he is still getting experiences that will continue to instill Godly and moral character that shape who he is, from those that are also in his life.
My right hand still grasps air to hold Wayne's, yet there is the gentle tug of God, pulling on my left, lifting me up, guiding me forward. He has got me in both of His hands.
Reflection Verses:
Give your burdens to the Lord, and He will take care of you. He will not permit the godly to slip and fall. Psalm 55:22
God will do this, for He is faithful to do what He says, and He has invited you into partnership with His Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. 1 Corinthians 1:9
But the dove could find no place to land because the water still covered the ground. So it returned to the boat, and Noah held out his hand and drew the dove back inside. Genesis 8:9
We can make our plans, but the Lord determines our steps. Proverbs 16:9
Instead, be very glad - for these trials make you partners with Christ in his suffering, so that you will have the wonderful joy of seeing his glory when it is revealed to all the world. 1 Peter 4:13
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