Dramatic Irony

Here's a little story of some dramatic irony for you...

After Shawn and I divorced I began to hear stories from the kids about guns their Daddy had bought and how he liked going to the mountains to shoot at targets.

Of course this was frightening to me, someone who did not grow up around guns, because of Shawn's history of cold rage towards me, past suicidal threats,  and what appeared to be continued instability.

But what was I to do?  The guns were reportedly locked away from the kids and I was no longer married to him, thus ending any powers of persuasion I had previously had when he talked about buying a gun.

When Lennon was born I had decided, when he was old enough, we would go together and learn the proper way to handle and fire guns.  I never wanted to teach my kids that guns are BAD - I wanted them to know that guns are very powerful tools and that they are perfectly appropriate when used by policeman for protecting people and by people hunting for food.  My mantra always was "tools not toys".

I had heard rumblings of "Daddy buying me a BB gun for my 10th birthday" from Lennon and I could see that it was probably only a matter of time before Shawn took him shooting in the mountains.  And this worried me immensely.

The weekend before my birthday the L's and I went camping with R.

At the campground there was a group of "rough-and-tumble" boys with realistic looking toy guns who were going on great adventures and pretending to hunt "bad guys" in the woods. Lennon, my sweet boy who never made a pretend gun out of a toy stick or showed any interest in violent stereotypical boy games (he always preferred to read and study his maps) had already started to reach the age where he was wanting to separate from his Mom and begged desperately to play along. As I recall, I let him play for awhile but when I saw him point a toy gun at someone in the game I had a little mommy-meltdown and made him come back to the campsite - something he was not happy about.


R. grew up on a ranch where they used guns for a variety of purposes.  R, who I trust inherently to protect the L's and me, had brought her little .22 rifle with us on the camping trip.  We had talked in advance and said that I could decide if the time was right for us to learn about gun safety and if it wasn't we would wait.  We hadn't even told the kids we had the rifle with us.

On the morning of the 28th of August I decided that, as queasy as it made me feel, it was time we had a lesson on gun safety - especially in light of the evidence that Lennon was becoming more interested in what this whole gun thing was about as a way to bond with his Dad and other boys.

R. gave us a professor style lecture before the rifle was even out of the case, then we practiced handling the gun without any bullets, and then we hung the targets on distant tree and loaded the rifle.

As I recall, I went first, heart pounding, and then Lennon and then finally Lily got the courage. 

Lennon got a bulls-eye on one of his first shots and was so proud.  And, really, we all felt so proud that we had accomplished something that had been a little intimidating.

As we drove home it dawned on me that I was probably going to have to tell Shawn, before the kids excitedly told him, that I had taken them shooting for the first time.  And that he would definitely be angry at me for doing this and "stealing" that fatherly/manly opportunity.

I knew he wouldn't understand why I did it - that it was out of fear that he, himself, might not be entirely careful with his guns when he was out shooting (this is the same man who used to go out in the middle of lightning storms and hold his arms to the sky in the hope he would get struck).  That it was my effort to have a little say in how Lennon was educated about how to handle guns and maybe his attitudes towards them.

The morning of my birthday, the 29th of August, Lennon tucked his target with the bulls-eye in his backpack and headed off to school - excited to show it to this Daddy that night.

I went off to work where I sat at my desk drafting an email to Shawn letting him know I had taken the kids shooting and hoping he would somehow understand.

Before the email was ever finished the text came in from Amber asking if the kids or I had talked to Shawn last night.

It turns out that the very afternoon the kids were learning to shoot a gun their father drove into the mountains, not too far from where we were, wrote an angry suicide note and, sometime in the early morning hours of the next day, he shot himself in the right temple.

That night while I waited the endless hours to tell the kids that their father was gone I went and took the target out of Lennon's backpack and tucked it away.

No one in the family has ever spoken about going shooting that day.  No one has ever talked about going again.

The Good that Resides Within

There was something that weighed on my mind for months after Shawn died that I couldn't put my fingers on...

There were the normal expected emotions but this one had to do with the unsolvable riddle of "why did he do it?"

And then one day I realized this...although it had been many years since I had been able to access the the young man I feel in love with - the one who loved nature and animals, riding his bicycle and who had a sense of justice in the world - I still believed that this person resided within him.

It turns out this person was lost to him, too.  And that must be a pretty dark place when you can't access the things that make you who you are and that all that is left is an emptiness.

So today, my friends, I want to share something I wrote to Shawn on Thanksgiving Day in 2006.  We had been struggling with his drinking, his anger and his suicidal ideations for several years at this point.  We had been talking about ending our marriage.  I wanted him to know he was a good person despite his struggles. 

When I read these things now they still ring so true for me.  These were the things that were quintessentially Shawn and all the good that resided within him.

Dear Shawn,

On this day of giving thanks I want to share with you…

Things I admire about you…

• Your humor – even in times of stress you can make me laugh.  And you are original, too!  Not just parroting what someone else has already said.
• Your open minded view of the world
• Your love of a variety of music and that you have freely shared it with me
• Your constant desire to further educate yourself on many topics and grow
• The passion you have for your business
• The open affection you show for our children
• That you can let loose and be silly with our children
• That you are a phenomenal cook – and amaze me with your ability to have a meal be completed to an exact minute
• The pride you take in your physical fitness
• Your willingness to challenge yourself on a bicycle and in life in general – your ride in the Laramie Enduro has been an inspiration to me many times
• That you take pride in keeping our house looking nice
• That you are kind and friendly to my Mom and my friends
• That you do (and provide encouragement for me to do) things to help me better myself – like making time to exercise, allowing me time with my friends
• That you shared your love of cycling with me - and built me bicycles that are faster, lighter, stronger – better than most people could hope to ride
• That you are careful with your belongings and never seem to lose or break anything
• Your love of dogs (even one as annoying as Sydney!)
• Your ability to make conversation with almost anyone
• You appreciation for the world and its beauty and your love of spending time outside loving it
• Your ability to live in the moment – not dwell on the past or worry about the future

Thank you for being YOU!  It was the real Shawn that you presented at my door so many years ago.  No pretenses, no lies, no games.  I want to work on us – not for our kids, not for our business, not because of the complications, not because of the time invested.  I want to show you every day my respect for you, Shawn Brooks, my husband.

Let’s work together.

Love,

Jennifer

What it was like for me the day you died...

Dear Shawn,

I think I need to share with you, for my own healing, what it was like for me the day you died.

It was my 40th birthday.  Oh, how I had been dreading turning 40!  Not only did it sound old - I actually felt old, too.  It turns out that day aged me more than any other.

The day hadn't started out great.  For the first time in my life I hadn't spent the preceding weeks jubilantly announcing that my birthday is coming.  This meant that no one in the house greeted me with birthday wishes. 

And, really, this is the way I wanted it - I wanted to be mad and sulk about turning 40 and what could be more perfect than letting them know the day after that they had forgotten my birthday??  Childish, I know.   But, look at it this way, even if I was getting old on the calendar and physically, there was no reason I had to act mature mentally!!

They may have forgotten it was my birthday but I don't think you had.  It wasn't like you to forget- you were one who remembered these sorts of things.  Paid attention to the calendar, called your parents on their birthdays, made people's birthdays special.

I was sitting at work feeling sorry for myself when the text chimed.

It was from your wife.

Your wife who had spent most of the two years of your marriage speaking ill of me to anyone who would listen, your wife who sent me emails where my name in the "To:" field said, "Huge Fucking Pile of Shit" (that was your name for me wasn't it - it is quintessentially you), your wife who told the kids that their mommy "was a liar". 

It was from your wife who probably put me on the bottom of the list of people she would reach out to in an emergency.

And it said, "Have you or the kids talked to Shawn since last night?"

Shawn, my heart instantly dropped into my stomach.

I knew right then.

I knew it was really bad.

I knew that your wife had to be desperate with fear before she typed those words on her phone.

I knew that fear too well. 

I had been through it with you before.  I had called your friends with the same question.

Of course, we hadn't talked to you.  I hadn't talked to you on the phone since the time you made me cry after I got laid off.

We hadn't talked to you because you didn't call.

I wrote back immediately and let her know we hadn't heard from you and asked, "Is everything okay?"

The reply came quickly..."NO!  Can the kids stay with you tonight?"

They were supposed to see you that night.  You were supposed to have dinner with them.

And now you were missing.

And I knew how bad it really was - I knew that if it was just a Lover's Quarrel between you and Amber where you had gone to sleep on a friends couch.  She would have never texted me for that.

Now you were missing and suddenly my pathetic little birthday pity seemed very small.

Shawn, my thoughts immediately turned to the kids.  I had just dropped them off at school a few hours before.  You would never hurt them, would you?  You weren't that far gone, were you?

Do you have any idea how shameful it felt to call the school?  Did you know I was still protecting YOU and your image when I didn't tell them the details of my concerns and simply instructed them 3 times in a very firm voice that NO ONE except me should pick up the kids and that if ANYONE - even another family member came to pick them up that they should call me and the police.  What kind of person has to make this call?  People with "normal lives" don't have to make calls like this.  And I thought I was done with that life when we divorced.

I don't really remember the rest of the work-day.  I do remember texting Amber and telling her to look for you in the Buckhorn Canyon - it was your favorite place and where you had gone the "other times".

At 3:30 I picked up the kids.  They were surprised to see me.  They were expecting you.

I put on a smile and told them, "Daddy and Amber had some things going on tonight and thought it might be nice for you to spend my birthday with me."  This seemed to make sense to them and there were no further questions.

The plan had been to celebrate with my Mom on the weekend but she had quickly run out to the store for some food and a cake - I think she had sensed I was shutting down and needed to be there with the kids for the distraction so...it was an impromptu birthday party!!  Hooray!

Except I kept checking my phone.  And we all kept faking a smile for the kids.

Around the time my Mom was putting the candles on the cake I received a text, "They found his truck in the Buckhorn but he's not with it."

I shared my screen with my Mom and John and then everyone sang Happy Birthday.

What else were we supposed to do, Shawn??  We had to protect the kids as long as possible.  Maybe this wasn't heading towards where it seemed to be.

Driving home my phone rang right as we turned on to County Road 5.

The kids were in the back seat laughing riotously.

It was Amber.

As we crossed the bridge she said, "They found him.  He killed himself."

There were no other words said.  We just hung up.

My Mom was the first person I called.  She answered on the first ring with a hopeful, "Did they find him?"

I was still in the car.  The kids were still being silly in the back seat.

"Yes."

"Is he okay??"

"No."

"Did he...?"

"Yes."

"Oh, God!  Oh, God!"

And I knew at that moment that there was no way I could tell these happy, silly children what had happened and then send them off to bed.  They needed one last night of being children.  One last night of restful sleep.

I felt like I was going to puke.

I told the kids "Mommy isn't feeling well and needs you both to do exactly what I say when we get home and go straight to bed."

Somehow I found it within me to maintain some semblance of a normal demeanor as I supervised PJ's and read stories.

And then I went downstairs and cried and cried for them.

And then I switched into the mode I've had to maintain for this year.  Taking care of the kids.

I called the Counselor at the kids school.  She already knew.  She was crying for your kids, too.

We knew your suicide would be prominent in the newspaper.  You were well known in the cycling community.  We talked about a strategy for letting the L's classmates know that you had lost your father and help them know how to help you when you returned to school.

And then I waited.

Goddammit, Shawn!

I waited up the whole night!

I waited for morning so I could wake your children and tell them that you were gone.

Fuck you!

No one should have to do this.

It made me old!!

It changed me!

I didn't sleep.  I didn't cry.

I sat on the floor with my head on the bed.

And I waited.

At some point I thought I felt your presence and I was filled with rage.

"Go AWAY!" I commanded you. 

You had no right to be there.

I didn't need you.  You had done this and it was me, on my own, who was waiting.

It was sunny and quiet and calm when I called L. into his sister's bedroom.  They had just woken up but I couldn't wait any longer.  It had to be done.

I think I handled it well.

I let them know I had something very difficult to tell them and then I said it.

"Your Daddy died last night."

Their wails slammed up against me like a brick wall.

"How?  What happened??"

Shawn, I learned after the fact that you had asked in your angry, blaming suicide note that the kids NOT be told how you died.

You don't get to make choices like that when you commit suicide.

I told them.  It was the right thing to do.

"He took his life."

They would find out someday.  Why grieve twice - once for the loss and again when they find out how?  And would they trust me to tell them the truth if lied about this?  And would I send the message that your choice was the shame of others?

Shawn, my Birthday is approaching quickly.  I want you to know we are doing okay.  The kids miss you.  I am still angry at times.  I still miss the young man I fell in love with.  I am sad that you didn't find a way to ease the pain after so many years.  It wasn't the right choice.

Jennifer

Always on Our Minds

I've noticed that there is this undercurrent of Shawn present in almost every moment of the day.

I guess maybe he would have liked that.  In his sickness.

It seems to be the same for Lily.

And, of course, when it's right there below the surface it can easily be dug up by the smallest thing.

Like tonight when Lily looked at the catsup on the meatloaf and laughed and said, "It looks like blood".

And then she got all serious and said, "Was Daddy bleeding when they found him?"

"Yes, Sweetie, he was."

"Was he bleeding a lot?"

"Yes, I think he was."

"Where did he shoot himself?  Did he shoot himself in the heart?"

Pause...dinner is about to go on the table...she is only 9...she has spent the past year believing he shot himself in the heart (that would make sense if someone was sad, right?)...there is time to learn details when she is older.  I read the death certificate and I know the truth.  He shot himself in the right temple with a 9mm handgun.

"I don't know for sure, Sweetie."

Here I Am, Again...

Wow.  Three years since I last wrote?  Well, hello.

Life brings many changes in 3 years - and the need to write therapeutically "they" tell me.

The father of my two beautiful children, the man who I spent many times of joy with, the man who caused me great fear and pain...yes, that one.

He took his own life on my 40th Birthday, August 29, 2011.

A last statement from him, no doubt.

I've spent the past year ignoring my own feelings of grief - the sadness, the disbelief, the anger, the confusion as I helped my sweet daughter work through her own pain.

No surprise that this ostrich-like approach to my feelings has resulted in occasional bubbles rupturing to the surface.

I went to my therapist - the one who I had left the last three sessions thinking, "This woman does not LIKE me." (only to tell myself, "How pathetic is THAT??  Oh, boo-hoo, even my therapist doesn't like me").  And this time I left in tears feeling like a total failure.

Soooo...time for everyone's favorite chore - finding a new therapist.  Ugh!

So maybe you, my readers, whoever you are will be my therapist for now.  If you are reading, please let me know.

In peace,

J~

How Are You?

Okay, so I admit, I was what I call, "Muchas Grouchias" yesterday. It is the antithesis of Muchas Gracias. It is when all humans are grating and I really wish to be left alone.

I realized yesterday that, although I perceive myself as a nice and friendly person, the rest of the World may not always see me as such because I don't fit their mold.

I crave deep and meaningful conversations and will invest a great deal of effort in them. I am a person who finds idle chit-chat very difficult to tolerate.

For example, when I am at work I am there to...work. Pleasantries in the hallway I am fine with and I thought I handled them politely and in a friendly manner.

Co-Worker: Hi. How are you?
Me: Good, thank you. [Said with a pleasant smile as I pass by]

I have realized that maybe the right thing to do would be to say, "Good. How are you?"

But here's the problem I identified as I thought about it more.

These people are not asking how I am because they really want to hear.

They have the expectation that the reply is going to be, "Good, great, super, fine, OK" and I think that this obligation to be "good" is what irritates me about the question.



What if I stopped and replied, "Well, now that you ask, I have a headache and really bad cramps today and my ex-husband is a complete jackass, I'm worried about my daughter because yesterday she made a mistake and became hysterical crying, "I hate myself", my son seems to have an inordinately hard time apologizing and I don't know how to help him learn the value of an apology (something his father has never learned). I'm really bummed out because it is only October 8th and it is snowing and I'm feeling kind of down because I can't bring the guest I want to bring to my office party because of the ramifications and..."

Oh, wait, I'm sorry...you just wanted me to say everything was great!

Oh, I'm sorry, I was supposed to ask how you are, now - even though you probably aren't interested in sharing all of your problems with me. And if I'm being brutally honest I really am not that interested in hearing about your problems).

Why can't we just leave it at "Hello" and a smile and go on with our lives and work days/gym workout/grocery shopping, etc.?

Why do you force me to be fake with my answer?

Or what if I happen to be having a great day?

Do you really want to hear my brag about how happy I am to have my freedom, a job I love, two incredibly smart kids, and the holidays to look forward to? Would that make me look like an insensitive person if I am happy when you may not be?

So...this is my problem. It is who I am. I value close friendships and will open and expose myself on a very deep level. The therapist I saw a number of years ago tried to convince me that people need lots of different types of friends...he said they need friends who they can tell anything and they need friends that they can just go for a bike ride with, etc. I still don't get this. I would rather be with close friends or be by myself. I like being by myself and I like having deep friendships. I don't like to invest a lot of time with people I can't be real with.

I debate whether I should make more effort or just accept that I am not the same as the average person who seems to be able to chit-chat with others easily.

Dear Former Husband (Part 568)

I am writing to you here again because YOU JUST DON'T GET IT! We are no longer married. I do not care what you think of me. Your opinions of me hold no more power over me. You cannot control me.

I know that you feel out of control in every area of your life and you keep coming back to the one thing that you could control so well for 15 years in a vain effort to regain that feeling.

But as I told you before, even though you have not changed in the past two years - I HAVE!

What part of

"I certainly support endeavors to help [our son] make friends however, other than [unnamed friend], I haven't heard him talk about playing with any of the other boys from Cub Scouts at recess last year, etc and/or asking to have play dates with any of the boys from Cub Scouts. If you are willing to make the time commitment again this year I certainly support that and can, on occasion, take him to Cub Scout activities but I do think there might be other activities to commit time and money to that would achieve the same goals.

did you not understand? Did I not make it clear enough that if you decided to do Cub Scouts again this year that you would be the one doing to bulk of the meetings?

Here's the thing:
Cub Scouts has meetings twice per week that require the parents to attend and be actively involved - I would have to get a babysitter for our daughter and pay for that out of my pocket. I would have to rush home from work, cram fast food in everyone, and then rush to a meeting. I would then get home after everyone's bed time which would mean a cranky morning for everyone and lower school performance. My idea of quality time and being an "involved parent" entails me picking up the kids on Tuesday or Thursday, cooking dinner with them (yes, I ALLOW them in the kitchen because I am not a control freak about meals and I want them to learn and I enjoy it), hanging out in the backyard and giving ourselves a full hour to get ready for bed and read stories with everyone tucked in by 8:30.

I am a single parent. I am the only one in charge of all of the things it takes to run a household (nothing new to me, actually -that's how it always was). I have to get everything ready for the next morning after the kids are in bed. I know that you rushed your daughter's kindergarten teacher into marriage after a 7 week courtship so you didn't have to do things yourself but I am the one who does everything at my house. There is no one to stay home with the other child while I go and do flag duty and no one to cook and clean and get things ready for the next day during that time.

On top of that, I'm really not a big supporter of the Cub Scouts. I see it as a quasi-militaristic, homophobic, religious organization. Now I am an ardent supporter of our armed services but I also don't relish the idea of exposing my kid to more of the drill-sergeant mentality than he already gets from you. And you know that one of my best friends in the world was murdered simply because he was gay. And I'm an agnostic (and you're an atheist).

But really, the point isn't the Scouting thing - the point is that I made it clear that I set the boundary and said I would not make the time commitment but that I would help out on occasion.

I didn't react to your first e-mail where you sent me the schedule showing all the meetings on Tuesdays and Thursdays and talking about finding a "fair way to share the responsibility" (meaning I take it on). I replied and gave you specific dates I would attend - it was one meeting a month which I thought was generous considering I will also be taking them to swimming lessons every Sunday for the foreseeable future.

When your wrote again about how you thought I should do these meetings because they are my "nights" I reminded you of the original e-mail stating that I would help out on occasion and would support you and Lennon if you wanted to do these activities.

And I didn't even react to this e-mail reply from you...

• I had expressed my reservations to committing to Cub Scouts and was ready to pull the plug on it until [our son] was so excited about doing it. He said to me again tonight that he wants to do all the meetings and not let it fizzle out in the spring like what happened last year. I did not decide to do Cub Scouts, [our son] did.
  
  The decision that was made on my end was that I will not take over your share of the time commitment, so I think that tough conversation will have to come from you, not me.
  
  I have a feeling this means that [our son] won't get to do cub scouts and that makes me sad for him, but I won't be bullied into taking on your responsibilities. Lots of things the children are interested in will be difficult for us, but this is our job. This is what good parents do. They support their children in THEIR interests.

So - let's see...you're going to pull out the "Bad Mom" accusations because I did not do what you wanted?? You feel bullied into taking on my responsibilities?? I am not a good parent?? I am only interested in MY interests not the kids??

Really? I could say lots of bad things about you but I have never, not once, accused you of being a "bad dad" - in fact I've told you, the kids teachers, co-workers, etc. that you are a good dad and that you care very much about the children. I disagree with your lecturing, rigid rules, ridicule, etc that you do with the children and lots of other things but that doesn't make you a bad dad.

Is it productive for the kids to have you communicating that I'm a bad mom? They know the truth.

It's still the same - if you don't get your way - then you try to shame, humiliate, bully, etc until I do what you want. You didn't like that I set the boundary on my schedule in the first place, you didn't like that I stuck by it, and you probably don't like my reply when I didn't respond in any way, shape or form and simply said that I would let our son know about the decision to not do Cub Scouts (and, I want you to know, that I will not put the blame on you for not going because I am a GROWN-UP and I care the most about my kids). There are lots of things that kids WANT to do that they don't get to do (Do you remember your parents every telling you no? Maybe that is part of the problem now?) - he is not going to be scarred because he didn't get to do Cub Scouts this year. He is mature enough to understand that our schedule does not fit their schedule.

My Mom says I need to send another e-mail reminding you of my boundary regarding judgements and opinions of me. You are welcome to disagree and share why - you are not welcome to tell me that you think I'm a bad Mom.

And while you're at it, please tell your psycho-bug-eyed wife to quit e-mailing me all the time asking if I am going to be at X or Y activity at the school. I told her I was going to be at the activities and that I thought it was great if she could also come because I KNOW IT WOULD MEAN A LOT TO OUR DAUGHTER. Do you really think I enjoy smiling at her and saying hello and being friendly at these school events? I don't. But I can do it because I'M A GROWN-UP and because it matters to my kids.

Whew! Thank goodness for this blog - I have a lot to get out and my best friend in the world is getting REALLY tired of dealing with your bull-**it. She actually asked me to quit telling her about your latest antics because they upset and anger her so much! I can't say I blame her!