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IRIS
My kids are overtired,overstimulated and overwrought from being without me for three days and two nights. It’s a difficult few hours after Rob leaves as I march them through baths, pajamas, stories and bedtimes that they resist. They want to have a campout in my room, which was something we did for months after Mike died. But since it took me months to undo that habit, I’m not giving in on that.
By eight thirty, everyone is tucked into their own bed with orders to stay put or else.
I’m exhausted from tending to their every need on my own. I’d give anything to close my eyes and be back at the beach, where no one was clinging to me, asking me to cut their food or wipe their butt.
It’s all me, all the time, and sometimes I hate Mike for dying and leaving me to do this on my own. Which is completely unfair because there was nothing Mike wanted more than to raise our kids and be there for every bump, scrape, growing pain and bedtime ordeal. There’s no way he would’ve ever left me to do this on my own. That’s something I’m as sure of as I am that tomorrow will dawn far too soon, and the needs of three young children will once again exhaust me.
After they’re in bed, I usually catch up on laundry, put away the toy bomb, clean up the kitchen, catch up on my email and social media and have a glass of wine in front of the TV before going to bed. Tonight, I’m straight to bed. As I plug my phone into the charger, I glance at my texts. I’ll never admit, even to myself, that I’m hoping Gage has texted me.
But there’s nothing from him.
So I check his Instagram and see the post he made about the weekend. This time, there are no subliminal messages to be found in his always-poignant words, and I’m disappointed by that.
“Knock it off. He told you he’s not ready for a relationship.”
I respond to the text from my mom asking if I had a nice weekend.It was great! So much fun. Thank you for having the kids. Hope they didn’t run you guys ragged.
They were wonderful, as always. We love every minute we get to spend with them. Dad and I were saying you need to get away more often so the kids are used to being without you occasionally.
I wouldn’t be opposed to that. I just don’t want to impose. They are a LOT, especially on the weekends with all the sports and stuff.
We love it. Please don’t think a thing of asking us to take them. We say all the time that we don’t know how you do it all on your own.
It’s not so bad. A lot of people have it worse. At least I don’t have to work right now.
True, but being a full-time mom to three little ones is no small thing. Take full advantage of us. We want to help.
Thank you. I know I say it all the time, but I never would’ve gotten through this without you guys.
We love you. We love the kids. We’re happy to help.
Love you, too. Talk to you tomorrow.
Sleep well.
I got so lucky in the parent department. I always knew that, but since Mike died, I’ve realized it a million times over. I see some of my widow friends struggling so much without the safety net under them that I took for granted until it became my lifeline. My mother and beloved stepfather were always just there, like furniture in a well-loved living room. I loved them and enjoyed being with them, but I never fully appreciated the way they’d sacrifice anything to be there for me and my siblings until I lost Mike and needed them more than I ever had before.
I’ve gotten accustomed to going to bed alone, although that was one of the toughest challenges at first. For six months after Mike’s accident, I had kids in my bed or slept in the old recliner in his office that he insisted on bringing into married life from his bachelor pad. I hated that chair until it provided me comfort that I couldn’t get anywhere else. The last place on earth I wanted to be in those first dreadful months was in the bed I’d once shared with him.
I’d settle into our bed with the kids, wait for them to fall asleep and then bail out to Mike’s office to sleep in the ratty old chair I never gave a second glance to—except to complain about how hideous it was—before he was gone.
Part of me wants to sleep in the recliner tonight because being alone in bed again, after two nights wrapped up in Gage, makes me feel lonelier than I’ve been since disaster first struck.
It’s irritating how two nights with him makes me lonely for him when it took me so freaking long to get used to sleeping alone. I’ll admit that I hadn’t considered that possible outcome before I snuck into his bed. I certainly didn’t expect it to set me back on this painful journey.
I reach for my phone and compose a text to Roni, who’s probably having wild sex with her new fiancé. Now that they’ve crossed that threshold, they’ve got a lot of time to make up for. I still send the text.So here’s a pleasant thought. Two nights in bed with Gage has set me back to the early days of trying to figure out how to sleep alone.I add a frown face to help convey my state of mind.
She writes back a few minutes later.That stinks. Are you ok?
I’m fine. I just didn’t expect that.
You could invite him over…
Just the thought of that lifts my spirits so hard that it hurts when they crash back to earth—and hello, that turn of phrase is not one I want in my vernacular after losing my husband to a plane crash.He said he doesn’t want a “relationship.”
You’re already “in a relationship” with him. You have been for a while now.
