A Week of Closing Chapters

Lucy, 2014 & Jarod, 2005

It’s been a while since I was at something that made me think, Kraig’s missing this. Today it happened at Lucy’s Kindergarten Spring Sing as I watched my adorable little princess looking so grown up as she sang with the other littles. It was only yesterday I watched Jarod do a Kindergarten graduation wasn’t it? Today I took him to lunch to celebrate surviving his Freshman year. Surviving seemed the right word.


When the thought hit me the tears rose, unbidden, and I struggled to keep my smile in place as I wiped them away. I was in the front row and Lucy could see me. Her brow furrowed a bit in the middle of “B-I-N-G-O.” This was no time for grief. Get out of here, I thought.

I’ve long loved the song “Blink” by the band Revive. It seems to sum up parenting so well.

Teach me to number my days, and count every moment before they slip away,

Take in all the colors, before they fade to gray.

I don’t want to miss, even just a second more of this.

It happens in a blink, it happens in a flash,

It happens in the time it took to look back,

I try to hold on tight, but there’s no stopping time,

What is it I’ve done with my life?

This was not a year I wanted to freeze. This was a year I wanted to survive. This was a year I wanted them to survive. It was a year for creating a new definition to normal and walking through grief. And yet it was another year of their childhoods that flew by in a blink. They are now another year taller, another year older, and another year closer to leaving my nest.

This week I will attend ceremonies to see my Kindergartener turn into a First Grader; my Sixth Grader into a Seventh; and my Eighth Grader into a Freshman. They dispose of such silliness in high school until the big enchilada. I settled for a Mom & Me date to Z’mareks (one of Jarod's favorites) to celebrate the end of the worst Freshman year EVER.

This week I also saw the end of an incredible blessing. It was the final day that Jim gave Jarod a ride to school. Kraig died in the second week of this school year leaving me with a school day conundrum (among many others)—how to get all four kids to three schools by 8:00?  I have no idea what Rapid City was thinking with that scheduling nightmare. Before he died, we thought we had it figured out: I’d drive or walk Lucy to Kindergarten at the end of the block. The middle schoolers would walk to the other end of the block. Kraig would drive Jarod on his way to work. Easy. Except now….

In stepped Jim. Jim is married to my friend and mentor, Deb, and dad to one of my dearest friends, Chelsea. With his calm manner and his gentle Texas drawl, it’s no wonder Jim has often stepped up to mentor young men through his life. Jim heard about my scheduling problem and offered to drive Jarod to school every morning until the year ended or Jarod got his driver’s license. He told Chelsea it would be nice for Jarod to have another man in his life if he needed to talk.

It was an incredible gift.

Jim doesn’t work or live anywhere near us. His home is nestled in the hills on the outskirts of the west side of town. His office is on the west side of town. We live on the north side and Jarod’s school is downtown. Jim goes in early to his office and during the morning rush it was probably 15-20 minutes to get here from there. But every morning, in rain or shine or snow (and oh my word did that include a lot of snow this year), Jim showed up outside my door with a smile to drive my eldest son to school. He took a good 30-50 minutes out of his morning to help me and get to know Jarod.

He’d arrive each morning with a smile and take a moment to teach our dog to sit and not jump on him. He’d give me a fatherly hug and a kiss on the cheek and ask how I was today, looking into my face to see the answer as well as hear it. If he could see it wasn’t a good day he’d assure me it would get better. If I could only muster an “ok,” he’d assure me in his gentle Texas drawl, “That’s alright. Ok’s better’n not.”

He’d hug my girls and wish the boys an enthusiastic good morning. He’d tell Lucy how much he loved her, acting as another grandpa when her’s are so far away. He never judged my messy living room. He’d wait patiently for Jarod to gather his things. We’d chat about our pending days or he’d share random bits of advice from his years as a father. As Jarod grabbed his coat, Jim would ask if he had everything—instrument? Cell phone? Water bottle? And then he’d wish us a good day and take Jarod to school.

In a few days Jarod will try for his driver’s permit and next year the plan is for him to drive both Ryan and himself to school while I drive the girls from our new house. Another chapter that might be closing is on this house if I can find a buyer. I’ve found the new house. Now we wait for this one to move.

I sit here today typing and feeling a little melancholy that a few of these things are ending. And yet I feel as though we are battle worn and starting to heal. I will miss Jim’s morning visits. I will miss living on the same street as two wonderful schools that I’ve developed such good relationships with. And I’m sure there will be more days when the thought, Kraig’s missing this will rise in my heart. Graduations and weddings and concerts and plays—all these things seemed to rush at once into my mind today as I saw my tiny princess with a flower in her hair singing her heart out in the front row.

Life will go on. And I will number these days and try to count every moment before I’m taking her to lunch after her freshman year.

Count to Five

I closed the door of the van and the sobs just burst out of me. It was irrational. I knew that. I was sobbing because I had needed to ask for help and I received it—with smiles and quick assurances that it was fine. But the fact that I needed it had brought the grief in new waves.

Tonight was one of those nights. Heck, this week is one of those weeks. Tonight Jarod has play practice from 3:40 until 6:30. Lucy gets home at 2:50. At 3:10, Ryan is due home. Kati, however, has dance club practice at school from 3:10 until 4:15. At 3:30 I needed to head to work to record radio show for the next three days and get home before 5 so that I could get Kati, Lucy, and Ryan back to the middle school for Family Night and to view the Science Fair Kati was so proud to show off. It gets done at 6:30, in time to go get Jarod.

That left Lucy, age 5, as a wild card after school. Ryan, the only one who will be home and my child with autism, cannot babysit his sister. They aren’t comfortable around each other. Neither seems to know what to do with the other in more than small, structured doses. So Kati, 11, volunteered to keep Lucy with her at dance club practice since the high school girls were coming to teach them the moves today.

I felt somehow ashamed to have to call the gym teacher, her adviser for this club, and ask if this was an acceptable solution. Lucy had jumped on the idea. My first instinct was to take her to work. But that really is no fun for her and would prolong what I had to do if my focus was split. Mrs. Jackson was so kind when she said Lucy was more than welcome to come watch. She’d had other families need to do this before. It seemed all worked out.

After school, Lucy gathered her crayon tote and a few snacks. She excitedly bounded to the van. As we drove up to the school, she asked if their phones worked the same as ours. Since I would be leaving her in the office for Kati to retrieve, she wanted to help answer phones. It was adorable. The secretaries thought so too. They were so happy to see smiling Lucy and told me there was no need for me to wait with her—they had this. Kati would be called to retrieve her in about 10 minutes. In the meantime, they would enjoy Lucy. “Tell your mom she can go,” they whispered to Lucy, with a smile aimed at me.

As I walked to the van, the feeling just rolled over me, startling in it's intensity. It was anger and humility and sorrow all rolled up in one. I was mad that I had to ask for this help. I felt like I was somehow failing that I could not figure this out on my own. I was angry that my husband wasn’t here to help with all this. And I missed my partner all over again. As soon as the door closed, I buried my hands in my gloves and sobbed.

But only for a moment.

Wallowing is not allowed when you are grieving with children who need to be cared for and shuttled about. When you have to go pick up a kid and keep this chaos moving. I felt like the character Tris in the popular book “Divergent” allowing herself to be terrified, to let fear consume her, but only to the count of five. I let myself sob.

1 – Feel the sorrow and let that be ok. 

2 –Cry, uncaring who might see in the school parking lot.

3- Be angry that I have to figure this out without Kraig.

4 – Wipe your eyes.

5 – Take a deep breath. Count my blessings. My child was welcomed because we are loved at this school. My extra help was gladly given with smiles by people who care about me, about my kids. I have seen the payoff of years of developing relationships in a school full of hard stories.

This is how I grieve when the kids need me to keep moving forward.

I’m so tired of grief. It is exhausting and sometimes sleep eludes me which doesn’t help. But I know I can’t rush through this. I don’t want to because I know if I did, I might have to go through it again. I will let the feelings come. I will let the tears and sobs choke out when they need to—but only for a moment. Moms do not have the luxury of stopping moving entirely.

Today I had the blessing of support from a gracious teacher and kind school secretaries. And even though it sucked that I need it, I am wise enough to ask for it and humble enough to accept it. I am smart enough to know that this was offered in love and in an effort to assist me.

One more day of dealing with grief done. One more night of figuring out how to parent alone done. Here’s hoping for a good night’s sleep tonight. Tomorrow is a new, chaotic day.