Letting go of being mommy

I was daddy. Opposite me was mommy. We did this together.

Then mommy died. I was utterly lost. I knew how to be daddy, but I didn't know how to be mommy too.

And I had a three year old girl who wanted a mommy. Her mommy.

I couldn't give her her mommy.

So I tried to learn to be both mommy and daddy.

I did hair (badly). I bought clothes (better). I listened. I empathized. I held her.

I learned.

And I also still played tackle with her, tickled her, and threw her up in the air and caught her.

And the Mother's Days came and went and the Father's Days came and they went and I celebrated them both with my daughter.

Because I WAS both.

I'm reminded of a time, a bedtime, when Rowan was particularly sad. I tried to comfort her, but wasn't getting very far. Then I remembered how Aimee used to comfort Rowan, and so I asked Rowan, "would you like me to rock you in the rocking chair?" Her face lit up as she crawled into my lap. She rested her head on my chest, and relaxed into me as I gently stroked her hair, kissing her gently on the top of her head. When I placed her back into her bed a few minutes later, she was already asleep.

I pulled the covers up, and kissed her one last time on her head. Although asleep, she smiled a big smile of a child who's loved and secure.

I knew I was mom to her in that moment.

And then...

A new woman came into our lives. Shyly at first. Slowly to be sure.

But now there is love for her and love from her, and soon she will be a formal part of our family.

She will become... mommy. Rowan has already begun to start seeing her as such.

But...

A part of me is sad to let go of being mommy. I took such intense pride in doing both and doing them well. On picture days when my daughter looked amazing, I felt like a good 'mom'. When advising her on managing relationships with her friends, I felt like a good 'mom'. And when bringing baked goods for her class events or fundraisers, I felt like a good 'mom' (and a bad cook).

Consoling her late at night while she cried big tears, missing her mommy, I felt inadequate. But we can't ever win them all.

I have been daddy and mommy. But if my daughter is to have a MOMMY mommy again, I have to let this new part of our family BE mommy.

I have to let go of being mommy.

It's not easy. I want to hold on to keep close to all I have taken on. I proved I could do it, and now I don't want to stop.

But I must. For my daughter. For her new mommy. I have to let go. Well, maybe mostly let go.

I have to let go of being mommy.

I will be daddy. Opposite me will be a mommy again. We'll do this together.

PS. To be clear, the stuff I described as 'mom' stuff can and often is just as much within a dad's role. Dads can cuddle and soothe and bake, and they should do those things. It just happened in my and Aimee's life that we each took on fairly stereotypical gender roles, so the stuff I mentioned as 'mom' stuff had been the types of things Aimee had done for and with Rowan prior to her death. We have definitely made efforts to raise Rowan with the notion that most activities don't 'belong' to a specific gender.

Tonight's 'mommy moment'

Most parents love it when their kids take naps. Not me. If Rowan takes a nap, it's almost a guarantee that she won't go to sleep until at least an hour or so after I put her to bed. I try to avoid her falling asleep during the day as much as possible.

But sometimes it happens anyway, and today was such a day. Sure enough, she had a hell of a time getting to sleep. I tried the usual - allowing her to read a few books typically does the trick - but no go this time.

Not the chair in Rowan's
room, but similar

So I did something I haven't done in years.

I went up to her room. I turned off her light. I sat down in the rocking chair in her room, and I called her over to me. She climbed up into my lap, and I quietly held her and rocked her. At first, she was confused, asking what I was doing. I explained that when she had been very young, her mommy (and sometimes I) had rocked her to sleep in that rocking chair, and I was going to try and help her get sleepy the same way now. She took a few minutes to get comfortable, but soon she was nestled into my chest, eyes closed, breathing getting slower. After a few minutes I stood up and carefully placed her on her bed, pulled up the covers to her chin, and gently kissed her on the top of her head. Her eyes never opened, but the smile on her face was enough to nearly bring tears to my eyes. It was still there several seconds later after I tore myself away and headed back downstairs to continue work on the night's chores (and to write this).

It made me recall all the times I had seen Aimee rock Rowan to sleep (or at least to relax her in preparation for going to sleep) when Rowan was a baby and toddler. It was a mommy moment.

And tonight, it was my mommy moment.

Rowan still misses her mommy greatly, and always will. But here and there, I do what I can to fill in the gap.

Father's Day tips for guys like me

Today, Rowan brought home the most adorable Father's Day gift that she made in preschool. She was so proud of it, and rightly so - it's awesome (see photo). I really like that her school teaches kids the tradition of honoring their moms and dads by making them thoughtful gifts on their special days.

Apparently this is supposed to read,
"Rowan's HERO lives here." Is that
not the best thing ever?

But it got me thinking about the last year a half, and last Father's Day and other important occasions (like my birthday). On each occasion, someone stepped up and guided Rowan in recognizing my special day, either helping her pick out or make presents for me. Rowan absolutely loved giving me these gifts, and I loved receiving them.

Before Aimee's death, that's a role she would have taken on.

So the point of this post is this: if you know someone who has lost their spouse/partner, and they have young children who aren't really able to go out and obtain gifts for the surviving parent on their own, please make sure you or someone else steps in and fills that gap. Losing a spouse brings with it so many, many other losses. And it adds so much to the surviving spouse's realm of responsibility, leaving so much more for them to handle. It has meant the world to me that Rowan has been able to recognize Father's Day and my birthday and Christmas, because others have helped her do that (and as I said, Rowan loves it, too). It would mean the world to others if someone helped their young children do the same for them.

On a related note: on Mother's Day, quite a few of my friends sent me some kind of note (tweet, Facebook post, etc) recognizing my efforts at filling the role of mom to Rowan. It was truly touching, even though I feel like I still get to have my day on Father's Day. Having people say encouraging and sweet things on Mother's Day too was a nice treat. So if you know any single moms (especially widows or families where dad is MIA) who are doing their damnedest to also fill in as father to their kids, maybe take a moment and show them a little love this Sunday. I'm sure it'll mean a lot.

Aimee's Missing...

The big news in the Rhoads household this week - Rowan lost her first tooth! She'd been excited about it ever since it first started to wiggle, and on Sunday, in the middle of eating her cereal, it came out (and was immediately swallowed, causing no small amount of consternation on her part). I had to assure her the tooth fairy would still reward her for the tooth, even if it was M.I.A.

Rowan showing off her missing tooth

But this event, like many others, deeply underscores Aimee's absence. Every single time Rowan does something really cool or passes another key milestone in her life, I miss Aimee all the more. "She should be here for this" is the common refrain running through my mind. Aimee would be so proud of all the things Rowan has accomplished in the last 15 months:

• Moving from crib/trundle bed to 'big girl' bed
• Being weaned from using pacifiers
• Finishing her first year of preschool
• Starting ballet classes
• Starting to learn to read and write

And more I'm sure I'm forgetting at the moment.

And that's just the beginning. Rowan turns five years old soon. For some reason, that number seems like an especially big deal to me. I wish Aimee was going to be here for it. Next fall she starts Kindergarten. In the next year or so she'll read her first book, learn to ride a bike, and so many, many more things.

Aimee will miss every single one of them. And that is just not fair, for any of us. 

Grief for guys - the toughest stretch...

Note: This post took me MONTHS to write, rewrite, rewrite, etc. I'm finally only somewhat happy with what it expresses. If it seems a bit disjointed, that's why. But I'm tired of working on it, so here it is.

So it's well known that men and women process grief differently. I mean, men and women pretty much do everything differently, right? So what I'm about to relate will probably have some truth ring to it for men (at least, if they're honest), and maybe not so much for women.

For me, the hardest stretch since Aimee died started in about February of last year, roughly 2-3 months after her death. The shock and numbness had worn off. A new routine had kind of settled in, requiring less deliberate thought.

And I got lonely.

I mean, really lonely. "Desperate" is the word that comes to mind.

My response to this was to decide that I wanted to begin dating again. As in right now, if not yesterday. I even joined a dating site to begin meeting people. I didn't care that it had only been 2-3 months. I didn't care that I was still in a lot of pain over Aimee's death. I needed companionship, and I needed it now.

Let's just say, it didn't go very well.

In all, I only ended up meeting two women for coffee, and I didn't see either of them a second time. I quickly realized that being with someone else might make me feel better on the surface, temporarily, but that if I pursued anything more serious, people were probably going to get hurt. I just couldn't do that.

The bottom line is, these experiences did nothing to make me feel better about my loss. It was a horrible few months, and it only got better slowly. I missed Aimee so badly, but her being with me wasn't an option, so I wanted someone, anyone, else. Luckily, I suppose, that really didn't work out. But that doesn't mean I didn't want it to work out. Like I said, I was desperate, and in a lot of pain.

By June, I had begun to feel a little better. I was still terribly lonely, but I was getting more used to living with it. Plus, summer was starting, and more sunshine always improves my mood. I put the idea of dating out of my head for a while, and focused on trying to enjoy the summer and the activities Rowan and I could do now that it wasn't raining so much.

I began this post describing the difference between men and women in grief. I did so because over the last year I've checked out a number of other blogs by those who've lost spouses, and they're all by women. And they pretty much all seemed to have had absolutely zero desire to begin seeing other people during the first year (or even several years). Or at least, I didn't see where any of them talked about it. They did express loneliness, but not a desire to alleviate it by getting back into dating. These women seemed to prefer to stay focused on the grieving process without getting involved in a new relationship, and do so for quite a bit longer. Men? Well, to be blunt, we're weaker and we want another woman in our lives because they'll comfort us and make us feel better. And let's face it, some men can't really take care of themselves or their kids nearly as well as their wives, either. I'm not being critical, it's just a fact in many families.

(Gladly, I take GREAT pride in being able to function at a high level on my own in regards to running the Rhoads household. A partner to help me would be awesome, but I don't need a wife to help me.)

For some of the guys who do move on quickly, it doesn't always necessarily turn out to be a bad thing. I have two good friends who lost their wives, and my mom is friends with another. All three were remarried within a year. And by all accounts, all three seem to be happy and have good marriages with the women they married following their spouse's passing. Before Aimee's death, I might have been a bit surprised that someone might move on so fast. Now, I totally get it. If things had gone a little differently for me, that might have been my road as well.

I am thankful now that it wasn't.

PS. I think this fundamental difference leads women to often be very disapproving of men who do jump right back into dating after losing their spouse. I think they see it as tremendously disrespectful to the late wife. Trust me, it's not our intent. We're just in unbearable pain, and only know one way to address it. I'm not saying we're right or that women are wrong - I'm just explaining the difference.

The end of Missing Aimee?

I started this blog on December 19, 2011, the day after Aimee's tragic death. At first it served two distinct purposes:

1. Share information about what happened and what was happening to anyone who was interested, without me having to repeat myself constantly, and
2. Give me a way to express what I was going through and feeling in a way that was helpful (therapeutic) to me.

As time went on and the readership of the blog seemed to take on a life of its own (over 82,000 page views of this blog to date), I realized I was connecting to people who didn't know Aimee or me, but who were finding something here that they needed. It has been an incredible honor to think I may have somehow helped other people in their dark times with my own pain. And that in itself was wonderfully therapeutic as well.

I haven't shared everything I've wanted to. Legal issues have kept me from writing about certain topics that I would have liked to have covered. Specifically, I wish I could have shared more about what I know and think I know about what happened on December 18 and what led up to it. I'd love to name parties involved, and talk about who I think should be held accountable, and why.

But I can't.

So with about thirteen months having passed since Aimee's death, I'm left with less and less to say that's new, or in my estimation, useful to anyone else. I continue to miss Aimee, sometimes with so much pain that I even now still cry (that has never gotten easier to admit publicly, but I try to keep this blog as honest as I can). Rowan still has, and probably always will have, pain and loss from the death of her mommy. It's a long journey for her, because as she grows and understands her world in different ways, she'll feel her loss in new and ever more painful ways. I believe there will always be a 'primal hole' in her life from now on. Nothing I or anyone else can ever do will fix that. She'll have to learn to live with it.

As for me, my own journey is changing. Dating and 'finding a new mommy' are part of the next phase of my life. I miss being married, and hope to have that magic again someday. And I would love to find someone with whom I can share life's joys and pains, as well as someone who can share in Rowan's accomplishments and milestones. I want someone in Rowan's life as a role model, and with whom we can model a healthy, happy relationship for her so she knows what she should be able to expect/demand when it's her turn.

I suppose I could write about the adventures of dating as a widower with a child. Possibly there might be some use in that for some readers navigating (or thinking about) that way themselves. But it doesn't feel right to me to share that type of stuff, especially as it involves another person. Dating should be private, so I think I'll keep it that way. I could also write about single parenting, but I suspect there are a great many blogs out there that do so already, and probably better than I could.

I do have two more posts I've been working on for a long, long time. They've both been extremely hard to write, and they're still not quite done. The topics are pretty raw, as are the emotions they bring out in me. But I hope to publish them both within the next week or so. After that...

I may continue to add posts from time to time as new information becomes available about events of December 18 that I can share. Or if new feelings, emotions, or other pitfalls come to me that I feel the need to share in this forum. But otherwise, I think the time has nearly come for me to begin to close this chapter.

Stay tuned for my last couple of posts...

Rough week

It's been a rough week.

I came down with my first bout with the flu a week ago. Of course, that coincided with Donna being out of town for two weeks, so I didn't have the backup I would normally have available. So that left me feeling like hell and trying to take care of Rowan.

Then on Thursday, it was Rowan's turn to get sick.

Luckily for both of us, Rowan's bout of sickness hasn't been as bad as mine. As of this moment, she's in bed coughing up a storm, but overall she's been doing better than me (who's currently on the couch coughing up a storm). Regardless, taking care of a sick kid when you yourself are sick stinks.

After a week of being sick,
I FINALLY got the dishes done

But that's not all of it, really. Earlier tonight I gave her a bath. While she was in the tub, I got some work done that's been LONG over due in our extra bedroom/office. After I got her out of the tub and dried her off, I sent her off to get her her PJ's on. And then I just sat there in the bathroom, towel in my hand, head bowed, and felt so, so tired. Not just from being sick and taking care of Rowan, but from doing this by myself for the last year. I know I shouldn't complain, but man, sometimes it's hard.

In fact, it's damn hard.

It's hard doing all the work. It's hard being responsible all the time. It's hard taking care of Rowan emotionally and physically. It's hard working a full time job. It's hard not having someone take care of me for a while. It's hard doing the laundry, fixing the food, shopping for groceries, cold medicine, toilet paper, dog food, blah, blah, blah.

Don't misunderstand me. The hard part isn't really the doing of all the work. I can do it all, and I have. And I think overall I'm doing it pretty damn well.

But doing it alone is tiring, and lonely, and sad. I liked the companionship of running a family with Aimee. I liked the teamwork we had. I liked how we gave each other breaks, encouraged each other, supported each other. Loved each other.

That's the part that's hard. Missing that partnership, that camaraderie.

Missing Aimee.

Observations after one year of Missing Aimee

Here are just some random observations after a year without Aimee. These are in no particular order.

I can do this single dad stuff. It took a long time to accept that I was a good solo father, but I did get there. I seriously doubted myself so much the first 8-9 months. But I eventually came to see that Rowan was as happy as a child could be in her circumstances (though she obviously carries a lot of pain), and that she she clearly felt loved, safe, and secure. Additionally, she is well behaved, well-mannered, and sweet. No matter what a child's parenting situation, you absolutely can not ask for more than that.

That being said, I can see seeds of the challenges I may face with her. I already see her questioning things about her mothers' death, and I know that some of the worst of her pain is still likely ahead of her, as she gets older and learns more about the circumstances of her mother's death and how needless it was.

Speaking of single parenting... I've known single moms throughout my life (including both of my sisters and my mom for at least some stretches of time), and across the board I've admired them for all they manage to accomplish. This year I learned firsthand just how difficult that is, especially if it happens suddenly and you're hell-bent on continuing to do everything well. I learned how to let go of some things, and how to get by on a lot less sleep.

All you need is love? The Beatles once sang that "All you need is love". Well, I'm not sure I completely believe that, but it sure as hell goes a long way. Aimee's love made my life a truly wonderful experience, even when life was far less than wonderful. And after her death, the love of so many friends and family members was just amazingly huge, I still can't fully wrap my head around it. Meals, gifts, free child care, words of support and encouragement, prayers, and so much more.

But please take this to heart: people can't truly love you in practical ways unless you let them. That means if you ever find yourself in a situation like the one I was in a year ago, when people offer to help, let them! I know it's not easy. Our culture idolizes the strong, and in some ways, that's OK. But when you're down, people want to help you, and you hurt them when you don't let them. You're not imposing on them by accepting their offer, you're recognizing their love for you, and returning it by allowing them to feel like they're alleviating your pain or worry in some small (or big) way. I know. I was exactly like that once, always one to say "Thanks, but I got it" when someone  wanted to help me in my times of trouble. But after I read "90 Minutes in Heaven" by Don Piper in the summer of 2011, I realized just how wrong this mentality is. And it was a lesson learned just in time for when I'd really need it. Now I'm passing it on to you. If you're going through struggles, don't be an ass and try to shoulder the burden yourself when someone offers to help. Let them help.

Choose to live. After Aimee died, I didn't feel like living anymore. Not that I was suicidal - I wasn't. But my joy for life was gone, as was my joy in all things (yes, even Rowan to some extent). But very early on, I decided, largely for the sake of my daughter, to choose to live every day. Not just to physically live, but to actually re-learn to find the beauty in life, to find enjoyment in things, and to feel happy again. It was damn difficult, especially the first six months. "Fake it 'til you make it" the saying goes. That's what I did. And slowly but surely, I found some joy again. Far more importantly I showed Rowan, by my example, that life does go on, and that it can be good if you choose to make it good.

Many days I still have to consciously choose to have a good day and find happiness and joy. It's often still difficult. But it's easier than it was, and it's a far better way to go through life than being miserable and taking those around you with you.

No one else is you.  No two people's grief is the same, and you can't compare your own grief process to that of others and wonder if you're 'doing it right.' There is no right or wrong way to grieve. There is no right or wrong amount of time before you can laugh again. There is no right or wrong way to remember your lost loved one. There is no right or wrong time before you can find joy. There is no right or wrong amount of time before you can fall in love again. You get the idea. You have to walk your own path, at your own pace, and do what you know in your own heart is truly the best way for you to go. Just keep in mind that this is never an excuse for being callous to the needs of others grieving with you.

Finally, let go of fear. I have had many fears this first year, some of which are still with me to some degree or another. Early on, I was afraid that most of my friends would move on from this tragedy and get on with their lives, and I'd be alone in my grief. And while slowly most of my friends have moved on from this, they haven't done so and left me behind. They've stayed by my side, checking in and just being available when I've needed them. I have not felt alone.

I have also feared for my own safety a lot more. Before, in the back of my mind, I knew that if something happened to me, Rowan would have Aimee. Now I'm it. I am more cautious than I used to be. More paranoid in dark parking lots, that sort of thing. I don't know if that will change. Perhaps it shouldn't.

There have been others. Fear about being a terrible parent. Fear that I won't find love again. Fear that our household won't be able to get by on one income. And so on and so forth. I have had to either learn that the fear was unfounded (I'm not a terrible parent), or that I'll just have to do what I can to address it, such as simply being more careful with my health and well-being.

I have chosen to live, but I will not do so enveloped in fear.

The season catches up with Rowan

It was bound to happen, wasn't it?

I know some people close to Aimee have been struggling with her death more lately, due to the nearness of the one year anniversary, but Rowan initially seemed unaffected. She was excited about Christmas, loved helping me decorate, and we've talked (a lot!) about what she was going to ask Santa for. I was holding on to a secret hope that she'd make it through unscathed.

Wrong.

Yesterday morning, while getting ready to leave for school, Rowan started to get fussy. When I asked her what was wrong, she said in a small, sad voice, "I don't know. I'm just not feeling like myself today." Besides seeming like a big thing to say for such a young kid, I probed a little deeper, and got to this: she's suddenly hit by the connection between Christmas and her mommy's death.

"Rowan, are you sad?"
Nod.
"Are you sad about mommy?"
Another nod.
"Are you remembering Christmas last year without her here."
Rowan: "Yeah, I was just looking at mommy's stocking and I'm sad because she I miss her."

Sigh.

So the trigger this morning was the stocking. We all have one - even the dog - and Rowan had asked that we hang Aimee's up when we were decorating the house last weekend. No big deal, I figured. So I hung it up. But Rowan apparently was looking at it this morning and was remembering Christmas last year, and it hit her all at once.

I'm not surprised this is happening. Like I said, it's happening to a lot of people. I was talking to my therapist on Monday about my overly heightened memory of what I was doing this time last year, and we talked about how normal that is when approaching a traumatic anniversary. It only makes sense that it would happen for Rowan too. but I had hoped somehow that maybe as young as she was that maybe she'd get by with more of the joy of the season and less of the sadness of her mom's death. but it looks like that's not to be.

Well, we'll deal with this like we've dealt with the rest of it. We'll talk about our feelings. We'll make sure that Rowan knows this is normal for someone who's gone through what she has, and let her know that we can talk anytime she wants. Then we'll talk about good memories of Aimee, and of Christmas, and I'll do my best to guide Rowan in how to move on while honoring and remembering her mother's memory.

And we will do our absolute best to have a Merry Christmas.

Missing Aimee, but thankful

With Thanksgiving being this week, there's a lot of focus on what we're thankful for. As it relates to my time with Aimee, and the time I've lived since her death, I have come to realize there is a lot I'm thankful for, in the midst of her absence.

Most of the greatest gifts Aimee gave me
are related to being this child's daddy

• I am thankful for eight years of laughs and of love. Being loved by Aimee was an incredible thing to experience.
• I am thankful that she showed me how to be a great husband, and that she did so without ever saying a word.
• I am thankful that she majored in early childhood development, plus took a class on childhood grief and trauma, and that she shared so much of what she'd learned with me. I am so much better equipped for where I am not than most people simply by virtue of having been lucky enough to have married a woman with Aimee's educational background.
• I am thankful that so much of what she shared with me penetrated my thick skull. If that's not a sign of a Higher Power, I don't know what is.
• As much work as being a single father has been, I am thankful that Aimee and I had Rowan. She has kept me grounded, and given me perspective over the last 11 months.
• I am thankful for the countless friends and loved ones who've stepped up and stepped in through more ways than I can begin to count. 
• I am thankful for the ways modern technology has made it easier to preserve memories. I have digital photos and videos of Aimee. I also have this blog.
• I am thankful I was raised with a strong faith in God that helps me see the (much) bigger picture, which in turn helps me deal with both my grief at Aimee's death and my anger at the reasons it happened.
• Finally, the last thing I'm thankful for (tears in my eyes as I write this) are all the times Aimee said to me, "I have faith that if anything ever happened to me, you'd do a great job raising Rowan." For as high as her standards were, to have that complete faith in me is just amazing. When I've struggled as a single father the last eleven months, I've held on to that and felt like if Aimee could have that kind of faith in me, maybe I could allow myself to feel it as well.

To each and every one of you, have a happy and blessed Thanksgiving.

On being a man raising a girl

When Aimee was pregnant, I'll confess I had just a tiny tinge of hope that the baby would be a boy. Just a tiny one, mind you. Like most parents, my biggest hope by far was for a healthy child, and gender was an extremely distant second to that. But a while after she was born, maybe somewhere between six months and a year old, I realized I was really glad I'd had a girl. My relationship with my dad had been awful, and I realized that at some level I might be carrying a bit of baggage in regards to a father-son situation that didn't exist between me and a daughter.

Besides, I loved Rowan so much that I really couldn't have cared less what her gender was. She was just an amazing, wonderful kid.

Fast forward to now. I'm raising her on my own, at least for now. Not that I don't have help, because Donna is pretty involved, plus her sitter, and her teachers at school. Still, I am the parent at home. And I'm a man trying to raise a girl. As Rowan gets older, this has started to lead to some funny topics of conversation. For example:

• I recently tried to describe "accessorizing your outfits" to her as a way of explaining why she might want to wear barrettes in her hair. Two things I know little about are accessories and hair (for those that don't know, I have had a shaved head for going on 15 years). But I am trying to teach her.
• We routinely discuss what types of shoes go with the outfit I picked out for her that day. I have, on more than one occasion, completely changed her outfit for the day to match the shoes she wanted to wear.
• Since she's been obsessed with Disney princesses and their fairy tale version of how people fall in love and get married, I've had to explain to her that daddy 'finding a new mommy' is a hell of a lot more complicated than she thinks. I can not simply attend a royal ball (I'm not a prince anyway, so even an invitation to such a grand event is not going to land me Cinderella). And kissing women who are asleep and expecting them to immediately run away with me will not only not work, but most likely land me in jail (think Snow White and Sleeping Beauty). Now maybe if I owned a castle my results would be different, but I already covered my lack of royalty.
• A couple of months ago I got a book out of the library to teach her about anatomy for both girls and boys. I was uncomfortable as hell. Fair or not, that's one job I absolutely would have insisted mommy do, had she been here.

This is more up my alley, taking
her to the fair or to carnivals

I'm sure there've been others as well. The point is, I sometimes feel woefully inadequate to discuss some things with her.

But there then are the times when Rowan looks at me and says, "You're the best daddy, ever." And she's been saying that a LOT lately. I love it, even though she really has nothing else to compare me to, and I'm pretty sure I'll get the "I HATE YOU!" treatment at some point in her life. But that's OK.

A few nights ago she was sitting on the couch watching a show on TV (part of the pre-bed ritual). I sat next to her and wrapped my arms around her, and she just melted into my chest. As she did, I leaned down and kissed the top of her head, and just felt my little girl in my arms. And her posture told me she felt loved, safe, and cared for. And I was reassured that although we may not connect over barrettes or shoes, we connect as daddy and daughter. We love each other, and our bond is strong, and we're going to be OK. In fact, we're going to be better than OK. We're going to do pretty damn well.

Superman cries

Lately I've been feeling pretty good about how I'm doing as a single dad to Rowan. She's been happy lately, which is the most important thing. But on top of that, I've just been pretty much on the ball. Ballet classes (I even bought her a tutu), gymnastics classes, and swimming lessons. She's really enjoying all of her activities and school, and she and I have never been closer.

On our own, the two of us do a mixture of fun stuff 'out' and staying at home and playing together. She still occasionally asks me to be 'mommy', but this is not quite as hard as it used to be. I guess I'm a little more used to this request, and it makes me feel good to somehow meet this need in her to talk to her mother.

It's the culmination of the last 10+ months of very determined efforts to be the best parent - both father and mother - I could be. I feel like Rowan deserves the best, and it's sure as hell not her fault that she lost her mother and got left with me. I have strived to be so good a father that she feels the loss as minimally as possible in her day-to-day life.

Rowan on Picture Day

Today was her preschool's Picture Day. I got her into a pretty dress and really beautiful white shawl/hood that someone gave her. She had on tights that matched and cute shoes. I even made sure her hair was brushed and glasses were clean. Before we left, I snapped a picture of her with my phone. I had the thought that has become so common to me now, that Aimee should have been here for this, but it happens so often now that I've gotten used to that too.

I started to feel a little like Superman, handling it all, doing it with a smile, and never a hair out of place (that's a bad bald joke).

But a while later, sitting in a Starbucks telecommuting, I suddenly thought about just how well I've learned to manage on my own, and for some reason, that made me really sad. It was like I suddenly felt like because I could do this on my own, and fairly well, that I not only didn't need Aimee anymore, but maybe even that I never had.

That thought brought instant tears to my eyes.

Because it just isn't true.

If someone had handed me Rowan at birth, without Aimee there, I would have been utterly lost. Even if they'd handed her to me when she was a year or even two years old, I'd have had no clue. It was three and a half years of learning from Aimee that made me the father I'm able to be now. Yes, I knew a thing or two about parenting already, and yes, I have some good instincts to go by. But the difference between the father I would have been and the father I am is huge, and can be traced back to the incredible woman I married back in 2006.

Aimee, if you're somehow watching, I hope you approve of how I'm doing. And thanks for helping me get to a place where I can be a father Rowan loves and trusts.

I screwed up

Being a parent is hard.

Tonight was the end of a very fun but long day. After church, Rowan and I took advantage of the absolutely gorgeous weather to go play around Green Lake in Seattle for the afternoon. The weather was SO wonderful, I stayed there over an hour later than I should have. It just seemed so, I don't know, magical somehow. I didn't want the day to end.

Once we did get home, everything seemed to be going ok. Bath, TV show, teeth brushing, and eventually Rowan was in bed. But about 10 minutes after I got her down and I collapsed on the couch in exhaustion, I heard her call me and ask me to come back up. I was just so damn tired and not thinking, I said, "Rowan, I am not coming back up there right now. I just left a few minutes ago, and I want you to keep trying to go to sleep."

She almost immediately started crying.

Now under normal circumstances, I'd chalk this up to a tired girl not getting her way. And on any given day that may have been it. But as she started crying I also realized that bedtime has been hard for her lately. And she may not have been looking for an excuse to delay sleep, but some comfort and snuggles from daddy because the sudden quiet left her thinking about her mommy.

Man, can I relate to THAT. My sleep patterns are still a disaster after months of avoiding lying in bed awake.

I took a deep sigh, got up, and headed up to her room. She indeed looked sad. If she'd just been looking for an excuse to stay up, she would have brightened when I came in. Instead, she kept crying, and then broke my heart with, "I'm sorry, Daddy. I'm just a little sad and want a hug."

Many of you will probably tell me it's understandable to be so tired at the end of a long, fun day. You're right. And many others might say that every parent has those moments when we're at the end of our rope, and that I shouldn't be too hard on myself. And you're right as well. But that doesn't change one simple fact. This is not a normal family, and Rowan is not going through something that most children go through. And I know that, just like I know lately has been hard for her. I have to work harder on keeping that in mind before I react, so that I can be better at giving her what she needs.

Luckily, children forgive quickly. I snuggled up to her, and she wrapped her arms around one of mine and cuddled up to me with a sigh. It was only a few moments before her breathing got slower and heavier, and I slipped out of her room and went back downstairs.

Good thing for me, that little child loves me. :)

Nine long months

It's been nine months.

Winter, spring, and now summer have passed.

Christmas, New Years, Valentine's Day, Saint Patrick's Day, Easter, Aimee's birthday, Rowan's birthday, our wedding anniversary, Memorial Day, Mothers Day, Fathers Day, 4th of July, my birthday, Justin's birthday, Donna's birthday, and Labor Day have all passed.

Rowan turned 4. And she got glasses. She also got a big-girl bed and doesn't use a pacifier anymore.

The house has closet doors and air conditioning.

My grandmother Rose passed away.

I started this blog, and to date, have written just over 100 posts. It's been visited more than 62,000 times.

Aimee's car is gone. Her clothes are in the garage, her books have been donated to Goodwill, and a few important keepsakes have been put into a memory chest for Rowan.

And her ashes, those are in a box in my room. At least until October 25.

It's been nine long months.

Most of the time, it feels like a lot longer.

Finding mommy

For the last eight-plus months, I've been working towards being the best single parent I can be. For me, that means trying to figure out how and when to be mommy vs. being daddy. Knowing when to be a problem solver or protector, versus a listener or comforter. And of course getting all the 'mommy' stuff done plus the 'daddy' stuff as well. It's not that I think each parent doesn't play all of these roles, but, at least on our family, typical gender roles were more or less the norm. That meant that when Aimee died, I felt like I needed to find my own inner mommy.

It's been a journey, that's for sure.

But I think I'm starting to get a little of what it can feel like at times. I took Rowan out of town for the weekend for some daddy/daughter bonding time. We got back earlier this evening, and tomorrow she starts back up at her preschool. This is what my evening was like, both in my head and what I actually did. Does this sound familiar to you parents, especially single ones?



Rowan is excited about the
"Disney princess" lip gloss I
let her get.

Pulling in the driveway. Mind flashing to what food was in the fridge and cupboards when I left. Do I have dinner? Do I have what I need for Rowan's lunches this week or even tomorrow? No. Need a store run. Better prepare Rowan now before we even get out of the car, since I know she won't want to get back in the car after the four hours we just spent in it. "Hey, Rowan? We're going to have to run to the store in a little bit after I get the car unloaded. OK, honey?" Expected groan from the back seat. "It'll be a quick trip to the store, then we'll go out to eat." Expected uptick in response to that - Rowan like to go out to eat, just like me. OK, dog's out of the car, Rowan's unbuckled, trunk is popped open, bags, suitcases, guitar all loaded on my arms. Door open, Rowan's TV show on so I can unload and put away things quickly. Dirty clothes tossed towards washer. Call to mom, yes, we're home, had fun, lots to do. Reload Rowan into the car. Safeway - lunch meat, cheese, small veggies easily packed for lunches. OK, check, head for restaurant. Dinner, no hope at getting her to eat something healthy tonight, but almost never any healthy options on kids menus anyway. Back home, Rowan's now in the tub, load of laundry started. Back to the bathroom to wash her hair, get her out, dry her off. Clean jammies on and back to the couch to watch a show before bed (normally she only gets one show in the morning and one before bed - the electronic babysitter earlier is a rare exception). I watch with her as a brief break, but also because I need to brush her hair out after her bath, plus learn how to talk like these characters because she WILL ask me to do so soon. Show over, brushing teeth, and glad I paid attention to show because sure enough I've suddenly been conscripted to role play as Captain Hook and his sidekick Smee from the Disney Jr. show we just watched. Meanwhile teeth are clean and now settling in to read stories, say our prayer, and lights out. Straight back to kitchen, do dishes (good LORD I should have done some of these before I left and NOT left them soaking because the smell is nasty). Kitchen finally clean and I start making Rowan's lunch, pause to put clothes in dryer and start new load. Back to Rowan's room to check on her - she's fast asleep so I kiss her head and go back to the kitchen to finish making her lunch. Clothes out of the dryer, wet clothes in the dryer, now... um, ok, now I can sit down and write a blog post. But quickly. It's now after midnight, and I have to get up early. I want to make sure we have plenty of time to get ready and get the new school year off to a good start. Oh, except I still need to fold these clothes and put them away...

Deep breath.

Like I said, sound familiar, parents?

When I spoke to my mom earlier, I said to her that this is one of the times I miss having a spouse from a purely logistical standpoint. But even when I said it, I knew I could and would get everything done. Single parenting is as old as time, and LOTS of people have done as well or better with a lot less to work with. It's just that for whatever reason, women seem to do this better than men, or maybe that's just my perception (not the necessarily kid-raising part, I mean the planning, organizing, getting all this crap done part). At any rate, it's taken me some time to get the hang of this, but I'm getting there.

And as I hinted at earlier, it's not just getting all the tasks done. I'm getting better at figuring out when to turn male-brain off and turn female-brain on. "Oh, she doesn't want me to tell her she fell down because she wasn't watching where she was going or that if her friend upset her she should find better friends. She just wants me to hold her, stroke her hair, kiss her forehead, empathize with her, and make her feel better. OK, I can do that..." I'm trying to figure out the finer points of putting outfits together so that when all of this sudden this matters to her, I'm ready. And I notice cute girl clothes in the stores now (and when they're on sale). I converse with sitters and teachers about her care and her current mental state. I bring home books from the library, some that teach moral lessons and some that are just fun. I role play with her, and as such I voice characters from TV shows and movies, sip 'tea' at tea parties (water I sincerely hope is from the bathroom SINK), or make her toy unicorns fly through the air and guide them through an adventure to rescue a princess from an evil witch. And lastly, when her voice is breaking and she's telling me that she's just really sad because she misses her mommy right now, I hold her close and I tell her I miss mommy too. And I wish I could soak the pain right out of her and into myself so that she didn't have to bear this huge burden on her little shoulders.

Because that's what mommies (and daddies) do.

What I prayed tonight

Earlier tonight was rough. Rowan was having tummy pain and I had a hard time finding something that made her feel better enough to go to sleep. I was finally successful at about half past 10.

A couple of hours later I was getting ready to go to bed myself (trying to get more than 3-4 hours of sleep these days). As I let the dog out to do her business, I decided I needed to spend a few minutes outside under the stars, talking to God. Here is what I said.

"God, thanks for Rowan going to sleep. I pray whatever was wrong with her tummy is gone now, and she gets a good night's sleep (so I can too). I really love that little girl.

It's in moments like these when I miss Aimee, not only because she would have handled this, but because she would have known how to. If she's up there with You right now, please tell her I love her and I miss her. Tell her that I always think about all those times when she said she felt confident that I could raise Rowan if anything ever happened to her, and that I try to prove her right, no mater how lost I sometimes feel.

I hope I appreciated her enough when she was here. I think I did, I know I thanked You for her frequently and I worked to show Aimee by words and actions how much she meant to me. But if I fell short, please also tell her that too. She was an incredible gift from You.

I never wanted You to take her away from me.

And Lord, please tell her I hope she understands that I'm starting to look for someone else who can come into our lives. It's not that I didn't love her that much. In fact, in some ways it's because of my great love for her that I want to move on. She showed me what a wonderful, amazing thing a great marriage was, and I miss that. She taught me about the importance of each parent to a child, and I want a mother for Rowan. She opened my eyes to all the ways I could be a good husband and father, and she did it without saying much, but through her great example, and I really long to have a partner like that again, but as a wife and as a fellow parent. I miss loving someone like that.

Tell Aimee that Rowan misses her too. She says it a lot more now than she used to, and she cries more often. But she also seems to know that she can come to me and cry to me and that she's safe with me. Let Aimee know that as much as Rowan can be right now, she is happy, even in her grief.

So Lord, help me be a great father, especially now. And when I go up to Rowan's room in a few minutes and lean over and kiss the top of her head as she sleeps, I'll pray to You again soon, this time for her health and well-being and her future.

Thank You for listening to me.

In Jesus' name,
Amen."

Rowan is scared

As I write this, I am spending a few vacation days in Washington, DC with Aimee's side of the family: Donna, Justin, and Caroline. Rowan is here with us too. It's good to see Justin and Caroline, since I haven't seen them since late January. After Aimee's death they came back to the Seattle area with us and stayed for almost a month, which was a great support and comfort. Then they headed back home to DC.

I was sad to see them go back then, so that made this reunion all the better. And Rowan was excited to see her "Uncle J and Auntie Caroline" too.

Rowan with her uncle Justin
last December in Key West

But I was keenly aware of the circumstances of the last time we were all together. Apparently, so is Rowan.

Although she showed great excitement at first, she has been ill at ease ever since. It got worse as today wore on, almost to the point that she was being a bit irrational, and I'm ashamed to admit, almost a bit annoying to me. Finally, when I put her to bed, she was shaking and told me she as scared. She often does that when what she means is "I don't want to..." Such as, I don't want to go to sleep. But this did feel a little different.

"Rowan, what are you scared of?"

In a very small voice, "I don't know."

"Are you afraid something is going to happen to you?"

She shook her head.

I paused, and something occurred to me. So I asked quietly, "Are you afraid something is going to happen to me?"

Without a second's hesitation, she nodded.

And there you have it. Rowan remembers that the last time this group of people was together, she lost her mommy. Now she's afraid she will lose her daddy too. And you know what? I get it. I totally do. To a four year old, that cause-and-effect theory makes perfect sense.

We'll be here for a couple more days. I sincerely hope that over that time, we'll build up enough new memories with Aimee's family, especially with Justin and Caroline, that Rowan will feel more at ease when we're all together. As her mommy's family, they are her family too, and always will be, no matter what. I want her to be close to them, and through them get other stories and memories to keep her mommy alive to her.

And in the meantime, I'll pray to God that He keeps me safe, if for no other reason than for Rowan's sake.

If I got a surprise visit from Aimee today...

A few days ago I had this sudden vision out of nowhere: what would Aimee see if she suddenly dropped by for a visit? How much have things changed? And, how would it make her feel?

When we left for Florida (the last time Aimee saw this house):

• It was spotless;
• Rowan was three years old;
• She also still used a binky (pacifier);
• And she didn't wear glasses;
• I was 20 pounds lighter;
• The bedrooms still didn't have closet doors;
• There was a blue and white comforter on our bed;
• The bath towels and rug were red, and the shower curtain was white;
• Rowan slept in her old crib, which had been converted to a day bed;
• In addition to our dog Abbey, we also had one of Donna's dogs, Buddy;
• Her clothes hung in the closet and filled her dresser;
• Stacks of her books were in bookcases, and on the end table next to her side of the bed
• And finally, I wore a gold wedding band on the ring finger of my left hand.

But if she came by the house now:

Aimee didn't get to see Rowan move from
her crib to a big-girl bed

• It is chronically a mess;
• Rowan is four years old;
• She doesn't use a pacifier anymore;
• And she wears glasses;
• I'm 20 pounds heavier;
• The bedrooms all have closet doors, as does the basement closet;
• There's a dark red comforter on my bed;
• There are brown bath towels, bath mat, and shower curtain in the bathroom;
• Rowan sleeps in a new (pink) twin bed with new Rapunzel bedding;
• Buddy is at Donna's;
• Aimee's clothes are in large storage bins in the garage;
• Her books are either in the garage or have been given to Goodwill;
• And finally, my wedding band is on a chain around my neck.

There are probably even more changes as well. The point is, life has moved on. Some of it has been just normal 'life' stuff, like Rowan turning four, and getting glasses. Some of it is me intentionally changing things in order to move on, such as moving Aimee's things out and changing the bedding and towels.

As I quickly counted up all the changes, I realized that a lot of things are different now, and I suddenly felt guilty about it, like Aimee would feel like we've (ok, I've) been slowly but surely pushing her out. And I guess, honestly, in some ways I have been. I have to. But then I thought about Aimee and the kind of person she was. She'd want us to move on. She would hate to see us stuck in some weird time-stands-still place where we let as little change as possible to try and preserve the last remnants of her in our lives. Yes, we keep some reminders. There are photos of Aimee up all over the place - the kitchen, living room, basement, and of course in Rowan's room. But I want to have a balance of remembering Aimee and keeping her memory fresh and alive for Rowan, while also acknowledging that we need to get on with our lives, build new memories, write new chapters.

I miss Aimee. Some part of me always will. But we, Rowan and I at least, have to keep putting one foot in front of the other and live this new life. We didn't choose this, but it's the life we have now and we'll live it as best we can and ask God for strength when the days get tough. Things will change. We'll learn how to find our joy and our fun. We'll make new friends. And we will write those new chapters that someday we'll read to Aimee when we see her again.

The making of a modern single father

I do not know what most of today's fathers are like. I know what MY father was like (we're not even going to go there!), and I'm not much like he was. He had a lot of faults, but in some ways his attitudes about being a father were fairly typical of his generation: child rearing was for the women, his job is to go earn the living. His involvement in my life was mostly restricted to discipline or assigning work.

When Aimee and I found out we were going to be parents, we talked about what we saw our roles as being. We both agreed that my role should be considerably more involved than my father had been. I would help with the tasks of raising Rowan from Day 1, and be more than just a breadwinner, but a parent with whom Rowan had a significant and close relationship with from her earliest years.

So, this was how we proceeded, with me helping with feedings, changings (yuck), and other parts of raising her. But more than that, I spent time with her, playing, reading, etc. As she got a little older, we did daddy/daughter dates. She helped me when I worked in the yard or did laundry.

Yes, I have a goofy daddy,
but I love him

But, there were differences. For example, while I sometimes travelled for work for several days at a time (up to 10-11 for some trips), and took the occasional trip to Phoenix to visit my best friend. During these, Aimee was often parenting solo. Me? I never had to do that, and the thought of it terrified me. My longest stretch alone with Rowan as of December 18, 2011, was about 8-9 hours. Never even once overnight.

When Aimee died, this was one of the things that I was dreading - being a single parent. The lack of someone else to 'tag-team' with was bad enough, but going days on end on my own? God help me. And God help poor Rowan. But there was one thing going very much in my favor. My involvement with Rowan meant that we already had a close love and bond. Plus, it meant I knew the basics of how to care for her. I knew where her clothes were, I knew her routines, and I knew how to handle her moods, fits, and fears. I wasn't starting from scratch.

Well, we're going on seven months now. That knowledge has helped immensely. So has Donna's frequent help, plus the occasional break provided by friends here and there. But as expected, I've had to step up and be a single dad. And as much as I've felt inadequate at times (see also "Single parenting, I didn't sign up for this" and "I make a lousy mommy"), I know that on the whole I am making this work. I've cared for her when she's been sick. I've weaned her off of her pacifier (without scarring her). Threw her a birthday party, bought clothes that fit her, made sure she saw a counselor when she's needed it, and most importantly, showed her love and let her grieve in her own way. Much of how I am raising Rowan and coping with these circumstances is due to things I learned from Aimee. Between her degree in early childhood development, training in childhood grief and trauma, and her amazing empathy and love, I picked up a ton more knowledge from her than I would have thought possible.

She used to say to me with some regularity, in a very happy and proud tone, "Patrick, I want you to know that I am very confident that if something ever happened to me, you'd do a great job taking care of Rowan." I'd typically tease her and tell her she was off her rocker. And in all seriousness, I DID think she was off her rocker. I felt like a competent father with her by my side, but had serious doubts I could do this it on my own.

Now, there are days when I am just clicking as a dad, when doctor's appointments are scheduled and clothes are clean and food is fixed and Rowan is happy, and I WISH WISH WISH Aimee could see me and I could see her and I could say to her, "Love, you were right. I doubted you, but you were right. I CAN do this, thanks to you." And she'd smile her sweet, proud smile that she gave me more often than I deserved and she'd nod and tell me I don't give myself enough credit and that I am a good man and that's why she married me. I know this because she said those things to me often.

I want Aimee to be proud of the job I'm doing. I think on the whole, she would be.

I make a lousy mommy

I am not the only single father in the world. I wonder how well some of the others are faring? Do they figure out how to get their act together? Plan and prepare meals, clean the house, come up with fun, safe, and educational activities for the kid(s)? Get everyone fed, bathed, clothed and to school on time?

I may get there someday, but I'm not there yet.

Just in the last few days alone, look at some of my mishaps:

• One day last week I forgot to feed Rowan before school (luckily she barely eats in the morning anyway, and they have snack time in the mornings at school)
• For the second time in three days, I started to make French Toast only to realize I was out of eggs. Understandable the first time, but not so much the second.
• I took Rowan to the park on a very warm, sunny day. Despite being reminded by my own mother to bring sunscreen (Rowan has very pale skin), I forgot it. Fortunately I DID remember it only a few blocks from home, and went back and got it. But if mom hadn't reminded me to begin with, I'd probably have forgotten it altogether.
• When we arrived at the park, I realized how woefully under-prepared I was compared to other families. They had folding chairs to sit on (I own them, but didn't think to bring them), coolers with snacks, toys, etc. I brought one towel (they have water features for the kids to play in) and a bucket. I have all the other stuff, I just didn't think to bring it.

But it's bigger than that. I was in Costco and saw Q-Tips. And suddenly I realized I had NEVER cleaned out Rowan's ears. It's amazing she can hear anything at all.

Before Aimee's accident I would sometimes get Rowan dressed. There were times it was an adventure for me to figure out which clothes matched, but typically I did alright. But now that I am responsible for her hair too? I brush it in the morning, and by the time we get to the car, it looks like it did when she got out of bed. Once in a great while I'll actually manage to get a barrette in her hair to STAY there for more than 30 seconds. Hair/head bands? She's not having any of that, and I know part of the reason (or all) is because I can't put one on her head without pulling half of her hair out.

Should we even talk about how often Rowan gets a bath? Or her nails clipped? Or how overdue that child is for a haircut (I swear, I am taking her this weekend)? Nah, I'm already feeling inadequate enough.

"Hello, Domino's? Yeah, it's Pat
again. I'll take the usual."

Well, unless we talk about meals, and then I feel even worse. It doesn't help that Aimee took great pride in meal planning and preparing. She mapped out meals for the week based on foods that would give us a wide variety of things to eat, were of high nutritional value (she forced me to eat veggies), and well balanced. I don't have the time, energy, or creativity for that. I buy frozen or pre-prepared meals you can throw in the oven. And I feel really guilty for that, because I know how important good nutrition is for growing children and guys approaching middle age who really like their sweets and don't get enough exercise.

Speaking of food and trips to Costco, I was there late last week shopping and suddenly was hit with this overwhelming sadness. I was struggling to find meal options that I felt decent about and was just hit with how much I missed Aimee. Her efforts at meal planing were just one of a thousand ways her deep love for us manifested itself in a tangible way. She showed us how deeply she cared for us in so many things she did for us, and those constant expressions of love from her is something I miss so terribly now. 

Anyway, I know that the most important thing I bring to the table as a parent is to make sure Rowan knows I love her, and I'm confident I'm doing that well, if nothing else. But I so much want for Rowan to have more than just my love. I don't need to be the male version of Martha Stewart. But I would like to have my act together well enough to make sure her ears are cleaned out.