Monday, August 31, 2009

August 31, 2009 Against Motherhood

I have been with the kids for 153 days straight.

I have answered 12, 345 questions.

Broken up 1546 arguments. Five of which would have sent someone to the hospital.

I have put them to bed for 138 times.

I have taken them to the ranch, to Maine, for ice cream, the neighbor’s pool, the public pool and to the beach. I have made sure they don’t drown.

I have arranged play dates and well OK Langston arranged them for himself.

I have pondered what to feed them, how to treat them, and prayed that they didn’t get sick.

I have been up with them at 1:23 am and 4:42 am and 5:12 am…some nights three times in a row.

I have laughed at their jokes and listened to their long winded, pointless stores.

I have feigned interest.

I have broken up and mediated countless fights and arguments.

I was at a party where the women talked about being single moms and I wanted to scream YOU ARE NOT SINGLE! You are divorced! YOU have husband who takes the kids. YOU get a break!

I am a single mom. I am out here on my own.

And the exhaustion runneth over and floods my mind.

I need to get away. I need a night (4 really) where I don’t have to think about them, the next meal, the next day, the next anything. I need some time where my thoughts are not mingled with thoughts about what they are going to do, what they are doing or what they will do

I need to find myself. Make sure I’m Ok. Take stock of what I have, of what I need, of how far I have to go and of how far I've come.

Their endless chatter and needs and wants and demands are like the washing machine in the laundry can't hear a damn thing except what is infront of you.

I need to sleep without the other ear listening.

But his death has left me trapped.

Art had no insurance. I did not tell you before becuase up until now, I felt his lack of insurance reflected on my good wifeness and his good husbandness.

I cannot hire a weekend babysitter.

I cannot go to a hotel.

I cannot get a massage.

The nights out are like band aids on a wound that needs to be sewn up, with the proper sutures.

I am that caged lion, the one who was not born in captivity. I pace and pace and pace the I strike with force and resentment and anger and ugliness. I strike in my mind, not really wanting to hurt anyone,, so I hurt myself and the damage is horrific.

The exhaustion is slowly, gently crushing me.

What strength I have left I use to keep me here, to not get on the 10 and just drive…away.

I hate when they say “Mom?”

Right now I hate being a mother more than I can possibly express.

I hate it to my core.


  1. Anonymous10:37 PM

    OK, you are not a caged lion, you are not any kind of lion. You are a woman whose husband has died and now has to look after her children full time. All your fantasies about what your life was gonna be like are shattered and reveal themselves to only be phantasms. This was yhe life you were akways going to have it was never going to be any other way This is not entirely bad. There is no other life for you. No relief from the reality of the situation. Embrace that and move forward. And write(or don't) knowing your children will one day read this stuff

  2. Anonymous6:24 PM

    Kim, keep writing whatever you need to write-- this site is YOUR release- if the kids read it one day they will understand and respect your honesty and your pain. If anything they will know how much you loved Art, how much his death hurt you, and quite frankly that their mom is HUMAN. Many moms who are not in your situation have moments of oh my GOD what about me- I need a BREAK-- I know I do- admitting that is awesome- you get it out and go back to what they need-- you also need to take care of yourself so you can take care of them--

  3. Anonymous9:30 PM

    You need to get help with the kids. You are not prepared Or financially capable of looking after your kids all by yourself this post is a very obvious cry for help You should move to Maine to be with Arthur's family. They will give you the help you need raising them.

  4. Anonymous10:04 PM

    To the person who posted the first anonymous post, good gracious, you are NOT God, and thankfully, you'll never be. Who are you to decide what life anybody was always meant to have? Who are you to decide whether or not there will be any "relief from the reality of the situation?" Who are you to order a grieving mother to "embrace" death and "move forward?"

    And I beg to differ, the situation IS "entirely bad" for crying out loud! This fresh widow has three children to raise singlehandedly!

    You seem to be one bitter human being who enjoys watching others suffer. Well, please allow Kim to express her emotions with her words (instead of drugs, alcohol, or whatever). Permit more compassionate souls to walk with Kim and the kids during this difficult journey, by doing whatever possible to alleviate their sorrow, pain, suffering, frustration, and fatigue after Art's untimely death.

    And you can read and post hurtful comments on Kim's blog (or don't), knowing that one day Kim or the kids will read this stuff...

  5. Hey Kim, I just wanted to say this. There is no right or wrong way to grieve. There is only your way. And my friend you are allowed to feel whatever you feel in the moment. You're not hurting anyone. It is you who hurts.

    Thank you for sharing with us with such honesty.

  6. Anonymous8:20 AM

    To the first poster:
    I am not one that generally posts to blogs, and don't know Kim personally, but I felt the urge to do so based on your comment. Clearly you are someone that believes in fate, that our lives are mapped out from the beginning. Hogwash! Your lack of compassion is, quite frankly, astounding. It also seems pretty clear that you've never experienced anything close to the devastating grief that has come to pass for this family. There is and will be another life for this family, without her beloved spouse and the childrens' father. Maybe you should keep your comments to yourself.

  7. For the first anonymous comment...It's so obvious you have no clue.

    Kim, I too am a widow, but it was my second husband who passed, not my children's bio father...and so I do get extra support, breaks, as ALL parents require, need, and deserve. But even so, when taking on the tremendously, emotionally, stressful task that grieving takes, we have less emotional resources for our children, and need to find healthy amounts of time for ourselves to fully grieve our losses so we can heal. I feel for you, as I said, I do get breaks, and even then, feel so drained often, because of the emotional rollar coaster this grief brings. I would offer to give you that break in a hearbeat if you lived by me. Not only would it do you good, it would be a positive thing for your kids because you will have re engergized yourself to give more to them. Your feelings are so understandable, and your need very real. Try to find some supports, some way, some how, and get the breaks you not only deserve, but NEED.

  8. I just want you to know that I can totally relate, understand and empathize with you. I refer to myself as an "only parent" because I am totally on my own in raising and caring for my two sons. I've been doing so for almost six years now and what people don't realize is how emotionally draining it is to be the only one worrying and caring for the kids. That for me is actually more difficult than the physical duties.

    My boys were 9 and 10 when their Dad died. They are now 15 and 16. I am finally going to take a short weekend trip away (by myself) to a country inn on a lake this Fall. The boys will stay with a friend. I just have to have a short break from the demands of parenting that continue even when the kids are in high school. I just want a couple days of "off" me time where I don't have to be "on" and so worried. I am struggling financially (insurance issues also) and have not been able to get away until now.

    You wrote about a very tough subject with honesty, grace and courage. More people need to recognize this aspect of widowhood.

  9. Anonymous3:41 PM

    Maybe you have already found Snickollet's blog, but she writes of many of the same feelings. I thought you might find it helpful. She is now a couple of years out from the loss of her husband. Here is an older entry that I think speaks to some of the same feelings that you are experiencing.

  10. I am amazed at your strength. I can say that I don't think I have ever written a comment on your blog. I have read your blog as I stumbled upon it through the moms group.

    But something you should know.. is that your courage and strength always makes me stop in my tracks and pause. Think about my own life. And commend you for being strong enough to be.

    You translate your feelings so well in written words, keep doing it!

    I read somewhere about a book called 'unstuck'. I read it has great guidance on getting through struggles. Maybe it might be helpful.

  11. I hope that didn't come across the wrong way.

    Everything is always in its own time. I understand that completely.

    Love to you during this time of healing you.

  12. What widowed moms need most of all is encouragement, kind words and praise for all they are accomplishing on their own. Just a little bit goes a long way in getting through the rough patches when weariness sets in and the road ahead appears so dark and unending. It is so easy for others not in this situation to point fingers and say how they think they'd handle things. Of course, they'd be doing the job better. But unless you're here, you have absolutely no idea of the drain and fatigue of being an only parent, as well as being a widow.

  13. "I need to sleep without the other ear listening. "

    That's one i can readily identify with.
    When Jacobo was 12 he suffered spinal meningitis, went into a coma, and we came "this close" to losing him.
    I mean: tough.
    Recovering on serious meds, he slept in the next room, and I listened for any change or bump in his breathing all night long, afraid he would go into seizures and the whole bit.
    I awoke and tiptoed in to check on him 2x a night for well over a year, standing there waiting to assure myself his chest rose and fell with clean breaths....

    The sense that you're on 24/7 duty, that anything can happen, that the ground beneath no longer is reliable and solid - it is so hard.
    And for you, alone to do this -

    You are amazing.
    And to be congratulated and hugged.
    Take care.