The endless questions of trying to do the ‘right’ thing

I do a ridiculous amount of worrying since becoming a widow about ‘The Right Thing’

For the most part that is about the kids.

Am I consoling them in the right way? Am I giving them enough of my time?

Am I letting them figure it out enough on their own?

Am I expecting them to figure out too much on their own.

Am I being there enough for them?

Am I giving them enough love?

Am I spoiling them too much?

Am I giving some behaviours too much leniency because of their grief?

Am I doing too much for them?

The list is endless.

Absolutely endless.

Then there is the list I have for my own self...

There is all of the above... and then:

Am I grieving the right way myself?

Have I given myself time to feel all the feelings?

Should I be working/not working?

Am I drinking too much wine?

How much cheese it too much cheese?

Should I spend more time with the kids?

Should we will be doing all the things we do?

Am I crying enough?

Have I cried enough?

Should I cry more?

Am I laughing too much?

I actually have zero idea how this widowing thing works - I just know that whatever I do I think it’s the ‘right thing’ and for most of the time it is. But sometimes it’s not.

And sometimes it just seems it’s not.

Because I actually spend an inordinate amount of time worried what people think of me and what I’m doing.

I worry that because I’m so honest about it all that people feel the need to be honest about me back.

One friend has told me as such...Because: Honest.

But she’s right. I’m honest about me.

Which seemingly makes people feel the need to be honest about me, to me. Out loud. To my face.

Which can be refreshing.

It can be the most soul-touching honesty that fills me with gratitude and helps reiterate that the decisions I have made are good. It supports the decisions I have agonised over. And It makes me feel like the decisions I’ve made are actually the ‘right‘ ones. That I’m going about it the right way.

But then there is the other honesty people give me.

The questions of: how can you be...? why aren’t you...? Shouldn’t you be ...?

The questions that question my decisions and only reiterate my fears that I’m doing it all wrong... that I’m failing.

The questions people feel they can ask because I’m self deprecating, so they think they can be to me, too.

That because I laugh, it must not be hurting.

That because I do things, I must have got on with my life.

That because I smile, I must not be sad.

That because I joke about a unicorn, I must not love Pete as much, or have moved on.

All of these things run through my head.

Because, in some form, all of them have been said or eluded to, which reiterated all of my fears that by just getting on and doing the things, mothering and working and trying to keep things as normal as possible somehow means I am not in the depth of grief like people think I should be.

The reality actually is, that I love my children so deeply that I need to do everything in my power, and to my own grieving detriment, to make their lives as ‘normal’ as possible.

Because I think that’s the ‘right’ thing to do.

The reality also is that many nights I have come home from events with couples and families (who and which I love dearly) and cried and cried at the pain I feel at no longer having Pete to do those things with.

Because going to those events and seeing those people I think is the ‘right’ thing to do so I don’t isolate myself and the kids from amazing people who love us.

Because the reality also is that every day I have to make dozens of decisions as a mother... and then I have to double down on that with dozens of decisions I have to make for grieving children that I just desperately hope are the right ones so they come out as functional human beings.

And then I have to do the every day stuff ... like feed and water my children, tidy my house, wash clothes, feed animals, get to bed at a reasonable time, remember to find out what it going on in the world, pay bills, work so that I can get paid to achieve almost all of the things mentioned above...

And I question if I do a lot of that right, too.

I mean, how much take away food is too much take away food in a week? Is washing the clothes 4 days in a row because you forget to hang them out and they get that funky smell to them damaging to clothing? If the bottle shop lady queries why you are buying beer and not wine because ‘you never buy beer’ ... have you been going there too often, or is it just time to change bottle shops for every other purchase?

My widow brain is a crazy place.

But for the most part, I can acknowledge that.

And I can work my way through a lot of it.

Sometimes successfully, sometimes not.

And because it can be such a crazy place in my brain, and in my reality, I need to laugh at a lot of it... or I’d just cry all the time (and crying is actually exhausting.)

Because no one can tell me how to widow and raise 4 fatherless children.

Like, really and truly, they can’t.

Lots of people have honestly told me that, too.

Because it’s too big. Too hard to fathom. Too hard to understand. Too hard to manage single handedly.

I can find advice on how to try and help one child or two children... possibly even three.

But four...? Four individuals who are grieving to their own time line... even the professionals can’t help me with that.

Many of those who I have consulted to try have actually told me that.

And so I have to laugh.

Laugh at how hard it all is.

Laugh at how ludicrous it all is.

And be frankly honest about how shit it can all be to anyone who asks.

Because it’s too hard to sugar coat it when I’ve already spent so much time overthinking it.

And if I stop and actually take stock of how big and insurmountable the challenge that is before me actually is, I might just stop, give up, and never be able to start again.

So I try and make the right decision.

I try not to let the honest criticisms add insult to the injury of a broken heart.

For most of the time, a flippant commical comment back (mostly) with or without a swear word making light of the barb works...

Because as some other beautifully honest people have told me: I’m living their nightmare, and they will do whatever they can to help me.

Even if that is listening to me ask them and myself ridiculous rhetorical or unanswerable questions for however long it take for me to make a decision or get my head around there being no answer.