Language is one of the strangest things about widowhood. The marriage is legally disolved, is her family still my “in-laws”? No one posseses the children in my charge, but they are “ours.” The decisions my wife and I made for our family are relevant today, so I often say “my wife and I” in present terms. Yet, I have a loving girlfriend…try dropping those relationship terms without context.
You get used to the weirdness, but it is unusual to be a widowed parent of minors, it will always be weird.
Mary laughed everytime I said, “Passepartout,” and it strikes me that Westen just this week discovered an interest in French that was unexpected. Although, he says, he may switch to Spanish.
I always try to remind parents interested in home education that they’ve been doing it for years. No child between the ages of 1 and 5 needs school to learn a vast amount of skills and knowledge. No one needs any school after that either. We’ve been conditioned to accept school as a universal, yet we are born to learn. The home education community is growing exponentially and the examples of children thriving without school are plentiful.
Our magnolia tree started to bloom this week, but I haven’t captured a good picture yet. This one is from 2020. The tree has gotten healthier every year we’ve been here and I’m excited to see what the next few weeks bring.
The Lord has told you what is good, and this is what he requires of you: to do what is right, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God. -Micah 6:8 NLT
This is interesting. This devotional uses this Scripture three times in a row, each with a different translation. I’m not sure what to make of that after an intensely active few days of soccer, jiu-jitsu, theater planning, unschool club, non-stop action.
I’ll just walk humbly with Jesus for now. I doubt I’d lack mercy if I was walking by his side. I doubt I’d be lacking for anything.
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He has shown you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you, but to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God? -Micah 6:8 NKJV
The commentary on this devotional reads, “We act justly when we behave as Jesus did.”
That’s a high goal to set, but a loving and compassionate one that is worth reaching for.
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I don’t even know how long I’ve been lonely. I haven’t allowed myself to feel it most times.
This past weekend I took my sons to camp with home education friends. It was the type of gathering that Mary loved so much, with tons of food, fun, adventure, and laughter. I had her favorite camp chair, coffee mug, and the tent we decided to buy, but didn’t receive until after she passed away. Camping always brings out Mary stories and every campfire is like going home with her.
I’ve lived these four years without her as a prideful single dad. I’ve been setting up and breaking down camps with little adult help and I’ve felt strong. That’s changing as I see I have a romantic partner who I can lean on and trust with tasks I assumed were my responsibility. She wasn’t with me this weekend, but my friends were generous with their help. I’ve grown a better practice of accepting help, but I still felt weakness. As I drove home (on schedule, thanks to my friends), I was overwhelmed by feelings of inadequacy. Triggered by wet tarps and sandy bike tires, it ran right down to not being the type of husband who could protect his wife’s life.
That’s one of the shittiest things about grief. It’ll take new feelings and tie them up with the past or some impossible present. I’m a better man than the one who lost Mary. What if I had been better for her? What would my life look like now? Then comes the guilt of not appreciating the wonderful people and things in my life now. Then none of it makes sense and I’m just crying behind the wheel of a 19-foot RV as I make my way to play soccer.
At least I know how this goes. I keep the truck on the road, let the tears do their thing, and feel a whole lot better, if a little drained.
I performed well in the game, but the emotional toll weakened me enough to bring on a nagging blueness complete with brain fog and body aches. The next day I learned that I had missed a dedication ceremony for Mary. The storm of emotions has held my recovery in slow motion. Three days later, this morning, I finally received the answer about my loneliness. I had been hiding from it. I didn’t want to admit that I was counting on anyone for anything. I’m now accepting my loneliness and being honest with myself about who I can lean on and who I cannot.
Some of it is clear and some not, but I needed to return to this space and start a new chapter of healing. That’s the greatest thing about the shittiest thing about grief: if you are lucky enough to turn the pain into healing, you will forever have a source of improved spiritual, mental, and physical health.
We didn’t start “formal” home education until K. I wish we hadn’t. Through a lot of fits, starts, and downright fights, I learned that children are the most natural learners. Schoolish assumptions tamp down our curiosity and mutate learning from playful discovery to grinding work and responsibility.
We slowly assessed and eliminated the internalized assumptions of our school training.
We went from schooling in our home, to an eclectic approach, and finally came home to radical unschooling. I don’t regret the length of our journey, but I hope to help others free themselves from the expectations of a system that cannot know how to serve the individual.
