The Right Fit

I’ve flipped and flopped on this issue many times when it comes to the kids. I wonder where Mark is supposed to fit in their lives. I have the luxury now of knowing where Mark fits for me. It just kind of happened, hard to explain but it just is. I feel a certain peace with what my life has become over the last 3 years. Most often, I can be angry or sad when I choose to, and can almost welcome it when I feel like I am due for a good cry. These words are much easier to say with Christmas behind me but for now, I feel a sense of direction I didn’t have before.

I was faced with this question of “where does my Dad fit?” just the other night. I will admit I wing-it an awful lot and I don’t always know what the right answer is. I find myself staying up late (as I am now) to ponder these things only to realize that there is no right answer.

I have always taken a very direct line with Audrey and Noah when it comes to Mark. I wouldn’t even know how else to do it now. I feel the disbelief (and hear it in people’s voices) when Audrey and Noah are so matter of fact about it. Audrey volunteered the information to a paramedic we spoke to at a flu clinic just last month. “Yup, my Daddy died. That’s why I’ve seen the inside of an ambulance before”. As I stood beside her holding her hand, I counted the seconds before he answered. He was shocked and seemed to be thinking of an appropriate response. The pause seemed like forever. He then said “What was your Daddy’s name?”

I think about how it just is this way for Audrey and Noah, they don’t know any other way. Noah has lived longer without Mark than with him and come this year the same will be true for Audrey. With each year that passes their memories are fading. When I think about my kids growing up without their Dad every bone in my body wants to keep his memory alive. But then I wonder, is it more for me, or them?

How do I walk the tight rope of remembering and cherishing versus remembering and pointing out the painful truth. I’m beginning to be more frugal with my “Daddy memories” in front of the kids as they grow older. Their reactions now can range from jubilant smiles to sobbing depending on the day. I sometimes feel like I’ve shaken a giant cowbell of sadness in the air when an innocent comment about Mark sends Audrey flying into tears. I struggle with defining how much remembering is good and how much is painful for them? This line is never in the same place from day to day, what makes the kids smile one day brings tears to them the next.


There are times however, when my kids surprise me and Sunday night was one of those nights. I had decided to donate some of Mark’s clothes to a charity that helps people who are starting over. I had spent a few evenings going through some of his things and it felt like the right time to do something meaningful with them. I carefully packed the clothes and stacked the boxes in the hallway. I stood there for 10 minutes when I was done staring at them wondering what the heck to do. Do I leave them here for the kids to discover and question me about the curious boxes in the morning, or do I hide them and shelter them from this act of giving away their Dad’s things? I contemplated both options and went with the latter. I wasn’t sure how Audrey would take it so I lugged the boxes out to the car and essentially hid them there until I could decide how that conversation might go. I drove around for over a week with Mark’s clothes in my trunk. I couldn’t think of how I’d explain to a four and seven year old that I was ready to say goodbye to their Dad’s things. It just seemed too adult like to share with them.

The kids and I were having dinner the next night and the temperature was near 20 below. We were talking about how cold it was and how nice and toasty we were in our house eating our supper and the conversation turned to homeless people and families who didn’t have enough money to buy food. Noah couldn’t fathom that some people had nowhere to go or live, he was perplexed by the idea. He asked lots of simple questions (with a squinty look on his face) which made me realize how sheltered my kids really are.

The two of them began to brainstorm ideas, the more they talked the more excited they got. I sat back and listened and wasn’t sure where the conversation might go. They concluded that we should give the homeless people some money from their piggy banks, food, hats, neck warmers and toys (those were Noah’s suggestions) then Audrey asked if we had any clothes we could give to the Daddies who had no homes. She said it in a sad sort of way but with such thought behind it. I asked her in as delicate a way as possible whether we should find some of Daddy’s warm sweaters to give to them. I held my breath while I waited for her to answer. She immediately jumped up and insisted we make cards for the homeless Dad’s. She thought it was sad that they would have to be outside in the cold and have no jobs and not be able to see their kids. It concerned her that these Dad's would never get art or pictures from them.

...and I was worried about the boxes?? That they wouldn’t be able to handle it?

We abandoned dinner and spent the rest of the evening writing cards to go with Mark’s sweaters which read:

I hope my Daddy’s sweater keeps you warm tonight
From Audrey and Noah Allan