Matriarchal Musings

It occurred to me as I was talking to my really good friend last night that I am a Matriarch. I am the head of this family now, there is just me as parent- that makes me a Matriarch. That word evokes for me lots of images and heavily laden meaning. In my mind matriarchs are older, wiser, have much more power and authority and they usually have an agenda. Maybe I saw a lot of bad movies? The definition of a matriarch states, "a woman who is the head of a family or tribe; or.." an older woman who is powerful within a family or organization"  or... "a domineering matriarch". See it's not just me.  I envision matriarchs as women like Polly on Peaky Blinders or Maggie Smith's role as Lady Violet Crawley on Downton Abbey. You get the picture. But hey, I also am a matriarch, of this fine tribe my husband and I brought into this world.  And with that comes responsibility, and shamefully I admit, a responsibility I have sorely neglected these past almost four years.

Grief is a selfish monster. It consumes you whole rendering you incapable of seeing beyond the border of self. It's like a baby who doesn't know the big world yet, only the breast, the feeding, the going from wet to dry, the mother or father who exists only for the meeting of these basics needs that make the entire baby personality. Grief does that to you. It did to me, I have never been as selfish in my life as I have been while consumed in this grief- and I have been selfish- so I know what I am talking about here. I have seen only my own suffering, I have shunned family and friends to wallow in this suffering. I have not seen the suffering of others, only I can feel this grief, how can anyone feel grief such as I do - me the wife the one who knew him best, longest etc etc. Oh, I have come out of my grief coma a few times and glimpsed it over these past years. A word from my sister about him that I heard, a tear in anothers eye that I saw. But my children I have neglected sorely in this area. Maybe a part of my brain told me I can't cope with their grief as well, maybe I didn't want to see that hurt on top of experiencing my own it being all too much to bear, maybe I only saw it as they have someone to comfort them, I don't, let their someone do that. Selfish.

I have no idea what it is like to lose a parent. Mine are still alive and well. I am 55 years old. My son was 21 years old when he lost his dad, just at the end of a difficult first year in university going into exams. My daughter was 28 pregnant with her second child after just losing her previous one full term, My eldest son was 30 recently home from two tours in Afghanistan living across the country. My other daughters 23 and 28 lost in their life's direction. I never considered the impact of his death on their young lives, only my own. I think of this now with shame and regret. I know I tried in my way in the early days to be there for them. I gathered them for Sunday dinners the first few months but I wearied easily, I slipped into my personal tour of grieving without them. I failed them in theirs.

So when I was talking to my friend about the circumstances of my children's present lives it hit me, I am a single parent. I am their only parent, I am the matriarch of this family and I need to step up to that role, that responsibility. I see the effects of the loss in their lives, in all of ours. Some very difficult to see. Grief the monster that wrecks havoc, did.  I don't have an answer in what to do here, save be more present to them. I can't fix what's broke, I can only be one post left standing under the foundation of our home. A precarious balance indeed. Maybe one thing I can do is I can build on that foundation, shore it up, see the good under there in all their lives. How they persisted in their resilience to overcome the havoc and kaos. They married, they bought and made homes, they graduated, they survived! We stayed together.

I can tell you all that I am sorry I failed you but I am here now, I am ready to listen now, I can take on your burdens now, I am stronger, I am available if you want and need me. I understand grief, not yours- but mine- and we can compare notes, we can go from there. We can continue to laugh and remember him fondly together, we can cry and miss him together too. Yes I am the surviving parent, I am your mom, I am not just the grieving widow anymore. I am the matriarch of this beautiful family that I love. And I love you all more than anything in this world.