Hours of Need

In all major life changes, eventually there comes a new normal. After what seemed like many many long months, Sophie, Leo and I all settled in to our new normal. Routines helped--but, they only went so far. Throughout the months, and then years (two) of separation, it ceased to be painful all the time. There were, however, many "hours of need".

You don't see them coming, at least not at first. Then, they all a sudden hit you--hard. Friday nights were my first. Weekly routines ground to a halt. My SHM friends vanished. Business people were headed home from work to relax and have a beer. We lived right near the train station. At around 5:30, it began. First a trickle, then a steady stream of middle aged men (and women--but I only noticed the men) I would watch walking through my local streets with a swing in their step. A Friday night swing. No one was heading to my house with that swing.

It stung. The bactine came in the form of Bill M.

I hung out with Lori M practically every day since we first met. Pregnant with twins, she was huge--but her personality dwarfed her belly. She was a magnet. I wasn't even looking for a friend--but it was impossible not to notice her; and then not to love her. Her son Liam and my Leo, both 4, became friends in preschool. As most moms of preschoolers know, the word friend must be defined loosely. It's mostly that they were obsessed with the same action hero or computer game at the same time and that made it easy for us to actually have time to sit down. One would think it might be difficult to have a friend who talks as much as they do, but in fact Lori and I found one another hugely entertaining. One Friday evening, having lost track of time, I was still at her house at dinnertime. Lori said she'd order pizza and I should just stay. I didn't need arm-twisting. Her husband Bill walked in, swing in his step, and flirted wih me throughout the evening. He was a little guy--no taller than I, but with Mel Gibson good looks and far more charm. I was hooked. I practically begged them to come to my house for pizza the next Friday. "no we can't do that, the twins are just too difficult any where else--but you guys should just come back here--we always have pizza."

Those who've not yet experienced those horrible "hours of need" have no idea how much value there is in being part of someone else's family routine during those times. You're out of your own self and that's the balm. Every Friday afternoon, I'd arrive at Lori's anytime before 4, and by 6 we'd be having a beer or a glass of wine with Bill and shooting the s___. Lori shared Bill selflessly, and Bill enjoyed having us both welcome him at the end of his week. It was a win-win-win. It wasn't until much later I realized how much healing took place between 5pm-8pm every (and I mean every) Friday evening for over a year.

Sunday afternoons were almost as bad. In the beginning, the idea was to have Greg stay until the kids went to bed and I'd return around 8:30pm. However, he was having a difficult time gettting back to NYC at a reasonable hour and asked if we could do it a little earlier. "Works for me" I thought. But it didn't. When I came home at 7, just before their bedtime, they were tired and more than a little cranky. When they had to say goodbye to their dad for the week, all tears broke loose, and it took hours to calm them down and get them to sleep. I got an idea. Why don't we switch before dinner, I asked Greg--and see how that works. He agreed to try. This situation created more "hours of need".

Transitions are difficult for grownups, but for toddlers, they might as well be walking on hot coals. I called on family--yet again. My cousin and his wife, Joe and Mary ( yes, ironic) were my next bandage. Their kids, John and Mimi, were about 8 and 10 at the time. The toddlers found them endlessly fascinating and the "big kids" enjoyed the adoration. The first weekend of the new transition-time, I called and asked them if we might come for an early dinner. Mary was the kind of caretaker her name suggests, and Joe was someone I had admired since my own toddler-hood. They fed me and nourished me--body and soul. Again, rather than a one-shot deal, Sundays with Joe and Mary became a ritual.

So many lessons learned over the course of the separation. Something critical I learned: people really do want to help. They just don't know how, what or when. As time goes on, it becomes even harder for them. After all, you seem okay--and, frankly, everyone is busy. You really have to help them help you. By taking my "hours of need" and asking those I loved to fill it with their presence--filled me with presents.