Victoria and her daughter, Elizabeth (9)

- Victoria Wachtel, Contributing Writer

MOTHERING THRUOGH WIDOWHOOD

I remember one of the last Mother’s Days I had when my husband was alive. I was allowed the luxury of sleeping in on that Sunday morning, while my husband, Adam and our daughter, Elizabeth, went about their secret plans.  They bought my favorite pastries (pain au chocolat) and some other French delicacies, accompanied by a beautiful bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates.  They delivered it all to me in bed, along with my absolute favorite thing in the world – a cup of tea! I am a true Englishwoman, and if there is one thing we appreciate, it’s a cup of tea brought to bed. My husband, an American who drank coffee in the morning, took a while to get the hang of how to make my tea correctly – but he got there in the end.

Most of the Mother’s days we spent together included a beautiful lunch at one of my favorite hotels (either the Dorchester or Claridges – so civilized!), and then I usually curled up with a good book or the Sunday papers and felt totally guilt-free if any dishes piled up in the sink or if there was any mess around the house.  Mother’s Day was my day and I milked it until the end! Nowadays, when Mother’s Day comes around, I think back on those wonderful holidays we spent together.

Sadly for us, Adam spent 2 years fighting Leukemia, a disease he did not beat as his doctors had led us to believe he would. We were celebrating his success of "Killing Lukie" (as we had come to call his illness) in February 2005, only to have Adam suddenly relapse and die on May 15. None of us was prepared for this, as the doctors had been talking about giving him a liver transplant only 5 days before his death. We had moved from London (my home town) to Boston so that Adam could be treated at Dana Farber, one of the best cancer hospitals in the world.  We had worried that if we stayed in London, he would never survive the medical system! So, all of a sudden, at the age of 43 and with a 7 year-old daughter, I was thrown into widowhood.

Becoming a widow was simply not something I had ever expected or was prepared for. Adam and I had never discussed the possibility that he could die. He always truly believed he would survive – he had such a fighting spirit and such a positive outlook that he convinced us all he would survive Leukemia. I guess we both secretly thought that if we brought up the subject of “what if,” we would somehow be giving power to the “enemy.”  Silly superstition, but that is how one’s mind works in such circumstances.

My first few weeks felt like an almost out-of-body experience. Funeral plans were made. I actually remember cracking a few jokes in the funeral home while choosing an urn for Adam's ashes, much to the horror of the owner of the establishment. But you do what you have to do to get by, and humor has been my crutch. Several months later, I admitted to Russell, one of Adam’s best friends, that I had not yet picked up the urn. He was horrified, and jumped into his car and drove 4 hours straight to the funeral home and “picked Adam up in style.” He was proud to announce that Adam was the first passenger to have accompanied him in his brand new car, and how excited Adam would have been to be driving around in a Bentley!

Boston was not my hometown, and quite honestly I could not see any reason to stay there. It was only full of painful memories. Yet I couldn’t imagine going back to London and facing life there without Adam. We had spent our 10 wonderful years of married life there.  Marriage to such a fantastic man had been the most incredible experience I’d had in my life to date. I finally lived in a stable family environment and I had a partner by my side. It was the happiest time of my life, and I loved being married. I loved being a mother. Now I had to look after myself (challenging enough) and our child. Even during his illness, I had always counted on Adam to guide me into making the right decisions for Elizabeth. Not really having had a stable childhood myself, everything that I had done in my life up until I got married had been on a wing and a prayer.

During the course of Adam's illness I had taken breaks in Malibu, and it seemed like a wonderful place to raise Elizabeth. The schools were great and Elizabeth could continue the American education she had begun in Boston, and I would get the support of my best friends who lived nearby. I decided to make a new start with my life and moved to Malibu in September 2005. My new life was about to begin and it was one of the most terrifying things that I had ever faced. To go it alone was one thing, but the responsibility of raising a child as a single mother was a whole daunting prospect. Could I do it? Would I have the strength? What sort of role model would I be for my daughter?

A good friend of mine flew over from London to help me move into my new home. She was there for me the first day that Elizabeth started school, sat for a cup of tea with me after dropping her off, took me shopping for the first time at my “new” supermarket.  All these things, so simple for others, were incredibly challenging for me.  I found that when I was not around Elizabeth, the emotions kicked in and the breakdowns happened. I could find myself crying by the frozen food section, putting gas in my car, going for a walk. I never knew when grief would hit! I wanted to keep watch over Elizabeth 24/7. What if something were to happen to her while I was away from her? I wanted to control every hour of her life. I had lost my husband and I knew that I would not have the strength to cope if anything were to happen to my daughter.

I faced so many intense emotions after Adam’s death for which nothing could have prepared me – no book, no advice from a counselor, no friend who has been through a similar experience, nothing. So I faced each day prepared, like a warrior determined to fight away the demons that could knock me to the ground. I have to be honest: Elizabeth kept me going that first year. When I look back I really do not remember much of anything. I spoke to a counselor once, and she asked if I got my daughter to school on time? Yes. Did I shower daily? Yes. Did I manage to get food on the table? Yes. "So, you are not sitting at a bar every night drinking your sorrows away?” “No,” I answered. "Well then, you are doing fine. Keep doing what you are doing and it will get easier – I promise!"

I was determined that Elizabeth's life would be as magical as I could make it. I am sure that I was under an illusion that I could save her from pain, but my God, how I tried. This became my raison d’etre – my goal for each day. If I could keep her happy then we would make it through. Now, she is always telling me how proud she is of me, what a good job I am doing and that she understands how hard it must have been for me to loose my husband. She knows because she lost her father. "We are the girls now, Mum, and we will get stronger. Together we will survive," she tells me.

I truly believe that I achieved this. As I approach my 2nd Mother’s Day without Adam, I look back on those times and see the journey I have taken, and I am very proud, both of myself and my daughter. We have become “the girls," and Elizabeth constantly tells me how lucky we are to have each other, and how special and close we are. We do have a magical time together. I know that on this Mother's Day we will celebrate the special bond we have been blessed with, and all the positive lessons we learned that have helped us get through the dark days and guided us into the light.

Adam and Elizabeth at the beach