Tallying your own feeling of self-worth

With the arrival of our second child, I felt it was time to face the stark reality of our own mortality and look into getting life insurance for my wife and myself. We'll both soon pass 40 and time will probably only speed up from there. The insurance agent just emailed to let me know everything is ready if we'd like to go ahead with creating the policies. But, there's a catch.

We signed up to get two 1-million Euro policies covering the next 20 years, and chose for a version that scales both payout and premium to a regular increase to match average inflation.

Anyway, the catch: no problem, they're all set for the 1M for me. However, because of my wife's declared profession on the form ("homemaker" or "mom" or "source of sanity"), she'll only be covered for 750,000.

Excuse me?! What number do you put into a spreadsheet to figure out an annual Net Worth(tm) like that? Now, couple this with the fact that I have to sign our tax return but her signature (hidden on page 3) is optional.

A little more gender bias, anyone?

Unwanted harsh realities

A few days ago I was at my son's primary school doing a bunch of fixing of their computers. I was in First Class (not like on an airline, but like 1st grade in Ireland) when I heard a small voice next to me.

"Hi," she said. "Atreus, right?" (Names have been changed to protect the less innocent.)

I looked, and recognized the little girl. She was the daughter of a good friend of mine who died about eight months ago of cancer---my first exposure to the seemingly random nature of death and its harsh effects on you, the spectator. My brain had to work really quickly to disguise my real thoughts and memories. (Friend holding her when she was an infant, talking about parenting with him, laughing over a pint of Guinness about the lack of sleep.)

I maintained my composure, smiled, and said back, "Hi! R____, right?" Her glowing smile told me I'd remembered correctly.

"You used to be a friend of my dad's," she said.

Jesus. "Yes, that's right!" I agreed. Holy cow, she sure blind-sided me with that.

"Bye!" she said, still glowing, and went over to her table where I overheard her tell her best friend who I was.

I tried desperately to focus on what I was fixing on the classroom's new PC, but all I could think about was how much I really haven't come to closure on his dying. I'd seen both she and her older brother around at the school, said "Hi" every once in a while, but never encountered such a hefty bit of innocent reality. Perhaps I was actually trying to avoid seeing them too much, because it would just remind me of their dad and force me to focus on my memories of him.

I managed to get myself together and make progress on what I was doing. The teacher started to ask for the class's attention, then dropped her own bombshell.

"Now many of you know the boy C____ who was in Sixth Class last year, right? You remember how he was really sick?" A number of little heads nod, sharing glances. "Well, he got better for a while, but now he's back in the hospital and not feeling very well." Wow, you really can't say his kidneys have failed, I thought. He's the son of some neighbors of ours, and we know his family reasonably well. I'd only just heard from my wife that she'd spoken with the principal of the school that morning and learned he'd had a serious set-back. His dad's part of our street's bookclub, and a source of great humour.

The teacher continued. "I'd like us all to take a minute and send a lot of happy positive thoughts to him. Can we all do that together?" A hand shot up.

"Yes?"

"He was my buddy last year!" the little boy announced more to the class than just to the teacher.

"Really! Well, you'll be able to send him even nicer memories of the projects you did together, won't you?"

"Yes!" he replied, the eagerness broadcasting from his wide eyes.

In less than ten minutes I've been absolutely blown away by two incredible examples of mortality, both of them startlingly close to me. I have to acknowledge the fact that even if I've lost some relatives in the past, it was always in the context of not having regular day-to-day contact with them which seems to soften the blow somewhat.

But now I've got it happening right in my close field of vision, involving people more directly involved in the closer world around me. Maybe my acceleration towards passing 40 is making this hit me stronger than it would have ten years ago, but still ...

I bet a counselor would have a field day piecing this one together. (Not to mention the fact I'm blogging this rather than actually seeking one to talk to about it...)

More of the deep stuff

I can't remember which blog I posted this on (what?!  I have 5!), so I'm putting it here again, cause I don't think it was on this one.  No, it wasn't, cause someone who had the same situation, but on the other side, answered me, I'm remembering now.

We were at the lovely farmer's market they have on a Sunday, and said hello to a nice woman we peripherally know (I know her husband more).  I was out with the husband and the baby, pushing the baby in the pram.  And when we walked away, I felt *horrible*.

She and I were pregnant at the same time.  She with twins, and having a lovely pregnancy, me with just the one, with my head in the loo all the time.  The due date was about 3 months ahead of me, and we had the same doctor at Holles St. I heard then that she went in, and the babies were born okay (section, I think?).  But they were in ICU.  For a long time.  And then I heard, from the dad, that they were having problems breathing.  They were in ICU, and then they were transferred to a hospital in Sweden, for some specialist care.  And that's where the twins died.

God, it's tearing me up to write this.  I didn't know that they died until the Christmas concert in LittleBoy's school, when one of the moms, who was looking at BabyBoy started tearing up and explained why (see, she knew them too, and I didn't know we both knew 'em).  Since that day, I've felt freaking HORRIBLE every time I see them.  One time, I think the first time the Dad saw BabyBoy, he scooped him up out of the pram and was dancing on the street with him.  It was lovely, and he does give BabyBoy extra attention when we see him.  But it tears me up inside...the same feeling that I had when I saw the pregnancy test come up positive.  Why me?  Why not the people who *want* babies (I'm not one of those mums who always wanted to be a mum)?  I have plenty who have gone through too much IVF and heartache, they should be the ones getting pregnant (could that be why my pregnancy sucked so much?).

Anyway, we see her again, and the only thing I can think is "Is she thinking how old the twins would be now?"  I KNOW it's worse for her.  And that, while she'll never get over it, she's moving past it (another thing I know a little about, since my oldest brother died about 15 years ago).

Gods, this has gotten longer than I thought it would.  But it's one of those little things that really effects (affects?) you, when you're someone who is me.

Nothing Virtual About Some Reality

The image shocked me, making my heart nearly stop.

Immediately, I knew that the man I was looking at was going to die. That fast. And I could do nothing but watch, the lights of the monitor's power switch blankly staring back at me.

A heavy steel-reinforced boot had the man's head pinned down to the rough gravel. Tears so small you could barely see them trickled down his pressed cheek. The knife, one you might see clenched between the teeth of a Navy Seal as he climbs silently out of the water, danced briefly over the man's neck. Then the muscular arm holding it turned the blade downward and drove it into the man's neck, opening a wound easily an inch in length.

The window in the middle of my screen shone into the dark room like a beacon, giving a sharp hue to the wall behind me. Odd shadows wrapped beneath my arms as they sat motionless on the keyboard, frozen in their urge to move to the mouse and make this terrible picture go away. I'd simply clicked on a link, the Web site promising to "shock and surprise!"

A slight turn of the blade before it was drawn out gave you a peek into the gap where his blood already began to rush out. The grimace on the man's face, his attempts to speak, to cry out, gave me a chill deep in my bones.

``That's it, show's over,'' a voice off-camera said, and the image vanished. A pop-up window told me the connection had been lost, can't do much about it, so sorry, just click on `Ok'. See? Easy enough.

Nothing to it.

Open Your Eyes

I was listening to the radio yesterday, and a song came on that brings back really sad memories for me.

All this feels strange and untrue
And I won't waste a minute without you
My bones ache, my skin feels cold
And I'm getting so tired and so old

The anger swells in my guts
And I won't feel these slices and cuts
I want so much to open your eyes
Cos I need you to look into mine

Tell me that you'll open your eyes [x4]

Get up, get out, get away from these liars
Cos they don't get your soul or your fire
Take my hand, knot your fingers through mine
And we'll walk from this dark room for the last time

Every minute from this minute now
We can do what we like anywhere
I want so much to open your eyes
Cos I need you to look into mine

Tell me that you'll open your eyes [x8]

All this feels strange and untrue
And I won't waste a minute without you

The first time I heard this song was right after our friend, Riko, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and given less than 6 months to live. And all I kept hearing when I heard this song was his then girlfriend (they got married soon after the diagnosis) singing this to him, as he was lying in a hospital bed. It is heart wrenching for me, as Riko was the first person I know who is about my age who died (he died in April, on a gorgeous spring day), and while I wasn't as close to him as my hubby is, he was still a dear friend. It's harder still, as his children go to the same school as our oldest (in fact, he was the one who informed us of the school), and we see them and his ex wife quite often. His widow was pregnant with their first wife when he died...she's since had a beautiful daughter.

But the song, when I hear it, is like the commercials for not using mobiles while driving, or the Axa ads, or whatever. I just have to turn it off when it's on. I'm stuggling not to cry right now, just thinking about all this. I get waves of "Oh god, he's not here anymore" and have to hold in tears.