I Finally Had Fun
I had fun for the first time in about two years last weekend.
The set up was pretty straightforward: one of my friends (whose daughter is my daughter’s BFF, if one can have such things at the age of 5) was hosting a fundraising gala for her organization and thought it might be fun to get some folks together for a night out. She also thought it might be fun for the girls to have a sleepover (my daughter’s first), so she and her husband procured a baby sitter and we spent a lovely evening with a few other friends. I got to strap on my DC battle armor (i.e., suit and tie) for the gala, which I haven’t done in quite some time, and it felt great to act like an adult for a few hours.
I probably had a little too much fun, based on my headache the next morning, but this was the first time in literally years that I had a night to myself to be an adult, spend time with friends, and unplug from my dual identities as a widower/parent. It was wonderful.
But of course it’s me and I can’t just have fun without analyzing the hell out of the experience, so away we go.
I’ve written about this plenty, but a key struggle in my grief journey has been this tension between what I’m feeling and what I’m thinking: I’ll often experience a feeling that conflicts with what my mind is telling me I should be feeling, and I have to sift through those layers of emotions to see if I can learn anything.
So in this case: I had a great time and got to spend a few hours not thinking about being a parent, but of course I then felt guilty for not prioritizing time with my daughter. And I know that that’s silly: I can’t do the dad thing 24/7, nor should I (that’s not particularly healthy). But the fact that my thoughts and feelings were in tension is noteworthy. Early on, I talked a lot about my thoughts/mind being right and my emotions/feelings being wrong (e.g., feeling guilt after having some fun), but I’ve learned, with some help, that emotions are never wrong and can give us insights if we’re willing to listen.
What might those emotions be trying to say in this case?
Perhaps the simplest explanation is that I’m bound a little too tightly to this intersectional identity as a widower and father. I’ve clung to this identity out of necessity, but there was very much a wartime mentality associated with it. My role as E’s dad really got me through hell and gave me a purpose during times of conflict, but that purpose was not sustainable long term, given how intense it was to maintain that identity. At the risk of tempting fate, I feel like I might be heading for peacetime, so I can start to throttle down on the intensity of that identity a little bit. But of course, this is a transition, and growing pains always accompany transitions, as does confusion and uncertainty.
On a similar note, I’m wondering if maybe there is some mourning associated with the fact that E and I are healing. It sounds strange, but hear me out: I will probably look back on this two year period as the hardest period of my life (at least I hope so-wouldn’t want to experience something worse than this), but there was something special about the bonds I forged during this time period, particularly with my daughter. Difficulty and conflict can create powerful connections, and the strength of those connections can be greater precisely because the stakes are so much higher. I’m starting to feel, again, like maybe the wartime mentality is fading; with it, so too is the window for fostering incredible connections with people, and there is definitely some sadness at the loss of those opportunities.
Or maybe it’s been so long since I last had fun, my emotions have forgotten how to do so.
Maybe it’s all of these things, maybe none of these things. I’ll keep reflecting to see if an explanation emerges. But as with most of the writing here, my hope is that, reading this, you gain some insight into the complex emotional layers that widows, widowers, and people who have experienced tragic loss experience during seemingly routine events like a night out with friends. The trauma of loss complicates your life across just about every dimension, creating confusion, disorientation, and tension.
Still, I’m glad to know that I can have a little fun, even if it’s complicated.
