Grey Matter

Roger said I have issues with absolutes.
And I completely agree with him.
My counselor agrees with him too.
I want everything to be black or white.
Red light or green light.
Right or wrong.
Left or right.
I don't deal well with grey.
I hate the inbetween.
You love me or you hate me.
You think I'm great or you think I'm awful.
Not both. Especially not both at the same time.

One of my many issues with my grief is that I want absolutes there too.
Probably linked back to my control issues I'm sure.
Stupid control issues.
I want to be angry or compassionate toward the other driver, but not both.
Especially at the same time.
But I am both.
At exactly the same time.

My counselor keeps reminding me that I can do more than one emotion at a time.
And emotions are not logical.
Grief emotions are especially not logical.
Yes grief is a process but the process is not logical either.
Again more grey area.
Emotions and grief are not a math equation where there is one answer at a time.
Which is unfortunate for me because I understand math.
I understand that A + B = C.
I can figure those things out.

Also people tell me I'm so strong.
Me? Strong?
Are you sure?
But I don't feel strong.
I feel weak.
I still cry a lot.
I don't cry in front of people.
But I cry a lot in the car.
And I cry a lot while writing these entries.
In my world of black and white this is not strong.

People tell me I'm doing so well.
But I don't feel like I'm doing well.
I'm just doing.

People tell me I'm extraordinary.
But I feel like I'm ordinary.
If not even less than subpar.
Cause I am not the ordinary me.
I'm fearful.
I'm forgetful.
I'm irritable.
I'm not happy go lucky.

I am not me.
I'm sad.
And I'm not hungry.
And I'm not sleepy.
And I can't concentrate.

This is all grey area to me.
Grey matter.
Not black.
Not white.
But a lovely shade of neutral grey.
And I don't like it.

"My wife"

Anyone who is just married knows the feeling the first time you hear the words "my wife" or "my husband."
Its weird.
Its odd.
It makes you feel all grown up.

I remember saying it on my honeymoon.
It was so strange.
Not to mention the whole no longer "Miss" thing.

I remember being in the hospital and for the first time, I was the center of attention.
Simply because I was his wife.
He was my husband.
No longer was he his mother's son, but he was my husband.
I was called "wife" so much in that week after the accident.
"Here is his wife."
"Are you his wife?"
"His wife needs to sign this"
"I'm looking for Mr. Jimenez's wife"
Wife wife wife.
It was everywhere.
It was a label I just wasn't quite even used to yet.
Especially for this scenario.
Especially given the new legal rights and the burdens of it.

I should have been though.
It should have been second nature to hear it.
Roger had been calling me his wife for a long time.
Much longer than we had been married.
Pretty much after we got engaged, he started calling me that.
Especially once we bought the house together.
He said it was easier to explain to people than saying "fiancee."
I want to say it was because he was excited about it.
Roger even mentioned before our wedding that he was really excited about being married to me. He loved our wedding and was excited about that but he was more excited about me being his wife.

Today I went to drop off the renewal lease to our rental house. [Thank God for that!!]
I ended up just hanging out with the renter, Mei, and her kids for a while.
Her oldest son thinks I'm the coolest.
As I sit here, I am covered in stickers. I also got a flower while I was there. I guess poor Xander has competition from a five year old.

The night before the accident, Roger had been at the rental house.
We were having some issues with water coming in through the walls and the carpets were soaked. The house needed to be sealed and painted.
Mei told me today that Roger just kept saying the term "my wife" and she just thought it was so cute.
She said she could tell he was excited about me.
He was truly in love with me.
She even told him "You don't have to say 'my wife', I know Star. We've met."
But she said just he kept saying it.

I'm so glad he was excited about me. That same night I was thinking how happy I was to be his wife. And how much I loved calling him "my husband."

However, its kinda weird now.
Legally, I'm no longer married.
We were divided by death.
Our marriage is done.
I still say "my husband" and I am still his wife.

The scary part for me is in the future.
How I will refer to him?
How will our friends refer to him?

Where will "my husband" go?
Where will "my wife" go?
Ugh.

Fear

Fear is a very powerful emotion.
Politicians use it.
Employers use it.
Some relationships use it.
Loads of people use it to manipulate others.

I am not generally a fearful person.
I will sing karoke in front of strangers.
I have traveled to Paris and Sydney alone.
I have roamed the streets of London at night alone.
I have jumped out of airplanes.
I have jumped off of platforms.
I am not scared of silence.
I am not afraid of being alone.
Well normally...

Last night I found myself sitting on the floor next to my bed.
Crying hysterically and uncontrollably shaking.

A month ago or so, I had the alarm activated in the house.
I just felt like people may profile my house like they did in that movie "Home Alone" (crazy comparison I know).
It has been a great safety net and it has given me an extra layer of comfort.

Last night I went to sleep around 2am and of course set the alarm on.
At 3:27am, I wake up to the blaring sound of the alarm going off.
OMG. OMG. OMG.
At first I think its the fire alarm. [I have been thinking about the fire alarm quite frequently wondering how I would get both cats out alive by myself. I actually even had this thought again right before I went to bed. They don't sleep in my room and I keep the door closed.]
I quickly grapped some clothing.
I realize its the intruder alarm.
I crouch onto the floor near my bed.
I know the alarm company is probably about to call.
They do.
They tell me something is wrong with the back door.
OMG. OMG.
I have been forgetting to lock this door.
I start to cry.
The lady asks if I want to go check while she is on the phone with me.
"No way! I'm too scared."
The lady on the phone asks me if I want the police to come.
YES! YES! YES!
She says okay and hangs up.
I sit there crying hysterically watching the clock, listening for footsteps, and watching my bedroom door for the next ten minutes.
Nothing.
No police.
Nada.
The alarm stops squealing.
"Great, they've cut the wire"
I call the alarm company back.
Still quite hysterical.
I'm shaking.
I'm rocking myself back and forth on the floor.
Tony, the alarm guy, says he will stay on the phone with me until the police arrive. Oh good. Poor guy though for having to deal with me.
Fifteen minutes go by.
I ask if he can check where the police are.
He calls the police dispatcher.
No ETA.
I can't stop crying.
I can't stop shaking.

Poor Tony is trying to calm me.
"If it was someone, they are probably gone. They heard the alarm and they left"
"If they were robbing you, you would hear more noise."
"It probably was just the weather since Florida is especially cold tonight"
"Do you hear anyone?"
"I don't think so but I'm not sure"
If Roger were alive, this would not be an issue. He would have already searched the house and we would be back to sleep.
I am still crying. I tell him about Roger.
"Do you want me to call your emergency contacts?"
"No, the police are coming, right?"
"Yes, the police are coming"
He continues to try to make conversation with this lump of a person that I have become.
He tries to talk to me about where I am from. How long I have lived in Orlando. Do I go to Disney a lot. I am afraid to talk to loud. What if they hear me. Not to mention the fact I can't really talk through the hysterics.
My poor cats.
Are they okay? Is the door open and they have escaped? I can't bear to loose them right now. Would a burglar hurt them?
I couldn't even crack the door to check for them.
I just know this burglar is sitting on the couch waiting for me to come out of my room.
"Can you please call the police again?"
Tony does. Still no ETA.
For ninety minutes, I sit and wait. I cry. I shake. I can barely move.
I'm ready to slide under my bed at any sound.
My poor poor cats.

Finally the cop arrives.
He searches the outside of the house.
He comes inside and with him I see there is nothing wrong with the door.
It must just be the stupid cold weather.

This isn't me.
I am brave.
I am strong.
How have I become so weak? So fearful?
I have crazy thoughts and fears now.
So scared that I couldn't even move to check on my poor cats.

I don't like this new fearful me.
I don't like her at all.

Cereal Lover

Ask anyone who knew me before and ask them what my favorite dinner is and they would probably say cereal.
All kinds but especially super sweet unhealthy ones.
Like Captain Crunch or Fruit Loops or Frosted Flakes.
I could eat them everyday all day.
As a joke, we even had cereal on our Target wedding registry.

On the days Roger wasn't going to be home for dinner, I made cereal for dinner.
If he was just going to be late, I'd beg him that we should have cereal.
On weekends, as much as I wanted to make waffles or eggs, I made cereal for breakfast.
I adored it.
It was comforting.
It was easy.
It was good.

Best thing - Roger did too.
How lucky was I to find the one person in the entire world that loved cereal as much as me.
So I wasn't being a bad wife when I "made" cereal for dinner.
I was enjoying one of my favorite things with my wonderful husband who loved my favorite thing too.

Now there were some issues.
Sometimes I did make him sit on the other couch.
Roger liked his cereal most of the time without milk.
And then he'd pick the noisest cereals ever.
And for some reason, he was a really loud chewer.
And he would say I had Indian tracker ears to hear him that he wasn't really being that loud.
I also think he hid this fact from me until we were engaged.
I do not remember ever hearing him while we were dating and eating cereal together.
Or any food for that matter.
He trapped me.

But now...
No cereal for me.
The thought of cereal makes me so queasy.
Even writing this entry, I want to vomit.
I will only eat it when there is no other option.
Even going hungry is almost better than eating cereal now.
And I never want seconds like before.

And the oatmeal I used to eat at work, the thought again makes me want to throw up.
I can't even phathom trying to eat it.
I almost feel my gag reflex even now.

This is so strange to me. I guess there is some association going on here. I wish I could love it again. Of course, I wish I could love it with Roger even more.

Funny thing about widows

Yes, its not expected to be 27 years old and a widow.
I understand this. Believe me I do.
Or to be 28 years old now and a widow.
Yes, its not normal. Is wasn't my plan at all.
Its not what people think of when the word "widow" comes to mind.
What do they picture?
An old lady who is grey, short hair, wearing modest clothing.
Is that me?
No, not really.

Well, good news is I got one of my policies for Roger.
Funny thing is... all of the pictures in the guide book.
Front picture is lady I described above.
The humorousness begins there.

For my reading pleasure, they included some testimonials from others "like" me.
The closest person in age is 21 years my senior.
But they all love their TCA.
They also included some stories about other people who "understand" what I'm going through.
One lady was married for 45 years.
I wish and beg that I could have been married 45 years.
Or even one year. But of course I'd beg for five if I had one.
Another man, surprise, surprise, was in his 50s.
Man, I'm so glad these people are like me.

Yeah, I have lots in common with those people.
Let me count the ways...
Hmm, one.
We all had spouses that died.
Two.
We all life insurance.
Hmmm, that is about where the similarities stop.

I know I'm in the minority here.
But come on marketing department, a little sensitivity would be nice.

And I thought this was a humorous job title - Delivering the Promise Specialist.
Just imagine that conversation at a cocktail party.
"What do you do, Dan?"
"I am a Delivering the Promise Specialist"
"Oh yeah, for 28 year old widows?"
"Oh no, just old folks."

Rings Schmings

So many rings in my house and in my life.
I have my engagement ring.
My wedding ring.
Roger's wedding ring.
Lots of fake rings.
Not to mention all the mental rings and loops that I do inside my head.

My engagement ring and wedding ring I adore.
I can't imagine not wearing them.
I vowed I'd wear them for the rest of our lives.
I realize that "our lives" is over but how can I not.
They are just beautiful.
They were my gift.
My engagement ring a promise of marriage.
My wedding ring a promise of forever.

I had to move them to my right hand.
They were falling off my left hand.
Feels a little weird not to have them there.
Not to see them there.
But I kept seeing people stare at my left hand (of course lots of people just stare at me to try to observe me I think).
And it got annoying.
And I guess that's where widow's are "suppose" to wear them, right?
Divorcees and widows I think.
Now they are starting to slide around on that finger.
If you want to loose a lot of weight, try the lose-your-husband diet.
It works wonders on cravings and remembering to eat.

I had been wearing Roger's wedding ring on my left thumb.
That boy had small fingers and I have/had fat fingers.
I loved seeing it there on my hand.
When we were in the ER, I kept asking for it.
I just had to have it with me.
It made me feel safe.
It made me feel like it was one of the last things I had of him.
I am not sure what to do with it and I wasn't sure how long I should/could wear it.
Yesterday, as I was bent over, it fell off.
My heart sank.
"Yes dear. I'll put it away."
I do have it tattooed on me now. So its always there.
Now, it will sit on my nightstand till I truly figure out what to do with it again.

Before the Halloween party, I was looking through drawers trying to organize them.
Yes, a bit OCD but I had noticed a lot of junk in the drawers and I felt like some of my drawers were really out of whack.
In one of the three junk drawers, I found these cupcake plastic rings.
The rings that cake decorators put on top for children to put on their hands after they finish their cupcakes.
I don't remember when Roger gave me these rings.
I know it was very early on in our relationship.
He gave me two.
And I kept them of course.
And at midnight the other night in the midst of organizing, I saw them.
Red rings with a rainbow on top.
In a drawer with the rubber bands, chip clips, and sharpie.
And I can't throw them away.
Probably a 2 cent ring (if that) and I can't throw it away.

I also have one of these threatening engagement rings in my car.
(Roger threatened many times to propose as I have mentioned.)
It is from when we were in an aracade in Daytona I think.
Roger got a bunch of tickets from playing a game and got me a ring.
It looks like one of those friendship bracelets from middle school.
Its bright neon yellow.
Roger had one too cause I wasn't wearing that thing by myself.
I keep in in my car and again, now I'm not sure what to do with it.

And of course there are the rings and loops I do about everything.
Running around and around the accident.
The hospital experience.
The death experience.
Do I do the right things?
Did I ask the right questions?
Was there anything at all that could have changed to make the outcome different?

All these rings...

Our Halloween Party

Roger and I did two parties a year.
One for my favorite holiday - July 4th.
And one for Roger's - Halloween.
I like Halloween as well but still adore July 4th.

Our July 4th party this year was pretty cool.
We had lots of friends over and front row seats to the everlasting fireworks show.
I remember Roger even got hit in the eye from debris.
Yeah, that caution tape was there for a good reason.
Maybe we shouldn't have crossed it.

Today is our Halloween party.
Back in late July early August we had started planning what day and what we were going to be.
Roger wanted to be Greatest American Hero and I wanted to be Wonder Woman.
We had picked today as the date since we wouldn't have to compete with the downtown going crowd.

After Roger's death, it was depressing to think I'd be spending his favorite holiday alone (among all the other depressing feelings).
I didn't think I could go through with the party.
This party along with so many other small plans we had were gone.
However, I kept thinking, he would love for me to decorate the house.
He would love to have people come over.
He would want me to have our party.
So I am.
All my friends have got together and helped me plan a terrific party.
I decided since Roger turned out to be a superhero, in his honor I asked everyone to come up with a superhero costume.
We have so many good treats due to all our wonderful friends.
And there are so many cool decorations.
I know he'd be excited about them.

It is bittersweet.
There are just some things that are his duties to do.
Clean the coolers. Clean the chairs.
Do the spider webs outside.
Do all the decor outside.
And I hate doing his things.

But I am determined to have fun tonight.
Celebrate my wonderful husband.
And be his Wonder Woman.

Stupid Human Drivers

I stole this title from Roger.
The one and only time he ever blogged was about stupid human drivers.
And he called them "human" and not people.
It was like he did not want to be grouped with those humans.
The real crazy part is that he never had an accident with another moving car.
Yeah, we hit a raccoon once that caused some decent body damage.
And his cousin Eddie can tell you some stories about a mailbox but otherwise, Roger was a decent driver.

I swear I am a good driver.
But lately, I'm super nervous.
Every time I hear tires squeal, I jump and my skin crawls.
If someone gets to close to me on the side, I scream.
If someone starts tailgating me, I start to feel angry.
When I see drivers being all super aggressive, I try to get as far away from them as possible.

It is even worse if I have people in the car with me.
I can't even seem to shift smoothly.
I get all jerky with the clutch.
And I definitely can't talk to the people in the car and shift nicely.
I also feel responsible for their lives.
What if something terrible happens to them while they are in my car.
It's not much better if I'm a passenger either.
It's just horrible.

It also seems accidents want to occur with me.
A few weeks ago, a semi pulled out into the left lane of a three lane highway in front of me from the right shoulder of the road.
It was raining so that didn't help my mental capacity.
I started crying and screaming at him.
I had to slam on my brakes where the speed limit is 65mph and of course that's how fast I was going.
Thankfully the guy behind me saw it happening and reacted as well.

Also, when I see an accident, I just can't look.
I just want to drive by it as soon as possible.
When I see emergency vehicles driving past me, I just get chills running over me.
I say a small prayer for whoever it is and hope for the best for them.
And of course I get really angry when other drivers don't let them get by.
I've never understood why people don't respect that.

I've started paying attention to how I sit in the car.
"Am I sitting up straight?"
"If a car hit me right now, do I have a safe sitting position?"
"Should I put my leg here or here? Which one makes the chances of hurting my legs less if I'm hit from the side?"
I am also very aware of what is in the car and the location of it.
"Where is my purse? I don't want it to be too far away so I can grab it."
"If I were in an accident, can I loose this?"
"Can I be without this for two weeks?"

Oh stupid driving...
Oh stupid humanness...

Roger's dragon

Roger was really, really into the martial arts.

It was something he even mentioned in his profile entry on match.com.

I can't say I was initially impressed. I was actually a little worried. Karate is for kids, right?

But after three years, I was impressed at his dedication and how much he enjoyed it.

Through his study of martial arts, Roger also had a thing for dragons.

There used to be millions around our house.

All sizes and all styles and all colors and all materials.

He swore he didn't buy most of them, however, it was a bit much for my taste.

I let him keep some of the cooler ones around and put whatever else he wanted in his bonus room or in his office.

"You can put that any where you want in your rooms dear"

Before our wedding, Roger had decided he wanted to get a new tattoo.

This time he really wanted a dragon.

But we were having trouble finding the perfect dragon that he really liked.

Some looked too evil, some not detailed enough, and some just really ugly.

Finally at MegaCon (No, I did not attend and Roger did not dress up), he found the perfect dragon. It had a naked girl riding the dragon but otherwise it was perfect.

So we started thinking of where and how to put this fantastic dragon at.

After some thoughts, Roger decided to put in on his chest. For all his qigong, he wanted to have a little guy meditating and then out of the guy's mind the dragon's tail would appear above him like a dream. The dream would turn into a real dragon that would twist and turn around his chest and end up on the other side of the guy. It was going to be big but it was his thing so I agreed. People wouldn't see it all the time and as long as it was artfully done oh well.

We put it on the "after wedding" list of things to be done.

After Roger's death, I decided that in honor of him, I would place the tattoo on my body instead.

Not in the same place of course, but somewhere fun.

He would always be with me. A visual reminder to say he wasn't gone.

A reminder of how he used to tell me all the time "I'm always with you."

"No, you aren't"

"Yes, I am. If I close my eyes, I see you thus I must be with you"

Oh my, such a philosopher...

A few weeks ago, I took the drawing to a local tattoo artist and he drew it up for me.

On Tuesday, I went in to have Roger's dragon tattooed onto me.

I decided I wanted it to have green eyes like Roger and I wanted Roger's wedding band to hang off the end of the tail. I also decided he should be blue-ish green color.

I also put it on my left hip area since this is closer to my heart and the side of the body Roger was most injured on.

Fat Bill at Inkredible Ink did an amazing job.

Its a little bigger than I orginally planned but I love it. And now its the perfect size.

It took three hours, my feet falling completely asleep several times, and a very uncomfortable sitting position (Sitting on one stool with my butt hanging off the stool and out of my pants bent over onto my elbows onto another stool - fun times).

It's gorgeous. The detail is amazing.

And as Courtney said, "Roger would totally think this is hot!"

And I know she's right. He would be so impressed.

Yes, it was painful, but it was worth it. I didn't cry until the end when I realized that I did it.

Roger will always be with me. His dragon and all.

Happy Belated Birthday to me

Back in July, I bugged and begged and pleaded Roger for Coldplay tickets.
I saw them perform back in March of 2006 and it was the best concert ever.
I tried to convince Roger that they would be a great birthday present for me.
He shrugged me off.
"Oh really? Hmm, I dunno... Maybe I don't want to get your Coldplay tickets for your birthday"
I saw that the concert was sold out and figured that I just wouldn't get to see them this time around.
I was bummed. But oh well. Next time.

A few days before my birthday, I was talking to my friend Deb.
I told her that I felt like Roger had given me a birthday present but I just needed to find it.
Which I had already gone through most of his stuff at that point so I'm not sure where I thought it would be and part of me was hoping I'd find the tickets.

So around then, I searched through his email that yes I hacked into and found nothing.
I read the new ones.
I read the old ones.
I read some emails in his sent folder.
I even read old emails that I had wrote to him.
It was soothing in a way. If I had emails, then I knew/know he wasn't a dream. He was a real person.
It was also total invasion of privacy. Something I never did with Roger when he was living just cause I really trusted him.
Well, I didn't see anything about my birthday present.
I was a little sad but no big deal.
Whatever.
Roger passed in August. My birthday wasn't for six weeks. And most average guys don't buy presents that early.
So I shouldn't be blue but of course I was.

Today was a crappy morning.
I realized that the top I had made the night before for my Halloween costume just won't work.
It actuallly woke up worrying about it. Yeah, its crazy what grief will cause you to worry about.
I ran around town trying to find a new top. Which is hard to find a strapless shirt or swimsuit top in October even in Florida.
I did eventually find something at Target, the last semi-red swimsuit top that will probably work (I finished it but have yet to try it all on again).
When I returned home, I went to login to my laptop to check my email and nada.
The laptop won't boot.
No no no!
I just restored this laptop to all its glory.
Yes it's only a machine and it will probably be okay but I just lost my harddrive back in July. Roger had fixed in for me in early August.
I just can't lose something else.
Not now.
Not something that keeps me connected to the world.
Something that keeps me organized since I can't seem to remember anything.
I wanted to vomit. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to have a pity party/temper tantrum.
Ugh...

So I drudge into my office and sit at the desktop.
I check my email, download some budget stuff, talk with some friends, and I'm bored.
So I open Roger's email again.
I have been trying to keep an eye out for emails from people who may not know yet as well as get rid of some of the spam.
I went through all the new messages and decided to read some of the emails I had written to him again.
Then I saw it.
OMG.
"Your ticketmaster order."
OMG. OMG. OMG.
I know I had read the emails above this one and below it. How did I miss it. I opened the email.
He had bought the tickets.
Back in July just like I asked.
Two tickets to see Coldplay on November 7th.

Wow. Whoa. Wow.
So my husband did buy them. He is the most amazing husband ever. Even in his death, he still gave me a birthday present. Wow. I just want to hug him and tell him how thankful I am that I married him.
Boy o boy, how I miss my wonderful husband.

I will not remember

A bit of sadness on this Monday evening.
I guess this should be a blessing.
But I find it a curse.

Many of you have heard me tell the story of the accident.
Probably more than once. Probably more than you want to hear.
And as I have expressed, I remember seeing the car about two seconds (or so it seems) before impact and then I do not remember again until I was opening the door to get out of the car.
I do not remember the conversation we were having, what I said when I saw the car, if Roger saw the car, if he tried to react, the impact, screetching across three lanes of highway, why I have bruises on the inside of my knees (still), why I had a bruise on my side in the shape of a heart, how I cut my arm, coming to a stop, if I saw Roger before getting out, or my first thoughts.
I do know I was saying something since my mouth was filled with glass fragments and I do remember after seeing the SUV, gripping onto my seat.

And today, I was informed, I will never remember those things.
In order for me to remember, these memories would have been sent to short term memory for a few seconds, consolidated, then stored into long term memory.
This did not occur.
Since everything was happening so fast and my body was just trying to survive thus focusing on itself, I did not store these things in short term memory and I did not put these things into long term memory.
That part of my life, those few precious last minutes of Roger's conscious life, are gone.

Oh boy does this hurt.
A bit shocking.
Another thing I cannot and will not control.
Another part of this horrible circumstance that is beyond me.

On the bright side, I'm glad to know that it will not sneak up on me.
It will not catch me off guard one day when I am not prepared.
I will not remember.
It is a little relief that I can stop trying to recall those moments.

I will remember Roger.
I will remember our life, our love, and our stories before all these horror.

The little things

It is really the little things that make living without Roger hard.
The itty bity things that make every moment of every day.
There are little reminders absolutely everywhere.
More than anyone realizes.
I can't escape them.
They are in my life always.
I think its one reason I find myself changing some things in little ways.

On Thursday, I slip covered one of my couches.
It is no longer red, but now is beige.
It made me so happy for it to be a new color.
Now it does not remind me of when we were trying selling the other house.

I went to the outlet malls yesterday.
When cruising through a store, I saw a pair of jeans in his size - 33x32.
I had to touch them.

Every time I see a sunflower or a daisy, I think of him.
He loved the yellow with brown.
It seems that everyone has that flower everywhere now.

Out in the yard, his banana trees have produced fruit.
It reminds me of him.

When I pull into the garage, the motorcycle greets me.
Again, gently reminding me of him.

I was vaccuuming out my car on Thursday.
I found croissant crumbs.
I laughed.
Roger ate the croissant in my car when he had an upset stomach.
He was so messy sometimes.

Sometimes I avoid seeing these things or coming in contact.
Sometimes I'm drawn to them.
And sometimes it hurts a little more than I realize.
Part of me wants not to remember.
The other part of me never wants to forget.
Some things I never want to let go.
Some things I want to throw out with force.

This is my journey. This is my every day life.

I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream

Roger loved ice cream.
I still love ice cream.
I blame Roger for all the pounds I gained from the ice cream.
But he was so good at "making" it.
Much better at "making" it than me.
Yes, making it.
No, we didn't have one of those fancy schmancy ice cream makers.
He was just better at serving it.
I swear.
It wasn't laziness on my part (most days), just he was really good at it.

I would beg Roger to "make" me ice cream.
He said I could "make" it myself just as well.
"No, you make it better. Please please PLEASE!!"
Insert pouty face here.
"Fine, I'll make in a few minutes"

And he would put it in one of my favorite cups.
And bring me one of my favorite spoons.
It was so delicious.

So today at the grocery store, I decided to buy some ice cream.
I can "make" it I guess.
Well I tried.
Somehow it ended up on the floor, on the counter, and in the sink.
I told him he made it better than me.
I had to laugh but then of course I also reminded him that this was his job.
Not mine.

Voting

I just finished watching the presidential debate and listening to the news afterward.
It kinda makes me sad to know Roger won't get to vote.
He will have no say.
Which I know makes sense since he won't be affected but I know he would be disappointed.
We both were excited about this election.
But we were also excited about the one back in January for the primaries.

We both believed it was super important to vote and to be informed.
We were even the dorks who attended those town meetings about different issues.
I went to one about the potential train routes and the expressway.
Roger was planning on going to one after we got from our trip to Virginia about crime or something.
Yeah, we were involved and all grown up.

At first, since Roger and I are not of the same party affliation, I wouldn't tell him who I was voting for back before the primaries.
It was kind of funny.
He found this website that matched you to your ideal candidate like eHarmony for you and your vote.
We would watch the candidates when they went on Leno or in different interviews.
He even made me give him hints about who I was voting for back in January.
Finally I gave in if he would tell me his, I'd tell him mine.

Here in Florida we had an election back on August 24th as well.
He send me a website to help me beforehand to figure out which people I wanted to vote for.
He was great about this stuff.

I wonder what he would think now with all these negative ads.
I wonder what he would think of the debate just now.
Or the vice president candidates.
I wonder who he'd be voting for (although I pretty much know).
I so just want to call him and talk about this stuff.

Swedish Ski God

Odd title I know.
So there is some back stories to tell.
And some truth that not many people have ever known.

Preface, when I start dating someone, I usually give him a nickname versus having my friends trying to remember their real name.
This practice also comes from dating multiple people at a time and most of my friends could never keep the people straight.
For example, weather guy, Catholic boy (Roger), fightfighter guy, Plan A, B, & C, Hindu boy #1, etc. After a few months, I will start calling them by their real names but only after someone is going to stick around.
But until then point, nicknames only.
Its also easy to remember them in the future.
Sometimes so easy that I forget their real name after a few years.

First, I've only been in love twice in my life (so far).
I apologize to all those guys who thought I was but hindsight is 20/20 and I didn't love them.
Of course Roger was one and seven years ago, Swedish Ski God (using nickname to protect the innocent and in case he is reading, although he'll probably know its him since he is the only Swedish guy I've ever dated).
It took me a long time to get over Swedish Ski God.
I fell hard and fast for him.
Our relationship was relatively short in comparison to most.
He was hot with an amazing body.
He had an accent (100 bonus points as every lady knows).
He was tall, blonde, and just a really sweet guy.
He was the first guy to show me what real love truly felt like.

Second, and the kicker, and here is the part most people don't even know this even now, we broke up about six weeks before before I went to Sweden (most people know the story as we broke up while I was in Sweden).
So for those six weeks, I pretended everything was going great.
I pretended to be completely fine.
So instead of having my friends help me with the heartache, I dealt with it on my own.
I was being hard headed and just didn't want to hear "I told you so."
Huge mistake as this, I believe, delayed my healing!!

So I lost twenty pounds, I moved to NYC, and tried to change my life completely to forget him.
I tried to escape him and Orlando where we had dated.
It still took me two years to get over him.

Unfortunately, I idolized him.
He was perfect.
We got along so well.
Our relationship was perfect.
He was hot.
And did I mention he was hot?

I have this album of our relationship and of my trip to Sweden.
Over the years I've looked at it a few times.
Moved it to various places.
And shared it with various friends.

A few weeks before the accident, I had mentioned Swedish Ski God to some friends at work.
I had found him on FaceBook randomly one night.
So the week of the accident, I took in the album to work.
I was planning on showing off how I had dated this hot Swede.

But something amazing happened.
As I was looking through the photos, he wasn't as hot as Roger.
As I was remembering certain moments, he wasn't as sweet as Roger.
As I was remembering my love for Swedish Ski God, it wasn't as strong as my love for Roger.

Not that I ever doubted my marriage to Roger (ever!), but it really firmed my belief, that he truly was the one.
It firmed my belief that Roger was the best thing ever.
And in a weird long time coming, it completely turned Swedish Ski God into Swedish Dude.

Progress

Today is Monday. Ugh.
It seems like by the time Monday gets here, I'm so ready for my counseling session.
It is like my "gas tank" is on empty by the time I get to Monday and I'm so looking forward to talking to my counselor.
Last night and this morning were horrible.
I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror without crying.
I wanted to call people and I know everyone says they are there but at midnight on a Sunday night/Monday morning? When I really don't want them to be on the phone, but I want them to be at my house.

At my session today, one of the topics: Progress
And how I need a new definition.
In my previous life BRD (Before Roger's Death), progress was something I could measure.
At work, I'm involved in projects so each week is a percentage of your accomplishment.
Like: "How many PowerPlans do you have done?"
"Eighty-five percent and yesterday was eighty percent"
Yay, defined progress!
I've lived most of my life like this.
Just like my checklist obsession, I like checking things off.
Or how many days till an event. For example, there are twelve days till the Halloween party.
I like progress.
This is how I have always defined and measured my progress.

However...
I need to change my definition.
At least when it comes to grieving.
I have been upset with myself.
I have been feeling like I'm failing at the grieving process.
It feels like I am getting worse instead of better.
It's been almost two months and I felt like I should be doing better now.
At least when I'm alone. I'm okay when I'm with friends.
I almost feel normal when I'm with friends. (Almost is a huge key word in that sentence.)
However, I need to balance being distracted with friends and dealing with this pain.
Finding this balance is a struggle for me.

I'm losing my motivation to do almost anything.
I have not worked on the aquarium stand in forever.
I have a table cloth to sew not to mention the master bedroom curtains I need to start.
Which is why I don't feel like I'm progressing.

New definition:
I can not be down on myself for not doing these things.
I can not be down on myself for accomplishing things each day.
I can not let people make me feel down for not doing these things.
I need to be proud of myself for holding on.
For getting through.
For hanging on to this crazy roller coaster I'm on.
I am making it.
And that is my accomplishment.
That is my progress.

Roger wasn't suppose to be first

I think about this a lot.
A whole lot.
It is kind of a sick thought.
But, I never really thought Roger would be first.
I thought I would die first.
With six years difference between us, I figured at least it would be about the same.

Roger was strong.
Roger was healthy.
He only drank rarely.
I think the last time was a couple of days before his birthday.
He just had a heineken and I'm not even sure he finished it.
Before that, I think maybe he had a beer at our July 4th party.
And before that, our wedding day.
In this year, I don't even think he could have finished a six pack if you added them all together.

Roger didn't smoke.
He didn't do drugs.
I don't think he ever even tried these things.

Roger went to the gym.
All the time.
Or if not the gym, at least upstairs in his workout area or walking to Publix.

He did what he was supposed to do.
He followed doctor's orders and read fitness magazines.
He was suppose to live a really, really long time.

If life was fair, Roger would have only had some minor injuries in the accident like me.
Why couldn't the accident have only broken his leg?
Or his elbow?
Or, ok, both his leg & his elbow?
But why couldn't it have stopped there?

If life was fair, there would be no way I was only suffering minor injuries and Roger was close to death.
At the scene, when I first saw Roger I thought he was just knocked unconscious.
I thought I could pull him out of it.
It wasn't until I touched his face and saw the blood on my hand that I realized how bad things were.
The EMT who treated me also told me that the accident was really bad.
But why that bad?

Why wasn't Roger strong enough?
Why did I not have more injuries?
Roger was stronger than me.
Roger was more fit than me.
Roger was nicer than me.

Sigh...

I was annoying

I know it's slighly mean.
But I couldn't help myself.
I would do small things Roger found a little annoying.
It was kinda fun.
I loved seeing his reaction.
There are two things I can remember pretty well.

First one:
Brushing my teeth outside of the bathroom.
Its a really bad habit from living alone.
I find that I can make sure I brush my teeth for the full two minutes that way.
I don't normally go far.
Usually just in the bedroom.
Watch some TV.
Maybe try to have a conversation or two (I can't help it, I just start thinking of all these things I'm dying to say).
Roger really hated how I tried to talk to him.
But he really did understand me eight times out of ten.
I'm good at talking with spit and a toothbrush in my mouth.

Roger begged me not to do this.
He said I was going to spit up somewhere.
And of course he claimed it was just unsanitary.
And he thought I could also wait to say whatever it was I wanted to say.
But really I couldn't. I would forget.

Second thing (a little/lot TMI):
I loved to take a shower with Roger.
Roger hated it.
He said something about me stealing water or something like that.
Whatever.
I figured it was time saving and water saving.
Plus I wanted to talk to him.
Plus it could lead to fun.
Of course, the really annoying thing I'd do was turn up the hot water.
The water always needed to be hotter.
Then when Roger got into the water, he'd have to turn it back down to what he called "normal" temperature.

It was really bad at the Oviedo house.
The shower was really big so the un-water person would get really cold.
But it was really a time saver.
And there were lots of added bonuses.

Of course Roger was a saint.
He never really got angry at me for being purposely annoying.
And secretly I think he liked me being in the shower with him.
But I don't think he ever liked me and my toothpaste filled mouth.
I'd talk to him though which of course he loved.

I also hate Thursdays

As I have noted, I hate Mondays.
Well, now I have a new day to add to the list.
Thursdays.

Its hard for me to forget that Thursday.
And every Thursday since I remember.
I always remember.
I can never not remember.

Today was my nothing day.
Which I did pretty good at.
I didn't make any of the three phone calls on my list.
I didn't empty the dishwasher.
I didn't wear make up (although that's not that unusual lately).
I did actually leave the house to run an errand but the guy I needed wasn't at work so I just had coffee with Courtney.

I'm not sure how good nothing-ness is for me though.
I have found myself much more teary eyed.
My body has seemed much heavier.
My heart hurts.
My body hurts.

But maybe I need this nothing-ness?
Maybe I need to deal with this pain?
Maybe I need to cry this all out?
Feel all the feelings that are here inside hiding?
Am I not dealing with this pain on regular days?

I don't think the economy is helping.
It seems as though the world is falling apart financially.
Small businesses and big chains are closing all over the place.
It makes me nervous.
It makes me sad.

The weather isn't helping either.
It rained so much this afternoon.
Not just the normal Florida storm.
No, this was the heavy heavy down pour that just doesn't stop.

I know in time Thursdays will become "normal" again.
But in the mean time, they hurt.
They suck.
I hate them.

Not as bas as I thought

My heart was racing.
My palms were sweating.
And I was in disguise.
Hair really straight & completely violating the dress code with jeans, flipflops, and a sleeveless shirt.
Some people hadn't seen me with the bangs either so I was very well hidden.
At least I pretended to be.

No, this isn't the scene of some Sherlock Holmes movie.
Just my office.
After a suggestion from my lovely sister-in-law and my therapist, today I went to visit my office after expressing how I did not want to think about what it was going to be like there.
I took the stairs into the office versus the elevator to avoid anyone I didn't want to see.
I stealthily walked around.
First I ran over to Siobhan's desk.
No one home.
I sat there to make some calls.
I freaked some people out who were not expecting me and I certainly don't look like Siobhan sitting at her desk.

I visited quite a few people and all in all not bad.
I only cried twice and realized I have more in common with some people than I ever knew.
And it definitely was not as scary as I anticipated.
Whew, huge sigh of relief!

Now when November comes, it will probably be still a little awkward but not half as awkward had I not visited.
I do miss seeing some of the folks.
I had lunch with a few people and it was nice to see them as always.
I don't miss the working though.

Next up on the agenda for tomorrow... nothing.
Tomorrow is my nothing day.
I'm looking forward to some nice PJs and doing lots of nothingness.

Our first vacation...

...together.

Wow. Its quite rememberable to me.
It was April 2006. And it wasn't a long one. It was more of a tester vacation.
We went over to Cape Coral for the weekend.
Roger needed to test for his AFAA group instructor certification and I came along for the ride.
We got a mom & pop hotel. And it was just us. Alone.

But the big deal.
At least for me.
In the car. Together. For 3 whole hours. Yes, three!
No escape.
No running to the other room.

So an hour down & two hours to go.
Roger wants to talk the entire time.
I should have known.
He would call me on his way to & from Miami to talk for 4 hours.
Why did I expect peace & quiet now.
And most of our fights in those first few months were on those phone calls.
So what do I get: "What are you thinking about?"

Ok.
So maybe we should play some music.
Well Roger had got me for that Christmas a connector to play my iPod in the car.
Perfect.
We both like music. We both like lots of music.
I like to put the iPod on shuffle.
I like various, various types of music.
I had Alison Krauss, Dave Matthews Band, Beattles, Bonnie Rait, Elvis, Brittney Spears (only 1 song though), Toto, Snow Patrol, Lion King, Extreme, Cure, Ace of Base, and tons of other random selections.

Roger, although likes various types of music as well, doesn't like the shuffle function.
Hmm...
He says "I want to listen to Hip/Hop."
"Ok"
Black Eyed Peas start playing.
"That's not hip/hop, that's pop."
"Well, I classified it as hip/hop"
"You classified it wrong and I don't want to listen to shuffle"
"I like shuffle. It mixes things up."
"Find something else Hip/Hop"
I find something else.
Still not "hip/hop" per Mr. Knows-how-to-properly-classify-music.
"Fine, you don't get to listen to my iPod"
I yank the connector out and go back to silence.

"Why aren't you talking to me" says Mr. Music-Extraordinaire
"I'm fine"
"Girl fine or real fine"
[Sidenote: All ladies know about this type of classification. There is "girl fine" where you just say it in hopes that the guy knows you aren't really fine so he is suppose to respond in a certain way to make it better. Then there is "real fine" which is what everyone else uses in normal cases.]
"Girl fine"
Now, there is no where for me to go. I am stuck "discussing" this with Roger.
Also, I'm also an internal processor. I don't want to "discuss" things right away. So... our solution - I get 5 miles to "think" about things then we will continue our "discussion."
Obviously, we worked it out.

Then... this is the part of the story my friend Siobhan just thinks is hilarious.
At this point in our relationship, we had known each other for seven months.
He had just recently been upgraded to boyfriend (before that he was just "boy I'm dating").
And I knew I loved him. But I hadn't told him that yet.
And I didn't want to say it until it was about to explode out of me.
I also did not want him to say it back to me just to respond.
Here's the scene:
We have checked into the hotel. We are all settled in. We are in the bed and about to go to sleep.
I sit up in bed.
I cover his mouth with my hand.
"Ok. I'm about to tell you something but you can't say anything back."
He nods.
"I love you"
I keep my hand there for a minute.
"Ok. You can talk now but you can't respond to what I just said."
Man, Roger was a very patient man.

The "vacation" ended up being a good one.
We got to relax a lot. We spend a lot of time just chilling out. Sitting out on our little patio. Roger studying while I read a book.
And I loved him.

Shoulda Coulda Woulda

I have this disease.
It's called really high expectations.
I bring it on myself a lot.
And today my counselor noticed that I'm really beating myself up about them.
I kept saying "I should" do this.
I keep saying things like I shouldn't feel this cause its silly or stupid to feel this way.
Or "I want to feel this way by this date."

Where does this disease come from?
I have no idea.
I really don't feel like I have people pressuring me to do most things I do.
My mom never really put really high expectations on me.
Neither did the rest of my family.
There were quite a few people in my family who didn't even finish high school.
Many of them haven't been out of the country but I am always pushing myself.
Pushing pushing pushing.

Some good things can come from this disease.
I'm very organized with things and I get things done on time.
I have met a lot of my life goals.
I bought a house before I turned 30 (of course now I have 2). I've been to Europe several times. I have traveled alone twice. We had a perfect wedding. I've learned several hobbies. I skydived (or skydove) at 21 and bungee jumped before age 16. I lived in NYC for 3 years.
And of course I had love.
So the advantages of this disease are pretty good.

But the disadvantages are bad.
I beat myself up for not meeting goals big or small.
Like, I wanted to be the perfect wife. It was very hard for me to deal with the fact I wasn't.
I wanted to be the wife who had the perfectly clean house, had dinner parties, had dinner on the table every night, cooked breakfast on the weekends, had a perfectly decorated house, and gave her husband some good "lovin'."
And there is of course not finishing my BA/BS degree yet which bothers me a ton. More than most people realize.

Right now, its hard cause I have these expectations of how I should be feeling.
What I should be feeling and when I should feel it.
I also make sure that I do something each day. I feel like I should accomplish something. I want to make sure I have a list of things to tell people what I did each day.
Again a cause of the shoulds.
But why do I feel I have to.
I can have days where I do nothing. So I'm scheduling some nothingness.
Yes, I actually put it on my calendar.

One of the worst symptoms is I try to pass on these high expectations.
I try to make others live by my rules and spread my disease.
I set high expectations for them as well.
And when people fail me, it hurts.
And when people fail me right now, it hurts like hell.
Right now, its probably one of the worst things people can do to me.

I've never dealt with disappointment very well.
Again, I think its the high expectations.
I hate being disappointed.
And I will try my hardest not to let myself get disappointed.
Roger always told me just not to have these high expectations and then people won't disappoint. But that's much easier said for me than not.

Ironic enough... I don't wear my glasses out very often cause I feel they make me look smart.
And what is wrong with looking smart?
High expectations.

Nightmares

I had a horrible time sleeping last night.
My very comfortable bed was just not comfortable at all.
Last night I had decided that I was going to go running this morning in attempts to be more fit so I didn't take my sleep aide which was a mistake...
I could not fall asleep or stay asleep.

At first, it wasn't true dreams dreams when I was falling asleep.
It was the type of dreams where you are awake but you are still seeing the "screen" in front of you.
I kept seeing Roger right before he passed away.
In one "scene" he was angry.
In another he was telling me it was all okay.
It wouldn't stop. Just over and over again.

Then at 5:30am this morning, I woke up again.
This time from nightmares although I don't remember them.
Suddenly I could hear some water dripping in the master bedroom somewhere.
And my heart started racing.
I started thinking about the hospital I received on Friday.
I know it will be fine since it still hasn't gone through Roger's health insurance but it still wouldn't leave my mind.
Of course I started thinking about other potential hospital bills.
Then of course I could hear everything going on outside.
It took me forever to fall back asleep.

No running for me then...
I slept for another hour after my 8:30am alarm.

Why must his death go over and over in my head?
Why must I try to figure out what he was thinking?
Why must I try to remember what happened at impact?
Why do I have to worry about the future?

Ugh...

New Boyfriend

So I have a new boyfriend.
I know! I know!
Everyone is shocked.
I know its probably way too soon.
But he adores me.
And I'm not getting any younger.

He just stares at me like I'm the best thing ever.
He has an amazing and infectious smile.
His eyes are so beautiful.
He is so adorable.

His name is Xander.
I've seen him a couple of times now.
I had to keep it secret for a while.
We go walking together.
Oh, and he is eight months old.

Maybe there is a bit of an age difference.
But it will be okay.
We will work it out.
I'm already friends with his mom so I know I'm in with her.

Not sure why he finds me so interesting.
Or what we will have in common once he starts talking.
I'm sure it will be fine.

Its nice to know I'm still attractive/fascinating in some way.
Even if its to an infant.
Or weird creepy guy at the beach.
(Yeah, we ladies got hit on while at the beach on my birthday by some guy offering us some "hunch punch").

Reverend Rogelio Jimenez

I still giggle a little when I think about that title.
The best thing...
He carried his identification card in his wallet.

He was so proud of it even if it was secret to most people.
His coworkers at ACS had no idea.
And they totally wish they did.
I found an old ID card that didn't have the title "Reverend" but the one he actually carried in his wallet said it.

Many people have wondered how & why.
So...
Roger got this a while ago along with his sister, Grace.
(As she would say "he loved to copy her" ;D)
In the great state of Florida, you must have some sort of license as a medical professional or be an ordained minister to touch people legally.
Roger was a Reiki Master which is a type of healing martial art and in it you touch people. So in order to not get in trouble, you need the above.
And thanks to the internet and the Universal Life Church, Roger became an ordained minister.

Funny thing is you get the funniest things when you are an ordained minister.
Such as a press pass.
Really? Why? I have no idea.
You get a marriage ceremony book.
Some certificates to give to people.
And of course the infamous ID card.

In February of 2007, Roger used his reverend-ness.
He married his cousin Danny to his wife Daisy.
We practiced a lot. We timed him. We made him some notecards. We even Googled lots of cool things to say as well as finding the perfect ceremony order for Danny & Daisy.
He did so well at it.
He got a little nervous which was super rare.
He even messed up a little and instead of freaking out, he smiled and said "Starting over."
He was so tempted to say "By the power invested in me by the internet..." but he held off.
I was so proud of him. And their ceremony was so meaningful.

After the accident, the hospital staff put his wallet in the huge safe at the hospital.
On that Monday, Cecilia and I had to go to the business office to pick it up.
I was a little emotional. I had bought him that wallet.
They had already given me some of the things from his wallet like his driver's license and such.
So I flip it open it up and what do I see under the clear plastic where his license used to be.
"Reverend Rogelio Jimenez"
I start to smile.
Those poor EMT workers and the first people who treated Roger and saw that.
I can just imagine their reaction.
"Oh my, this guy is a reverend. We gotta save him."

I know they did the best for my dear husband.
And as always I was a really proud wife of my Rev. Rogelio Jimenez.

The Day

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
Thank you for all the MySpace messages & comments, Facebook messages & comments, phone calls, texts, gifts, cards, and for celebrating the day with me.
I truly felt so loved today from every direction.

Today was nice overall.
Courtney made me very delicious strawberry margarita cupcakes which I will get to enjoy for the next few days. I think they will make a fantastic breakfast.
With Deb, Lisa, and Courtney, we headed to Cocoa Beach.
Courtney and I enjoyed some very rough waves and I only flashed her once and only one boob. Better than my past record with this particular swimsuit. (I just can't get rid of it. I look super cute in it and I paid $5 total for it.)
Then we all just enjoyed some nice October sun.

Later this evening, I joined some more ladies for a night at Colorado Fondue.
I love that place. Roger hated it so I thought it was a good idea.

Overall, it was a great day.
I did cry a little on my way to dinner.
And I got a little misty eyed as I blew out my candle on a brownie to be dipped in milk chocolate.
And I cried a little on the way home.
It was weird to celebrate today without him.

I also thought about how Roger never got to buy me a "wife" birthday card.
I still want to search thru his email maybe there is something.

Gosh, I miss him.
Of course again, I wonder what he would have planned for today.
Or convinced me that I wanted to do.
Gosh, I love him.