Six months

Wow, I just can hardly believe it.

Six whole long yet short months.

And I have been doing well for the last few days.

Even this morning and afternoon.

I will even admit to having fun last night.

Yet, it seemed as the sun starting setting, my stomach started to fall.

I want to scream.

I want to bang my fists on the desk.

I want a damn explanation for this.

This is just not right.

The worst part... I really did not make plans for today or tomorrow.  

I was so worried about getting through Monday that I forgot to arrange something for today.

And most of my friends are either out of town at the beach or at a wedding.

But really all I want to do is the same thing I did six months ago on this night.

I just want to crawl into bed.

Pull up the covers and just pretend this is not happening.

At the same time, it is not really my style.

I just not sure what I feel like doing.

I really would like to be held by the one person who could make it all better.

And he is the one person who is not here.

He is the damn reason for this feeling.

Damn him!

Damn the fucking guy who turned my life from happily married to sitting completely alone on a Saturday night.  

Damn fucking other driver who could not change his fucking tires.  

Fucking asshole.

This just is not fair.

Another extremely unfair thing is how soon I will be a widow longer than I have been married.  

Why?!

Six fucking months... 

Ambulances...

...make my heart jump.

As well as cops flying by me.

My heart starts to race when I see them.

I feel myself gripping the steering wheel.

Sometimes I get cold chills.

The worst is how people do not pull over.

How drivers just stay in the way.

I wonder where the ambulances are going.

Who are they helping?

Will those people survive?  

Is it due to another stupid driver?

I also wonder about the morning we were driven to the hospital.

I hope people got our of our way.

I hope people got out of the way for the ambulance carrying Roger more.

I remember how bumpy the ride was.  I expected it to me smoother.  I have never been in the back of an ambulance before.

I remember trying to figure out where we were on the highway.  It is a highway I know pretty well.  

I remember the girl helping me.

She was rubbing my forehead trying to calm me down.

She put me on oxygen because I was hyperventilating.

She warned me I had been in a really bad accident.  

Which was really hard for me even still at that point to believe.  

Car accidents happen all the time.

It could not be that bad.

Not to Roger and me.  

This only happens in movies.

Really bad dramatic movies.  

I wish people would be a little more aware when they saw an ambulance or the police.  

It could be me in there.

Feeling good

Something semi-scary/semi-good has happened over the last two days.

I have felt good.  

I can breathe.  

I feel like I can stand up tall.

Maybe it is because the cold I was fighting finally went away.

Maybe it is because I got some good sleep the last couple of nights.

Maybe it is because February is almost over.

Maybe it is because the weather has been nice.

I am not sure.

But it also scares me.

How long will it last?

Will it get me through Saturday?

I have not really made any plans for Saturday. 

I know I need to.

I have some studying to do but I am not sure what fun/distracting activity I can do.

I will take this break for all its worth though.  

I definitely need it.  

More proof life is unfair

About a month ago, I asked for help for a family going through extreme pain of possibly losing their twin daughters.

I have just learned the small babies passed away and I ask you again to help them out.  

The biggest help initially for me during my grief was having a little bit of time to collect my thoughts and that was made possible by not worrying about money.

I do not personally know this family, but I know a little bit about grief.

At the bottom of this friend's blog entry here, you can contribute to this family through PayPal.  Please help them if you can.  

What if...

Sunday night I had a hard time falling asleep.

Not unusual for me but the reason I was having trouble was a little disturbing.

I was half asleep half awake but I kept thinking about what if...

And not the usual what if he did not die stuff or what if we took a different route that day or what if we did not plan to go on the trip, but different "what if".

Sunday night, my what if was about what if we did not have life insurance.

I started examining and almost worrying what could have happened.

Roger's life insurance was only effective two weeks before the accident.

Two weeks!!

I was so close.

I am "lucky".

I started thinking about what if I did not have that "luxury" and I was suddenly stuck without Roger's salary.

There are hospital bills.

There are funeral bills.

There are two houses to consider.

There are all the normal bills and costs of living.

I could not sleep because I started thinking about how I would have handled that situation.

I certainly would not be in school full time.

And I most likely would not have changed career paths.  

So I would have had to go back to work about now.

What a horrible combination that would have been.  

And what about the mortgage(s)?

Well, I would just have to get a roommate or maybe even two.  

And if I had roommates...

Oh what a ball of wax that would be.

Poor potential roommates having to deal with a grief stricken shell of a person.

And grief stricken shell of a person I am having to deal with roommates.

And what about all his stuff in the bonus room.

That is the ideal room to rent out.

It would have to be gone.

And I would need a lock on the office door.  

I could not have strangers going through my business.  

I would have to lose the guest room too.

It would have worked but oh, it would not have been fun.

Not that it has been fun so far.

But why do I think so much about that?

It did not happen.

The worst outcome did not happen.

I can relax.

I am ok.

I am "lucky."  

What crappy luck though...

And then...

A few days after our non-date and a few before I came "in the middle of the night", there is a moment.
A moment in time that freaked me out and made my head completely spin.

I had been at my job for about a month.
No one talked to me.
No one even really acknowledged my existence except for the man I was working with.
But his office was about 90 minutes away.
So I sat in this large open room with some consultants.
They sat on the other side of the room in a group.
I sat alone.

My "desk" was a folding table with my back facing the others.
The plastic table was like the ones at a yard sale.
I had a regular desk chair.
They had assigned me a regular desk phone but I rarely used it.
No one really called me.
Directly in front of my "desk" was a plastic sheet that hung from the ceiling.
It was clear.
It was like the ones used at construction sites to keep the dust out of the non-construction site.
Exactly like that because on the other side of this sheet was construction going on.
All day was drilling, buzzing, sawing, and other very loud, very obnoxious sounds.
Another reason why the phone was not used.
I had no place to store my things so everyday I carried everything home with me and the next day I carried everything back.
To say the least, it was a depressing working environment.

However, Roger kept me entertained.
He would talk to me online and since we were now comfortable with just being flirty friends it was a lot of fun.
He asked me to lunch a lot (although he would say I asked him but he is not here to tell the story differently so ha!).

On Thursday afternoons, the consultants would leave.
They would go back to wherever they were from and I would be alone.
It was kind of scary to be there alone.
On Fridays, the consultants did not come in at all.
So I worked from home those days with no one telling me no.
(Ha to them too!!)

On Thursday afternoon, November 10, 2005, I was sitting in this room alone.
I was very sleepy.
I was almost falling asleep at my table.
I could barely hold my eyes open.
I wanted to go home.
But I couldn't.
I had a hair appointment to get my hair cut with Roger's stylist (yes, the boy had a stylist).
My appointment was at about 7pm and it was too far to go all the way home and then come back to the hair salon.
But I really needed a nap.

Roger being a very flirty friend said, "Go to my house and take a nap."
"Hmm, no. I have never been to your house and I do not want to take a nap at your house. You are my friend."
And then I had an ingenious idea, "Oh, I would really like to take a nap at Crane's Roost. I love that park and I love to take naps outside."
Roger being my very flirty friend said, "I have a blanket in my Jeep. I'll meet you there."

So I left work early (shame on me).
Roger left work early too (shame on him).
We met up at the park and he grabbed one of many blankets in his Jeep. (The boy was a boy scout. He was prepared I guess. I cannot remember exactly why he happened to have blankets now but I am sure I probably asked.)
We walked halfway around the lake and found the perfect spot.
Roger spread the blanket.
We laid down to take our naps.
I had my back to Roger.

My mom called me.
I needed some distraction.
So I picked up her call.
My mom and I were chit chatting when suddenly I felt Roger rubbing my lower back.
In my head, "Oh my, what is he doing!?!?!"
I could not say anything. My mom had no idea where I was or who I was with and there was no way I was going to tell her. I could not figure out how to tell him to stop without my mom noticing.

The phone call ended with my mom. I kept my back toward Roger.
I stole a quick glance at him and telepathically asked him "What the hell are you doing?"
He did not answer. (I need to work on the telepathic communication thing.)
The sun was starting to set. It was getting cold.
Roger asked me if I was cold.
"Yes" as I was started to shiver.
Roger moved closer to me and folded the blanket in half so we were both covered.
"Oh my, what is he doing now?!?!"
I turned my face toward him.
Again in my head, "What is he doing now?!"
I started to stare at him.
Roger started to play with my hand - not quite holding it but caressing it.
"Oh my, oh my, oh my..."

My head was spinning.
Suddenly I remembered I was hungry and I needed to eat before my hair appointment.
I asked Roger, "What time is it?"
"About 5:45pm."
"Hmm, we should go. I need to eat before my haircut and stuff" as said nervously as my head was just about to go out of control.
"Okay. Let's go get dinner."
Geez, dude.
Roger suggested Gina's on the Water.
"No, that's too pricey and too romantic. Let's get something quick."

We ended up going to Crisper's.
As Roger and I sat in the booth, I could barely look at him.
Thinking "What the hell just happened?! What was that?! We are just flirty friends."
I quickly ate and excused myself as I needed to go get my haircut.
Roger just smiled at me.
I think he knew more than me.
Actually I am pretty sure of it.

The night before our wedding and the night after our wedding, we stayed back on that lake at Crane's Roost.
Not on the ground under a blanket but at the hotel that is there.
I remember getting up the morning of the wedding and looking across that lake.
It was quite surreal to think of how we started out on one side of the lake and now I was standing on the other about to marry Roger.
And ya know, I think he knew when we were under that blanket we would end up as husband and wife.

And then on November 14, 2005 at 9pm, I came in the middle of the night.
Of course, 9pm is the middle or the beginning of the night is a debate Roger and I had for many years.

Non-date

Before the night I came over "in the middle of the night" and while I believe Roger was doing Chinese voodoo on me, Roger and I went on a non-date.  

Roger and I very first met two days before my twenty-fifth birthday.  

I happened to mention this to Roger while we were out.

Just cause anyone who knows me knows how excited I get around my birthday, so of course I just blabbed it to Roger.

He said to me, "Oh, I will have to take you out for your birthday."

I wiggled my way out of inviting him to my official birthday events just cause I was planning on blowing Roger off.  He was too dorky for me.  

But Roger did not forget his promise.

I started dating someone else in the next couple of days and Roger developed a crush on another girl.  

Roger and I however remained just friends.  My blow off was to do so, but I did not think he actually would.   

"Hey, I think we should remain just friends."  "Oh, okay."

And Roger was an extraordinarily good friend.

Being that good friend, he kept reminding me that he owed me a birthday dinner.

"Yeah, sure.  Whatever."

Finally Roger being Roger said on Wednesday, October 26, 2005, "Let's do your birthday dinner on Saturday.  We will go to Pleasure Island."

And I shockingly said, "Hmm, that's date night.  We are just friends.  We cannot go out on date night."

"Why not?"

"Cause it's date night.  Everyone knows Saturday is date night.  And we are not dating.  We are just friends."

"Well, when can you go then?"

When I checked my calendar, Saturday was about the only option.

"Fine.  We can go on Saturday but this is NOT a date.  This will be a non-date." 

In the next couple of days, I made it even more difficult on poor Roger.

I told him that I wanted to drive my car (because I wanted to secretly show off).  

But not only did I want to drive my car, I wanted him to drive over to my house so I could drive my car.  

Roger lived about 45 minutes from me at the time.  Yes I was very difficult.  

Roger just said "Sure."

He did have one request.  

He wanted to go on our non-date after Saturday night mass.  

"No problem."  Inside my head I thought, "Hmm, he is a Catholic boy" and hence his nickname was born - Catholic Boy.

Roger pulled up and rang my door bell.  

He was dressed very nice (why did he do that, this was not a date) and we climbed into my car.  

I showed off how cool I was in my MINI.

We went to dinner at Bongos in Downtown Disney.

The restaurant was very busy so we sat in the bar waiting for a table.

I had one drink.  I did not want to have anymore.  I did not want to be anywhere slightly tipsy because I did not want to lose control of myself.

I suddenly was a die hard VT football fan.  I pretended to be very interested in the game on the TV.

Roger told the restaurant we were willing to sit outside.

I think we got the most romantic table in the entire restaurant.

We had a table over looking the lake. 

The sun had already set.  

The weather was perfect.  

But we were not on a date. 

We ate a nice meal and of course Roger grabbed for the check.  

Not sure why.  This was not a date.

There was a live band in the center of the restaurant.

People were dancing.

Roger asked me if I wanted to dance.

Not really but I obliged.  

Roger kept pulling me toward him.

I kept pushing him away.

This was not a date.  What was he thinking pulling me close to him.  (Well Bongos is a Cuban restaurant and Spanish dancing is normally close dancing but whatever.)

Roger whispered in my ear "You are the most beautiful woman here."

"Argh.  There are about twenty other more beautiful woman here.  Like that one or that one or that one."

"Yeah, but they are all in high school.  They are just girls."

"Whatever."

Roger claimed for years that I was truly the most beautiful woman that night.

But whatever.

We left the restaurant and went to some of the nearby clubs.

More dancing.

More pushing Roger away.

I was getting exhausted of reminding Roger that this was not a date.

I finally asked if we could leave.

Roger agreed.

I drove back to my house.

I did not want him to take me to the door since this was not a date.

So I stood in the driveway for him to get into his car.

Roger moved in close.

In my head, "Oh my God, he is going to kiss me."

I screamed.

I screamed like a school girl, "NOOOO!"

Roger laughed, "I was not going to kiss you on the lips.  I was going to kiss you on the cheek."

The next day, I got an email from Roger.

He basically accused me of not being my normal flirty self and gave me an ultimatum.

And if he was going to continue to be my friend, then I had four choices:

One, to pursue a romantic relationship with Roger.

Two, to stop being his friend completely.

Three, to be myself and flirty with him knowing it was just as friends.

Four, to just let whatever happened happen.

I choose number three.

Or at least I choose number three for a couple of weeks... 

Until the night I came in the middle of the night.  

One year

One year ago, I was celebrating one of the happiest days of my life.  

I was finally Roger's wife.

Life was so good.

I had married the best guy ever.

One year later, he is gone.

Today has not been awful.

Not quite as bad as I imagined.

But this is the first moment I have been alone all day.

There is this tugging.

A pulling at my heart.

A complete loss of control.

I hate not controlling things.  

I have felt this tugging before.

It is the same tugging I felt six months ago right after the accident. 

Six months and 1 day ago actually.

A feeling that I cannot do anything to make the situation better.

A feeling of complete loss.

A feeling of loving someone who is not here to return it.

And all I can do is breathe.

And breathing should be enough but it does not make the tugging less.  

It does not make the pain go away.  

Thank you for all the folks who have said prayers for me, got in contact with me, and just thought of me today.  

Because of you all, I am able to breathe.

This is my life?

I remember when planning our wedding, there was a knottie (a girl who plans her wedding on the knot) who lost her fiance from a car accident.  

I was in shock for her.

I could not imagine her pain.

I felt so bad for her.

How absolutely horrible that would be to lose your fiance before your wedding.

And sometimes, I find myself thinking of her.

I still feel bad for her.

How horrifying.  I can't imagine what she is going through.

How does she get up in the mornings.

How she lost the potential of a happy marriage.

How she will never get to have his children.

How she will never see her first, fifth, tenth, or fiftieth wedding anniversary.

Poor girl.

But wait.

I do know how she feels.

I know almost exactly how she feels.

Poor me.

How the hell did I get in the same boat?

The movie of my life was not suppose to be like this.

We were happy.

This is not the Lifetime channel.

No way.

This is not real.

I am going to walk into the bedroom and Roger is going to be in bed waiting for me.

I know this is just a really bad dream.

This is not real.

Roger is just away.

It is not unusual for me to be alone.

Roger will be home soon.

But then.

I remember watching his complexion go grey.

I remember how strands of his hair were laying on the stretcher as I rubbed his head.

I remember how I have the autopsy report laying in the office.

I remember how I have ten copies of that stupid death certificate in the blue accordion file.

I remember how I have a fucking estate banking account in his name.

I remember how I know the name of a homicide investigator.  

Fuck.

This is my life.

Miscommunication, part 2

I am a thinker.

Our pre-cana counselors called an internal processor.  

Roger was a talker.

They called him an external processor.

But even before pre-cana, we both kind of knew this.

They gave us tips though to help us deal with each other's communication needs.

It was great.

[My good friend Siobhan is also a thinker/internal processor.  

It can be interesting to be friends with someone who is like me.  But at least work, we joked about if we thought about sending an email a whole bunch or we actually did it.  Thank God for email programs saving what emails we actually sent and not the ones we just thought about sending.  I once dated an internal processor.  I do not recommend that.  It was excruciating. Nothing could be done without thinking about it beforehand.]

Being an internal processor basically means that before I talk, I think about it a lot.

I analyze it in my head.  I analyze all decisions before I commit to them and I think before I just start talking about things most of the time. 

And 90% of the time when it comes out of my mouth, I have already made up my mind.  I have already weighed the pros and cons.

Roger and others like him on the other hand does all those things while talking.

It can be very confusing to someone like me who thinks when someone is talking they must have already planned on doing what they are saying.

Here are two relatively easy examples our counselors gave us.

First, someone asks me, "Do you want chicken or fish for dinner?"

Inside my head: hmm, well, did I have chicken yesterday? Am I planning on having chicken tomorrow? What kind of chicken? But do I really want fish?  What kind of fish?

It all goes on very quickly, but I must think about the options.  

Second example, Roger starts to think about doing some landscaping outside. 

He says to me "Man, we really need to decide where to put the aloes. Do you think they would look nice under that tree? What about one over here and one over there?"  

He is thinking about in the future but for an internal processor like me he has already thought about this and that we are going to do that now, not in the future.  

After pre-cana, Roger and I would joke about these things.  He would ask me if I wanted to do Universal Studios or the beach.  Then he would look at me again and say "chicken or fish."

Roger would start talking about putting wood floors down in the house and I would get all excited thinking it would be next weekend.  Then I would ask "In ten years or tomorrow?"

It really helped our communication and less miscommunications most of the time.  

However, they would still be those times where I would think about going to Home Depot a lot.

I would think about how Roger would react when I told him about going and telling him the things we need to buy.

The next day I would be like "Dude, why are you just sitting there, remember we are going to Home Depot?"

And Roger would smile at me.

"Inside voice or outside voice? Did you just think about telling me or did you really tell me?"

"Hmm, inside voice I guess.  Can't you hear my inside voice yet?"

"No dear."  

Miscommunication

Miscommunication can cause all kinds of havoc.  

And this one time, it was a little humorous.

December of 2006 Roger and I took a trip to Tucson, Arizona.

My friend Sarah was getting married.  Her sister, Andrea, who has been my friend almost two-thirds of my life was going to be in the country (She is currently living in Africa, yes Africa).  

This would be the first time Roger was meeting Andrea.

Andrea's family would also be there who was like my family growing up.

I am not sure if Roger even realized how important this trip was for our relationship.

Since we were going to be there over New Year's Eve, we decided to have dinner with Andrea and then go over to her sister Sarah's house (Sarah was on her honeymoon) and hang out.

Dinner went great.

Andrea seemed to like Roger.

And it was just good to spend time with her.

Roger was being great.

He was always great at letting me hang out with my friends and being social even though he claimed he was not social (and that is a whole other entry).  

But I also knew that it was not fair for him just to sit there and be bored while I caught up with my friend.

So Andrea and I were sitting at the dining room table just chit chatting.

Roger tapped my foot.

I gave him a glance.

I tried to telepathically ask him if he wanted to leave?

Cause that is a very reliable form of communication. 

Roger tapped my foot again.

So I guessed that means yes.

I was a little confused because it was really early in the evening but I also want to respect his wishes.  We had been hanging out with her for most of the day and he does not really know any of these people.

So I gently excused us.

We got back to the car.

Roger asked me, "Why did you want to leave?"

"What? You tapped my foot twice."

"No, I was tapping the table."

"No, you were tapping my foot and I thought you wanted to leave.  Did you not get my telepathic message?"

We laughed.

I guess telepathy is not the best form of communication.

Surviving Spouse

Our first time filing our taxes as a married couple and I am doing it alone.

I love how I'm considered the surviving spouse.

Because right now, I'm barely surviving.

I am so lost.

I am such a mess.

I can barely hold myself together.

It is like having that dream where I am falling.

And I try to kick my legs to wake myself up.

But I am kicking and kicking and I am already awake.

And I am still falling.  

Every time I think I can not miss more than I do at this moment, the next I miss him ten times more.

I remember when he first died, I thought something was wrong with me since I was not crying every moment.

I started to doubt my love for him.

But now, I can barely move.

I can barely breathe.

And I know that I loved him so much.  

For now, I just want to crawl in a hole for a few months.  

Because this is not surviving.

I am barely here.

The Miracle Diet

I bought my wedding dress a bit too early.  

It was not my fault.  

The stupid saleslady made me feel pressured.  She said the dress was going to be discontinued.  

So I quickly bought it.

The problem: it was for the size I was at the time.  

And I did not want to pay a lot in alterations so I pledged to maintain my weight.  

Even though I still lost a little and alterations cost me $200.

Yeah, silly I know.

But I did not want to buy the dress in a smaller size.  I just did not want that kind of pressure.

So for sixteen months, I just stayed healthy and did not purposely try to lose weight and of course did not gain any either.

It was not too hard.

I also figured if Roger married me at that size, then he would love me forever.

I planned on losing weight after the wedding.  

Then Roger would have a super sexy hot wife not just a bride.  

After the wedding, I lost about six or so pounds until August.  

It was really slow process.

But it was fine.

I was happy with it.

I just wanted to lose about fifteen pounds before the one year anniversary mark.

Well, I have accomplished that goal.  

And then some.

I have lost a total of twenty-six pounds.  

Not exactly the diet I wanted to be on.

I do not recommend this method at all.

It is actually quite painful.

But it works. 

The trick is to have the husband die and the appetite will disappear.  

And then cooking will decrease and eating is the last thing desired.

It's too much of a decision of what to eat and when.

It's not fun to eat the same thing for days on end.

So instead I eat a similar meals or have people decide for me.

Like a can of peas or soup or a PBJ when the bread is not moldy.  

Now the problem is none of my clothes fit properly.

I have bought some new clothes because of necessity.

I needed new jeans but they are already loose.

I needed new dress pants but again they already loose.  

Now t-shirts even look just baggy and not flattering at all.

And Roger's t-shirts that I saved for... I'm not sure why... look like night gowns.

And yes, I could buy new clothes, but I want to lose about ten to fifteen more pounds.  

So there is no point.  

But I just look shabby.

And disheveled.

Sigh... oh well.  This is my life. 

His eyes

Roger had the most amazing eyes.

They were just gorgeous.

I loved looking into them.

They were so green. So pretty.

I remember all those mornings that he barely opened them to say bye as I left for work and he continued to sleep some.

I remember looking into them on our wedding day.

Stealing glances when I came home from work.

The first few times we kissed and he did not close his eyes.

"Why aren't your eyes closed? You are suppose to close your eyes when you kiss."

Roger responded, "Cause I want to see you."

Eventually I would keep my eyes open too.

It was true intimacy to see each other while kissing.

One of the million things that pains me is that after the accident I never got to see him look at me again.

In the hospital, I opened his eye lid to see those beautiful green eyes.

Unfortunately, he did not respond.

In my office, I have several pictures of Roger looking right at me.

I love to look back into those photos.

Pretending he is still looking right at me.

And sometimes, its feels like I can feel him staring at me while I drive.

I miss his stare.

I miss his eyes.

His beautiful green eyes.

Valentine's Day

As I read about how wonderful my friends' husbands are on facebook, I can not help but think "Yeah, well, mine was better he is just not here."

As I look at the pictures of the flowers or gifts they got, I still can not help but wonder what Roger and I would have done for the day.

Would we have gone to dinner during the week or tonight?

I probably would have made him his favorite ginger chicken with green peppers and carrots.  

I have not made that in forever even before he left me.  

Instead of spending the day with my fabulous husband, I spent the day with some good friends.

Yesterday morning, Rusty and Natalie took me to breakfast to start.  

Before the girls arrived for a sleepover and dinner, I cleaned and organized my house.

I learned how to use a drill and I know Roger would be proud.

I learned how to hang things using plastic anchors.  Roger would be really proud of that. 

I made the girls dinner instead of Roger.  

I made my BBQ sauce which Roger liked but did not love.  I grilled some chicken.  

And did not make rice.  

Roger would have wanted rice.

The lovely Courtney made some yummy chocolate fondue to end the meal.  

It was the best evening I could have possibly have had under the circumstances.

I am very grateful for friends that continually support me.

And then I went to bed...

Reality set in.

Everyone else in world is at home having sex with their lovers.  

Everyone else celebrating and snuggling with their favorite people.  

And I was sleeping alone.

I could not sleep.  

I ended up waking up about every two to three hours.  

"Am I still alone? Yep, still just me."

What will next Valentine's be like? Who knows.

Will my friends still be single or want to be here with me?

At least there will not be anymore red hearts and rose salesman for a while.

That's a capital "R"

I have this weird habit now.

When writing out Roger's name, I can not let it be uncapitalized.

I know that does not seem too odd but no one else gets this treatment.

When I am instant messaging or quick email, I rarely capitalize people's names.

I barely even do a capital "I" when instant messaging.  

It just a bad habit of typing fast and not taking my time or giving proper respect to people.

But for Roger, I feel like I'm disrespecting him if I leave it as a small "r".  

Even if I accidently type "r", I go back and fix it before I hit send.  

It reminds me of the way I am with the word "God."

I have to capitalize that word too.  

Maybe it is a respect for Roger now that he is gone.

Cause I did not respect his name like that before. 

Yeah... crazy grief girl.  

I know...

The Movie

It's a typical movie.  

It's cute.  

It's funny.  

And at the end of 120 minutes or so, all is right in the world.

The girl and guy are the perfect couple.

They are in love.

They are good people.

Something bad happens.

Some silly mistake.

The girl and the guy break up.

They are miserable without each other.

They both realize how perfect they are together.

They get back together.

They fall back madly in love.

Life is happily ever after.

Except I realized that Roger was perfect for me before we were married.

Before I lost him.

I knew I was lucky.

I knew I had a great husband/fiance/boyfriend.

We were already in love.

And at my movie, it does not tie up all the loose ends nicely.

I do not get my husband back.

Roger does not come running back to me.

We do not get to spend the rest of our lives together.

And some where in my head because of all these movies, I keep thinking he will come back.

We will live happily ever after.

Ugh... 

Except...

My life is not a movie.

My life is not a fairy tale (like that one song says).

This is my reality.  

23rd...

On my way home from class tonight, I needed milk.  Like usual.

I stopped by the CVS because its almost 10pm.

The grocery store closes at 10pm.

And in my unlogical logic, I did not want to go to the grocery store.

Why?

Because then I might want to buy everything else that I need.

I walked over to the refrigerator cooler.  

Opened the door.

No skim milk.

Damn.

And I think, "I drink way too much milk not to do skim."

"Maybe just a half gallon of skim.  Then I'll buy a full gallon later this weekend."

"Nah."

"The gallon size is on sale."

"I should just get 1%.  I'll be fine.  It is only one gallon."

I went back to the original cooler.

Grabbed the handle.

I checked the expiration date because that is what I always do especially when buying milk from a drugstore.  

Feb 23.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Really?  Does this day have to fucking haunt me all the damn time?!?

Earlier this week: 

"On February 23rd, we will be meeting in the library for class."

"On Monday, February 23rd, this assignment is due."

And the fucking asshole of the other driver, his birthday... 2/23.  

Fuck.

Going to the zoo

Roger loved the Brevard Zoo.

It's a great zoo.  I highly recommend it.

Roger loved it so much he was a member.

I still have his membership cards (yes, several years in a row).

Of course, he only went once in the three years I knew him so I am not sure why exactly he had a membership.

That one time we did go together was fun.

I cannot remember exactly when we went but it was before we were engaged.

We walked around the zoo.  Enjoying the Florida sunshine.

It was better than most zoos.

The animals looked healthy and the zoo was small enough to really take care of the animals.

It is also small enough that it can enjoyed without exhausting ourselves.  

Then we came upon this little half an hour kayak trip that was available for an extra few dollars.

The little river ran by some of the animal exhibits so we could get an up close and personal view without the confinement of cages.

Awesome!

Sounds fun.

Sign us up.

Roger being a member had been on this particular kayak trip before.

So it would be my first time, but I had been kayaking before and my kayaking experience was a nine mile kayaking trip.

We get in line for the safety instruction.

The teacher asks "Who has kayaked before?"

Roger and I both raise our hands and a few others.

"Great, you guys  go ahead.  Just remember not to kayak to close to the animals' islands."  

We go, put our stuff in a locker, and get our kayak.

And put on our life vest for the two feet of water that we will be kayaking in.

Our guide suggested that the heaviest and/or more experienced kayaker get in the front.

Unfortunately, I was the heavier one [except now I weigh the same as Roger did, woohoo!].  

So I climbed into the front.

We get into the water.

We start to paddle.

Yeah... hmm.  Why is this so difficult?  He was not really paddling the way we are supposed to be.

I turned around and asked Roger, "Dear, how much kayaking experience do you have?"

"Just the last time I was here so about thirty minutes worth of experience."

"Great..."

As we kept trying to coordinate, we kept getting closer to the animals.  

And closer.

And closer.

Of course it was the animals that are the most territorial.

The guide kept reprimanding us.  

We were zigzagging all over the place.

Hitting other boats.

Getting too close to rocks.

All within about five minutes into the experience.

I turned back to Roger.

"Hmm, dear, can you just not paddle?  I think that will be more helpful."

So Roger just sat back as I paddled all by myself for the rest of the trip.

Moral of this story... do not get in a boat without knowing what you are getting into.  

Because sometimes, you may find yourself paddling alone.  

Today I was driving around and remembered this experience.

And I laughed.

Geez dear, you could have warned me.  

Oh well... at least it was a fun day.

Three more days...

... till one of the worst holidays ever.

It was awful before.

Now it's just worse.

Way worse.

Red hearts everywhere.

Valentine's dances.

Roses being sold in the neighborhood.

Jewelry commercials.

Pink valentines.

Ugh.

Yuck yuck yuck.

So in honor, I am inviting some other V-day [don't even want to type the whole word, it does not deserve it] haters over to my house.

We are going to have a girls sleepover.

Chocolate, cheesy movies, and just chit chat.  

The great thing is once that day is over, I am about half way through February.  

Next up the anniversary...

Painting the other house

I tried to think of a catchy title for this entry but I could not think of anything I liked so... just the obvious.

The night before the accident, Roger had been out in the pouring rain playing landlord.
The storm was bringing rain in from the side and rain was seeping into the living room of the rental house.
Great... (I had just decided to start straightening my hair chemically and was vainly spending money on that)
Roger found out that the house needed to be painted and that with sealing some cracks in the stucco would keep the rain out.

So being the responsible person he was, he immediately started contacting painters.
He set up a few people to come out and quote the house.
I have no idea what happened to those appointments and frankly I just did not care at that point.
My renters were awesome.
They dryed out the carpet and everything was fine.

But I knew, I would have to handle the painting decisions alone.
I put it off for a while.
I could not choose a color.
This was not my house.
This was Roger's house.
This was potential buyers down the road's house.
How the hell do I choose colors.
And not to mention I had to pick from a pre-defined list.

Grace helped me.
And then the renters helped me.
Then even the neighbors weighed in.
The renters do have to live in it and the neighbors have to look at it everyday so might as well get some decisions from them.

We settled on a grey with white-ish trim and a red-ish door.
Of course those are not the real name of the colors.

Then I found a painter.
I went back to Roger's emails and I found a guy who had actually talked with Roger that Thursday night almost six months ago.

He started painting the house yesterday.
I went over there just to see the progress.
It was so hard.
It is just a simple color change.
This should be no big deal.
I only lived there all of three months.
But I drove there and stayed 2-3 nights a week for over a year.

And this was Roger's house.
Even after I moved in, I referred to it as his house.
Roger would say "Let's go home."
And all coy I would say "Where?"
"To our home"
"Oh, you mean your house."
Geez, what a bitch...

The house looks nice.
The grey suits it well.
It's it just so different.
It's like the house is moving on.
So I cried on the way home.

Geez House, it's only been six months. Yes, yes, we moved out and left you well before that. But painting yourself a new color already?

6th, 6TH, SIXTH!!!

Roger's car was a five speed.

My car is a six speed.

And in some situations, it can be a big difference.  

When riding together, we almost always rode in Roger's car.  

And almost always Roger drove.

Roger liked to drive.

I only like to drive long distances.  

I hate local driving.  

And related/unrelated, I hate driving myself everywhere now.  I just want to be driven so badly. 

In those rare occasions that Roger drove my car, it was great.

I like being a passenger in my car.

Except, we would get on the highway or a road with a speed limit of 55 mph, and someONE would forget that my car had a sixth gear.  

And most days instead of being a nice wife and gently reminding my husband that he had another gear to go, I became a protective car owner.

"Dude, sixth"

"Duuuude, sixth!!"

I would praise him if he did it without me reminding him though.  

If I was being a good nice wife, I would just gently tap his hand.  

Now when I'm on the highway and I move into sixth gear, I smile or cry.

Depends on my mood.

But I almost always think of Roger.

And the reminding of "Sixth. Dear, sixth."

"Everything happens for a reason"

I have believed in this saying for a long time.
And I still believe in it. I do.
I hate it right now, but I do still believe in it.
It hurts right now.
It does not give me much comfort but it does give me some.
Just a tiny tiny bit.
I think it’s the reason I still get up each morning.
Besides the cats.

I was having breakfast with a friend and we were talking about this.
When I think back to my first migration to Florida, it was not under the greatest circumstances.
I moved with a guy from the same small town in Virginia and we were not very good to each other.
As boyfriends go, he was pretty bad.

He cheated on me.
I cheated on him. Yes, I know. I was angry and 19.
We said nasty things to each other.
We spied on each other.
It was awful.
In our defense, and yes "our", we were very young.

However...
After all the heartache and all the pain, we were good for each other.
We were with each other for a reason.
We both left a small town that we may not have left without each other pushing.
We both grew up.
I learned how to manage myself on my own.
I became even more independent.

Through him and all those experiences, I became me.
And I love me.
I love who I became.

I was talking to him recently.
We were discussing how we helped each other now that hindsight is 20/20.
I thanked him for our relationship, the good t hings, and the bad things.
And he thanked me too.
Everything happens for a reason.
And I think I met him for a reason.

Now we have something else in common than just the same small town.
Sadly, we went through some pretty hard shit with his mom.
We both know what it is like to take someone off life suppor t.
Even though I thought about this a lot when I was having to make those decisions about Roger, I forgot that my ex did that ten years ago.
And it was really comforting [so not the right word but I cannot describe the feeling perfectly...] to have someone I once knew well and someone who once knew me well share that experience with me.
Just someone to talk to for a few minutes.
Someone to vent to.
He probably has no idea how much he helped me a few weeks ago.

After today's breakfast, my friend and I went to see "Slumdog Millionaire" which I highly recommend.
And the character’s life sucked at times.
There were some pretty shitty times in his life.
But they all got him to the point he is at right now.

I have to believe I am exactly where I am supposed to be.
And things, in the end, will work out.
I have to hang out to that.
No matter how much it hurts and pains me now.
And to quote another movie: "Life is the way it is suppose to be."

And this is all going to work out, right?
Right...

Wrong Side of the Bed

Roger slept on the left.
I slept on the right.
Usually I had a foot hanging off or gliding on the edge.
I would agrue that Roger actually slept middle-ish left.
Roger would agrue he was always on his side of the bed.
We would argue about who had more room.

Now I have the entire bed.
I have the most room.
Not exactly the price I wanted to pay for it.
Now I sleep a little diagonal.

But not on the right.
I can't bring myself to sleep back on the right.

The night of the accident, Holly and Scott came home with me.
Holly slept in the bed with me because I did not want to sleep alone.
She slept on Roger's side of the bed and I slept on mine.
She continued to sleep there for the next few nights.

Then Cecilia came.
Cecilia slept in bed with me as well.
She also slept on Roger's side of the bed.

After they went back to their lives, I crawled over to Roger's side.
I wanted to be closer to him.
To be where his last night at home was.
To maybe be near where some of his germs are.
[I swear I was my sheets, I just have read a lot about how germs and skin get into the mattress.]

After a while, I remembered, Roger slept middle-ish left.
And more middle if I was making the judgement.
So I moved to the middle.

I sleep in the middle most nights.
Just diagonal.
With my feet on the left side and most of my body in the middle.

I tried to go back to sleeping on the right.
But I can't. Just can't.
It feels to far away from "him."
It feels safe to be middle-left.
So much for even wear.

And because I can't get rid of his zillion pillows even though I only sleep with one, there is a pile on the left and a pile on the right.

And when I get up in the morning, even though my phone is usually on my old side of the bed and I need to disconnect it, I get up on Roger's side of the bed and walk around.

My old side just feels wrong.
I just can not imagine sleeping there.
I just can not imagine getting up from there.
It is the wrong side of the bed.

I hate February

It is less than three weeks from my one year anniversary.
It is less than two weeks till the most in-the-face-couple-showing holiday of the year.

I hate both of these days.
I hate this entire month.

I dread the Monday morning I have to wake up single and alone.
On my one year anniversary.
The anniversary I worked so hard to create.

I worked so hard to make sure I chose an appropriate husband.
I worked so hard at my goals to make sure I was ready to be married.
I did everything right.

Yet, here I am a year after planning the perfect day.
A year after we saved and spent a lot of money.
And I am alone.
Unmarried.

And where are most people I know right now?
Well, most of them will be married in the next thirty days.
Fuck.

I know I am not a failure at marriage but it sure does not feel like a success.
More of that grey area I guess. Just annoying. Very annoying.

How did I end up the single one?
How did I end up going home to a house with no one else but me?
How did I end up not having someone to ask me about my day?
How did I end up watching television alone?

The sad thing is I do not think most people get it.

Why could I not just get to the one year mark?
Ugh!

Deflated

I am very thankful for all my friends and family.
I do not know how I would have gotten through yesterday without them.
They held my hand.
They let me just cry.
They gathered information for me when I just could not listen anymore.
They went to a bar to help lift me up again.

I just feel deflated.
I just feel neglected by the court system and by the police system.

The police witnesses failed to show up.
The civil case against him dismissed.
How is this possible?

How is he walking away.
How can he just drive away.
This is another con-artist.

And I can hear Roger saying "Just 20%! Just let me get rid of 20%"

I do not quite see how this court system is fair.
It is deflating.
A real judge should be able to use judgement, not loop holes.
A real judge should be able to look critically at a situation, not just say "Oh, well there is no proof he was the driver..."

Ugh...

Stupid car

Stupid stupid car.
I hate you.
You constantly follow me around and I see you everywhere.
I never used to see you.
And I swear I was looking before.
I swear you were rarely there.

You are no longer even being made.
You have not been made since 2006 which really means 2005 in car years.
You should be disappearing.

But now, you are here and there and everywhere.
You are at school.
Someone moved in down the street and guess what, there you are again.
I go to the store, you are parked next to me.
I am driving home from the parks, there you are in front of me.
You are orange, white, black, silver, red, and I think I even saw you in blue.

I find myself mesmorized by you.
I stare at you.
Or follow you.
Or look inside you to make sure.

I am thankful you kept me safe.
I am thankful you are tough.
But why do you haunt me?
Why do you tease me?
Why must you be in every moment of every day?

Ugh...

The Proposal Story

So I wrote about how Roger and I got to this point and here is how we got engaged.
Since I am school and taking a speech class, I just told my class about this story on Friday.
I got an A on it.
I am especially proud of myself for not crying during it.
My voice did crack near the end but otherwise I did fantastic in my eyes.

---

Let me set the scene:
It is Halloween 2006 at about 5:30pm. It is getting dark outside.
I am sitting on my boyfriend’s patio in his backyard.
My hands are sweating. My heart rate is up. I feel like I am going to pass out or vomit.
There are some things a girl is not suppose to do.

How did I get at this point? Let me go back a few weeks:
My boyfriend, Roger, had been threatening to propose to me for a few months.
I had been putting him off. I kept giving silly excuses as to why not yet.
The time was just not right yet.
I had huge commitment-phobia issues. I was being the guy.

In an online conversation, Roger said maybe I should propose. I laughed at his suggestion. Girls do not propose to boys.
My good friend, Siobhan, and I were discussing this conversation at work the following day and she says to me “Oh, you should totally propose to him.”
“Really, you sure?”
“Oh, yeah!”

So over the next two weeks we prepared.
Halloween was Roger’s favorite holiday so that would be the day.
Siobhan helped me find a nice wedding band to serve as the ring and had it delivered to my office.
I spoke to Roger’s sister to make sure she thought Roger would really like the idea and would not be upset.
She was excited. She thought it was an excellent idea and Roger would love it.
She also told me how it was similar to their dad's wedding band.

The proposal itself would be a sort of scavenger hunt with me being the ultimate prize.
I made these owls here and each one held a note in its feet.
They told Roger why I thought he was an amazing man, what I loved about us, and a clue to the next owl.
The last owl would lead Roger outside to me on the patio. I would hold the last note.

So Halloween came.
I placed the four owls in their positions, lit a candle next to each one, and turned out the lights.
I slipped out to the patio to wait for Roger to arrive home from work to find me and the owls.
Wow! In all this preparation, I had not considered how nervous I would actually be.
This is why girls do not propose.

Roger arrived home. Even though the blinds were closed to the window, I could see Roger’s shadow crossing the house back and forth, from room to room, reading each note.
My heart was racing. I could not take a deep breath. It felt like time was standing still.

Roger finally appeared on the patio.
He gave me a funny look.
He asked me, “What are you doing? Are you proposing?”
I could not even speak.
I handed him the last note asking him to be my husband. Thank God I actually wrote it all down.

He started to cry. He was so happy, so surprised, and completely stunned.
And being Roger and a typical guy, his answer was “sure.”
I asked him to say the actual word “yes.”

In February 23, 2008, we became husband and wife. It was a glorious day.
The wedding was amazing. It was what I dreamed of.
On August 28, 2008, Roger passed away after we were in a car accident.
I will never regret proposing to an amazing guy.
But there are some things girls are not suppose to do.

Being Married...

...is hard work.
It is especially hard work when it is to a dead guy.
And even though legally I am no longer married, sometimes I still feel married.

Previously, I have wrote about how hard just the chores are.
I hate taking out the trash.
And now I do not do it every week when we used to do it twice a week.
Now I might get it down every 3-4 times the trash comes.
I always forget until it is really dark outside or it is really late or it is really raining.

Or buying groceries.
My grocery bill has gone from $300 to $50.
Why? Cause I hate going.
I hated it before but I especially hate it now.
And there is no one else to do it.
But there is also no one to really do it for.

Then there are all the decisions to be made about maintaining the houses.
Yes, plural. Houses.
I could easily make these decisions when I had a two bedroom apartment.
But two bedrooms is a lot different than two houses.

What color do I paint this room?
What color do I paint the other house?
Is this a big issue to fix now or can it wait?
Is this price reasonable or am I being taken advantage of?

Then there is the sex and physical affection.
It just sucks when the other person is dead.
It is not the same alone.
And the after sex ritual, yeah, that is non-existent.
There is no snuggling, no kissing, nothing.

Hugs just suck. The cats do not like to be hugged.
No one will just hug me for a few minutes.
Very annoying.

And then, this is the part that is so heavy on my heart right now, communication.
I just cannot get answers to my questions.
I cannot argue with a dead guy.
I cannot scream with a dead guy with the same impact (trust me, I've been screaming lately and no one cares).
I cannot tell him how hurt I am for what he did.

Marriage is just so hard.
I think I liked the first six months of marriage better.
Those months were so much easier than now.