Five Years Ago

Five years ago you forced me into our first meeting.
You said the movie is playing at this particular time and you would meet me at the front of the theatre.
I did not even have your cell phone number to tell you no.
I was not sure if you checked your email as obsessively as me.
Since I am a nice person, I went.
I did not put much effort into how I looked.
I did not think I would even really like you.
You however looked so well put together.
Black jeans that were too big for you.
Boots.
Burgundy button down shirt.
Your walk was so excited.
You had a big goofy looking smile.
We saw Corpse Bride.
You had already seen it but saw it again with me anyway.
Afterwards we went to Bahama Breeze.
You did not even have a beer.
You made me blush.
I emailed after the meeting that I wanted to "just be friends."
You became my friend.

Five years later I am your widow.
We were great friends.
I fell so hard for you.
I love you so much.
And I miss you so so much.

Five years.
So short.
So long.
So different than I ever imagined, wanted, or dreamed.

Thank you for forcing me into that first meeting.

Passions

When I was in high school and I was asked to pick a major, I had such a hard time.
I liked a lot of things.
I was good at quite a few things.
How could I just pick one thing.

I ended up picking biology.
Not sure why.
Not sure what I thought I would do with it.
But I picked something.
[Interesting enough my major is now Biology education.]

I got accepted as biology major at Virginia Tech.
But then my guidance counselor told me about a particular scholarship.
A national math scholarship.
My major would have to be changed to math though and I would have to take a test.
So I did.
And a little known fact, I was in the top ten in the U.S. that year but only the #1 person won the scholarship so I got a certificate and went to Virginia Tech as a math major.

And then life progressed.
In 2003, I applied to Pace University in NYC.
As an education major.
I was accepted.
Went to orientation but figured out that I could not afford to pay for school on my own, even with loans.
So I withdrew.

Life progressed some more.
My good manager at my last job (imagine Glenda the good witch) convinced me to go back to school.
I chose Healthcare Administration.
I could do almost the entire program online part time.
But I was not happy with my job.
Then I was transferred to the wicked witch of the west manager.
I cried at work a lot.
I had insomnia on Sunday nights dreading the week ahead.
Completely unhappy. This is not what I wanted to be when I grew up.
This is not what the girl way back in high school wanted to be when she grew up.

I cried to Roger.
"Why did I make us move into a bigger more expensive house?"
Roger was not sure how to make things better.
I could not find a job I thought would make things better.
So I cried even more.

Roger died.

In November 2008, I finally decided I did not want to be unhappy anymore.
And I certainly did not want to work for the wicked witch.
When I thought back to all the things I liked about my job, it was the teaching parts.
The times I was mentoring or getting the physicians to finally understand.
That's when I smiled.

The first time I helped out in a classroom in January 2009, I felt that feeling again.
I think helped me start to heal a bit.

Each time I enter a classroom, the passion burns warmer and warmer.
Yesterday, a teacher told me she saw me as a good teacher.
I could do this job well.
I wanted to hug her.
I am nervous about teaching but I cannot describe the feeling I get when I am helping students.
Passionate is the only word that comes to mind.

On my way to my reflection class last night, I started to cry.
Roger wanted so badly to take away my pain.
To make me happy.
To help me find my passion.
And he did it.
I am finally there.
It feels so good to know what I want to be and to be on the track to achieve it.
But he had to die to make it so.
So I cry.

Birthday, Again

Thirty in less than three weeks.

I know I wrote about my birthday a few weeks or months ago.
I am not sad in a traditional sense about turning thirty.
In some ways, I am excited.
Especially since a few friends of mine have planned a surprise for me.

For me, this is the decade things will be accomplished in a traditional sense for me.
I will have my degree in May 2011 at thirty & a half.
I may possibly get married (again) during the next decade.
And I will hopefully have children too.

For me, it is more strange weird eerie feeling.
Not regretful.
Unlike some people, I have traveled some so I cannot really regret that.
I am not as thin as I would like but I am okay, at the moment, with that fact.
It just does not seem real.
Not just because time flies and twenty-one seems like five years ago versus almost ten.
But because most days in my head it is still 2008.
Yes, it feels like two years have past but part of me does not want to go past 2008.
Instead, a 2008 part III.

There is one bit of sadness.
No gift from Roger.
After getting a posthumous gift for my twenty-eighth part of me wants another.
Selfish perhaps.
But I wonder what it would be like.

So thirty here I come.
I hope you are ready for me.
A new decade, a new beginning.

It's a Small World

When Roger first died, I felt like I was completely alone.
On top of that and all the other hundreds of feelings, I felt completely unique.
After all, no one in my immediate circle had experienced anything like that before.
I was suddenly very different than my friends and family.
I felt like circus freak that people were afraid of.

And then as I expanded my view in the following months and now years, I found others.
Bloggers, friends of friends, and then new friends.
Now I know about ten people or so with similar stories.
Some of who are close to me.

Last Saturday I met a couple who really rattled my brain.
The woman worked for my wedding caterer.
I heard a bit of her story last year after her husband was killed.
Her husband had also been in an accident.
No kids.
And there was even some talk that perhaps she worked at my wedding.

Then her date was a widower.
Her neighbor.
Young as well.
No kids.
The fact that jolted me though was that he knew Roger.
He actually worked with Roger.
I was in shock at first.

Then I was intrigued.
I wanted to hear his Roger stories.
I couldn't help but smile.
Finding someone and talking to someone who also knew Roger validates he was real.
He was alive.
He was not a figment of my imagination.

The world is so small in ways.
But it feels good to have people like me.
Who understand me.
Who get it.
Who have similar feelings and experiences.
Nothing can compare.

Rome

As I believe I wrote about, I loved the book Eat, Pray, Love.
Yes, it was not a widow book per se.
But I related tremendously to her grief.
The loss of herself and her life.
And her mission to find peace.
She felt like her life as she knew it was in ruin.

When I found out a movie was being made, I knew I would want to see it.
I knew I would relate.
I knew I would cry.
So a few weeks ago, I met up with a friend to see it.

Many things in the movie spoke to me as I saw the book come to film.
A movie I will possibly even own so I can rewind some of the words of wisdom.
[I own very few movies.]

While watching I tried to take note of some of the things they said in the film.
One part of the movie that I made sure to remember was a scene in Rome.
The main character is exploring Mausoleum of Augustus.
At one time, this was the burial place of the Emperor Augustus.
When Rome fell, unfortunately it was ransacked by people in 410.
Ruined.
Then years later someone used it for their home.
Then ruined again after they were kicked out.
Over and over again, this one very sacred and glorious place was ruined.

Roger's dying felt like my life was ruined.
All the plans.
All of my future.
Everything I held sacred felt violated.
I felt as if everything was in shambles.
My empire had fallen.

But as the movie says, ruin is a gift.
A gift for transformation.
A chance to transform completely.
After being ruined, a place can become something new.
A person can become something new.

So perhaps my life will not be the glorious Rome I had planned.
Maybe I will not be the emperor of a colossal kingdom.
But I will be and am changed.
With a new purpose.
I can become something new.
The ruins are never gone however.
Just transformed.

Need Me

I had to sort of giggle at a situation I came into the other day.

I have always been pretty independent.
Not antisocial but I always try to do things for myself.
It is the way I grew up.
I was left alone a lot.
I learned to keep myself entertained.
I learned to keep myself alive.
I learned to meet my own needs physically and emotionally.
Thus issues asking for help have always haunted me.

But after three years together, I was finally asking Roger for help.
I needed him.
As my walls fell down, he was trusted enough for me to need him.
But it took me a while to get to that point.

When he died, I was devastated that I had trusted him.
I let him in.
And when I needed him the most and he was dead.
I was pissed.
At me.
At Roger.
At the driver of that Isuzu Rodeo.

In the last two years, I have learned not to need people as much again.
To become completely independent again.
I am stubborn at points to let people help me.
Not to mention I get nervous about it.
Feel like I owe people.

Laying in bed Saturday night, Mr. X was a bit tiffed at me.
I had not woken him up when I had insomnia Friday night.
Instead I chatted with a friend online.
He was annoyed I did not wake him up.
On Saturday, he had driven me to a friend's house to "celebrate" the dead day anniversary.
But of course I had been difficult in letting him drive me.
I did not want to ask for his help or to feel like I needed it.
Plus it was inconvenient for him to drive me.
So I made a deal.
I would let him drive me if he went to see his parents too.

As we lay in bed that night I asked, "Why are you upset?"
"You won't let me help you."
Sigh...
"You won't let yourself need me."
I could not giggle at the moment.
But I was amused at the situation in a way.
I just hugged him and let him know that I do need him.
I need him a lot.

But I guess I need let my walls back down.
Let myself need.
Again.