"We've Got Time"

I just watched "Moonlight Mile" for probably the third or fourth time.
The first time I watched it was way before Roger died.
And I have seen it since.
But I did not cry last time I watched it.
This time, I did.
A lot.
But I think I needed a good cry.

And for whatever reason it reminded me of when Roger and I first started dating.
I had just stopped my consulting job about a week before we met.
During consulting, I traveled Monday through Thursday every week.
So I had a life in whatever city I happened to be working in and a life at home.
Two very separate worlds in which I lived.
And it was hard to have friends.
To date.
To go to the dentist.
And to do many of the day-to-day activities.
So I would cram as much as I could into my weeekends.

When Roger and I first started dating, we saw each other at least one night of the weekend and about two nights during the week.
And I tried to cram as much into the time we were together as possible.
Roger kept saying, "We've got time. Just relax."
I was trying.

When he would go away for a weekend to visit his family in Miami or to a martial art event, I was sad.
More time away.
And yes, absence makes the heart grow fonder but I wanted to see him.
Spend time with him.
I was almost frantic to see him.
And Roger's response was always the same.
"We've got time. We have years."

But we didn't.
We didn't have much time at all.
We only had less than three years.
Just like the characters in the movie.
Two years and eleven months.

#463

Some days I get really angry at the universe.
And beyond the normal grief reasons.
Beyond the normal car accident and widow reasons.

Simply for the reason that I feel like I was tricked.
Roger was my friend when we first met.
I was happy with him being my friend.
I loved him being my friend.

And then after two months I feel in love with him.
And for the next three years I fell further and further in love with him.

Then he was ripped away from me.
After I let him in.
After I become attached.
The universe took him away.

Some days I feel angry that I let myself fall for him.
That the universe put him there.
That somewhere someone knew this would happen and they let it happen.
It was an evil trick.
Like giving a child a game which was they were okay with but then the parent added more and more cool accessories to go with the game.
And once the child was addicted to the game, the parent burned it while laughing.

Ugh...

The First Time

I have debated writing this entry a long time.

My family reads my blog.

Roger's family read my blog.

But so do other widows.

So do other widows who are new to the "club".

So fair warning... this may be TMI.

Before I met Roger, I dated. A lot.

I liked dating for the most part.

Yes, there were heartaches.

Yes, there were some times where I just wanted to be in a relationship, but for the most part, it was fun just dating.

Then in December 2004, I decided I wanted a real life boyfriend.

Someone to hang out with on the weekends.

Someone to go on vacation with.

Someone to cuddle with.

Someone to have sex with on a regular basis.

I was living in New York City at the time with a consulting job.

I traveled every week for four days.

I loved the concept of my job but I was sick of the traveling routine.

In one city for part of the week, in another city for the rest of the week.

It was a great lifestyle for dating.

But not for boyfriend life.

So in January 2005, I started looking for a new non-traveling job in NYC.

I tried for about four months. Nothing.

My consulting job had a database of all the clients.

I decided to use my resources and look up the clients in Orlando area.

Moving back to Orlando would be easy with a friend base already in place and I knew I loved Orlando.

I moved back. And I started trying to date more seriously in August.

I met Roger at a time when I was dating two other guys.

But by November Roger won my heart.

On my wedding day, I was so nervous.

Not about how the day would go. I hired great vendors that I trusted for that.

But that I would be with the same man for the rest of my life.

"Forever" as my old friend Nick would say.

I would be having sex with the same guy for the rest of my life!!

I felt on the verge of vomiting all day until the ceremony.

But of course afterwards, I was happy with my decision.

Roger was good to me.

After I realized Roger was going to die on me, I thought about how I was going to have sex with a new person someday.

I was in the elevator at the hospital with some very close friends when I exclaimed, "My 'number' is going to go up again!"

Crapola!

Last April, I was longing to be touched.

Not just a hug from a friend.

But T.O.U.C.H.E.D touched.

But I was also so nervous.

Would I feel guilty?

Would I feel like I was betraying my vows?

Betraying Roger?

Before I started dating again, I consulted some of my peers who had gone before me.

Supa and Crash were emailed.

"Did you feel guilty the first time you had sex?"

Both replied no.

"Okay, I can do this."

So last May, I did "it."

I had to make all the first moves.

This guy I was dating was nervous about offending me.

About moving too fast.

To me, I just wanted it out of the way.

I wanted to know yes or no about feeling guilty.

I wanted to know if I could enjoy sex again.

Could I feel?

Could I feel good?

For me, I did not feel guilty at all.

I did not feel I was cheating on my husband.

I did not cry which I severely feared I would.

I could feel again.

I try not to think about Roger's reaction to this whole ordeal as if he is somewhere watching over me.

That is just weird to think of anyway.

But I know Roger would not want me to be sad forever.

Roger would not want me to be alone forever.

He loved me. He would want me to be happy and be loved.

I Remember

I remember when I had the flu back in December 1998.

My boyfriend-at-the-time put me into a luke warm bath to cool my raging fever.

Then he had to rush me to the emergency room as the fever was not coming down and I was shaking violently with cold chills.

I remember Christmas 1999 in Florida.

Same boyfriend and I were very poor in my first apartment in Orlando.

He strung up lights in the shape of a tree and taped up ornaments because we could not afford a real tree.

I remember May 2000 when another boyfriend and I got our first puppy.

The puppy was sweet and smart and we took turns taking care of her.

We had huge dreams.

I remember October 2001 on my twenty-first birthday.

My friend Tom took me to a local bar for my first legal drink.

We played Trivial Pursuit cards at the bar and listened to U2.

I remember March 2002 on my first European vacation.

I was standing on a bridge in Stockholm as the sun was setting.

The first guy I loved standing next me and we were trying to keep warm.

I remember October 2003 trying not to pee in my pants.

A group of coworkers and I were going through some haunted houses around Halloween.

We were giggling so hard at being so scared.

I remember December 2004 standing next to the Sydney Opera House.

It was an amazing day of "flat white" coffee, walking through gardens, and sipping Australian beer.

The warm wind whipping through my hair and on my face.

I remember June 2005 riding on I95 in a huge Uhaul.

I cried leaving my New York City and all my friends.

But I was excited about returning "home".

I remember July 2006. Realizing I was ready for marriage.

I remember April 2007. Buying a house.

I remember February 2008. The happiest day of my life.

I remember June 2009 sitting at my favorite Orlando park with an amazing guy.

I was realizing I could be happy, again.

My heart was starting to go pitter patter, again.

So why in 2010, I am so afraid of forgetting.

I will not forget you, Roger. I must remember that I will not forget.

I do not have to try to remember these other moments.

They are all there.

And if I do forget some small details, it is okay.

It is okay to forget.

It does not mean I do not love you.

It does not mean we were not real.

It does not mean you were not special.

A Good Fighter

I was a commitment phobe to say the least when I first met Roger.

And well into our dating.

And when I felt the two of us getting really close, I would pick a fight.

Over something super stupid.

Just to put something between us.

I did it a few times.

It was really mature of me...

One particular time, I cannot even remember what it was over, I just got up after having some heated discussions back and forth.

I grabbed my stuff and my keys and stormed out the door of his house.

I looked back as I was headed toward my car and Roger was just standing there watching me.

With these really soulful eyes knowing what was really happening in my head.

He gently asked me not to leave and come back inside.

But I was stubborn.

With tears streaming down my face I left him standing there.

I cried the entire way home back to my apartment.

I walked into my dark bedroom and crashed into my bed.

But I could not sleep of course.

Roger waited for me to make the next move.

And there was no way I could wait till morning.

So I called him.

I cannot remember what we exactly said to each other but I apologized for leaving like that.

And he understood.

Like always.

He was so patient with me.

As I came to terms with how much I loved him.

As I came to terms with the idea of being married to him.

He kept loving me.

With all my silly flaws and quirks.

He loved me.

It was the greatest feeling.

I miss him so much.

My best friend.

My helper.

The one who made me better.

Our First and My Birthday

When Roger and I first met, it was two days before my twenty-fifth birthday.

But I already had plans.

Plans with another guy that I had just realized I liked.

And as many people know, right after that first meeting with Roger, I emailed Roger that I wanted to be "just friends".

It was a blow off and I figured I would never see Roger again.

Roger took it to heart and tried to be my friend.

"Just friends." Ha. Ha. Ha.

So a year later, we were dating.

Actually a little more than dating.

Roger had been threatening to propose since February 2006.

Yes, only about three months after we were officially dating.

I kept telling him not yet.

I was not sure I wanted to marry him.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

About seven weeks before our year meeting anniversary, I had given Roger permission to propose to me.

After a vacation together.

After I realized I had a pretty good traveling partner.

To celebrate our first anniversary of meeting each other and my birthday, we got a hotel at Disney World.

We stayed at one of the nicer resorts since we had a discount.

First thing we did was check out the pool.

And like mature adults, both of us became excited at the pool.

It had a water slide.

We quickly put on our swim suits.

Along with our eight year old counterparts, we ran up to the slide to wait our turn.

With huge smiles, we splashed into the pool.

Again. Again. And again.

It was quite humorous I am sure for the parents watching two grown adults running toward the slide along with their kids.

Waiting our turn.

And coming down as fast as we could.

Roger had the biggest smile plastered to his face.

It was so cute.

I was so proud.

It was a fantastic weekend.

He was my best friend.

More than just friends.

And there was no one I would have wanted to spend the day with.

Especially my birthday.

It was after that moment, I knew I wanted for sure to marry him.

Without a doubt.

So Stinky

Roger worked out a lot.

At least three times a week and sometimes up to five.

And with that he sweat.

And sweat. And sweat.

When he got home, his clothes would be completely soaked.

Which was fine.

We eventually came to a solution which I documented a while back.

But before that.

Before we moved into together, it was a bit of a problem.

Specifically for his love seat.

The way his family room was set up the love seat faced the television.

Roger loved watching television.

So he pretty much always sat there.

And he always sat on the left side of that love seat.

And he always sat there right after coming home from the gym.

In his sweaty clothes.

His stinky sweaty soaked clothes.

When I would come over, I sat on the right.

Eventually I started to smell something.

"Dear, what is that smell? It smells awful."

"I dunno."

I started to investigate.

It was the love seat.

It completely reeked.

I tried to clean it.

I tried to Febreeze it.

And the smell would go away.

At least for a while.

But then it would come back.

After I moved in, I insisted that we donate the love seat.

I had one and we did not need two.

Thankfully Roger agreed.

Then we came up with the naked solution...

A much better solution than a stinky love seat.

"Bringing Up Memories"

I hate this statement.

Hate. HATE. HATE!!!

It makes me think that my "memories" are not always in my mind.

That my thoughts of Roger are far away.

That widows/widowers ever can push their dead spouse "down" somewhere.

Unfortunately/fortunately some part of Roger is in my mind every day and almost every minute.

I cannot escape thoughts of Roger, our friendship, our dating history, our wedding, our marriage, the accident, and/or his death.

Nor do I want to.

I want to remember everything forever.

Someone was recently talking to me about New Years Eve.

I mentioned how I am not looking forward to it.

How I do not do well with that holiday.

And especially this one.

When they responded with the comment, "I am sorry to bring up memories."

Followed by complete silence on their part.

No, time does not heal this.

Not at all.

If I can "preach" anything to anyone, it is this:

In time, I am learning to cope.

In time, I am learning to live.

In time, I am learning to have hope.

In time, I am learning to keep moving forward.

But time does not make me heal.

The wounds are still very real.

So when I talk about Roger or our life or anything.

It is not bringing anything "up".

It is just me letting a person inside my head.

Inside my thoughts.

And the best feeling is when others think of him and bring him up.

Absolutely the best.

Rant over...

Wind chimes

I hate wind chimes.

Cannot stand them.

But Roger loved them.

Not sure why.

We had no less than five hanging on the patio.

Ding ding ding every time the windows were open.

Oh my, how annoying!

During this year's July 4th party, I had a friend take them down to put up the decorations.

The wind chimes stayed down on the ground.

Just laying on the patio.

I could not seem to put them away or put them back up.

But every time I went out to the patio, I saw them staring at me.

In October, when I removed the July 4th decorations, I did not put the wind chimes back up.

Yes, in October.

But then earlier this month, I started spring cleaning.

Yes, spring cleaning, a little late.

I decided to have a yard sale soon and I am going to be selling some things.

Including the stupid wind chimes.

When I went to gather them up, I saw one that reminds me so much of Roger.

One he bought at a local grocery store years ago.

When we moved to this house, Roger took down all his wind chimes at the old house.

And he told me about this particular one.

It has a cardinal on top.

And sunflowers hanging down.

He told me of how when he bought it.

How it reminded him of his dad.

As he removed it from the ceiling, all the pieces fell off.

The twine had rotted.

Roger said we could throw it away.

One less wind chime.

Yay.

I hate wind chimes.

But I knew Roger wanted to keep this wind chime.

So I went to the garage and gathered some fishing line.

I took all the pieces and reconstructed it.

Roger had this huge smile on his face.

So the other day as I put the others in the yard sale pile.

But I could not get rid of the cardinal one.

It had to go back up.

Mr. X went and got the ladder.

He put it back up for me.

The windows have been open the last couple of days.

In this lovely Florida winter weather, I hear the ding ding.

And it makes me smile.

Old Tradition On Hold, New One Begins

For many years, I have sent Christmas cards.

Probably since I moved out of my mom's house.

I loved it.

I felt like an adult.

I tried to include a personal note in each one.

It took me hours.

And I sent tons.

Usually about fifty.

Sometimes a hundred.

Roger and I started sending them together right after we were engaged.

Or rather, I started sending them for us to both our friends and family.

Roger probably did not really care that I did them or did not.

I even sent some last year.

A postcard style.

I adore postcards so it made since.

It was also as a thank you to those who had supported me.

But this year... I just cannot do it.

I cannot bear the thought of doing Christmas cards alone.

The thought actually makes me queasy.

We never did our married Christmas card.

Never a card as Mr. and Mrs.

Never a card with our favorite wedding photo and a "Happy Holidays from both of us."

So for now, Christmas cards are on hold.

I hope all my friends, family, and everyone else who receives a card normally from me understands.

I do still enjoy receiving them.

This year I did start a new tradition however.

One that a friend sort of started for me last year.

I doubt she even realizes it.

She bought me two Christmas ornaments.

Superman's outfit on a small hanger along with wonder woman's.

It represented the year for me.

Roger was a super hero to me and to others.

And I had survived-a wonder woman if I do not say so myself.

So this year, I decided, I wanted a new ornament to represent 2009 to me.

Something that encompassed everything.

My feelings and everything that had happened.

I found the perfect one.

An angel holding a small silver heart above her head.

At the bottom of her dress, the cursive word "Hope".

Hope is my word of the year.

It keeps driving me forward.

Hope for the future.

Hope for pure happiness to come again.

So for now, Christmas card tradition is hold for me.

But I think I like this new one.

Mi Familia

The very first time I ever met Roger's mom, she called me her other daughter.

And every time she has introduced me after that, she said the same.

In her cute accent and a smile, "This is my other daughter."

Roger's entire family has always accepted me as one of their own.

As their cousin.

Their niece.

Their sister.

Their daughter.

When I learned I was losing Roger, one of my next biggest fear was losing them.

Losing this new found family that was close and fun.

People who loved each other.

People who celebrated each other.

People who were by each others side.

Even mine as Roger lay in his hospital bed those last six days.

The tears fell at the thought of how they were going to hate me.

Blame me.

How I would never see them again.

I did not want to lose them too.

And fifteen months after losing him, thankfully I still have mi familia.

About the only thing I can be grateful for right now during really hard grief this month.

They still care about me.

They still love me.

I am still their cousin, niece, sister, and daughter.

Thursday was the first Thanksgiving I have celebrated in Miami.

Like I mentioned, Roger and I normally celebrated in Orlando.

And in the prayer said before dinner, Roger's godmother said something that almost made me lose my already shaky composure.

She said she was thankful for me.

Thankful that I was still here.

The thing is I am not going anywhere.

This is mi familia.

These are my people.

One of Roger's final gifts to me.

A gift that keeps giving.

I love these people so much.

I am so thankful they are still here.

That I am still invited.

That I am still loved.

My biggest prayer is that as my life moves forward, mi familia will also love who I love.

I pray my children will have their Cuban primos, tios, tias, and of course an abuela.

So to my big Cuban family, please still be here.

Please stay here.

Please celebrate with me.

Please mourn with me.

Please continue to love me.

Without you (along with others), I would not still be here.

Traditions

When I was a little girl, Thanksgiving was celebrated at my grandparents house.

Then my grandparents started to die off.

And so did Thanksgiving traditions.

Then I moved away, and Thanksgiving had even less tradition for me.

I celebrated with various people through the years.

Chicago, New York, Orlando.

But I rarely went back home.

When Roger and I started officially dated, it was only a few weeks before Thanksgiving.

Although we called each other, I celebrated with an old friend from New York and her family in West Florida.

Roger celebrated with his sister and mom here in Orlando.

That was their tradition.

His mom and sister would travel to Orlando.

Roger would make the turkey.

Other people from his family would come to his house.

He was the tradition for Thanksgiving.

By the following Thanksgiving, we were engaged.

Roger cooked the turkey.

I helped with the sides.

I was excited.

It was time for a new tradition.

Thanksgiving was ours.

I was happy.

It felt perfect.

The following year, Thanksgiving 2007, I bought the roasting pan for the turkey.

I convinced Roger it was a good investment.

Instead of buying the disposable aluminum turkey pans, we would have a real pan.

It was on sale and in seven to eight Thanksgivings it would have paid for itself.

We were being green.

We had his cousin and his wife over for Thanksgiving.

And their four girls.

And Roger's sister and his mom.

And Roger and me.

In the new house.

Roger's mom prayed for little pitter patter of feet.

Not just of the cats.

But Thanksgiving is not at my house anymore.

Not last year.

Not this year.

The pan was used just the one time.

One fucking time.

No one comes to my house for Thanksgiving anymore.

I had a Thanksgiving tradition.

Had.

Now I am back to being a nomad.

Trying to figure out where I will be for this holiday.

Or the next.

Trying to find my place again.

I feel tradition-less again.

Crap...

Halloween

Halloween is on Saturday.

Three years ago on Halloween, Roger and I got engaged.

So much has changed in those three years.

We moved in together.

We bought a house.

We became landlords.

Roger got a passport.

We got married.

Roger died.

It amazes me even how much I have changed too.

And now how different my life is.

I am single again.

Not working.

In school full-time.

And dating a wonderful guy - Mr. X.

But not with Roger which seems odd for only being engaged three years ago.

I am having our-turned-my annual Halloween party this weekend.

Once again without Roger.

Once again with the amazing support of many friends.

The weird thing is I am reusing an old costume.

The same costume I wore the day I got engaged.

I did not really think about it till today when I pulled it into the house for it to get a makeover.

A lot like me.

Same bones. New girl.

Now as long as I can put on my party face instead of the way I feel at this moment, that will be good.

I will try.

I will put on a mask and try.

A Small Gain

The other day I lost some IMs.

It was devastating.

I was heartbroken.

I accepted the loss.

Last night I was doing my dreaded alone task - the bills.

I remembered I also wanted to send a card to a friend for her birthday.

"Where is her address? Oh, I have it in the wedding guest list spreadsheet."

I plugged in an external hard drive.

It was not in my section so I went to Roger's section.

I found the spreadsheet.

I found the address.

Instead of just finishing up my bills and starting some homework, I kept exploring the hard drive.

I opened his "TWC" section from his old work computer.

I gasped.

A folder called "IM Logs".

I quickly opened it.

A different time period than I lost.

But it was a gain.

It was something.

December 2006 to March 2007.

Right after we were engaged.

Right after I moved in with him.

Almost three years ago.

It was great to "hear" his voice.

To see our jokes.

Instead of "I love you" we said "You love me" a lot.

His "I feel much better now" after going to the bathroom.

"Pobrecita" [Poor girl] to me for everything under the sun.

His sunglassed smiley face.

Three hours later I had read all 173 pages.

I gained something else too.

A new prospective.

On me.

Wow.

I have changed. Thankfully.

I am such a different person.

Every part of in my life was shifting.

I was engaged.

I was moving in with a boy.

And I was freaking out. At everything.

Man, Roger was so very patient.

So very very patient.

Thankfully.

I also read his IMs to other people.

I felt a little bad invading his privacy but I just could not get enough of his "voice".

I needed to "hear" him.

Thank you, dear, for being so patient with me.

I know I have said it before, but thank you for helping me.

Thank you for fixing me.

Thank you for your numerous gifts before and after your death.

I love you.

But This is the Second One...

WARNING: I AM RAMBLING AND VENTING...

I had my first birthday without Roger a mere six weeks after he passed away.

I went to dinner with friends.

I was sad.

And as a small birthday dessert was brought to me near the end of my day tears filled my eyes.

But it was not as bad as I thought it would be.

Like I would learn about most holidays and anniversaries and birthdays (except the one year death anniversary), it was mild.

Tolerable.

Survivable.

This year is my second birthday without him.

And for some reason it is blowing.

I feel severely grumpy.

I am not sleeping.

And I just am very sad about this one.

Grief is starting to put his hands around my neck to suffocate me.

I am not sure why I am so sad.

And depressed.

I feel really stressed about it.

About the week.

About school.

About my birthday.

I feel like it will not be my birthday.

It is not the same.

So I just want to skip it and postpone it till next week.

When less things are going on.

And then I was pushed more into my slight depression by a couple of comments over the weekend.

The main one was during a conversation about how people only associate with people who are in the same stage of life as themselves.

So married people hang out with other married people.

Single people hang out with other single people.

And people with children hang out with other people with children.

But I am not really in any of those categories.

My single friends still associate me as being married.

My married friends associate me with being single.

And of course I have no kids to be with the people with kids group.

And I am really starting to feel it.

Yes, I have Mr. X so you would think people would invite me to things that other couples are invited to but that is not really the case.

Maybe they don't like Mr. X?

And my single friends do not seem to invite me to things either.

Why? I am not sure.

So I am in this sort of limbo state.

And I suddenly feel very alone.

People do not know where to categorize me.

And it hurts.

It hurts to think people will move on with their lives.

Moving into a new stage without me.

Yeah, grief sucks...

And it is sucking the life out of my birthday...

And I am so not looking forward to this birthday.

Without him.

The Unattainable Promise

This is a bit of a repeat.

But I am still struggling with it.

A lot.

Especially lately, again.

So I am blogging about it.

Again.

Roger used to promise me he would never leave me.

I would have some wacked dreams about losing him.

I would not be able to find him.

He would be missing.

Gone.

Maybe in a forrest.

Maybe in a maze.

I would wake up in a panic.

I would find him in bed and slip over next to him.

Touch him.

Hold him.

Make sure he was still there.

And sometimes I would tease him in the morning when I woke up with stories about how he was leaving me.

During day light hours, I would tease him when he left to go to the gym or to the grocery store or wherever.

"Don't leave me!" I would playfully pout.

"I would never leave you."

And he meant it.

I know he would not have chosen to leave me.

But then he did.

He left me.

He died.

Lately, Mr. X started making this promise.

Promising me he will not leave me.

Without me provoking him.

Maybe he can promise not to break up with me.

Maybe he can promise not to decidedly not leave me.

But he cannot promise me he will never leave me.

He cannot promise he will never die.

Because one thing is for sure.

Everyone dies.

Everyone breaks that promise.

Everyone.

Overwhelmed

Maybe it is the fact my house feels untidy.

Maybe it is the fact I need to clean the fence.

Maybe it is the fact I need to powerwash the patio.

Maybe it is the fact I need to laundry.

And buy groceries.

And call an electrician.

And clean the gutters.

And call my health insurance people.

And read about ten chapters for school.

And work on a team project.

And find a new landscaper.

And pay some bills.

And take the cats to the vet.

And get ready for a 5K when my ankle still hurts.

And...

Top that with some grief bubbling up.

And all that leads to I am overwhelmed.

Very overwhelmed.

And I feel sort of trapped by it.

Like there is just so much to do and no way for me to get it all done.

Alone.

There is not anyone to really help me unless I ask them for help.

And yes, people will help me get caught up but then it will just happen again.

And yes, people offer all the time but I do not want to inconvenience them.

I still hate asking for favors.

I still hate feeling like I need help.

And I hate this feeling that I do not have my partner.

No one to truly help me get through all the "lovely" activities in maintaining a home and living life.

Someone to even vent to.

Or just pick up where I leave off.

And yes, Mr. X has offered but that is not fair to him either.

Why should he have to help me?

And a lot of people feel like their duty is off.

[Not everyone let me point out. I still have an amazing support system.]

I made it through a year.

So I must be okay now, right?

Wrong.

I am not "okay" yet.

I am not sure if I will ever be okay 100% of the time again.

At least not anytime soon.

It seems like lately I have done a lot more thinking.

Remembering stories.

Going back over the accident in my head.

I am not crying too much about it.

Just thinking.

Maybe because my birthday is coming up?

And I know there will not be a birthday present from Roger posthumously like last year.

And our first date anniversary is two weeks.

Ugh...

So here I am.

Being overwhelmed...

Very overwhelmed.

The Virtual World

The other day I found this article about the virtual world.

And what happens to our virtual lives after we die.

Or really what does not happen to our virtual lives after we die.

Roger was always online.

But usually just on email and IM.

It was a nice part of our relationship actually.

I still cherish the emails and IMs.

Roger never had a facebook.

And he only had myspace after I finally convinced him to join.

He was excited about it for about a month.

Then he was bored with it.

He barely updated it.

I had to remind him to update his relationship status after we were engaged and then after we were married.

I was able to break into his main email account.

Which I plan to keep for a while.

And his myspace.

But not his AOL email.

And now a year after his death, I am not sure what to do about the myspace.

Sometimes I log into it.

Look at his wall.

See if anyone has sent him a message.

But now...

It has been over a year.

What do I do with it now?

Do I keep it up?

For how long?

A part of me thinks it might be creepy for others to still be his online friend.

I know I feel weird when I have to forward something from his email to mine.

But then it feels so final for me to take it down.

So much like the last step.

Like he is really really gone.

And then part of me feels like what if someone wants to know.

Some ex-girlfriend or high school classmate.

It gives me a way to explain to them.

A way without having to actually talk to them.

Or say the actual words.

But I know, if I am honest with myself, it is really the first reason.

It is the finality.

It is the closing of a part of him.

A part of his life.

He still exists on some level if he is on myspace.

His virtual life.

When does he die virtually?

The Tiger

Roger had two tattoos.

One on each of his upper arms.

One was a lion.

One was a tiger.

Roger was a leo astrology-wise and loved big cats.

The lion tattoo was really cool.

It was his first one.

The detail was amazing.

The tiger one was okay.

Not great.

The detail was blah.

The color was starting to fade.

Now, Roger and I saw a lot of movies together.

We lived fairly close and I have always enjoyed going to the movie theatre.

And in late 2007/early 2008, we saw the preview for "10000 BC".

For a few short seconds, we saw the face of a sabertooth tiger.

Roger shot me a look.

"What?" I whispered.

"I like that!"

The next morning Roger explained that he wanted to modify his tiger tattoo.

"To?"

"I want it to look more like that sabertooth tiger."

"Okay. Whatever you want dear."

So he found the image he liked and I found a black sharpie marker.

We marked up his arm in how the existing tiger could be made into this new cooler tiger.

Roger was excited.

He put his shirt back on.

Side note:

Roger and I had an agreement before our honeymoon.

A bit of a compromise.

Roger wanted us to get a tetanus shot in case of injury in St. Lucia.

And I wanted us to get a flu shot before the wedding.

So I got my tetanus shot.

And...

Later this day, Roger and I were on our way out to run some errands.

We passed the minute clinic at our local CVS.

"Hey, we should go get your flu shot," I suggested.

"Okay."

We happily trotted into the CVS.

Headed toward the back.

We sat down into the waiting area to be seen.

I went into the exam room with Roger.

Roger explained our compromise to the nurse.

She smiled at us and our excitement about our wedding and honeymoon.

The nurse raised Roger's sleeve.

She gave us a strange look.

She started to smile and tried not to laugh.

I started to laugh.

It hit me why she was smiling.

There still on his upper arm where my black markings making his existing tattoo into a sabertooth tiger.

She did not say much but I could see Roger's silly mischievous smile appear.

I wonder what that nurse thought of us.

I wonder what she thought of this strange couple.

Roger and I laughed in the car at ourselves.

The tiger never had the chance to be modified...

No More Guilt

A couple of months ago, I wrote about the first birthday.

I decided then to go to the Paradise Island, Bahamas for his birthday.

Specifically to Atlantis.

I was feeling a lot of guilt about not going to Atlantis for our honeymoon.

A lot of guilt.

I felt like I had robbed Roger of his ideal honeymoon.

I felt like I had robbed him of something he really looked forward to doing for a long time.

I felt like a horrible wife.

A bridezilla who wanted her way.

And yes, I know I was not any of those things.

But the guilt was very heavy.

Now I feel a bit absolved from that guilt.

At least that one.

I know now Atlantis was not the "perfect" honeymoon spot.

It was not our perfect honeymoon spot.

There were kids.

There were families.

There were teens and babies.

It was expensive.

It had bad service.

It had mediocre food.

I would have been disappointed.

(And I was a bit disappointed.)

Roger would have had to dealt with my disappointment.

And I would have probably felt an even crazier guilt.

And maybe even some regret that we went to Atlantis had a bad time and did not get to have a perfect honeymoon.

But our honeymoon was nice.

It was more than nice.

It was perfect for us.

It was relaxing.

It was romantic.

It was the Caribbean.

And it was far away.

Now, the birthday weekend itself was exactly what I needed.

I accomplished a set of goals for the weekend.

First, it was relaxing.

The water was great.

The pools were nice.

The sun was awesome.

My travel partner, my twin, Nicolle, was great.

We celebrated our husbands.

We celebrated our accomplishments over the last month or so.

Second, I took on the water slides.

This was one of the primary reasons Roger wanted to go here.

The boy loved water slides.

It had one of the largest water slides (in the Caribbean?).

It is called the Leap of Faith, a seven story plunge into a shark infested pool (riders are not in the pool but go through the pool in a safe acrylic tube).

And both Nicolle and I took our turns down the slide.

Yes, we screamed but if we can survive this "situation", we could and did survive a measly water slide.

And like most of the holidays and anniversaries I have experienced thus far, it was not as bad as I expected.

I am starting to learn this lesson slowly.

It is the before and after that sucks the breathe away.

I only cried once during the actual birthday.

I thought a lot.

I remembered a lot.

I walked down memory lane a lot.

Nicolle and I asked each other silly questions.

We compared notes on dating, wedding planning, (short) marriages, and widow-ness.

In that way, it was a great vacation.

In most ways, it was a great vacation.

It was what I needed.

It did answer a lot of questions.

And thankfully, no more guilt.