Sigh...

Sleep has been escaping me the last few days.

And this year it is not due to the first days of school.

So I am grumpy.

And tired. 

A few nights ago, I had a somewhat disturbing dream.

Part of the dream I have about every other month.

I will describe that part of the dream first.

When I first moved out of my parents' house, I moved in with my boyfriend of the time.

One time, and only one time, when we broke up, I moved back home.

For about forty-eight hours. 

It was not a terrible experience.

But some reason, I am terrified the possibility of this occurring again.

T.E.R.R.I.F.I.E.D.

So I dream of it.

At least every other month and, in the dream, for a weird variety of reasons.

I wake up immediately and I am relieved that I am actually at my own place.

And I do not need to move back home.

Or pack.

Or find a new place to live.

Well, a few nights ago, I dreamt I had to move home again.

But this time it was because Roger and I were getting divorced.

I was so upset because it was my second marriage. 

I have no idea who I married the first time.

My sister was living at home too. 

We were back to sharing a room.

She was helping me pack. 

Also, I can never find all my stuff during this reoccurring dream. 

Which is frustrating as hell.

In this particular dream, another ex-boyfriend of mine was helping me find a new place.

It was very strange but Roger was alive.

And he looked good but he would not talk to me.

I woke up in a panic.

Then last night I could not help but think of the shirt Roger wore August 21, 2008.

I still have it.

It hangs in my closet.

I have never worn it.

Although it has been washed once.

After he died. Boo on me.

I remember him coming home from the rental house.

It had been pouring from Tropical Storm Fay.

I had just straightened my hair chemically for the first time.

I remember where I was sitting on the sofa.

I remember Roger just standing there. After driving in pouring rain.

He was frustrated with driving.

I smiled at him. Trying to get him to notice my new hair.

Less than ten hours later.

My heartache begin.

And prayers went unanswered.

Twenty One

In my class, I have been teaching about mechanical interactions.
Things like friction and drag.
And the perfect example of drag is, of course, skydiving.

When I was fifteen or so, I made a promise to myself and my high school best friend that we would go bungee jumping before sixteen and skydiving before twenty-one.
We went bungee jumping in Gatlinburg, Tennessee the summer before I turned sixteen.
Five years later, my twenty-first birthday was creeping up.
So I decided since my twenty-first birthday was on a boring ol' Monday, I would go skydiving the weekend before.
I found some friends who said they would go.
We went to the place, signed the paper work, watched the safety video, but weather was a no go.

My actual birthday, I went to class like a good girl and on my way home noticed the weather looked like perfect skydiving weather.
And in a time before cell phones were flooding our pockets, I drove home to call Skydive Deland.
I got home and the light was blinking.
They had left a message on my answering machine.
I called my friend but she was too busy spending time with her boyfriend.

So I rushed over, alone.
My adrenaline was pumping.
My eyes were big.
I could not quit smiling.
Life was good.
Twenty-one was good.

Of course, I bought the VHS tape of my jump but I have not watched it in years due to the fact it is VHS.
My homeroom (reading) class, who is also in my science classes, were amazed I had been skydiving and asked to watch the video.
And since Fridays are generally more relaxed and my classroom has a tape player, I brought in the video.

Wow.
Twenty-one year old me.  I have not seen you in so long.
You did not even know that your next birthday would be spent living in New York City.
You had not even fell in love yet. Even though you had a long term boyfriend before this time.
That would happen for the first time later that month.
You had not even traveled to far off places and did not even have a passport.
You had no idea what life would hold for you.
You were mature but yet life was full of surprises still.
Your friend Tom will still be your friend.
You will be a teacher in about ten years.

And you will lose so much.
You will hurt and bleed. And you will scar.
You will be in a serious accident where the unbelievable comes true.
You will be your happiest and your lowest all in six months time.
And you will jump again.

A Different Kind of Grief

I always think holidays are going to get better.
And in ways they do.
Of course, thoughts of Roger increase this time of year.
Missing him increases.
Especially with a new year approaching. A different year number.
It is quite a concrete reminder of exactly how far away Roger's physical existence is in my life.

And this year I have some new types of grief.
Like the loss of friends.

And I keep thinking about the loss of this particular "best friend".
Like always, hindsight is 20/20.
I keep slapping myself for being so naive.
So gullible. So believing. So stupid.
I should have seen it coming.
I should have seen the red flags over the last year.

We were supposed to be pregnant together.
And as your "best friend" you did not tell me when you changed your mind.
As someone who spent afternoons at your house sharing my life and trying to be the best friend I could be, you waited to tell me in a group of people that you were more than three months along.
And although I was very excited and happy for you, after a little digestion of the new information I kept thinking of how it should have been me.
If Roger had not died.
I did not know I would have this reaction.
I did not even see it coming till it was sitting on my lap in a group of eight people and I swallowed my grief for you.
But you said you knew my reaction would happen.
A best friend would have told me alone.
On one of the countless afternoons at your house.
But you didn't.

You were the one who gave me the title of best friend.
Yet not a single picture of you and me in your house.
Red f-ing flag.

The next red flag was at my graduation party.
My emotions were running high.  I needed you.
I graduated.
In the same room as Roger.
Because Roger died.
Because I could afford to go to school full time.
Because Roger was not there.
You offered your help.
I accepted. Stupid me.
Then you came five minutes before other guests.
Without helping at all.
You barely even spoke with me.
But again I forgave you.
I was the fool once more.

Giving you all I could for your baby shower.
The cake you wanted.
Driving four hours to be with you.
To celebrate you.
And trying to shower you with gifts to show how much I cared.
Stupid, stupid me.

Red flag again when picking out dresses for my wedding.
You could not leave me fast enough.
And when I mentioned coming to help you in your nursery.
I sensed the hostility.
But I ignored it.
Ignored the red flag flying in my face.
I ignored the sirens going off in my head.

Then to find out you did not want me at the hospital when your baby was born.
Or when complications arose.
To find out in a mass email message when others knew the day before.
What a shock to the system.

Then the email came.
All the hurtful things that were said to me.
To know that I was not loved.

What a fool I am.
What a stupid fool I am.
No more. No more.
But I still grieve.

Maybe...

Maybe it is the time of year.
All the holidays and memories.
Or lack there of.

Maybe it is the fact I drove to Miami.
By myself.

Maybe it is job stress.
Friend stress.
Wedding stress.
Second job stress.

But you have been on my mind.
I love looking at old pictures of you.
The ones of you before I met you.
Of you as a child.

Driving to work this week, I had disbelief battles again.
You didn't really die.
Just can't be real.
I saw you die but it just cannot have happened.
To you.
To me.
To us.
To everything.

I so miss you.
I wish I could talk to you.
I wish I could hear your voice.

August

Well, despite my best efforts and crankiness.
Despite all my wishing it would not happen.
August is here.

This August is even a bigger deal for me.
On Sunday, Roger would be thirty-seven.
Thirty-seven years old!
It is so hard to fathom him so old.
Ironically, since he will never be actually.
I could not believe he was thirty-four when he died.
I wonder what he would look like now.
My plan for Sunday is to bake a cake for him.
With layers.
And probably chocolate.

Although I have been working like mad in my own classroom,
I am not officially employed until August 15th.
And I have been mostly unemployed since August of 2008.
Three years of not really having a boss, except for me.
Being only responsible to myself to go to school and do my best [4.0 GPA with three certifications might I add].
To create my own photography business.
But now I will have many bosses, responsibilities, and obligations.
I am nervous.
Mr. X says I am stressed.
He is probably right.
I like being good at a job.
I like being perfect at a job.

Then, the 28th...
Three years since he left.
Since he fucking died and left me.
It is still hard for me to believe.
Still moments where I have to pinch myself.
And pinch Mr. X.
Moments where I cannot believe he actually died and did not just leave me.
Moments where I cannot believe I can feel happiness again.

Gladly, August is only thirty-one days.
Thirty-one long days.

Forgetting

My dad & me - Easter 1981

Maybe I needed a new dose of grief to remind me of how far I have come in the last 2.5 years.
I am mostly okay during the day.
I can get through life and joke and smile.
I can do the tasks I need to do.
Much different than the first week with Roger's death of course.
But my dad was not part of my everyday routine.

It is at night.
When the world starts to shut down.
It is when I am not busy.
It is when I pass by the picture of my dad holding me as a baby that has been in my kitchen for a while now.
I was about six and half months old and my dad was about to turn twenty-two.
In this picture, like in most of my memories, my dad is smiling.  Maybe even laughing.
I can still hear his laugh almost giggle.

On Tuesday, I just wanted to call my dad.
Tell him this horrible nightmare I had.
He would tell me I was being silly.
Nothing like that would ever happen.
But it did.
A week ago today.
Three Kings Day will never be the same for me.
The official end of the Christmas season will always be a bit tainted.
Sigh...

Thirty

My daddy and me - May 2007

A few weeks ago when I was re-learning earth science for one of my certifications, I learned this term called constructive interference.

Basically, it is when two similar waves are in the same medium the waves combine into a bigger wave.

On Thursday afternoon, a new wave came.

My dad unexpectedly passed away.

I have been debating whether to write how he died but since this grief is a bit different, I will reveal.

Thursday morning, my dad committed suicide.  

He was not old.

He was not sick.

He was not in an accident.

He decided for himself the day he would die.

It was selfish and I am angry.

But I am also very very sad.

It is very unlike him.

I have other family members who threaten suicide like they are ordering dinner.  

But not my daddy.

Nope. 

He was happy go lucky.

He was always smiling and laughing.  

We did not have the closest relationship.

My parents separated and later divorced when I was four.  

It was a tremulous divorce to say the least.

My mother hated my father and she was not afraid to tell us.  

But when I was in my early twenties I realized it was not him.  

He did love me.  He did care about what I did.

I could call him and truly talk to him.  Not just a surface conversation.

The day I changed my last name.  I called my daddy.  

When Roger died, my daddy drove from Virginia to Florida to help me.  To be with me.

He was himself and talked with my friends.

He helped clean out my garage and organize Roger's tools.  

My daddy and I look alike.

We act alike.  

I am my father's daughter. Proudly.

When I look in the mirror, I see my daddy.  I have for years.

But now it is painful.

I forgot how all of this feels in the beginning.

How my body is heavier.

How I just feel low and blue.

How my attention starts to drift after just a few minutes.  

I thought I was feeling a bit better until I came back to my home in Florida.

Back to reality.

For the first time since Thursday afternoon, I am alone.

And I certainly feel it.  

I know this will be different. 

My daddy was not a part of my everyday life.  However, my heart is still broken.

I feel even more of every feeling for his wife.

I hate she has to start on this journey.  

Join the club no one wants to join.

I wondered how old I would be when one of my parents passed away.
Thirty.

Out With the Old & In With the New

Like a good blogger and a reflective person, here is my 2010 to 2011 post.
Yes, three or four days late depending on the count.

First, 2010.
Wow, I am glad another year is down honestly.
Finally I feel like it is okay to be happy.
Outsiders surely expect me to be by this point.
Most days, I do.
I see myself laughing.
Smiling at old memories.
And at times when I do cry, I am better at giving myself a break.
I feel more accepting of my life and myself for the most part.
There are still moments of complete disbelief but as I understand, that will always happen.
That's the way the human brain works fortunately/unfortunately.

2010 was good to me.
The business is up and running.  It is going fairly well with more and more strangers contacting me for sessions.
I entered my third decade on earth with friends and family with a surprise party.
Mr. X and I became more serious.
As far as education goes, I passed several certification tests and have only one semester left.
The holidays this year were not as bad as they have been with almost a touch of Christmas spirit I have not felt in years.
As a present for myself and increasing my home value a little, the patio was screened in.

For this new year, I feel like one of my major life goals will finally be complete.
I will finish my degree in May.
I am slightly disappointed that it has taken me thirteen years to get a bachelors but I am glad to finally be getting my piece of paper.
January is already looking like a good photography month with seven sessions so far.
I am going to start advertising this year with a few ads placed in local publications.
And as I mentioned in my resolution post, I will love me.

Since I love lists.
What I will do to love me:
1.  Lately, I have not cared so much about my appearance.  Apathy was the name of the game most of the time.  However, I do not want to be so apathetic.  Yes, my appearance does not define me but I will care more.
2.  Like most (maybe all) people, I want to lose some weight.  But in a healthy way.  Not a fad diet or magic potion, but I want to start exercising more.  I want to run again.  My daily schedule should be more stable so I can stick to this better.  Maybe even complete a new 5K this year.
3.  I will accept me for who I am.  Not what my friends expect themselves to be.  I will grade myself on my own standards, not theirs.  Isn't this what the 30s are suppose to be about?
4.  I will try harder to stick to my budget but not hate myself for going over.  I have done extremely well for not working.

Here is twenty-eleven.  May it be exactly what I need.

My Holiday Check-in

You can't see it but there is a superman underneath the white shirt.

I almost feel like I owe a posting about how I am doing this season.
"All widows & widowers report your status please."
So here it goes...

Putting up the Christmas tree was hard this year.
About half my Christmas ornaments are from Roger.
So the process of decorating the tree was pinged with a bit of sadness.
Scoobie Doo. Coke bears. The Hulk. Clark Kent outfit.
I tried hard to be happy for Mr. X as he adores Christmas.
But Christmas has never been a great holiday for me.
I think my growing up beat it out of me.
My mother was hardcore about decorating.
Starting immediately after Thanksgiving.
Christmas threw up everywhere on everything.

Then I was in choir from the fourth grade through the twelve.
We sang Christmas carols and inspired music from August till January.
Needless to say, I had enough Christmas for almost a lifetime.
Then throw the dead husband thing on top and I could almost not have Christmas and be okay.

But after that small emotional incident with the tree, I have not felt overly sad.
A few good happy memories have found their place in my head.
Not necessarily Christmas oriented but it has been nice to smile instead of cry.

But I have also been busy.
The semester ended last week and getting there was a challenge.
I took a required state exam yesterday which meant I was studying a lot.
[I passed by the way.]
Not to mention Lil Paperia photo shoots and shopping for gifts.

I do wonder how the actual day will be.
And New Year's Eve.
It is always hard for me to enter into a new year.
Further and further away from 2008.

So far so good really for me.
I am in shock I feel this "good" in ways.
Parts of me thought I would never be able to enjoy the holidays again.
Alas I am.  Alas.

Surreal

Last week as I was standing in my internship classroom, I had this almost woozy feeling.
I looked around and almost had to pinch myself.
This intense feeling of surreal-ness came over me.
It was palatable.
I almost felt faint.

I could not believe for about two minutes that this is my life.
Me? Standing in a classroom?
Becoming a teacher?
How did this happen?
Is this real?
Is this the dream?

Simply three years ago I was just about to get married.
My invites were just sent and I was anxiously awaiting RSVPs.
I was working in computer software design.
Going to all day meetings about project statuses and software implementations.
If I go back a little further, ten years ago I was working as a pharmacy technician.
Working in a hospital filling IV orders and learning how to make chemotherapy.
And here I am now. Becoming a science teacher.
And now I am doing photography.

So many things have changed.
My life is no where I thought I would be.
It is a weird feeling not to be in the spot you think should be.
For life to change so quickly in so little time.

I know I am not alone in this feeling but sometimes I look at some of my friends who have been in the same job for years.
Or married to the same person for long periods of time.
Do they reflect back?
Did they think their lives would be dramatically different yet they are not changing?
Do they feel this surreal-ness?

Then I flash forward.
Where will I be in three more years?
Where will I be in ten?
I almost hope it is predictable and something like married with kids and teaching with photography on the side.
I just hope I can stop feeling like a revolving door of life.
Just a little predictability would be nice.
Just a little.

#515

I cannot think of a cohesive title for this one.
It may end up being a rambling of thoughts.
But...

I met my best friend Holly in the summer of 2007.
A year before things went down.
We met while in the midst of wedding planning.
We clicked pretty much right away.
Since we both worked in front of a computer screen, we would chat for hours as our day ticked by.
Honestly, it was one of the things that helped me get through my job.

At my wedding, she and her fabulous husband Scott helped do some of the set up.
It was part of a barter deal.  They helped us and Roger and I helped them with their set up.
She got married about three months after me.
We were all husbands and wives.
We did dinners together and hung out.
I just knew the four of us would be friends forever.
Just like the movies.

I called Holly the morning of.
One of the three people I called first.
I do not really remember my thinking but I wanted my Holly there.
And she came.
And she did not leave me for days.

Yesterday morning I logged on to my chat program to see if Holly was online.
And she was.
We chatted a few minutes.
Later in the day, I was thinking about my friendship with Holly and how thankful I am for her.
Then I realized something.
Something I knew would happen eventually.
Someone I had met after Roger was around longer than him.
Holly and I have been friends for over three years now.
And Roger and I were just short of three years together.
I know it does not seem like a big deal.
But a part of me coiled at the thought that I could know someone longer than Roger even when I met them after Roger.
Yes, I still get to know Roger third hand after his death.
But not from Roger.
It feels unnatural for this to happen.
Weird.

And I know there will be a day when I know Mr. X for longer than Roger.
Maybe this is a rehearsal for that day.

Sigh...

Strange Feeling

It is probably because I turned thirty.
It is probably just timing but... I have found myself twice feeling very out of body.

On Monday, I was sitting in class waiting for my professor to start the class.
I looked down at my left arm and looked at the scar.
Roger is dead.
I have a scar.
I just have a hard time believing that he is dead.
It does not feel so raw anymore.
The pain feels so far away (at the moment) so it does not feel real to me.
If I did not see Roger's handwriting and live in this house, I would seriously doubt it was real at all.
Except I have a scar to remind me.
From the day.
Part of me is grateful for the scar.
Part of me hates it.

Yesterday, I was standing in the classroom.
Circulating between the students helping them with the assignment.
And I could not believe I was there.
It felt strange.
Looking down at me and thinking of the past two years.
And then thinking about three years ago.
I was not even married three years ago.

I cannot even put into words how weird it feels not to have the pain so close to the surface.
I tried to explain to Mr. X last night.
I almost want to cry at times because the pain feels far away.
Almost an oxymoron.

So weird.

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.

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.

Reflecting

Last weekend as Mr. X and I paved (aka hired people) the patio in the back, he told me about his hate of the question "Where do you see yourself in five or ten years?".
He was saying how when he was eighteen or so he was asked this question quite a bit.
He was graduating from high school and all.
And it always annoyed him.
At eighteen he had no idea.
So many things were up in the air.
So many variables could change.

But he did not think he saw himself here.
He could never imagine ten years ago that he would be completing a home improvement project with his girlfriend on a house.
That he would be in school completing a degree in a program he never even thought about at eighteen.
That he would be in love with me.

And of course that conversation made me do my own reflecting.
As I sat in my class on Monday morning, I could not believe I was there.
As the class discussed various science curriculums, I was sitting in awe.
I was a full time student.
To become a teacher!
Not working (in a traditional sense).
I am not spending my Monday morning in cube land.
How incredibly weird!

I was asked Mr. X's least favorite question not too long ago.
Actually almost exactly five years go to the month.
During an interview with my previous company.
Being an education student was not my answer.
It was not even on my radar.
My answer was some mundane answer about moving up the corporate ladder world.
And maybe I did want that at some point but not now at all.

It amazes me about how much I have changed.
Perhaps through normal maturing.
Perhaps through the widowdom.
But the reflection in the mirror quite different than five years ago.
And especially ten years ago.

Two Relationships

Supa Fresh has a blog page on facebook.

She gives a thought or question of the day then asks for others' thoughts.

I sometimes respond and sometimes just read the responses.

As usual, the responses vary with each question.  

A while back she asked about our experiences with our first contact with a new dating partner.  

For myself, I have never felt guilt about being with Mr. X or the few other gentlemen I dated.  

I have never felt like I was cheating.

I have never felt like Roger was angry with me for falling in love again.  

However, recently, I have noticed perhaps why.

Not on a conscious level.  

Not often.

Not always.

Not even fifty percent of the time.

Only a very slight amount of the time, I feel like I am still in a relationship with Roger.

I have found myself doing things because Roger would want me to.  

Or because he liked a certain thing.

Or because he liked something a certain way.

For example, a few weeks ago there was a turtle in the driveway behind my house.  

I knew it was more than likely the turtle would get run over at some point during the day.

Roger loved turtles.

I love animals too but this was a turtle.

Turtles were Roger's thing more than mine

I had to save him.  

For Roger.

Mostly.

Then, a few months ago, a friend of Mr. X was splitting from his wife.  

He was setting up his own apartment and did not have much stuff.

I decided to give him a few Coke glasses and an old kitchen table of Roger's.  

A table Roger loved.

A table I did not like much.

Roger redid the seats with upholstery he picked. 

The friend got back with his wife and God only knows what he did with the table.

Or the other things.

And it makes my heart sink.

I feel like I was disappointing Roger.  

Same thing happened on Thursday morning.  

I had a lot of extra household items from Mr. X moving in.

Some his, some mine, and some Roger's.  

I called Amvets to come pick up the stuff.

This young guy came who just basically threw everything into the back of the truck.

My stomach was in a knot. 

I have to remind myself that I am not in a relationship with Roger anymore.

This does not happen often.

But just a sliver of the time.  

Just a slip into old habits, I guess.

  

Just for a moment.  

Ding Dong

Yesterday I had to go to the rental house- Roger's first house.
I have not been there in a long time.
My renters are fantastic and I rarely have to go to the property.

But starting at the exit off the highway.
Yes, the same highway the accident happened on.
The memories starting flying into my head.

The hundreds of times I drove this exact path to Roger's house.
The hundreds of times we drove this path together.

Driving into the neighborhood, it was strange.
Most things are the same but things are also different.
Trees are a bit taller and fuller.
More ducks are lining the street near the front.
The pavement has been redone recently.

As I drove down the street the house is on I wondered if anyone recognized my car.
I wondered if they recognized me.
I seriously doubt it but I still thought it.

I had the house painted last year so at least that looks different.
The big oak tree in the front though and the palm tree I could see from the master bath.
They are the same. Bigger, but the same.

Then when I rang the doorbell.
I almost for half a second expected Roger to come to the door.
I felt this sort of anticipation of seeing him.
I looked in the side window hoping to see him walking toward the door.

I remembered the times I would ring the doorbell even way after Roger gave me a key.
I did it as a joke.
Knowing he was probably under dressed.
I would see his feet first as he got close to the side window.
Then his skinny legs.
And his smile.
I would smile as he answered the door in his boxers and making sure no one else could see him.
"Why did you ring the doorbell?"
"No reason" as I just smiled.

I half expected him yesterday.
Except then I remembered this is not his house anymore.
And he does not live there anymore.

Thank you

Dear Roger,

Thank you for marrying me two years ago on this day.

Thank you for making me feel like the most special person two years ago.

I felt so beautiful.

It was the happiest day of my life.

It was worth all the drama and every dollar we spent.

I cannot believe you are not here now.

We are not planning a cool trip together.

We are not fulfilling our five-year and ten-year plans.

You are not here to see me grow.

You are not here for me to show you all the things I am doing.

My photos.

My schooling.

I miss you.

I miss you more than I can express.

I love you.

It is Coming

Whether I like it or not, February is coming.

It is inching toward me.

I am nervous.

I am nervous I will return to last February.

On the actual day, I have class and volunteer hours.

Mr. X has class most of the day.

I am normally alone on Tuesdays...

Ugh.

I'm so so nervous.

As I have mentioned it is/would have been two years.

And that feels unbelievable.

How can that be true?!

It almost feels like I am watching a forecasted hurricane.

As most Floridians know, I have no idea what "it" is going to do.

Will it hit me hard with trees blowing and heavy rain?

Will it be mostly calm and pass by uneventfully?

Will I be well prepared or caught off guard?

Do I need some extra supplies?

Just wake me up later.

Like when it is March.

Coming Home

Last night I was watching some television.

I knew in one form or another I would probably cry.

I mean, it's "Grey's Anatomy" and "Private Practice".

It is almost a given that something will make me cry.

Something happy or sad or sweet or whatever but I almost always cry.

This even occurred before "everything" happened.

Last night on "Private Practice" there was a widower.

He had just lost his wife to cancer.

He did not want to leave the hospital with his infamous plastic bag to return to their shared home.

I completely got the plastic bag thing like a knife in the leg.

Not quite completely debilitating but still painful.

I remember my own plastic bag.

All of Roger's clothing put into a simple clear plastic bag labeled "Patient's Belongings".

A person's entire life is gone and all they give you is a plastic freaking bag.

My plastic bag actually came home with me the day of the accident.

Before I knew he was going to die for sure.

(I am not sure how the things in his ICU room came home. I have absolutely no idea or remembrance of this fact. I do remember there was not a lot of paperwork at that time or anything to do which felt odd.)

It was weird returning home for me.

The house was prepared for Roger and me to be on vacation for the weekend.

The cats had extra food and water.

Things were relatively cleaned up.

It felt odd to be home so soon when I was not planning on being home until Monday.

And it almost felt like I was invading a sacred space.

A different dimension or something.

It was weird that Roger was not with me.

Holly and Scott were with me instead.

But not Roger.

I did not realize then that Roger would never come home with me again at that point.

Not in a "normal" way.

The bag was put outside on the patio.

Who put it there I am not sure.

I vaguely remember looking inside the bag.

Carefully examining the contents.

His jeans were bloody.

His shirt was missing. And that still bugs the crap out of me.

I took a shower.

One of the last places I distinctly remember Roger at in our house.

I did not have the same feeling as the character in the show.

Yes, it was a happy place for us.

We were happy at home like the character.

But it did not feel right being home without him.

It did not comfort me the way it does now.

That whole first week, it was a reminder of everything changing.

Of everything that I was about to lose.

My home was not where my heart was.

Now, home feels good.

Home is my comfort.

My security blanket even.

Sigh...