Why Five Years Was Hard

Sigh, I am so glad to see March flip onto the calendar.
February was so so.
Until about the 18th of February.
My fifth would-be wedding anniversary was quickly approaching.
And why was it so hard for me?
Oh so many reasons.

First, the anniversary was on the same day of the week, Saturday.
With each passing day, I could remember
On this day, we did x.
On this day, we did y.
It was too eerie.
I felt like the days just ticked by and the memories flooded.

Second, Roger and I were always making plans.
We had ten year plans.
And of course five year plans.
Now that I was at one of our marks just hurt.
Especially since we were on the fence about having kids leaning toward no.
We said at our fifth anniversary we would make the decision for sure.
And now that I am mostly on board for having kids it just feels weird.

Third, looking at how different my life is from then.
I know no matter what my life would have changed.
My life has changed over the last year.
But looking at our friends & our family then.
And then looking at it now.
It makes me sad to have lost so many people for various reasons.
In some ways my life is now is better.
Like my job and deeper friendships.
But I miss some of those old ones especially when reading the first year of this blog.

The actual day itself was fine.
The days before, not so much but...
On February 23rd, I kept myself very, very busy.
Did not let myself think too much.
I did find myself not being able to remember my thoughts mid sentence.
Walking into rooms with no idea why I was there.

But alas, I survived.
As always.
I survived.

Dear Daddy

Over the last few days there has been a countdown.
Putting me in a funk and way down low.
My dad's death anniversary.
Until reaching today.
Two years.

I cannot believe it has been so long without you.
Although I have gone longer.
Years without you before realizing how much I loved you.
How much you loved me.
How much I needed you.
Before I realized just how much I am like you.

The way we sit.
Our allergy to conifers.
Our nomadic tendencies.
Our aversion to being too still.
Our addictions.
Our curls.
And our eyes.

I still do not understand what happened that morning.
Why would you?
How could you?
With no warning.
With no final goodbye.

You lived through heartaches before.
Profound losses.
Struggling through life.
And you rolled with the punches.

But yet in ways I understand.
It seemed easy for you.
To be be released.
To be done.
No more thinking.
No more emotions.
No more heartaches.
No more tears.
At least for you.

My dear daddy I miss you.
I love you.

Birds of Change

I love weird, sad, odd movies.
And have for a long time.  Yes, I still see mainstream movies and I am not quite a movie snob but I will go to something where I am the only person in the theatre.
Netflix recommends categories like "Emotional Independent Father-Son Movies" and "Oscar Winning Dark Movies" and "Witty Dysfunctional Family Comedies".
And something I learned somewhere.
God knows where.
I heard or read that birds in movies symbolize change in the plot.
Sometimes good.
Sometimes bad.
But always a symbol of change.
And in these movies that I love, I see it.
Suddenly a scene to the sky with a flock of birds soaring through the sky.
And the movie turns.
I have a bird in my photography business logo for this reason.
Healing. New beginnings.

I have been debating a new tattoo for a while.
A bird has been one of the contenders.
Something I could see when I wanted.
Not so hidden away.
So I picked my foot.
And I picked birds.
This is what I did today.

And as I looked down at the bigger bird.
Completely unintentional, I saw my dad.
He was into our Cherokee heritage and loved eagles.
After it was all over.
And I was back in the car, the tears came.
I miss him so much.
I see him in the mirror and now I will see him everywhere I go.

"Family"

This Christmas was going to be the first.

The first time I (and Mr. X) went to Miami for Christmas since Roger's death.

The first time we were going to spend this holiday with Roger's family.

I was excited.

I was nervous.

I was looking forward to it.

I remember the Tuesday when the doctor wanted to speak to me in person.

The day when he told me all bets were off.

Roger was done.

"This is as good as it will get."

A million thoughts were running through my head.

And one big thought: I was going to lose Roger's family.

First, they would hate me.

Because of course this was all my fault. 

Second, they would leave me.

This wonderful gift of family that Roger had given to me was going to disappear.

But I was reassured.

I was told that would never happen.

"You will always be my prima."

"My niece, Star."

And I believed it.

Those who loved me before would love me still.

I believed it with my entire being.

In some ways, it is true.

Some of the family is still my family.

Like I feel so connected to Grace.

She is truly a big sister to me.

I can talk to her about anything.

I cannot imagine my life without her in it.

And sometimes, for a tiny, minuscule split second, I forget how we are connected.

How we both miss him.

How things would have been.

And in other ways, I feel the pulling.

Especially now that I am getting married again.

With June fast approaching.

Family that barely says anything to me when I am in the room.

Family that visits Orlando without even a peep. 

Family who will not even consider coming to my wedding to Mr. X.

So Gizmo's health this holiday season dictated that we would not go to Miami for Christmas.

We fear the stress of leaving her may hurt her kidneys more.

And I can almost feel the relief of some.

To know the Gringa will not be there.

Do they think I do not think of Roger daily?

That I have forgotten?

That because I am getting married I am over it all?

That I did not love him?

That I do not love him still?

That I cannot talk of Roger?

That they cannot talk of Roger?

Sigh... 

What would Roger think of you all now?   

Community

Most people think that New Yorkers are cold, rude, and there is no sense of community there.
I would disagree completely.
While I lived there, I had community.
A very nice one.
The Greek diner for Sunday morning breakfast.
The dinner across the street from my office who knew my order by my face.
Butter roll with sweet-n-light coffee.
My neighbors who always said hello.
Even letting me hang out in their home when I locked myself out.

When I moved in with Roger in the other house, his neighbors barely waved at us.
I craved community.
I wanted people to say hi to me.
Borrow sugar.
And then I discovered the neighborhood I live in now.
I was excited when I first found it.
The grocery store is in walking distance.
There is a bakery locally owned.
Loads of small businesses.
My neighborhood has outdoor movie nights once a month.
Festivals for every sort of event.
Yet, my neighbors ignored me.
Most people on the street or in the grocery store will not even make eye contact.
Even the few people I have met who do live near me, do not really try to be friends.
Especially since I do not have kids.
I was disappointed once more.

Today I realized something.
The school I will be working in is in my neighborhood.
Some of my fellow teachers live in my neighborhood.
They are friendly.
And as much as I hesitated to take a job within my neighborhood.
I will get my craving.
I will have my sense of community.
I will be part of something big.
Part of a "village".

All because three years ago.
Three years ago and I am here.
Living in a community.
Working in a community.
I love it.

Yesterday, August 7th

Yesterday was horrid.
It has been a long time since I felt so crappy on an important day.
This one snuck up on me.
I did not know it would be such a big deal to me but it was.
And sadly, I felt so alone.
So friendless.

It felt like everyone, except for Roger's family and me, forgot.
My phone did not ring.
No text messages.
No offers to come by.
Not even emails until I expressed how sad I was.

I cannot predict my grief.
But yesterday was horrid.
And disappointing.

Mr. X tried to deal with the ball of emotion that was me.
He tried to hug me.
Tears just sat on the verge of falling all day.
Maybe they think Mr. X can handle it.
Maybe they think it has been three years and I should get over it.
Some may say it is not even a big deal.

Everyone else went on with their life yesterday.
I stayed inside most of the day except for the brief stent to the grocery store to buy cake making supplies.
My body felt so heavy.
Napped when I could not handle it anymore.

As promised, I made Roger a cake.
With layers.
It was not very pretty but it was done.
And it is yummy.

As wedding planning is coming into full force
And Father's Day is almost here
I am missing my dad sooo much.
Daily there are reminders he is not here.

My dad did not attend my wedding to Roger.
He was not sure his truck could make it.
And he did not have the money for the flight.
I accepted this fact as much as I could.

So I walked the aisle myself.
We did not do a father-daughter dance.
No photos taken with my daddy in my wedding dress.

And now as I plan my next wedding,
[It always sounds weird to say: "my first wedding" or "my next wedding".
Sounds like I am a collector of weddings.
Or worse, like I choose to end my marriage.]
I keep thinking about my dad.
I think about how he drove all the way to Florida to get to Roger's funeral.
He was the only family member from my side of the family that came down on his own accord to be with me.
To help me.
He jumped in to cleaning up Roger's mess in the garage.
To be social with my friends and Roger's family.

I wish I could have him with me now.
I wish I could call him on Sunday and wish him a Happy Father's Day.
It was Father's Day years ago that we reconnected.
When I realized my mother had contaminated my relationship with my dad.
That he was not the bad man she tried so hard to make him out to be.

And now as I plan my wedding to Mr. X, I will walk the aisle alone once more (perhaps) but for a completely different reason.

The Other Shoe Has Dropped

Yesterday I received some heartbreaking news.
I knew this would happen.
I almost knew this was true.

A few years ago my sister was diagnosed with some clotting disorders which have caused her to miscarry several times.
Being sisters, I knew I may have a risk of also having these genetic disorders.
About a month ago at my yearly check-up, my own OB/Gyn insisted that I get tested now since there may be some contraindications of taking hormonal birth control and having these disorders.
So on May 13, I gave eleven tubes of blood.
I prayed that everything would be normal.
I prayed I was not broken.
That somehow my genetics would be completely different than my sister.
By some miracle.
Don't I deserve a miracle?

Last night I saw my doctor's name and number appear on my phone.
I have been trying to get the results back for the last week like a mad woman.
I answered the call to hear my doctor's voice on the line.
She confirmed my gut.
Yes, I have both MTHFR mutation and protein C deficiency.
No more hormonal birth control for me.
And hard pregnancies in the future.

I have been on hormonal birth control this time for about eight and half years.
It has kept my PCOS under control.
Which I have no idea how that is going to play out now.
Mr. X and I were not planning on trying for children for at least two more years but now it looks like that may get pushed up a year if it is going to be harder for me to get pregnant and harder to stay pregnant.
Something I did not even want to do until almost two years ago.
Part of me wishes I still did not want children.
At least maybe then the heartache would be less.

Why can't I get a break?!
Why can't things just be easy from now on?!
Can't I get some sort of immunity from bad things happening?
Ugh...

I Wore a Gold Dress

I wore a light gold dress to Roger's graduation.
It had glitter within the material.
Every time I wore it, glitter would be all over my face and my body.
And whoever else was near me.
For days.

As I walked in to the arena that morning, a man commented on my dress.
"Lovely dress."
I smiled.
"Thanks!"

The weather was slightly cool that day.
But beautiful.
Grace, Roger's sister was there, as well as my mother-in-law.
We were all so proud.
We were all so happy for him.

Roger did not need a degree exactly.
He had loads of experience in the computer industry so he could easily get hired anywhere.
But most of the time the HR department of companies wanted some sort of degree.
So Roger went to school part-time for years to get his bachelors.
In philosophy, no less.
Not computer engineering or computer science or anything like that.
He liked the logic and elegance of philosophy.
So yes, perhaps a crappy degree for finding a job right out of school but it was a degree none the less.
The piece of paper he needed.

After Roger died, I let a friend borrow that gold dress.
And I never got it back unfortunately.
In a way, I want to wear in on Saturday for my own graduation.
To remind myself of Roger.
To have him close to me.
To remind myself of his day.
But sadly it is not in my closet.
Sigh...

All in the Eyes

For the last couple of months, my eyes have been bothering me.
Nothing like pink eye or anything but just itching.
Dry.
Slightly light sensitive.
Slight mucus in the morning.
I was starting to get worried.
It was getting better but the light sensitivity was getting worse.
I could barely open my eyes while in the car especially during the day.

On Monday, I took myself to the eye doctor.
I had already tried a variety of things myself like removing my contacts for a few days.
Switching makeup.
Throwing away contacts.
Nothing was working.

The doctor asked me a variety of questions.
Looked at my vision which has not changed much.
Then he took some pictures of my eyes.

I know I look like my dad.
I know our eyes are very similar.
But when all I could see was my right and left eye by themselves.
Without the rest of my face.
All I could see was my dad.

His eye lashes.
His color.
His shape.

And then all I could see was his eyes the last time I saw him.
Closed with his eye lashes curled the way some women must try hard to have.
His body laying on a hard cold table.
His arms cold from being dead for most of the day and laying in a fridge.

I miss my dad.
I miss his laugh.
I miss his giggle.
His birthday is next week.
He would have been 52 on Thursday.

Trading Up

I adore MINI.
I got my first one in July 2005.  I had just moved back to Orlando and needed a car.
I had fallen in love with MINI back in 2000 when a friend and I snuck a peek at them after hours.
So in 2005, I drove off the lot in my first brand new car.
The sales team was awesome.
And in the last almost six years, I have had only a few problems here and there.
Nothing too bad.
Nothing like I see other car owners dealing with.
I highly recommend any MINI to anyone.
I always talk about them with a smile.

The only thing I did not like about my MINI Cooper S was the fact it only had two doors.
And then in September.
My oh my.
MINI heard my wishes and created a four door car.
I was excited.
Finally I could keep my MINI and have four doors.

I talked to my financial advisor back in December.

He gave me the green light.

But then I was scared.
In January, I was introduced to MINI Countryman.
And I fell in love.
But thought I better wait.

Then last night I dreamt about buying a new car.
This morning as I walked into the garage my car would not start.
I was honestly stunned.
I have never had any issues of my car not starting.
It has been such a dependable car.
I was not even sure what to do.
Where is the battery anyway?
Oh, in the luggage compartment by the way.
My battery lasted double the amount of time they normally do.

Mr. X followed me to the dealership since it is a specialized battery that only the dealership sells.
I trotted over to look at the new cars.
Mr. X laughed at me.
And after thinking about it, I decided to go ahead and buy a new car.
I worked the deal.
And then needed to come home to get the title of the Cooper S and a check.

On the way back to the dealership, I started to cry.
This small piece of my life has been constant for almost six years.
Before Roger.
Before being a bride.
Before being a homeowner.
Before being a wife.
Before being a widow.
And of course after all that.

Yes, it is a car.
Metal and plastic.
But it was there for me.
Without fail.
On my first meeting with Roger.
On our first date.
On our road trip to Virginia.
On our wedding day.
Even when I brought Roger home with me from the funeral home.
I loved that car.
I still love that car.
And I hope someone else loves her too.
She's awesome and she is dependable.
She will take them places they never dreamed.
And keep them safe.
And help them heal.

Emotional Day

My internship this semester is really starting to affect me.
Notice the lack of posts.
I do not sleep due to insomnia.
I am stressed from the difficulty and busy work the College of Education requires.
A two page paper is required for each day and for each prep we have.
I have two preps.  Except for one of my preps, I have two different schedules to be mindful of as well since one meets four times a week for an hour and the other three meet two days for 99 minutes then one day for 60.
This particular high school, which I did not choose, is an hour away and I must be there at 7am in professional attire.
I had to pay tuition of course to complete this internship.
I am commuting 80 miles per day on $8 per day toll roads and gas prices are just continuing to rise.
Then add all the political turmoil in education in Florida right now...
Stress, no sleep, and all the worry makes me very emotional.
A bit of instability I have not experienced in a while.
I knew going into education would not earn me a salary like my previous job but I did not except to be crapped on by the government either.

Today as I left my house, one of the main roads in Orlando was down to one lane.
Even at 6am it caused a 15 minute delay in my commute when I was only one the road for less than two miles.
I rushed to get to the school on time.
Speeding as much as safely possible.
As I am pulling into the parking lot, which is completely dark might I add, Roger and my song comes on.
I burst into tears.
This cannot happen.
My students are already starting to arrive.  I need to be composed.
At least enough to fake it.
I miss Roger.
Like a broken record, I just cannot say it enough to get my point across.

I got through the day.
I went to visit a good friend who just had a baby last week.
Babies always make me smile.  They can be like a reset button for me.
Something about them makes me realize life can be good.
The world is not all evil.
Life does not always feel like it is taking the breathe away.
And as I held this precious sleeping baby, I started to cry again.
Stress?  Maybe wanting my own?  Knowing I will never have a piece of Roger like that?
I am not sure.
But now the tears will not really stop.
I just have to get through May.
Two more months.

Never Say "Never"

Yesterday, for the first time of my life, I shot a gun.
I never thought I would.
I have been totally against guns my entire life.
But part of me wanted to know.

When my dad died in January, he shot himself.
He used a hunting rifle.
I inherited another one of his hunting rifles.
I asked a friend to teach me how to use it.

We arrived at his place yesterday afternoon.
I was fidgety.
I was nervous and scared.
Guns can kill people.
Guns do kill people, like my dad.

We went out to the back of my friends' property.
First he wanted to teach me how to use a handgun.
I put my hands in the cup-n-saucer position with a black gun pointing at the target.
The recoil was just as scary as pulling the trigger.
The casings fell to the ground one by one.

I pulled the trigger five times.
My dad pulled the trigger once.
I could not help to think about his suicide.
To think about him.
To remember seeing his blood on the ground.
Seeing his eyes black and blue.

I do not think this will be a new hobby of mine.
But... I have done it.
Once.
And of course, I wondered what Roger would say.

Ten Years or Six Months

A few weeks ago one of my family members asked me if I would have another wedding.
I started to say "Yes, since Roger and I were only married six months but if we had been married ten years..." when this person said, "Yeah, it would have been harder to move on if you had been together ten years."
I interrupted them.
"No, it is not that."

Obviously I will never know what it would be like to be widowed at ten years of marriage to Roger.
I pray to God I never ever know what it is like to be married ten years then widowed.
But for me, it was more about my future and plans were gone.
I never had a chance to have Roger's babies.
To plan anniversary trips.
To decorate our house together.
To fight about how much money to spend on Christmas.
To get to the point where we finished each other's sentences 100% of the time.
And that among other things was so hard.
I never even made it to my first wedding anniversary.

Would Roger and I have been closer after ten years?
Yes!! Absolutely.
But was only being married six months then widowed or being married ten years with all those plans completed worse??
I don't know.
But I am shocked still that people can think this road is easy because it was only six months of marriage.

Oh people...

Ashes, Ashes

All week long I have had the little nursery rhyme "Ring around the rosie" stuck in my head.
Only one line though: "Ashes, ashes, we all fall down."
Mostly just the first two words.

Roger's ashes took over a week to get back.
So after my father's funeral, when the car was being unloaded, I never expected one of my dad's friends to hand me my dad.
My dad in a box.

"Whoa, he is ready already?"
"Yep, the funeral home did it yesterday on site."
"Ohh..."

My dad wanted to be spread over the property where they lived.
Where he died.
I was thinking we would all come back and do that part.
But my dad's wife wanted to do it on that day.
While we were altogether.
Like right away.
"Oh, okay."

But first, we needed to set aside some of the ashes for my sister and my dad's stepdaughter to keep.
So as we were carrying my dad outside in the freezing cold, I asked someone to grab a spoon.
A plastic spoon.
And ziplocs.
I was about to scoop my father up with a spoon.
And distribute him into snack size bags.
Great...

My dad's wife asked if the three of us would share this task of spreading the ashes.
Now, in the movies, it seems so fantastic and simple and holy.
In the movies, people open the container and the ashes just simply fly away in the wind.
But I knew that was false.
I knew that even though the wind was abundant and very, very cold that my father would just not take to the wind.
I knew that if I tried that he would just fall in one huge clump on the ground.
One giant pile of grey ashes on the white snow.

I asked the other two who wanted to start.
I was still holding the plastic spoon.
My sister said I could start.
So the first place I sprinkled was his place of death.
It seemed appropriate.
A few spoonfuls there.
Interestingly enough the ashes sank into the snow.
As we walked, a path of ashes followed us.

Scoop and drop. Scoop and drop. Scoop and drop.
"Does anyone else want to do this?"
"No, you are good at it. You can keep doing it."
Great.  Let me add that to my resume.
"Other Skills: spreading human ash remains with a spoon."

We continued along the path to my dad's garden.
Then, in what can only happen to me, the wind shifted.
My dad flew into my face.
All over my jacket.
All over my scarf.
And I noticed later, he made it onto my jeans.
I tried to cough and not inhale but I am pretty sure I inhaled my father.
I immediately thought of this.
Trying not to laugh was hard.
I could almost hear my dad laughing.

Spreading the ashes of a whole human takes what seems like a long time when it is done with a spoon.
And being me, I tried to find a pattern.
So as we entered his long gone garden from this past summer I went row by row.
Scoop here.  Scoop there.  A little here. A little more there.
Up and down the rows until I was out of ashes.

I took the white plastic spoon and dropped it into the box.
Closed the lid and placed it into my father's lookout over his hill.
The place he probably spent his last morning alive and many other days beforehand.

My coat and scarf went to the dry cleaner's this week.
I feel like my dad will always be a part of me.
Hell, I inhaled him.
But I could not keep my winter coat with his ashes.
It will probably be a long time where I do not think of my dad when I wear my coat or my scarf or those jeans.
And thankfully living in Florida, I do not have to wear those things often.
Except the jeans.
One of my favorite pairs.
Great...

When I die, just dump me into the ocean.
No spoon necessary.

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.

The Recycling Nazi

With affection, I have been deemed the recycling nazi.
And I tried to think back if this was part of widow-ness or part of me historically.
Fortunately/unfortunately I think it was part of me way before even Roger entered the picture.

I think it started in NYC.
NYC residents are required to recycle.
And we recycled everything under the threat of a fine.

But... after Roger died.
Yes, it did become even more of an obsession.
As a control freak who just had the world ripped out from under me and I felt I was spinning out of control, I needed something I could be in the driver's seat of since death was not an option.
So what could I control?
Recycling! [And choosing whether to eat or not, mostly not.]

Yes, I am still a bit obsessed.
My friends and family are even still a bit scared of me.
Recently, I found out some good friends hid some styrofoam containers from me last New Year's Eve when their catered dinner came in individual dinner portions.
"Do not let Star go in the garage."
Another friend confessed she thinks of me as she brushes her teeth and lets the water continually run.
Others have told stories where as they were recycling, reusing, or reducing they thought "Star would be proud of me."
I laugh mostly.
It is nice that perhaps I am influencing people's thinking about recycling and such.
But I really hope I do not terrorize people to the point they are afraid of me.
That is not my intention.
I am just a control freak who deeply believes in the three R's.
So I apologize to those have felt my wrath as the recycling nazi.

So Here I Am

It is my thirtieth birthday.
A few weeks ago, after a post, my friend Candice emailed me about her thirtieth birthday.
How it felt good.
And I have to say I agree.
I am glad to turn at least the page to a new decade.
A new part of my life.

In some ways, I feel I cannot really complain about my 20s.
The first seven years of them were pretty great.
I traveled a lot.
Sweden, Australia, England, France, and Holland.
I moved to NYC.
And then back to Orlando.
I have an amazing set of friends that grows all the time.
I met a fantastic guy and gained his wonderful family.
I had a beautiful wedding.
It is sad and annoying that one August day could cast such a bad taste for my 20s.

I am hopeful and praying for a better decade.
This is not where I thought I would be at people.
A lot of people say that, I know.
I am trying not to be depressed about it.
I met some of my goals.
I own my own home plus a rental.
Mr. X and those amazing friends still are still a big part of my life.
Gizmo and Gadget are the best cats.
I am enjoying my education for the most part.
Started my own business.

So I am trying not to focus on that fact I experienced widowness.
That I lost my best friend and husband.

But today is my birthday.
I will be happy today.

The Check-Ins

First, thanks to all the people who have been emailing, facebooking, calling, and texting this week.
Unfortunately/fortunately this week I have been mostly fine.
Like most holidays and anniversaries during this journey it has been the time before the actual event that have been bad.
School started on Monday.
Thus I have been super distracted this week.
Super busy.
I cannot think about Saturday coming much.
And I feel mostly okay about Saturday.

In reality, the month before this week has been completely emotionally draining and hard for me.
Grief has been almost constant under my mask.
In reality, I needed these comments and love before this week.
I needed people to come over and be with me and hug me.

And I should have asked.
I should have been a bit more demanding.
But I still struggle with asking for help, even from Mr. X.
I still struggle admitting that I cannot do this alone.
And most people have their lives.
They are busy with work, family, and other friends.
I do not want to burden others with my grief.
With my struggles.

So I do it alone and struggle.
And then I feel bad when people expect me to sad this week.
Because right now, I do not feel exceptionally sad.
Not like I did earlier this month and during the end of July.