The First Kiss (After...)

What was my goal for that first date?

Honestly, to be kissed.

It was all I wanted.

I did not want a boyfriend or anything.

Just one kiss.

Or maybe a few.  

But it did not happen.

With the first.

The second.

Or even the third guy I went out with (even on two dates!).

The second guy/second date sucked.

I was not attracted to him.

I did not want him to kiss me.

I did not want to kiss him.

But he had heard me complaining about date number one.  

He offered.

So I took him up on it.

Plus I really wanted to see a particular movie.

As we were walking back to my car, he called me something that just completely made me cringe.

He called me "rich."

Yeah, not anything horrible per se but I hate being called that.  

Yes, I have a semi-nice car.  But nothing outrageous.

And I had a lot of crappy cars before this one.

Cars that lasted less than a year (most only lasted a few months).  

So when I moved back to Florida, I bought a brand spanking new car.  

Hence, I never talked to that kid again.

There were other reasons too but that was the tipping point.

The third guy I dated was a little better.

I met him at another birthday party for a different friend.  

A friend that I knew through Roger and have remained friends with.  

I was looking hot.

I had bought a really cute short skirt and a top that really flattered me.  

My friends Kathy and Randy were shocked.  "Wow, Star, you look great.  We will have to fight the guys off with a stick."

"No, do not fight them off.  Please do not fight them off."

Jack, Kathy's friend, saw me and started talking to me.

And then he asked the question.

"So, how do you know Kathy?"

"Well, I met both Kathy and Randy through my husband."

I kind of figured Kathy and/or Randy had told him my story before we actually met that night.

But nope.

He did not know the fate of said husband.  

So I had to say, "You know my story about my husband, right?"

"Nope."

So I told him.

He seemed to handle it.  He was taken back but he was processing it well.  So I thought.

He got my number and said he would like to see me sometime.  

I said "sure."

We went out that week.  First date was okay.  

We ended up going to the same restaurant as Roger and I did for our first date.  

But I tried hard not to think about it.  

It was also the day I got back the final court order.

But I was okay.  I was cute and friendly.  

I asked him questions.  Answered his.  Normal date stuff.  

Now there was one weird thing.

He told me about some health problems he has.  Not sure why on the first date but...

My gut reaction, "Oh my God, he is going to die.  If I date this guy for real, I could go through the exact same thing AGAIN!!"  

My counselor said this was a normal reaction.  

I went on another date with him to a movie.

But then... we never saw each other again.  [He does occasionally talk to me online but...]

And I still did not get kissed.

Damn it!  I just wanted to be kissed.

During this same time, I was flirting heavily at school (and pretty much everywhere else I saw a cute guy).

And I mean heavily.

I was being so forward.  So brazen.

Kissing and being touched was all I could think about.

I was like a hunter looking for that one deer.  

I so needed to be touched.

I needed to know I could feel again.

I needed to know I would feel again.

So one of my classmates, Sam, and I started flirting.

Constantly.

He was 22.

It started in class.

He invited me and a friend to a bar to see a band.  

We did not go but he got my number and we became friends over facebook.

We started chatting over facebook.

We started texting.

We started flirting over text.

We started teasing each other.

Then one night after a basketball game he called me.

He wanted to see me.

Immediately.

"Well, I am not exactly at home but I am on my way there.  I can meet you there."

We met at my house.

I was freaking out.

My head was running a million miles a minute.

My house was a mess.

I looked like a mess.

I had onions for dinner.

A guy was going to be in my house.

A guy I had been flirting with.

Holy crap!!

He could not stay long.

And that was fine for me.  I only needed one very simple thing.

We sat on my sofa.

I started trembling.  

I was trying to make small talk.

My head was saying "Just kiss him."

Telepathically, I was trying to tell him "Kiss me now."

Nothing was happening.

Fine.  Fine.  Fine.  

I attacked him.

Yes, I attacked him.

I kissed him.

As my lips were completely shaking, but I was getting a kiss that night.

Sweet relief.

I did feel again.

It was not weird.

I did not feel guilty.

I kissed a guy in my house and I did not feel guilty.

Yay!!!  I was ecstatic.  

Poor Sam though.

I was pretty much done with him.

He served his purpose.  

I was no longer attracted to him.

Classes were about to end.

So I never spoke to him again.  

Dating lesson number two: most people cannot handle knowing I am a widow right away.  And kissing is still fun.

The First Date (After My World Exploded)

Earlier this week, I said I was not going to do this.

Earlier this week, I said I was afraid of hurting people.

But when I see people in real life I tell them.

Or at least some people.  

But I have been thinking.

As always.

I have been thinking how Roger would want me to be happy.

(See today's other post).

As one of my old coworkers told me today, Roger would not want me to be shut up in my house, wearing black, and being celibate for a prescribed amount of time.  

And I know this.

I know this because we did talk about it.  

I also know there are others that are similar to me.

People who write to me.

People who comment on this blog.

I know I am not alone.

So... I am writing about some of my "first" experiences.

Not all, but at least the ones in the semi-distant past.

To help those who also need to feel normal.

To know they are not alone.

Nope, not alone at all.

Names will be changed to protect the innocent/guilty.

The first date was a little less than three months ago.

I was starting to feel better.

I was starting to have good days.  

Even good whole weeks.

I was starting to do my hair.

Do my makeup.

Make sure I looked nice.

Wearing cute clothes.

The works.

I went to a friend's birthday party.

I knew most of the people there.

And most of the people knew me.

I had just started practicing not being a widow.  

I had resumed drinking.

At said party, there was a guy, Kevin (again, not his real name), who I have known for about four years.

Mutual friend of many of my friends.

Nice guy.

Right out of a relationship. 

He had met Roger on occasion.  

He knew my situation.

As the night went on, I found him flirting with me.

I found him finding me in rooms.

Sitting next to me.

Finding reasons to touch me.

I found myself flirting.

I was flirting.

It felt nice.

It felt great.

We both stayed until the party was over over.  

He walked me to my car where I could tell he wanted to kiss me.  

But he was afraid.

He probably was freaked out.

We became facebook friends.  

I inquired about him from our main mutual friend.  

We agreed to meet up to experience a hookah bar.  

He drove to my side of town.  

And oh my God, I was nervous.

I have not been nervous on a date in years.

And I mean years and years.  

I was never nervous while dating Roger (because I did not really like him in the beginning).  

And I actually cannot remember the last time I was nervous before a date.  

I called Grace, Roger's sister.  Yep, Roger's sister.  

I discussed outfit.  

I discussed everything.

When I actually got there, it was fine.

Kevin was nice.  

But I also think he was freaked out.

I mean, like, I am a widow.  

My husband like died.  

He had to "get up early the next morning" so the date ended fairly early.

And at the end of the date, he barely hugged me.  

Man, I must be scary.  

Dating lesson #1: I thought going out with someone who knew my situation would be ideal.

Nope, not at all.  People do not know how to handle a young person-who-has-lost-their-spouse.

I have not seen Kevin since.  

Which is not unusual but I hope he knows I do not hold it against him.  

"Walk Ahead"

For Christmas, I got the movie "P.S. I Love You".

I remember holding it in my hands staring at it.  

I knew what the movie was about.  

I remember wanting to see it before the world exploded.

But my friends told me not to watch it.

Never to watch it.

They told me just to get rid of it.

Get it out of my house.

They said it would be too much for me.  

They said I would cry.  

But of course, I would cry.  I would have cried a year ago too.  

If I did not cry, it would have been unusual.  

So being a glutton for punishment and just wanting to cry today and not being able to for whatever reason, I watched it.  

And yes, alone.

In some ways, it was so surreal.

Both of main characters were young.

No children.

And fought in similar ways as Roger and me in the opening scene.

I started crying right off the bat.  

But the dead husband wanted her to move on. 

To walk ahead.  

He wanted her to get rid of his stuff.

It is just stuff for God's sake.

He wanted her to be happy again whatever that meant.

Even with someone else.

The movie brought back the memories of my birthday last year.

And it also reminded me of the letter I have from Roger.  

It reminded me so much of the struggles I have been going through in the last nine months. 

But also the strides I have made.

 

But it also made me feel relieved to see how she persevered.  

How she was able to be happy in a short amount of time.

How she was able to kiss someone new and not feel guilty.

How she was able to fall for someone else.  

I know Roger would want me to be happy.

I know in my deepest of hearts that all anyone wants for someone they love or have loved is for that person to be happy.

  

I remember last summer how distraught I was at work.

How I wanted so badly to just walk out and quit.

I told Roger how frustrated I was as I sat crying at my desk.

And he reminded me how it was frustrating for him as well to see me so upset.

With not any way to fix it or make it better.

"Roger J: don't you think its frustrating for me too... that there is nothing I can do to help you.. to see you get frustrated.. 

Roger J: so all I can do is listen.. and tell you I think it will all work out for the best in the end
Roger: and I truly believe in the end it will all be good"

So I will keep walking ahead.  

I will keep believing it will all be good.  

And I must see to it that I am happy.  

Whatever that means.

My Twin

I have a twin.

Just like other sets of twins, we have our different personalities.

We have a different ways of doing the same tasks but for a lot of things we are the same.

I did not know I had a twin till about a month or so ago.  

Maybe longer.

And I have to say I am very grateful for having her.  

I am very grateful for her finding me.

She is a widow too.

She was married six months.

She lost her husband unexpectedly as well in October.

She is thirty.  

She lives in here.

And even more scary is her husband and she met online too.

I do not really remember the details of this but when I first had the world exploding event thrown into my lap, my dear friend Holly scoured the internet for anything she could do or say or find for me.  

And as always, she found some great blogs and some nice websites.

One was for a local widow group here where I live.

I signed up.

I wrote a profile (I am assuming I did this because I do not remember this part).

But... 

The group seemed older.

Even though it was called "young widows", they were a lot older than me.  

And with kids.

And they had been married for years.

And they had been widows for years.

And most of them were not unexpected deaths.

I did not feel a connection to them.

And they were a bit dormant in activity.

Hence I did not visit the website much.

Or go to any events.

But one day I got an email from this girl, my twin.  

Someone who did understand me.

Someone who was a lot like me.

A few weeks ago we met up for dinner.

It was such a relief to have someone to talk to.

Someone to share stories with.

Someone who had a lot of the same emotions.

Someone who could say "Yes, I completely understand" and actually mean it.

Someone I could let my guard down with a bit more.

Tonight I had dinner with her again.

And the same feelings.  Almost a sigh of relief to know I am not alone.

A kindred spirit.  

And I am thankful.  Very very thankful.

Because no matter how much my friends can empathize they do not get it.  

And I pray they never do.  

I pray so much they never do.  

End of a Chapter

Today was the last day of my grief counseling sessions.

An end of another chapter.

A nice ending at that.  

And sweet relief in a way.  

I remember about eight weeks ago when my counselor first suggested I was ready.

I was in shock.

I felt like there was no way I was ready.

She was my safety net.

And I needed my safety net.

I needed my weekly session to vent and cry and blabber.

So knowing I need data for almost everything in my life, we planned an experiment.

The first step was two weeks away from her.

And I survived.

Even with getting the final court order and all the emotions that it evoked.

I survived.

I was able to handle myself.

I was able to get through a bad moment with grace.

Her second step of the "experiment" was to go four weeks without her.

Which ended up being five weeks due to my school schedule.

And again, I did it.

I was able to figure out what I needed, express what I needed, and execute what I needed.  

Wow.  

I can do this.

I can cope on my own.

And by "on my own" I mean without a professional.

I still need my friends and family.

I still need to keep up with blogging.

And I still need to do the things that work for me.

My counselor was great as always.

She told me how she was proud of me.

She told me how great it was to see the old Star reemerging.  

Something else she noticed and I have noticed lately as well is I am no longer defined by the word "widow."  

In the beginning of this journey, it was a box I had been thrown into.  

I was trapped there.

But I am busting out of that definition and into me, me, me.  

So now, I have an hour back of my life each week.

I was able to walk out of the clinic with my head high today instead of big puffy eyes I had a few months ago.  

I even found myself smiling back at her as I left.  

I am okay.  

I am good.

And that was the best investment I have ever made in myself.

I will survive and I will thrive.  

I Died...

... in a dream the other night.  

It was weird.

It was slightly unnerving.

It was scary.

It started with knowing I was dying.

I was trying to put my affairs in order as fast as I could but I was running out of time.

I wanted to write a will.

I wanted to make sure my beneficiaries were really who I wanted them to be.

I was worried about my cats.

I was worried about my ring of all things.  

I felt stressed out.

My mom came to pick me up to take me to the hospital.

She was happy I was dying.

It was weird.

She put me into a wheel chair (suddenly we were at the hospital) and was pushing me around.

Pushing me into my death room.

I looked the same as I do now.  

I did not look sick.

I did not look old but I know that does not necessarily mean anything.  

I had on my normal clothes.

The nurses and doctors were around me.

And we all waited for me to die.

And I did.

But only for a little while.

I am not sure how long I was dead.

I just decided in my dead state that I did not want to die on that day.

Like I have that kind of power.

So I revived myself.

People were shocked.

People were not as happy as I would have expected.  

And then the strangest part of all - I went to work.

But not at the job I just got out of in November, but my very first pharmacy technician job.  

Weird... 

Roger Free Zones

Right after Roger died, his sister and I went through most of the house to sort through his clothing and things.

We gave things to friends, family, and charities.  

It was a hard process but I was somewhat still numb at the time so it was easier than it has become now.  

I remember even laughing at things we found.  

But when I saw his sister's SUV pulling away at the end of that week, it felt like I was a divorcee instead of a widow.  

However there were lots of things that did not get removed or changed.

Some things stayed just because I could not remove them yet.

Some things stayed just because I was not sure if I would want them later.

Of course some things are just up until I have replacement decor.

We did not exactly have the same decorating style.  

There are also a lot of photos.  A lot of photos.  

Before my digital SLR, I carried a camera with me at all times from 2003 till March 2009.  

In those six years, I took a lot of pictures.

For three of those six years, Roger was in a lot of those pictures or at least he was around.

Not to mention all the professional pictures we had taken for wedding related activities.

We did an engagement shoot, the wedding, and a trash the dress session.  

There are probably over 2,000 pictures just from Scoobie.  

So after the initial de-Roger-fying of the house, I have made baby steps.

Tiny steps here and there over the last nine months.  

Once all the pictures are out of a room, I declare it Roger-free zone.

I know have 4.75 rooms (not counting bathrooms) that are Roger-free.

Kitchen has been Roger-free for a while now.  It may have been the first I think.

Which makes sense since it is a kitchen after all.  

Of course, the guest room was never really Roger-fyed so I am counting that one too.

Giving myself credit for something I do not really deserve but whatever.

This past weekend, I completed two more rooms - dining room and living room.

Go Star.  

I put them in a box to be given to Grace on her next visit.  

Now, the 0.75 comes from the family room.  It is mostly done.

There is only one more picture but it is part of a collage type frame above the television.  

But I want to move the collages into my office soon.

I came up with a plan also for the collage frames in the hallway to the guest room and guest bath.  

I am going to pick my favorites from my travels over the last few months.  There should be enough great photos to fill them up.  

Of course, there is still the bedroom to contend with.  

I removed two over the bed after the painting was finished.

And I removed two more that were on the night stands.  

I also put away some of his stuffed animals.  

Yes, the boy had some stuffed animals.  

So do I so... 

But at least there is progress.  

Small.  

But progress.