I Couldn't Help But...

... to feel my grief yesterday.

I know all of America lost yesterday.

I know all of America grieved yesterday.

But even eight years ago, I felt an ache for the widows and widowers on that day.

Yesterday, I felt it even more.

Yesterday, I thought about how those men and women must have felt to watch on television and not be able to do something as their spouses died.

As their spouse never returned home.

As they had to keep moving forward day in and day out.

And because of yesterday, my own grief was been a little more pronounced.

First, my anatomy class.

I knew this would happen eventually.

But I just did not think about it happening so soon.

My professor showed us a CT.

A CT of the brain.

He talked about how hematomas of the brain show up really well on CT.

How they are quick and cheap.

Ugh.

Yes, they do show the bruising and brain damage.

Yes, even I fucking saw it on the CT.

As I stared at the CT of the brain, I thought about Roger's.

How it looked.

How there was no space between the two hemispheres of his brain.

How there were no "wrinkles" on his brain.

How there was no space between his skull and his brain.

How completely fucked his brain was.

And as I passed the over two thousand flags stuck into a field of campus, I could not help but think about Roger.

How there are so many other women and men who also feel the same pain as me.

Young and recently married.

Then my physics professor said something that made tears want to fall.

"Every day is precious and every life is precious."

Ugh.

The tears did not fall thankfully.

So did not have to explain to the young naive girl sitting next to me why this simple thought resonated like a gong in my chest.

But it is so true.

I think about all the times I had to fight my job to keep my work and life balanced.

I remember how much I did enjoy having Roger in my life.

My prayer for everyone who has not suffered a loss like mine to remember.

Remember 9/11 if not for America or the war on terrorism but for the women and men like me.

The ones who lost their partners and their plans and their life as they knew it in an instant.

Remember that we only have this moment.

Just this one.

As America starts to get further and further from the actual 9/11 I hope people do not forget the ones who were left behind.

The ones who have to think about that day forever.

Please enjoy your loved ones.

Please remember life is short.

Life is unexpected.

And nothing is more important than family and friends.

Nothing.

Happy Birthday Blog

Except I am two days late.

Or if I look at its conception, five months late.

But I really did not start blogging until last September.

When I realized I needed to journal.

When I realized I could not answer the many phone calls or emails about how I was doing.

I could not repeat that I felt like crap even one more time.

And I am ever so grateful for this blog.

It has helped heal me.

It has helped me meet fellow widows and widowers who support me always.

And it has helped my family and friends keep in touch with me.

My goal was to write every day.

I did not meet that goal.

Especially once I went back to school and especially in the last six weeks or so with traveling and school.

But I came pretty close.

And I am pretty proud of myself for not giving up on it.

For blogging on days even when I felt I had nothing to say.

Even though I always had more than just a few words to say.

Thank you for reading.

Thank you for the comments.

Thank you for the emails.

Thank you for being there for me in all the ways strangers can be.

For this next year, I will try to keep blogging.

I will try to explain all the feelings that go along with this mysterious thing called grief.

I will try to explain all the feelings that go along with moving forward.

Because I believe nothing is better than first hand experience to help others.

And I do hope that in some small way I have helped others.

So here is to another year of this crazy ride.

Why Do I...

... cry at the drop of a hat.

Especially around Mr. X.

I know it is because I am comfortable around him.

He makes me feel safe.

[And maybe it is because sometimes he knows what I am thinking and when I am thinking.

It is quite scary.]

But yesterday I made a big decision.

I told Mr. X about it.

I had been venting to him about it for a few days.

And it is a decision that was stinging me as I made it.

And I did not cry about it till I was safe in bed and Mr. X told me it was okay to cry.

He told me how he was there to listen and he knew how much this decision was hurting me.

And so I did cry.

Almost instantly as he said it.

So I decided...

I am not going to Africa like I planned.

Like we planned.

Like Roger and I planned.

Like we had planned many, many things in our lives that got all fucked up.

The amount of things that have been fucked up just keeps going.

First and mostly, like 90%, it is a money thing.

Last week I spent almost $1,000 on car repairs.

I must have a car so I had to spend the money.

Not to mention how much money I have already spent this year traveling.

Sometimes planned travel.

Sometimes not so planned travel.

But there is a dark second reason as well.

I am stubborn.

I am very stubborn.

Someone tells me I cannot do something and it makes me even more determined to do it.

Even more so, when things or events try to interrupt my plans, it makes me more determined to keep to the plan.

Just keep to the plan. [Although, I am working on this character trait/flaw.]

I still wanted to go to Africa because that was the plan.

Because I am stubborn and that was the plan and that is what I was going to do.

Stupid death was going to stop me?

Losing my husband was going to stop me?

Losing my traveling partner was going to stop me?

Losing my income was going to stop me?

No way.

Not me.

Not this girl.

Nothing was going to stand in my way.

But this is not exactly the Africa trip we were planning.

This was a "revenge on death" trip to Africa.

This was a "revenge on life giving me shit" trip to Africa.

This was a "I can do anything and nothing will stop me" trip to Africa.

But that is not how I want to do this.

I want an African trip to be about seeing another continent.

About visiting my wonderful friend Andrea and her fantastic kids.

About seeing unusual cultures and animals.

And if I am completely honest with myself, I do not want to travel almost half way across the world alone.

A trip like Africa is meant to be shared.

So I will go to Africa.

I will go loads of places.

I will meet lots of people.

I will make my mark on the world.

But I will do it in the right time in the right mindset and in the right way.

I know Roger would agree with me.

Especially when it comes to budgeting.

He was so great at saving.

So I will save my money.

The money his death provided for me.

And I will clear my head.

And I will go to Africa someday.

I will touch a lion.

I will see African villages.

And unfortunately, I will still cry.

But...

I will give myself a break.

I will let myself be less stubborn.

I will let myself be less on a plan.

I will love me.

I will love my life.

Because that is what Roger taught me.

Save my money, live my life, and not be so planned.

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...

Unmarriedness

My fellow widow blogger, Supa, recently wrote an entry about some of the issues about suddenly being unmarried and a parent.

One day I was married.

The next day I was unmarried.

I was not a parent.

We did not really have a chance to even take on that adventure.

And most days I am okay if not slightly relieved at that fact.

Other days I am sad that I do not have any DNA evidence that Roger ever existed in my life.

No one to look up at me and for me to see Roger staring back at me.

People used to ask me if I felt different after we got married.

And my answer was always an enthusiastic yes.

I definitely felt different.

Even though we lived together before marriage, I felt very different.

I felt like I had a teammate.

I could relax because I was not alone.

Someone who had made a vow to always be that teammate (death do us part).

As someone who is a very independent person, I finally had someone I could truly depend on.

Not that I did not feel like Roger was not my teammate before we were married.

But until that ring was on his finger, he could have walked away.

He could have said "Sorry, can't do this" on a piece of paper and left me [and this did happen to me in a previous relationship and I wonder why I have issues].

But once we were married, I could relax.

He really was going to be there for me.

He wore prove on his left finger.

He made a promise.

Now that promise sits in a wooden box.

And nothing reminds me of my unmarriedness more than house maintenance, home projects, or car troubles.

And on the first day of a new month, the month I have been living for the past four and a half weeks, I was deeply reminded that I am no longer married.

No longer part of a team.

Stupid car troubles.

My car has been very reliable for the past four years.

I have wholeheartedly recommended this car to many people.

And I still do really (at least until I see the bill for these repairs).

But yesterday when the heat gauge started to go into no man's land, I started to panic.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Not now.

Not today.

Not to me.

A phone call to the dealership even furthered my isolation from Roger.

"You should tow it in immediately."

"I have class tomorrow. I do not have any other car or way to get around."

What I was thinking and wanted to say: "If my husband was still alive, he could help me but since he is dead I cannot just do things like this. I have to work out all kinds of logistics to get this done. And I am jobless at the moment."

I lost my teammate.

I lost my male counterpart who knows what to do in these kinds of situations.

I lost my husband.

Now, not to discount Mr. X at all.

He has been great with the whole car situation.

But it is not the same.

He is going to tote me around the next couple of days and has been checking up on me when I go from point A to point B.

He knows a bit about cars so he has given me a few tips.

But it is not the same.

It is so not the same.

I cannot really explain how it is different between a dedicated boyfriend and a husband, but it is.

It just is.

Maybe it is Mr. X does not have to do this things.

He is doing things, which is great and I am grateful.

I really am.

And not that husbands have to do whatever their wives want but there is a bit of obligation to help out the wife.

To take care of her and she to take care of him.

There is a priority given to the wife.

There is not really a priority to a girlfriend.

I actually feel guilty having Mr. X help me so much.

For taking time to help me and give up some of his own time.

So as I stressed about this stupid car trouble last night, I started to cry (and now unfortunately).

Why did Roger have to leave me alone?

Just as I was getting used to not being alone.

To not being so independent.

And to actually letting someone else help me without feeling guilty, he left.

My unmarriedness is amplified in times like this.

Like when a raccoon started invading my yard (and still does).

Like when I had to learn how to use a drill.

Like when I had to get my tires rotated myself the first time.

Like when I have to budget money.

Like when I have to make decisions about a landscaper.

And there is not a damn thing I can do about it.

Like Supa said in her post, I did not choose this.

I am not a divorcee (thankfully).

I am a widow.

Single because of someone else's choices.

Unmarried.

Finally...

Finally, finally, finally.

I can feel a little bit lighter.

It is September.

Thank God! Thank God! Thank God!

It is September.

I made it to September.

But like most people know, the grief does not end now.

There is still no grief cure.

I still find myself sad at moments.

I still find myself remembering random stories and random memories.

Still sitting in disbelief.

Still sitting on the side of the road waiting for the ambulance.

The year has changed me.

The year has left me different.

More patient in some ways.

More accepting myself in some ways.

And life keeps moving forward.

Tugging me along.

One part of me looking back.

One part of me looking forward.