Ten More Minutes

In ten more minutes, I will be thrusted into August.

Pushed against my will.

Time is not being nice to me today.

Why must it be August already?

Can August just be skipped entirely?

Can I sleep through August?

Can it please be September instead?

Please. Please. Please.

Just so I can say I survived.

Just so I can say it is over.

Just to be done.

Tonight, my twin celebrated her husband's 30th birthday.

She did a wonderful job putting together a nice party for him.

It was one of the few things she had to go through something first between the two of us.

The first husband's birthday after passing away.

My turn is a week away.

In this awful month of August.

Roger would be 35.

Roger will never see 35.

Or 40.

Or 50.

Or 75.

Or any other age except through people remembering him.

I just want to burrow my head into the sand.

I just want to pretend none of this ever happened.

This just sucks.

It hurts.

It does not seem real.

I just want the pain to go away.

I just want to see him alive and well.

See him smile.

See him laugh.

And now, as I wrote this entry, it has become August.

August is here.

August has invaded.

Let the fight/survival begin...

Inheritance

Yes, I inherited some normal things.

A house. Life insurance. A little money from checking account.

Normal things that most beneficiaries get.

But then people forget about the other stuff.

The everyday stuff.

And the little stuff.

All the little stuff people accumulate during a lifetime.

Furniture.

Towels.

Clothing.

Books.

When Mr. X was asking me if I had a certain tool in the garage, I said "I do not know but..."

I started listed things I did know I had.

Things I had seen when I have to go out there for a screwdriver or as I am leaving the house.

He said it sounded like I was reading an inventory list.

A weed whacker, an orbital sander, some plywood, various size nails, paint, a leaf blower, safety goggles, some hammers, a car wash bucket, disposable gloves.

Sometimes people will comment on something they see at my house.

A piece of furniture. A throw. A painting. A magnet on the fridge.

They will ask where I got that cool book or ugly painting.

"I inherited it."

And I discover new things all the time.

Office supplies. DVDs. Toiletries.

Some things I love.

Some things are okay.

And some things I hate and I will eventually get rid of.

Eventually.

One of my favorite things is an eraser.

Yes, an eraser in the shape of a CK one cologne bottle.

It is very silly to love this very simple thing.

It used to sit on his desk in the office.

I never remember seeing him use it.

But I do.

It is now it my backpack.

I use it during tests.

When I take notes.

I use it during my science labs.

And every time I feel it in my palm, I think of Roger.

Even when I just see it.

I will keep this.

I will use it as long as I can.

And I will probably cry when I cannot use it any longer.

Roger's silly eraser.

P is for Paranoia

Paranoia is part of the widow condition.

If widowhood was a disease, it would be listed as one of the symptoms.

I can see the infomercial now.

"Do you have lack of appetite, insomnia, loneliness, depression, and paranoia?..."

My paranoia has definitely lessened in the last eleven months.

I can sleep if I forget to set the house alarm.

I do not think everyone is out to get me (as much).

I do not everything is going to die all the time (as much).

But... this morning, I felt some paranoia coming on.

I am trying to fight it.

I am trying to remind myself that most things are going to be fine.

I am going to be fine.

Everything is going to be fine.

Relax, Star. Relax.

This morning Mr. X went on to a family reunion out of town.

The first bout of paranoia came this morning as I took him to the airport to drop him off.

Same damn road. Different direction. Different airport.

But still. Driving in a car going to the airport.

With a guy I care about.

The road does not have barriers in all sections of the road.

So people can still cross the median going 65mph.

But I was driving. Not him.

This is not the same situation I kept reminding myself.

The chances are slim.

I have driven on this road many times when nothing happened.

And of course, nothing happened this morning unusual.

The second bout of paranoia is just the whole flying thing.

On a plane.

Yes planes do not crash very often.

Planes are much safer than cars.

I am sure everything will be fine.

Everything will be fine.

I will be fine.

Then there is just general paranoia about him being safe.

From cars.

From freak accidents.

From bugs.

From weird things.

And there would be no way for me to help him. [Yes, I am a bit of a control freak.]

Would someone remember to call me?

And this is the less paranoia than before.

This is my paranoia waning.

I know it will continue to wane.

And I know there is nothing I can do if something happens to him.

But I cannot help but be slightly scared.

Scared that I like him a lot and I do not want anything to happen to him.

Scared I will lose him like I did Roger.

Suddenly.

From a freak moment.

Please please please do not let him die.

Please please let my paranoia continue to fade.

One Tough Cookie

On Saturday night, I was leaving some new friends' house.

I was not drunk.

But I was tired.

And I was a little hungry.

It was late.

As Mr. X and I were leaving the house, I was in front of him.

I looked down at the steps leaving the porch and they looked uneven and dangerous.

It was dark.

There were no street lights.

It was out in the middle of nowhere dark.

I felt like I was going to fall.

Like self-filling prophecy, I fell.

My ankle took most of the fall along with my wrist.

My ankle is severely sprained.

Still bruised and a bit swollen even now.

I remained composed.

I tried to stand up on my own.

But couldn't

I tried to walk on my own.

But couldn't.

I really wanted to cry.

I really wanted to scream.

I really wanted to just give up and have a temper tantrum.

On the inside.

On the outside, I played tough.

I said to myself, "I can do this."

"I can do everything and anything."

"All by myself."

Except I sort of couldn't.

Except most of the time I can't.

Mr. X helped me get to the car.

He asked if a trip to the ER was necessary.

"No, no. I am fine."

Ha.

I am always "fine".

Always playing the tough girl.

Because that is who I am.

I do not like to look vulnerable.

Even when I am down.

Even when I just want to cry.

Even when I want to scream.

Mr. X asked me "So is this always going to be the case? Are you always going to play 'tough girl'? The stubborn girl? Or are you going to let me help you."

"Yes, I am the tough girl."

Even as my ankle was throbbing and starting to swell.

He reminded me I did not have to pretend this game with him.

I am trying to not be "tough girl" all the time.

Especially in front of those where I can be the real me.

Those who will let me cry and not be scared.

Those who will hold my hand and tell me it will be okay.

Those who will hold me when I am hurt physically or emotionally.

I really do.

But it is hard.

It is hard to let myself hang out there.

After the last almost year of falling apart, I am trying to be put together again.

Trying to be composed.

We shall see how long this lasts.

I have already had one random unexplained crying spell this week.

Yes, the grief monster is on the edge of haunting me once more.

Sigh...

August 7, 2007

It was August 7, 2007.

Roger was turning 33.

And as he proclaimed the year of his enlightenment.

The year of his life he would become a husband.

He compared it to the same year of Jesus' life and Mohammed but I am not sure what exactly he meant by that.

For his birthday that year, he wanted to learn how to surf.

"Yes dear. Whatever you want. It is your day."

It was one of his life goals. How could I say no?

Why would I say no?

It was a Tuesday.

We both took the day off from work.

We woke up semi-early.

Drove over to Cocoa Beach.

And met up with the instructor.

Roger was excited.

Like a little boy getting his Christmas wish.

I was official photographer.

Not great photographer but the day was recorded.

There is even a video somewhere.

Roger was a natural at surfing of course.

He was so athletic that he got it right away.

He was happy.

I was happy.

The few hours of lessons went by quickly.

He wanted more.

Afterwards, Roger talked about how he was going to do this more and more.

He even wanted to buy a board.

"Sure dear. After the wedding. And you have come here several times before you commit to a board."

He agreed.

And perhaps he would have done this.

I would have not minded at all.

I was never one to stand in front of Roger's dreams.

If he wanted to do something and we had the money, then I would encourage him.

So he had a lot of random hobbies.

So what.

He was enjoying his life.

And that is what makes me happy most days even now.

I was with him while he was enjoying his life.

He was meeting silly life goals like learning to surf.

Why would I stop him?

I am glad I got to be with him in his year of enlightenment.

I am glad he had a great year being 33.

I am glad I was there.

Oh Baby

Well, I cannot believe I am admitting this in an online forum.

Or any pubic place.

I cannot believe I even have these feelings.

I cannot believe these thoughts and words are coming out of my head and out of my mouth.

What is wrong with me?

Me. The me I thought I knew so well.

But here it is.

Here is something so crazy that I know my friends who know me in real life are going to fall out of their chairs.

Their mouths are going to drop open.

I think, that maybe, just maybe, someday I would like to have a child.

Yes, that is what I just said.

A real little living breathing child.

Now, this is a shock to me too.

And I am not making any promises that this is for sure.

Or that I will not change my mind again.

Because I just might.

Who knows.

And do not push me, because that will definitely make me run back the other way.

At first these thoughts started to freak me out.

Really freak me out.

Why now?

Why this change?

I just wrote about how I did not want any a little more than a month ago.

And then I thought, "Why didn't I have these thoughts with Roger?"

Was there something wrong with me then?

Was there something wrong with us?

And that really bothered me.

I know for sure Roger would have been a good father.

He would have loved being a dad.

But collectively we had decided it was not in our cards.

At least not for a while.

And quite possibly not ever.

And in the last few weeks, the idea has become more appealing.

Why?

Why?

Why?

I kept asking myself.

Because of Mr. X?

I barely know Mr. X.

Is it something hormonal?

Pheromones perhaps?

But then tonight, I was having coffee with my friend Courtney.

She actually shares the same birthday with Roger.

They both were really into philosophy and debating things.

And sometimes when she is explaining or talking to me about something to me, I can totally hear Roger.

We share similar family backgrounds too.

I was telling her my mental inside my head drama/dilemma.

How could I feel this way?

How could I be changing so much?

But then she shed some new light.

Some new perspectives.

She said despite Mr. X and despite the whole widow thing, I am different.

I am not the same person I was a year ago (this I knew already).

A year ago, I had a job.

I had a different career path.

I had a different life plan.

I was married.

I was planning my life with Roger.

But that is all gone now.

I am in school full time.

I am looking at becoming a biology teacher.

I am learning new things.

I am changing.

I could have gone a million different directions after Roger died.

But I went in a positive one.

And I will not make the same decisions I made a year ago because I am not the same person.

I am not the same person I was a month ago.

So, this change may have nothing to do with Roger.

Nothing to do with Mr. X.

It may be something to do with me.

It is probably all me.

I cannot feel guilty for changing my mind.

I have new information.

And that is what life is all about.

Constant reevaluation. Constant growth.

If I am not growing, then I am stagnant.

And that would be boring.

So, I should appreciate this new growth.

This new change.

I should just let it be.

Thank you, Courtney, for being an outside perspective and listening to me. I love you!

And Mom, don't get your hopes up just yet.

Slide Show

I removed the slideshow from the blog.

It made me sad each time I started to write a new entry.

It was depressing to see us so happy.

So carefree.

So in love.

So it is gone.

For now.