Selling Your House

I did not imagine it would be this hard.
After every thing else this month.
It has been a headache and at times a body ache.
It has been stressful and work.
And a money suck.
But I am in the process of selling the rental.

It was always the plan to sell it.
Sooner than later actually.
It was actually not the plan to rent it.
But the market crashed and we had no choice.
And now the market is on its way back up.
Your neighborhood is hot right now.
People want to live there.

The sell process has been going to so smooth.
Thanks so much to our friend's help.
It will all be done in almost a month timespan.
It is going to a young couple.
Who I know will love the house as you did.

But alas I am a bit emotional at it not being mine.
Maybe its normal to be a bit sad at selling a house.
Maybe it's not just a grief thing.

I keep thinking of the first time I was in the house.
Getting stuck at the gate.
The way I wouldn't let you hold my hand closest to you.
There was a scab on my hand so I made you hold my other hand.

I think about the time you gave me a key to your house.
I was waking up from a nap and instead of leaving I had a key to leave when I wanted.

The silly fights I started because I was scared of getting close to you.

I remember when I proposed.
Watching you from the patio move from room to room.
Flipping on all the lights.
And then your face when you saw me on the patio.

I think about our parties.
Halloween.
July 4th.

Watching TV together.
Your big pile of clothes in the guest room.
Our bright yellow, thankfully temporary, bedroom wall.
Your attempt to match the color of the front door.
Putting up the new light fixture in the dining room six times till you got it right.
So many memories.

I hope to find some time in the next few weeks to just be there.
Maybe you'll join me.
For one last time.

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.

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.

Reality

Reality kicked in at the rehearsal.
I realized I was about to take vows again.
To another man.
I was about to be someone else's wife.
I started to cry.
Everyone thought it was the stress of the day.
I was not stressed about the wedding.
I hired great vendors.
The wedding was taken care of.
But my widow friend knew it was something else.
Something more emotional.
Something more abstract.
I was getting married.
Again.
This was real.

I know Roger would want me to marry again.
I have no doubt about that.
During my honeymoon with Mr. X, I had a strange nightmare.
Roger wanted Mr. X and me to re-do our ceremony so he could watch.
So we did.
He watched from the side line.
Afterwards, he said congrats.

It is strange saying husband to Mr. X.
I did not say it much at first.
For me, "husband" referred to another man.
A dead man.
He was a dead husband longer than he was a live one.
And thankfully I have not had to refer to Roger has my "first husband" or anything like that.
(I only had to correct the social security office in that I was NOT divorced but a widow to help her understand why I was keeping Roger's last name).

This past Saturday I had too much time alone.
I watched a sort of sad indie film (The High Cost of Living).
Then I was driving in the car listening to the song I walked down the aisle to in my wedding to Mr. X.
I just started crying.
The school year was done, I pretty much knew my work situation was solved, and we were home from the honeymoon.
I finally starting soaking everything in.
I am married.
I am married to a great guy.
But I was also married to another great guy.

It is scary being married again.
Scared for my heart.
Scared for Mr. X.
Scared for the future.

Yep, August is coming.

Tomorrow

I am getting married tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
To. mor. row!!
So many feelings.

I woke up at 7am.
I could not go back to sleep.
I am going to be married.
But I was married.
I was happily married.
Before.
Before my life was ripped away from me.

I am so scared.
Scared it is going to be ripped away again.
I cannot go through that again.
Scared Mr. X will leave me.
Scared life will not be as I think.
As I need.
As I want.

It is weird to think I will not be a widow anymore.
At least to most people.
People will think I have forgotten Roger.
Or that I have moved on.
That I do not think of him.

The truth is I think of Roger all the time.

And even more so the last few days.

I cannot even begin to describe how hurt I am that some of Roger's family has abandoned me.
They don't visit when they are in Orlando.
They did not even RSVP to the wedding, respond to messages, texts, or phone calls.
I feel like this wedding is the line in the sand with them.

Some people in my future may never know Roger existed in my life.
And in some ways that is good.
And in other ways it makes me sad.

I am trying hard to focus on the positive feelings.
Push away the fear.
Enjoy the day.
Enjoy my new husband.

#585

You were a dork.
I was hesitant.
I was scared.
I fought back against falling for you.
You were my best friend.
You were patient.
And kind.
Slowly I got close to you.
You kept pulling me closer.
I let you in.
My walls came down.
I loved you.
You loved me.
I believed in marriage.
I was happy.
I was settled.
My soul felt content.
And complete.

And slowly you died.
Six long, long days.
Then gone.
You left.
My heart split wide open.
Exposed.
I love you still.

4 years

Four years ago, you gave me one of the best days of my life.
I remember the ride from the ceremony to take some pictures.
We were both so happy.
So on top of the world.
I was so happy to be your wife.
You were very hyper.

Thank you for everything.
Thank you for being you.
Thank you for giving me this life.
No matter how hard some days.
I am thankful.

The Other House - Part 2

As I noted, at the end of January, my renters moved out.

And in that, Mr. X and I have done a lot of time at the house preparing it for new renters.

We had to paint about half the house, install a new over the range microwave, steam the carpets, and some light cleaning.

Well after we selected the new color.

And as we were painting the walls, I started to think.

[Painting does that to me. Maybe the monotony?] 

"Would Roger like this color?"

"What would he think?"

"Wow, would he even recognize it now with all the new colors inside and out?"

And then meeting potential new tenants.  

I miss his handling most of this.

I miss him being in charge of the other house. 

And as another family moves in over the next few weeks, I wonder what he would think of them.

Am I choosing the right people?  

Will they be good to the house?  

Not to mention how this is all happening in February.

Of all months, February.  

At least it is not August.

The Other House

Much to the surprise of a lot of my friends, I own a second house.
Roger's first house.
And since we moved out in 2007, I have had the same renters.
They are awesome.
They take care of the house.
They take care of the yard.
And just fantastic people in general.

I knew this day would come.
I prayed it would not.
And it is a bittersweet feeling.
They bought a (different) house.
I am happy for them.
But I am sad to lose them as renters.
Since they moved in, (we) I have never had to worry about the house at all.
I did not even really have to think about it which is probably why my friends do not realize I own a second house.

Today as I was thinking about the house and my renters, I remembered something.
The night before.
They saw him last.
Roger had gone to that house because of Tropical Storm Fay rains.

I remember Roger recounting his visit.
Talking about how their oldest son asked about me.
My renter later told me how he kept saying "my wife" like she did not know my name.
She said it was really cute.

And now the last people to see Roger are leaving my life.
I could hope they will keep in touch but I know that is unrealistic.
Sigh.

"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?   

Our Song

I was about to get out of the car.

The door already open.

I was about to enter the overly commercialized world of Christmas.

Then there it was.

Our song.

"Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol.

So I stopped.

I closed the door.

Closed my eyes.

And sat.

Our memories floated through my mind.

Your last birthday.

Your last birthday cake.

Our non-date at Pleasure Island.

One of our first real dates at Bahama Breeze.

Our trip to NYC.

Our wedding day.

Our first dance.

Your last breaths.

Your excitement.

Your laugh.

Your patience. 

Your smile.

The song ended.

I wiped the tears from face.

Exited the car.

And entered back into the world.

September 11th

This post has been in my head for a while but time, energy, etc.

It has been (over) ten years since that day.

I did not lose someone specifically.

I did not even live in NYC at the time.

But of course I will never forget.

Who can.

When I moved to New York City in June 2002, it was one of the first places I visited.

After work one day, I walked thirty blocks to see it.

And I cried.

It was turning into a place people could and would make money.

T-shirts. Books. Photos. Food carts.

It was disgusting.

But over the last ten days or so, that is not what made me cry.

I am not super patriotic.

I do not believe this is the best country in the world.

Far from it.

Lots of places I have been are pretty awesome.

I almost moved to Sweden at one point.

But everywhere I went people talked about the men and women who sacrificed their life that day.

At the UCF football game, (almost) everyone wore a red banana in honor of one such man.  

At school, the firefighters and police were mentioned.  

On TV.

Radio.

Everywhere.

How people died so others could live.

And I know Roger did not decidedly die for me.

And I know he did not "save me" in the car accident. 

But he did.

In ways.

He gave me family that I had not experienced since I was a little girl.

He gave me the opportunity to meet my goal to finishing my degree.

A job that I am adoring.

A community, finally after searching for years.

And a believe that marriage could be a good thing.

Sigh... And I thought September would be easier.

Where is the switch?

I just wish there was a switch.
An on/off switch.
It has been stuck on for so long.
I wish I could stop missing you.
Just to take a break.
Just for a moment.
It is taxing.
It is emotionally expensive.

At least it is September.

Recycle. Repurpose. Reuse.

Some of my friends have given me the nickname "recycling enthusiast".
I fully try to embrace the three R's.
Recycle. Repurpose. Reuse.
School has only been in session for one full week and two of my paper recycling bins are almost full.

One of the many things I reuse is manilla folders.
Just flip them inside out and they are as good as new.
And like other teachers, I have used some of my own things from home to stock my classroom.
One such manilla folder is on my desk.
At the back of my standing file holder.

Thursday evening as I was working after the children had left.
I walked from the back of the classroom toward my desk.
Probably after dropping paper in the recycling bin.
There I saw it.
My heart skipped a beat.
I paused.

The back of the manilla folder stared at me.
Two simple words.
Capital One.
It was not the words that stopped me.
It was the handwriting.
Not my handwriting.
Not Mr. X's.
But Roger's.

Handwriting is a funny thing.
It is evidence you did exist.
You are not part of my imagination.
You are not part of some dream that never happened.
Such a simple reminder.

And the cool thing.
You are there.
In my classroom.
With me.

Never Nervous

Last night Kevin and I were watching Next Food Network Star finale.  

It is one of my guilty pleasures and one of the only reality TV shows I watch.

Mr. X and I watch it together as I got him into it as well.  

One of the finalist talked about her father.

Tears came to her eyes.

She talked about how he was always so calm.

He never got nervous but just with through life with a positive attitude.

He has passed away in the last few years.

Tears immediately starting flowing.

Mr. X was like "Why are you crying?"

For my dad, no.

For missing Roger.  

He was always calm no matter what the situation.

And I loved that about him.

When buying our house, calm as a cucumber.

The day before the wedding, cool and collected.

Nothing seemed to rock him.

I asked once if he ever got nervous or anxious.

"Nope, not really.  I have already ran through all the possibilities and the worse case scenario."

Last night as I prepared for my first day of pre-planning, my nerves were become more and more apparent.

My attention span became shorter.

I could not sit still.

My anxiety was elevating.

My heart was starting to race.

Would my coworkers like me?

Would they be helpful?

Can I really do this job?

Why could I not be like Roger?

Even though I have looked at all the possibilities.

That does not reassure me.

That actually makes my brain go into overdrive trying to solve all of the scenarios.

But thankfully today went well.

I am happy with the decision to work at this school.  

And I am loving my coworkers.  

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.

"Always With You"

Like most people, Mr. X likes Harry Potter.

Both the books and the movie.

I, unlike most people, have never read the books.

Years ago, I watched the first and second movies but fell asleep during the second movie.

I have gone to Harry Potter land here in Orlando but mostly for Mr. X.

A friend of ours was hosting a Harry Potter night last weekend.

He was showing part I of the last movie at his home and then we were going to go see part II at a theatre.  

Now, I was mostly doing this for Mr. X.

And to have social time since I do not see this friend too often.

I was a bit nervous.

Would I be completely lost seeing the end of the series and not the middle?

However, the movie was done well enough that I could keep up relatively well.

Not to mention, I have heard many people talk about it enough times that I know a general idea of what has happened.

I did not expect for grief to come into play.

Yes, I had an idea that Harry died or something.

Yes, lots of other people had died too.

But lots people die in lots of movies.

That is not what got me.

What got me was his mother.

I used to tease Roger when we were not together for whatever reason.

As we were talking online or on the phone, I would say something like: 

"How do you know? You aren't here."

He had the same reply every time.

"I am always with you."

Sometimes he would follow up, "I just have to close my eyes and there you are."

Harry Potter's mother said something similar to him near the end after he died.

Something like:

"I will always be with you.  I have always been."

I started to cry.

Thank God for dark theatres.

It makes me tear up even now.

I am not sure if I truly believe Roger is always with me now.

It is hard for me to digest since I cannot always feel him.

And sometimes I wonder if I am making it up in my head when I do.  

But sometimes it does make me feel better.

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.

Defending Roger

Roger's Diploma on the office wall (camera phone photo)*

I cannot remember when I took Roger's diploma off the wall in the office.
But at some point I moved it into the office closet.
I had a plan for it.
Not a great plan though according to Mr. X.

Roger's diploma was professionally framed.
It was fairly expensive.
So I thought once I received my own diploma I would open up the back and take Roger's out then put mine in.
About a month ago, I received my diploma and one afternoon I decided to implement my plan.
Mr. X was home.
I told him I was going to go frame my diploma.
He followed me into the office as I took Roger's diploma out of the closet.
"What are you doing?!?"
"I am going to put my diploma in this frame."
"No you are not.  That is Roger's diploma."
"Yes, I am going to take his out and put mine in."
"And then what?"
I was not sure.
Mr. X continued to push for Roger's rights.
"That was a big accomplishment for him.  You should not take it out of the frame.  What will you do with the actual piece of paper? Put it away in a closet? Look at it every five years?"
I really did not think that far in advance.
Mr. X continued...
"We should have it on the wall."
"But where?"
"In here.  In the upstairs bedroom. On a wall. But somewhere, not in a closet"
I asked, "What about my diploma?"
"Just spend the money and get it framed."

I started to tear up.
Mr. X was defending Roger.
Two of them against one of me.
So I gave in.
And agreed to take my diploma to Michael's to have it framed as well.
But then another thought...

"What about our kids?" I asked.
"What about them? They will know Roger. Would you not tell them about him?"
And Mr. X is right. It is not like my house is completely Roger-free.
There is a picture near our bedroom.
Roger's clock in our office.
A few pictures in the office.
More pictures in the workout room.
A trunk full of Roger related items upstairs in a closet.
So he is still here in ways.
And I am really not sure how or when I would tell my children about Roger.
When they ask?
Or as they visit Abuela's house?
And how do I explain death to them?
I guess we'll figure it out as we go but I could not help and think of how to explain this person Mommy was married to before Daddy.

Today I received my diploma back.
So on the wall it went.
And Mr. X hung Roger's as well.

*I purposefully blurred out Roger's formal name and inserted "Roger's name".

"We've Got Time"

I just watched "Moonlight Mile" for probably the third or fourth time.
The first time I watched it was way before Roger died.
And I have seen it since.
But I did not cry last time I watched it.
This time, I did.
A lot.
But I think I needed a good cry.

And for whatever reason it reminded me of when Roger and I first started dating.
I had just stopped my consulting job about a week before we met.
During consulting, I traveled Monday through Thursday every week.
So I had a life in whatever city I happened to be working in and a life at home.
Two very separate worlds in which I lived.
And it was hard to have friends.
To date.
To go to the dentist.
And to do many of the day-to-day activities.
So I would cram as much as I could into my weeekends.

When Roger and I first started dating, we saw each other at least one night of the weekend and about two nights during the week.
And I tried to cram as much into the time we were together as possible.
Roger kept saying, "We've got time. Just relax."
I was trying.

When he would go away for a weekend to visit his family in Miami or to a martial art event, I was sad.
More time away.
And yes, absence makes the heart grow fonder but I wanted to see him.
Spend time with him.
I was almost frantic to see him.
And Roger's response was always the same.
"We've got time. We have years."

But we didn't.
We didn't have much time at all.
We only had less than three years.
Just like the characters in the movie.
Two years and eleven months.