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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The Top Tier

On Monday, Mr. X and I are meeting with our caterer to discuss the details of the wedding.
I am looking forward to this but there is one question...
The top tier of our cake.

Roger and I did not save ours.
Well, we intended to.
But that cake was damn good.
So we ate it before our honeymoon and when we got back.

And after he died,
And as I approached the my first wedding anniversary.
Alone.
I thought about the what if.
What if we had not eaten our cake?
How long would have that tier stayed in my fridge?
Would I have eaten it alone?
Would I have thrown it out?
Would it still be there sitting three and half years later?
Haunting me?
There or not, it does still haunt me.

And now as Mr. X and I approach our wedding,
What will we do?
Eat it?
Save it?
Risk it?

And yes, my fear is, we will not make it to our first anniversary.
Not because of divorce.
Because of death striking one of us.
I have never had a wedding anniversary.
My marriage ended after only six months.
We did not even get to celebrate that.
The accident was the day before.

But do I risk it? Or eat it?
And if we eat the cake does that mean I do not have the faith we will make it?
Or that it is another fantastic cake?
But what if "it" happens again?
What if I get stuck with a top tier of cake in my fridge?
Sigh...

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

It is really hard for me to enjoy myself right now.
To be happy for myself.
I get scared.
Mr. X and I got engaged on Saturday, May 14 and then on the Wednesday following I got my first teaching job.
Things are going well for my photography business.
We went to Alaska and I got to travel which I adore.
So now I am getting nervous.
I am waiting for the other shoe to fall.
Waiting for the "bad" thing.
I tried to tell myself getting a horrid head cold before the vacation and while on vacation was the "bad" thing.  But...

Immediately after Mr. X and I got engaged we drove to a friends' house for a housewarming party.
It was pouring down rain.
We were on the same highway as the accident.
Opposite direction but same damn highway.
I kept thinking "Please dear God do not let anything happen now. Please. Please. Please."

The week after getting engaged, I was talking to one of my best friends about the engagement and such.
This is the friend who I called immediately after the accident.
The one who has been here through it all.
And she said something I was already thinking and knowing.
Once Mr. X and I are married, I will be extremely nervous about the six month mark.
I cannot even imagine the day of it.
I know getting to that first anniversary will be a big deal to me.
And sadly, part of me is trying to protect myself from being too happy.
I almost feel like I will not be extremely over the clouds happy until after that six month mark.
Don't read this wrong.
I am happy.
I am excited.
I know this is the right thing but I am still nervous about Mr. X dying suddenly.
This cannot happen to me again.
It just can't.
It. Just. Can't.

The Wedding Video

About ten days before the wedding, I booked a videographer.
My best friend from childhood was not going to be able to make it to the wedding.
She was in Zambia, Africa with a newborn.
She could not travel but she wanted to see my wedding.
And I wanted her to have at least a little part of it.
Roger and I had just filed our tax return with an unexpectedly large refund.
"Please can we get a videographer?"
I found someone for $600.
Not the best around but he was available and cheap.
We met him the night before the wedding for the first time.
It was a haste decision but I am so glad for it.

After the wedding, Roger and I watched the video once.
It was nothing spectacular.
But it was nice to see the wedding in motion.
To see our friends and family.

Since Roger died, I have not watched the video too often.
Not that many people truly watch their wedding video more than a few times.
On Wednesday, I wanted to watch the video.
I wanted Mr. X to see it.
To see my wedding and meet Roger in a way.
It is always a strange experience for me.
When I see myself on the screen, I do not see me.
I see everyone else as themselves, but not me.
That is someone else.
After the huge weight loss, I thought it was because I looked so different.
But now, that I am fat again, I still do not view the person who looks similar to me as me.
It is a very, very strange feeling.
And in a way, it is not me in that video.
It is a different person at that wedding.
A person I will never be again.

Seeing Roger was a strange experience once again.
Hearing his voice was unfamiliar.  I always forget his voice.
I heard his accent which I do not think I even realize existed.
His fingers were long.  I forgot this.

Then as I watched him touch this person who used to be me something strange happened.
I remembered that day.
Remembered those small moments.
I could remember how he touched me.
His hand on my back.
Holding my hand.
The scruff of his face on mine.

It was like muscle memory.
Thank God for the video.
Thank you Andrea for pushing me to get it.

Miss you

The twenty-third of February in two thousand eight was the best day of my life.
I had so much fun.
I felt beautiful.
I felt like I could finally breathe and relax in your arms.
I was married.
I was happy.
I was loved.

Thank you for marrying me.
Thank you for being such a wonderful husband, boyfriend, fiance, and above all friend.
You knew when we met that we would be married you said.
You told your sister two months later.
I think you told me about two months after that.

I miss you more than I can even begin to describe.
Words are useless.
My heart aches to see you.
Touch you.
Talk to you.
To hear you.

I still love you tremendously.

I will never know the whys.
I will never know the what ifs.

I am thankful that on that day I could dance in your arms as your wife.
I will never forget that night.
I will never forget you.

The Space Between...

... Valentine's Day and this next week are always a bit weird for me.

During wedding planning, I did not realize at first when we picked our wedding date that it would be nine days after Valentine's Day.
I have not been a huge Valentine's Day person in years anyway.
But three years ago, as Valentine's Day approached, I thought about what that would mean in the future.
Combined gifts?
Bigger deal?
Maybe weekends away to celebrate both days?
In 2008, we decided we were giving each other a wedding for Valentine's Day and that was enough for that year.
No other gift besides becoming my husband was necessary.

This past Valentine's Day, I did not care as much about that hallmark holiday.
I was more upset about my dad oddly enough.
I miss him a lot right now.
The inability to call him up and talk to him is starting to really hurt.
It seems suicide and/or father's dying is all over my regular television shows.
Marshall on "How I Met Your Mother" lost his father.
"Grey's Anatomy" always has death but for some reason a lot of dads that I have noticed.
Addison's mother committed suicide on "Private Practice."
On the "lovely" Valentine's day, a teacher at the school mentioned how his brother had tried to commit suicide over the weekend.
After a rough first two blocks of teaching on Monday morning, I barely could keep it together.
I had to leave the room.

Then I started thinking about how it was only nine more days till my third wedding anniversary.

Which turned into just a week.

Which now turned into just around the corner.
I just feel so jealous of other people getting to celebrate their anniversaries.
I feel so left out to have married years together versus just a few months.

Tonight as I watched yesterday's episode of Private Practice, Addison said "I used to think they were selfish and wonder what they were thinking. But they aren't thinking.  They aren't selfish.  In that moment, they were broken."
It is hard to think of my dad as broken.
He was never broken to me.

So as I stumble toward the twenty-third, I feel grief times two.
Missing Roger.
Missing my dad.
Missing wedding anniversaries.
The crankiness is here.
Along with irritableness and involuntary tears.

Sigh...
February is almost over.
At least one of the grief monsters can go back into the closet.
For now.
Hopefully.

Graduation

Thankfully at the end of this semester I will be graduating.
I am very excited.
I am very glad.
But... sigh... it is slightly tinged with grief and sadness and other emotions.

First, I am slightly sad.
Even more than slightly.
Roger will not be able to see this.
My huge accomplishment.
Yeah, yeah heaven blah blah blah.
The fact is Roger is not physically at the ceremony to watch me.
Yes, I will have people there who I care about and love but not Roger.
Not. Roger.

Second, this is all because he is dead.
It is because he died and I have the chance to go to school full time.
Yes, I was in school prior to his death but not full time.
Not for a degree I wanted, just to have a degree.
Any degree.
But because he died, I got an opportunity.
To change careers.
To follow a dream.
To chase my passion.
To not return to my awful job.
Because two weeks beforehand we got life insurance.

Third, I just feel a lot of emotion about finally finishing.
It feels like so long.  I graduated high school in 1998.  I followed a lot of different paths.
It has been my goal for so long and I felt so subpar compared to my friends.
Compared to myself with all that potential that I had while graduating high school.
I was in the top 6% of my class.  I was 24th.  People expected me to go to college.
Most of my friends all have degrees and even though I had a career making great money, I did not have my piece of paper.
And finally, finally I will have my piece of paper.
I will be worth something on paper to other people.

I know it will be an emotional, maybe even grief, day for me.
And maybe it is just hitting me now because it is February.
Because Roger is more on my mind right now than he has been.
It is my wedding anniversary month.
My third one alone.

Sigh...

Halloween

In 2006, on Halloween, I proposed to Roger.
His favorite holiday. My second favorite holiday.
He was a wizard that year.
I was a photo booth.

Four years ago today.
It is so hard to believe.
And it sucks.

I ended up canceling my annual Halloween party.
A lot of people could not make it.
A lot of people never replied.
It is just a lot of work to do for a few people.

So sadly it almost feels like just another day.
The costume I planned for almost a year goes into the filing cabinet.
I did throw a quick one together to give out candy to the neighborhood kids.

Mr. X was really sweet and did get down all the Halloween stuff from the attic.
The porch is all decorated thanks to him.
Sadly, the other three huge storage containers are sitting in the living room almost filled with the indoor decor.

I will do the party next year.
Even if it is for me and a few friends.   

Roger & me 2006

Halloween 2007

Five Years Ago

Five years ago you forced me into our first meeting.
You said the movie is playing at this particular time and you would meet me at the front of the theatre.
I did not even have your cell phone number to tell you no.
I was not sure if you checked your email as obsessively as me.
Since I am a nice person, I went.
I did not put much effort into how I looked.
I did not think I would even really like you.
You however looked so well put together.
Black jeans that were too big for you.
Boots.
Burgundy button down shirt.
Your walk was so excited.
You had a big goofy looking smile.
We saw Corpse Bride.
You had already seen it but saw it again with me anyway.
Afterwards we went to Bahama Breeze.
You did not even have a beer.
You made me blush.
I emailed after the meeting that I wanted to "just be friends."
You became my friend.

Five years later I am your widow.
We were great friends.
I fell so hard for you.
I love you so much.
And I miss you so so much.

Five years.
So short.
So long.
So different than I ever imagined, wanted, or dreamed.

Thank you for forcing me into that first meeting.

Need Me

I had to sort of giggle at a situation I came into the other day.

I have always been pretty independent.
Not antisocial but I always try to do things for myself.
It is the way I grew up.
I was left alone a lot.
I learned to keep myself entertained.
I learned to keep myself alive.
I learned to meet my own needs physically and emotionally.
Thus issues asking for help have always haunted me.

But after three years together, I was finally asking Roger for help.
I needed him.
As my walls fell down, he was trusted enough for me to need him.
But it took me a while to get to that point.

When he died, I was devastated that I had trusted him.
I let him in.
And when I needed him the most and he was dead.
I was pissed.
At me.
At Roger.
At the driver of that Isuzu Rodeo.

In the last two years, I have learned not to need people as much again.
To become completely independent again.
I am stubborn at points to let people help me.
Not to mention I get nervous about it.
Feel like I owe people.

Laying in bed Saturday night, Mr. X was a bit tiffed at me.
I had not woken him up when I had insomnia Friday night.
Instead I chatted with a friend online.
He was annoyed I did not wake him up.
On Saturday, he had driven me to a friend's house to "celebrate" the dead day anniversary.
But of course I had been difficult in letting him drive me.
I did not want to ask for his help or to feel like I needed it.
Plus it was inconvenient for him to drive me.
So I made a deal.
I would let him drive me if he went to see his parents too.

As we lay in bed that night I asked, "Why are you upset?"
"You won't let me help you."
Sigh...
"You won't let yourself need me."
I could not giggle at the moment.
But I was amused at the situation in a way.
I just hugged him and let him know that I do need him.
I need him a lot.

But I guess I need let my walls back down.
Let myself need.
Again.

Decisions

A few weeks ago, I was having dinner with some widow friends.
The three of us are all young, under thirty at the time.
All of our men died suddenly at young ages.
None of us have children.

We talked about how I have a place to put my anger.
A name even.
A face.
Someone to direct all the voices and shouting and mean thoughts.
Which is "nice" I think.
Their persons' deaths were not a result of an accident.
Or homicide.
Or even self inflicted.
Random heart issues.

And tonight as I tried to go to sleep (note the post time), I started thinking that they did not have to decide.
I had to make a decision.
I had to decide the time.
And the date.
I chose this day.
I had to chose the day my husband would die.
Forty-seven months after our first meeting, I chose his death day.
Three weeks after his birthday.

I hate that feeling.
Hate. Hate. Hate.

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.

Semi-Empty

Tonight I came home to a semi-empty house.
Gizmo and Gadget are having dental cleaning done which means they need to have anesthesia.
No one was in the hallway to greet me.
No one begging for some dinner.
No one to (try to) meow at me.

Dropping them off this morning was so hard.
Gizmo cried the whole way there and as we waited to be checked in.
I felt like I was leaving my safety blanket and my heart at the vet.

Then I got the phone call.
They need to stay the night.
The veterinarian had an emergency come in and so he was not able to complete the cleaning.
The staff say they are fine and happy.
They are in a huge crate and even explored the clinic a bit earlier.

But I cannot help but be a little worried.
The cats have been with me this entire journey.
They have never spent the night any where but here at home.
I cannot lose them.
I cannot lose them this week.
In this month.

I will pick them up tomorrow afternoon.
And I cannot wait to see my kitties.
My lovely sweet kitties.