New Grief

As a small child, I dreamt of "growing up".
I read the books.
I watched the movies.
I heard what the adults said.
I had expectations based on what I thought "normal adult life" would be.

I was to graduate high school.
I would go directly go college and graduate in four years.
I would have a great job.
Shortly after college, I would marry my one and only true love soulmate.
We would buy a house.
We would have kids.
I would have mommy friends.
We would have family vacations.
We would have neighbors who wanted to befriend us.
We would have couples to go out & do things with.

I started this blog because my life was not normal.
It did not go according to the script.
I did graduate high school and then the script was ripped into a million tiny pieces, burned, and then thrown into the wind.
College took much longer than expected.
I married and then widowed six months later.
Getting a great job took much longer.
And there is not just one soulmate. Thankfully.

Then something happened and I tried to compartmentalize.
And not share a new struggle on this blog.
A new type of grief.
A new loss of plans.
A new loss of dreams.
And eventually what seems a loss of friendship.

Mr. X and I have been trying for over three years to have our kiddos.
Three. Very. Long. Years.
We are at our final stop after many rounds at various levels of fertility treatments.
One more last shot.
One more try at IVF in a few months.
It's really about a 50/50 shot this will work this time.
So all those parenting plans.
All those potential baby names.
All those dreams of our ideal family.
All those plans of family vacations.
All the things we have already done for the "when we have kids..."

But then you get to the other parts of grief in this journey.
The loss of other unexpected things.
Mr. X and I are not always invited to birthdays.
Both adult and children's birthdays.
Cause who wants to invite the childless odd couple, right?
We are not always included in outings with other couples.
We are told: "You don't understand; you don't have kids."
Or "Wait till you have kids..."
Or "I have other priorities..."
Jabs and stabs.
Over and over and over again.

Our friends move to a land and culture we are not invited to.
We are not given the choice to opt out.
We are ousted.
Maybe we will be able to join the baby cult eventually.
And maybe we won't.
It is not our choice.
But the grief goes on.

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.

The Other Shoe Has Dropped

Yesterday I received some heartbreaking news.
I knew this would happen.
I almost knew this was true.

A few years ago my sister was diagnosed with some clotting disorders which have caused her to miscarry several times.
Being sisters, I knew I may have a risk of also having these genetic disorders.
About a month ago at my yearly check-up, my own OB/Gyn insisted that I get tested now since there may be some contraindications of taking hormonal birth control and having these disorders.
So on May 13, I gave eleven tubes of blood.
I prayed that everything would be normal.
I prayed I was not broken.
That somehow my genetics would be completely different than my sister.
By some miracle.
Don't I deserve a miracle?

Last night I saw my doctor's name and number appear on my phone.
I have been trying to get the results back for the last week like a mad woman.
I answered the call to hear my doctor's voice on the line.
She confirmed my gut.
Yes, I have both MTHFR mutation and protein C deficiency.
No more hormonal birth control for me.
And hard pregnancies in the future.

I have been on hormonal birth control this time for about eight and half years.
It has kept my PCOS under control.
Which I have no idea how that is going to play out now.
Mr. X and I were not planning on trying for children for at least two more years but now it looks like that may get pushed up a year if it is going to be harder for me to get pregnant and harder to stay pregnant.
Something I did not even want to do until almost two years ago.
Part of me wishes I still did not want children.
At least maybe then the heartache would be less.

Why can't I get a break?!
Why can't things just be easy from now on?!
Can't I get some sort of immunity from bad things happening?
Ugh...

The Last Ten Days - Part I

The last ten days have been a huge emotional roller coaster.

Graduation was probably a climax of grief.
After my dad died in January, I was thrown into a highly stressful and busy time of my life.
And as any person who has suffered loss knows, grief does not just go away.
It builds and waits. And builds some more.
Like a volcano waiting to explode.
On the day of graduation, that volcano erupted.
Two grief volcanoes really.
Roger and my dad, simultaneously.

The first one I was almost expecting.
I knew the semester end and graduation were going to be a trigger for me.
I was mostly fine before graduation.
I was mostly fine minutes before I walked across the stage.
Excitement and elation filled my soul.

As I walked across the stage, my lips began to tremble.
The stairs exiting the stage seemed enormous.
Tears started to well up.
As I walked back to my seat, I was still a little shaky.
But no tears fell, thankfully.

After graduation, my friends and Mr. X met me outside.
We were throwing a party to celebrate my graduation.
There was still lots to be done.
Unfortunately, my friends could not come back to my house with me.
Mr. X and I were on our own to complete the party set up.
Suddenly I was stressed.
We had four hours to get everything done and there was a long list of things to be done.

Mr. X and I were working hard and fast to get everything done.
We prioritized the list and some extra things were cut.
I am a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to hosting parties.
As I was working on some food for the party, the onions Mr. X had so kindly prepped the night before were too big for the recipe.
Grief raised its ugly head.
I burst into tears.
Tears that consumed me for the rest of the afternoon.
Everything became a calamity.

I cried because this is not how I planned my life.
I was a smart teenager and should have finished my formal education years ago.
I was supposed to be married now and celebrating my third anniversary.
Roger and I were supposed to be planning vacations and talking about kid possibilities and when to start trying.
My dad was suppose to be calling me.
Telling me how proud he was.
But none of that was true.
None of that was happening.

Mr. X was being awesome.
He was trying to comfort me.
But it was pretty useless.
I cried for three hours.

After most of the list was complete for the party, I took half a bottle of champagne, went to the bedroom,
shut the door, and cried some more.

I finally surfaced from the debris of grief and tried to celebrate my accomplishment.
One of my widow friends came later to rescue me.
Let me cry.
Let me say all the things I can't say aloud to most people.

The next day I was still recovering from the eruption.
I still miss Roger.
I still miss my dad.
Those things will not go away ever.
But life is improving.

Part II soon...

Emotional Day

My internship this semester is really starting to affect me.
Notice the lack of posts.
I do not sleep due to insomnia.
I am stressed from the difficulty and busy work the College of Education requires.
A two page paper is required for each day and for each prep we have.
I have two preps.  Except for one of my preps, I have two different schedules to be mindful of as well since one meets four times a week for an hour and the other three meet two days for 99 minutes then one day for 60.
This particular high school, which I did not choose, is an hour away and I must be there at 7am in professional attire.
I had to pay tuition of course to complete this internship.
I am commuting 80 miles per day on $8 per day toll roads and gas prices are just continuing to rise.
Then add all the political turmoil in education in Florida right now...
Stress, no sleep, and all the worry makes me very emotional.
A bit of instability I have not experienced in a while.
I knew going into education would not earn me a salary like my previous job but I did not except to be crapped on by the government either.

Today as I left my house, one of the main roads in Orlando was down to one lane.
Even at 6am it caused a 15 minute delay in my commute when I was only one the road for less than two miles.
I rushed to get to the school on time.
Speeding as much as safely possible.
As I am pulling into the parking lot, which is completely dark might I add, Roger and my song comes on.
I burst into tears.
This cannot happen.
My students are already starting to arrive.  I need to be composed.
At least enough to fake it.
I miss Roger.
Like a broken record, I just cannot say it enough to get my point across.

I got through the day.
I went to visit a good friend who just had a baby last week.
Babies always make me smile.  They can be like a reset button for me.
Something about them makes me realize life can be good.
The world is not all evil.
Life does not always feel like it is taking the breathe away.
And as I held this precious sleeping baby, I started to cry again.
Stress?  Maybe wanting my own?  Knowing I will never have a piece of Roger like that?
I am not sure.
But now the tears will not really stop.
I just have to get through May.
Two more months.

Ten Years or Six Months

A few weeks ago one of my family members asked me if I would have another wedding.
I started to say "Yes, since Roger and I were only married six months but if we had been married ten years..." when this person said, "Yeah, it would have been harder to move on if you had been together ten years."
I interrupted them.
"No, it is not that."

Obviously I will never know what it would be like to be widowed at ten years of marriage to Roger.
I pray to God I never ever know what it is like to be married ten years then widowed.
But for me, it was more about my future and plans were gone.
I never had a chance to have Roger's babies.
To plan anniversary trips.
To decorate our house together.
To fight about how much money to spend on Christmas.
To get to the point where we finished each other's sentences 100% of the time.
And that among other things was so hard.
I never even made it to my first wedding anniversary.

Would Roger and I have been closer after ten years?
Yes!! Absolutely.
But was only being married six months then widowed or being married ten years with all those plans completed worse??
I don't know.
But I am shocked still that people can think this road is easy because it was only six months of marriage.

Oh people...

Birthday, Again

Thirty in less than three weeks.

I know I wrote about my birthday a few weeks or months ago.
I am not sad in a traditional sense about turning thirty.
In some ways, I am excited.
Especially since a few friends of mine have planned a surprise for me.

For me, this is the decade things will be accomplished in a traditional sense for me.
I will have my degree in May 2011 at thirty & a half.
I may possibly get married (again) during the next decade.
And I will hopefully have children too.

For me, it is more strange weird eerie feeling.
Not regretful.
Unlike some people, I have traveled some so I cannot really regret that.
I am not as thin as I would like but I am okay, at the moment, with that fact.
It just does not seem real.
Not just because time flies and twenty-one seems like five years ago versus almost ten.
But because most days in my head it is still 2008.
Yes, it feels like two years have past but part of me does not want to go past 2008.
Instead, a 2008 part III.

There is one bit of sadness.
No gift from Roger.
After getting a posthumous gift for my twenty-eighth part of me wants another.
Selfish perhaps.
But I wonder what it would be like.

So thirty here I come.
I hope you are ready for me.
A new decade, a new beginning.

Behind

In one of my groups of friends, I am the oldest female.
I was the first of the group to get married.
And if movies and stories were any indicator, I should be the first to have a baby.

But I stand three months from thirty.
No longer a married female out of the group.
And of course no baby.

The first baby of our group is surrounded by adoring "aunts".
He is an amazing baby.
He is cute.
He is good.
And makes all of us want to have children.
Someday.

I cannot help to think I am way behind the rest of the group.
They are all married for multiple years now.
I am far away from being married again.
They are all on the crest of starting to have children.
I am far, far away from having a baby.
They get to enjoy the word husband in a way I can't.

I cannot help but think my next wedding will be just another wedding they have to attend.
I cannot help but think my pregnancy will be just another day in the park for them once I am there.
And I definitely cannot see my child surrounded by this group of these adoring friends.
As one of my friends nicely put it, "By the time the last of us has a child it won't be a big deal."
Exactly...

I cried on the hour ride home last night.
They are completely right.
By most time tables, I will be the last to have children.
And my children will just be another kid on the block.
It is only natural not to be amused by the old trick.

I should have been deciding this year whether or not to have children.
I should have been trying this year.
But instead I am years behind the crowd.
And it hurts.

Happy Father's Day

One of my cats was undeniably Roger's cat.
Roger and I joked that she had his personality.
Where I like order, Roger did not mind chaos.
Gizmo's coat was anything but symmetrical or ordered.
One foot does not even look like it belongs to her.

Gizmo is not a huge lovie dovie cat.
Roger was not a hugely physically affectionate person.
Gizmo likes to be petted but not come and sit with people.
She likes to be challenged.
She likes puzzles like Roger.
She is quiet.
She stares with intensity.

She loved Roger.
She would sit near him and would greet him when he came home.

After Roger died, she became a little more attached to me.
Siting next to me.
Coming up on the couch to be near me.
Greeting me upon my return home.

However, since about six months after Mr. X started hanging around more, I become replaced.
Gizmo loves Mr. X.
She will abandon time with me to go wherever he calls her.
She will talk to him.
She will almost fall off the couch to get near him if he standing nearby.
She has become his cat.

And this morning I thought about how my cats are like my very furry kids, I wondered if my cats are now "step-children" for Mr. X.
He feeds them.
He loves them.
He plays with them.
And I was almost tempted to say "Happy Father's Day" from Gizmo.
But something would not let me go there.
Something felt weird to say it.

Sigh...

Nineteen Months

I was talking with a fellow widow when she made the observation how we measure death like children.

First we talk about how many days out we are.

Days turn into weeks.

Weeks turn into months.

Right now I still measure my widowness in months.

Like a toddler under two years.

Nineteen months for me.

Widows also think about firsts like parents do.

First time for this and that.

First birthday.

First date (after).

It feels like the raising of a child.

It's a lot of work.

It's tiring.

It has its own strong will.

So maybe I am raising an invisible child.

Without any of the rewards.

"Daddy's Little Boy"

Two of my good friends are having a baby.

A baby boy.

I am very happy for them.

I am very excited for them.

This is a planned child and I know they will be exceptional parents.

Because I care about both of them.

I wanted to plan a shower for the mother-to-be.

I felt like after all they had done for me in the last year, I wanted to give back.

The shower is on Sunday so I am in the last minute throws of party planning.

Today I was shopping for my actual shower gift.

I printed out the registry.

Made my way to the baby section.

Navigated through all the baby stuff to the actual gift item on the registry.

But of course I wanted to add some cute outfits for the new baby boy.

And of course, I almost had a meltdown.

A cute blue onesie.

"Daddy's Little Boy."

Tears started to form.

I started to get flustered.

I have been thinking about it all evening.

I know, I know, I know that this can still be a possibility for me.

But it will never be a possibility for Roger.

It will never be a possibility for Roger and me.

Yes, we were not really planning on having kids.

Both of us were heavily leaning toward no.

But I cannot get over his journal.

The one where he wrote about a dream he had.

And how he wrote, "I hope I am a great father someday."

Not that we had time.

We were only married six months.

Six months...

I know he would have been an amazing dad.

And he truly would have had a "Daddy's Little Boy" t-shirt or maybe even "Daddy's Little Princess."

Sigh...

Chutes and Ladders

Yes, I am dating.

Yes, I am in school.

Yes, I feel good for the most part at least a good majority of the time.

Yes, life moves forward.

That is life fortunately/unfortunately.

But some days I cannot help but feel like I am in a bad game of chutes and ladders.

Instead of enjoying married life, I slid back single-hood and now I have climbed back to dating life.

Instead Roger and I decorating my home together and planning parties, I am planning without him.

I am barely maintaining my home and only with the help of others.

And although Roger and I did not plan to have children for five years initially, I was thinking right before his death about maybe reconsidering when I was thirty.

To make a (semi) final decision about to be or not to be.

I did not get a chance to talk to him about it.

To be or not to be was decided for me.

And now, I will be thirty in a year.

And I am not where I ever imagined.

Ever.

And especially where I thought I would be at almost thirty.

A few days ago, the wife of one of Roger's coworkers had a baby.

Roger really liked this coworker.

He talked about the potential he saw in him.

He talked about what a nice guy he was.

He talked about hanging out with him outside of work.

He talked about how he could see himself in him.

And in the day and age of facebook, I saw pictures of this new family.

A picture of his wife.

A picture of the baby.

And one picture that I cannot get out of my head.

This coworker and the his new baby.

His first child.

Tears were in his eyes.

And then in mine.

I can only imagine what kind of father Roger would have been.

I can only imagine the look of pride on his face.

And as I stared at the picture on my computer screen, I could see the same face on Roger.

The potential tears in his eyes.

Sigh... I hate this...

But This is the Second One...

WARNING: I AM RAMBLING AND VENTING...

I had my first birthday without Roger a mere six weeks after he passed away.

I went to dinner with friends.

I was sad.

And as a small birthday dessert was brought to me near the end of my day tears filled my eyes.

But it was not as bad as I thought it would be.

Like I would learn about most holidays and anniversaries and birthdays (except the one year death anniversary), it was mild.

Tolerable.

Survivable.

This year is my second birthday without him.

And for some reason it is blowing.

I feel severely grumpy.

I am not sleeping.

And I just am very sad about this one.

Grief is starting to put his hands around my neck to suffocate me.

I am not sure why I am so sad.

And depressed.

I feel really stressed about it.

About the week.

About school.

About my birthday.

I feel like it will not be my birthday.

It is not the same.

So I just want to skip it and postpone it till next week.

When less things are going on.

And then I was pushed more into my slight depression by a couple of comments over the weekend.

The main one was during a conversation about how people only associate with people who are in the same stage of life as themselves.

So married people hang out with other married people.

Single people hang out with other single people.

And people with children hang out with other people with children.

But I am not really in any of those categories.

My single friends still associate me as being married.

My married friends associate me with being single.

And of course I have no kids to be with the people with kids group.

And I am really starting to feel it.

Yes, I have Mr. X so you would think people would invite me to things that other couples are invited to but that is not really the case.

Maybe they don't like Mr. X?

And my single friends do not seem to invite me to things either.

Why? I am not sure.

So I am in this sort of limbo state.

And I suddenly feel very alone.

People do not know where to categorize me.

And it hurts.

It hurts to think people will move on with their lives.

Moving into a new stage without me.

Yeah, grief sucks...

And it is sucking the life out of my birthday...

And I am so not looking forward to this birthday.

Without him.

Human Cloning

Mr. X and I are both science minded individuals.

So our breakfast conversations can be quite nerdy.

Yesterday morning, we started talking about cloning.

He had read a story about some new experiments with it.

We were sharing our thoughts about the subject.

I would like to assume everyone thinks about this to some degree.

I would like to assume everyone who has lost someone dreams of this.

I would like to assume every widow lusts about this.

Because I definitely think about it.

I wonder what if.

If I could.

If I should.

If I would.

Of course it would really just be a reproduction of his cells.

Of his DNA.

It would not be him.

I know this.

But I have no children to remember him by.

I have no remaining genetic evidence that he ever existed in my life.

All I have is a tattoo on my back and a disgusting scar on my arm.

And the scar reminds me more of the other driver.

That asshole who took away my husband and his genetic evidence.

But it would be nice to have a little Roger 2.

Part of him to carry on with me.

Part of him to look up and me and for me to look down at him.

I know this new boy would be different.

I know he would not be the same.

He would not have the same experiences.

Perhaps not even the same exact personality.

And perhaps even some health problems due to the cloning process, but....

I would do it.

I would clone him if I could.

I would do it with all the risks.

I would do it knowing that it would not be the same.

I know without a doubt that I would do it.

Just to have a little part of him back.

Just something.

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.

"Probably Not"

Okay, okay... Yes, I am on match.com.

Yet again.

I am trying to date.

It is somewhat fun.

Somewhat different.

My first "issue" with the website was the marital status question.

I wanted to use "single" but they do not have that option.

The website's only option for singledom is "never married."

Well, that does not fit me.

So I had to use my least favorite word - "Widow."

Ugh.

Fine.

Okay.

I do not want to lie to people but I also do not want people to jump to preconceived notions of a widow.

I do not want pity.

I want someone to get to know me. Star. Not Star-the-widow.

But... it was my only option.

So Star-the-widow I am.

Whatever.

Then there is another question.

The question about kids.

Do I want them or not?

Hmm, well... there was an option that fit me perfectly in this area - "Probably not."

Yep, I probably do not want them.

Of course, all of this questions are laced with thoughts of Roger.

And it made me think.

I am twenty-eight.

Yes, not old.

Not old by any means.

But I do not want to have kids after thirty-five.

And I am single.

Even if I met Mr. Next Husband tomorrow, it would be at least two years or so before I was married again. Maybe even more.

Two years is the minimum.

And then I would want to be married for a while before having kids.

So that only gives me about two years or so before my "deadline."

Hmm.. so probably not.

But if I was with Roger, the "probably not" may be different.

We had completely put the question on the back burner much to the dislike of our families and the priest who married us.

At the time, we did not want them.

We said we would look at the decision at about the five year wedding anniversary mark.

Then right after or right before Roger's birthday last year, I cannot remember which, I wanted to discuss making the "final" decision when I turned 30.

I never got to tell him.

Not that I wanted kids.

But I wanted to re-look at the decision.

Make the final call in two years versus five.

The weird thing is I never even really thought about it right after the accident.

At least I do not remember thinking that thought.

I thought about a lot of other things.

But not about us having kids.

But then... after he died.

I thought about it.

After I found the journal from a few years ago, he wrote about a dream he had where he had a kid. He talked about what it would be like to have kids.

It seemed at least when he wrote it he sort of wanted them.

So did he not want kids because I did not want them?

What would it have been like to have his child?

To have a part of him.

Even if he still died, to have some part of him still here.

And then... I did not even think of it at the time and I only found out maybe a month ago, I could have collected some of his sperm.

I could have still had the opportunity.

The choice.

Maybe not now.

But maybe in two years.

Maybe in five years.

Maybe never.

But to have the choice.

I wish I would have thought of it.

I wish I would have known.

I like choices.

But for now, my choice is still "probably not."

I cannot imagine it.

Not without him.

Not without his sperm.

Someone else will need to win that part of me over again.

Make me consider it again.

At least consider saying "yes" or "maybe."

Otherwise, it is "probably not."

DISCLAIMER:

I love when my friends are pregnant.

Just because I know they want it and I love hearing their good news.

I also love children and babies when they belong to someone else.

I feel wobbly

Today, I woke up and was getting ready to fly to New York City.

But somehow, tonight I am going to sleep in Miami.

Not exactly my plan for the day.

I even got to surprise my mother-in-law.

My only excuse for this huge change in plans is I am a widow.  

I can control very little.

Including my emotions.

Including what city I wake up in.

It started last night.

Or maybe it started on the way back from Seattle.

I am not sure.

I just started feeling out of sorts.

I read John Grogan's memoir on the way back from Seattle and it just hit home a lot.

I was bawling on the plane as the author talked about his own struggle with taking his father off life support.  I had no idea the book was going to end that way.

Thankfully the middle seat next to me was empty and the guy in the aisle was paying little attention to me.

Or at least he pretended not to see me.  

For which I am grateful.

Yesterday, I could not get myself in the mood to pack for or get ready to go to New York.

I had no energy.  No motivation.

I was feeling pretty low so I bought a cupcake as my dinner from a local bakery to see if that would make me feel better.

Nope.

It just made me feel fat and have a sugar overload.  

And then there was some stress.

It was silly.

Normal people would not have been stressed about it.

I would not even been stressed out about it a year ago.

It was all about getting into my friend's apartment in New York.

She could leave the apartment key under the mat but I would still have to wait for someone to come out to open the building.

Or I could come to her office which I did not know where it was, pick up the key, and then figure out how to get back to her apartment with my luggage.

Or I could find something else to do for three to four hours with my luggage in tow while she was at work.

I could not seem to make a decision.

None of the options seemed to work for me.

I was getting completely stressed out.

I was feeling sick with stress.  

"Ok, going on an exciting trip like this is not suppose to be stressful. Especially for something this silly."

So I decided not to go.

In somewhat of a haste but I immediately felt less stressed.  

But my bags were packed.

I had only been about forty minutes from leaving my house for the airport.

And I hate unpacking.

So about twenty minutes later, I decided to head to Miami.

After last week, I wanted to see Matthew.

I felt like I would feel better and less stressed if I saw sweet Matthew.

I also was feeling a bit guilty about not seeing my mother-in-law for her first mother's day without Roger.

As I was getting ready to leave for Miami, I noticed something else was different.

Something simple and silly.

The guy who mows my yard had asked me during the week what to do about some bushes that were dying in my backyard.

Stupid bushes.

Stupid stupid bushes.

Roger planted them last summer after relocating them from the front yard.

They never really took.

I think he took too long to replant them.  Damn him.

They have been dying for the last eight months.

Slowly but surely turning brown.  Damn them.

"Just pull them up. I do not think they are going to make it."

Which if I am honest with myself, they never really looked like they were going to make it.

Even right after Roger planted them.

As I looked into my backyard this morning, I noticed they were gone.

The landscaper did what I asked him.

It is not like he did it without my permission.

Damn it, it was even my idea.

But I started to cry.

The bushes were gone.

They were just bushes.

They were dead bushes.

But it is just another thing that disproves Roger's existence.

They are gone.  Just like him.

So today I feel more wobbly.

Like one big wind and I will fall over.

One big push and I will fall apart.

Seeing Matthew for the first time and holding him for a good two hours did help.

And I felt like I was in the right place being here with my family.  I feel like I need them and maybe they need me.

But I still feel like I am going through another cycle of grief.

One of many.

Grief Bubbles Up

Grief is an amazing and crazy emotion and process.

If I try to suppress it, it will eventually bubble back up.

It will not just go away.

It usually comes when I least expect it.

And usually when it ways I least expect.

Last weekend when I heard the news about Ethan, I barely cried.  

And then when I found out he passed away, again I barely cried.  

I was sad for sure.

I was angry for sure.

But the tears were not flowing.

And I had to get through this week.

I had finals this week.

I had my first set of teaching exams.

I could not let myself fall apart this week.

Not this week.

So I pushed through.

I suppressed most of my feelings.  

And yes, I got through it.  

Until yesterday.

After most of my hard exams were over.

It started when I actually talked to my cousin, Eddy, the father of Ethan.  

They are having the memorial service this weekend and due to already made plans, I could not go.

And honestly, I do not know if I could make it through a funeral.  

I have been dreading the next funeral I need to go to and I am just not ready to face that yet.

And sadly, I can barely even remember Roger's.  

I can barely remember who was even at Roger's.  

But I felt horrible for not going.  

Talking to Eddy was just hard on so many levels.  

We all just went through this type of pain.

Eddy was Roger's best man and was close with Roger.  

My heart breaks for both his wife and him.  

And our entire family.

The tears came back again last night.  

I needed to get my things ready to go away for the weekend.  

I went into the guest room to get my carry on bag.  

I guess I have not used it in a while.

Immediately, chills ran down my back.

Crap.

The resort tag from our honeymoon was still on my bag.  

Along with the claim tags stuck in the front pocket.

It was such an awesome trip.  We had an amazing time together.

Ugh.

Why are there always a million different reminders?

Later, I needed to get my suitcase from the bonus room.

Roger's ashes are still at my house, in the bonus room.

Rarely, do they freak me out.

They are just ashes.

They are not Roger.

But as I climbed the stairs, I just dreaded opening the door.

It was night time.  It was dark in the house.  

Then as I opened the closet to get my suitcase, I saw Roger's sitting next to mine.

Our matching suitcases.

I bought his as a gift for some holiday after he liked mine when we traveled together.

We were not a matchy matchy couple and I got the same color more as a joke than to match.

His suitcase was damaged when we were in the accident.  Not sure how or why. 

But it is still usable. 

Not sure when I will ever use it exactly but I cannot get rid of it.

Not yet.  

I went back to my room to finish packing and just broke down.

I miss him so much.

I hate that I lost him when we had so much more to do together.  

So after a week of not letting myself grieve.

Of keeping myself together.

Of keeping the tears inside.

It all bubbled out.  

Sigh... 

28

"When do you want your husband to die?"

Hmm, how about never or at least never while I am alive.

I know that is not how the organ transplant people asked me.

They were much more tactful.  Thankfully.

But it might as well been that. 

Same question, different words, same outcome.

How do you pick a day?

And a time of day?

This has to be a joke.

A week prior, I was planning what we would do for our six month wedding anniversary.  

Shortly after (I cannot remember when exactly as the days are jumbled) while I was in the shower, I saw the time.  

It was 28 after some hour.  

Roger's favorite number.  

I am not sure why it was (is?) his favorite number.

He told me once but I cannot recall now.

So... I picked August 28th.

There was nothing else to grasp at.  

Nothing else to try to make a decision with.

No other way to pick a day.

No one should have to make this decision. 

Now every 28th is just a reminder of how a favorite number can go terribly wrong.  

However, yesterday was a bit different in some ways.

And a bit the same in others.

The good news first.

In Florida, teachers have to take a General Knowledge Test to prove the ability to do algebra, geometry, statistics, reading comprehension, and writing skills.

It is suggested to take these exams before the junior year.

And in my case, before I forget all that fun stuff.

Yesterday was the only day available from March through August.  

Yesterday, the effing 28th.

Fine.

FINE!

So I studied all day Monday.

I took a zillion practice tests.  

On Tuesday, I showed up at the testing center.

They randomly assign you to a desk and I was assigned to lovely desk #28.

Ha.

Ha.

Ha.

And I did smile. 

How ironic.

Roger's favorite number.

Roger's dead day.

And even if it's psychological whether anything is lucky or not.

And even though it is not my lucky number.

I took it as good luck.

And I passed.

At least all the sections that could be scored immediately.  

I will know about the essay portion in about a month.

The bad news.

The really shitty bad news.

One of the twins born last week passed away yesterday.

Eight months after Roger.

He had some complications and did not survive.

He was only eight days old.

His twin brother is fine.  They are not identical so he did not have the same complication.

He came home today. (More good news but...)

But I just do not get it.

I do not understand.

How unfair.

And it is not like life is easy for this family.

And now this... 

C'mon... 

[See post below or click here if you would like to help out the family]

Also I find the 28th of each month has some apprehension for me.

I dread it.

How will I feel?  Will I be sad?  Will I have a bad day?

I try not to do major things that day.

However, my counselor has now suggested I plan a fun event for that day.

Even if it is as simple as seeing a movie or hanging out with a friend.

Just something to look forward to.

Not something to dread.

So on to next month... onto the next 28th.  

Another fucking dream

So in my very scientific experiment, I did not take sleeping medication last night and I did have more erratic dreams.
This one of course even a little more disturbing than the night before.

In this dream, it is present time.
Roger is not dead.
Roger has not been dead.
There is no death of Roger.
And we are trying to have a baby.
Why or why am I dreaming this stuff.

We are measuring my temperature.
Having sex in certain positions.
Charting.
The whole nine yards.

The crazy part of the dream is I can actually see inside my body.
I can see the sperm meeting up with the eggs.

I hate this dreams.
I woke up several times last night.
I was hot and sweating.
I woke up sleeping completely horizontal across the bed.

I am driving myself crazy.
I am not sleeping well and I know I need to.
But these dreams will not stop.
I am going to mention them tomorrow in counseling.
Ugh. My crazy head.