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.

Wedding Dreams

When Roger and I got engaged, they came.
Wedding dreams and nightmares.
Ones where I was pregnant.  Ones where the catering never came.
Ones where things went terribly wrong.
But none of those came true.
The wedding went off flawlessly (at least from my view).

After the wedding, I had wedding dreams and nightmares too.
So did Roger.
Of course it was too late for those to come true.
I had new real nightmares awaiting me.

Last night, I had a new wedding nightmare.
But...
It was not a wedding with Roger.  It was a wedding with Mr. X.
[Interestingly enough I referred to him as Mr. X in the dream.]

In this particular dream, I was in my hotel room getting ready putting on my dress.
But for some reason, all my bridesmaids were gone.
It was just me.
"Why am I alone?  Where is everyone?"
Then I realized I had forgot to book a room for the wedding night for Mr. X and me.
The bridesmaids were going to be sleeping in this room.
Mr. X and I can't sleep in this room with my bridesmaids on my wedding night!
So I decided to drive back to the hotel I had stayed at with my bridesmaids a few nights before.
As I am about to leave the hotel, I see Mr. X.
I tell him he needs to drive me to the other hotel to see if I can get a room for us and he agrees.
The wife of my photographer mentor (and former wedding photographer) was working at that hotel and I asked her if she could hook me up.
We drove back to the hotel where the wedding was to be but I had not done my hair or my makeup.
As I am about to go up to my room, I see it is time for the wedding to start.  I ask Mr. X to stall the crowd so I can finish getting ready.  "It will only be five more minutes, I promise."  He smiles and agrees.
The coordinator spots me and the bridesmaids have already gone down the aisle.  Everyone is waiting on me.  She says it is time to start and that I look fine.  No need for makeup or my hair today.
I beg for more time to get ready.  My hair is in rolled into an everyday bun.
"I need to look my best. There will be pictures of this day."
She insists that I walk down the aisle now.
I concede but insist that I will be putting on makeup before the formal pictures.
I start to walk down the aisle.  My bouquet is magically in my hands.
My heart starts to beat fast and loud.  It feels like it is going to beat out of my chest.
I feel lightheaded. (I wonder if my heart was beating this fast while I was sleeping?)
Midway down the aisle, I see the wife of my photography mentor again sitting in the audience.
I run over to her.  I need help.  I feel so alone.
I plead to her to help me.
She tries to coax me.  "You can do this.  It is going to be okay."

I woke up.

I laid in bed a few minutes before getting up.
On my new wedding day, at some point in the future, I cannot be alone.
Someone must stay with me the night before.
And I will probably need a good friend to walk me down the aisle this time.

Crazy Dreams

Last weekend and early this week, I did not sleep well.

How do I know?

I kept talking in my sleep.

Sure sign of mine that I am not sleeping very well.

It is probably a little bit of stress.

It is the only thing I can really think of.

There were not any super big days going on right now except for normal 23rd and 28th.

So it must be stress.

It started last Thursday night.

Mr. X had to wake me up in the middle of the night because he said I was whimpering.

Very loudly.

Enough to wake him up.

I do not really remember what I was dreaming except all day Friday I kept replaying Roger die.

I even cried a bit on my drive to school.

Then Friday night.

Saturday night.

And Sunday night, Mr. X was awakened by my mumbling.

On Monday night, I remembered one of my dreams.

I am not sure if I mumbled or not since Mr. X returned back to his house, but the dream was very vivid.

To the point that I still remember it today, four days later.

In this dream, I was having my yearly Fourth of July party, also my very most favorite holiday.

I was really bummed because no one except for a few people were at my house and it was already an hour after the party was scheduled to begin.

So I went to my room to cry.

I opened the blinds and saw the most amazing sight.

Snow! Gently falling.

The most beautiful white snow covering my yard and the streets.

So this is why no one was at my house.

It was a miracle. Snow in Florida. In July.

I was so happy.

Snowflakes were gently crashing into my window.

And then... I saw a cardinal.

A bright red cardinal flying through the air.

It was a beautiful dream.

And for some reason very comforting.

Switcheroo

This is weird.

This is strange.

Last night Mr. X and I were out buying some groceries.

At the register, there were some DVDs for sale.

One was "Charlie Wilson's War".

I turned to Mr. X and said "Remember when we saw that with Holly and Scott."

"No."

I continued trying to remind him.

"No, Star. I did not see that movie. I wanted to but I did not see it."

"Oh."

Oops. Oops. Oops.

I picked up the movie and looked at the date the movie came out.

2007.

"It came out in 2007. That was not you."

I have noticed something in the last couple of weeks.

I am starting to confuse Roger stories with Mr. X stories.

I rarely dream about Roger.

I dream about Mr. X.

He is the one I see in my dreams.

He is the one I do things with in my dreams.

Not Roger.

I am not sure how I feel about this.

I think it is good.

I think. Maybe.

And Another One...

I had another dream.

This one a bit more disturbing.

This time Grace had a surprise for me waiting in Miami.

She seemed excited hence I was excited.

I arrived in Miami and Roger walked out of the door.

I was shocked. Grace was smiling ear to ear.

His hair was strange.

It was shaved in the front still from his head injury so Grace had him wearing a blue/green bandana.

In the back, it was longer and it had blondish streaks.

He sent his cousin Eddy to go get something from town.

Grace gave us some time alone.

We were sitting on the bed in Grace's new place in the room she set up for us.

He put his head in my lap and I started to run my hands through his hair.

I was crying.

I was happy.

He was talking.

But then of course, the dream became weirder.

He started to describe to me some tools that Mr. X is using at his new job.

It was a surveying tool used to measure and it had a special way to make it level.

It almost looked like a mini-wooden crane that shot a laser through the top.

I woke up in tears.

It was nice to talk to him some.

To tell him how much I miss him.

But also disturbing to think he could come back.

Disturbing for him to describe this weird tool.

I cried this morning as Mr. X left for work.

I asked him to be super careful.

Ugh...

Crazy Nightmare

Last night I had (another) crazy nightmare.

I hate when I have them.

I really hate when they involve Roger.

In this nightmare, Roger was brutally murdered by this young guy.

It was not the man from the accident.

This man lived in our neighborhood.

And of course I was scared to leave my house.

I do not remember why this guy killed Roger.

One of Roger's former co-workers also lived in our neighborhood (which is not true in real life).

He and his wife were over visiting me at my house when they saw the man looking in my windows (not the first time I have had a nightmare like that).

The former co-worker decided to hunt down this guy.

To revenge Roger's death.

So he ran outside.

Shot the guy down.

I know why these particular things were in my dream.

Conversations from during the day but...

It was a scary dream.

I woke up in a panic.

I hate nightmares involving Roger.

Why can't they just be normal lovely dreams?

Why can't they be memories?

Or something else?

Why must they be bad?

Ugh...

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.

How Am I Doing?

So as I approach the next big day, Roger's burial, I am being asked "How are you doing?"

Sigh...

How am I doing?

Man, I wish I knew a simple one word answer to that.

I am weepy again.

I cry randomly.

I cry at things that do not require tears.

I cry more than appropriate at things.

Memories are flooding my memory.

Roger is constantly on my mind.

Almost every guy I talk about is now named Roger in any stories I tell.

The replay of the accident is strong again.

The images.

The feelings.

The questions of why and how.

The analyzing of the scene.

The anger of the driver.

Does he realize what this weekend is?

Does he even care?

And then there is a sense of dread.

Followed by a sense of "let's just get this done."

I want this month over.

I want the burial to be over.

I just want to be done.

Can I just fast forward through the part where I watch them place dirt on my husband's ashes?

The thinking.

The wondering of was Roger a dream?

The wondering of is this a really bad nightmare?

The thoughts of fate.

The thoughts of God's plan.

I still have such an amazing support system.

I have lots of friends keeping me in their prayers.

In their thoughts.

And I sincerely appreciate it.

Do not stop now.

So I do not know how I am really doing.

I am keeping myself busy.

I have traveled every weekend this month.

I am seeing movies each week.

I am reading.

I am volunteering.

I am working on projects around the house.

I am cooking.

I ask for positive vibes for this weekend.

Anything.

Thanks.

Roger's Burial

On August 22, 2009, I will finally bury my husband.

On the one year anniversary of the car accident.

Yes, almost a year later.

Twelve months.

Three hundred sixty-five days.

It took me a long time to figure out what exactly to do with his ashes.

He has been resting upstairs on his meditation table since September.

But what to do after that?

I never wanted him to be in a casket.

I hated the thought of it.

Not to mention the un-ecofriendliness of it and the cost.  

And then the photos last year of the floating caskets in Texas. Oh the horror. 

Roger and I had talked about it.

So I knew it was the right decision.  

But we had never really talked about what to do after he was cremated.  

[By the way, spread me into the ocean.  Atlantic preferably. DO NOT PUT ME IN A CASKET!]

I debated evenly distributing him here at home near his banana trees, a little in Miami, a little in the ocean, and a little somewhere else.

Some people did not like that idea.  They wanted him all in one place.  

Okay. That's fine.

But then where?

Naples? Where he spent a lot of time as a kid with his family on vacation.

The Keys? Where he spent a lot of time fishing as a kid with his dad.

Miami?

Atlantic Ocean?

Gulf of Mexico?

Asia?  

There were lots of choices.

But nothing sounded perfect.

Nothing tickled my fancy.  

And although I would not mind keeping him at home forever with me in a selfish way, some people did not like that idea either. Again, that's fine.

So I kept racking my brain.  

Where o where should my husband lay?

In December, while visiting my good friend Jennifer she gave me an idea.

She told me how one of her aunt's ashes was buried on top of her other aunt's casket.  

Hmm... 

The perfect place instantly came to mind.

With Roger's dad.  

He would love to be with his dad.

Roger loved his dad.

They were so close.

Roger dreamed of him often.

Even the week of the accident and last June.  

Ironically they both died in car accidents.  

Six and a half years apart.

I spoke to Grace, Roger's sister.

She thought it was an excellent idea.  

Perfect.

We told his mom.  She liked it.

Now, two months from now, his family, friends, and I will be burying him.

And in order to avoid making a "new" anniversary, I wanted to choose a day that already a meaning.

Thus the day of the accident.

It was my wonderful counselor's idea since I have such trouble with that week each month already.

So a year from the last day I talked to him.

The last day he told me he loved me.  

The last day he was conscious.  

I know I will cry.

I know I will cry a lot.

But I am also hoping to celebrate his life.

Celebrate who he was.

Not his death.

I want to hear stories about him.  Familiar and new.

I want to hear the laughter of our friends and family.  

I want to see the smiles as people remember him.  

I want to remember him.

I want everyone to remember him.  

The person he was.

Sigh... 

I Died...

... in a dream the other night.  

It was weird.

It was slightly unnerving.

It was scary.

It started with knowing I was dying.

I was trying to put my affairs in order as fast as I could but I was running out of time.

I wanted to write a will.

I wanted to make sure my beneficiaries were really who I wanted them to be.

I was worried about my cats.

I was worried about my ring of all things.  

I felt stressed out.

My mom came to pick me up to take me to the hospital.

She was happy I was dying.

It was weird.

She put me into a wheel chair (suddenly we were at the hospital) and was pushing me around.

Pushing me into my death room.

I looked the same as I do now.  

I did not look sick.

I did not look old but I know that does not necessarily mean anything.  

I had on my normal clothes.

The nurses and doctors were around me.

And we all waited for me to die.

And I did.

But only for a little while.

I am not sure how long I was dead.

I just decided in my dead state that I did not want to die on that day.

Like I have that kind of power.

So I revived myself.

People were shocked.

People were not as happy as I would have expected.  

And then the strangest part of all - I went to work.

But not at the job I just got out of in November, but my very first pharmacy technician job.  

Weird... 

"Real Life"

A while back I found myself starting to say this: "in my real life.."

Usually in response to something I do not "normally" do.

Or someone I would not "normally" hang out with.

Like "In my real life, I would not run a 5K but..."

And I was having lunch with a friend today where I found myself saying it again.

For me, it almost feels like this "situation" is not my real life.

It can't be, right?

I mean, in my real life I am married.

In my real life, I would never run a 5K.

In my real life, I would not date a 22 year old boy.  

But I have to keep reminding myself, this is my real life.

This is what I have now.

It reminds me of being dealt a whole new set of cards like in poker.  

I have played out my old set of cards.  This is a new round.

Those old cards no longer exist.  

So I must play these new set of cards versus thinking my old set will come back.  

But it is so hard.  

This feels still so much like a dream.

Like I am going to wake up to my "real life."

I am in a pretend world for now but real life is waiting.  

Like I am enjoying this for now but Roger is somewhere else.

Unfortunately, this is real life.

This is the real deal.

The mistakes I make now are real.

The good things that happen are real.

Not fake.

Not pretend.

This is it, Star.

This is real.

This is your life.

Bad dream

I hate the dreams.

But at least in this one, I knew Roger was dead.

That is a good thing, right?

The backstory: 

I carry Roger's driver's license in my wallet.  

It rests behind mine.

It gives me comfort for it to be there.

Like he is with me.

I can see him whenever I want.  I can see how we took that silly motorcycle class together and we both have our motorcycle endorsement. 

I am not sure exactly when I got his license.

It was at some point during our days at the hospital.

But which day, I am not sure.  

I am not even sure which person gave it to me or how they gave it to me.

I have also had my purse stolen before.

It is violating.

It is annoying.

But for me the part that sucked the most was the non-replaceable things, not so much the money or cell phone or keys.

The things I will never be able to get back like my address book I had for years, my yearbook editor business cards from high school (yeah, I was a dork even back then), and pictures were much more devastating.

This morning I woke up very suddenly from a very bad dream.  I dreamt I was at a mall shopping with Holly and some other friends.  

Roger was dead.

I ran into a high school boyfriend.

We started chatting and catching up.

We decided to hang out.

It was late in the day.

We were all leaving the mall and I decided to ride with my old boyfriend to wherever the group is going next.

As we were walking out, a thief walked up and wanted my purse.

I was scared.

I was pissed.

"Oh no! Why now? Why me?"

I handed my purse to the old boyfriend and asked the thief if I could please keep some things like my phone. 

I ran to find Holly and the others.

The parking lot was full of thieves.  

All of them were trying to take the purses of those leaving the mall.  

The old boyfriend met back up with me.  

He had most of my purse.  

Except...

He let the thief take Roger's ID. 

He let him take Roger's memory cards.

The fucking thief took Roger's ID.  Evidence of his existence.

I started to cry.

"I will never get that back."

I screamed.

That is when I woke up.

I had to keep convincing myself that it was a dream.

Only a dream.

I still have Roger's ID.

But I will be removing it now.  

I will put it somewhere safe.   

Sometimes

Sometimes I have this weird half daydream half fantasy where the accident never occurred.
And I can see us waking up on Saturday, August 23rd together.
Our six month anniversary.
Not Roger never waking up and not me waking up with Holly next to me.
Not that I am ungrateful to Holly.
She was fabulous for not letting me be alone.
And I am very very thankful for that.

But Roger and I are together.
And I am uber excited that it is our six month anniversary.
I wake Roger up and say "Do you know what day it is?"
And he says "Of course. It is six months from the best day of my life."
Or if he wanted to be funny he would give some other weird answer like "Saturday, the day you woke me up earlier than I wanted to be."

And we are in a big comfy bed.
The room is decorated like most bed and breakfasts.
Flowers on the bed.
Wallpaper on the walls.
A fireplace on the right side of the bed.
A quilt hanging nearby.

Roger is sleepy.
He just wants to go back to sleep.
But I want to go do something.
"Let's go eat breakfast."
And he will grumble back at me.

But then, I have to come back to reality.
I have to face that did not happen.
That will never happen.
I will never wake up next to him.
He will never wake up next to me.

But what does get me through the day is that someday I will wake up next to someone else.
Not a cat.
Not Gizmo.
Not Gadget.
But a real human being of the male gender.