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.

Help my friend

Yesterday, my friend and former roommate lost her husband.
He had a rare type of cancer that Jennifer fought so hard to help find a cure.
She is young with a young daughter.
Many of you know how hard this journey is.
Many of you know of the cost of the first few weeks and the uncertainty of it.
Any thing you can do will help.
If you can't help personally, send to someone who can.

Help if you can:
http://www.youcaring.com/fundraiser-widget.aspx?frid=153977

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.

Living Through Hell

One of my former roommates from when I lived in New York City is going through her own sort of hell. She asked me to guest blog on her blog. Check out her blog and show her some support as many of you did me. It was an interesting experience to look back at those first months/needs.

Here is a link to my post.
Advice of What to Say/Do

Twenty One

In my class, I have been teaching about mechanical interactions.
Things like friction and drag.
And the perfect example of drag is, of course, skydiving.

When I was fifteen or so, I made a promise to myself and my high school best friend that we would go bungee jumping before sixteen and skydiving before twenty-one.
We went bungee jumping in Gatlinburg, Tennessee the summer before I turned sixteen.
Five years later, my twenty-first birthday was creeping up.
So I decided since my twenty-first birthday was on a boring ol' Monday, I would go skydiving the weekend before.
I found some friends who said they would go.
We went to the place, signed the paper work, watched the safety video, but weather was a no go.

My actual birthday, I went to class like a good girl and on my way home noticed the weather looked like perfect skydiving weather.
And in a time before cell phones were flooding our pockets, I drove home to call Skydive Deland.
I got home and the light was blinking.
They had left a message on my answering machine.
I called my friend but she was too busy spending time with her boyfriend.

So I rushed over, alone.
My adrenaline was pumping.
My eyes were big.
I could not quit smiling.
Life was good.
Twenty-one was good.

Of course, I bought the VHS tape of my jump but I have not watched it in years due to the fact it is VHS.
My homeroom (reading) class, who is also in my science classes, were amazed I had been skydiving and asked to watch the video.
And since Fridays are generally more relaxed and my classroom has a tape player, I brought in the video.

Wow.
Twenty-one year old me.  I have not seen you in so long.
You did not even know that your next birthday would be spent living in New York City.
You had not even fell in love yet. Even though you had a long term boyfriend before this time.
That would happen for the first time later that month.
You had not even traveled to far off places and did not even have a passport.
You had no idea what life would hold for you.
You were mature but yet life was full of surprises still.
Your friend Tom will still be your friend.
You will be a teacher in about ten years.

And you will lose so much.
You will hurt and bleed. And you will scar.
You will be in a serious accident where the unbelievable comes true.
You will be your happiest and your lowest all in six months time.
And you will jump again.

A Different Kind of Grief

I always think holidays are going to get better.
And in ways they do.
Of course, thoughts of Roger increase this time of year.
Missing him increases.
Especially with a new year approaching. A different year number.
It is quite a concrete reminder of exactly how far away Roger's physical existence is in my life.

And this year I have some new types of grief.
Like the loss of friends.

And I keep thinking about the loss of this particular "best friend".
Like always, hindsight is 20/20.
I keep slapping myself for being so naive.
So gullible. So believing. So stupid.
I should have seen it coming.
I should have seen the red flags over the last year.

We were supposed to be pregnant together.
And as your "best friend" you did not tell me when you changed your mind.
As someone who spent afternoons at your house sharing my life and trying to be the best friend I could be, you waited to tell me in a group of people that you were more than three months along.
And although I was very excited and happy for you, after a little digestion of the new information I kept thinking of how it should have been me.
If Roger had not died.
I did not know I would have this reaction.
I did not even see it coming till it was sitting on my lap in a group of eight people and I swallowed my grief for you.
But you said you knew my reaction would happen.
A best friend would have told me alone.
On one of the countless afternoons at your house.
But you didn't.

You were the one who gave me the title of best friend.
Yet not a single picture of you and me in your house.
Red f-ing flag.

The next red flag was at my graduation party.
My emotions were running high.  I needed you.
I graduated.
In the same room as Roger.
Because Roger died.
Because I could afford to go to school full time.
Because Roger was not there.
You offered your help.
I accepted. Stupid me.
Then you came five minutes before other guests.
Without helping at all.
You barely even spoke with me.
But again I forgave you.
I was the fool once more.

Giving you all I could for your baby shower.
The cake you wanted.
Driving four hours to be with you.
To celebrate you.
And trying to shower you with gifts to show how much I cared.
Stupid, stupid me.

Red flag again when picking out dresses for my wedding.
You could not leave me fast enough.
And when I mentioned coming to help you in your nursery.
I sensed the hostility.
But I ignored it.
Ignored the red flag flying in my face.
I ignored the sirens going off in my head.

Then to find out you did not want me at the hospital when your baby was born.
Or when complications arose.
To find out in a mass email message when others knew the day before.
What a shock to the system.

Then the email came.
All the hurtful things that were said to me.
To know that I was not loved.

What a fool I am.
What a stupid fool I am.
No more. No more.
But I still grieve.

Maybe...

Maybe it is the time of year.
All the holidays and memories.
Or lack there of.

Maybe it is the fact I drove to Miami.
By myself.

Maybe it is job stress.
Friend stress.
Wedding stress.
Second job stress.

But you have been on my mind.
I love looking at old pictures of you.
The ones of you before I met you.
Of you as a child.

Driving to work this week, I had disbelief battles again.
You didn't really die.
Just can't be real.
I saw you die but it just cannot have happened.
To you.
To me.
To us.
To everything.

I so miss you.
I wish I could talk to you.
I wish I could hear your voice.

Grief Monster Winter 2011

I do not even know where to start.

I do not want to even go into everything.

So I won't.

But as I posted on facebook this morning, the grief monster has been back.

Now, this time he did not come alone.

He brought big scary accomplices like Paranoia.

During my life, I have said goodbye many times.

When in elementary school, pretty much the moment I considered someone my best friend, they'd move.

It happened over and over again. 

It almost felt like a guarantee.  

While consulting, it was pretty much a way of life.

I would spend six to eight months living in a city Monday through Thursday.

Only to be moved to a completely new location with new team, new clients, and new city.

It was fun to say the least but it was always sad to leave and say the dreaded goodbye.

Yes, people would say, "We'll keep in touch."

But for most, it was just another required statement with no backing.

So I learned to live in the moment.

I learned to almost keep myself at a distance.

I learned to say goodbye easily.

In 2005, I decided I was done with that non-static lifestyle.

I wanted real relationships.

I wanted a semi-normal routine.

I wanted a home and community.

So I moved back to Orlando.

One of my favorite cities to be in.

Three weeks ago grief and his friends made me scared and stressed.

Two weeks ago he made me paranoid about people I called friends shaking some of the very foundations of me.

And then last week made me nauseous with the loss of friendships.

A different sort of grief but similar feelings nonetheless.

Grief tried to make me doubt myself.

It dug deep into old wounds to reach fresh blood.  

In the last week or so, I have had trumpeters telling me all the positive things I am.

I am thankful for those who believe in me.

Thankful for those new and old friendships who have and are trying to defeat the voices of grief, paranoia, and non-truths.  

I will prevail.

I will be better for it all.
I will say goodbye.

And when the dust settles I will know the truth.

How to be Happy

At my old job, I worked with this lady that would have me in stitches.
She has a good ol' Southern Tennessee twang.
She would tell it as it is.
And she would be funny about it.

Way before I met her though.
Probably 10-15 years before I met her.
She lost her son.
A small child.
To cancer.

And I remember watching her.
Feeling so sorry for her.
How can she be happy?
How can she crack jokes?
How can she smile at other children?
Just how?

But now I get it.
You never forget.
And I am sure there are days.
And moments.
And maybe even months.
But the loss scars over eventually.

For some reason, September has been harder than I imagined.
But there are days were the loss is just a scar.
And I can smile, crack jokes, and be happy.

Recycle. Repurpose. Reuse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Never Nervous

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

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

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

One of the finalist talked about her father.

Tears came to her eyes.

She talked about how he was always so calm.

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

He has passed away in the last few years.

Tears immediately starting flowing.

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

For my dad, no.

For missing Roger.  

He was always calm no matter what the situation.

And I loved that about him.

When buying our house, calm as a cucumber.

The day before the wedding, cool and collected.

Nothing seemed to rock him.

I asked once if he ever got nervous or anxious.

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

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

My attention span became shorter.

I could not sit still.

My anxiety was elevating.

My heart was starting to race.

Would my coworkers like me?

Would they be helpful?

Can I really do this job?

Why could I not be like Roger?

Even though I have looked at all the possibilities.

That does not reassure me.

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

But thankfully today went well.

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

And I am loving my coworkers.  

Yesterday, August 7th

Yesterday was horrid.
It has been a long time since I felt so crappy on an important day.
This one snuck up on me.
I did not know it would be such a big deal to me but it was.
And sadly, I felt so alone.
So friendless.

It felt like everyone, except for Roger's family and me, forgot.
My phone did not ring.
No text messages.
No offers to come by.
Not even emails until I expressed how sad I was.

I cannot predict my grief.
But yesterday was horrid.
And disappointing.

Mr. X tried to deal with the ball of emotion that was me.
He tried to hug me.
Tears just sat on the verge of falling all day.
Maybe they think Mr. X can handle it.
Maybe they think it has been three years and I should get over it.
Some may say it is not even a big deal.

Everyone else went on with their life yesterday.
I stayed inside most of the day except for the brief stent to the grocery store to buy cake making supplies.
My body felt so heavy.
Napped when I could not handle it anymore.

As promised, I made Roger a cake.
With layers.
It was not very pretty but it was done.
And it is yummy.

The Dress

Last time, I had my wedding dress within the first thirty days of being engaged.

And that was way early.

Roger and I were engaged for a total of sixteen months. 

Mr. X and I have been engaged for two and a half months.

I have walked into one bridal shop for about fifteen minutes.  

But I have not tried one dress on.

Why?

First, because I am scared of it.

I know I will feel like a bride for sure then.

It will truly sink in.

A bride.  Widow-ness in the shadows. 

Right now I feel like I am planning a party mostly.

And a tiny bit like a bride. 

Secondly, because I am not happy with my body.

I remember looking at my wedding photos to Roger on my first anniversary.

I was huge.

I did not feel huge then.

But once I went on the dead-husband diet, I was so skinny.

And I looked pretty hot and sexy. 

I was hot when Mr. X met me.

And although I am working on it with diet and exercise, I know I will not be where I want to be.

I do not feel hot.

I do not feel sexy.

I feel huge.

And I will be a huge bride again.

Which makes me sad.

So part of me wants to wait.

Wait on my body.

Wait on my spirit.

But then the planner part of me wants to check it off the list.

Even the online checklist is yelling at me to start shopping.

I partly want to go alone.

But I know I will regret that decision within about five minutes.

In my very brief walk into that one bridal store, I was trembling.

And I wanted my friend who was waiting with her daughter (no children were allowed) to be by my side.  

Sigh... 

I know I have until September/October to do this.

But I also know my life will get super busy very, very soon.

I wish I could lift my confidence.

I think that would help me.

Confidence, please go up.  

Please!!

PTSD

I am not sure if I have divulged some early things that happened on this blog.
If I have, it was a long time ago.
And perhaps newer readers have not read this or know this.
But I had/have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder aka PTSD.
I was diagnosed with depression, PTSD, and a good deal of survivor's guilt during counseling when Roger first died.
Mostly from the accident.
But from also watching Roger die.
And me not dying.

Now it is way, way better that it was in the beginning.
But...
I still have nightmares.
And daymares.
I still have images stuck in my head that I will never be able to get rid of.
And I have exaggerated reactions to things that others may think are minor.
Such as when I had my accident a few weeks ago.
That frozen fear where I could not move and had irrational fear.
I still jump and get very angry when other cars get close to the car especially if I am not driving.
Sometimes I have to be reminded by others that the world is not ending. (Thank you, Holly & Candice!)
But it still comes out.
And from what I understand, it is something that will lessen but never go completely away.
But I can sleep most nights with or without an alarm on.  [Except this morning when I thought someone was breaking in even though logically I knew a burglar would not park in front of my house & would not set the alarm to their car.]
I can walk around the neighborhood alone.
And I can drive without too much fear most of the time. [Although I so try hard to schedule things where I have to drive during non-rush hours. Less cars, less chance of an accident.]

Today, while driving, I heard a lady describing PTSD to the host on NPR.
She described it so perfectly.
I am paraphrasing here but...
She said, "It is like having a black blanket thrown over your head.  You are paranoid of everything. You feel like there is a dark cloud overhead. Everything is going to go wrong and you cannot stop it.  You are out of control of your world.  There is a fog over you."
Yes!
Exactly!
Now, I do not feel like that extreme most of the time.  But there are definitely days where I feel like people are against me.
Even my best friends.
Where I feel so out of control of my life, my emotions, and my everything.

Decisions can be so overwhelming for me.
That is not so new for me.
But now I fear what is behind my decisions.
I made a decision that accident day too.
I decided not to say anything about the route Roger was taking to the airport.
I decided to say something about his speed.
I decided when he was to die.
Now, what if I decide wrong?  What if my decision leads to disaster?
I do remind myself that most likely not, but sometimes that reasonable voice gets drowned out.

Sometimes...

I Am Not Surprised

I am one of the few Central Floridians who has not kept up with the Casey Anthony case.
Or many one of the few Americans?
It has been on every news station in Orlando for three years.
Every newspaper.
Everywhere in our community for three very long years.
The whole fascination with the thing has annoyed me.
I just want the whole thing to go away.
To be done.

Perhaps there is some weird association with it being the same summer Roger died.
Actually I am pretty sure that is one of my disgusts with it.
I just want people to move on with it.
Personally I have been avoiding the whole obsession.
I have started to hide people who constantly update their status on facebook with the trial.
One friend even DVRs the trial coverage.
A few friends have given me a couple of updates here when I see them in person.

My response for the last few weeks... She is going to get away with it.
And guess what?
She did.

How did I know?
Because of my own experience with the court system.
Because I know it is never fair toward the victims.
I know that with enough money and enough lawyers people can get away with murder.
Murder of a child or murder of my husband.
I have been in that court house.
I have testified without any justice for Roger.
For me.
For us.

"We've Got Time"

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

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

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

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

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

Being Recognized

Yesterday Mr. X and I went to a food tasting for our caterer.
They are public group events where they put out about twenty different menu options to try.
While looking at table linen options, a girl approached me.
I had seen her when we first went in and noticed she stared at me.
"Star?"
My first thought was one of the readers of this blog recognized me as I tried to place how I knew her.
"Yes?"
"I met you at Rusty's wedding. We sat at the same table."
I started to remember her.
At Rusty's wedding, I sat with one of Roger's old friends from martial arts club, Nathan, and this girl who was his girlfriend at the time.
She remembered Mr. X as well.
It was the first wedding we attended together.
She is no longer dating Roger's old friend but one of the instructors from the martial arts club.
The instructor insisted he was at my wedding to Roger.
I asked if he was sure.  I mean, I did do all the names for placecards and I have looked at the pictures a million times.
He was not at my wedding.  Roger did not even like this guy.
We did not invite him. And he was not anyone's plus one.  I knew all the plus ones.
No, I know where he was.
He was at Roger's funeral.
That I remember.
It was a shock he was there.
Those are mostly the people I remember at the funeral.

It was beyond weird to run into this girl.
And her new boyfriend.
Weird especially to be reminded of Roger's funeral at a wedding-to-Mr. X event.

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...

I Wore a Gold Dress

I wore a light gold dress to Roger's graduation.
It had glitter within the material.
Every time I wore it, glitter would be all over my face and my body.
And whoever else was near me.
For days.

As I walked in to the arena that morning, a man commented on my dress.
"Lovely dress."
I smiled.
"Thanks!"

The weather was slightly cool that day.
But beautiful.
Grace, Roger's sister was there, as well as my mother-in-law.
We were all so proud.
We were all so happy for him.

Roger did not need a degree exactly.
He had loads of experience in the computer industry so he could easily get hired anywhere.
But most of the time the HR department of companies wanted some sort of degree.
So Roger went to school part-time for years to get his bachelors.
In philosophy, no less.
Not computer engineering or computer science or anything like that.
He liked the logic and elegance of philosophy.
So yes, perhaps a crappy degree for finding a job right out of school but it was a degree none the less.
The piece of paper he needed.

After Roger died, I let a friend borrow that gold dress.
And I never got it back unfortunately.
In a way, I want to wear in on Saturday for my own graduation.
To remind myself of Roger.
To have him close to me.
To remind myself of his day.
But sadly it is not in my closet.
Sigh...