The Peace Lily

When Roger died, I asked for others not to buy me flowers but plants.
I could not handle more dead things laying around my house.
So I received a few plants.
Three are still living.
One small peace lily, a larger peace lily, and a vine.

The vine has been amazing.
It has grown a lot and has even bloomed a few times.
It sits in the kitchen where it fights with the blinds for light.
It is also a succulent so I do not have to worry if I forget to water it.
Which tends to happen.

The large peace lily is living yes but it has never been very healthy.
I guess it does not like its location.
The leaves are ragged edges all year long.
It has never bloomed again.
I am not sure if it has even grown much.
But it sits right outside the kitchen window and I stare at it wondering if I should move it or just let it be.

The small peace lily has waxed and waned.
A few times I thought it was going to die.
Sometimes it would not get watered.
But it always came back.
Last summer I even had to repot it.
So in a new pot and outside on the patio it went.
I figured if it died outside at least I wouldn't have to witness it in my kitchen.

This past weekend as I was walking by the windows to the patio I noticed something.
I walked out onto the patio and noticed two things.
Two blooms.
After four years, it has finally bloomed again.
Finally.

Maybe it is a sign.
Or maybe it is a sign that I needed.
Yes, I did the right thing by re-financing my house.
Yes, Mr. X is a good match and will be an excellent husband.
Yes, things will be good this time.

Never Ever

Never ever put me in a black box.
Never in a long black car.
Never ever ever buried underground.
I just cannot stand the thought.

Put me in the ocean.
Spread me over the land.
Keep me free.

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.

As wedding planning is coming into full force
And Father's Day is almost here
I am missing my dad sooo much.
Daily there are reminders he is not here.

My dad did not attend my wedding to Roger.
He was not sure his truck could make it.
And he did not have the money for the flight.
I accepted this fact as much as I could.

So I walked the aisle myself.
We did not do a father-daughter dance.
No photos taken with my daddy in my wedding dress.

And now as I plan my next wedding,
[It always sounds weird to say: "my first wedding" or "my next wedding".
Sounds like I am a collector of weddings.
Or worse, like I choose to end my marriage.]
I keep thinking about my dad.
I think about how he drove all the way to Florida to get to Roger's funeral.
He was the only family member from my side of the family that came down on his own accord to be with me.
To help me.
He jumped in to cleaning up Roger's mess in the garage.
To be social with my friends and Roger's family.

I wish I could have him with me now.
I wish I could call him on Sunday and wish him a Happy Father's Day.
It was Father's Day years ago that we reconnected.
When I realized my mother had contaminated my relationship with my dad.
That he was not the bad man she tried so hard to make him out to be.

And now as I plan my wedding to Mr. X, I will walk the aisle alone once more (perhaps) but for a completely different reason.

Ashes, Ashes

All week long I have had the little nursery rhyme "Ring around the rosie" stuck in my head.
Only one line though: "Ashes, ashes, we all fall down."
Mostly just the first two words.

Roger's ashes took over a week to get back.
So after my father's funeral, when the car was being unloaded, I never expected one of my dad's friends to hand me my dad.
My dad in a box.

"Whoa, he is ready already?"
"Yep, the funeral home did it yesterday on site."
"Ohh..."

My dad wanted to be spread over the property where they lived.
Where he died.
I was thinking we would all come back and do that part.
But my dad's wife wanted to do it on that day.
While we were altogether.
Like right away.
"Oh, okay."

But first, we needed to set aside some of the ashes for my sister and my dad's stepdaughter to keep.
So as we were carrying my dad outside in the freezing cold, I asked someone to grab a spoon.
A plastic spoon.
And ziplocs.
I was about to scoop my father up with a spoon.
And distribute him into snack size bags.
Great...

My dad's wife asked if the three of us would share this task of spreading the ashes.
Now, in the movies, it seems so fantastic and simple and holy.
In the movies, people open the container and the ashes just simply fly away in the wind.
But I knew that was false.
I knew that even though the wind was abundant and very, very cold that my father would just not take to the wind.
I knew that if I tried that he would just fall in one huge clump on the ground.
One giant pile of grey ashes on the white snow.

I asked the other two who wanted to start.
I was still holding the plastic spoon.
My sister said I could start.
So the first place I sprinkled was his place of death.
It seemed appropriate.
A few spoonfuls there.
Interestingly enough the ashes sank into the snow.
As we walked, a path of ashes followed us.

Scoop and drop. Scoop and drop. Scoop and drop.
"Does anyone else want to do this?"
"No, you are good at it. You can keep doing it."
Great.  Let me add that to my resume.
"Other Skills: spreading human ash remains with a spoon."

We continued along the path to my dad's garden.
Then, in what can only happen to me, the wind shifted.
My dad flew into my face.
All over my jacket.
All over my scarf.
And I noticed later, he made it onto my jeans.
I tried to cough and not inhale but I am pretty sure I inhaled my father.
I immediately thought of this.
Trying not to laugh was hard.
I could almost hear my dad laughing.

Spreading the ashes of a whole human takes what seems like a long time when it is done with a spoon.
And being me, I tried to find a pattern.
So as we entered his long gone garden from this past summer I went row by row.
Scoop here.  Scoop there.  A little here. A little more there.
Up and down the rows until I was out of ashes.

I took the white plastic spoon and dropped it into the box.
Closed the lid and placed it into my father's lookout over his hill.
The place he probably spent his last morning alive and many other days beforehand.

My coat and scarf went to the dry cleaner's this week.
I feel like my dad will always be a part of me.
Hell, I inhaled him.
But I could not keep my winter coat with his ashes.
It will probably be a long time where I do not think of my dad when I wear my coat or my scarf or those jeans.
And thankfully living in Florida, I do not have to wear those things often.
Except the jeans.
One of my favorite pairs.
Great...

When I die, just dump me into the ocean.
No spoon necessary.

If I Could Write An Article for Brides or Newlyweds

I was only married in the traditional sense for six very short months.
Six months after planning a fabulous wedding, I was planning my husband's funeral.
I was asked questions about what Roger would have wanted in death.
Organ donation.
Keeping him alive for an extended about of time.
Or taking him off life support.
Questions that I mostly knew the answers to but I surely wish Roger and I had discussed things a bit more.

In the last two years, I have emailed a few wedding planning sites trying to get them to put something on their sites or magazines.
Even a wedding planner.
No one responds.
No one wants to think about the dark side of marriage.

In my mind, even before Roger died, being engaged was more than just planning a wedding.
It was planning a life together.
It was more than just the first day but days 2 through the end.
But couples should even talk the last days.

If I could advice brides and grooms, I would ask them to think ahead.
Way ahead.
Couples should discuss their preferences in the event of something horrible happening.
Ventilator or not?
Brain dead?
Organ donation?
Cremation or burial?

I am not saying plan the funeral details but think about it.
Think about the vow "till death do us part."
So the remaining soul will need to deal with the death part.

Just five minutes.
To think.
To discuss.

"Jesus"

When I was visiting New York City a few weekends ago, my old friend Cecilia and I were talking about some of the things that happened the week Roger died.

She came down on Sunday night (I think?) before he died to help me and be with me.

She became me as I handed over my identity for a few days as she called people while I just tried to just exist.

And as always with my dear friend Cecilia, we had some funny moments that week.

The one that has us rolling in laughter a couple of weekends ago was one particular moment at the funeral home.

It was already quite a strange place.

They had about seven, maybe more, exactly the same shaped sofas that had the exact same ugly mauve floral fabric on them.

Something that would have been popular maybe in the eighties.

I had to laugh at how many of these sofas they had.

They were everywhere we looked.

In the front of the funeral home, they had a curio cabinet full of ceramic dogs.

I found this very odd and amusing.

Until I realized they were very pet ashes.

In the meeting with the funeral director, he had so many death impulse buys and gimmick items.

Paperweights with lights for the ashes.

Thumbprint necklaces.

Odd, odd things.

Roger's middle name, like a lot of Hispanic males, was "Jesus."

It is pronounced in the traditional Spanish way. With an "h" sound instead of a "j".

The funeral director asks me for my husband's full name.

I give him his first with spelling.

He asks for his middle.

I say "Jesus" in the English way to aide this very WASP guy.

"What was his middle name?"

I repeat it.

"What?"

I say it louder.

"What?"

"Jesus. J-E-S-U-S as in Jesus."

The funeral director says "Oh okay. I am just hard of hearing."

Except I never had to repeat myself for the rest of the time.

Was it really that hard to believe someone was named "Jesus"?

Especially a Hispanic male?

After we left, we all laughed.

"Jesus as in Jesus."

It still makes me smile.

A very shitty shitty day but at least I could laugh and smile.

My Troubles

Today I found myself having lunch with some old coworkers.

Afterwards, I wandered the halls and tried to bump into other former cohorts.

I found a few.

It is always nice to see old familiar faces.

Nice to have some old hugs from people who knew me from before.

The one physician, Dr. B, I used to work with is a really nice guy.

I did not appreciate him before.

We are generations apart.

And honestly, he annoyed me.

But, unfortunately/fortunately we have something in common.

Five years ago, his son died in a small plane crash.

He was twenty-nine.

He had only been married ten months.

He was full of life.

At Roger's funeral, I greeted each attendee with a hug.

And my tears just overflowed.

Dr. B quietly handed me his blue handkerchief.

I could tell he was deeply sad for me.

He understood slightly.

I could tell he did not want me to feel this pain.

To share this kind of grief.

A few months later, when I received the autopsy report, it was late in the evening.

I needed someone, specifically a doctor.

Dr. B helped me.

He helped me decode all the medical terminology.

What it really meant.

What it meant in real life.

To me.

Today, as I traversed the halls, I wanted to say hello to him.

It is always nice to talk to someone who gets it.

Even if it is slightly different point of view than mine, we understand each other in some ways.

He said a few things today that resonated with me.

After Roger and I were married, I felt different.

Like I had a completely dedicated team member.

But Dr. B phrased it even better than me.

He simply said, "When you are married, your joy is doubled and your troubles are halved."

That is exactly it.

And boy how my troubles are not halved...

Then he talked about how for a young widow it is hard to start to move forward.

But he mentioned how widows have an opportunity to love again.

A different love. A new love.

But parents do not.

They do not get a second chance to have another son or daughter.

And neither do siblings.

It is different for them.

And he warned me about how it will go when Mr. X meets Roger's family.

How it will be hard for all.

How it may never be comfortable for everyone.

But, he always talked about how he desires such happiness for his daughter-in-law (and he still refers to her as that).

He has met some of her boyfriends and even her (ex) fiance.

He still talks to her and she is still part of his family.

Even five years later.

That gave me joy and hope.

Dr. B was happy for me.

He was truly happy for me.

And interestingly enough, a man I did not like very much when I first met him understands me.

And my troubles.

As I Approach the Year Mark...

Since the burial was in Miami this past weekend, I spent the nights at my lovely sister-in-law's house.

It is getting a little easier being there without Roger.

It feels like a second home of sorts.

A place I can grieve with those who lost him too.

I have more memories of being there without him now.

And although random stories and memories flood my memory when I am there, it is easier.

At least it was this time.

At least it was with these memories.

At least a little.

Since there were a few other guests in the house, I was in a different bedroom than usual so as I was getting ready for my shower on Saturday morning before the "event" I noticed a few things.

It is not that I have not been in this room before.

I have been in it a quite a few times over the last three years.

But there was one thing that I had not noticed before.

A small bulletin board.

It had a collection of items hung up on it.

It looked like a memory board.

The bulletin board reminded me of Roger.

A picture of boxing gloves.

A card about the Dali Lama.

A note about being a great sister (I assumed Roger had given this to Grace).

And one small poem that really touched me.

I read it about three or four times over the weekend.

It was a good reminder.

About life.

About death.

About plans.

About goals.

About dreams.

About reality.

[The crazy/weird thing is Grace did not make this bulletin board for Roger.

It was a about her.

It sometimes amazes me how much alike they are/were.

Clara, their mom, was saying people how close they were as children.

It made me even more sad for Grace to lose her best friend and little brother.]

The poem just kept resonating inside my head.

Once I got home I wanted to read it again.

I wanted to remember exactly what it said to me.

And as I approach the year mark, I wanted to read this over and over again.

It mimicked something that one of Roger's uncles said to me on Saturday after the burial:

"It is done. It is over. It is time to move forward."

And here is the poem for all my other widow sisters and widower brothers.

Maybe it will help someone else too.

----------------

"Follow your Destiny, Where ever it leads you.

There comes a time in your
Life when you realize that if
You stand still, you will remain
At this point forever. You realize
That if you fall and stay down,
Life will pass you by.

Life's circumstances are not
Always what you might wish
Them to be. Rather than
Wondering about or questioning
The direction your life has
Taken, accept the fact that
There is a path before you now.

Walk your path one step at a
Time. Keep your head up, and
cast your dreams to the stars.
Keep your belief in yourself
And walk into your new journey.
You will find it magnificent,
Spectacular, and beyond your
wildest imaginings."

By Vicki Silvers

I Buried My Husband Today

I cannot even begin to describe the pain in my heart.

A pain only my kindred widows and widowers can comprehend.

At twenty-seven years old, my husband was murdered.

At twenty-eight, I finally put his body into the ground.

A year after that pivotal moment.

The velvet bag that has surrounded the container for the last year is now deflated.

So am I.

My body is heavy.

My soul feels miles away. Maybe standing over his grave?

My mind cannot stop.

It is done.

It is over.

Now I must continue forward.

Maybe inches at a time.

Maybe just a few breathes at a time.

I will still cry.

I will still be sad.

I will always remember.

Roger and I did not write many "real" notes or letters to each other.

But today, I wrote one for my husband as his ashes were laid next to his father.

I read them to those who attended the burial service today.

--------------------------------------

"Roger was my best friend.

He loved me before I loved him.

He was silly and fun.

He was a little dorky and a warrior.

And he was mine.

He was "COOLness".

He was charming, handsome, and devonaire.

He was hilarious, just ask Grace, his sister.

He was my encourager and my rock.

Always pushing me to be a better person, be more kind, and be more patient.

He was my hero.

He promised to take care of me.

And he has kept his promise.

Through family and friends, I am always taken care of in all ways.

He promised to never leave me.

And a year ago, as I pleaded with the world for him not to go, he physically left me.

But he left many friends and a huge Cuban family to be with me.

And in my loneliest hours, I still hear his voice, see his face, and remember our story.

Making me laugh.

Making me cry.

And making me a better me.

Roger was a great gift giver and some of his best gifts were a sister, a mother, family, friends, and his love.

I recently reread a book Roger gave to me and my favorite line was 'Time is nothing.'

For me and Roger, time is nothing.

I love him and he loves me forever.

And to my big Cuban family, time is nothing, death is nothing.

You are mine and I am yours."

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... 

Price of Marriage

We spent pretty much the average amount for the wedding.

And I loved our wedding.

Roger loved our wedding.

It was everything I wanted.

It was my dream.

I used my favorite color.

I used my favorite flower.

I used the best vendors.

It was what I wanted.

But some days, I get angry about it.

I planned most of it myself.

Yes, Roger helped a lot more than most but still the majority of the work was put on me.  

We did the planning ourselves.  

We paid for it ourselves.  

It took up a lot of time to plan that one day.

It was a lot of work to plan that one day.

I had to make a lot of decisions.

I had to make a lot of DIY projects.  

I had to send a lot of emails.  

I had to keep track of a lot of details. 

We kept everything in perspective while we were planning.

We tried to keep everything in balance.

A balance between cheap and over the top.

We wanted a nice wedding without breaking the bank.  

We told each other over and over again, "It's one day but its the only 'one' day we will have."

I was never going to have to do it all again.

And all that for what?

To be married six months?

To go from planning for sixteen months for a wedding to planning a funeral in an hour a little over six months later?

Do not get me wrong.

Do not take this the wrong way at all.

I loved being married.

I loved being married to Roger.  

And I loved the day we were married.  

It was worth every thing we put into it.  

It was worth all the stress and all the headaches.

And every penny.

Yet here I am.  

Alone.

Single.

Fifteen and half months later. 

With nothing but memories, a video tape, and some photos.  

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... 

I do not remember

It is quite a strange and weird experience to see pictures or videos from months ago.

I just do not remember those times or those experiences or sometimes those conversations.

Last night I was at my friends Deb and Sean's house.  

We were watching their wedding video back from November.

I can vividly remember how their wedding made me feel.

But when I saw myself in the video it was odd.

It was almost like this strange out of body experience.

It looks like me.

I remember wearing that dress.

I remember going to the wedding.

But I do not remember doing things I did at the wedding.

I also was talking about the funeral for some reason and I started thinking about that week.

Again, I remember the way I felt.

I remember the gut wrenching and just absolute loss.

But I can not remember specific people being there.

I can connect people to being there.

Like Stacy and Kendra must have been there because they came to the reception at the house.

The even weirder part of not remembering people is that I hugged most people twice.

Once when they came in and once as they left. 

But people will tell me they were there and I just do not remember it.

And I cannot really remember what songs were sung or what verses were read.

I vaguely remember picking them out but what we actually picked...

Then being at the funeral home.

I know who was with me because I have pieced it together but I do not really remember.

The even weirder part is I do not really remember several things back in August before the accident.  

Like we went to this grocery store closing.

We bought lots of taco seasoning (it can be very handy for cooking). 

I forgot about it for months.

I even bought more.

And when I brought it home, I was confused about the weird brand and the number of packets.

It is such a weird feeling.

Almost another level of not being able to control things.

I am not sure if I like it... 

But there are lots of things I do not like about the last few months...