Reality

Reality kicked in at the rehearsal.
I realized I was about to take vows again.
To another man.
I was about to be someone else's wife.
I started to cry.
Everyone thought it was the stress of the day.
I was not stressed about the wedding.
I hired great vendors.
The wedding was taken care of.
But my widow friend knew it was something else.
Something more emotional.
Something more abstract.
I was getting married.
Again.
This was real.

I know Roger would want me to marry again.
I have no doubt about that.
During my honeymoon with Mr. X, I had a strange nightmare.
Roger wanted Mr. X and me to re-do our ceremony so he could watch.
So we did.
He watched from the side line.
Afterwards, he said congrats.

It is strange saying husband to Mr. X.
I did not say it much at first.
For me, "husband" referred to another man.
A dead man.
He was a dead husband longer than he was a live one.
And thankfully I have not had to refer to Roger has my "first husband" or anything like that.
(I only had to correct the social security office in that I was NOT divorced but a widow to help her understand why I was keeping Roger's last name).

This past Saturday I had too much time alone.
I watched a sort of sad indie film (The High Cost of Living).
Then I was driving in the car listening to the song I walked down the aisle to in my wedding to Mr. X.
I just started crying.
The school year was done, I pretty much knew my work situation was solved, and we were home from the honeymoon.
I finally starting soaking everything in.
I am married.
I am married to a great guy.
But I was also married to another great guy.

It is scary being married again.
Scared for my heart.
Scared for Mr. X.
Scared for the future.

Yep, August is coming.

Never Say "Never"

Yesterday, for the first time of my life, I shot a gun.
I never thought I would.
I have been totally against guns my entire life.
But part of me wanted to know.

When my dad died in January, he shot himself.
He used a hunting rifle.
I inherited another one of his hunting rifles.
I asked a friend to teach me how to use it.

We arrived at his place yesterday afternoon.
I was fidgety.
I was nervous and scared.
Guns can kill people.
Guns do kill people, like my dad.

We went out to the back of my friends' property.
First he wanted to teach me how to use a handgun.
I put my hands in the cup-n-saucer position with a black gun pointing at the target.
The recoil was just as scary as pulling the trigger.
The casings fell to the ground one by one.

I pulled the trigger five times.
My dad pulled the trigger once.
I could not help to think about his suicide.
To think about him.
To remember seeing his blood on the ground.
Seeing his eyes black and blue.

I do not think this will be a new hobby of mine.
But... I have done it.
Once.
And of course, I wondered what Roger would say.

The Wedding Video

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

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

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

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

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

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

Star, The New Version

Hopefully this post will not sound cheesy as it could be.
Hopefully...

This morning I took my (hopefully) last state exam to become the teacher I want to be.
Last week, I got the last required one and this week's test was an added certification to teach middle school science.  [I passed both of them.]
On the ride over to the testing center, I heard the famous country song "Broken Road" by Rascal Flatts.
It is played a lot on country stations and at weddings.
When I met Roger, I thought about how it applied to us.
But that is not what this is about.
Not at all.  A bit more abstract actually.

My new year's resolution is to love me.
To love my body. To love what I am. To love my life.
As this song played I thought about the broken road of my life that has brought me this far.
I listened closely to the lyrics and thought about not how they applied to a relationship with another person, but instead, how they apply to the new me that is here now.
How I lost myself a few times in my life by giving up who I am to the latest boyfriend or trend or friends.
How all the things, bad and good, brought me to this place right now.
How becoming a teacher should have been so obvious but I had to go through all sorts of things and broken hearts and broken dreams to figure it all out.
But I figured out who I am.
I figured out what makes me happy and discovered more of my talents like photography.
Now I just need to love me.
The real me.
The me I have found and love her with everything I am.

Rome

As I believe I wrote about, I loved the book Eat, Pray, Love.
Yes, it was not a widow book per se.
But I related tremendously to her grief.
The loss of herself and her life.
And her mission to find peace.
She felt like her life as she knew it was in ruin.

When I found out a movie was being made, I knew I would want to see it.
I knew I would relate.
I knew I would cry.
So a few weeks ago, I met up with a friend to see it.

Many things in the movie spoke to me as I saw the book come to film.
A movie I will possibly even own so I can rewind some of the words of wisdom.
[I own very few movies.]

While watching I tried to take note of some of the things they said in the film.
One part of the movie that I made sure to remember was a scene in Rome.
The main character is exploring Mausoleum of Augustus.
At one time, this was the burial place of the Emperor Augustus.
When Rome fell, unfortunately it was ransacked by people in 410.
Ruined.
Then years later someone used it for their home.
Then ruined again after they were kicked out.
Over and over again, this one very sacred and glorious place was ruined.

Roger's dying felt like my life was ruined.
All the plans.
All of my future.
Everything I held sacred felt violated.
I felt as if everything was in shambles.
My empire had fallen.

But as the movie says, ruin is a gift.
A gift for transformation.
A chance to transform completely.
After being ruined, a place can become something new.
A person can become something new.

So perhaps my life will not be the glorious Rome I had planned.
Maybe I will not be the emperor of a colossal kingdom.
But I will be and am changed.
With a new purpose.
I can become something new.
The ruins are never gone however.
Just transformed.

Dead Husband Diet...

... is over.

Sadly.  Very sadly.
I am no longer sporting the new body I gained after Roger died.
With school and school-related stress.
With foot injuries that made it impossible to run.
With a hard winter and early spring emotionally.
It has all added up to weight gain.

But part of me says, at least at the moment, I am fat and happy.
And I would rather be happy now than how I felt the months after Roger died.

But the other part of me says, I look crappy, again. [Please do not comment about how great I look.]
I look older.
And I do not find myself as attractive as I was a year ago.
That I need to work on.

I need to start running again.
No excuses now.
I want to be happy and thin(ner).

Succession

Succession is what happens to an ecosystem after a major disturbance like a fire or a hurricane.
In my ecology class, we talked a lot about succession.
I did a whole twenty-two page lab report paper on the subject with graphs and pictures and loads of technical terms.
I talked about the differences in forest structure and species composition before and after a fire.
What did the forest look like?
Was the forest more diverse in species after or before?
Was one species dominating another?
What was the overall health of the ecosystem after the fire?
What was the differences in the unburned section of the forest and the burned section of the forest?

The ironic thing about fire in the forests around here in Florida is they do better after fire.
They are stronger.
Healthier.
More diverse.
And some of the animals do better too.

Another funny thing is most forests do well if the disturbance aka fire is not too frequent and not too intense.
Otherwise, the entire forest may die.
One species may outcompete another.
Invaders may come.
And the ecosystem may completely change.

I thought when Roger died my entire "ecosystem" was dead.
I thought the "fire" ripped through and destroyed everything.
And in some ways, I lost a lot of things about me that will never come back.
Some parts of me are extinct forever.

But I was not completely destroyed nor am I completely different.
Not all life from me disappeared.
There were small seeds of hope left.
Seeds that are recovering me.
Small seedlings are starting to grow.  Some new "species" and some old.
And in some ways I am starting to see the recovery in myself.
Starting to feel better than I was before.
Starting to feel stronger than I was before.
But still feeling a bit like me.

I will never be the same person 100%.
And grief is not just about Roger being gone, it is also about part of me being gone.
Part of me that cannot recover ever.

But succession does happen.
For better, for worse, it happens.

In the Future

One day in the future, I hope to have a child.

Maybe even more than one.

If it does not happen, I will be fine.

But I do think about it quite often.

Last week, I was watching this new show on television.

It is called "Who Do You Think You Are?"

Celebrities go on a search to figure out their family history.

To me, it seemed like an infomercial for ancestry.com.

Not a very good show at all in my opinion.

But on last week's episode, Matthew Broderick talks about how he did not know much about his father's family.

How his father did not talk much about them.

And he went on a hunt to find out more.

And I wondered, what about my children?

I do want Roger's family to always be part of my life.

But will they want to be part of mine?

Especially as I re-marry.

And then have a potential child.

Will they want to know my child?

Be part of my child.

How strange will it be for my child to know I was married before?

Will I talk with them about it?

Will my friends mention it?

Sigh...

The First Time

I have debated writing this entry a long time.

My family reads my blog.

Roger's family read my blog.

But so do other widows.

So do other widows who are new to the "club".

So fair warning... this may be TMI.

Before I met Roger, I dated. A lot.

I liked dating for the most part.

Yes, there were heartaches.

Yes, there were some times where I just wanted to be in a relationship, but for the most part, it was fun just dating.

Then in December 2004, I decided I wanted a real life boyfriend.

Someone to hang out with on the weekends.

Someone to go on vacation with.

Someone to cuddle with.

Someone to have sex with on a regular basis.

I was living in New York City at the time with a consulting job.

I traveled every week for four days.

I loved the concept of my job but I was sick of the traveling routine.

In one city for part of the week, in another city for the rest of the week.

It was a great lifestyle for dating.

But not for boyfriend life.

So in January 2005, I started looking for a new non-traveling job in NYC.

I tried for about four months. Nothing.

My consulting job had a database of all the clients.

I decided to use my resources and look up the clients in Orlando area.

Moving back to Orlando would be easy with a friend base already in place and I knew I loved Orlando.

I moved back. And I started trying to date more seriously in August.

I met Roger at a time when I was dating two other guys.

But by November Roger won my heart.

On my wedding day, I was so nervous.

Not about how the day would go. I hired great vendors that I trusted for that.

But that I would be with the same man for the rest of my life.

"Forever" as my old friend Nick would say.

I would be having sex with the same guy for the rest of my life!!

I felt on the verge of vomiting all day until the ceremony.

But of course afterwards, I was happy with my decision.

Roger was good to me.

After I realized Roger was going to die on me, I thought about how I was going to have sex with a new person someday.

I was in the elevator at the hospital with some very close friends when I exclaimed, "My 'number' is going to go up again!"

Crapola!

Last April, I was longing to be touched.

Not just a hug from a friend.

But T.O.U.C.H.E.D touched.

But I was also so nervous.

Would I feel guilty?

Would I feel like I was betraying my vows?

Betraying Roger?

Before I started dating again, I consulted some of my peers who had gone before me.

Supa and Crash were emailed.

"Did you feel guilty the first time you had sex?"

Both replied no.

"Okay, I can do this."

So last May, I did "it."

I had to make all the first moves.

This guy I was dating was nervous about offending me.

About moving too fast.

To me, I just wanted it out of the way.

I wanted to know yes or no about feeling guilty.

I wanted to know if I could enjoy sex again.

Could I feel?

Could I feel good?

For me, I did not feel guilty at all.

I did not feel I was cheating on my husband.

I did not cry which I severely feared I would.

I could feel again.

I try not to think about Roger's reaction to this whole ordeal as if he is somewhere watching over me.

That is just weird to think of anyway.

But I know Roger would not want me to be sad forever.

Roger would not want me to be alone forever.

He loved me. He would want me to be happy and be loved.

The Widow Card

In this messed up journey I have to have a sense of humor.

It keeps me somewhat sane even if the sense of humor is dark and twisted.

And I am not the only one.

My blogger friend Supa created these widow cards.

I had a set of them in my purse for a while.

But then I lost them when switching between purses.

And I just have not got around to replacing them.

I have/had fantasies where I would bust them out.

"Stop, I am widow" as I flashed the appropriate card to the "suspect".

I could see myself wearing the official widow badge.

And the official widow outfit all in black with one of those old fashioned birdcage veils in black.

And maybe sometimes there would be a group of us on the "scene" to help out a new "victim".

Yes, it is a sick sense of humor.

But it helps.

I have to laugh.

And the thought of all that really makes me laugh.

But then a new thing happened.

Someone tried to use the widow card on me.

They try to use it in reverse!

Recently I had to fire the person who cleaned my house.

I could not afford it really and it is a luxury item.

She was quite upset.

And guess what, she used the widow card on me.

I was shocked at first by the comments like "...you sure have changed since Roger has been gone and not the least bit good..." and this one is a doozy: "...poor grieving star..."

Then I was slightly hurt.

But then I started to laugh.

It is a widow card!

Someone was using the widow cards on me.

Someone was trying to reverse the playing field.

She was trying to make me feel bad.

Trying to shock me into submission.

Trying to use my situation as a get-of-out-jail-free card.

Wow.

Thankfully, I do have a sick sense of humor.

Now, I will just need to get my widow outfit together so I can go fight "crime".

I Remember

I remember when I had the flu back in December 1998.

My boyfriend-at-the-time put me into a luke warm bath to cool my raging fever.

Then he had to rush me to the emergency room as the fever was not coming down and I was shaking violently with cold chills.

I remember Christmas 1999 in Florida.

Same boyfriend and I were very poor in my first apartment in Orlando.

He strung up lights in the shape of a tree and taped up ornaments because we could not afford a real tree.

I remember May 2000 when another boyfriend and I got our first puppy.

The puppy was sweet and smart and we took turns taking care of her.

We had huge dreams.

I remember October 2001 on my twenty-first birthday.

My friend Tom took me to a local bar for my first legal drink.

We played Trivial Pursuit cards at the bar and listened to U2.

I remember March 2002 on my first European vacation.

I was standing on a bridge in Stockholm as the sun was setting.

The first guy I loved standing next me and we were trying to keep warm.

I remember October 2003 trying not to pee in my pants.

A group of coworkers and I were going through some haunted houses around Halloween.

We were giggling so hard at being so scared.

I remember December 2004 standing next to the Sydney Opera House.

It was an amazing day of "flat white" coffee, walking through gardens, and sipping Australian beer.

The warm wind whipping through my hair and on my face.

I remember June 2005 riding on I95 in a huge Uhaul.

I cried leaving my New York City and all my friends.

But I was excited about returning "home".

I remember July 2006. Realizing I was ready for marriage.

I remember April 2007. Buying a house.

I remember February 2008. The happiest day of my life.

I remember June 2009 sitting at my favorite Orlando park with an amazing guy.

I was realizing I could be happy, again.

My heart was starting to go pitter patter, again.

So why in 2010, I am so afraid of forgetting.

I will not forget you, Roger. I must remember that I will not forget.

I do not have to try to remember these other moments.

They are all there.

And if I do forget some small details, it is okay.

It is okay to forget.

It does not mean I do not love you.

It does not mean we were not real.

It does not mean you were not special.

Some Good News

So I realized that I do not post a lot of good news on here.

And there are good things in my life.

Many good things.

So in order to remind myself and to show others here are some good things from the last month or so.

1. I finished my fall semester with straight As. I am very proud of myself.

At my orientation back last summer, the staff said to be warned of how my grades would slip when I came to the big university. Boy, were they wrong. I did well even in the hardest class of my life.

2. I passed my state teaching exam in biology. So after I graduate (and pass the professional educators test), I will be able to teach biology for middle or high school. This test was harder than I thought it was going to be. I had to know even the affects of DDT on pelican eggs before it was banned in 1971. FYI, it was theorized that it prevented their eggs from having a hard shell and they ended up with a weird mess in their nests. This also occurred in other birds such as eagles.

3. I got a job. I will be a teaching assistant for one of my professor's from last semester. It is only ten hours each week but it is better than no job I suppose. I am excited as I will probably gain some skills in teaching. Most of the students are college freshman and sophomores so maybe I will also gain some insight into high schoolers.

4. Things with Mr. X are going well. He is so patient with me and so kind. He seems to love to take care of me which feels really nice. We had a nice time at Christmas and I am still very much enjoying his company.

So things are not all bad here in my life. Some things are good. Some things are very good.

Low

When I am distracted, I am fine.

I appear okay.

I can get through the day.

I can get through life.

When I am not distracted,

I am not.

I am low.

Lots of tears.

Lots of sadness.

My confidence is low.

Very very low.

Shaky at best.

I am so afraid people do not like me.

I am afraid of people leaving me.

Even my closest friends.

I interpret everything as an act against me.

As if people are avoiding me.

I have to keep assuring myself I am loved.

And my confidence is fading, quickly.

I am so afraid of becoming fat again.

Since hurting my ankle, I have not been able to exercise.

So instead I eat.

And eat.

And eat.

I have gained back about five pounds.

And I know it is only five pounds but it really scares me.

I keep craving sweets and instead of being able to distract myself with exercise, I eat.

And my confidence is going down.

I am so afraid of the holidays.

I am trying to be happy.

I am trying to be excited.

I am trying to attend events to help me get into the spirit and listen to Christmas music but...

While shopping, I become overwhelmed.

I have no idea what people want.

I just feel low.

Very very low.

I know I should go back to counseling.

I plan on calling soon.

I promise.

Because I do not like feeling this shaky.

This unloved when I know its not true.

And this low.

I need me back.

Another Fall

So the weather finally changed.

It is a glorious time of year here in Florida.

One of my favorite times of the year.

The reason I stay here.

The reason I suffer through the really hot, humid days.

In Florida, it is fall.

The days are about 70ish.

The nights are cooler to about 40-50.

I love it.

But it reminds me.

The morning of the accident it was warm.

It was humid.

It was balmy.

It was a typical August morning in Florida.

Then after a few weeks, the weather turned cold last fall.

Against my will, I entered a new season without him.

It was hard.

It was awful.

I did not want to leave summer without him.

And it is here again.

Time for jackets.

Time for jeans.

A whole year without him.

Completely realized.

Not just the date of a year has past but now, summer is over.

I have gone through an entire cycle of seasons.

Without him.

Life has changed.

I have changed.

And now the weather has changed.

Again.

Finally...

Finally, finally, finally.

I can feel a little bit lighter.

It is September.

Thank God! Thank God! Thank God!

It is September.

I made it to September.

But like most people know, the grief does not end now.

There is still no grief cure.

I still find myself sad at moments.

I still find myself remembering random stories and random memories.

Still sitting in disbelief.

Still sitting on the side of the road waiting for the ambulance.

The year has changed me.

The year has left me different.

More patient in some ways.

More accepting myself in some ways.

And life keeps moving forward.

Tugging me along.

One part of me looking back.

One part of me looking forward.

Catch 22

Today I finished my associates degree in education.

This was not my original plan when Roger was still alive.

My original plan went out the window when he died like most plans I had.

Like every single plan I had.

I was not even going into teaching when he was here.

I was just getting a piece of paper to have a piece of paper.

A piece of paper in health care administration.

Something to shove into the faces of those that doubted my abilities.

Something to further my career and perhaps help me really find a job I loved.

And I am happy that it is done.

I really am.

And I am proud of myself.

I really am.

But I want to call him.

I want to hug him.

I want to hear him say "I am proud of you" in front of me not inside my head.

I know he would be.

I truly know that if there is an after life and all that he is rooting for me.

But that is not satisfying my craving for his pride.

His love.

His hug.

His looking at me with a big cheesy smile.

If he was still here, I would not be here.

I would be somewhere else.

I would not be finished today.

I would not be finishing with education.

I still had a while to go with my part time school status.

I would still be plugging away at that.

But yet with his death, I got a new opportunity.

Yes, it is great that I am making a positive out of a negative.

Blah blah blah.

But there is still this feeling in my stomach that wishes I still had him instead.

Instead of having my AA in education, I would rather have him.

Knowing that without him gone, I am accomplishing goals.

Knowing that he died, so now I can do these things.

Then there is the whole thing of it is just an AA.

Who cares.

It is not that big of a deal.

And this nagging voice that says "It took you long enough."

But then I think about the day when Ms. Pat Duncan standing in her office at the Governor's School in Dublin, Virginia on a fall day back in 1997 told the sixteen year old me I would never become anything.

Maybe it is her voice that is nagging me.

And I say to her "Look at me now."

Look at everything I have overcome.

Look at everything I have become.

Maybe not in the traditional way.

Maybe not going the same route as most people.

But I have done a lot.

I am a lot.

And I will be a lot.

So to my dear husband.

So to my best friend.

So to the man who helped me in so many ways that I have discovered and that I will discover.

Thank you! Thank you for keeping your promise of providing for me even in your death.

Thank you for not making me cash in that new savings bond.

I still love you.

I will always love you.

I will try to be happy in this catch 22.

I will try not to focus on the pain.

Thank you.

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.

50/50

As everyone knows about 50% of marriages end in divorce.

[I wonder how many end in widow-dom?]

And the other day I got to thinking.

I was only married six months.

Six very short months.

We did not have a lot of time as a married couple.

How much marriage experience do I really have.

And then I thought:

Would we have made it?

Would we have been celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary someday? 50th?

We had done pre-marital counseling.

We had made a commitment to be in it forever.

But isn't that what everyone says?

I mean, I have some friends that have no problem getting married two or three times due to divorce.

They see no issue in this plan. They feel it is the American way.

I have some friends that have been married less than three years and have already threatened the big D.

But Roger and I said we would do whatever it took to make it work forever.

Forever.

A very short forever of six months.

No matter what came up, we were going to work it out.

It was very ambitious of us.

And now I started thinking, would it have really worked?

Which 50% would we be in?

Would something have happened to change our feelings?

Would we have hated each other by year five?

I know I cannot ask "What if?"

It is not healthy.

It is silly.

And I sort of know where this idea is coming from.

I sort of know what is prompting this new self analysis.

It is from the myth that people only have one true love.

A very stupid myth.

Really? Just one person? Please...

Who made up that rule?

Probably the same person who said widows cannot date for the first year.

So as I am starting to explore my relationship with Mr. X, I am very happy with him.

He is different than Roger of course.

Very different in some aspects.

And I am really happy with these differences.

It is an internal battle right now.

Who was really the Mr. Right for me?

How could I love two guys who are very different than each other?

Was one love fake?

Maybe (quite possibly) I am overanalyzing things.

Maybe I am very different than I was.

And even more quite possibly, a person can truly love two very different people. Maybe even more if they had the chance and/or opportunity?

Maybe Roger was what I needed for the person I was then.

Maybe he prepared me for the next phase.

Maybe he had to happen in order for me to be fixed.

And maybe Mr. X is the person I need now.

Fix all my new issues.

Or maybe I am just insane.

"Think About Your Dead Husband"

This past weekend was great.

I was at a good friend's house.

He was having his annual summer party.

I was surrounded by loving friends.

I was smiling.

I was having a good time.

I was with Mr. X who I am caring about more and more with each day.

Life was being kind.

Life was good.

I felt good.

August felt like miles away.

Widowdom felt miles away.

I was feeling normal again.

I was feeling beautiful.

Life was feeling beautiful.

Then an unstable "friend" of mine disappeared from the party.

Last time I saw him he was trashed.

Three sheets to the wind.

This is not uncommon occurrence but he is bipolar.

And off his meds.

But as his (now former) friend, I was concerned, like always.

"Where is he?"

No one knew.

I had seen him disappear out the back door but he was no where to be found.

We checked the entire house.

We checked the yard.

No one else was worried.

I was just hoping he was not driving.

I was just hoping he was safe.

Then he sent some texts to a friend.

I responded on her phone.

I wanted to make sure he was safe.

He was being dramatic.

"Are you safe?"

"Maybe"

I told him to stop being a drama queen.

His comment back to me:

"Tell Star to think about her dead husband."

Wow.

I was shocked.

Think about my dead husband, eh?

Hmm.

Well, mister fucking asshole, I think about my dead husband every single fucking day.

Every. Single. Day.

Every single hour.

Just because I am dating.

Just because I am smiling.

Just because I am happy.

Just because I am trying to live my life.

Through everything I think about my dead husband.

All the time.

I wonder why us.

I wonder why him.

I wonder what if.

I wonder how.

Even when I am happy.

Even when I can finally take a few deep breaths.

Even when I can enjoy my life again.

I think.

I replay.

I rewind the tapes.

I see the images in my head.

They never stop.

They never go away.

And as I know from others' experiences, they will not stop.

They will only be less frequent.

I am not sure what my "friend" was referencing.

The fact I was with Mr. X?

The fact I am happy?

The fact I was having a good time?

I do not know.

I do not care.

I know I was not the (only) source of his anger at the moment.

But still.

The horror of someone who supposedly is my friend actually saying this to me.

People say stupid shit to me all the time.

And most of the time it rolls down my back.

Most of the time I can just let people's stupidity be their own.

Sometimes they are just ignorant.

This however will not not.

I will not follow some standard or rule of being sad all the time and having pity party for the rest of my life for what does or does not happen.

I suggest this "friend" do the same.

Life is hard.

Life sucks.

So when I can, I will enjoy the moments it is not so hard.

The moments it does not suck.

I suggest anyone to do this.

It will make life just a little easier to swallow.

It will help take away a bit of the pain life can throw.

I do think this was probably the worst thing someone has ever said to me in the last eleven months.

The stupidest thing.

The meanest thing.

Although there are some close seconds of things said to me and/or about me.

And they know who they are.

And to all of them, I say good luck and good bye.

The 23rd

I try not to overanalyze.

I try not to connect imaginary dots with imaginary lines.

I try to be reasonable.

I try to be logical.

I really do try.

Really.

But sometimes smart people rationalize stupid things.

Roger read a whole book about this.

"Why People Believe Weird Things"

So I am trying not to do this.

I am trying hard not do this.

But... here it is.

Call me crazy.

My wedding anniversary is (was??) February 23rd.

The car accident was the day before our six month anniversary.

August 22nd.

I was really looking forward to August 23rd.

To say we made it six months.

To reflect.

To read our love letters.

Okay... so Mr. X and I met the first time on a 23rd.

Now, the crazy/weird/funny/illogical thing is that my counselor told me to be distracted on those days.

On the 22nd, 23rd, and 28th of each month. I really had a hard time with those dates at first.

My counselor told me to plan other events on those days so I did not have new dates to get stuck in my head.So she suggested to do something fun.

Have something to look forward to on those dates.

And when Mr. X and I decided to meet for the first time, he picked the date.

I did not even realize what the date was.

I realized it after the fact.

When I started to stick the date into memory.

[Important dates always get stuck in my head.]

Now please understand, I realize I am making a mountain out of nothing.

I realize I am trying to make meaning out of some sort of coincidence.

But I cannot help but think of it.

I cannot help to dwell on it a bit.

There have been some other coincidences too.

Nothing I can write about in a public forum but again I know I am being silly.

I am putting weird faith is weird things.

But the thing about people believing weird things, it is what usually helps them get through their days.

It is what helps them make sense out of chaos.

So maybe just maybe it is helping me get through my days.

Maybe just maybe it helps make some abstract life events seem normal.

And the cool thing is I know have a new reason to like the 23rd.

It is a day that a new life began.

Just like before.

Just like it sixteen months before.