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.

4 years

Four years ago, you gave me one of the best days of my life.
I remember the ride from the ceremony to take some pictures.
We were both so happy.
So on top of the world.
I was so happy to be your wife.
You were very hyper.

Thank you for everything.
Thank you for being you.
Thank you for giving me this life.
No matter how hard some days.
I am thankful.

Our Song

I was about to get out of the car.

The door already open.

I was about to enter the overly commercialized world of Christmas.

Then there it was.

Our song.

"Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol.

So I stopped.

I closed the door.

Closed my eyes.

And sat.

Our memories floated through my mind.

Your last birthday.

Your last birthday cake.

Our non-date at Pleasure Island.

One of our first real dates at Bahama Breeze.

Our trip to NYC.

Our wedding day.

Our first dance.

Your last breaths.

Your excitement.

Your laugh.

Your patience. 

Your smile.

The song ended.

I wiped the tears from face.

Exited the car.

And entered back into the world.

The Veil

My veil from my first wedding was amazing!
I loved it so much.
One of my maids of honor made it custom.
On one of my trips to New York, we picked out all the materials.
I loved the soft tulle and lace along the edge.
It complimented my dress perfectly.
People still make comments on my veil.
The best part it only cost $57.

The veil currently lives in the Roger closet upstairs.
Every once in a while I pull it out.
Touch the soft fabric.
And then put it back in the bag.
I wish I could find someway to use it again.

When Mr. X and I got engaged, I started thinking about what veil I would choose.
No veil I could purchase would compare.
And the maid of honor who previously made my veil no longer lives in the US.
But I do not want another veil.
I do not need another veil.
I cannot imagine wearing a different veil.

Mr. X is super understanding.
He is awesome in so many ways.
But there are limits.
And limits I completely understand.
I asked Mr. X if I could re-wear my veil.
But he does not feel comfortable with that idea.
And I get it.

So for me.
This time I will not wear a veil.
And in a way, I see it as a symbol.
I have been unveiled.
I am not the innocent bride I once was.
I have lived the worst nightmare ever.
And I am a survivor of that nightmare.
Yes, the grief monster still lives in my closet and under my bed.
But I am not hiding.
I am not veiled.

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!!

The Top Tier

On Monday, Mr. X and I are meeting with our caterer to discuss the details of the wedding.
I am looking forward to this but there is one question...
The top tier of our cake.

Roger and I did not save ours.
Well, we intended to.
But that cake was damn good.
So we ate it before our honeymoon and when we got back.

And after he died,
And as I approached the my first wedding anniversary.
Alone.
I thought about the what if.
What if we had not eaten our cake?
How long would have that tier stayed in my fridge?
Would I have eaten it alone?
Would I have thrown it out?
Would it still be there sitting three and half years later?
Haunting me?
There or not, it does still haunt me.

And now as Mr. X and I approach our wedding,
What will we do?
Eat it?
Save it?
Risk it?

And yes, my fear is, we will not make it to our first anniversary.
Not because of divorce.
Because of death striking one of us.
I have never had a wedding anniversary.
My marriage ended after only six months.
We did not even get to celebrate that.
The accident was the day before.

But do I risk it? Or eat it?
And if we eat the cake does that mean I do not have the faith we will make it?
Or that it is another fantastic cake?
But what if "it" happens again?
What if I get stuck with a top tier of cake in my fridge?
Sigh...

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.

It's the Small Things

At this point in my grief, it is the small, seemingly meaningless things that get me.

After Roger and I got married, with a little bit of hesitation on my part, we combined checking accounts.
Now we did the system of ours, yours, and mine.
Ours was to be the household stuff and the majority of our money.
But each of us would have our own small checking account that we would deposit a smaller amount from each paycheck.
That way neither could complain about a shiny new purse or a new martial arts toy.
And added bonus, if we bought a gift for one another, the evidence was not readily available.
It took me till about June 2008, four months after the wedding, to get up the courage to have most of my paycheck and all the small details taken care of to have "our" checking account.
It was one of Roger's old accounts that had great benefits.
The account was originally from the days when First Union was around.
This was hard for me.  I had been on my own since I was 17.
Almost ten years at this point.
Now my money was our money.

After Roger died, I took his name off the account (due to the fact his death was after a car accident). Slowly over the last three years, Wachovia and now Wells Fargo changed the terms so much that even old accounts, like Roger's, are not as efficient.
So I need to close it.  And I am trying.

It is a small thing.
A meaningless thing.
It is just a checking account.
Come. On.
But it was ours.
And way before that, it was his.
And now, its another thing that is disappearing that was part of him.
That belonged to him.
So I have been dragging my feet.
I have not been very aggressive in getting this done.
I opened a new account before Christmas.
And yet it is March almost April.
Now, I have been busy but there is part of me that is dreading pulling the plug, again.

Sigh...
It is the small things.

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.

Miss you

The twenty-third of February in two thousand eight was the best day of my life.
I had so much fun.
I felt beautiful.
I felt like I could finally breathe and relax in your arms.
I was married.
I was happy.
I was loved.

Thank you for marrying me.
Thank you for being such a wonderful husband, boyfriend, fiance, and above all friend.
You knew when we met that we would be married you said.
You told your sister two months later.
I think you told me about two months after that.

I miss you more than I can even begin to describe.
Words are useless.
My heart aches to see you.
Touch you.
Talk to you.
To hear you.

I still love you tremendously.

I will never know the whys.
I will never know the what ifs.

I am thankful that on that day I could dance in your arms as your wife.
I will never forget that night.
I will never forget you.

The Space Between...

... Valentine's Day and this next week are always a bit weird for me.

During wedding planning, I did not realize at first when we picked our wedding date that it would be nine days after Valentine's Day.
I have not been a huge Valentine's Day person in years anyway.
But three years ago, as Valentine's Day approached, I thought about what that would mean in the future.
Combined gifts?
Bigger deal?
Maybe weekends away to celebrate both days?
In 2008, we decided we were giving each other a wedding for Valentine's Day and that was enough for that year.
No other gift besides becoming my husband was necessary.

This past Valentine's Day, I did not care as much about that hallmark holiday.
I was more upset about my dad oddly enough.
I miss him a lot right now.
The inability to call him up and talk to him is starting to really hurt.
It seems suicide and/or father's dying is all over my regular television shows.
Marshall on "How I Met Your Mother" lost his father.
"Grey's Anatomy" always has death but for some reason a lot of dads that I have noticed.
Addison's mother committed suicide on "Private Practice."
On the "lovely" Valentine's day, a teacher at the school mentioned how his brother had tried to commit suicide over the weekend.
After a rough first two blocks of teaching on Monday morning, I barely could keep it together.
I had to leave the room.

Then I started thinking about how it was only nine more days till my third wedding anniversary.

Which turned into just a week.

Which now turned into just around the corner.
I just feel so jealous of other people getting to celebrate their anniversaries.
I feel so left out to have married years together versus just a few months.

Tonight as I watched yesterday's episode of Private Practice, Addison said "I used to think they were selfish and wonder what they were thinking. But they aren't thinking.  They aren't selfish.  In that moment, they were broken."
It is hard to think of my dad as broken.
He was never broken to me.

So as I stumble toward the twenty-third, I feel grief times two.
Missing Roger.
Missing my dad.
Missing wedding anniversaries.
The crankiness is here.
Along with irritableness and involuntary tears.

Sigh...
February is almost over.
At least one of the grief monsters can go back into the closet.
For now.
Hopefully.

Ten Years or Six Months

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

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

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

Oh people...

Wedding Dreams

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

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

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

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

I woke up.

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

My Ring, Again

I swear I feel like each November/December since widowness I have had ring issues.
Two years ago, I had my ring redesigned and a meltdown in the store.
Last year,  I lost a stone from the old wedding band and had a slight meltdown.
This year, at least my meltdown was when I was alone.

I went to get my ring inspected.
The stone from the engagement ring part was loose.  It was twisting in the setting.
I cannot imagine losing that!
So they had to take it away from me.
Only for a day but...

Then I turned around.
A face.
So familiar.
Wait, she was here four years ago.
The November I received my ring.
She is the one who helped Roger and me find the perfect diamond.
She was sweet and non-pressuring.
Does she recognize me?
Did she hear about the redesign and meltdown?
Does she just think I am a divorcee?

On my drive home, I looked down at my hand and noticed I now have a ring tan.

On my right hand. Not my left.
I did not cry in the store this time.
I cried in my car.

Roger, I miss you.

Bad Widow

I threw something away.
It was ugly now.
My hate for it was growing.

But I feel like a bad widow for throwing this thing away.
Maybe even like I am a bad bride.

I threw away my bouquet this week.

The roommate moved out a month ago. (Thank God!!)
So Roger's stuff closet was available again.
As I moved my wedding planning book, my wedding albums, and some other things, I saw it again.
My bouquet.

I have never liked the way it dried.
The blue and white hydrangeas were beautiful at the wedding.
They were hideous after the wedding.
During drying process, the petals withered.
The colors looked awful.
The stems shrunk.
I hated it.

But after Roger died, I felt like I had to hold on to it.
Like it was required.
Part of some weird widow code.

So I broke the code.
I threw it in the trash.
Mr. X was shocked "Is that your bouquet?"
"Yep."

Sigh...

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.

Behind

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So It Has Been Awhile Since This Happened

Last week one of my favorite bloggers, Pioneer Woman, visited Orlando.
Unfortunately, no one could come with me.
Mr. X was sick.
Holly was out of town.
My mom, who would have loved to meet her and visited me the week prior, does not live close by.
And most of my other friends have jobs and/or are not fans.
Most of the time I am completely fine to do things alone.
Most of the time I even like doing things alone.
But last Wednesday, I did not want to go to this book signing alone.
I wanted someone to go with me.
I knew a million other people would be there and they would all be in pairs or groups.
I almost decided to stay home.  But I went anyway armed with her cookbook and my camera.
And I was right, I think I saw one other person alone.

Then I saw some familiar faces.
That should have been a good thing.
Except one of the familiar faces hates me.  I initially met her on a wedding planning site.  Then on discussion board site, called thenest.com, she blamed me for some pretty terrible things.
None of which I did by the way.  Like widows have the time or the will to do half the crap she claimed.
Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.
I did not want to see her.
She pretended not to see me.
Good. But it frazzled me.
People I met wedding planning, who I am not real friends with, scare me.

The other familiar face was somewhat friendly.
I also met her while wedding planning.
We had met in person at some bridal events.
I saw her last about a month before the accident.
We were at one of those paint your own pottery places with past brides and to be brides.
Everyone made gifts for their hubbies or about their hubbies for themselves.
I made a huge plate that said "The Jimenezes est. February 23, 2008". It is high up in a cabinet now.
She made a spoon holder for her kitchen.
She also knew "what" had happened.
She was standing in the row in front of me.
She eventually turned around "I know your face I think."
"Yes, I am Star." Like I am celebrity or something.
"Yeah! I am Cindy."
I did not feel like talking.  At all.  I did not feel like stumbling through the conversation. I did not feel like taking the energy to make her feel better.  I did not feel like catching up on the almost two years since we saw each other last.  I am sure her life is just grand in married bliss.
The awkwardness was all over her face.
She asked if I was alone.
"Yep." Alone in a crowd of probably 500 people who were all happily talking about their wonderful lives and husbands and kids and how happy they were to be able to see Pioneer Woman.
Eventually she turned back around and started chit chatting with her friend.

Later some other group of ladies started chatting with me.
I had been overhearing part of the conversation and I could help but laugh at some of the jokes one girl was telling.  She was very humorous.
They also asked, "Are you here alone?" with a bit of a shocked tone.
I tried to explain at least to the complete strangers.
Probably because they did not know my other story.

Eventually I made it up to the front to meet Ree aka Pioneer Woman.
I was so excited to meet her.  I had been waiting for almost three hours.
But as I went to talk to her I started to feel shaky.
I fought back tears and stumbled through a few words with her.
I verbally vomited how my husband had died and how she was inspiring to me.
She took a picture with me. Patted my hand. Told me life does go on.
And I was on my way...

I felt so... I do not even know the words.
Disconnected.
Beyond alone.
And embarrassed.

I hate public meltdowns.
Meltdowns at home or with friends. Fine.
But public ones?  Ugh.
I will never get used to them.

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.