Crossing State Lines

After Roger and I got engaged, I wanted him to see my hometown.
I wanted him to see where I grew up and meet some of my extended family.
And I wanted it to be a road trip.
Cause that's my idea of fun, right? Being stuck with my fiance in a car for two days, eating crap food, and of course I wanted to drive my small car.
Roger said I wanted to show off my car.
And secretly, yes, he was right. Did I ever admit it? I don't think so. But Roger knew me well enough and sometimes I just did not have to say the words "You're right" for him to know it.

I love my car.
It's so cute and it does have a slightly bigger gas tank that Roger's car so we would get a little more milage between fill ups (like a whole fifty miles more).
I love my rationalizing.

So the plan was to leave Orlando after work, drive through the night to the South Carolina/North Carolina border about eight hours in, sleep in a hotel, and then wake up early and drive the rest of the way.
We were going to go to the Richmond area first to see my mom who could not travel back to my hometown at the time.
Then we would drive over to my hometown and stay for a few days.
And before coming home, we would see my father and go on a fishing adventure.
Great plan.
And as Roger would say "When you make plans, God laughs."

First, when we were packing the car, Roger decided he would like to take his own fishing poles.
Okay. No big deal.
But wait, we are taking the MINI.
"Do they come apart so they will fit better?"
Roger insisted "Nope. But we can fit them in between the driver and passenger seats."
"Okay." A little annoying when spending pretty much more than twenty four hours in the car but okay.

Background info:
Roger was a very healthy eater (read picky eater).
He did not eat pork or red meat and hadn't in fifteen years.
He also had a weak stomach.

So we set off.
We left after work a little later than I wanted but that was okay. No big deal.
I drove first and got us out of Florida.
Roger had never driven across state lines.
So I showed him all the cool fun facts that when entering a new state they have signs about the different traffic laws.
Roger asked if he could drive into South Carolina from Georgia so he could experience the thrill.
"Sure. I'll take a nap while you drive."
I woke up as we were about to enter into South Carolina.
Roger was estatic. Simple pleasures.

"Man, for lunch I had this weird Chinese food."
"Oh really? What was weird about it?" I inquired.
"Well, I ordered chicken but I think they gave me the wrong thing. I only ate a few bites before I realized it and then just ate some of the plain rice."
"Okay."
"Can we stop at the next rest area?"
"Sure. I could stretch my legs."
"And can you drive?"

Roger had a habit of telling me some of his bathroom issues.
I never really wanted to know this information but he told me anyway and then would state "Don't you love me?" or "Aren't you glad we are this close?"

As we get back to the car, "Man, I don't think my stomach liked that lunch."
And he continued to tell me about his bathroom experience.
Short version was that he did not feel good and his stomach was not happy that he may have eaten beef and/or pork.

So we got back on the road.
For about five minutes.
And I know it was five minutes because those green road signs that tell drivers how far to certain cities are five miles apart.
And I know that because I saw every one in the state of South Carolina.
Poor guy.

Being the nice fiancee I was, I was annoyed.
I knew he could not help it.
But I also wanted to just get to the hotel for the night.
And poor guy, he just wanted to stop where ever we were and get a hotel.
But I already made reservations.
That was the plan.
Gotta stick to the plan.
And every time we would start to see the green milage sign, I'd look at him and he would say "I don't think I need to stop at this one."
But as it was about to go out of sight, "Please stop now."
Great. Just great.
I did not want to be angry but I sorta was. Not at him. Just at our luck.

Poor poor guy.
We finally make it over the North Carolina border and to our hotel.
And at the end of the first leg of our trip, we survived and we were still engaged.
His underwear however did not. It stayed in North Carolina and moved to boxer heaven.

Oh, and those fishing poles... yeah they totally came apart. My father showed us before we drove back to Orlando.

The Nursing Home Experience

Last week, I read the book "Water for Elephants."
It is a great story and I highly recommend it.
Without giving too much away, it is about a old man who lives in a nursing home. When he was a young guy, he a circus veterinarian and has some interesting tales about circus life. Its a great novel.
However.
As the old man, he describes nursing home living. He talks about how all the food is just mush without taste because of so many dietary restrictions. How he longs for an apple or corn on the cob. He also talks about how they treat you like you are crazy, stupid, senile, or all of the above. He may be old but he still has his wits. How they medicate you just to keep you quiet. How family and friends don't visit or if they do, they aren't truly talking to you as a person.
I know that not all nursing homes are like this but I have a feeling it is the majority of them.
It made me extremely sad.
It made me think about how Roger would have been in a nursing home.

And then, ironically, I found myself in a nursing home.
My friend's daughter was singing Christmas carols to the nursing home residents.
And I was with them.
I wanted to cry.
I fought back the tears but I know my eyes were very watery.
These people are just sitting in chairs.
There are some that couldn't feed themselves.
They couldn't do anything for themselves.
They just sit. They are stooped over in their chairs.
They just exist.
No life.

And then I know, once more, that I did make the right decision.
Roger wouldn't want to be here.
Roger wouldn't want to be a resident.
Even though, he would never be rolled into a nursing home dining room with his condition, I just know I don't want him there at all.
I don't even want myself there.
Just existing. With no quality of life. With nothing.
He would have just been alive, not even breathing on his own.

And for what?
For me?
For his family?
Just long enough for his body to waste away or catch some infection that run rampant in those places.

Sigh.

Geez

I am such a mess.
I hate this feeling.

As I have mentioned before, I took my wedding band and engagement ring to be combined and put into a custom design.
I wanted to be able to wear them forever even if I got remarried. (Sorry, Mr. New Husband)
Today the wax mock up was ready for me to review.
I was very excited. I have been missing seeing my diamond and the feeling of wearing a ring. After two years of wearing something its a weird feeling not to have something.
My hands look so naked and I just miss my rings so much.
I miss what they represent.

Well, I arrive and this very annoying sales person who I refused to work with before approaches me. But not just approach, like she was invading my personal space and talking very loudly.
"Oh, you are back" in her very nasally annoying voice.
"Yep."
I run over to the work area and tell them my name.
First it takes forever for them to find my rings.
I think I stopped breathing for a few minutes.
Finally they find the rings with one of the jewelry making guys.

They bring the wax mold over to me.
And... I hate it.
They made it just like the picture and did not make the changes to it that I wanted.
It is bulky and looks gaudy.
I am sure people will think it is fake.
It is like nothing I would ever wear.
I want to cry.
I am not going to cry.
I am not going to cry here.
Not here.
So I ask them if they can make the band skinnier and change part of the setting to circle and not square.
"We will have to do a new mock up which will take an additional week."
I lose it.
Right there.
Right in front of half the store.
They freeze as I start sobbing.
"My husband just died and I really miss my rings and I just wanted to have this before Christmas."
Great... I'm really trying not to milk my circumstance.
I don't want people to think I'm just trying to ride this out for everything its worth.
I really am trying.
The jewelry guy makes a phone call, notes the changes, and tells me not to worry. I'll have it before Christmas. He wants me to be happy.

I guess it doesn't help that I'm sick and already emotional and was starting to get hungry.
I just want my ring. I want to see the diamond that Roger gave me.
Ugh.

Sick and Single

I know I did this before.
I know I was independent and self-sufficient.
I know I could take care of myself in sick times.
I know I was sick before I met Roger.
I remember those instances well.
But no matter what, it really sucks to do this without him.

Right now, I have a horrible head cold.
I hate not being able to breathe properly.
And more than not breathing or having a cold, I hate hate hate flying with a cold.
It's actually not recommended at all and if I wasn't coming home, I would not have done it.
But I did not have a choice today, so now I must suffer the consequences... alone.
My right ear has not popped yet and on the decent into Orlando, I thought my head was cracking open.

I miss having someone else go and get me chicken noodle soup.
I miss having someone else set me up on the couch.
I miss having someone run to the drugstore for me.
I miss having someone here who really cares about my health.

At the airport and the drugstore, people politely smiled at me but I just could not be bothered.
I don't want to smile today.
I don't want to smile on most days and especially when I feel like crap.
And if I smile for too long, I may pass out since I have to breathe through my mouth.

[And a side story:
I was on Southwest flight where you pick your own seat.
I sat near the window and a lady sat down next to me in the aisle seat.
I was almost tempted to warn her that I was sick but I didn't.
When I started violently sneezing about fifteen minutes after take off, she disappeared.
Between sneezes one and two she was there, but between sneezes three and four, she was gone. It was almost as though my sneezes blew her away about ten rows behind me.]

So this is my new life.
This is me having to take care of myself again.
When I had finally succumbed to having someone else take care of me, he is no longer here.
This is f#cked up.

Escape

Sweet sweet escape.
Sometimes I love just getting away from everything.
Getting away from my life.
Getting away from my house.
And when I do, everything is normal.
Roger is at home and I am just away for a short trip.

There is no work to go back to besides the business of death.
And for a few days, I can pretend that Roger is at home waiting for me.
That the past few months are just an illusion.
A very very bad dream.

And being here with my widow friend finally gives me someone who truly does understand.
We can cry together.
I can share my truly crazy thoughts and she does not look at me like I'm insane.
Although our circumstances are a little different, we have so many similarities.
The sad part is how much our lives have been similar even before this even our relationships with our families and our siblings.

So for now, I'm half pretending Roger is alive and well
and the other half is knowing finally someone understands my feelings for what they are.

Silly hair brush

Before I had my hair chemically straightened (the night before the accident), I rarely brushed my hair.
I only brushed it before getting into the shower to help eliminate my constant shedding not to occur in the shower.
Of course, I never used any of the five or six hair brushes I own. No, no, I used Roger's hair brush.
After showering, I normally just comb my hair but not always.

So as we were packing for our honeymoon, I refused to pack on of my hair brushes or my comb.
But I put Roger's hair brush in his toiletry bag.
And Roger, knowing that I used his hair brush but I would never admit to it even though he would see me (I'm strange, I know), took it out of his toiletry bag. I'm not sure now looking back why he didn't take it for himself.
I did not know this fact until we were in St. Lucia.
The whole time I was on my honeymoon, I could not brush my hair.
Not one time.
Not after being in the ocean.
Not when I tumbled across the ocean floor after being knocked over by a wave.
Not after wearing a helmet during the zip line tour.
The best part was Roger did this on purpose.
Something about teaching me a lesson.
He wanted me to pack stuff I needed for myself in my own bag.

So I used lots of conditioner that week and hoped I looked half way decent for the pictures we were taking. It was also a week lots of pony tails.
Silly boy or silly girl depending on which of us you talked to.

Now, I still use Roger's hair brush before showering.
It makes me feel a little closer to him since I have gotten rid of a lot of his bathroom stuff. I even still keep it on his side of the vanity.
I have had to clean it since his death. Which of course makes me feel like I've lost the physical evidence of his existence. It is also something that in my denial to Roger that I was using his hair brush, I didn't do before.
But its there. And its perfect. And I love it.

Blackbox

I love the fact that after a plane crash, they can go back and look at the blackbox.
They can see all the information that happened right before the crash.
They can reconstruct the information to know why, who, what, when, and how.
Its so smart.
They are starting to equipe them in trains as well.
And now some cars even can sense when you have been in a crash.

I so wish the brain had a similar black box.
A way to go back to the moment of the accident.
A way to go back a few moments before the accident.
There are so so many questions I have.
And absolutely no way to answer them.

Did Roger see the SUV? Did he try to react? Did he brake? Did he see the cops riding behind and in front of us?

Did he say something to me? It seems like I vaguely remember something but I think I am making it up.

Did he hear me gasp? Did I say something else?

Did he feel pain? Did we have any interaction before I got out of the car? Did he ever regain any sort of consciousness in the car? Could he hear me yelling at him?

What shirt did he have on? I'm not sure why that one bothers me, but it does. I have no idea and can't remember. I do not have his clothing anymore to try to use a rule out method and not like I had his clothing memorized anyway. I know he looked cute. He was trying to look nice for my friends and family he was going to meet that day.
The hospital gave me back everything but his shirt even his undershirt. I don't know what happened to his actual shirt.

What were we talking about right before? I know it was me that was talking right as I saw the SUV but what we were discussing, I have no idea.

Then, what was the brain doing for those next six days?
Where was Roger's soul? Was it in a holding pattern?
Could he hear us?
Did he know I was there?

Did he know he was dying?
What was happening to his thoughts during his death?

So many many questions and absolutely no answers...
It is beyond frustrating.
Will the questions ever be replaced with peace?