My Mission

When I first started this blog, I thought I would write a book someday.

People and my friends were really encouraging me and it felt like the right thing to do.

But the publishers never came.

The talk show hosts never called.

And that is okay.

Maybe someday I will still write a book.

Maybe about grief. Maybe about my life. Maybe about something completely different.

But I have learned I am not so unique.

At least not unique in my "situation".

I can name at least four or five people who have very similar stories of the top of my head.

And not to mention all the other widows I have met through blogging.

These days I do not write thinking about a future book.

I write mostly for me. Like ninety percent.

Mostly to remember.

Mostly to document.

And to help others.

Just like Candice helped me feel "normal", I hope to help others.

Maybe another widow/widower.

Maybe someone else suffering from another type of loss.

Or maybe someone who is just having a bad day.

Or maybe even someone who is having a good day to remember.

Or maybe even a newlywed to be grateful.

A few months ago, my childhood friend Faith wrote me a thank you note.

I was confused when I first opened it.

I knew her wedding was that weekend and I had not sent a gift (although I still plan to).

It was a simple thank you for helping her keep perspective and being grateful.

It still hangs on my fridge.

To remind me of my new mission.

And also to remember how a very busy bride took time for me.

And then there are the other "thank you" notes and messages.

They always touch me.

They always make me feel like this shitty experience has meaning for someone.

At least some good is coming of the worst day(s) of my life.

If Roger were here, he would say it is the ying and yang of it all.

He used to wear one around his neck before I met him.

He had a drawer full of them.

He loved the meaning.

Good/Evil.

Positive/Negative.

War/Peace.

Love/Hate.

The balance.

And God knows, I am all about balance.

Something that I depend greatly on...

I accept this mission.

To help others.

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.

The Suitcase

As I have mentioned (many times), Roger and I were on our way to the airport when the accident occurred.

On our way to my high school reunion.

So our suitcases were packed.

They were in the back of the car.

The fire department had to remove the roof to get Roger out of the car.

The police searched through our stuff.

They said it was because they were looking for valuables.

For our protection.

Yeah right... I am glad that protected my 80G iPod so well that I never got it back.

In their rush of "helping" us, they messed up Roger's suitcase.

The one I bought him to match mine as a semi-joke for Christmas one year.

So we could travel together.

So we could easily spot our suitcases.

Plus he said he liked mine.

The police broke the zipper on the front pocket of the moss green suitcase.

They tore a big hole on the other front pocket.

It also had a spot of rust on the front from sitting under the replaced removed roof.

And it was dirty.

Probably even moldy.

But I kept it anyway.

I put it with all the other suitcases.

Upstairs.

Tomorrow, I have a roommate moving in.

Upstairs.

So the suitcases needed to be moved.

Hence I decided I needed to reexamine my decision to keep it.

Will I ever use it again? No.

Can it even be repaired? Maybe.

Would I repair it? Probably not.

I asked Mr. X to help me make the decision.

Since emotionally I was blinded.

Since I could not make a logical decision.

He looked at me.

He said I should keep it if I want.

He said it was up to me.

I begged him to help me.

To help me think about this logically.

The zipper could be repaired yes.

The hole was pretty severe, however.

And I have several other suitcases of similar size.

So I put it out to the curb.

I let the garbage men take it away.

It only reminded me of the accident when I saw it.

Not our honeymoon.

Not the trip to Arizona.

None of the good memories.

Only the worst.

So the suitcase is gone.

Gone...

Two years

About a month ago, I received an invitation in the mail.

A wedding invitation.

The wedding is three days before my two year wedding anniversary.

Last year I skipped a wedding that was four days after my anniversary.

I was invited to go alone and I had learned my lesson on that.

But this year I want to go.

I am bringing Mr. X.

And I am sure the actual wedding may be hard.

But I will not be alone.

Receiving the invitation brought back some memories.

This particular couple got engaged while I was on my honeymoon.

This invitation was sent about the same time as mine.

And I can imagine that two years earlier people were receiving mine during the same week.

And then I look at the last two years.

I was married one-third the time I have been a widow.

And yet my wedding was only two years ago.

Two. Years. Ago.

In two very short years, my life has completely changed.

And I ask myself, how the hell did I get here?

I thought it would have changed in a completely different fashion.

I thought I would be a different person than the person behind the screen now.

I thought I would be happily married.

I thought I would be starting on house remodeling plans.

At least the ones on the five-year plan.

But instead, I am unemployed.

I am a full time student to become a teacher.

I am dating someone who is not Roger at all.

And on this Monday night, I will sleep in my bed alone.

Two short years.

About 104 Mondays later...

So Stinky

Roger worked out a lot.

At least three times a week and sometimes up to five.

And with that he sweat.

And sweat. And sweat.

When he got home, his clothes would be completely soaked.

Which was fine.

We eventually came to a solution which I documented a while back.

But before that.

Before we moved into together, it was a bit of a problem.

Specifically for his love seat.

The way his family room was set up the love seat faced the television.

Roger loved watching television.

So he pretty much always sat there.

And he always sat on the left side of that love seat.

And he always sat there right after coming home from the gym.

In his sweaty clothes.

His stinky sweaty soaked clothes.

When I would come over, I sat on the right.

Eventually I started to smell something.

"Dear, what is that smell? It smells awful."

"I dunno."

I started to investigate.

It was the love seat.

It completely reeked.

I tried to clean it.

I tried to Febreeze it.

And the smell would go away.

At least for a while.

But then it would come back.

After I moved in, I insisted that we donate the love seat.

I had one and we did not need two.

Thankfully Roger agreed.

Then we came up with the naked solution...

A much better solution than a stinky love seat.

I Have to Fight This Feeling

I have to fight the feeling that people do things because they pity me.

Or worse, do not do things because they pity me.

Is a friend afraid to say they hate me?

That they do not want to be my friend anymore?

Maybe say yes to a personal time but then never follow-through because it is too hard to cancel?

I am afraid my friends only stay my friends because of grief.

That they do not want to push me over the edge.

That they do not want to cause me any more pain.

Then I wonder:

Do people get tired of my Roger stories?

Do people get tired of me bringing up widowhood?

Do people get tired of me blaming things on grief?

So then I almost try to stop talking about all the bad stuff.

To make others more comfortable.

Because I feel sorry for them for having to stay my friend.

I feel pity for them!

I am so afraid of people not saying things to me because they do not want to upset me.

Not telling me how they truly feel.

And I fight this feeling over and over again.

I am not sure how to stop this paranoia.

But it is driving me crazy.

To me, Roger's death is still very fresh.

Yes, as I wrote earlier, time has passed but it does not mean grief is over.

A lesson I have had to learn over and over again.

My request for my friends and family, please be honest with me.

Do not pity me.

Please, please do not pity me.

A New Year

Rambling ahead...

I have not looked yet, but I can imagine there are quite a few blog posts talking about the new year.

Perhaps with resolutions.

Perhaps with ideas about things to do.

Perhaps remembering the best things of 2009.

Or the past decade.

This entry has been in my head for a few days.

About a week actually.

Since Christmas I would say.

Which is about a week so that makes sense I guess.

Like I have mentioned, New Year's Day is hard for me.

Both New Year's Eve and New Year's Day.

It is a passage of time.

A marker in the sand.

A reminder that time is moving forward.

Constantly moving forward.

That I am moving in time.

Getting older even.

And Roger is not.

Roger is stuck in 2008.

He will never be part of this year or this decade (physically).

It is disturbing to me.

Knowing he will never see me graduate.

Knowing he will never see me turn thirty.

Knowing he will never see me as a mother.

Knowing one day I will turn thirty-five and he never did.

Knowing he did not even see a black president get elected.

I feel like he is missing so much.

There is also the feeling that time just cannot be stopped.

That life keeps moving.

That people will start to forget.

That people will move away.

That people will drift apart.

It also blows my mind that Roger was not part of 2009 at all.

He did not see one minute of 2009.

In 2008, I at least had him for most of the year.

That so many good things happened for us in that year.

And also the worst things.

I am not sure what the next year will bring me.

I am not sure what the next decade will bring me.

But as far as resolutions and making promises to myself, I will keep being myself.

I will keep telling people what I need and give myself a break.

Because this journey is not over.

It only ends when I end.

Then it will be someone else's journey...