It is Coming

Whether I like it or not, February is coming.

It is inching toward me.

I am nervous.

I am nervous I will return to last February.

On the actual day, I have class and volunteer hours.

Mr. X has class most of the day.

I am normally alone on Tuesdays...

Ugh.

I'm so so nervous.

As I have mentioned it is/would have been two years.

And that feels unbelievable.

How can that be true?!

It almost feels like I am watching a forecasted hurricane.

As most Floridians know, I have no idea what "it" is going to do.

Will it hit me hard with trees blowing and heavy rain?

Will it be mostly calm and pass by uneventfully?

Will I be well prepared or caught off guard?

Do I need some extra supplies?

Just wake me up later.

Like when it is March.

Our First and My Birthday

When Roger and I first met, it was two days before my twenty-fifth birthday.

But I already had plans.

Plans with another guy that I had just realized I liked.

And as many people know, right after that first meeting with Roger, I emailed Roger that I wanted to be "just friends".

It was a blow off and I figured I would never see Roger again.

Roger took it to heart and tried to be my friend.

"Just friends." Ha. Ha. Ha.

So a year later, we were dating.

Actually a little more than dating.

Roger had been threatening to propose since February 2006.

Yes, only about three months after we were officially dating.

I kept telling him not yet.

I was not sure I wanted to marry him.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

About seven weeks before our year meeting anniversary, I had given Roger permission to propose to me.

After a vacation together.

After I realized I had a pretty good traveling partner.

To celebrate our first anniversary of meeting each other and my birthday, we got a hotel at Disney World.

We stayed at one of the nicer resorts since we had a discount.

First thing we did was check out the pool.

And like mature adults, both of us became excited at the pool.

It had a water slide.

We quickly put on our swim suits.

Along with our eight year old counterparts, we ran up to the slide to wait our turn.

With huge smiles, we splashed into the pool.

Again. Again. And again.

It was quite humorous I am sure for the parents watching two grown adults running toward the slide along with their kids.

Waiting our turn.

And coming down as fast as we could.

Roger had the biggest smile plastered to his face.

It was so cute.

I was so proud.

It was a fantastic weekend.

He was my best friend.

More than just friends.

And there was no one I would have wanted to spend the day with.

Especially my birthday.

It was after that moment, I knew I wanted for sure to marry him.

Without a doubt.

Coming Home

Last night I was watching some television.

I knew in one form or another I would probably cry.

I mean, it's "Grey's Anatomy" and "Private Practice".

It is almost a given that something will make me cry.

Something happy or sad or sweet or whatever but I almost always cry.

This even occurred before "everything" happened.

Last night on "Private Practice" there was a widower.

He had just lost his wife to cancer.

He did not want to leave the hospital with his infamous plastic bag to return to their shared home.

I completely got the plastic bag thing like a knife in the leg.

Not quite completely debilitating but still painful.

I remember my own plastic bag.

All of Roger's clothing put into a simple clear plastic bag labeled "Patient's Belongings".

A person's entire life is gone and all they give you is a plastic freaking bag.

My plastic bag actually came home with me the day of the accident.

Before I knew he was going to die for sure.

(I am not sure how the things in his ICU room came home. I have absolutely no idea or remembrance of this fact. I do remember there was not a lot of paperwork at that time or anything to do which felt odd.)

It was weird returning home for me.

The house was prepared for Roger and me to be on vacation for the weekend.

The cats had extra food and water.

Things were relatively cleaned up.

It felt odd to be home so soon when I was not planning on being home until Monday.

And it almost felt like I was invading a sacred space.

A different dimension or something.

It was weird that Roger was not with me.

Holly and Scott were with me instead.

But not Roger.

I did not realize then that Roger would never come home with me again at that point.

Not in a "normal" way.

The bag was put outside on the patio.

Who put it there I am not sure.

I vaguely remember looking inside the bag.

Carefully examining the contents.

His jeans were bloody.

His shirt was missing. And that still bugs the crap out of me.

I took a shower.

One of the last places I distinctly remember Roger at in our house.

I did not have the same feeling as the character in the show.

Yes, it was a happy place for us.

We were happy at home like the character.

But it did not feel right being home without him.

It did not comfort me the way it does now.

That whole first week, it was a reminder of everything changing.

Of everything that I was about to lose.

My home was not where my heart was.

Now, home feels good.

Home is my comfort.

My security blanket even.

Sigh...

I Peeked

I do not think I have ever told anyone this.

And I am semi-ashamed.

And semi-laughing at myself.

It was not a big deal really.

But I had to look.

I had to see.

While Roger was subconscious laying in the bed, I pulled up the sheets.

I wanted to see his penis.

And yes, I touched it.

I am his wife.

The doctors told me the part of his brain affecting a person's ability to wake up was damaged.

Which also controls arousal.

I had to check.

Sex is important to a relationship.

Especially a marital one.

So I touched.

And nothing happened.

And Another One...

I had another dream.

This one a bit more disturbing.

This time Grace had a surprise for me waiting in Miami.

She seemed excited hence I was excited.

I arrived in Miami and Roger walked out of the door.

I was shocked. Grace was smiling ear to ear.

His hair was strange.

It was shaved in the front still from his head injury so Grace had him wearing a blue/green bandana.

In the back, it was longer and it had blondish streaks.

He sent his cousin Eddy to go get something from town.

Grace gave us some time alone.

We were sitting on the bed in Grace's new place in the room she set up for us.

He put his head in my lap and I started to run my hands through his hair.

I was crying.

I was happy.

He was talking.

But then of course, the dream became weirder.

He started to describe to me some tools that Mr. X is using at his new job.

It was a surveying tool used to measure and it had a special way to make it level.

It almost looked like a mini-wooden crane that shot a laser through the top.

I woke up in tears.

It was nice to talk to him some.

To tell him how much I miss him.

But also disturbing to think he could come back.

Disturbing for him to describe this weird tool.

I cried this morning as Mr. X left for work.

I asked him to be super careful.

Ugh...

Crazy Nightmare

Last night I had (another) crazy nightmare.

I hate when I have them.

I really hate when they involve Roger.

In this nightmare, Roger was brutally murdered by this young guy.

It was not the man from the accident.

This man lived in our neighborhood.

And of course I was scared to leave my house.

I do not remember why this guy killed Roger.

One of Roger's former co-workers also lived in our neighborhood (which is not true in real life).

He and his wife were over visiting me at my house when they saw the man looking in my windows (not the first time I have had a nightmare like that).

The former co-worker decided to hunt down this guy.

To revenge Roger's death.

So he ran outside.

Shot the guy down.

I know why these particular things were in my dream.

Conversations from during the day but...

It was a scary dream.

I woke up in a panic.

I hate nightmares involving Roger.

Why can't they just be normal lovely dreams?

Why can't they be memories?

Or something else?

Why must they be bad?

Ugh...

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.