Sigh...

Sleep has been escaping me the last few days.

And this year it is not due to the first days of school.

So I am grumpy.

And tired. 

A few nights ago, I had a somewhat disturbing dream.

Part of the dream I have about every other month.

I will describe that part of the dream first.

When I first moved out of my parents' house, I moved in with my boyfriend of the time.

One time, and only one time, when we broke up, I moved back home.

For about forty-eight hours. 

It was not a terrible experience.

But some reason, I am terrified the possibility of this occurring again.

T.E.R.R.I.F.I.E.D.

So I dream of it.

At least every other month and, in the dream, for a weird variety of reasons.

I wake up immediately and I am relieved that I am actually at my own place.

And I do not need to move back home.

Or pack.

Or find a new place to live.

Well, a few nights ago, I dreamt I had to move home again.

But this time it was because Roger and I were getting divorced.

I was so upset because it was my second marriage. 

I have no idea who I married the first time.

My sister was living at home too. 

We were back to sharing a room.

She was helping me pack. 

Also, I can never find all my stuff during this reoccurring dream. 

Which is frustrating as hell.

In this particular dream, another ex-boyfriend of mine was helping me find a new place.

It was very strange but Roger was alive.

And he looked good but he would not talk to me.

I woke up in a panic.

Then last night I could not help but think of the shirt Roger wore August 21, 2008.

I still have it.

It hangs in my closet.

I have never worn it.

Although it has been washed once.

After he died. Boo on me.

I remember him coming home from the rental house.

It had been pouring from Tropical Storm Fay.

I had just straightened my hair chemically for the first time.

I remember where I was sitting on the sofa.

I remember Roger just standing there. After driving in pouring rain.

He was frustrated with driving.

I smiled at him. Trying to get him to notice my new hair.

Less than ten hours later.

My heartache begin.

And prayers went unanswered.

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.

Gotta Love the Federal Government Or Maybe Not

I am called by my middle name.

Always have.

As a kid, it was annoying.

I was shy and having to tell my teachers the first day of school to call me "Star" instead of my first name was a dreaded experience.

What would the teacher say?

What would the other kids think?

But over the years, I started to like it. 

I noticed that my name was a conversation piece.

People would always ask about my name.

"Where does it come from?"  "Who named you?"  "Are your parents hippies?"

And as an added bonus, I could tell who knew me when the phone rang depending on what name they used.

When I married Roger, it was easy legally to change my name.

I dropped my maiden last name and added Roger's last name.

Cool.

No problem really.

Except for just feeling weird about a new name.

When Mr. X and I become engaged, I was distraught with the name situation.

Mr. X wanted me to have his last name.

Which I get.  Which I want.

But how to change it?

I was concerned about my name being so long if I had four names.

And which parts go where into the standard three part forms if I had four?

And I did not want to drop "Star".

And I did not want to drop Roger's last name.

And I did not want to have a hyphenated last name after talking with some friends. 

What to do? What to do?

At least eight months of indecision, asking others, and debating within myself.

Finally I decided I would drop my first name. 

I got comfortable with that decision.

I got excited about my new upcoming name.

I made up my mind.

So when we came home from our honeymoon to find our marriage record, I was psyched. 

I could start the name change process.

First stop, the federal government's lovely Social Security Administration office.

I checked in.

Opened my book and started reading.

Miraculously after about thirty minutes, my number was called.

Cool.

But then bad news.

Federal government.  Homeland Security.

Cannot change my given first name in anyway.

Cannot be dropped.

Cannot be added to. 

First names must stay exactly the same.

Ugh.  Ugh.  UGH!

So I have four names now.

First Star Roger's Mr. X's. 

I have two middle names.

Which of course is the shortest field of most forms.

This should be fun... Sigh.

Federal government strikes again.

Tomorrow

I am getting married tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
To. mor. row!!
So many feelings.

I woke up at 7am.
I could not go back to sleep.
I am going to be married.
But I was married.
I was happily married.
Before.
Before my life was ripped away from me.

I am so scared.
Scared it is going to be ripped away again.
I cannot go through that again.
Scared Mr. X will leave me.
Scared life will not be as I think.
As I need.
As I want.

It is weird to think I will not be a widow anymore.
At least to most people.
People will think I have forgotten Roger.
Or that I have moved on.
That I do not think of him.

The truth is I think of Roger all the time.

And even more so the last few days.

I cannot even begin to describe how hurt I am that some of Roger's family has abandoned me.
They don't visit when they are in Orlando.
They did not even RSVP to the wedding, respond to messages, texts, or phone calls.
I feel like this wedding is the line in the sand with them.

Some people in my future may never know Roger existed in my life.
And in some ways that is good.
And in other ways it makes me sad.

I am trying hard to focus on the positive feelings.
Push away the fear.
Enjoy the day.
Enjoy my new husband.

The Peace Lily

When Roger died, I asked for others not to buy me flowers but plants.
I could not handle more dead things laying around my house.
So I received a few plants.
Three are still living.
One small peace lily, a larger peace lily, and a vine.

The vine has been amazing.
It has grown a lot and has even bloomed a few times.
It sits in the kitchen where it fights with the blinds for light.
It is also a succulent so I do not have to worry if I forget to water it.
Which tends to happen.

The large peace lily is living yes but it has never been very healthy.
I guess it does not like its location.
The leaves are ragged edges all year long.
It has never bloomed again.
I am not sure if it has even grown much.
But it sits right outside the kitchen window and I stare at it wondering if I should move it or just let it be.

The small peace lily has waxed and waned.
A few times I thought it was going to die.
Sometimes it would not get watered.
But it always came back.
Last summer I even had to repot it.
So in a new pot and outside on the patio it went.
I figured if it died outside at least I wouldn't have to witness it in my kitchen.

This past weekend as I was walking by the windows to the patio I noticed something.
I walked out onto the patio and noticed two things.
Two blooms.
After four years, it has finally bloomed again.
Finally.

Maybe it is a sign.
Or maybe it is a sign that I needed.
Yes, I did the right thing by re-financing my house.
Yes, Mr. X is a good match and will be an excellent husband.
Yes, things will be good this time.

40 Some More Days

Weddings should be a time of stress, excitement, and happiness.
But I feel like I am tainted.
I am excited.
I am happy.
I am stressed.
I am also scared.
Not of things at the wedding going wrong.
But of life going wrong.
Again.

For my birthday, I want a wife card.
But what if I am not a wife on my birthday.

Mr. X talked about having a wife for Christmas this year.
But what if...

Part of me is so beyond scared.

What if life falls apart again?
I do not know if I have the strength to go through this again.
As all widows know, we are still going through it the first time on a daily basis.
But to have double....

Please dear God.
Please.

Birds of Change

I love weird, sad, odd movies.
And have for a long time.  Yes, I still see mainstream movies and I am not quite a movie snob but I will go to something where I am the only person in the theatre.
Netflix recommends categories like "Emotional Independent Father-Son Movies" and "Oscar Winning Dark Movies" and "Witty Dysfunctional Family Comedies".
And something I learned somewhere.
God knows where.
I heard or read that birds in movies symbolize change in the plot.
Sometimes good.
Sometimes bad.
But always a symbol of change.
And in these movies that I love, I see it.
Suddenly a scene to the sky with a flock of birds soaring through the sky.
And the movie turns.
I have a bird in my photography business logo for this reason.
Healing. New beginnings.

I have been debating a new tattoo for a while.
A bird has been one of the contenders.
Something I could see when I wanted.
Not so hidden away.
So I picked my foot.
And I picked birds.
This is what I did today.

And as I looked down at the bigger bird.
Completely unintentional, I saw my dad.
He was into our Cherokee heritage and loved eagles.
After it was all over.
And I was back in the car, the tears came.
I miss him so much.
I see him in the mirror and now I will see him everywhere I go.