Mad

I took Julia to the dentist for the first time this week. Despite all the talking we did about it and the book we read, it was a disaster. She screamed, kicked, thrashed and ran away. She wouldn't let the hygenist clean her teeth and barely let the dentist even look at them. Total nightmare.

We got in the car to go home. It was gray, rainy and cold. I started sobbing uncontrollably. I was mad. Not just at Julia for her behavior. But mad at Mike. Furious, really. Furious that he died and left me here all alone to deal with this crap.

Dreams

I've only had two or three dreams about Mike since he died. I didn't dream about him at all for the first five months or so, which really upset me. I read some other young widows' blogs, and several of them have written about how they have these great dreams about their husbands, almost like they were there. A visit, of sorts.

I've been waiting for my turn.

In all of my dreams, Mike has been sick. In the one last night, we were in an airport. He wasn't obvioulsy sick, but I knew that he was. He was carrying Julia and walking in front of me, so I couldn't see his face. I woke up with such longing for him and such an emptiness. A punch in the gut. I couldn't shake it all day.

In a previous dream, around the time I sold our house, I dreamed that Julia and I were getting ready to move. But Mike wasn't coming with us. And I was upset, worrying about who would take care of him. But he wanted us to go. That much I knew.

It will be three years next month since cancer came into our world. Have I forgotten the happy, healthy Mike? Do I not remember what it was like when we were just normal people in love with each other and our baby girl? I would give anything to dream about him, before cancer. To see his face and hear his voice.

Nine months

I miss how he used to call me and Julia his "girls."

I miss that hint of Jersey in his voice when he said my name.

I miss the mornings when Julia and I would pounce on him to wake him up.

I miss hearing him crawl into bed after Friday night football.

I miss shopping for polo shirts without any sort of logo because he hated logos.

I miss kissing his temple.

I miss sitting next to him on the couch.

I just freaking miss him.

Stupid cupid

I don't know if it's all the Valentine commercials or what, but I've been in such a funk lately missing Mike. One in particular says Valentine's Day isn't for saying "I love you," it's for taking the time to say "I love us." And I really did love us. Mike and me. Me and Mike. We were funny and sweet. We laughed. A lot. We traveled. We laid in the sand. We danced in the living room. We ate good food. We made a beautiful baby.

It's easy to forget "us" after having a whole other person to take care of. And then cancer. But I've been remembering lately. And knowing there's no more us is like a physical hole in my body. I don't even know who "me" is without "us" anymore. I don't even want to know. So far, she's not nice. She's not fun. And she certainly doesn't dance around the living room.

But I'm working on it. And looking at this cute face certainly helps.

A new year

Wow. 2011. A new year. A new house. And Julia's getting to experience something new: snow!

Our holidays were a bit all over the place -- we had our closing on Dec. 21, visited family in Naples, camped out at my mom's house for a week and then made our way north. I'm grateful for the chaos on this first Christmas without Mike. I didn't have much time to dwell. Or get sucked into the sadness.

So far this year, I've been busy trying to get us settled into our house. We're seeing old friends, sitting in front of our giant picture window watching the snow fall and playing lots of board games. And of course, we're taking many trips to Target for shopping and soft pretzels.

The other day, though, I couldn't shake the feeling that our house didn't feel quite like a home yet. I went to Pier 1 and bought some stuff for the wall. Still not right. Then it hit me. The reason it doesn't feel like a home is because part of us is missing. Mike is not here. It's going to take some getting used to.

Here are some pics of what we've done so far:

The living room:



The dining room:

The kitchen:

Julia's room:

Back half of the downstairs family room, also known as my work area and Julia's play area:

Built-in bookshelves in the front half of the downstairs family room (new furniture including a lovely red couch will arrive Thursday...):

Downstairs fireplace:

And yes, we have a pink bathroom. It's growing on me:

So, we still have some work to do. But we're liking it so far.

Happy New Year!

Sold!

Julia and I will be starting a new year, and I guess a new life, in this house. We sold ours, by some miracle of God (or St. Joseph), in the rough Florida real estate market and we're moving back to Charleston after Christmas.

It's what I've been wanting since shortly after Mike died -- to be back in the place we considered "home," where we were surrounded by friends and fun and good memories. But now that it's becoming a reality, I'm starting to get nervous.

Mike and I bought our house when I was four months pregnant. We couldn't wait to move in and get things set up for the newest member of our little family. It's the place we brought our baby home from the hospital and sat around looking at her thinking, "Now what do we do?" It's the only home Julia has known and it's the home where Mike and I lived together the longest.



I have a job here with flexible hours and good health insurance. I have a few really good friends here. Like my friend Sara, who came to the hospital when my daughter was born and was there for me when my husband died. That's a lifelong kind of friend.

But it's also here where I feel like I'm moving through mud. Where I keep thinking Mike might walk through the door around 8 o'clock for dinner. Where I sometimes look over my shoulder at work thinking I might see him at his desk. It's where Mike was sick and where he died.



I'm not foolish enough to think that moving to a different house in a different town is going to magically make me feel better. But I think it will help for me to be surrounded by people who loved me and Mike and who can make sure Julia knows what a good man her dad was.

I don't have a job there. And that's ok. For now. I'm going to stay home with Julia for a little while so we can adjust to our new surroundings and routine. We've had a rough couple of years, and I'm looking forward to taking a break.

But it's so scary making such a major decision without Mike. And part of me feels like I'm betraying him by trying to move on. I sure hope I'm doing the right thing.

I keep turning to the Bible verse that our friend Monty read at Mike's memorial service. He told me his pastor called it the West Virginia Psalm because it talks about the mountains, so he chose it because he knows how much that means to me.

I lift up my eyes to the mountains -- where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot slip -- he who watches over you will not slumber;
Indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.
The Lord watches over you -- the Lord is the shade at your right hand.
The sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night.
The Lord will keep you from all harm -- he will watch over your life.
The Lord will watch over your coming and going, both now and forever more.

Psalm 121

Six months

I can't believe it has been six months. It's the longest I've gone in eight years without seeing Mike's face or hearing his laugh. And I know this is the season when we're supposed to be reflecting on all those things that we're thankful for, but quite honestly, I'm feeling robbed. And pissed off.

I'm mad that my daughter has to ask questions like the one she brought up at breakfast the other day: I haven't seen dada in a while. Where did he go?

I'm mad that I have to make major life decisions on my own when I can barely decide what to eat for lunch each day.

I'm mad that I have to sleep in a king size bed all by myself, worrying about burglars and ax murderers and house fires at night.

I'm mad that I have to be a single mother.

I'm mad that I have to deal with broken appliances and lawn care.

I'm mad that I've lost my best friend.

I'm mad that I don't get my happily ever after.

I'm mad that I have to take anti-depressants to get through the day.

I'm mad that people tell me I'm holding up well and if this happened to them, they wouldn't get out of bed. Because frankly, I wish I had the luxury of staying in bed all day.

I'm mad when I see happy couples or dads with their young daughters.

I'm just mad.