tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24322133019373250342024-03-13T12:09:33.086-07:00.......Life Is CuriousAlyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.comBlogger100125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-44519908992621266612013-01-16T09:20:00.004-08:002013-01-16T09:24:22.471-08:00Happy Birthday Eric 2013<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Dear Eric, 1/16/13</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It is the day before your 49th birthday. I can’t help but point out the obvious, that you’re dead, and won’t be able to eat cake with us. Last year, at this time, I promised that we would celebrate your birthday year after year. I promised we would discuss your life...there would be laughter along with tears. This is the first of your birthdays after your death...and I don’t know what I can or will do.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I promised a cake would be bought; a wish made; the candles blown out. </span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">We would remember - we would celebrate.</span></div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipdHQ73LnEgFKLQgE0wS3c4mfkCKJq3Bifx37sIHXKxINN0Jh3pnKlJc3GgqxFg0PAtW7ejZUL5frbtTsKRxyt7FvCfoYF6OUtMm5wpe1A8amkA7TeZK5Q-pH9kVd9uaz0eHQlWL-YYMI/s1600/393876_2821129221287_427060797_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipdHQ73LnEgFKLQgE0wS3c4mfkCKJq3Bifx37sIHXKxINN0Jh3pnKlJc3GgqxFg0PAtW7ejZUL5frbtTsKRxyt7FvCfoYF6OUtMm5wpe1A8amkA7TeZK5Q-pH9kVd9uaz0eHQlWL-YYMI/s320/393876_2821129221287_427060797_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><i><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Your last birthday cake from your babies</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></i></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsJrkDKmXonkPV-zE8tg1PlD7sDSoVCQlrrm8goV8JC6dmj-LcOkvjFSeIvkLWlhvYYGfi96kzdM4YYeRdv6V_66i1bxLtF-WLzLYLNOf6CO3ovTXM8TLsYAsX_9C3re6U0eMCCLnLMmQ/s1600/393983_2821132381366_178044769_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsJrkDKmXonkPV-zE8tg1PlD7sDSoVCQlrrm8goV8JC6dmj-LcOkvjFSeIvkLWlhvYYGfi96kzdM4YYeRdv6V_66i1bxLtF-WLzLYLNOf6CO3ovTXM8TLsYAsX_9C3re6U0eMCCLnLMmQ/s640/393983_2821132381366_178044769_n.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">My wish was that you wouldn’t die, begging the birthday wish god, that something would miraculously happen and you’d be spared the fate that was handed to you.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">If I was a betting person I would imagine you wished we would be o.k. without you. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">My tears were cried behind you so you wouldn’t see the heart wrenching pain I was experiencing.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The candles were blown out by you alone as your wish was so much more important than mine.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I would have another birthday, you would not.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">A celebration of your life!!</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Your last birthday party was celebrated with our friends and family.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">There was laughing and dancing. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Not by you, as you had lost all use of your legs.have been hard for you not being able to get out of bed and participate in the festivities, but it didn’t seem to bother you.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">You were, as you always were, a gracious host</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13; font-size: large;">Still waiting for this smile to return.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">If you remember, Harrison played video games in his room most of the night of your party.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> He didn't want to believe this was your last birthday, so he pretended it wasn't. You'll be happy to know h</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">e’s as sensitive a boy now as he was then.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> He lost his spirit for a few months after your died, but he's back again. I want you to know that him </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> being by your side during your birthday didn’t mean he loved you less, it meant his heart couldn’t handle the pain of it breaking.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Our baby Lorelei, will cherish this photo always. Lorelei had just turned 18 months when this picture was taken. It will be the the only birthday kiss she would give her daddy. I’m grateful she had one.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg55uzBIgcGEXgoytEloKggFMecYEnG4SnGZuvmyhW4aUetIjqg_-E7C7PWtfp_r_7GRDwf5_xGgMSdnudur2jksjyUxKGA0P36OJsSopQ7OiHLHBxs9MeLpRQCpJluhjyo33P9UBWz1g/s1600/400996_2821142981631_215187428_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg55uzBIgcGEXgoytEloKggFMecYEnG4SnGZuvmyhW4aUetIjqg_-E7C7PWtfp_r_7GRDwf5_xGgMSdnudur2jksjyUxKGA0P36OJsSopQ7OiHLHBxs9MeLpRQCpJluhjyo33P9UBWz1g/s400/400996_2821142981631_215187428_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Eric, just look at the brave face of our big girl at your birthday party last year.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Her eyes smile less now.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">She misses you so very much.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">There seems like nothing I can say to help heal her pain.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">She asks me all the time, “Do you love me mommy?”</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I tell her all the time that I love her, but it’s just not enough.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: left;">Even if I doubled the amount of time I gave her my message of love, it still wouldn’t be enough.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: left;"> </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: left;">Adelaide wants to hear it from you. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Kissing you on your birthday last year was so hard.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Knowing it would be the last time I would wish you a “happy” birthday seemed unfair.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Saying “happy” birthday seemed beyond dumb. Your eyes closed as did </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">mine. I held onto your face as I usually did, but this time I held you a little more tightly. Could this be happening to us? I cried while we kissed. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I cried for all of the kisses we would no longer be able to share.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5wk0GaqAIhjZJdIocNECrye7g2R6mvCKY2X-n1wX3DOHDzGR7HgHgJTHL8w4RttwFMdHrPwXxL03asKFNkOSt6by9QTYtgskrPrWAmhSZUmjbzMlGwdbM_BTIxCOwEp19BsST-alLiNU/s1600/405565_2821135141435_1207430847_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5wk0GaqAIhjZJdIocNECrye7g2R6mvCKY2X-n1wX3DOHDzGR7HgHgJTHL8w4RttwFMdHrPwXxL03asKFNkOSt6by9QTYtgskrPrWAmhSZUmjbzMlGwdbM_BTIxCOwEp19BsST-alLiNU/s640/405565_2821135141435_1207430847_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>This is the hug I will remember when I need one. I need one!!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Savoye LET'; font-size: 24px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: center;">I want you to know I’m trying to help us be o.k..</span><span style="font-family: 'Savoye LET'; font-size: 24px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: center;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Savoye LET'; font-size: 24px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: center;">I feel like I’m failing miserably...people tell me otherwise.</span><span style="font-family: 'Savoye LET'; font-size: 24px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: center;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Savoye LET'; font-size: 24px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: center;">Last night I showered.</span><span style="font-family: 'Savoye LET'; font-size: 24px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: center;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Savoye LET'; font-size: 24px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: center;">The warm of the water and the steady stream of my back felt like a blanket around me.</span><span style="font-family: 'Savoye LET'; font-size: 24px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: center;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Savoye LET'; font-size: 24px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: center;">I was brought back to a time when you would be holding me-</span><span style="font-family: 'Savoye LET'; font-size: 24px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: center;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Savoye LET'; font-size: 24px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: center;">and your arms were my blanket.</span><span style="font-family: 'Savoye LET'; font-size: 24px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: center;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Savoye LET'; font-size: 24px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: center;">I leaned against the wall to try to be closer to you.</span><span style="font-family: 'Savoye LET'; font-size: 24px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: center;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Savoye LET'; font-size: 24px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: center;">It sounds crazy but I needed to be hugged at that time, and the closest thing to me was a cold wet shower wall.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrIBsa5BaCFxDbPrPC2qHvuZddsnSMkZnQtTnFceIc1z2kjebP3qL6fxBlcyHCO7EItv3DkNZ1Gsy09LDlL9bOPlkS-FmBAKFdOKR7zU_5UOU2drCeHIFBJ8NN6CRlox27eMPa4jwZS3g/s1600/408921_2821128621272_1650630439_2519201_1145592669_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrIBsa5BaCFxDbPrPC2qHvuZddsnSMkZnQtTnFceIc1z2kjebP3qL6fxBlcyHCO7EItv3DkNZ1Gsy09LDlL9bOPlkS-FmBAKFdOKR7zU_5UOU2drCeHIFBJ8NN6CRlox27eMPa4jwZS3g/s640/408921_2821128621272_1650630439_2519201_1145592669_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">The words to our wedding song written on your last birthday cake are still true today</span><span style="font-size: large;">.</span></span></i></td></tr>
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span><a href="http://alyceiscurious.blogspot.com/search?updated-min=2012-01-01T00:00:00-08:00&updated-max=2012-01-20T10:32:00-08:00&max-results=50&start=56&by-date=false">This is the poem I wrote to you for your last birthday.</a> </span></i></div>
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Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-72094684767540910282013-01-04T09:35:00.003-08:002013-01-04T09:35:42.887-08:00Words Hurt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>The brilliant...my husband...2 weeks before he died.</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>It is my belief that Eric would want this particular message to be heard. Life lessons are not always complicated. It is often the most simple words of wisdom that aren't applied to our everyday lives.</i></span></div>
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There are so many times in my life that I've done or said things that just sucked. I put my own ego and self importance before the feelings of others. This behavior is part of my past. <br />
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After Eric's death there were many people in our circle, including myself, who were filled with anger, resentment, and bitterness. I would much rather have thrown something at someone rather than yell, but that's not acceptable behavior. Calling people names and insulting them is absolutely acceptable...I actually think it's encouraged in todays society.<br />
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There's nothing Eric hated MORE than arguing. Being from southern Illinois there is no such thing as an argument. Just a big pile of shit brushed underneath the carpet. No sense in arguing about something that already happened I guess. This would drive me crazy. Over the years, I was able to move him to my side of a disagreement. We would say things to each other that for sure we didn't mean. But we did intend to be MEAN at the time.<br />
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I'm not sure I was trying to hurt his feelings as much as I was trying to make myself feel better. Now he's dead and my sorries don't mean anything. I am so terribly sorry for the things I said. The time I wasted being angry or annoyed. I would give most anything to just be able to tell Eric how sorry I am for using words to hurt his feelings...I just didn't have time.</div>
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Over the last year, since his death, I have learned so many lessons. One of the more important was that other people matter. Their lives are important and their feelings are important. <br />
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In the past I wouldn't have looked at the cashier and wondered "What is he going through right now?", or at the CEO making a kabillion dollars a year, "Her life appears so complete, but what might she be going through?". If you don't think about others then others don't really matter. Ahhhh, but the shitty part is if THEY don't matter then neither do YOU! That's where it gets tricky.<br />
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This ephiphany'ish started after I watched, Words Hurt, video for the first time. It was months and months ago that I watch it, but it didn't resonate with me right away. It took various things happening for everything to click together. <br />
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There's some name calling and bullying at my kids school. Nothing more than most other schools. I the "sticks and stones" way of thinking. <br />
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Then there was a massacre at an elementary school in Connecticut where twenty children were shot to death. Twenty children between the ages of 6 and 7. How does that happen was the question. A crazy person some said. The gun he used said others. While still others blamed Hollywood and video games.<br />
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I began to think, obsessively think, why the hell is this happening? I figured it out for me. It's our lack of care for others. It's a "I'm more important than you" philsophy that we have grown accustomed to. <br />
How have I contributed to the "I'm important AND you're not" way of thinking? Whose feelings might I have hurt either intentionally or not? The list was born. <br />
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Putting my own ego aside I managed to do something that was harder than I had thought. I admitted I was not nice and apologized. When you apologize you get different reactions from different people. Some say, "I'm sorry too." - "I forgive you" - "I appreciate you apologizing" - "Go fuck yourself"<br />
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In my case, some hearts were open enough to say, "I get it, let's try this again." Some weren't open and "moved on". Some were genuinely forgiving and were sorry things "ended the way they did." While others pretended to accept but really don't. Whichever way things end up isn't the important part. For me, the most important part was being able to put my ego aside. I genuinely apologized for using Words that Hurt. I freed myself from the self blame I have been carrying, while hopefully allowing those that I've hurt to be freed as well. I expected nothing - but as my husband said - I gained so much.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Their father died 24 hours later<br /></i></td></tr>
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It is not for me that I changed - it is for them. Looking at the faces of my children, sitting next to my husband, their father, just 24 hours before he died is almost something that I can't bear see. My beautiful children's lives and hearts are forever broken. Not beyond repair but broken nonetheless. Because of me they have lost people. People they care about. I am not more important than their tears. I've put myself in a place I never thought I would go, willingly, on my knees, saying I'm sorry with my heart.<br />
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I watch this video and I wonder how could I have been so dumb as to not have learned this before. Why did it take so much for me to realize just how important what what we say really is.<br />
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I've learned that "after the fact" is often too late. In the interest of my children I'm going to try and change this way of thinking. <br />
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If you'd do me a favor...Write, call, or text someone you've been shitty to. Tell them you're sorry for hurting their feelings. At the end of the message, ask them to do the same to someone else. Just do it. If you can let me know how you feel after you've done it.<br />
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Thank you Eric for teaching me so much.<br />
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<br />Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-81868504023079202032013-01-02T09:02:00.005-08:002013-01-02T09:02:41.285-08:00A new year - Let's hope it's happy<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Went to a grief counselor on December 30, 2011, with the big kids. They were so wonderful. They talked about their feelings. Talked about missing their dad. Talked about what they wanted for the future. I wasn’t able to talk at all. Uttering Eric’s name brought tears to my eyes and a lump in my throat.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;">New Year’s Eve 2011</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;">Eric would die 3 weeks after this picture was taken</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The grief counselor told us that the “physical” pain of grief will diminish over time. She explained there’s a real physical reaction your body goes through when someone you love dies. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The physical pain isn’t always there - neither is the emotional pain. When it is there, there is nothing like it. I find myself searching through my computer for any pictures, letters, momentos of the time that before Eric died. I don’t look for pictures from before Eric was sick, mostly after I knew he would die and he was getting more and more sick.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I look at these pictures, videos and letters, and imagine (or can’t imagine) what it must have been like for him on his last New Year’s Eve. The picture above shows a man with his family, everyone smiling. If you look closely you’ll see a little bit of something shiny underneath Eric’s right arm. That’s the wheelchair he had been bound to about two weeks prior when he became paralyzed from a tumor in his spine. How the fuck did he muster up a smile? How was he able to face his imminent death with such bravery, honesty, and assuredness that all would be ok, for him and for us.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I sit here and scratch at my neck just to feel something. Almost wanting to hurt myself so I can feel the pain Eric must have felt on the inside that he almost never showed. I find myself sometimes unable to focus my eyes clearly. It’s as if I don’t want to be able to see at all. In the supermarket you’ll find me with my head buried intensly into a grocery list, when in actuality my eyes are closed as I can’t manage to keep them open without feeling faint.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I feel so pathetic that I am sometimes unable to function when he was able to, until his last day, be present. Spending conscious time with all who loved him. Asking for one on one time with each person to have private talks about his feelings. How embarrassing that I’m unable to talk about my feelings one year after Eric died. “Don’t be hard on yourself. Everyone grieves in their own way,” the experts say. (I roll my eyes.)</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My son asked me last night, “Who’s going to be Lorelei’s father figure?”. What kind of a damn question is that to ask me?????????? Do I dare tell him the truth...”Um, nobody will be a father figure for your sister sweet boy. There won’t be anyone that can teach your baby sister what your father taught you. I won’t allow anyone in our circle unless they have the moral righteousness of your dad.” Saying it out loud reminds me of how I’m assuredly going to be alone.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Being a widow at 45 is just dumb. Being a widow at 45 with young children is cruel. Not for me, but for them. Leaving these children to my care alone is just so unfair to them. I am selfish, I am afraid, I am imperfect, and I am incapable of being the father they need. How will they be able to “rise above” growing up without a father? My husband and I gave the kids examples of many people who succeeded in life, despite the fact, that there was no father in their lives. In other words, you too can succeed in life even though you got shitty cards dealt to you.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I stop writing to reflect on how whiny I’m behaving. I focus on how strong my children are and how brave my husband was. I am so selfish to be crying over my life as it is, when there’s is so shitty. I’ve already had the opportunity to live my life, make my choices, have my fun. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Buck up little girl, I say to myself. We’ll see how I do.</span></div>
Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-73572306284521011822012-11-22T06:34:00.003-08:002012-11-22T06:35:05.072-08:00...remember <br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #990000;">Thanksgiving 2011</span></i></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">...I see myself in this picture but I don't remember it.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i><span style="color: #990000;">Thanksgiving 2012</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The difference between Thanksgiving of 2011 and Thanksgiving of 2012 is so vast I’m not sure where to begin.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Last year was spent with family. My divorced parents - my brother, his wife, and children - my husband and our three children - all together. One of the last times we would gather like this. What a horrible shame. Almost forgot that we did gather at Eric’s funeral. Of course we did.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We took “planned” pictures during our feast. “On the count of three everybody appear to be elated”. Gathering around “daddy, husband, uncle, brother-in-law” we posed. Our hearts were breaking, through our smiles.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My husbands body was becoming more weak, but his mind and spirit were strong. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I don’t remember last year’s festivities. I know I was physically there because I see myself in pictures, however, there is not one flashback of that time. Come to think of it I have very little memory of any time after a meeting I had a doctor in August. “We’ll try to get him to his birthday,” I was told. “His birthday???????? That’s in January!!!!!!” The next vivid memory is of Eric’s last breath 4 days after his birthday, on January 21, 2012.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">(As an aside - my mother is in the kitchen of my rented home frying onions. I am in a paralyzed position on my couch, waiting to feel thankful.) A new and fabulous friend is coming this morning to help cook.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’m trying so hard to remember anything of Thanksgiving 2011. It’s so crazy, that I can’t remember “a thing”. While in the moment you swear you will never ever forget “a thing”. You promise yourself that this moment in time will be embedded in my memory forever. That is if forever, is only 24 hours long. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Within 2 weeks of Thanksgiving my husband was paralyzed. I wish we had danced. I wish we had danced. I wish we had danced. HOLD ON A SECOND!!! Maybe we did dance and I just don’t remember. New memory....we did dance. We slow danced. We didn’t talk. We just danced. I didn’t cry in anticipation of his death. I just let the moment just be. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">O.K....so I know this is all just a bunch of crap, but it could’ve happened.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This year my brother and his family will not be here. Not sure where they’ll be, but they’re not here.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The cast that will be at my home for Thanks (names are being withheld to protect the innocent)</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Bruce Willis: 25 year friend that is a life-line (and “her” husband)</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Elvis: 6 month friend that I’ve known for years</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Vidal: 6 month friend who is a giving tree</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Bela Karolyi: 3 month friend that slid in as if always there</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Unknown Character: Single mom and 3 children. No place to go - sure come here.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Unknown Character: A friend of Bruce Willis that I “need” to know</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My divorced parents: speaks for itself</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Child 1: Brilliant</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Child 2: Brilliant</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Child 3: Brilliant</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Me</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’m sure there will be additional people coming to my new home. Our old home was the same. Everyone was welcome, and everyone came. As swiftly, everyone left. I mean everyone. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Am I less fortunate this year than last? I’m different fortunate I guess. It totally sucks that my children are spending Thanksgiving without their father. As the most horrible saying goes, it is what it is. This fact I cannot change. Eric will never spend another Thanksgiving with us again. OK. Next.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My family is healthy this year. Sure, we’ve all got something or other...BUT nobody is dying. Well, we are all dying...but you know what I mean. I am grateful.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My home will be full of people who are choosing to be with us. Whether friends or relatives, there will be people, and there will be love. I am grateful.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My parents will be here together’ish, I am grateful.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We have food, clothes, shelter, blah blah blah. But there are those that don’t. I am grateful</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In summation, I wanna be done in the why me...I wanna be in the why not me. I wanna be in the “I remember” and it was nice.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i><span style="color: #990000;">THE RIGHT NOW IS FINE!!</span></i></span></div>
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Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-69946563584263711112012-11-12T10:30:00.002-08:002012-11-12T10:38:37.651-08:00No Picture Book - This is a Novel<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjCxCFF378tDvBsPT7crFs6FwFNq4_KqK7W0hsLhez8wPr7kV1QAMye0uLX_evHau3e689Cn9Fi8yjkh_470R9ecDTXczEREDhnIw8t-rN4aM3JMv6y2KCodsN4xRblHUwjoMFIq_A6bM/s1600/images-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjCxCFF378tDvBsPT7crFs6FwFNq4_KqK7W0hsLhez8wPr7kV1QAMye0uLX_evHau3e689Cn9Fi8yjkh_470R9ecDTXczEREDhnIw8t-rN4aM3JMv6y2KCodsN4xRblHUwjoMFIq_A6bM/s400/images-1.jpeg" width="299" /></a><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I spend a lot, and I mean a lot of time trying to find a picture that conveys what I am writing. It’s as if what I’m writing is not clear enough, there needs to be an accompanying photo with it. A picture book for grown-ups. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As usual I searched for a picture that would encompass the feelings I have today. Solemn, sad, frustrated, disappointed, mad, disappointed (I said that twice), lonely. There’s more to the list, but it’s dumb to write all the words that describe grieving. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The “stages” of grief having been defined in 1,000,000,000 books does not apply to me, but rather to everyone else going through this process. I am special and above such nonsense. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When my husband died in January of this year, (yes still in this same YEAR), I was sad for a while. Then, as I usually do, I snapped out of it. I was intently focused on giving myself and my children a better life. From March forward my life was dedicated to moving out of the grey and into the sunshine. Out from the old and into the new. Away from the disappointment and sadness and into the hope and joy. Hello, Crock of Shit it’s nice to meet you, my name is Naive.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sunny Palm Beach, FL brings 80 degree weather in November as opposed to the 40 degrees we came from. Oddly enough even the sun can’t break through the grey in my home. I would trade (not happily) 100000000 days of grey to have the father of my children back. There will never ever be another father of my children to talk to, no matter what the weather.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">How ridiculous of me to think that a weather change would change our broken hearts. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I’ve talked many times about the imperfect relationship my husband and I had. The betrayal I feel to him that I might have been relieved that I would be able to start my life over again. What an idiotic thought that was and still is. Starting a life over again only applies to those who believe in reincarnation and then at best you’ll probalby come back as a bird or a tree or something crazy like that. This life I have just continues. Continues regardless of what my zip-code... who my friends/enemies are... how those I trusted betrayed...or how I was the betrayer. It all just goes forward whether you want it to or not.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">No amount of crying or wishing can help me get back to the place where my husband isn’t dead, and I can say, “I am so sorry for making the last 3 months of your life shitty.” I am so very sorry that I let my own ego interfere with allowing you the peace you needed before you took your last breath. I can’t and won’t let myself be forgiven for being so evil! It is just pure evil to deny a person the opportunity to breathe deeply and peacefully as they watch themselves deteriorate into the baby they once were. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I was “the” caregiver to my husband. I lifted him into the bathtub only to realize I was too weak to pull him out. (With all the strength we both could muster, we did drag my naked and vulnerable husband out of the bathtub.) One of the days I realized, holy shit, this ain’t no joke!!! We are fucked in this battle against cancer AND we are going to lose.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Hoisting him above the hospital bed we had moved into our home so he could mingle with our friends. Me, lying on the floor, pushing and pulling with both my arms and legs, just to then be able to lower him into the wheelchair that awaited him. He was grateful. Never failed to thank me. I was pissed because I had to do EVERYTHING and ALL he had to do was die.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There was a day that using the bathroom wasn’t an option. That was the day he realized that it was almost his time. That is the day when I realized I couldn’t care for him forever. It wasn’t that I minded doing all these duties - it was that the longer it went on the less “thank you’s” I was receiving. How in the hell could I stand on ceremony waiting for a thank you from a man whose dignity was slipping away hour by hour. Why wasn’t I grateful that he trusted me enough to allow me to take care of him?</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I’m sitting at a car wash waiting for the car my husband told me to buy right before he died. “Trade in the Lexus and the Dodge for the Honda Odyssey. I don’t want to have to worry that you won’t have a safe car.” He died January 21, 2012, I bought this car on January 27, 2012.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A “psychic” came to me recently and said, “Did someone close to you die recently.” “Yes”, I answered. “Well, I see him in your car. Do you feel him in your car?” </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; letter-spacing: 0px;">Looking for the cameras thinking I was on a psychic medium show, I fixed my hair, and said, “His favorite country songs are on the radio ALL OF THE TIME!”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Perhaps I feel like I owe it to him to listen to the most awful music in the world in the car that he wanted me to have. I was a radio DJ once, perhaps it’s my destiny to be a DJ on a country western radio station. I an announce the music, even if I don’t like it.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Good morning folks, it’s AlyceIsCurious and next up is one of my husband’s favorite songs about gun shootin’, brawlin’ girl kissin’, and heart breakin’ and it amazingly enough sounds like every other C&W song you’ve ever heard.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Respectfully,</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">AIC</span></span>Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-16308612441762561062012-11-07T11:20:00.003-08:002012-11-07T11:29:00.519-08:00...I wanna quit!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirpyLgoFQUWYDh7U_Z-NST-Bd7BBO_YjwTrBTm042u9TbK5iuCDlAnXkHkRNf5ROphXuGDukObOWjXy9d6iplNbIa7bVqG0HIoxANHaN4oT-Zg1ZAF9OqdovjtSWhskFI8BTaG0ZnLcOc/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirpyLgoFQUWYDh7U_Z-NST-Bd7BBO_YjwTrBTm042u9TbK5iuCDlAnXkHkRNf5ROphXuGDukObOWjXy9d6iplNbIa7bVqG0HIoxANHaN4oT-Zg1ZAF9OqdovjtSWhskFI8BTaG0ZnLcOc/s400/Unknown-1.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I've quit most things I've started. My philosophy was, first is first, second is last. True isn't it? Look at last nights Presidential Election. One guy one the chair and the other guy wound up with an empty chair. (If you've watched any of the election you'll laugh at the irony of the empty chair). If you can't be the best why even try? My whole life has been a struggle in accepting my mediocrity. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Had a heart to heart chat with my personal trainer. "Jill, I'm cutting down from 3 days a weeks to 2 days a week." She said nothing. "I'm not eating well all the time, and the only time I do anything is when I come here." Again, nothing. "I've decided I'm going to take the day I'm not here and sit in my bed, watch the news and eat onion dip with potato chips." "Go ahead," she told me. "I know you'll feel a hell of a lot better when your ass is bigger than it is today." GRRRRRRR "Fine," I told her. "I'll come three days, but I'm not going to work hard!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">How else can I check out of life for a while?</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlx5jqsRJxEqMj_oOfwlN69kafggZWRDLYIp8mp9bkn2TovwMYOdcDfDlu0m5HHCeX1-6wm67EGpXwO-PKNUSPEgWw3dhSJZwN2F92bJ5moXfFrZXw7GqNr_LwkDIh4E0DpDbqi0lq31o/s1600/Unknown-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlx5jqsRJxEqMj_oOfwlN69kafggZWRDLYIp8mp9bkn2TovwMYOdcDfDlu0m5HHCeX1-6wm67EGpXwO-PKNUSPEgWw3dhSJZwN2F92bJ5moXfFrZXw7GqNr_LwkDIh4E0DpDbqi0lq31o/s320/Unknown-2.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">That's the real issue. I'm just done dealing with issues. I'm just done. It's hard, too hard.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There are peaks and valleys and valleys and valleys. A valley then becomes a hole and then that hole becomes a bigger hole, but now it's made of mud. I just keep trying to crawl up the sides only to “almost” get to the top and then, WALAH, you slide down to the bottom again. Ugh</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Isn’t that life though? You try something you fail and you try again. The fun of life experiencing new things - not whether you win or lose but how you play the game. That’s the life lesson I’m teaching my 10 year old twins. How the hell can I teach a lesson about “mastering the art of the fail” when it’s something I avoid at almost all costs. If I got no skin in the game I can’t get burned, right?</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ-n4Sf_XhxyGnvOvAfpSFZFXEhYESMxd1U8pp7_BqX4g_5Mt63hVrY_pf2dKJDr3tygmE43u-cnhdRZ3aVKkmkwUxVXp2q7OAWp1KShAH0d7PgDA6eKt5__WxtF3pqcVJIvwK0Gnj8DI/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ-n4Sf_XhxyGnvOvAfpSFZFXEhYESMxd1U8pp7_BqX4g_5Mt63hVrY_pf2dKJDr3tygmE43u-cnhdRZ3aVKkmkwUxVXp2q7OAWp1KShAH0d7PgDA6eKt5__WxtF3pqcVJIvwK0Gnj8DI/s320/images.jpeg" width="315" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Tony was an entrepreneur kinda.</span></b></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">If I tell my kids one more time about how many times Babe Ruth struck out or how many times Albert Einstein failed I'll scream. C'mon you guys, it's o.k. if you don't get it right, just do your best. I say this to my children with not an once of judgemental'ness. I mean it. Get a 76 on a test...if you tried and that's your best let's do dinner, I tell then. What a hypocrite I am. If I don't know with 110% certainty that something's a go, I don't move. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Here's the issue. Do I get into the game or stay on the sidelines????????????????????</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I wrote a children’s book. Took me 6 months to write it. I think it’s quite good, and so does the external disc drive that it’s housed on. Perhaps I should send it to some publisher’s. Perhaps they’ll hate it. (In all likelihood, they’ll hate it.) It’ll get rejected, (I’ll be rejected.) This just stinks. I don’t have a “real” contact in the business. “Hey_____________, it’s Alyce. Yeah hi, how are you? Great, great. I wrote a children’s book and I know you’re in the business....... What???? You’re looking for a children’s book to publish written by ME??? This is so great. Oh, and you want me to sign a contract to write 7 more books, AND you’ll advance me the money.............”</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Let's not get crazy...I'm not calling anyone today. But I am going to try to figure out why I shouldn't.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I get that I sound like a moron...but if life were only this easy....I’d wanna play more of it.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh954Qt0uK2Sn9O-GYhBxcfkuOJZCUbqhISTgcdPDc2kUEgOLISbMKdtruIWBTQ-003vP-UNUl2s3I5gNWVf648vj3xmlrnHUsjzqUn5USEL71Nt8tvdE3o5z6BR87fzjInRFkQ8WHRCA0/s1600/images-14.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh954Qt0uK2Sn9O-GYhBxcfkuOJZCUbqhISTgcdPDc2kUEgOLISbMKdtruIWBTQ-003vP-UNUl2s3I5gNWVf648vj3xmlrnHUsjzqUn5USEL71Nt8tvdE3o5z6BR87fzjInRFkQ8WHRCA0/s400/images-14.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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<br />Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-51143595394900279612012-11-01T09:07:00.001-07:002012-11-01T09:07:57.212-07:00'til further notice ALL holidays are cancelled<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicQuWb72RdNKY-boooDBv4Wg20FKi_WXfQkhX-gjqztdGbBT0NXJCaZtLKX6s4A4MCMbCQk8dSl_8rQqYP7jmZ2TiI-luqdU2rAJ_FD4MGicnwv08jwp57gkq8VTRs_gqHZLp8VWmNCN8/s1600/300813_2372338601802_855716198_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicQuWb72RdNKY-boooDBv4Wg20FKi_WXfQkhX-gjqztdGbBT0NXJCaZtLKX6s4A4MCMbCQk8dSl_8rQqYP7jmZ2TiI-luqdU2rAJ_FD4MGicnwv08jwp57gkq8VTRs_gqHZLp8VWmNCN8/s400/300813_2372338601802_855716198_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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<b style="color: #b6170f;"><i> Halloween 2011 Family Photo</i></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih2PKXH0zN7AR3-MFSDEZaMXiLbim51qGGmuDUHnT5lS9C6E1gWCT4WGJTpHNCs6_kHl4I0jLs4SAtE7fT-RHpGVmFvshJYy7rPQF0-LcOq3DZe1zEs7VOj9KkxEhrWg4H2e6Q7wEdxGU/s1600/images-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih2PKXH0zN7AR3-MFSDEZaMXiLbim51qGGmuDUHnT5lS9C6E1gWCT4WGJTpHNCs6_kHl4I0jLs4SAtE7fT-RHpGVmFvshJYy7rPQF0-LcOq3DZe1zEs7VOj9KkxEhrWg4H2e6Q7wEdxGU/s400/images-1.jpeg" width="336" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My late husband LOVED Halloween. I think it’s an accepted form of begging for stuff that most can buy for themselves. He and I fought year after year on the SIZE and QUANTITY of the give away. Two years ago my husband bought mini-mini’s. I believe 3 of these equaled one half of a whole bar, so that is what I gave. We argued over how inappropriate a prize that was. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Eric’s last Halloween he went hog wild and bought the giant 1 lb. bars AND the regular bars. The family walked the neighborhood as I gave out the candy. Small bars first saving the big ones for, not sure what. “Why did you save the big candy for last?”, he screamed. “I always save my favorites for last,” was my retort. No candy fight this year.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Took the kids to a street called “Dolphin Rd.” A beautiful street on Palm Beach Island. They close this street to traffic, (except those moms (me) who are dumb enough to drive down the street.). </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Free Italian ice from the local icery known as Rita’s Ice - free hot dawgs from a Sabrett cart. Moms, dad, and kids wore beautiful costumes. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“How’d it go?” I asked the kids. They were both surprised that the size of a home does not correlate with the size of the candy given out. I think they were hoping the top 1% would give more then those that are in the 99%. That’s not how Halloween works I tried to explain to them.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My day was filled with sadness. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I watched dads sit on the driveway of their multi-million dollar estates - wearing camouflage jackets - sitting on Adirondack chairs and shooting the shit. This brought back a flood of memories of my husband sitting in the driveway of our home - wearing a fleece jacket - camouflage shorts - gnawing (literally) on a steak bone that he heated over a flame in a fire-pit on our driveway, drinking a scotch.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtOiRx5Rzrej1SbY9XVC1lJNKFWl2rgudmo54XWuGXYil2MjCzgX6KlFSaDADG6d8PhrNGhtjfRUUYinR4ofpN3nart3tUCeknq-Fs9zVoacyt4xurDfkCWmHkgc4m45s-cXPHt1j39p8/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtOiRx5Rzrej1SbY9XVC1lJNKFWl2rgudmo54XWuGXYil2MjCzgX6KlFSaDADG6d8PhrNGhtjfRUUYinR4ofpN3nart3tUCeknq-Fs9zVoacyt4xurDfkCWmHkgc4m45s-cXPHt1j39p8/s400/photo.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My kids and I never discussed the obvious missing trick or treat'er, but we all knew it. It was the, for lack of better phrasing, the ghost in the room. I held each of my big kids for a little while longer and kissed them more deeply. A kiss from two of us.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I must see if there’s a government agency I can call to ask them to ban all, and I mean all, holidays from being acknowledged for the next 12 months. </span></div>
Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-12049391446477278632012-10-23T06:27:00.004-07:002012-10-23T06:27:39.677-07:00Searching for the...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihc67Vl1T4l3x5eV86KAcz8x7J0P0q17_Gj399iYRtVU7xV-W5tS3IQqzhH86XD2A8ALoNgWzGSXkjs6Pvxh3W3peOAWJxxphxdjj29xiu5IP3aPudsdoUQXIixIExGso8nRJSOatyL6Y/s1600/images-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihc67Vl1T4l3x5eV86KAcz8x7J0P0q17_Gj399iYRtVU7xV-W5tS3IQqzhH86XD2A8ALoNgWzGSXkjs6Pvxh3W3peOAWJxxphxdjj29xiu5IP3aPudsdoUQXIixIExGso8nRJSOatyL6Y/s320/images-1.jpeg" width="217" /></a></div>
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My husband died on January 21, 2012. Up to January 12, 2012 (ironic numbers), he was recording videos for our children. There are videos with him talking to the children about numerous things - Important things - Heartfelt things - NOthing about me however.</div>
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I've taken up watching these videos with the eye of a detective. Did I miss a cryptic message he was trying to send to me? Watching him read aloud a book called "The Invisible String" I wonder, was he secretly saying that he and I have a string? Is he trying to let me know, in some secret way, what the password is to his computer, in case I need to reboot it?</div>
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I am so desperately searching for answers to the unanswerable. What else is there to do but SEE A PSYCHIC. I wrote to "The Medium" chick from Long Island - I know it's crazy. I didn't receive an answer that day so I drove 20 minutes to visit with a real live psychic. A woman that claims she can see dead people, (I can't help but think of Haley Joel Osment in the Sixth Sense as I write this.) Not only do I hope she sees dead people but I hope they talk to her.</div>
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Taking off all of my jewelry and walking in with only a phone and a credit card stuffed in my bra, I challenge her to tell me the secrets I'm looking to hear. Staring at me daring me to NOT tell her something, I sit silent. She asks me how I am. Fine, I tell her. </div>
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Then she looks over my left shoulder with a tilt left of her head. "I see someone has passed, someone small." I think of the baby I was carrying in July of 2011. At our 6 week pregnant visit we went to visit our babies heartbeat at the doctors office. There wasn't one. We were escorted out of the office via the back door. It seems my crying was disturbing the "happy patients/parents", who saw that flicker of light that was to become their baby. </div>
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More chatter, of what I couldn't say. Then, a look to the right, toward the floor this time. Another small dead thing. Ugh!!!! </div>
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Then it happened - a look - a smile - a nod - as if there was conversation - then...."I see someone hovering over your left shoulder. This person is practically on top of you." I squirm to the right feeling an invasion of my space happening. A person with a hairdo I can only describe as a come-over is standing next to me. The psychic assumes it's a woman. I am sure it's my husband. He didn't die with a combover but I'm sure he would have had I not begged him to spare me that awful, obvious look of hair despair</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrlwjGTWwyjcpKj48IEzIaNR6o2cOls2j399WVZekLW4WlRhzdavm39wyfM6QWFj3xRPL_zr2zot7oj9Uq0jX_UF2sSCgO9mUmVKC1aE3BHvcK7OJZKmT6c29HDxBjJ21Q3oGU7w_MmuE/s1600/images-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrlwjGTWwyjcpKj48IEzIaNR6o2cOls2j399WVZekLW4WlRhzdavm39wyfM6QWFj3xRPL_zr2zot7oj9Uq0jX_UF2sSCgO9mUmVKC1aE3BHvcK7OJZKmT6c29HDxBjJ21Q3oGU7w_MmuE/s1600/images-2.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">You are right. Nobody notices you're balding.</span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;">NOBODY!!</span><br />
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"He is no longer mad at you," she says. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq34YHeWKneLfOkXiVqx8hmsod37-eL4mAI39F-yOzjMB9_VXxMwiBTzM0tKJnDFVFun8HIriIO5vlczkWHh04DGtFEy8l5N2scBV1I5fc0C8e9_GTAJxrwwDEUwwYSxj8cKWEs9FfgBI/s1600/images-4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq34YHeWKneLfOkXiVqx8hmsod37-eL4mAI39F-yOzjMB9_VXxMwiBTzM0tKJnDFVFun8HIriIO5vlczkWHh04DGtFEy8l5N2scBV1I5fc0C8e9_GTAJxrwwDEUwwYSxj8cKWEs9FfgBI/s1600/images-4.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Life has a way of creeping in.</i></td></tr>
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I don't read my writing before posting, so I'm not sure what I was actually talking about. I might have been talking about my visit with a psychic. Trying to reach out to my late husband to get some advise on what/how/if I should do something.</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I started to receive advice from “living” friends. Have a relationship with god, leave it up to the universe, whatever will be will be, and other ideas on how to leave your life in someone-thing else’s hands.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This advice started to, well, aggravate the shit out of me. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Is this to assume that I have no control over my life situations? If I think in a negative way then negative things happen to me??? What was I thinking that enabled cancer to creep into our lives and take away my children’s father? I have an answer to this question - I WASN’T!! This whole cluster of a mess was not my fault.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My husband was a planner. He didn’t leave much to chance. We had 30 year food; ammunition to trade for food; weapons to ward off whomever tried to enter our home without an invite; a 1,000,000 watt battery, and things I don’t even know about. I left the safety of our family in his hands. His preparedness did not give him cancer. Genetics gave him cancer. His preparedness and forward thinking gave us the opportunity to take our lives into our own hands.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Life, is now up to me - not God - not the planet - the universe - the government - my parents - it’s just me!!</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><i>i am iCONIC!!</i></span><br />
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That's right I said it out loud. I am an icon. How do I know? I feel it on the inside. I'm taking my life back. <span style="font-size: large;">ME!! </span>Not leaving my life to fate or anything else that doesn't involve the letters <span style="font-size: large;">M & E.</span></div>
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Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-33445486647953031172012-09-28T12:47:00.001-07:002012-09-28T12:47:12.999-07:00Words Hurt - Even "ON" Palm Beach<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeo6fePmj9EzqJ2R-YMupzlrZ2WtZ1VvhPx5TJpQvlvBCmAaIxw8aABH6gRUpZJHO9-RW_p9c6PEb6FbJinvZoZR51IaOWQ3fTVtA2SmPrI9fD_EtjH0VxGS8ID8KlPYhKLoPTGsnm95Y/s1600/IMG_4606.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeo6fePmj9EzqJ2R-YMupzlrZ2WtZ1VvhPx5TJpQvlvBCmAaIxw8aABH6gRUpZJHO9-RW_p9c6PEb6FbJinvZoZR51IaOWQ3fTVtA2SmPrI9fD_EtjH0VxGS8ID8KlPYhKLoPTGsnm95Y/s320/IMG_4606.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>...taken about the same time the video was made.</i></td></tr>
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I just watched a video my late husband recorded exactly two weeks prior to his death January 21, 2012. He was giving the kids a life lesson on how what you say really does matter to other people. He went on to explain that when you're working people will try to tear you down by saying things that might not be true - but you must rise above it.</div>
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My son had a vocabulary list to do and "integrity" was one of the words on the list. He had to use the word in a sentence. The sentence needed to be able to be understood by the reader without giving it away. "My dad <i>is</i> a man with integrity. He's honest and I want to grow up to be just like him."</div>
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I'm in a sticky situation now. I must think that I wouldn't be in this if Eric weren't dead. Other than the obvious - he would've done more due diligence <i>before</i> throwing himself into something (anything for that matter.)</div>
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Eric died on a cold day in January - by the budding of flowers in March I had decided my children and I HAD TO MOVE! Eric took more than 3 months to decide on a new underwear type. No, not me. Don't make any big decisions, warned, um everyone. With a subtle eye roll I'd acknowledge what they were saying and explained how that applied to most but not to me.</div>
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Fast forward 8 months after Eric's death and about 6 weeks after picking up my family and moving us to paradise.</div>
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I have so many absolutely hateful things to say about my situation. I am trying so hard to bite my tongue (smack my hands) and not spew the venom about my current living situation.</div>
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This is what I will say. Let me first say, that I absolutely understand the word slander and all that it entails. I'm not being slanderous as long as I'm being honest. Honest I'm good at. Here we go....</div>
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...I rented a home on Palm Beach. The next question is always where? Palm Beach. I know, but where. It's the craziest thing...ON PALM BEACH ISLAND. Ugh...Oh, you live on the island, they say. Yes, yes we do. It is an amazingly beautiful and peaceful place. As you drive over one of the 3 bridges to get onto the island from West Palm Beach you immediately feel a sense of calm. </div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
The home we rent is 4 blocks from the Ocean - yes the Atlantic Ocean. .75 miles to Starbucks - .3 miles to school - .5 miles to the Supermarket - within 5 minutes from anything and everything. The home is much smaller than the home we lived in - BUT we have a pool - AND my mother has a very small guest house to call her own. In order to get a reasonable (which is still unreasonable) price on rent I agreed to pay the monthly rent in advance (known as advance rent) - two years in advance rent. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_lRnUSJJ5BbX1GmnUZZ5wEICjtYHh4FWJ87kiX-bXb9-xnOzaapYJF619EavbkyAV7fbmWa0vqMM_oSCuO3CC5dHwkx4VxSziIRn4GaqotMBTB0OMvBE25UO9BRPRJyqMCS52jrcpaQE/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_lRnUSJJ5BbX1GmnUZZ5wEICjtYHh4FWJ87kiX-bXb9-xnOzaapYJF619EavbkyAV7fbmWa0vqMM_oSCuO3CC5dHwkx4VxSziIRn4GaqotMBTB0OMvBE25UO9BRPRJyqMCS52jrcpaQE/s1600/images.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: small;">WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING?</span></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
We moved in August 15, 2012 - by September 6, 2012 my landlord had already consulted with her attorney to see what her options are. I don't have the strength to go into the minutia of everything. It is fair to say that in my extraordinarily long and complicated life I have never happened upon a person such as this. </div>
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The things I knew before moving in:</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>My landlord would be living two doors down from me. No issue as I am very particular about how I live.</li>
<li>My landlord has no children</li>
<li>My landlord has never been married</li>
<li>My landlord is (or believes) that she is a prominent real estate broker ON PALM BEACH ISLAND</li>
<li>My landlord has a slight attitude issue.</li>
</ul>
<div>
The things I didn't know before moving in:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>I would have to fight this woman to correct issues that were a danger to my children and myself.</li>
<li>I would have to call the Town of Palm Beach to see if there were code violations.</li>
<li>I would find out that low and behold there are code violations.</li>
<li>I would feel a sense of satisfaction knowing she would be opening her mail to find out that she HAD to fix the issues I had simply asked to be fixed.</li>
<li>I would want to scream from the rooftops that she is a mean mean mean lady. Well, that's my opinion - do I then say allegedly?</li>
</ul>
<div>
Where do we stand now???????? Well...I'm trying to get her to understand that we need not argue. We need not throw stones and say bad things about each other. We need to go away from each other - not mad just away. I have asked 2 different attorney's to explain to this "woman" that I will at all cost protect my children, my mother, and myself. Still, the words fall on deaf ears.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As I watched my late husbands video today - explaining how words can hurt and how you should choose them carefully. I can only think of one thing.</div>
<div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO4fb3ebl5BYXTI1pYW1YYq0nW5caOKqta4vsK4hDHHYyiynvsH6bob1OnOpoezlgW5brNt8rPMYLzMi_VU4b41TVVz034QW7GT8fzlSl8CP9eo9Vmn0mKKKsTfgROZK4hTsaZo0EXd9w/s1600/images-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO4fb3ebl5BYXTI1pYW1YYq0nW5caOKqta4vsK4hDHHYyiynvsH6bob1OnOpoezlgW5brNt8rPMYLzMi_VU4b41TVVz034QW7GT8fzlSl8CP9eo9Vmn0mKKKsTfgROZK4hTsaZo0EXd9w/s400/images-1.jpeg" width="336" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">YOU'RE NOT DEALING WITH MY HUSBAND - YOU'RE DEALING WITH ME!!!!</span></i></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>We can do this the easy way or the hard way but...</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-large;">...Eventually we'll do it my way!!</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-31513974963073415062012-08-28T01:58:00.001-07:002012-08-28T01:58:31.631-07:00...acting like the captain of the ship<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i>...but I'm just</i></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwvcMF0QNApBiUiRUIYmqF_OlI1WjnNYZpb-XV5uDmw2MdK419srIvnZ5fi0ZmEJikVF2xlrxYWHHOwKtyIBqq8aY0A7D8v1iOjemCPB5FB4Jip45mHu6Hk3XXT94UYHvHCMNZd8XWR2o/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwvcMF0QNApBiUiRUIYmqF_OlI1WjnNYZpb-XV5uDmw2MdK419srIvnZ5fi0ZmEJikVF2xlrxYWHHOwKtyIBqq8aY0A7D8v1iOjemCPB5FB4Jip45mHu6Hk3XXT94UYHvHCMNZd8XWR2o/s400/images.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I'm the cook!!</span><br /></span></i><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So this is the deal. This video isn't fun, funny or fabulous but it is amazingly loooooong. I haven't written a blog in a while because I've been so busy trying to figure "it" out. </span></span></i></div>
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In case you don't know I've picked up my family (3 kids and my mother) and moved us to another state. I did this BEFORE the one year mark I was supposed to wait after the death of my husband. It was 6 days shy of his being dead for 7 months. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
</span></i><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><i></i></b></span><br />
<div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." </span>- </i></b></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><i>
</i><i><div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." </span></div>
</i><i><div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." </span>- </div>
</i><i><div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." </span></div>
</i><i><div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." - </span></div>
</i><i><div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." </span></div>
</i></b></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><i></i></b></span><br />
<div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." </span>- </i></b></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><i>
</i><i><div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." </span></div>
</i><i><div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." </span>- </div>
</i><i><div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." </span></div>
</i><i><div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." - </span></div>
</i><i><div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." </span></div>
</i></b></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><i></i></b></span><br />
<div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." </span>- </i></b></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><i>
</i><i><div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." </span></div>
</i><i><div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." </span>- </div>
</i><i><div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." </span></div>
</i><i><div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." - </span></div>
</i><i><div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." </span></div>
</i></b></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><i></i></b></span><br />
<div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." </span>- </i></b></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><i>
</i><i><div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." </span></div>
</i><i><div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." </span>- </div>
</i><i><div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." </span></div>
</i><i><div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." - </span></div>
</i><i><div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." </span></div>
</i></b></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />Reminds me of Jack Nicholson in The Shining.<br /></span></div>
</span></i><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><i>I know my therapist would tell me that my feelings are justified, relevant, and genuine. I'll stick with my famously childish saying of "it's just dumb." Not brilliant, by fitting.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><i>Sure, I'll get 1000 emails telling me to "stop feeling sorry" for myself. Really, I'm not. It always goes back to my children. They've been so short changed. I'm a good mother, I know that I am. Am I good enough to be a mother AND a father? </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><i>My mother says whether you're faking it or not if you're doing it, well, you're doing it. It feels like lying kind of. I'm familiar with this feeling as I spent my teens to early twenties perfecting the art of lying. Lying takes WORK. You've got to constantly remember what it was you said to be consistent. That's what living a life that's unexpected feels like. I have to constantly think about what it is I should be doing. Being the captain of a ship means you train (or whatever it is you do to drive a ship). I've got no training and the Captain of my ship has died unexpectedly. That leaves ME to drive this barge.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><i>Ugh, what a long driveling note this is. Perhaps after the skies stop opening up around me and the sun comes out this will pass - Boy, I hope so.</i></span></div>
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<object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://i.ytimg.com/vi/R3_ehDkQ4M8/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/R3_ehDkQ4M8?version=3&f=user_uploads&c=google-webdrive-0&app=youtube_gdata" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/R3_ehDkQ4M8?version=3&f=user_uploads&c=google-webdrive-0&app=youtube_gdata" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-30487022065104116622012-08-26T08:08:00.001-07:002012-08-26T08:08:39.310-07:00Of course I'm in a Hurricane....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><u>HURRICANE ISAAC</u></b></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/OKtS5dnqIFg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>Sure my eyes are closed...</i></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>but yours would be too!</i></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdDCbB4LvZfrYhP7Xvv5nW6vRL98YiShsuoxHKCfpHHUSPwKcCcYL8cPPhNnvLD_-mRX26pWVC4Mn_02WEqJogaQwGRCZDHNsirM_woG_jsVGpL-O-L9BPmTOYru48YbS2h_yyUKV0L94/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="488" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdDCbB4LvZfrYhP7Xvv5nW6vRL98YiShsuoxHKCfpHHUSPwKcCcYL8cPPhNnvLD_-mRX26pWVC4Mn_02WEqJogaQwGRCZDHNsirM_woG_jsVGpL-O-L9BPmTOYru48YbS2h_yyUKV0L94/s640/images.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>Whose practical joke is this?</i></span></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-21564024574110325012012-08-02T20:19:00.000-07:002012-08-03T00:11:38.230-07:00...what is it all about?<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Some would say this is my mantra.</b></span></i></td></tr>
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I'm not a person that "asks" for things or favors. Friends of mine do wonderfully generous things for me. They offer. "Do you need a ride?" "Can I bring you coffee?" Etc...</div>
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Let me say that I know this happens. I'm not a blithering idiot that doesn't see people at their most generous. I always ask, "Why the hell would anybody do anything for me?" Yet, I have still not found the answer to that question. <br />
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I am really very thankful, I am just have trouble wrapping my head around it.</div>
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<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Recently (like within the last 6 months) I've been called an ingrate, elitist, non-understanding bitch. This came from people who gave me the most generous gift, their time. I never asked, they just did it.</div>
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People tell me often that I believe "It's All About Alyce." Alyce, that's me. How can people say it's all about Alyce when Alyce...</div>
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<ul>
<li>doesn't ask for anything? </li>
<li>has never broken someone's heart. </li>
<li>shares with friends and family more than I can sometimes.</li>
<li>listens with a concerned ear.</li>
<li>takes shit when she knows she should be throwin' it.</li>
</ul>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><i>I know...</i></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: red;">...duh</span></i></td></tr>
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I've been in therapy for more then 3, that's right three decades. I've talked, debated, cried, laughed and realized that it's a never ending process. That's the beauty of being a mental patient doctor - you never graduate from going. Seeing a therapist is a lifelong commitment. The only reason to break up with this doctor is because you're moving - NOT because you've figured it out.<br />
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My husbands death solidified (as if I didn't know), it's not about me alone. It's about my children and me, or my friends and me, or my family and me, or the man who walks by my side and me. </div>
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I gotta say the common thread in all these relationships is I'm there. So, perhaps it is all about me. </div>
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<ul>
<li>My choice to dis-continue relationships that are, well, not great...</li>
<li>My choice to live out of my comfort zone ;-)</li>
<li>My choice to cultivate relationships</li>
<li>My choice to return favors the best way I know how</li>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCxw6jqWc8zg_pZRexbUUIzia2NaYB336879g69W-x_IVYDLeX73k3DwaESaxaWlKyZNgAtQnjop2kf07KjPwCF2RItl71SyfWj_eFyEt7-sf4dyo9b6CkawtGTeXv7K56oTMD5H5keUg/s1600/Unknown-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCxw6jqWc8zg_pZRexbUUIzia2NaYB336879g69W-x_IVYDLeX73k3DwaESaxaWlKyZNgAtQnjop2kf07KjPwCF2RItl71SyfWj_eFyEt7-sf4dyo9b6CkawtGTeXv7K56oTMD5H5keUg/s320/Unknown-2.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Kinda</i></span></td></tr>
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</ul>
<span style="text-align: center;">My choice to continue with relationship that are, well, </span><i style="text-align: center;">great</i><span style="text-align: center;">...</span><br />
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</ul>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCxw6jqWc8zg_pZRexbUUIzia2NaYB336879g69W-x_IVYDLeX73k3DwaESaxaWlKyZNgAtQnjop2kf07KjPwCF2RItl71SyfWj_eFyEt7-sf4dyo9b6CkawtGTeXv7K56oTMD5H5keUg/s1600/Unknown-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: red;"><i>It's all about me - my loves - my heart</i></span></span></a></div>
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Recently I asked for something - I didn't get it <I didn't think I would> but I still asked. It did take upwards of 3 hours for me for me say it. But I said it. </div>
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I'm not sure what I thought would happen if I asked. I know what I thought - I thought I'd be rejected. I hate that. Rejected (or so I thought) is what happened. But, I didn't die - I didn't throw up - I might have eaten more at dinner than usual - but other than that I was fine. </div>
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I originally said I was an idiot for asking someone to do something for me, as it didn't work like I hoped it might. </div>
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What the hell, it didn't really hurt to ask.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-63875492844408854192012-07-23T19:54:00.002-07:002012-07-23T19:54:31.420-07:00...I have the uncanny knack<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE9A96yyBc1vZr-J7H1S7Jo3P8QK5bL8MhZuCm7Lbl4glb86JXHC35YAWG7g1ui_nYbVirMwfCUie8Fnk_GLzPhDeNIZvgT6XcDVW_LmxUMwBNfKCyNo-mtGLlR7X1hg3QmUM89MaEZpI/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE9A96yyBc1vZr-J7H1S7Jo3P8QK5bL8MhZuCm7Lbl4glb86JXHC35YAWG7g1ui_nYbVirMwfCUie8Fnk_GLzPhDeNIZvgT6XcDVW_LmxUMwBNfKCyNo-mtGLlR7X1hg3QmUM89MaEZpI/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;"><i>...to make everything - even tragedy seem simple.</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>In politics the people that judge your administration are called historians. It takes a few decades to determine whether a President (for example) was a good/bad President. The repercussions of ones behavior cannot be studied until way after the decisions have been made and the end of the game has been reached.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>I am making decisions daily that will effect my entire family directly. I am supposed to wait 20 years to find out if I fucked up or not? UGH. I will be moving my family out of the only home they have in their memories. A two year commitment (with contracts and all) have been drawn to lock us into a new life for the next 48 months. According to my original point - this decision cannot be judged until my children are themselves married with children.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>My mind has been spinning wondering if I'm making the right move. It's a huge emotional, physical, and financial decision. What does one do when faced with a decision, you might ask? Go visit their dead husband and ask his opinion.</i></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The tree where you live. Thank you for our chat.</span><br /><div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Sitting and talking with you today was nice. Clearing up some issue we had (or starting to) was pretty cathartic. Asking if you agree with the decisions I'm making (still haven't got feedback on that one.) But, I was able to remember that if something was really important to me you would agree after the fourth or fifth conversation. Rest assured, I am aware that you would NEVER make the decision I have made without many conversations with pros/cons and lists up the ass.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">At the end of our conversation I went to my car and had a sort of epiphany. You died 6 months and 2 days ago and I have been unable to figure out what to write on your headstone. I'd say I've thought about it 90% of the days since you've been gone. What to write? It just never came to me. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">First Name, Last Name, DOB, DOD</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When a daddy dies they deserve more than that just the facts - they deserve a testament to who they were and what their legacy means.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Writing a forever message to the father of my children through their eyes was more than impossible. It was horrendous. What to write came to me after my visit today.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">You passed on integrity, love, wisdom, and honor to our children....</span></div>
</i><i><div style="display: inline !important; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />...our children's behavior is evident of your legacy.<br /></span></div>
</i><i><div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My children don't know what I wrote and I don't feel comfortable writing it here. I feel that our children will touch their Dad's headstone and feel a connection to the words I have finally been able to write for them.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Being able to write this does not mean that I will have no reason to think of you any longer. I think of you daily as I look at the wonderful children we had together. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">With love,</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Alyce</span></div>
</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-48518765724080341702012-07-12T19:47:00.002-07:002012-07-13T04:59:36.115-07:00Dear Mama... July 8, 2012<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC4PAM6oryTIKEShH7idNUc6QbJuJd5cRqIEl5RlbdQ3Nkt6JTATovjeoycdXq9GmUh3fnp4hgWT7nRNoS5ibVVrqk9R95jP7uF36P9APX_tfEdvdbQyhw6pRbSsOYNo2rEfj0DXwCXZA/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC4PAM6oryTIKEShH7idNUc6QbJuJd5cRqIEl5RlbdQ3Nkt6JTATovjeoycdXq9GmUh3fnp4hgWT7nRNoS5ibVVrqk9R95jP7uF36P9APX_tfEdvdbQyhw6pRbSsOYNo2rEfj0DXwCXZA/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>...please kiss Lorelei for her birthday for me. I miss you and love you so much. Can you please put flowers on daddies grave.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">WHAT??????????</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></i><br />
<i>My oldest darling daughter who is at overnight camp sent me a two sentence note and one of them was asking that I put flowers on her dead father's grave. </i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Seque:</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>I didn't have a celebratory party for my daughter's 2nd birthday. How could I throw a party for her when her daddy isn't here to celebrate with her. Oh, sure it'll be easy for people to say, "Let her enjoy her day." OR "It's better if you celebrate, after all it is her birthday." Well, I just didn't. Her brother and sister are away at camp and it was only me left at home. Well, of course my mom was with us...but, ugh, well you know what I'm saying.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>When I tucked in my baby that night I kissed her forehead and apologized to her for not having done enough to help save her daddy. I told her that her daddy loves her and misses her and he would be here to celebrate her birthday with her if he could. I left out the "because he's dead" part. Another day that I can't wait for. The, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I bet you're wondering why most of your friends have daddies and you don't </span>conversation.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Seque:</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Today I found out that my 10 y.o. son was prevented from participating in a fun event at overnight camp. Why was he punished you might wonder. I was told that two boys were fighting and my son threw sand at one of them. I was then told that he threw the sand because my son said, "I was protecting my friends' honor." Let me add that the Unit Head said to me, Harrison said Quote .... blah .... blah... honor End Quote.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>What a fascinating story that is when I think about it. Just to be fair there were NO counselors around during this argument amongst the boys. I don't run a camp but if you put 15- 10 y.o. boys in camp in a cabin alone someone's gonna lose a limb. </i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Anyway..........</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>My son cried for forgiveness for the next 3 hours I was told. Saying that "my daddy is looking down on me and is disappointed in me." The answer to him was, we all make mistakes and your daddy is proud that you owned up to it.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Let me just say - ARE <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">YOU </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">FUCKING </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">KIDDING </span>ME?</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>I don't agree with laying your hands on someone else and neither did my late husband. Together we taught our children about honor, standing up for what you believe in, telling the truth, being happy, and so many other things. I know Eric would be so proud that Harrison was trying to protect his friends honor. My son, (who isn't very tall), told the counselors that his friend was small and couldn't defend himself. </i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>My son is neither aggressive physically or emotionally. He is a gentle person. His empathy dwarfs that of most people I know. His selflessness is to be admired. So when he is standing up for his friends' honor and he is punished - what is the life fucking lesson??????? After hearing the story I originally said to the counselor - "Good job. This'll be a good life lesson for him not to put his hands on someone else." I admit now and for the world to know - that was one of the most moronic things I've ever said. I'm so grateful that life affords you the opportunity to call a "DO OVER" at will. </i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Tomorrow is DO-OVER day.</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i><br />
<i>Tomorrow I get to pick up my children and take them to lunch. I'm surprising them by bringing the baby, my parents, and their favorite non-sister sister P'Hanie. (As a total random side note that won't mean much to any of you - I want you to know Stephie - you have made a profound impact on the hearts of my children and myself. You are part of us always and we love you.)</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Anyway..............</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>After we have lunch and the twins drain my bank account by a couple hundred dollars in Target, I will have a meeting with the camp. I will ask them if they have a friend that is willing to fight for them. I will tell them that everyone should have a Harrison in their life. Someone who is willing to fight for them. Throw themselves in front of what danger comes their way. </i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>I am my children's Harrison. I love them so much - more than myself. You'll get that if you're a parent, and if you're not I hope for you that you are/have a Harrison.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Today I will hug my children and explain to them that the way they lead their lives is a testament to their dad and myself. How clear it is that they have absorbed the lessons we taught them as parent(s) and the lessons I will continue to teach them as a lone parent. They are not without their father - as his morals and values continue to be present in their hearts and actions. </i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>With love,</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Alyce</i>Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-9149663471045545322012-07-09T18:56:00.000-07:002012-07-09T18:56:43.228-07:00...so many things to juggle<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">...<i>so many many many things to juggle.</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i>The sale of almost everything I have ever earned in my lifetime is going to be sold.</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">That sale starts in </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b>36 hours</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">It's not the "stuff" that's the hard part. It's the memories of what occurred on - around - or near the stuff that's the hard part. Everything has meaning, or memory, or reason it's been kept. Kept - even if the reason is I didn't know it was even there so I haven't had the chance to throw it out. (way run on sentence)</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Going through "MY" clothes from years of working and then not and then working - Anyway, I'm selling anything I own that I've worked in. I have donated work clothing before, BUT NEVER ALL OF IT!!! </span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Going through "MY" clothes from years of stopping and starting at the gym. (I did keep some workout apparel "just in case" I decide to work out again.)</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Going through "MY" shoes I decided NOT to throw out the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">"blue"</span> shoes I wore when Eric and I married. I kept the little bag I carried that day. The bag was baby blue too.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Going through "MY" dresses I found my baby girl's 1st birthday dress. It was just beautiful, she looked beautiful, the pictures of our family looked so beautiful. Our lives were imploding.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Eric was admitted to the hospital February 16, 2011 and diagnosed with kidney cancer that same week. By July, 2011 we both knew he wouldn't see his baby daughters' next birthday party dress. </span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Our baby is only going to be 2 years old and her father has been dead for 5 months. Very soon he'll be dead longer than the 16 months she had known her daddy. BUT, I will keep the dress she wore for the birthday she shared with her dead and give it her when she's old enough. </span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">She'll say:</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">"Ya see this dress it's the most beautiful dress in the world.....I wore this to the best birthday party of my life .... cause my Dad was there when I wore it."</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Eric's clothes. I decided now would be a good time to sell them. There will be some people who come who can't find work and NEED a suit or a button down shirt and I have those. I thoughts I would line Eric's suits on a rack and put a price tag on it. Selling it to someone more needy for them than I am is what should probably happen. </i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>It's NOT Gonna Happen!!</i></span></div>
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<i>I'm not going to sell my late husband's clothes. I want to for so many different reasons. Most of which make no logical sense. None of what's happening makes sense.</i><br />
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<i>The only thing that kinda makes sense is I absolutely have the deep understanding of what my responsibility is to my entire family. </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Anxious is how I felt when I started to write this. Feeling like life was running me a bit as opposed to me running it. Then I remembered that nothing really happens unless I let it. Sure, I can't control outside things, like what people do, but I can control how I react to it.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i><b><u>DAY 2</u></b></i></div>
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<i><b><u><br /></u></b></i></div>
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<i>While I was writing last night I received a call from the Camp where my kids are spending the summer. They found two ticks on my son. The ticks combined with a rash and a low grade fever worried the nurse. She needed to check his genitals (WHAT?) to make sure no ticks crawled up there. Harrison was absolutely hysterical when I spoke to him. Not to worry, you stay clothed and I'll be there as soon as I can.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>I left all of my thoughts of how overwhelmed I was from all that was going on and focused only on getting to my son to make sure he was o.k.. When I got there he ran to me and threw himself onto me. Kissing and hugging me and telling me how grateful he was I came to him. "Of course I did," I told him.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>The nurse explained that he needs to go to the doctor to make sure he does not have a DISEASE and he made need to get a SHOT. (Um, hello??????????????? I thought I spoke to everyone at the camp about my children's father having just died. Apparently, the memo didn't get to this nurse. Reassuring my son that NO he did NOT have a "disease" and that we don't know that he NEEDS a shot, he started to feel better.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>My boy and I were having a private chat - Nurse Rachitt kept peaking her head in trying to hurry up the process of making my son feel at ease. I told her, "We'll let you know when we're finished." "That was awesome Mom," Harrison told me.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>We discussed the dance he went to, (with a girl). She's cute, smart, and funny. He told me kids are saying that they're dating and he asked me how he would know if they're dating.</i><br />
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<b><i><u>DAY 5</u></i></b><br />
<b><i><u><br /></u></i></b><br />
<i>I am not going to be able to finish these thoughts - so I'm sharing them as my life is. Crazy, changing, sad, lonely, happy, relaxed, exhausting!!!!!!!!</i></div>Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-52417010171288687892012-06-28T20:12:00.002-07:002012-06-29T06:53:30.105-07:00...what do you need to have a...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">...picnic?</span></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPJR3Yhmug7lHBltu38Wa9BabZTf84ccGH-n_DI6WxZMYFvZI2P6SlMrL0mH_mCwh-TsbosLA5MHZqPN9Mj0oODZUEkQGDOyzFsjv0BBu8fhMRLWELJqSS10F1BgHkv7sH2KabaUcfGPo/s1600/images-5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPJR3Yhmug7lHBltu38Wa9BabZTf84ccGH-n_DI6WxZMYFvZI2P6SlMrL0mH_mCwh-TsbosLA5MHZqPN9Mj0oODZUEkQGDOyzFsjv0BBu8fhMRLWELJqSS10F1BgHkv7sH2KabaUcfGPo/s400/images-5.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I found out yesterday that I had thrown an impromptu picnic. In all honesty I had no idea what this person was talking about. <br />
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Sure we were outside. Outside long enough that I brought out a few drinks, (my favorite honey mustard pretzel) pieces with string mozzarella cheese, and my friend and I sat on my front porch for hours just talking.<br />
<br />
It's interesting to think how I feel so thankful for people wanting to spend time with me. Really, they could be doing anything but sitting with me for hours and hours just talking. I must have talked a lot because I was actually called a narcissist at one point in the conversation. <br />
<br />
- As a side not that was the second time THAT day I was called a narcissist.<br />
- On the other side I was called generous by four people the day prior.<br />
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I think that makes me a hubris philanthropist.<br />
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People's time has become very important to me. How much of "their" time is spent with me because they choose to spend it with me has become kinda really important to me. Imagine all of the things people can be doing other than spending time with YOU and they chose you. That's kind of a big deal because people's time is finite.<br />
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Oh god, this is so over the top deep. I absolutely need to get my funny back...or at least throw my deep OUT!<br />
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O.k. Back to being grateful for time. There is nothing that I loathe more than spending time with people I don't really want to be with. Why do we do that? Why do we spend our finite time with people we're either ambivalent about or just don't like? Crazy, I think is why we do it. <br />
<br />
If everyone knew they only had a year - a month - a week - or a day until they died who would they choose to spend that time with? Of course, most people don't think in this way. Holy shit, what if I find out tomorrow that I only have a year to live...I gotta figure out who I want to spend time with.<br />
<br />
In August of 2011 I knew my late husband would be dead on or around his birthday the following January. That's five months. I chose to tell nobody about this news I received from the doctor. I didn't think it was fair that I tell a father he has about five more months of watching his kids smile. I thought it would be too much for him to handle and what if they were wrong, and what if he just gave up....So, I said nothing.<br />
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In saying nothing I also didn't give him the opportunity to spend <i>his</i> time as he would have wanted had he known he had very limited visits left. It wasn't actually until December that he started to have those "scheduled memory picnics" with those he had been close with throughout his lifetime. He chose on his own that December was his time to say good-bye.<br />
<br />
The confusing part is maybe he should've spent more time with these people before December. After all by December he knew his time was quickly coming to an end and he did choose to picnic with these people. I imagine that these people were very honored to have been asked to picnic by Eric as his death was drawing more and more near.<br />
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So, this is my point. I think...<br />
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I am grateful to those that are choosing to spend time with me while they're living and not wait until they are dying.<br />
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Thank you so much for either coming over or inviting me over to be with you. Thank you for sitting and listening and taking with me for hours and hours when you could've been anywhere else.<br />
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I'm not gonna wait til I'm dying.<br />
<br />
AlyceAlyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-31877453163597380702012-06-25T19:20:00.001-07:002012-06-26T07:27:04.399-07:00...one of the most impossible things to do...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;"><i>Seize the Day "In Real Life"</i></span></td></tr>
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<br />
So many have experienced their hardest days and have sworn that....<br />
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'FROM NOW ON I WILL SEIZE THE DAY.!!</div>
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Many a book has been written on living in the now...as a matter of fact I have a tattoo in a secret place that says just that - GUESS WHAT??? Try as I may I don't <u>always</u> live in the now.</div>
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So much of living in the now relates to how our ego responds to outside circumstances. </div>
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<i>I'm fairly sure I could not be more deep than right this second. Ha</i></div>
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Two days ago I was told by three different people that I was "generous." Looking around at who they were talking about....I was told they were talking about me. I was shocked. One of those, c'mon now moments. "Are you fucking kidding me?", was of course my reaction. After many, "Are you kidding" and "Me?" and "Can you give me an example of something I might have done?" Finally, I was told to say thank you and I did.</div>
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Today, I had another conversation where I was asked to explain myself about a statement I had made. Let me say that I knew and understood exactly what I was saying as I was saying it....However, when called out on it, I asked if it was possible that I might not explain what I mean. </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">OF ALL THE PEOPLE ON THIS PLANET SOMEHOW </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I HAVE BECOME UNABLE OR UNWILLING </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">TO EXPRESS A STATEMENT.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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I swore after Eric's death I wouldn't let opportunities skip by me because there might not be another opportunity.</div>
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No more I wish I woulda been more honest and said what I really meant.</div>
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It wasn't gonna be me who would continue to tolerate the round-a-bout way of speaking that I'd been learning for the last 14 years. </div>
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Nope, not me, I'm gonna do what I WANT and say what I WANT.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;"><i>...except of course when GIVEN THE OPPORTUNITY </i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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Most people ain't gonna put their ass out their if they might get spanked (metaphorically'ish). Long story LONG I was pushed enough that I actually said out loud what I was thinking in my head. </div>
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How have I not learned my lesson of "time if precious" or "you just never know"??????? UGH..What a pathetic way of NOT learning a lesson and not allowing a tragedy to be the impetus for change. </div>
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What will he, she, they, or those think, say, do about something I might, want, or already have done??</div>
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Most people would say, "You Alyce? C'mon you'll say anything." Essentially that's true....Unless of course it involves my real deep ego. </div>
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Once again, I am reminded that I need to be able to give myself permission to not give a shit what I might think of a decision that I make. </div>
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I'll try to do better...<br />
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Boy, is my mother going to need to edit this.</div>
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With love,</div>
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Alyce</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-16208456378398599762012-06-24T22:09:00.001-07:002012-06-25T06:51:15.423-07:00There aren't many days that are....<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-size: large;">...unexpected - easy - right</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i>Those of you who have followed my story from the beginning know that I have 10 y.o. boy/girl twins and a beautiful 2 y.o. daughter. My late husband was diagnosed with cancer 2/17/11 and died 1/21/12 a short 11 months later.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Tears, sadness, anger, relief, thinking, thinking thinking, thinking, acceptance, fear, openness.</i></div>
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<i>My children are and have been my number one joy and also have given me my most intense feelings of despair. My son told a new friend of mine that he trusted me to make correct decisions. I'm not fucking up so badly, I think as I heard his words.</i></div>
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<i>I'm having a sale at my home of the things that I thought were my life. They certainly have monetary value, but I've also learned that these things have emotional value. As the two days progressed (of selling my "stuff") I became less and less married to the financial side of the stuff and started to embrace more of emotional value. </i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>The memories have become far more important than how many cents on the dollar I'm getting for an $11,000 couch. A memory of my oldest daughter's hair being stroked by her father on that couch. Beautiful memories, that I get to carry in my head - so much more important than any of the things I own in my home. (I must say there is some shit I'm happy to be getting rid of and some things that are just so hard.)</i></div>
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<i>Yesterday I met so many new people. These strangers helped me prepare my home to sell my objects. They did it without asking, without expecting anything - they helped kinda because they wanted to. What a beautiful gift of generosity they gave to me.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>I met a pleasant and surprisingly familiar person. He stayed without being asked by me from afternoon through evening. "What else ya got for me to do", he asked without hesitation. After already doing so much for me I felt embarrassed to ask for more chores to be done, so instead I asked for some of his time. We talked, laughed, bantered, (we did go to a supermarket), but it was kinda nice. </i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-size: large;">I dare say <u>almost</u> normal</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>How can one not feel grateful for a day of "normal." I do feel grateful. Today, was the first day of the unexpected doesn't always have to suck..I do hope that I'll have more days of </i><u style="font-style: italic;">almost</u> <i>normal.</i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Goooooooooo with the flow - Live in the Now, Be Present</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL6AgiJdlt07zLRIT4qKg_DY9WleadvFJrn-xWpNQ7zrLpxFkCqkVwAIvIibhI1IOe_DfwKsz9ZNRU4WRBqYdFxo4OvPSZAhMe8DLxYPPVyIpDBwr3dY9bRHR4l2mDkM8L2m3olLrrtWU/s1600/images-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL6AgiJdlt07zLRIT4qKg_DY9WleadvFJrn-xWpNQ7zrLpxFkCqkVwAIvIibhI1IOe_DfwKsz9ZNRU4WRBqYdFxo4OvPSZAhMe8DLxYPPVyIpDBwr3dY9bRHR4l2mDkM8L2m3olLrrtWU/s1600/images-2.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Now didn't suck.</span></i></td></tr>
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<i><br /></i></div>Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-12286834464295096592012-06-20T21:22:00.002-07:002012-06-21T06:22:18.835-07:001,000 words are....<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">...equal to 12 words written from the heart of my late husband.</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEEWUq3OHZcTfAgyaAHNy1oVdxw1GMhy61L5if8huZMNmJGnh76CE7VrjZSSLaM5pRTCJFKDdjmcI4AQLLY9679bvAc5BMS9DDSsAsFEr_rERJer3DoLti5_loUS7dYlXqPFLYKl_pW6Y/s1600/182169_3843481939466_1107969353_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEEWUq3OHZcTfAgyaAHNy1oVdxw1GMhy61L5if8huZMNmJGnh76CE7VrjZSSLaM5pRTCJFKDdjmcI4AQLLY9679bvAc5BMS9DDSsAsFEr_rERJer3DoLti5_loUS7dYlXqPFLYKl_pW6Y/s400/182169_3843481939466_1107969353_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Found today June 20, 2012</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Tomorrow will be five months since my husband was murdered by a cancer that he had no chance of beating.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Is it a coincidence that I found this today, hidden above the refrigerator where he wanted to keep it hidden from me. He knew I couldn't reach that high and the chances of me climbing up were nil.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was asked to help write a speech given by the Maid of Honor of a wedding. I was able to write the one liners without a problem. For god's sake I'm a writer. Then I was asked to write more about the art of marriage. I was left without a thought in my head.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Eric and I separated two times before promising each other that we'd be together always. Writing the speech was more about the hard part than the great part. Everybody knows how a married couple are <i>best friends, laugh together, share the love of the same movies ---</i><i style="font-weight: bold;"> </i>but what does anybody know about the <i>hardest times of their new life together, </i>the <i>lost job, </i>the <i>fights about money, </i>the <i>screaming about the kids, </i>the <i>why didn't you get home in time, </i>the <i>I never thought I'd be caring for a paraplegic. </i> There was no hesitation in what I knew it was my duty to my husband as his wife. He should feel comfortable enough with me and my love to allow me to care for his most personal needs. I did it without judgement, with sadness for his new weakness, sorrow as he buried his head in shame.</div>
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<div>
How can you say these things to two people during the one day these two people believe and think only about the good, not the "real" that occurs when two people blend.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Don't look for perfection, look for protection, safety, love, and integrity. The promise between Eric and me in 2008 (6 years after our initial I do's) were far more significant than the "this is gonna be great" vows.</div>
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<div>
It wasn't always great, sometimes it wasn't even good. In the end, I gave him my best from my heart. I thought it too depressing to tell the truth to two people who I don't know, about the reality of what it takes to stay married. Two people who don't realize how hard "real life" is. I hope someone sat them down and gave them examples of "I need you now!" or "I can tell I have to man the boat while you can't" scenarios.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have a feeling the speech will be about the great pair they make, how they'll always be happy, how things will run so smoothly for them. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I wish this for them as well.</div>
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<br /></div>Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-18672120030518824462012-06-18T21:11:00.004-07:002016-08-24T12:28:20.433-07:00Living a Life of Insanity...The process of going through my home to make the keep, throw, sell piles in order to move started yesterday. <br />
<br />
I had to physically go through boxes and distribute them to their correct place. This is absolutely NOT something I am used to doing. When Eric was alive I'd kinda stroll around whatever room he was working on. Looking busy was my specialty. It's not that I didn't <i>want </i>to help because I did. I just didn't want to have to actually do anything to help. Although I was the one that offered up to my husband - the turkey sandwich on white with one slice of swiss and ZERO condiments....oh and a glass of coke light ice.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8mXB_8KOfaVxvtwgDRxKX68L_jdFoX9lmDJ0ZGIiNuzbrD5cTu8wblDQLV0EGis8R3JdI0juq4fmgiTVDuZ3ltEdZv8HStIC-PTjWf-mc6MjzYVqDj5mrTmeFdkIO38ja5FQJ5_Iv8IU/s1600/images-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8mXB_8KOfaVxvtwgDRxKX68L_jdFoX9lmDJ0ZGIiNuzbrD5cTu8wblDQLV0EGis8R3JdI0juq4fmgiTVDuZ3ltEdZv8HStIC-PTjWf-mc6MjzYVqDj5mrTmeFdkIO38ja5FQJ5_Iv8IU/s400/images-2.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
Holy shit, there is so much to do to get my family moved I actually think I just might be going insane. Day two of the home organization to move I:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Lost a product I <i>need</i>, ordered, it arrived yesterday and I have lost it today. I have spent more time looking for this tiny product today than I did looking for a wedding band I had lost.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>A safe of ours with all of our important paper, that NEVER EVER NEVER EVER locks, has someone locked. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Today, I was made aware that the "new" school needs more information regarding my son - I cannot even explain the "the district isn't available until after the summer" to me thinking "wait, I think I have a copy" to "where the fuck would I put that copy?"</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>I realized I lost the same credit card that I have lost twice in the last six weeks. Thanks to my banker they're overnighting it. I shouldn't miss but one day to hemorrhage money.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>I did manage to bathe my 2 year old with absolutely no issue. Whew</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Taking to my bed is what I've decided to do. Here I am in bed alone, eating honey mustard pretzel pieces and string cheese. My bedtime snack of choice. If I'm really feeling crazy I wrap the cheese <i>around</i> the pretzel. I usually skip it as it takes far too long to wrap.</li>
</ul>
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They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again when it doesn't work. Personally, I think the definition is doing crazy, stupid, forgetful shit all day long. Whether it's all the same or all totally unrelated.</div>
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<div>
Meditation would be the answer to my problems. The chance to get out of your own head and think of nothing. Meditation is not something you can buy cliff notes for and become a master meditation guru. It takes practice and practice to find that place of, ommmmmmm, zen. Now that I think about it that's probably why prescription meds are so popular...who has time to practice zen when you can take a pill and immediately'ish zen.</div>
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So, here I am laying or lying not sure which is correct eating the last of my snack and thinking thinking thinking of all of the 100 thousand gazillion things I need to do. Hold on a second - this is why people have assistance otherwise known as "wives." I wonder where I can get one of these. Of course she'd have to be strong like a man...I guess a man would be better for this situation but I just cannot imagine listening to someone be right when I'm the Captain of this ship! I need a first mate or something like that. </div>
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<div>
My late husband...oh a funny story first...I said "late" husband to someone in front of my son. He said, "Why do you keep saying Dad is late? He's not late he's just not coming." From the mouths of babes.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Anyway, my husband would have made 45 lists of priorities. Not that much would get done but we'd be listed up. We'd have a plan, but would have so many lists it would be hard for me to understand and execute on any of the plans. With that said, there was NEVER a time that Eric had an important task to do that he didn't come in on time and over budget.</div>
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The note cards are coming out tomorrow. I'll use a marker instead of a pen. I'll write a big number 1 on the most important thing that needs to get done, then a 2 then a 3...Then I'll realize I had forgotten something and redo the list. I think what I'm trying to say just might be that tomorrow is a mental health day as opposed to continuing to complicate an already complicated situation with insanity.</div>
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Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-16281189146108085192012-06-17T05:04:00.001-07:002012-06-17T05:04:07.374-07:00To the Father of My Children...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9AkzIArNsGyLqnaP55lG1_oZvKKrAJUwghU7MjT2zCPFPm8P_dv5NTka7UjArIR3hICuGAnkiU8crWykp1tJe-AobBZ1n9VDd33BRvhSPLWnDiUM3tgF9oajaOa9MEBjnKsq9yD0VWGI/s1600/images-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9AkzIArNsGyLqnaP55lG1_oZvKKrAJUwghU7MjT2zCPFPm8P_dv5NTka7UjArIR3hICuGAnkiU8crWykp1tJe-AobBZ1n9VDd33BRvhSPLWnDiUM3tgF9oajaOa9MEBjnKsq9yD0VWGI/s320/images-1.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-size: small;">Three Beautiful Children That You Created</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Another first. Today is the first Father's Day since you died almost five months ago. <br />
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Does it make you less of a father now that you're dead? It doesn't</li>
<li>Does it make you less of a mentor to our children now that you're dead? It doesn't</li>
<li>Does it make you less of an example of honor and integrity now that you're dead? It doesn't</li>
<li>Does it make it impossible to go to the supermarket to see all the cards for Dads from children whose father is still living? <i>Yes it does.</i></li>
</ul>
<div>
Harrison has been looking on the internet for the perfect gift for you. I'm not sure what he'll do with it, but I know he's determined to find it and buy it. I'm not sure exactly what it is, but it has something to do with survival. </div>
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Adelaide, being the realist hasn't spoken of this day. Not once.</div>
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Lorelei calls every man she sees Daddy. I correct her and say either that's a man or guy. My heart breaks just a little bit every time she says it. </div>
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Then there's me. The other half of the children we created. A better father I couldn't have asked for.</div>
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I can recall the conversations from your bed near the end of your life. Regretting the time you didn't spend playing catch with your son or having the ability to dance with your daughter at the next "My Little Princess Dance". (I was able to have the name of the dance changed from Daddy Daughter dance district wide. It made Adelaide so sad that we wasn't able to have <i>her </i>daddy dance with her that I did what you would have expected. I was an advocate for our children.)</div>
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It saddens me that you didn't realize all of the gifts you had given to them. The throw of a ball isn't more important than teaching your son that integrity is what matters. The example of honesty is not more important than a dance or two.</div>
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Harrison meets new people - shakes their hand - looks them in the eye and says - "I'm Harrison, pleasure to meet you." That comes from your half. </div>
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Adelaide writes down every detail that needs to be done for every event she's involved with. She prefers sticky notes or a notebook to the note cards you used, but the lists are the same.</div>
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Our baby girl has your amazing blue eyes. Being more like me, she smiles and waves at everyone who passes her and says either, "Hello" or "Bye Bye." You got two our of three, I deserve to have one of our children behave like me.</div>
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<div>
My will needs to be updated in case something should happen to me. When we sat down with our attorney to plan our estate I never dreamed that one of us would die while our children were still, well, children. Now I'm faced with what would seem to be an easy task of giving guardianship to someone else in case they become orphans while they're still children.</div>
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<div>
The list is short of men who promised to be father figures to our children and actually followed through on that promise that was made to you. I dare say that not one person (excluding my father) has contacted our children. There are promises to call and promises to take them to do some daddyish things, but they were just that - promises. Perhaps, I am vetting the process too thoroughly. That is what "we" would do if we were together. Discuss, discuss, think, discuss, more discussion, decision.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
How do I find a new family for our children in the case that Mother's Day becomes as dreaded as Father's Day? Everyone has their lives and everyone is busy Eric. I understand that. Give people some slack. I understand that too. Don't be so emotional about this. I get it. But these are our children we're talking about. There are cards for people who are "like a dad to me" or "like a mom to me", and as of today there isn't anyone that our children would want to buy these cards for. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMq0Hcm2AhAgitiu5XqcFvz8pFUyOHE02xfJdZ3JiWxdG1VTOvOwX7DSW12nyJllrnVQbqcf4DJOWun38XUus96px2Fo5TfP1U0mCQZgSgL6adB23B2KNaamdN6oNR53Jh6n6aVJ8hguQ/s1600/IMG_1175.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="508" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMq0Hcm2AhAgitiu5XqcFvz8pFUyOHE02xfJdZ3JiWxdG1VTOvOwX7DSW12nyJllrnVQbqcf4DJOWun38XUus96px2Fo5TfP1U0mCQZgSgL6adB23B2KNaamdN6oNR53Jh6n6aVJ8hguQ/s640/IMG_1175.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Happy Father's Day Daddy We Miss You</span></i></td></tr>
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<div>
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<div>
I have decided that I will continue to look for the right person/people to love our children. I have decided the will will remain as it stood when we made it. My loving Aunt and Uncle will remain as those who will care for our children until I find a family for our children that I trust with their hearts.</div>
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<div>
I wish you were here and not dead. I wish we were giving you more cards than you wanted me to buy. I wish I could have bought you something you would never use from Brookstone. I wish our children could hold you and tell you how much they love you.</div>
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<div>
Thank you so much for giving our children the gifts you have given to them. I hope before your death our 100 talks of your being a father of strength, integrity, safety, and love will live on through our children and then through their children.</div>
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We all miss you so very much.</div>
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Happy Father's Day Eric.</div>
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Love,</div>
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<br /></div>
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Alyce</div>Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-26335891352655398902012-05-27T07:00:00.002-07:002012-05-27T07:22:56.032-07:00Life continues to Bloom<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieQkKUro6akFj7tYWofKMGepztoe0h39ZyRu2qIEsLytkjbG4zG5lyoqBeErKykizUZoAz85kuYe2ck_1-x3lBBTl5dfmWP9fDYeLrv0poEwTa0N7iTX-D1UnPgZ0DA_W8X0CTCziismA/s1600/images-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieQkKUro6akFj7tYWofKMGepztoe0h39ZyRu2qIEsLytkjbG4zG5lyoqBeErKykizUZoAz85kuYe2ck_1-x3lBBTl5dfmWP9fDYeLrv0poEwTa0N7iTX-D1UnPgZ0DA_W8X0CTCziismA/s400/images-1.jpeg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Eric and I planted these 3 years ago</i><br />
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</i></td></tr>
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<i>I know I'm supposed to write about how great things are and how life is so much better and there are ponies and unicorns living with us. Oh, well....maybe tomorrow or later but not right now.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Not as I sit on our front porch just like we used to. We'd have coffee together and talk politics, kids, work, (his not mine), anything really. We'd talk for hours, as we'd wake up early to have time together to talk. We'd talk about how nice the gardens are coming in this year.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Eric would have been so excited that the peony's we planted from nothing are now in full bloom. It's the most incredible sight to see. Almost like when you have a baby. You plant a seed and not sure if it'll take and then, walah, there's a beautiful flower after all. Our garden is so lush this year and Eric is not here to see it. Oh sure, everyone says he does see it....but in my world...he's not sitting here and talking to me about how he can't believe how well everything is blooming.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>He was so strong, and so healthy, and now he's just dead. I can't believe he won't share in all that is coming up in our lives. The kids finish school on Wednesday - we are going to Palm Beach Saturday - then NYC the following week - then overnight camp for them right after that. He would help them pack for camp. Loading them up with things I wouldn't have and still won't think of. Survival stuff. For me survival stuff is my iPhone. "Hi, it's Alyce...I have a problem...can you come fix it?" Eric would always say, yes, and come help me.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Now I have to pack their stuff. What the hell am I going to miss? "Cause I know it's gonna be something."</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>I sit outside alone and lament the past and worry about the future just as I tell people who write to me NOT TO DO THAT, I do it myself. Two tattoo's later "Be Good To Yourself", and "Living In The Now".</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>My daughter just came out to sit with me...reminding me that I'm still alive and right now, right now, DOES NOT SUCK. The flowers are blooming and I am grateful that Eric and I planted them.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Alyce</i>Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-81860987219629803282012-05-22T18:50:00.004-07:002012-05-22T18:50:55.766-07:00I don't even like music.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>I honestly don't listen to much music, but in the last two blogs (this one included) I have used songs as the backdrop to what I'm thinking.</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>In 1999 shortly after Train left San Fansisco in a $1000 van and came to a Chicago Festival - I was there. I saw Train for <b>FREE</b>. I then became a fan. Going to all venues where Train was playing- meeting their parents and both their parents and I were in awe of their talent.</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Train is coming to Chicago on August 11 and 12 this will be 13 years after I first saw them.. (My kids come back from camp August 10; perfect.) "Wanna see train," I asked them. "Yay!!!!" Train tickets are now $250 per person on the cheap end shitty seats. Ugh, I remember when I met your mothers I wanted to call and tell them. Short story long, we decided NOT to go see them.</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Crazy Train rant, anyway.......</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>....I am moving my family - myself and my three children. Moving them to another place, another direction, another chapter in their lives. Just me. </i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>I</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>I</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>I</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>I</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>I</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>What if <b>I </b>make the wrong move</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>What if <b>I</b> take them on a the wrong path</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>What if <b>I</b> screw up this whole plan.</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>I'm so sick to death of IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII. I shouldn't have been forced to make these life decisions for all of us. I was supposed to be 80% of the decision making - NOT 100%. You know it's true. Women in a relationship make the decisions almost all of the time. Well now I get the privilege of owning the other 20%. All mine. Like my two year old says, "Mine, mine, mine, mine." This phrase can drive anyone insane. I'm almost there, insane I mean.</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>After a few far away trips alone I found our new home. Yes, <b>I</b> did it! <b>I </b>found are new home was. Everyone fit in this home so perfectly. Not everyone was there as they were supposed to be, but everyone who is here, had their place.</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>My husband has been dead for 4 months and 1 day. January 21st 2012 is when he was killed by cancer and today is May 22nd.</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Yesterday, I was told the "perfect" home was no longer available to us. More than a few times I asked, "Is this a <u>done</u> deal?", to be told yes don't worry. Nobody's fault really. Another family, the family who own this home decided as I had that this is the home for them. I get it.</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><u> <b>Calling All Angels - Please let me know what to do</b></u></i></span><br />
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I need a sign to let me know you're here<br />
All of these lines are being crossed over the atmosphere<br />
I need to know that things are gonna look up<br />
'Cause I feel us drowning in a sea spilled from a cup<br />
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When there is no place safe and no safe place to put my head<br />
When you feel the world shake from the words that are said<br />
<i><br style="border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 1em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></i>And I'm calling all angels<br />
I'm calling all you angels<br />
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I won't give up if you don't give up <i style="border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 1em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">[Repeat x4]</i><br />
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I need a sign to let me know you're here<br />
'Cause my TV set just keeps it all from being clear<br />
I want a reason for the way things have to be<br />
I need a hand to help build up some kind of hope inside of me<br />
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When children have to play inside so they don't disappear<br />
While private eyes solve marriage lies cause we don't talk for years<br />
And football teams are kissing Queens<br />
and losing sight of having dreams<br />
In a world that what we want is only what we want until it's ours<i><br style="border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 1em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></i><br />
Calling all you angels </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Love you,</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Alyce</i></span></div>
<br style="border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 1em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-73750136572445696802012-05-11T20:53:00.002-07:002012-05-12T06:37:00.994-07:00The Path of Least Resistance<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Nothing I loathe more than country music.</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Eric only LOVED country music.</i></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKQB4xpxqFTWX1W1gZmFSeRYVr6527JCOXFm0vkcM0T6Wl18oMT0qOtrGWYfkg6ubAKYHEFvMhpIz3lpVcwit4A25FYlLqDjlTx6tGgMb_AoB7JxNdYfk-SeY1zfERq2gaPGyfelbtfkc/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKQB4xpxqFTWX1W1gZmFSeRYVr6527JCOXFm0vkcM0T6Wl18oMT0qOtrGWYfkg6ubAKYHEFvMhpIz3lpVcwit4A25FYlLqDjlTx6tGgMb_AoB7JxNdYfk-SeY1zfERq2gaPGyfelbtfkc/s400/images.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><i>K.I.S.S.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>It seemed like every single song dealt with guns, somebody fucking <I think usually not really willing to> drinkin' beer outta a can....you get it.</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Our wedding song was Breathe by Faith Hill. He chose that song, and I let him. We saw Shania Twain in concert, I bought the tickets for my husband, not for me. This same man believed that Shania waved to him and there was a connection. </i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Then there was a song; a song that really touched me inside. (Eric introduced this song to me.) It touched me not on the top of </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>my </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>skin but much more deeply. It was inside my heart. I first heard it before Eric's death, but now when I listen and I wonder, why didn't he really listen to the words and take the road less travelled?</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Take 3 minutes to read the Lyrics of this country song. If you can, read it </i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">twice in 3 minutes then go on to read what I've written below.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;">I turned on the evening news<br />Saw a old man being interviewed<br />Turning a hundred and two today<br />Asked him what's the secret to life<br />He looked up from his old pipe<br />Laughed and said "All I can say is."<br /><br />Don't blink<br />Just like that you're six years old and you take a nap and you<br />Wake up and you're twenty-five and your high school sweetheart becomes your wife<br />Don't blink<br />You just might miss your babies growing like mine did<br />Turning into moms and dads next thing you know your "better half"<br />Of fifty years is there in bed<br />And you're praying God takes you instead<br />Trust me friend a hundred years goes faster than you think<br />So don't blink<br /><br />I was glued to my tv when it looked like he looked at me and said<br />"Best start putting first things first."<br />Cause when your hourglass runs out of sand<br />You can't flip it over and start again<br />Take every breathe God gives you for what it's worth<br /><br />Don't Blink<br />Just like that you're six years old and you take a nap and you<br />Wake up and you're twenty-five and your high school sweetheart becomes your wife<br />Don't blink<br />You just might miss your babies growing like mine did<br />Turning into moms and dads next thing you know your "better half"<br />Of fifty years is there in bed<br />And you're praying God takes you instead<br />Trust me friend a hundred years goes faster than you think<br />So don't blink<br /><br />So I've been tryin' ta slow it down<br />I've been tryin' ta take it in<br />In this here today, gone tomorrow world we're livin' in<br /><br />Don't blink<br />Just like that you're six years old and you take a nap and you<br />Wake up and you're twenty-five and your high school sweetheart becomes your wife<br />Don't blink<br />You just might miss your babies growing like mine did<br />Turning into moms and dads next thing you know your "better half"<br />Of fifty years is there in bed<br />And you're praying God takes you instead<br />Trust me friend a hundred years goes faster then you think<br />So Don't blink<br /><br />Naw, don't blink<br />Life Goes Faster Than You Think</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>We have an air filtration system in our home. It prevents colds and things. Never thought we'd need some kind of system that prevents cancer, instead of dumb allergies or colds, in your home. That was kind of a dumb purchase. Every decision we made as a couple we talked about ad nauseum. Too slow for me and way too quickly for him. A decision would be agreed upon and unfortunately for me, once I said, "I have the right to change my mind." In other words no deal is completely iron clad. Then was there ever really a deal anyway?</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Eric is dead, this I am aware of. I am making decisions for my family without deep, introspective thinking. I am now the "Captain" of this ship and it is up to me which of course I take seriously.</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Do I take the path of most? This is the most comforting path there is. It's not different, not exciting, but it is familiar. I am comfortable here, and don't feel the need to go down a path that I don't even have a map of.</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>OR </i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Do I take the "road less travelled"? This is another phrase I loathe, in addition to "teachable moment." Do you dare to change the path you are on and have been on for your lifetime. Understand, that if this life is happy and comfortable, I applaud that. I discovered that my life isn't happy. This place that we live, was once a home. Now it is brick and mortar. </i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Our eleven year anniversary would have been March 2012, I blinked and my children are 10, 10, and 2. I blinked again my husband is dead, and my children are still 10, 10, and 2 with no parent but me. I am the lone Captain.</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>I've decided to take my family on a different path. Guided is how I feel. I am making life happen for me, for us, as opposed to letting life happen to me, to us. What if I wait for life to happen and it just doesn't? Life just decided to go by in a few blinks, and then (if you're very lucky, you can look back and smile - otherwise you lament all that you missed).</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Would most people pick up and move their family out of state and expose them to a life that they've never known. I want my children to say, I did better than my parents. I want better for my children. I am the Captain and I am steering them in a different and hopefully better direction.</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Things are moving, life is progressing, I'm not going to waste it. I'm going where I need to be, where I believe we should be. I am going eyes wide open.</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>We love and miss you,</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Alyce</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2432213301937325034.post-13959273246333560022012-04-28T18:38:00.002-07:002016-08-24T12:26:42.135-07:00To my dear friend,Dear, D.O.M,<br />
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...I'm sure you will never read this my long time friend, but my heart bleeds tears for yours tonight. By now it has sunk in that your beloved is gone. Just like that...no warning...no fanfare...just dead. I am unsure of the specifics of what happened but the end is the same. A young, beautiful widow, with three devastated babies in big kids bodies.<br />
<br />
I am a little more than three months ahead of her in time. No wonderful words of wisdom to help ease your pain, other than it does change. As a matter of fact it changes daily. Sometimes you're being swallowed in a tsunami while other times you're just lying on the beach in the sun. Nothing makes any sense. Don't try to make sense of anything. Just worry about you and your beautiful family. Whatever it is that is right to do or say for you in that moment say it.<br />
<br />
I saw this on someone's FB wall today and I immediately thought of, well, myself. Shortly after I thought of you. I wish I had this list when Eric died, but I didn't. I was so busy trying to "act" correctly that sometimes I lost sight of me. And going further I forgot what it was like to be capable.<br />
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I still can't/won't change a lightbulb, but I've done shit I never thought I'd ever have to. I never imagined being both a husband and wife - a mother and father - a therapist and life coach - a sole provider - and and only decision maker. <br />
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The list goes on but it's exhausting.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><i>It's simple, Stupid!</i></span></td></tr>
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Ask for time by yourself when you want it. Go out when you want to and stay home and tell everyone to get out when you need to. Be really pissed off as many times as you want to. Try not to scream so the kids here but scream til you have no voice left. Ask why and expect no answer that is either relevant or reasonable.<br />
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Since January 21, 2012, I've never felt more judged about each decision I've made. How I act or don't - what or say or how I say it or even if I've said it <whatever it is>. When is the appropriate time to date or never date. How old is this date? Should this date have children, been married, only want a "good time". Whether or not I should go on any of these dates with any of these "degenerates" anytime soon...and when is that "good time to do so."<br />
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I've never heard more opinions than when I've watched a Presidential Candidate give a speech and the commentary after it. Listen to these million opinions - consider the ones that make sense and throw out the ones you think aren't right for you.<br />
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I wanted to write I can't imagine how you're feeling, forgetting that I know just about exactly how you feel. Whether your life in your home was perfectly perfect or imperfectly imperfect it is your home. Keep it your home. Don't let others distract you from being true to what your home was and still could be.<br />
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Accept all the love and heartfelt emotions and try to be present during those times. When you feel yourself hugging someone you genuinely love, just hug a little longer and say I'm so _____________________. Whatever it is your so is.<br />
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I am an ear for you to talk to when most won't understand. I'm a heart that's broken like yours. I am also a woman who knows.<br />
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With love to you my long life friend,<br />
<br />
Alyce Levy<br />
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<br />Alyce IsCurioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16868791588301673525noreply@blogger.com2