Happy Birthday Eric 2013

Dear Eric,                                                                                                                     1/16/13

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.

I promised a cake would be bought; a wish made; the candles blown out. 
We would remember - we would celebrate.

Your last birthday cake from your babies 

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.  If I was a betting person I would imagine you wished we would be o.k. without you.  My tears were cried behind you so you wouldn’t see the heart wrenching pain I was experiencing.  The candles were blown out by you alone as your wish was so much more important than mine.  I would have another birthday, you would not.

A celebration of your life!!

Your last birthday party was celebrated with our friends and family.  There was laughing and dancing.   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.  You were, as you always were, a gracious host

Still waiting for this smile to return.

If you remember, Harrison played video games in his room most of the night of your party.   He didn't want to believe this was your last birthday, so he pretended it wasn't.   You'll be happy to know he’s as sensitive a boy now as he was then. He lost his spirit for a few months after your died, but he's back again. I want you to know that him  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.

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.

Eric, just look at the brave face of our big girl at your birthday party last year.   Her eyes smile less now.  She misses you so very much.  There seems like nothing I can say to help heal her pain.  She asks me all the time, “Do you love me mommy?”  I tell her all the time that I love her, but it’s just not enough.  Even if I doubled the amount of time I gave her my message of love, it still wouldn’t be enough.  

Adelaide wants to hear it from you.  

Kissing you on your birthday last year was so hard.  Knowing it would be the last time I would wish you a “happy” birthday seemed unfair.  Saying “happy” birthday seemed beyond dumb.  Your eyes closed as did 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. I cried for all of the kisses we would no longer be able to share.

This is the hug I will remember when I need one.  I need one!!

 I want you to know I’m trying to help us be o.k..  I feel like I’m failing miserably...people tell me otherwise.  Last night I showered.  The warm of the water and the steady stream of my back felt like a blanket around me.  I was brought back to a time when you would be holding me-  and your arms were my blanket.  I leaned against the wall to try to be closer to you.  It sounds crazy but I needed to be hugged at that time, and the closest thing to me was a cold wet shower wall.

The words to our wedding song written on your last birthday cake are still true today.

This is the poem I wrote to you for your last birthday.  

Words Hurt

The brilliant...my husband...2 weeks before he died.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.  

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.

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.
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.


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"

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.

Their father died 24 hours later

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.

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.

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.

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.

Thank you Eric for teaching me so much.

A new year - Let's hope it's happy

January 2, 2013

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.

New Year’s Eve 2011

Eric would die 3 weeks after this picture was taken

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.  

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.

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.

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.

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.)

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.

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.

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.   

Buck up little girl, I say to myself.   We’ll see how I do.

...remember

Thanksgiving 2011

...I see myself in this picture but I don't remember it.

Thanksgiving 2012

The difference between Thanksgiving of 2011 and Thanksgiving of 2012 is so vast I’m not sure where to begin.

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.

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.

My husbands body was becoming more weak, but his mind and spirit were strong.  

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.

(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.

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.   

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.  

O.K....so I know this is all just a bunch of crap, but it could’ve happened.

This year my brother and his family will not be here.   Not sure where they’ll be, but they’re not here.

The cast that will be at my home for Thanks (names are being withheld to protect the innocent)

Bruce Willis: 25 year friend that is a life-line  (and “her” husband)

Elvis: 6 month friend that I’ve known for years

Vidal: 6 month friend who is a giving tree

Bela Karolyi: 3 month friend that slid in as if always there

Unknown Character:  Single mom and 3 children.  No place to go - sure come here.

Unknown Character: A friend of Bruce Willis that I “need” to know

My divorced parents: speaks for itself

Child 1: Brilliant

Child 2: Brilliant

Child 3: Brilliant

Me

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.  

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.

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.

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.

My parents will be here together’ish,  I am grateful.

We have food, clothes, shelter, blah blah blah.  But there are those that don’t.  I am grateful

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.

I need to remember....

THE RIGHT NOW IS FINE!!

No Picture Book - This is a Novel

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.  

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.  

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.  

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.

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.

How ridiculous of me to think that a weather change would change our broken hearts.  

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.

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.  

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.

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.

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?

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.

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?”  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!”

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.

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.

Respectfully,

AIC

...I wanna quit!!!

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.

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!"


How else can I check out of life for a while?

That's the real issue.  I'm just done dealing with issues.  I'm just done.  It's hard, too hard.


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

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?

Tony was an entrepreneur kinda.

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. 

Here's the issue.  Do I get into the game or stay on the sidelines????????????????????

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.............”

Let's not get crazy...I'm not calling anyone today.  But I am going to try to figure out why I shouldn't.

I get that I sound like a moron...but if life were only this easy....I’d wanna play more of it.

I'll play but I gotta know I'm gonna win ahead of time!!

'til further notice ALL holidays are cancelled

 Halloween 2011 Family Photo

Halloween 2012 Family Photo

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.  

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.

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.).  

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.  

“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.

My day was filled with sadness.  

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.

Not Halloween but could've been!!

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.

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.  

Searching for the...

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.

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?

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.

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.  

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.  

More chatter, of what I couldn't say.  Then, a look to the right, toward the floor this time.  Another small dead thing.  Ugh!!!!  

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

You are right.  Nobody notices you're balding.
NOBODY!!

"He is no longer mad at you," she says.

Life has a way of creeping in.

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.

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.

This advice started to, well, aggravate the shit out of me.  

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.

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.

Life, is now up to me - not God - not the planet - the universe - the government - my parents - it’s just me!!

i am iCONIC!!

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.  ME!!  Not leaving my life to fate or anything else that doesn't involve the letters M & E.

Words Hurt - Even "ON" Palm Beach

...taken about the same time the video was made.

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.

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 is a man with integrity.  He's honest and I want to grow up to be just like him."

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 before throwing himself into something (anything for that matter.)

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.

Fast forward 8 months after Eric's death and about 6 weeks after picking up my family and moving us to paradise.

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.

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....

...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.  

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.  

WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING?

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.  

The things I knew before moving in:

• My landlord would be living two doors down from me.  No issue as I am very particular about how I live.
• My landlord has no children
• My landlord has never been married
• My landlord is (or believes) that she is a prominent real estate broker ON PALM BEACH ISLAND
• My landlord has a slight attitude issue.

The things I didn't know before moving in:

• I would have to fight this woman to correct issues that were a danger to my children and myself.
• I would have to call the Town of Palm Beach to see if there were code violations.
• I would find out that low and behold there are code violations.
• 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.
• 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?

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.

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.

YOU'RE NOT DEALING WITH MY HUSBAND - YOU'RE DEALING WITH ME!!!!

We can do this the easy way or the hard way but...

...Eventually we'll do it my way!!

...acting like the captain of the ship

...but I'm just

I'm the cook!!

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.  

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.  

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  - 

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  - 

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." - 

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." 

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  - 

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  - 

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." - 

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  - 

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  - 

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." - 

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." 

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  - 

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  - 

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." - 

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  

Reminds me of Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

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.

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?  

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.

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.