Here's What's Cooking..

In case you missed it, I was a guest on The Feisty Woman Show on Blog Talk Radio on Sunday 5/22. On the show we discussed my experience with infidelity and I gave listeners my advice for avoiding a failed marriage. In case you missed it you can listen here or click on the player below.

                                             Listen to internet radio with FeistyWoman on Blog Talk Radio

Also, this week I guest posted at Vivelenerd on a topic completely unrelated to grief or relationships; my experience of witnessing my baby sister's birth back in 1991. It was ghastly and horrifying for me at the age of 17, however now that I'm 37 years old, it's actually pretty funny. I wrote all about it here. Please check it out and let me know what you think. Writing comedy is fun, yet is far more challenging for me than the serious griefy stuff.

Soon I'll also begin guest posting from time to time at Wordsinsync on topics related to mental health. I haven't contributed anything yet, but I have a few ideas cooking. I'll keep readers up to date when I post a piece over there.

And finally, just in case you missed it, I was also on another Blog Talk Radio show back in March with Extreme Writing Now, where we discussed my husband's sudden death, his infidelity, and my thoughts about grief. If you'd like to listen to that show, you can click here or on the player below.

                                            Listen to internet radio with Alex Crabtree on Blog Talk Radio

Thanks everyone for your kindness and support!

Related articles

• Attention Is Scary To Those Who Worry (sunnysingstheblues.blogspot.com)
• Grief Coping and Guest Posting: Sunny Part 1 (sunnysingstheblues.blogspot.com)
• Perspectives Reframed (sunnysingstheblues.blogspot.com)

There's No Place Like The Yellow Brick Road

Me, scratching my head (I think?)

Walking down a beach path during Chris's first visit.

Within a few months of being introduced, Chris and I met in person, in April 2007. He actually made a few trips to see me around that time. They were all noteworthy visits, but meeting him at the airport when he arrived here for the first time stands out distinctly in my mind as the beginning of the story.

Upon entering the baggage claim, I scanned the sea of unfamiliar faces for the one I recognized from our correspondences. At first none were recognizable, but then I heard the familiar call of my name.

"Sunny!"

He said it with a spark.

Finally seeing him in three dimensions, combined with hearing the sound of his voice right then and there, was sort of like the moment in the Wizard of Oz where the movie suddenly turns from sepia to technicolor. It was surreal. But I was thrilled to finally meet him face to face.

I remember he was dressed up. Aside from being happy that he indeed looked handsome like in his pictures, it was his outfit that grabbed my initial attention. In snapshots I'd seen, he usually wore casual t-shirts and shorts. Though on that day he clearly was making an effort to impress me by dressing up.

It worked.

I happily noticed.

Immediately reaching out to hug while he stood near his luggage; we both smiled with nervous excitement as we processed each other's presence. Apprehension no doubt had taken hold of us both for the moment, yet it didn't last. By the time we made our way to lunch for the next stop, it was as though we'd known each other for ages. And our comfort was evident in our choice of cuisine...Mexican food.

For our first meal together we grubbed on burritos, chips, and table-side guacamole. While probably not the most glamorous meal we could have opted for, it was not our concern since it felt like we had already known each other at the onset. We clicked. And given what I had been through just a few short months earlier, I grabbed at the chance to feel so at ease with someone new. Likewise, Chris was relieved to find a girl who was not particularly worried about making impressions. We simply enjoyed the moment for what it brought; filling food, flowing conversation, and laughs.

It made for a fun first date. Besides, we had plenty of time for fancy meals. Those came later, once Chris moved here. At the time I was far more concerned with really getting to know him than I was with awkward formality. So after lunch, we went to the movies and saw the comedy "Blades of Glory." At the show, I remember noticing Chris's contagious laugh. The movie was funny, but his laughter truly made me smile. It was those kinds of little things that brought a welcome lift to my much downtrodden spirit, and were the perfect antidote to my months of ambivalent grief.

Forgiving Roman for his actions was still difficult for me back then, but I felt better when I was with Chris. We brought out a side in each other that was genuine and I was eager to continue the easy momentum of his visits. With that, after just a few visits, I mailed him a key to my apartment for him to move in with.

It was the same apartment I had once shared with Roman. Repeatedly after he died, I sat alone and fought back the silence in that space. My feelings about it were mixed. I wanted to use it make new memories...Still, bringing Chris into my life in such a big way, so soon after my loss was scary. I don't think I would have been as bold back then if he hadn't been living on the opposite coast when we met. And as I've said before, I was well aware that I could have been stepping into a messy rebound. Weeding out caution from life infringing fear, I did my best to move ahead with my life after Roman.

Chris and I brought out the best in each other. Our dynamics were what I consciously sought if I was to invest in another relationship. Surprisingly, the universe brought me what I wanted quickly. And after going through the trauma of Roman's death and infidelity, along with the insult of confronting his mistress, I was tremendously grateful to have found a person I could be so at ease with. It had been a long time since I'd smiled like I had with Chris. What's more, I dont think I ever felt that kind of authenticity in my prior relationships with anyone before. So I took a leap and embraced the moment like it was a wild ride to be enjoyed. Wild, yet simple all the same. It all came down to trust and opening myself up to new experiences.

I used my intuition, my gut, and my higher self as a guide. Our decision to jump in feet first sounded crazy, I'm sure. Both of our friends and families checked in with us regularly to be sure we hadn't lost our marbles. But it wasn't lost marbles; it was new love.

So in June 2007, just seven months after Roman died, Chris bought a one way ticket from New York to California. I came home from work the day he moved in to find him in our newly shared apartment. It was the first of many times to come. By being there, he brought me my first real sense of comfort after loss. Though, more than that, he brought me a sense that the path I had taken to getting him there was guided by something larger than me.

The entire period felt like a dream happening in real time. And looking back now, my memory of it feels like I was a traveling down a version of the Yellow Brick Road. Though, once Chris came home to Cali, our next stop was not Kansas - or even New York. It was Kauai, and it danced...

Perspectives Reframed: Dating Again

Chris and me at a Scottish restaurant in New York City.
We weren't vegetarians yet and just had our minds blown by haggis.

During our first few correspondences, Chris did not have his photo available for viewing online. Regardless, we clicked right away, and soon it became clear that he was different compared with other's I'd been involved with before. He brought out a side of me that was more comfortable. Mind you, "comfortable" is generally not a term I use to describe myself very often. But Chris was (and still is) very easy to talk to about everything that I went through with Roman. Also being a talented musician who once taught Latin, he was educated, articulate, and funny. With those qualities, I was willing to wait a little while on his photo. Truthfully though, I was really dying to see what he looked like.

In retrospect I was still very vulnerable, though I did not admit it to myself at the time. I think it was a shift in my priorities, along with some intangible guidance from above that protected me from potential emotional annihilation. Potential negatives like a bruising rejection or a tangled rebound could have been crippling, though I reasoned that nobody new could hurt me half as badly as Roman had. So even though I was aware of the emotional tightrope I walked by dating quickly after his death, it was my sense of protection that empowered me to focus and keep moving forward steadily.

With my change in priorities, I considered the qualities of new people only to the degree that they affected me. I knew that the guy I ended up with did not have to be perfect, he just needed to be right for me. Never again would I invest my energy into a relationship with someone who did not bring out the best in me, or vice versa. It was a logical way of thinking that also required a great deal of trust in my intuition to make the right choices. But even so soon after his death, I had already learned a lot about my past mistakes.

Roman's lack of communication and ongoing platitudes made me feel quietly neurotic. Since his behavior on the surface was as it should have been however, I was often vexed over my own reactions. Roman went through all of the motions perfectly. He courted me when we dated. He called, pursued me, put a ring on my finger, and constantly told me what I wanted to hear. In return I was good to him; yet he still cheated. But at the end of the day, his actions were not a reflection of me or my worth. Now I get that.

Communicating his thoughts without turning things into a joke, a debate, or simply stopping cold was difficult for Roman. My attempts to address it only made him more standoffish. And because of differences in how we communicated, Roman probably needed someone less attuned, while I in turn needed someone more emotionally available. Looking back, it's really no wonder he hit it off with Erica. She validated the side of his character that I disliked. To her, the same traits that I considered weaknesses, she considered attractive. Her angle complimented him better than mine. But Roman didn't necessarily do it for me either. It wasn't until after he died, that I realized why.

Working on forgiveness showed me that our incompatibility was not personal; we simply were not right for one another at the onset. We never really brought out the best in each other and should never have gotten married to begin with. Roman and I both felt trapped at times. Trying to see various perspectives helped me better understand myself and Roman in order to heal some of my lingering heartbreak.

Old lady or young?

I was, and still am a caring, conscientious, and intuitive person. However, when that side of my personality is not validated, it could be viewed in other, less complimentary ways. Depending on the other person's viewpoint, those same traits could seem intense and neurotic. When I care, I can be very focused. That attention can feel warm and fuzzy to some or uncomfortable and piercing to others.

Both views are probably correct depending on the point of view being taken. It's like the famous Gestalt picture of the old lady and young lady... They both exist. Though I am hardly alone. Most human traits could be viewed as strengths or weaknesses, simply by the light that is cast upon them. Perception is subjective. Attractiveness is simply dependent on the lens of the person doing the viewing.

So as I started meeting new people in the days after Roman died, I kept perspective in mind and also shifted my thinking about myself. Instead of feeling bad about my quirks, I reframed them into strengths in my mind and looked for a person who would also view them accordingly.

With that, the instant a new guy said something that rang of poor communication or of subtle criticism like Roman's frequent words, "ahhhh Sunny, you worry too much.." I politely moved on...

...Next!

I trusted my instincts, opting to invest only in a relationship where both of our characteristics would be complimented positively by the other person. And as it turned out, Chris fit the bill. Luckily too, I liked what I saw when I finally saw his picture.

I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't terrified over pursuing a relationship with him. But I'm stubborn resilient, and have consciously refused to stop growing or be defined by loss. However, I also know that denying my prior ordeal is no more beneficial than perseverating on it. Like it or not, my scars are still there. Thankfully, my relationship with Chris over the past few years has helped me accept my experience as a whole. My grief is the same, I'm just more comfortable with it today because perspective has to helped transform my loss into something useful.

The 1st photo I saw of Chris after I met him on eHarmony.
"Yay," I thought, "He's cute AND he likes animals!"

Related articles

• Forgiveness Part 5: Kindness Speaks in Whispers (sunnysingstheblues.blogspot.com)
• Forgiveness Part 2: Actions In Retrospect (sunnysingstheblues.blogspot.com)

Lessons, Legacies, and Relationships

Chris.

In February 2007, three months after Roman died, I met his one and only friend for dinner. Initially, when I called to break the news about Roman's sudden death, his friend, whom I'll call "Craig," saw Roman's name pop up on the caller ID. He answered the phone, not with "hello," but instead picked up and exclaimed, "Dude! Are you still alive?!" Obviously it had been some time since Roman gave Craig the time of day, making for a very uncomfortable conversation following his telephone greeting.

"Uh, hi, Craig..It's Sunny, actually; Roman's wife." My tone was somber. He didn't know me well, but he could clearly tell by my voice that my call was serious. Likewise, he sounded dazed as he processed the news. I asked him and his wife to come to the funeral and he gladly obliged.

Craig showed up at the funeral, along with his wife and several other of Roman's former co-workers. Roman and Craig worked together in the years prior, and Craig actually joined Roman and I  for a few nights out back when we were just friends - in the days before our relationship became romantic.

I always liked Craig and wished that Roman would have been nicer to him. Though for all the people that Roman spoke ill of, he never had anything bad to say about Craig. He was more indifferent than anything. Still, indifference does not foster relationships, so it had been some time since they had contact.

In the days following Roman's death, I ended up becoming friends with Craig and his wife. In fact, I probably spent more time with them in the span of a year that Roman did in their entire friendship.

Craig understood Roman though, so he never seemed to take Roman's arrogance personally. He seemed to accept Roman for being who he was..Much in the same way I did when Roman and I were friends.

I mention Craig now because I came across a journal entry I made one night after meeting him and his wife for dinner. That night, we spoke about Roman's intelligence, his choices, and what I thought I had learned from it all. Craig mentioned that I should start a blog, but at that time, I could not bring myself to such a public display. Afterall, it had only been three months. Up to that point, I still wasn't sure what I had learned.

Since then though, the lessons have become more clear to me. And as I look back on this little entry, I am surprised at how concise my thoughts were; especially considering how dazed I felt mentally and emotionally.

Stylistically, I don't think it is my best piece of writing, but at that time I was not concerned about presentation...only content. I did not want to forget what I had learned, lest I should be cursed to repeat it.

This entry dated is dated February 13, 2007

Relationships are what truly matter in life, as they are your legacy. Never forget that. Never forget what is most important when you begin to feel overwhelmed by the little things in life. At the end of the day, those things do not matter. Perfection in the petty details will not define you when you are gone. People will only remember your spirit, your strength, your compassion, and your humor. They will remember the lessons that you taught, how you made the world a better place, and how they felt when they were with you. Be kind because acting out of fear only reinforces and empowers the fear itself. Self awareness and honesty are the key to meaningful relationships. Without those traits, you cannot truly see others for who they are and likewise, they will not be able to see you. If you are not aware, you will not hear the whispers being spoken through you. Without those whispers, you will not know your true value, the value of others, or what you were put on Earth to do.

The timing of my journal entry is interesting to me now. Recognizing the value of relationships, be them family, friends, or significant others, was at the core of the of the entry. I must have listened to my words, because I reconnected with several friends I had lost touch with. I also made several solid new friendships in the years since Roman died. And most notably, I met my boyfriend Chris, just seven days after I wrote that entry on February 13th.. Chris and I are still together to this day.

In June 2007, he picked up and moved from New York to California to begin a romantic relationship with me. While no relationship is perfect, since then we have built a solid foundation together. Chris has been a big support to me in healing from the pain that Roman left behind. Still, I don't want to give the impression that meeting him was my big simple happy ending. To me, that sounds trite. Personally, I hated "Eat Pray Love," both the book and especially the movie, for that very reason. Life continues to present challenges regardless of having found "Mr. Wonderful." And as a once betrayed widow, I certainly came with my share of unfinished business to contend with.

My grief for Roman is separate from Chris's place as my current love. Therefore, grief has continued to run it's course regardless of the unwelcome intrusion on my new life. Unfortunately, the fact of the matter is, grief operates on grief's terms. Part of what makes my relationship with Chris work so well though, is his ability to recognize that my healing process is not about him. And because of that, he has always been supportive, rather than temperamental and egoistic in response to my prior loss.

Chris is self-aware and honest. In choosing him, I guess I took my own advice. Now, I find the clarity I had at that time in choosing a good person to be somewhat remarkable. Easily, I could have rebounded into something messy, given my vulnerability. I didn't though. Instead, I learned, listened, opened up, and trusted my instincts and wound up with someone who brings out the best in me. Likewise, in return, I bring out the best in him. Although, certainly not without struggle, today I'm better for it; giving me faith that things happen for reasons that I do not need to know in the moment.

Forgiveness Part 2: Actions In Retrospect

Getting our marriage licence the day before we got married. The looks on our faces say it all.
"We're doing what..??"

"Cold feet" is a good way to sum up my feelings about my wedding day.

I was anxious and doubtful. Of course, I was always anxious and doubtful, not just when it came to marrying Roman. I suppose that is why I ignored the voice in my head that screamed at me to consider what a potentially huge mistake I was making. That stupid voice was always chattering on about something though, so I had gotten pretty good at tuning it out when I felt that another person's logic was better suited to the situation. I did not trust myself.

Roman was so smart and rational; he was very easy to trust when it came to reason. Although, in retrospect, when looking at this picture of Roman and I taking an oath when applying for our marriage licence, I think it's safe to say that I was not the only one with doubts.

But we both had our roles in the relationship. I was the worry wart. Roman was the problem solver.

If he expressed his doubts to me about getting married, well then, he would have been stepping out of his designated space. Who knows how I would have reacted. He probably knew that, so he carried on with the plan and maintained his duty as the steady one in the relationship. I too carried on with the plan, choosing to ignore my own uncertain inklings, which I simply chalked up as irrational.

In retrospect now, I see that was not being neurotic. My fears were valid.

Roman and I had some serious communication issues that I couldn't put my finger on in the beginning. It wasn't until a couple years into the marriage that I really saw our disconnect clearly. But by then, I was invested...It was too late to walk away. Counseling was an option we had discussed, but never pursued. We had become complacent and I had gotten masterful at ignoring my better judgement. Which brings me to the point of this post.

They say that how a person copes with change depends greatly on what they were like before the event took place. I think about that a lot as I wonder about how I handled news of Roman's affair. While I have always been a reserved, shy, outwardly stoic person, I have never had trouble expressing my pointed anger to anybody who crossed me.

Two instances come to mind offhand. One was in high school when I confronted my neighbor for spreading rumors about me around campus. He lied and told people that he could hear me having sex with my boyfriend in my room, which was adjacent to his bedroom by just a few feet. After enough friends at school told me what he was saying, I went next door to tell him to stop. Only, when he was face to face with me, he wouldn't admit to his actions, so I slapped him in a fury right across his lying face. I slapped him so hard that my hand stung. He started to cry as he ran into his house. He also never said a word again about me at school.

Another instance that comes to mind is my pointed way of breaking up with a long-term boyfriend whom I'd dated before I met Roman. Without going into tremendous detail, we went out for about two years on and off. I never felt that I had his full attention, so during one phone conversation when I'd had enough of feeling ignored by him, I snapped angrily "Fuck you!" as I slammed down the phone. With that, the relationship was officially done. We didn't speak again until six years later, after Roman died, when I called him to apologize for my lack of tact in ending things with him.

At the time though, a reaction like that was not unusual for me. Reacting with force to people who upset me was how I ensured that my reserve would not be mistaken for weakness. It was not a tactic I used often, but when I did, my words and ensuing actions were definitely felt by my target. I was like that up until the day Roman died.

So for me to decide quickly that I wanted to part ways with Roman amicably, even after knowing that he was unfaithful, and knowing in my gut that he was still lying, it came as a surprise even to me. My tongue could be sharp and my precisely chosen words could cut. Yet, even on the night that he dropped the bomb about his indiscretion, I was angry and I let him know, but I didn't lash out at him like I would have in the past.

For some reason, I held back.

And what's even more vexing is why I turned the other cheek so quickly after I finished expressing my hurt. The ego can be a monster that could have easily allowed me to become an angry, bitter, betrayed ex-wife at that time. But that was not how I was nudged to respond. In fact, quite the opposite was my inclination. The last time that I saw Roman, I told him I loved him. I told him I was going to be okay. I wished him well. I wanted to hug him but didn't out of fear of looking weak. Perhaps I had simply matured and recognized my ability to react with kindness as a strength.

But why then?

Why that day?

For me, that is where the larger plan comes into focus and that little voice that was in my head, which I long ignored as irrational and neurotic, suddenly found it's place in my daily being.

Grief Part 7: Beginning To Connect The Dots

Image via Wikipedia

Immediately following Roman's memorial, guests joined us for food and low key pleasantries at his brother Don's house. In a small tribute to Roman, I prepared roasted red pepper sandwiches for the guests. Coming up with meals that were meatless, but hearty, and good enough to entice even a meat eating carnivore, became an interest of mine during our marriage. Roman was a vegetarian but I was not yet at that time, so I spent a good deal of effort honing my culinary skills so that we could both share in good meals at home. And it turns out, I was pretty good. Roman loved my cooking.  It was one thing I did that always brought out the best in him.

When I was dabbling in pizza making, Roman would often make impromptu calls to my voice mail and leave me messages about what kinds of pizza toppings he wanted to try next. He was particularly enthusiastic when I started exploring bread making and could combine the two, to make French bread pizza. Simple rustic recipes always got his attention, so my roasted red pepper, fresh mozzarella, and homemade pesto sandwiches were a hit every time. They seemed like an appropriate meal choice for a party meant to honor Roman's life. And I am happy to report that they were also a hit with the guests at the memorial too.

Among the people in attendance at the reception that evening were Roman's coworkers.  He worked at their company for about a year or so. I had not met any of them previously, except for the human resources manager, Terri. When I called his workplace to break the news of his death, it was Terri with whom I spoke. Later in the day after she and I talked, Terri stopped by Roman's mother's house to bring us food from Boston Market. It was a nice gesture that came courtesy of the owner of the company. While she was there, she also brought me Roman's last paycheck and an additional check for his unused vacation time.  Unfortunately, Roman never took any vacation days, so the check was enough to cover his funeral costs. It was heartbreaking. I would rather have gone on vacation than use it to pay for his death expenses, yet I was grateful that I was able to cover it all. Funeral costs are expensive and until I received that check, I was unsure how I would pay for it. Terri, Roman's mom, and I chatted for a bit about our collective sadness, but she did not stay long. When she left, I was again surprised at her friendliness and warmth, as Roman never spoke kindly of her to me. Still, I knew to consider his words with caution, so at that time, I felt good about any future dealings I may have with her.

About ten of Roman's coworkers made it over to the house for the party. They all congregated at a patio table outside while they ate. And once I finished serving my sandwiches and began to socialize with the guests, I noticed palpable vibe from them. They did not interact much with anyone outside of their group after they finished eating, but that part did not seem unusual. It was that none of them would look at me or speak to me. Only Scott, the coworker who spoke at the service, approached me to introduce himself, but even his demeanor was strange. Terri did not approach me even though we had met the prior week. In fact, not only did they seem to avoid me - they acted like they actually disliked me. It was so noticeable in fact, that a friend of mine pulled me aside to ask me what was going on with them, without me mentioning a word about what I was feeling. It struck me as strangely passive aggressive behavior. Here were a group of people behaving coldly toward the widow of their deceased colleague. To the widow they had never met previously - they behaved aloof and cliquish at their coworker's memorial. They overtly shunned me, and truth be told, it stung. I did not understand it.

Finally about an hour into the party, I took a deep breath and I made the effort to approach their table. Somehow, I convinced myself that maybe their coldness was in my head, and thought that perhaps once I broke the ice, things would be more comfortable. Yet, as I introduced myself, I was greeted by half hearted smiles and cold stares, if that; some of them completely avoided eye contact all together. Everyone but Scott, who was generally kind, and warm toward me, acted distant. But even Scott presented a notably awkward discomfort toward me.

Still, I continued my attempt at friendliness as I stood at their table looking down at them as they avoided my gaze. Though, I remember thinking it was interesting to finally put faces to names, since I had heard about most of them at one time or another. Scott being the only person out of the group that Roman generally spoke of with consistently high regard. The others were either not worth mentioning or were abysmal failures according to Roman's disparaging reports.

As I stood, Terri said hello and casually mentioned that she had asked Stu to come by earlier that week to clean out Roman's belongings. Terri knew I was Roman's wife and was his next of kin, so I was vexed over why she asked Stu to take his belongings. Her attitude was notably distant and not nearly as considerate as she was when she brought over the food. And before I knew it, in a flash, Roman's nickname for her, "big fat Terri" sauntered into my head. His name for her was mean, but it was nonetheless, what he called her. She upset me with her actions and her demeanor. I felt let down by her...I had been rooting for her, in spite of what I had heard.  Thats the only reason I can imagine his words popped into my head like that. But I did not utter them, I just thought them, then disregarded them as I moved onto next new face at the table.

As I connected faces to the names I had heard from Roman, I thought things like, "Oh okay, yeah, you must be Rachel...the 'useless' and 'stupid' manager who holds too many meetings.." For all but one or two people there, I could recall Roman's harsh descriptions verbatim.

And then it hit me like a slap in the face...I knew why they disliked me.

It was Roman.

Roman must have had an ugly nickname for his wife too. Of course! He never had a kind word for anyone else...why would I expect to be any different? After all, he had cheated on me. Surely, he must have felt justified by making me out to be a complete asshole like he did with everyone else. Never mind that I was his wife and had done nothing to deserve such an outright betrayal. He even affirmed to me the day before he died, that I did not deserve this. But apparently, he never passed the memo onto his workplace bulletin board. I wondered what they knew about his affair...I wondered what exactly he had said about me to make them act that way.

At that moment, their cold gazes made more sense to me. They did not know Roman like I did. They did not know how he operated. They did not know that his put downs were always to be taken with a grain of salt. Roman clearly had few nice things to say about me at the office and these people did not like me accordingly. They too were putting a face to whatever disparaging name he had given to me. And once the thought really settled into my consciousness and the reality made its way into my mind, I began to seethe.

In an instant I was so furious that I fought back tears of rage and humiliation. In an instant, I hated Roman. I hated Roman for putting me through this. I hated him for making these people think I am someone to look down on. I hated him for betraying me. I wanted to leave right then and there. I wanted out. I needed to escape. No longer did I want to play the widow role. I felt like a fraud and it hurt me down to my core.

Yet, I showed restraint and instead of leaving the house in a raging frenzy, or cornering his coworkers and demanding answers about their visible chill, I continued on with the party after a brief sob session onto the sleeve of Roman's brother Don. I labored my way through the rest of the party, but I decided that day, that I was ready to put the widow thing away for a while. I was angry and getting angrier by the minute.

The slow seeping anger brought my hostility about his cheating back on my radar...front and center. And I knew, I had to know the truth. I had to know or else the endless questions would drive me crazy. I knew the truth may well push me over an unforeseen precipice too, but I did not care. It was no longer a choice. I needed to know.  And eventually, I indeed found out.

Related articles

• How Do You Heal A Broken Heart? (plastic.com)
• Review: Life After Yes (bookingmama.blogspot.com)

Grief Part 6: The Summation Of A Life Cut Short

The photo placed before Roman's ashes at his memorial.
Taken in August 2005 in Encinada Mexico.

It was important to me that Roman’s mom be included in the decision making process, so she and I spent time together in the days after his death coming up with a plan for his funeral.  Neither of us had really spoken to Roman about his wishes, so at best we made educated guesses.  The only time Roman and I even came close to talking about it was when Terri Schiavo was in the news.  For those of you who do not remember, she was a woman who collapsed and suffered massive brain damage that essentially left her catatonic. The exact cause of her collapse was never determined conclusively, so I wondered how a healthy woman could just collapse like that.  Her husband wanted to take her off life support because he said that she would not have wanted to live like that.  Her family on the other hand, disagreed and fought to keep her alive.  The husband’s point of view made sense to me, but it also struck me as insensitive to her family, who obviously were suffering.  I mean, if the woman was essentially brain dead, maybe she would not care about her own wishes; maybe she would instead want to spare her family further suffering.  I don't know.

The question vexed me though, as I tried to related it to my own life.  At the time I remember thinking that given his openly maligned attitude toward people, I could see Roman being emotionally callous to my family should anything unforeseen ever happen to me.  So I made a point of telling him that I wanted him to be good to my family if anything like that ever happened to me, regardless of what he though I would want.  Without acknowledging my request Roman replied, "Ah, yeah…well, pull the plug…I don't want to be a vegetable."  Noted: Roman does not want to be a vegetable.  I hardly felt reassured.  His comment ended the discussion cold.  We never talked about anything of the sort again.

After collaborating with Roman’s mom, we finally decided on a place to hold the memorial service.  We did not know much about Roman’s final wishes, but we knew for sure that he wanted to be cremated.  With that piece in place, we planned Roman’s farewell service. The location of the memorial was tacky.  The cigarette-stenched curator was subtly rude and notably impatient.  He was one of the owners of the establishment.  I remember he was dressed like Al Bundy from Married With Children; wearing a short-sleeved dress shirt, polyester pants, and cheap dress shoes.  Surely his was not a job I would want, but I suppose I expected more professionalism from one of the owners. It was clear that he was a man who had become numb to the pain and grief experienced by the clients supporting his income.  Maybe I’ve seen too many episodes of Six Feet Under, but my experience there was not comforting.  Though, given our state of mind at the time, Roman’s mom and I were hardly in the mood to shop around, so we made the best of things.

Upon arranging the service, the tobacco stenched curator asked if I wanted Roman embalmed for a viewing before cremation.  His mom and I discussed it and quickly agreed that Roman would not want swarms of people looming over his lifeless, make-up painted body.  That choice was easy, but when asked if I wanted him embalmed so that I personally could see him one last time, I was much slower to decide - much to Mr. Impatient Curator's chagrin. I reflected briefly and thought back to the moment I last saw him, when he grabbed for the doorknob and said bye.  It was a good memory.  Did I want that to remain my last memory of Roman?

Next, my mind switched to another memory, like the shifting of images from a child’s View-Master toy. I remembered the last time I saw my  grandmother before she died of cancer.  Barely lucid from medication, she writhed in pain in her bed, cover-less, wearing only an adult diaper and a night-shirt.  My uncle sat beside the bed playing guitar and singing to her.  I have no idea if she was aware of my presence.  Of all the grandkids in my family, I had the pleasure of getting to know my grandmother.  She was kind, funny, hip, and spry.  She was a red Camaro driving granny into her 60's.  A far cry from the person lain before me, in pain, in a diaper.  No, the lady I saw in the bed that day, was not my grandmother.  And I hate that that was my final memory of her.  Truth be told, I wish I had not gone to see her that day.

Recalling those last moments at my grandmother’s bedside, made my decision easier.  I did not want to see Roman's lifeless body. My last memory of him was pristine. I wanted to keep it that way.  And knowing Roman, he would want the same. He liked to keep things jovial or intellectual; never sad or emotional.  To this day, I am confident that I made the right choice by both of us.Instead of seeing Roman embalmed, I decided to say goodbye to him in my own way.  A way that I felt was a more meaningful, yet symbolic, farewell.

Never the fashion plate, Roman had difficulty picking out clothes that did not consist of shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers.  Anytime Roman accompanied me to a social event, he could not choose acceptable attire on his own without looking like a three year old who bravely dressed himself.  Roman was a smart person; he knew enough to know that fashion was not his strength, but was instead mine.  Accordingly, he always consulted with me when getting dressed to go somewhere, "Should I wear the black shoes or the brown ones…the blue shirt or black…cords or jeans?”  I thought it was sweet and I loved being his personal stylist.

Therefore, as my send off, I chose a few pieces of Roman’s ‘dressed up casual’ attire for his body’s transformation. I picked jeans that were brand new - still with tags - purchased on a shopping spree before he dropped the bomb on me about his indiscretion. Also I chose a button up, long sleeved, blue striped dress shirt from J Crew, black old school mesh puma sneakers, a gray canvas pull tab belt, and socks and underwear. This was my final style contribution that would become one with the ashes of his body; all for an extra $200 fee.

He would have though it ridiculous to spend that much money, but I did not care.  It was important to me. Plus, I figured in lieu of the cost of embalming, it was not a huge expense.

There were some reservations on my part, however, because the curator was so rude and creepy.  I started to cry as I handed Roman's clothes to him.  He snapped impatiently, “It’ll be fine,” as he grabbed them from my hands.  His grouchiness bugged me and I actually wondered if they would truly dress Roman as I asked. Although, when I got his ashes back, I was pleasantly reassured, as I could see scattered flecks of blue and black pigment from the clothes, which put my doubts to rest.

Receiving my Graduate Of The Year award.
I picked Roman's outfit.

*****

The service was held on Monday November 13, 2006, one week after his unexpected passing.  Roman’s mother asked if we could have a cross at the service, near his photo and ashes. I allowed the cross, though Roman would not have approved, being a staunch atheist.  But his mom wanted it and she was heartbroken over her loss. The cross did not bother me, and Roman was not there to protest, so I let her have it. I decided that since she was alive and Roman was not, the memorial also had to be an honor of his life, but also a healing ceremony for the living.

Further, I reasoned that we were doing plenty to honor Roman’s life. His mom could have the cross if it gave her comfort. Though I suspect two of his siblings were bothered by my decision as it was a direct affront to Roman’s values. But at that point, part of me was still angry over his infidelity, so I really did not feel inclined to honor his ‘values’ any more than I already had; Especially if doing so meant denying his mother something meaningful. Hopefully, wherever he was at that point, he would understand and appreciate my willingness to honor his mother’s wishes.  And if not, I reasoned, he was not here to say anything about it either way.  So the cross stayed.

As part of  the service, I made a compilation cd, which played while guests were being seated.  I rented a projector from a place in the Midwest and had it shipped out in time for the service. It was used to present a photo memorial that I made of images spanning his entire life.  Doing my best to put hurt feelings aside, I also wrote and spoke these words at the service.  I saved them, tucked away in a book.

The Eulogy

Many of you knew Roman in your own way.  I want to honor Roman today and share what his life meant to me.  Roman and I met in college, in a primate behavior class.  We both had been absent on the day that we chose groups for the final project; leaving Roman, another girl, and myself to form a group by default.  As part of the group project, we were required to make a trip to the zoo to study chimps.  Roman and I carpooled and realized that we had an instant connection as soon as we started talking.  We talked nonstop.  We had the same sense of humor and we both annoyed the other girl who was in our group.  At the zoo, she asked if we already knew each other, but we had just formally met that day.Roman was the source of constant entertainment.  He was fearless and would go to any length to get a laugh – including giving a presentation to the class with a tissue jammed up his nose.  I dared him to do it for $2.00.  He was always testing the boundaries and was never afraid of seeming inappropriate or saving face. Roman and I continued our friendship after our class ended and we eventually went on to get married in Hawaii. During our marriage, Roman was always making me laugh. 

Honolulu 2002, Self Portrait.

He loved to laugh.  He loved life and he was a genius. He had an IQ in the 99^th percentile (for those of you school psychologists here today). I always used to tell him that someday I would put him through astronaut school, like he had done for my graduate schooling, because he was smart enough to be anything he wanted to be – even an astronaut.  I used to say, “you could be a doctor or a lawyer if you wanted.”  And Roman would reply, “Ah, I don’t want to be a doctor.  And you don’t have to be smart to be a lawyer.” (Sorry to any lawyers here today, but those were his words.) Things came easily to Roman.  He used to ask me why I loved him and I would always say, “because you’re smart, and funny, and you make me laugh, and you’re good natured, and you have pretty blue eyes..”  Roman took good care of me and was wise beyond his years.  I do not know how I would have gotten through graduate school without him. My professor once told me that Roman should have received an honorary “Graduate of the Year” award when I received mine last year.  He probably should have.  There are so many good memories, just to name a few: Roman loved animals and would never kill a bug.  Roman loved to complain…about a lot of things…especially bad drivers.  But I looked forward to his calls as he drove home from work and gave me the play by play of driver havoc.  Roman enabled my clothes habit and I in turn enabled his videogame and anime habits.  Roman loved to sing and would make up funny songs. One of his favorites was called, “Roman’s So Cool.”  It went, “Roman’s so cool…Roman’s so cool…everyone loves Roman.  Roman’s the best…better than the rest..” And that’s just one of many that he wrote. And he loved to sing in falsetto.  He loved to try to hit the high notes.  He really thought he nailed them, but he didn’t.  He also was not afraid to break out into song when he heard E.L.O. in the grocery store, which would embarrass me completely. 

Knotts Berry Farm, 2002

Sometimes at night when we would lie in bed, Roman would say, “Tell me a story.”  I would usually just recite what he had told me his day consisted of – with a thinly veiled name change to the main character – like Herman, or Kermit, or something like that.  And I would tell how he had worked really hard that day on his KP’s or his PB’s or whatever they were called, and tell how he came home and ate dinner, etc.  I usually could not think of a way to finish the story, so I would always stop in the middle and say “anyway…the end.”  Roman would laugh and tell me that I didn’t finish the story.  It makes my heart break now because with Roman leaving us so soon, he did not get to finish his story. The day before Roman died, he and I went for an extra long walk and had a really nice talk.  I am fortunate that I got the chance to say many things that I wanted to say.  But one thing that I did not get to say is “thank you.”  Thank you for making me laugh, thank you for supporting me through school, thank you for being my best friend, thank you for encouraging me to pursue my interests, thank you for your love and companionship.  And thank you for being one of a kind.  Thank you for being you.  There will never be another one just like you.

The entire service only lasted about thirty minutes. Those who spoke after me included Stu, Roman's eldest brother Don, Roman's boss, his co-worker, and my dad.  That's it. Nobody else in his family was comfortable enough to speak, and he had no other friends or acquaintances there who knew him well enough to speak about him.  Most of the guests were supporters of mine and his brother, Don's. To this day, I don't know if Roman’s ‘fling’ was in attendance.  That was the last time I wore my wedding ring.

A Quick Look Back In The Rear View Mirror

Image via Wikipedia

Writing about Roman's rare display of emotion the night that he cried about thinking he was sick, got me thinking about the email exchanges we had after we finished the class we had together -before we started dating. For some reason I saved them even though I threw away all of his handwritten letters in a fit of rage after I confronted the 'other woman.' I suppose I held onto these emails because they represent a different time in our relationship; a time when we were just friends. A relationship status that I was happy with and was initially reluctant to change.  But I went with the flow nonetheless and now the rest is history. 

Some things readers should know before reading these emails: Roman and I named our cars; Ronnie and Gene, respectively. I think its funny to name cars. Roman thought it was funny too, so he named his car after learning that I had named mine. At the time that these were exchanged, both Roman and I were dating other people. And, we liked music...there is lots of talk about music. 

After he died, I lost my enthusiasm for music, but have recently made a conscious effort to reclaim it. Music was always a huge part of my life, so losing interest in it was like another death for me. This blog is part of my effort to reclaim it. That is why I include music with almost every post and why I chose to reference 'singing the blues' in the title. In reclaiming my love of music I am also reclaiming my voice - my identity.

I think these emails speak volumes now, though at the time, they were simple, insignificant passing moments.

******

I think my leg is going to give birth.

From: Roman

To: Sunny

Sent: Wed, June 13, 2001 11:17:37 AM

It has a giant knot in it and I have had an ultrasound, I will soon have little baby legs to keep in a card board box with the sign free legs to beckon little children. It really hurts, Friggin a.

My friends niece thought the sack was a big piece of poo, in her words. I would be impressed either way. Hey sick fucks are fine but I don't know if I would much enjoy being stuck to one, it might smell.

I haven't heard travis, or can't attach them to any specific song in my head, what kind of music? I have recently become addicted to badly drawn boy, it just fascinates me, like no album since Pinkerton has.

A job is a mental construct designed to produce money, it can not be admonished with love or hate, but people on the other hand can, and I hate people. I do love money, and they pay me so I can go to art classes and afford mid range male prostitutes. I really would rather be going to see Built to Spill, but sucks to be three. I did hear a great story today from my vietnam vet friend Bud, he came back from las vegas, and there where hundreds of convention goers in the treasure island casino, one ran a wheeled luggage cart into him while waiting for and elevator and Bud toe punted it about twenty feet, yes Bud would and can do this. 

Friggin Hilarious

Let me just say that I should have ditched work. Can I hit stupid people?

My pants were slack like jeans, so denim blue.

Don't know if she is a butt lover or not, I am trying to find out, apparently the crush is based on my assholish behavior and my smart ass quips, so can't be all bad, but also the way I look so she might be freebasing. She is probably not the type I could talk about my boss to, but maybe she is just putting up a front to get better service?

Yeah I heard evolution sucked from a variety of people, I used to get david duchovny fans in my work all the time, they were old and plump and had pictures of things like his hair from all angles, freaky.

I only got a b, what the hell?

Good idea for the website, my brain is slowly fading here, so I am thinking up good ideas for it, I think you will have to have different ethic types for processing food as well and metabolic factors, and in all stages of constipation to diarrhea. Can't function brain failing, sleep approaches.

refined, huh? That's fancy talk for sissy. Shit should never be together. I would pinch him though, and not explain the reasons why, pretend you never even did it.

I elephantitis hearts. Ronnie says Honk.

R.

What up, S..

Tue, July 10, 2001 3:54:13 AM

From: Roman

To: Sunny

And then I turn and look..and where's Sunny...I don't know man..maybe they took her..

Haven't heard from you in awhile so just a message to see if you are still alive and all, which if you are not and is much as you will not be reading this, the wheel of irony just keeps on a spinning...

Jackass..will it ever not be funny?

piece on,

R.

Don't be alarmed...

From: Sunny

To: Roman

Sent: Tuesday, July 10, 2001 8:00 PM

Actually, I haven't been home much lately. Sorry for neglecting you. Did you register for school? I have the Crrappiest classes ever. Are you ready for this?

1)Personal health (yawn. Easy A?? Why do I insist on torturing myself with these 8:30 classes? I think you should take this one with me.)

2)Intracultural Socialization (Afro 311. I think I will fit right in. Never mind, you should take this one instead. On second thought, that might be a little scary.)

3)Human Heredity and Development (Sounds complicated.)

4)Infancy and Early childhood (If I have to learn one more goddamned theory...)

5)Child Dev. Practicum ( Like I have time for this?) But alas, this shall be my last. (Dang I should have been a poet)

 Last weeks Jackass was a masterpiece. I especially loved when the pigeons ate out of Johnny's buttcrack. 

Took G to the car wash today.  

The new Built to Spill album came out today. How many times can I use the word "masterpiece" in one e-mail?

I hope all is well with you. Slaving over the presses. Did I tell you about the funny pictures me and my friend took at the grocery store? People don't realize just how joyous those places can be.

Party Hard.

S.

Ah..damn does this mean I have to return the casket..

Sent: Wed, July 11, 2001 10:53:21 AM

From: Roman 

To: Sunny 

it's purple with red stripes..no..I feel neglected..just not going to end..

Yup..I registered for school, first class sucks, second class, boring..no I am pretty much booked on art classes, and I think I will get one more to completely kill myself on too many units, just so I do not end up graduating at 27 with no husband, no family, no career. That is just against nature.

Intacultural Socialization? is that made up?

I need to hear about the pictures at the grocery store, it better be funny..

oh, I can tell you what I did while helping my mom. Being the nice son I am I agreed to get a tag taken off of her dress that the store did not remove, it was a security tag..so I get to the store and walk to the little misses section..this is a JC pennies. My mom is classy. and I begin to tell them all about how the dress chafes my leg hair, and is a might bit tight at the waste..they were horrified..and I was trying hard not to laugh. I was about ready to pretend to see a shirt I just had to have on the way out and ask them for a fitting room, but I had to be somewhere..fun is fun..

and Jackass..can it get any better? I enjoyed the pigeons as well..but the underwear racquetball contest..I cried..that was great.

okay it is sleepy time. nice to know you are alive, I guess. It does mean I lost the pool, as did the guy who bet on implosion, but its only money.

and I suppose I must go buy the Built to Spill album, no I must, Ronnie will get mad if I do not, gas mileage goes down when Ronnie is mad.

That might get me hurt,

R

******

Running A Race In Lead Boots, Wearing Goggles Smeared With Vaseline

Image via Wikipedia

Today I came across a forgotten journal that I started about a year or so after Roman's death.  There are only a few rambling entries, but there are two that I think are relevant and coherent enough to share.

February 12, 2008

Ever since my life changed last year, I have avoided sitting down to write about it.  Probably because it is something so painful that I don't want to think about it, even though I think about it all the time.  Also, because it is so big and tangled, I don't know if I will ever understand or really be at peace.  For the most part, life has moved on for me and good things have come.  But still somehow I feel damaged and I do not quite know how to make it better.

Now sometimes life feels really hard.  I had issues before Roman died, but it was never this hard and scary and overwhelming.  It feels like there are so many things that are controllable in my life now, but I do not know how to control them anymore.

From the outside looking in, its probably simple...Just do this or say that.  But sometimes, most of the time, I feel so tired and foggy and overwhelmed that I feel stuck.  Like I'm running in a race with lead boots wearing goggles smeared with Vaseline.  Joy is something that I have truly come to value, but now I am not sure what brings me joy.

Now here I am, describing the after effects of what happened, but have not gone into what came first.  I don't like to talk about it, because I don't want to be defined by it.  And because I get so sick of people looking at me with pity. While they are well intentioned, they have no idea what I am really dealing with.  I don't know why, but I always seem compelled to put them at ease by sharing a few details about Roman - to help them feel validated for reaching out, I suppose.  The details I share appear to be the whole story, but they are not.

Its too big, too painful, and too overwhelming to be shared in passing. Not something that can be brought up during social pleasantries or that can be fixed easily with platitudes, pity, or advice.  People mean well, but they don't know how to act toward me just with the knowledge of Roman's death.  But his death is only part of what consumes me.  And I am beginning to despise the saying "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."  Bullshit. Ever hear of PTSD?  Hardly the outcome of a person made stronger.  Sometimes I really just want to climb out of my skin.  

February 15, 2008

All in all, today was a good day - with the exception of waking up with another cold.  Maybe its good.  It keeps my system working.  I don't know, but it seems that I get sick regularly ever since I started getting serious about school; way back when I was working full time and going to school full time.  Its like I reached a stress threshold that my system can't keep up with.  But its strange, because I really don't feel particularly stressed.  Maybe its just all I know, so I cannot tell the difference anymore.

Roman never had so much as a headache and he dropped dead.  I remember him feeling a little under the weather once, shortly after we got married. He rested on the couch briefly.  He used to tell me that I would not get sick anymore if I became a vegetarian.  I never bought that, because I practically was one when I was with him and I always got sick anyway.

Another time I remember him getting freaked out about a minor ailment.  He started to cry as we lay in bed in the dark because he thought he had cancer.  The prior summer he had a lump on his leg that turned out to be a strained muscle.  But from my understanding, there was initial fear by his doctor that it was cancer.  That night, I remember being annoyed at first that he reacted so strongly, because his symptom was something very minor, but then I realized that he was really scared.  I remember reassuring him and telling him in no uncertain terms that there was no way he had cancer.  I thought it was ridiculous.  Impossible.  I remembered that night after Roman died, but I hadn't paid much attention to it at the time.

Roman never cried.  I wonder now if he feared - or somehow knew - that he would die young.

Once when we went to the zoo, when we were in that primate behavior class together, he was wary of my driving, which apparently was erratic.  He let me know several times, by half joking in his usual dead pan tone "uh, I don't want to die today, okay...Take it easy."  That was the first time we spent time alone together.  He spoke openly with me about a lot of things during that drive.  Thoughts about growing up feeling ignored, his general irritation with people, frustration over being perceived as 'mean,' etc.  We clicked instantly.  But I didn't know him well enough at that time, to know that it was out of character for him to be so forthcoming.

And I find it strange now, like he had some premonition when he said he did not want to die.  True, he appeared to be joking, but in hindsight, its chilling.  Besides, if he had a sense of his fate, why would he return to running after his first collapse?  But I guess, even with that said, he was cautious about running again.  He waited a year before actively resuming.

For a time, when we moved to our new apartment, we took advantage of the bike trails in the area.  Roman would jog and I would ride my bike.  It was a nice, brief time in our relationship.  For a short time, we shared something healthy that we could both enjoy.  But being the athlete, or lack there of, that I am, I quickly lost interest even though Roman did not.

Of course, he didn't bother to tell me that until the night he dropped the bomb on me.  On some level though, I knew he was disappointed.  But I do think I would have made more of an effort if I knew it really meant something to him. He just came off so stoic and arrogant; like feelings - disappointment, fears, and wants were beneath him.  As though, they were something that only others were burdened by - but never him.

I always had my thoughts about what made him tick.  But in truth, I could not have truly known, because he did not know himself.  He was a constantly moving target.  He just seemed to be beginning to try to understand himself at the time of his death.  I feel cheated for him that he did not live long enough to get answers.  But then again, knowing Roman, who knows how long he would have searched?

 Related articles

• New Year's Reflections: Writing as a refuge (writtenwings.wordpress.com)

'Twas The Middle Child Tuesday Before Christmas

My how time flies...another Christmas turned up as I blinked my tired eyes (yeah, I'm a poet AND I know it..)

Personally, I find Christmas to be far less jolly than it is made out to be; unlike my previous childhood merriment over Santa's Christmas Eve visits to both my mom's and my dad's houses (indulging in two Christmases made parental divorce a sweet perk for me as a tot).  The lore of St. Nick being one I once clung to adamantly - even after receiving the cold hard news about his true identity.

Having convinced myself that I had, in fact, seen him on the roof of my neighbor's home, I believed with utmost certainty that Santa was the real deal.  And since I was a child, but six years of age at the time, I was only slightly drunk - so I had no cause to doubt my own lying little Kringle seeing eyes.   Though once my dad spilled the beans about the Santa Claus facade, acceptance of the truth inevitably settled in; and since then, the season has become less and less appealing.

True - that declining enthusiasm could also be due to the fact that I grew up.  And now, viewing the tale through this grown up lens makes the fable about a bearded fat guy wearing a red suit, breaking and entering into homes while families sleep sound pretty creepy.  Its the stuff that nightmares are made of.  So what if he leaves gifts?  He eats people's food and kisses their moms.  The whole thing is seriously icky.  Think about it.

In adulthood, instead of sugarplums, Christmas now brings about images of crowded malls, insufficient funds, long holiday parties, congested roads, and work related madness dancing through my head.  However, festive sparkling decor, decadent foods, and an admittedly unhealthy love for lavish spending have traditionally sufficed in outweighing my grown up aversion to the insanity of the season.  For some reason, though, this year has been different.

Creepy Intruder Image via Wikipedia

Without question, Roman's sudden death in 2006, right before the holidays, created a gloominess that now hangs with my thoughts during this time of year.  Coupled with my memory of our last Christmas together, my association with the season has become somewhat tinged - since the Christmas of 2005 was celebrated only halfway.

December 6th, 2005, was Roman's birthday.  That year, we celebrated with a simple dinner out followed by a quick trip to Target to buy a tree.  At that time, we lived in a dumpy - albeit affordable - little ghetto apartment, located within walking distance of the store.  Being that we were so close to home, it did not make sense to saddle the roof of my old Civic with a tree, when Roman could easily carry it home instead.

Carry it home, he did; but he did so while running the short distance home, rather than walking as one might expect.  And as I drove by him on my way home, I nearly peed from laughter since his swift stride made it appear that he had lifted the sorry tree from Target - like it was some kind of stolen loot.

About a week after we finished decorating the Christmas tree, we heard a faint rustling coming from living room downstairs.  We were about to fall asleep when we heard it.  The crackle was soft, but definite, so we both got up to investigate.  Finding nothing however, we assumed the sound was of no concern and headed back to bed.  And all was well until the next morning.

We had recently purchased new Motorola Razor phones, so I woke early that next day eager to fiddle with mine.  At the time, it was the most advanced phone I had ever had.  It seemed complex...There was a camera on it and everything.  Coveted gadgets like phones with cameras were indulgences that we could finally afford, since I was recently out of grad school at the time and was bringing in a regular income.

As I sat at the kitchen table tinkering with my new luxury, I must have been very quiet.  So quiet that the creature who had been stirring the prior night, was emboldened to emerge from hiding.  And out of the corner of my right eye I saw it move - then stop abruptly.  Turning reflexively toward the movement I next saw the biggest rat I have ever seen in real life.  Without a thought, I jumped on the table and screamed.  I screamed loud enough to scare the disgusting intruder away, but not loud enough to wake Roman. Still upstairs enjoying his Sunday sleep in, it took a second shrill scream to finally gain his attention. And long story short.  We found a new apartment that very same day.

The tree was given to a neighbor before we left. The soonest we could move in was Christmas Eve, which we eagerly agreed to because we assumed there would be plenty more Christmases to celebrate in the future.  We were fine forgoing one holiday if it meant moving to a nicer, newer, cleaner, rat free apartment.  So that Christmas was spent moving and unpacking.  It was a good time for us..we were moving up in the world.  We were like The Jefferson's - only younger and whiter.  Life was exciting at the time, but my memory of it is now sad in retrospect.

Yet still, with the exception of the year he died, I have managed to rise above those blue reminders and enjoy the spirit of the holiday each year since.  I now have a new love in my life who has made the Christmases of the last couple years special.  But as I said, for some reason this year has been harder.

Maybe its because of the dreary unrelenting rain we have had lately (something unusual around here, even when the weather throughout the rest of the country truly IS frightful).  The mind numbing drain from stress at work last week could also be the culprit.  Or it could be the culmination of a little bit of everything.  Whatever the cause though, this Christmas is one I am simply too tired to partake in.  And to be completely honest, I wish it would go away.  Plus as if all that was not enough, today is Tuesday to boot.

Brady Image via Wikipedia

For readers unaware of my thoughts about Tuesday, allow me to explain.To me, Tuesday is something akin to the middle child of the work week.Tuesday is not reviled to the same degree as Monday. Tuesday does not have a cheeky nickname like Wednesday's double entendre, "Humpday," nor is it hip enough to run with Thursday as part of Friday's cool kid entourage. And its certainly not flashy like the day to end all work weeks - the day we all love, "Miss Popular," Friday.  So, dear readers, unless you happen to have a particular affinity for Tuesday, feel free to think of it as I do; as the Jan Brady of weekdays.  Likewise, if any of you happen to also be experiencing a Christmas induced case of the bends, do join me in a collective "Marsha, Marsha, Marsha" until this funkified yuletide is done. Because this year, is turning out to be my middle child Christmas. Its certifiable.

That is not to say that I have not tried to get into the celebratory swing. In fact, today, on this Tuesday before Christmas, I indulged my crafty side and made the header photo for this post.  Yes, in case you were wondering, I actually did make it all by myself.

Rocco, my cat, is always good for instilling some needed warm and fuzzies...and while adorning said photo with gaudy holiday chotchkies, I admit, I was feeling some accompanying holiday cheer.  But when I finished my work of art, I felt much like I do while at work after having busily occupied my mind with the flow of an activity.  Like that familiar feeling of disappointment when I look up at the clock expecting the day to be nearing an end, only to realize it is not yet lunchtime.

Ho ho humbug!

I'm hoping that maybe practicing these sweet Peanuts dance moves will make the season more bright.  I have had my eye on the dancer wearing the orange shirt for some time now.  Perhaps mastering his deceptively simple steps (the greats always make it look easier than it really is) will be my little gift to myself - replacing images of holiday blues dancing through my head with ones of dancing grooves.  Perhaps its the very nudge I need...Maybe not. At the very least though, I suppose it is good for a chuckle - something guaranteed to decertify any seasonal Tuesday middle child funk for a little while.

Related articles

• Neuroscience Explains Why The Grinch Stole Christmas  (PsychologyToday.com)
• I Am So Popular: Bah Humbug! (austinist.com)