Friday, March 26, 2010
Acceptance
In the midst of moving in and adjusting, I had to write. I needed to get things off my chest and this is just the brink of what is running through my mind. I wrote this on 3/23/10...
Something that I just cannot do. I cannot accept that this is my life. Our path was clear. We had our game plan and within a matter of seconds that was completely stopped. Ceased. No more. Never again will things ever be the same.
I now live in a big house with my mom and 5 dogs in Fort Myers Florida. I used to live in a modest apartment with an outrageous rent, in San Diego with the love of my life and our two dogs and cat. We were going to start trying for kids around 2013. We wanted our own home in San Diego. I was going to graduate in 2011. I was going to graduate again in 2013 with a second bachelor’s degree. My husband, my tayte, was going to be commissioned as an Officer in the United States Marine Corps in 2014. We were going to grow old together and retire in our beachfront bungalow in Key West asking each other about cottage cheese and prunes in 2050. We had so much life ahead of us. If Michael was supposed to die, it was supposed to be in Iraq doing his job. The entire two years he was gone I had in the back of my mind that I would get that knock on my door with two Marines regretting to inform me that my boyfriend/husband was killed while deployed to a foreign land. Not while he was home, while he was safe. Instead I got a phone call in a mall by one of his best friends who was scared shitless to tell me that my husband, my tayte, my Michael was killed in a motorcycle accident.
I can’t accept it. I don’t think I ever will. I know that in this process called grief, you are supposed to go through these things, depression, anger, denial, bargaining, and acceptance. But I can’t. It just cannot be that my HUSBAND IS DEAD! He was indestructible. Untouchable. The pieces of this puzzle just do not fit together in my head; they don’t make sense. The pieces of my perfect life puzzle fit perfectly. Not this time. I would have much rather would have died in the place of my love. He was so much better than me. I don’t deserve to live, he does! What do I do now when the best part of me was him? I am forever broken. There is no man, no medication, mechanic, no amount of time talking to a professional that will fix me.
The huge part of me that cannot accept this is the same part that keeps me from visiting him so much. When I go and see where he is at, it’s just a rogue wave in the midst of a semi-calm ocean. It’s acceptance slapping me in the face. My husband is in there. He cannot breathe, he cannot open his eyes, no words will come out of his beautiful mouth. I do not even want to begin to imagine what Mother Nature is doing to his beautiful body. The body that I knew like the back of my hand, every scar, every freckle, every rough patch of his skin, I know it all. And now it’s just a memory. A bittersweet memory. Going there brings that pain that I know all too well how to avoid. Feeling the pain of Michael being gone just makes it even more real.
Something that I just cannot do. I cannot accept that this is my life. Our path was clear. We had our game plan and within a matter of seconds that was completely stopped. Ceased. No more. Never again will things ever be the same.
I now live in a big house with my mom and 5 dogs in Fort Myers Florida. I used to live in a modest apartment with an outrageous rent, in San Diego with the love of my life and our two dogs and cat. We were going to start trying for kids around 2013. We wanted our own home in San Diego. I was going to graduate in 2011. I was going to graduate again in 2013 with a second bachelor’s degree. My husband, my tayte, was going to be commissioned as an Officer in the United States Marine Corps in 2014. We were going to grow old together and retire in our beachfront bungalow in Key West asking each other about cottage cheese and prunes in 2050. We had so much life ahead of us. If Michael was supposed to die, it was supposed to be in Iraq doing his job. The entire two years he was gone I had in the back of my mind that I would get that knock on my door with two Marines regretting to inform me that my boyfriend/husband was killed while deployed to a foreign land. Not while he was home, while he was safe. Instead I got a phone call in a mall by one of his best friends who was scared shitless to tell me that my husband, my tayte, my Michael was killed in a motorcycle accident.
I can’t accept it. I don’t think I ever will. I know that in this process called grief, you are supposed to go through these things, depression, anger, denial, bargaining, and acceptance. But I can’t. It just cannot be that my HUSBAND IS DEAD! He was indestructible. Untouchable. The pieces of this puzzle just do not fit together in my head; they don’t make sense. The pieces of my perfect life puzzle fit perfectly. Not this time. I would have much rather would have died in the place of my love. He was so much better than me. I don’t deserve to live, he does! What do I do now when the best part of me was him? I am forever broken. There is no man, no medication, mechanic, no amount of time talking to a professional that will fix me.
The huge part of me that cannot accept this is the same part that keeps me from visiting him so much. When I go and see where he is at, it’s just a rogue wave in the midst of a semi-calm ocean. It’s acceptance slapping me in the face. My husband is in there. He cannot breathe, he cannot open his eyes, no words will come out of his beautiful mouth. I do not even want to begin to imagine what Mother Nature is doing to his beautiful body. The body that I knew like the back of my hand, every scar, every freckle, every rough patch of his skin, I know it all. And now it’s just a memory. A bittersweet memory. Going there brings that pain that I know all too well how to avoid. Feeling the pain of Michael being gone just makes it even more real.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
bittersweet
Lately I have truly come to know the meaning of bittersweet. On Friday the 5th, I purchased my first house. This was something I was supposed to do with Michael. Something that we had planed on and hoped to do soon. The house is amazing. I know for a fact that Michael would have loved the house. I want so badly to say that this is OUR house, our first house. But I can't. It's my house and only my house. I can't get his opinion on where to place the couches, on what to do with our room, why the hell we don't get hot water in the master bath room. These thoughts and concerns are endless. Instead of asking him those questions, I'm asking myself what to do with his clothes, colognes, shoes, tooth brush, everything that was his! This is not right. This was not supposed to happen. I never really paid attention to it before but we really did have sooo many pictures of ourselves in our house. Every box I open is like a stab in my heart because those pictures bring back so many memories and those memories bring back so many what ifs. I would give anything on this earth to get you back. I would lie, cheat, steal, kill anything.
Everyone tells me that I am so young, that I will bounce back from this. That I will find love again. If that helps you sleep better at night, fine. But I don't see it. Maybe I will someday. But I just can't. I cannot imagine Michael ever just being a distant memory, someone that we will just talk about from time to time, a tragic mishappening in my life before. I want him and only him. I don't want this life that I am heading towards. I want my Michael.
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