tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48130496315491307712024-02-20T13:24:27.215-05:00No Star in the SkySgt Michael Martins. The most amazing person I have ever known. My husband. My Marine. We had everything we could have wanted. After two year long deployments to Iraq we thought we were safe. Out of harms way. Little did we know that that everything would change on November 6th, 2009. To my eternal love - No star in the sky will burn longer than my love for you.Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.comBlogger130125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-85831618127251699082011-10-28T14:59:00.000-04:002011-10-28T14:59:15.078-04:00recharge my soul<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: black; margin-bottom: 8px; margin-left: 8px; margin-right: 8px; margin-top: 8px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px;"><div data-mce-style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans; font-size: 14px; color: #333333; background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 14px; line-height: 21px; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; text-align: -webkit-auto; padding: 0px;" style="background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 14px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-decoration: none;">The other weekend (10/14-10/17) I had the privilege of attending the American Widow Project Fall getaway in Kennebunk, Maine. There are no words that could do justice to the experience I had over the weekend. I have gone to two other AWP events and each of them are different in their own special way. The <a href="http://nostarallieandmike.blogspot.com/2010/02/lately.html">first</a> one I was only 3 months out. I didn't know my ass from my elbow and I can hardly recall anything from that time period but I know that meeting those other widows in those first few months probably saved my life. The second trip to Tybee Island was a couple of months shy of Michael's one year anniversary. I was just starting to feel comfortable with allowing myself to have a good time so it was a little scary for me but it just reassured me that it was ok to laugh and smile and to let my hair down once in a while.</div><div data-mce-style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans; font-size: 14px; color: #333333; background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 14px; line-height: 21px; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; text-align: -webkit-auto; padding: 0px;" style="background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 14px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-decoration: none;">That weekend seemed like it was on a whole other level. There were so many emotions that I experienced this weekend. With the anticipation of Michael's 2 year anniversary I have been feeling a little more crazy than usual. However, this trip showed me that what I am experiencing is so common and that I am just as "crazy" as any other widow. I almost felt like this trip was an oxymoron. Most people would expect us to be so sad and crying the majority of the time. However if I recall correctly, the majority of the time was spent laughing, sharing stories of our husbands, and really embracing life altogether. I'm not saying that there were no tears, because there were, but whoever was crying was quickly comforted by another widow who knew exactly what they felt and have even cried those same tears before. </div><div data-mce-style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans; font-size: 14px; color: #333333; background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 14px; line-height: 21px; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; text-align: -webkit-auto; padding: 0px;" style="background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 14px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-decoration: none;">Each and every AWP event that I have attended is an opportunity to step outside my comfort zone. This time I really pushed the envelope. We got to go surfing! Now I have never been surfing and I really don't even know how to swim (except for doggy pattling) and I don't even really like going into the ocean. But I knew if I didn't take that step outside of my comfort zone I would regret it. And the point to living this short life is to live in absence of regret. Even though I swallowed enough sea water to support an ecosystem in my stomach, I do not regret it one bit. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi407JQWInT-Y_7ILdAa9KqIYwc5phMKzH9iCMT43EdrOdD9-G8HKn5yTFz-cYXlDZ5c7yE2GbgIIiGpK-Egc5Kg_ktEYxBUBCmbghlH_jA3BX7OqCOkEK9QGuOh6vUyFSgM8pITOSLiJ4/s1600/DSC03866.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi407JQWInT-Y_7ILdAa9KqIYwc5phMKzH9iCMT43EdrOdD9-G8HKn5yTFz-cYXlDZ5c7yE2GbgIIiGpK-Egc5Kg_ktEYxBUBCmbghlH_jA3BX7OqCOkEK9QGuOh6vUyFSgM8pITOSLiJ4/s320/DSC03866.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgfnrfvcprkS4DVBk33NSUotD9_QrkoywsR4D9w39b0I0SxdwzTbjaJzuGJMnAjqKOwybpQblGmAjU05IStQWX7CeqHgMaP7zHHDDDkB-Smn2oJAee5drEaRgdlh-ppd2NmLCj2R_UGhw/s1600/DSC03914.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgfnrfvcprkS4DVBk33NSUotD9_QrkoywsR4D9w39b0I0SxdwzTbjaJzuGJMnAjqKOwybpQblGmAjU05IStQWX7CeqHgMaP7zHHDDDkB-Smn2oJAee5drEaRgdlh-ppd2NmLCj2R_UGhw/s320/DSC03914.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div data-mce-style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans; font-size: 14px; color: #333333; background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 14px; line-height: 21px; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; text-align: -webkit-auto; padding: 0px;" style="background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 14px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-decoration: none;"><br />
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</span></div><div data-mce-style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans; font-size: 14px; color: #333333; background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 14px; line-height: 21px; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; text-align: -webkit-auto; padding: 0px;" style="background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 14px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-decoration: none;">Also, during this trip, the AWP had the amazing honor and privilege to meet President George H. W. Bush and Mrs. Bush. It was a total surprise to us all and the majority of us were floored that we got to meet one of our nation's leaders. It was definitely a surreal moment. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiBII-wz7xdOaSgn6sY0W9zK7vW4aYD-nWZDsF7ajiO-bpvZRDiRm41SiOfgw9fDT8VqU8OWjrqWwzTDezB0hQR2IBLZbHU2OPl5knT-Qzfo4wsBRgLSw8tIxpNB9DRkPCRdKt8Ig-B_c/s1600/316405_810666131563_15200373_37813622_212674011_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiBII-wz7xdOaSgn6sY0W9zK7vW4aYD-nWZDsF7ajiO-bpvZRDiRm41SiOfgw9fDT8VqU8OWjrqWwzTDezB0hQR2IBLZbHU2OPl5knT-Qzfo4wsBRgLSw8tIxpNB9DRkPCRdKt8Ig-B_c/s320/316405_810666131563_15200373_37813622_212674011_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">My reaction when I found out we were visiting the Bush's. </span></div><div class="" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">I was in shock!</span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: right;"></div><div data-mce-style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans; font-size: 14px; color: #333333; background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 14px; line-height: 21px; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; text-align: -webkit-auto; padding: 0px;" style="background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 14px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-decoration: none;">We all got to take pictures with the President and first lady. As the visit went on we were carrying conversations with the couple like we were old friends. I talked with Mrs. Bush about owning dogs and how Michael and I rescued Koby. There was also a time were each of us got to tell the president a little about our husband's and how they served and died for our country. After telling him about Michael I had a moment and thank goodness for sunglasses because I got emotional over the fact that one of our presidents knows about Michael. He knows his name, he knows how long he served in the Marine Corps, he knows that he served two years in Iraq, and he knows how he died. I still get choked up about it today because that's a huge honor and concept to wrap my head around. I know Michael would be so very proud. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNMqCnWUGSG-WyPU73ZS2MDtTM-_A7GQe6XnhVw7R08ePZ2-YkxW5dUzL9SkVUA5E_AnnLz6Z4t09W1EsyyQth7nf5C5K9NO3b4tFFNDrVw2Gj8sGuEGtnQnutFcltZgTOgD2e38SOjVE/s1600/DSC03770.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNMqCnWUGSG-WyPU73ZS2MDtTM-_A7GQe6XnhVw7R08ePZ2-YkxW5dUzL9SkVUA5E_AnnLz6Z4t09W1EsyyQth7nf5C5K9NO3b4tFFNDrVw2Gj8sGuEGtnQnutFcltZgTOgD2e38SOjVE/s320/DSC03770.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYwOez4qKET2v0TvGAbeKCaVSuY9R7mlTC-HusqziFlq7T_azGowKlW12wbYuV3suXy69ZPpEBgK4ScfoXDByoMDEE7GI-Q9yATDDAXfRVHCzVBlX6rDEYtZH3SguaHw1tFODbMj9jTes/s1600/DSC03783.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYwOez4qKET2v0TvGAbeKCaVSuY9R7mlTC-HusqziFlq7T_azGowKlW12wbYuV3suXy69ZPpEBgK4ScfoXDByoMDEE7GI-Q9yATDDAXfRVHCzVBlX6rDEYtZH3SguaHw1tFODbMj9jTes/s320/DSC03783.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Barbara wearing an AWP pin that I put on her jacket!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKjZ81iOe8idJWVLAtYptKK8aVz0hTBHUe_Y-ntcZegeM-kty2PBdnaU2wr-SUV_2qgdK1x20qmpGIWNuFht6nGjE1B1d5bcFLBnmRp-mVCgtN-plXTGJTg87_P69IDm2aXqKbwNTz7B0/s1600/DSC03839.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKjZ81iOe8idJWVLAtYptKK8aVz0hTBHUe_Y-ntcZegeM-kty2PBdnaU2wr-SUV_2qgdK1x20qmpGIWNuFht6nGjE1B1d5bcFLBnmRp-mVCgtN-plXTGJTg87_P69IDm2aXqKbwNTz7B0/s320/DSC03839.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Having a conversation with the first lady!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div data-mce-style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans; font-size: 14px; color: #333333; background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 14px; line-height: 21px; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; text-align: -webkit-auto; padding: 0px;" style="background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 14px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-decoration: none;">That weekend also had a twist that I have never experienced at another event before. The house that we stayed in was donated to the AWP for the weekend by an amazing woman named Sue. Sue found out about the AWP through the <a href="http://www.people.com/people/archive/article/0,,20447010,00.html">People Magazine</a> article and contacted Taryn looking to help out in any way. Sue was able to have the entire weekend, everything that we did that weekend donated to us. She asked the entire town to donate their services to us. When I say everything, I mean everything. A lobster bake for us to enjoy the first night, all kinds of foods, drinks and snacks for the entire weekend, the surfing lessons with our own private surfing instructor, transportation for the entire weekend, bicycles for us to use, breakfast at an amazing little place called <a href="http://www.hbprovisions.com/index.htm">HB Provisions</a>, appetizers at drinks at the Kennebunk Port Inn, an amazingly delicious dinner at an Italian restaurant, an amazing dinner that was made for us by a professional chef at a very generous woman's house, a couple of gift bags full of merchandise from the local shops and I am sure I am missing a lot, but it was overwhelming how much Sue and the town of Kennebunk went out of their way for us. It was extremely humbling and I can pretty much speak for everyone there that we were all knocked off our feet. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZdo50YmnOB3RdRicJ1KIR4LyElWSHaX-507Umf9ZAmDJQM1GYHRR_Wiy-aryBI0ippKqvkehV1H-b_sXlyPyC8bK715NbQqALCHLWe-Ht2eoxPIjaAlXYX0OnEGTrIHWO-wq-b5FzWMc/s1600/341227_234811183243415_100001436044099_664729_1449641971_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZdo50YmnOB3RdRicJ1KIR4LyElWSHaX-507Umf9ZAmDJQM1GYHRR_Wiy-aryBI0ippKqvkehV1H-b_sXlyPyC8bK715NbQqALCHLWe-Ht2eoxPIjaAlXYX0OnEGTrIHWO-wq-b5FzWMc/s320/341227_234811183243415_100001436044099_664729_1449641971_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6OsRknUuCAr2UqF1tao-RZNpg3piTQWEQRndklftEnR6ThT9uwosToiFg9fytGWpR6M-fj_pC5gRr-qFbc-G_Db3Yv-dKjRIWtprzOMNzTd1Vq6TZmHcSTqFPo4Z56AO_qtBGdvKFWh0/s1600/317248_10150856614370034_518550033_20989933_733415673_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6OsRknUuCAr2UqF1tao-RZNpg3piTQWEQRndklftEnR6ThT9uwosToiFg9fytGWpR6M-fj_pC5gRr-qFbc-G_Db3Yv-dKjRIWtprzOMNzTd1Vq6TZmHcSTqFPo4Z56AO_qtBGdvKFWh0/s320/317248_10150856614370034_518550033_20989933_733415673_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">group picture outside of HB Provisions with fake President Bush</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ4E2ZSZL-ygwWe4e3R94PmSNASU_PNTJu2J7gE6iYjuN-EM-5NlvF7E1nPMzy2AX_jeZa_se4KXLhq9PTzLe1SdBqpEIJvwgd_XJbFpthSS7z2GENyLuL7NJHNUPAEe0b2cnMU_FImxQ/s1600/DSC03683.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ4E2ZSZL-ygwWe4e3R94PmSNASU_PNTJu2J7gE6iYjuN-EM-5NlvF7E1nPMzy2AX_jeZa_se4KXLhq9PTzLe1SdBqpEIJvwgd_XJbFpthSS7z2GENyLuL7NJHNUPAEe0b2cnMU_FImxQ/s320/DSC03683.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The incredible Sue serving up some delicious lobster!</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigldE8vFNjnP5WFE7KpaljOy1OaZaAq5Pz5QtcYlGzpfIxlSpkY6JT5FKGU0hbkf4NfnwaI49io2Qdq2t2_WSRKDHClLSw-jowu8ySXfolcEx_vAyJfqp-2zJ02iyP2Dydz8SjkfeytJs/s1600/DSC03685.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigldE8vFNjnP5WFE7KpaljOy1OaZaAq5Pz5QtcYlGzpfIxlSpkY6JT5FKGU0hbkf4NfnwaI49io2Qdq2t2_WSRKDHClLSw-jowu8ySXfolcEx_vAyJfqp-2zJ02iyP2Dydz8SjkfeytJs/s320/DSC03685.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breakfast at HB Provisions</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Opening up our gift bags was like Christmas morning!</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj538Q9bT9FbeIE-fMMvM57cw_dJ6Hv6chb0yd-lu6KWigHTrDa0HsaMBbUwPycENELy7jVk50zAqENICXOIFogpOx4fBXqvsVj0woMVlpITOZNRC_veBRvGV-aiQkWiFtlt8AUs7Zc2Yc/s1600/DSC03992.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj538Q9bT9FbeIE-fMMvM57cw_dJ6Hv6chb0yd-lu6KWigHTrDa0HsaMBbUwPycENELy7jVk50zAqENICXOIFogpOx4fBXqvsVj0woMVlpITOZNRC_veBRvGV-aiQkWiFtlt8AUs7Zc2Yc/s320/DSC03992.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib34fz-KYIBtgCQZE3D12tqPYhwrBBFze0vSdLLT1K8Y6siyk8YLoksJqcRuh79iPwIxBeosZFnebxoSW6FGN5w5o6rX-t4A7cuuwkXj1N5bdefnLxfutxKAjzoZUh4RSehiAw4WgJ3Ks/s1600/DSC03994.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib34fz-KYIBtgCQZE3D12tqPYhwrBBFze0vSdLLT1K8Y6siyk8YLoksJqcRuh79iPwIxBeosZFnebxoSW6FGN5w5o6rX-t4A7cuuwkXj1N5bdefnLxfutxKAjzoZUh4RSehiAw4WgJ3Ks/s320/DSC03994.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The feast we enjoyed the last night in Maine</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtsUJ28aqCa_Xdi_Z-k1fwTjzjncZ7x4hYjK5YDdCWSgh45opVWxndezjdoRfb56adGtqS3qnS-eukXVp49j8eEuKqr4R7DSFEkaOEv45QnqjXvp6JbZgQgsJeiUOIPPS49OOoTcyjah4/s1600/DSC03998.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtsUJ28aqCa_Xdi_Z-k1fwTjzjncZ7x4hYjK5YDdCWSgh45opVWxndezjdoRfb56adGtqS3qnS-eukXVp49j8eEuKqr4R7DSFEkaOEv45QnqjXvp6JbZgQgsJeiUOIPPS49OOoTcyjah4/s320/DSC03998.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div data-mce-style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans; font-size: 14px; color: #333333; background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 14px; line-height: 21px; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; text-align: -webkit-auto; padding: 0px;" style="background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 14px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div data-mce-style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans; font-size: 14px; color: #333333; background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 14px; line-height: 21px; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; text-align: -webkit-auto; padding: 0px;" style="background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 14px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">There was also another twist, CNN was there for the filming of the documentary clip they are going to air for the 2011 CNN Hero Awards Ceremony, which <a href="http://heroes.cnn.com/vote_en.aspx">Taryn in nominated for</a> (which you can vote for her, ten times a day, everyday!) We were all pretty apprehensive by the thought of cameras there to capture some of our most private moments. I felt like we were a mix between the Real World and True Life (</span><i>This is the true story, of 12 military widows, picked to live in a house. You think you know, but you have no idea</i>) However, in the end I feel like the CNN crew actually enhanced our experience. They weren't around the entire time, and when they were, they weren't intrusive at all. They just wanted to capture what it was like for a young military widow and how the AWP has impacted our lives since our husbands deaths. We each did individual interviews and it really caused us to think and vocalize what the AWP means to us and what it means to be a military widow. At the end of the weekend, each of the crew members shared with us what the weekend and the experience of meeting military widows meant to them. And it was really cool to hear an outsiders perception of us. Each of the guys who shared with us got choked up when expressing us to how that weekend effected them. It was a really humbling experience to hear that we are some of the strongest women these guys have met and that we were not at all what they had expected. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_fHv8vG3z2B1wCjgFDQQ9yuqA_THSzoXLOJqvbauaVQkr_eVx63lOt2ZfA6PQ3m983qPqnf7HFeGpu7JG5-dqBPK-2W185eRoX1B5E86OYyTfZmp5mMrzr22L-biTY4FNOna0niBBF_E/s1600/DSC03689.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_fHv8vG3z2B1wCjgFDQQ9yuqA_THSzoXLOJqvbauaVQkr_eVx63lOt2ZfA6PQ3m983qPqnf7HFeGpu7JG5-dqBPK-2W185eRoX1B5E86OYyTfZmp5mMrzr22L-biTY4FNOna0niBBF_E/s320/DSC03689.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8K08HroUwLeknximFxRBmWyNC1aXDeGKY9K2kiWjDK-SwW0Mnw85EahaQGt3F1j45GhB6q0cEcsJpHoEUmz3JixWfkJJeyQaJazlDE2hu3BgEj3PLCKA42cILZ4BQRlj6jl6X33ub2_8/s1600/DSC03859.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8K08HroUwLeknximFxRBmWyNC1aXDeGKY9K2kiWjDK-SwW0Mnw85EahaQGt3F1j45GhB6q0cEcsJpHoEUmz3JixWfkJJeyQaJazlDE2hu3BgEj3PLCKA42cILZ4BQRlj6jl6X33ub2_8/s320/DSC03859.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tim, who sort of coordinated the filming schedule, is a Chris Martin look-a-like!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-68QyvCh88rhn4tdA3skrRY93O0DPIJAB-h7CY323aiEdEJlEmH70JCNv0gqMrjZlqCzToAWY_H3F02RXqnQjm38j_UVkl_pWDazH5l2YfB3_YkNxjD3UldHlIRSlSgR0Sjhw1gLcoLw/s1600/DSC03972.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-68QyvCh88rhn4tdA3skrRY93O0DPIJAB-h7CY323aiEdEJlEmH70JCNv0gqMrjZlqCzToAWY_H3F02RXqnQjm38j_UVkl_pWDazH5l2YfB3_YkNxjD3UldHlIRSlSgR0Sjhw1gLcoLw/s320/DSC03972.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The amazing camera guy Mick!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVy9C7_SkZVgR3ZRG28hUKoGNcPwMZNQ5pOTiaiQsJd4aK4dqcuK6LhpLEzfhMStM2DvsBlYxGW433-It8JOoIu53wGqe1oNRFyrMmK1cg_VmxA8bQpqLS37gtKh6dX8tehrro2WATkVw/s1600/DSC04004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVy9C7_SkZVgR3ZRG28hUKoGNcPwMZNQ5pOTiaiQsJd4aK4dqcuK6LhpLEzfhMStM2DvsBlYxGW433-It8JOoIu53wGqe1oNRFyrMmK1cg_VmxA8bQpqLS37gtKh6dX8tehrro2WATkVw/s320/DSC04004.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking pictures of our photographer, David.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div data-mce-style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans; font-size: 14px; color: #333333; background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 14px; line-height: 21px; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; text-align: -webkit-auto; padding: 0px;" style="background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 14px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-decoration: none;">All in all that weekend was a peak moment for me. Something that I will remember and cherish for the rest of my life. That weekend was by far the best weekend I have experienced since Michael's death. I do not want to know what life would be like without other military widows and I am thankful that I don't have to. I went home refreshed. I went home not caring what others thought when I brought up Michael and not afraid to talk about him with people who never got to meet him. I left a lot of emotional burdens in Maine and went home feeling much lighter. I went home with my soul recharged, feeling like I can take on the world. </div></div><br />
<img alt="Allison" border="0" src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad73/marinegirl0231/Blog%20Design/sig.png" />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-90313000826605282532011-10-10T01:30:00.000-04:002011-10-10T01:30:28.135-04:001 year and 11 monthsLately, I have been having such an overwhelming need to write. I have noticed that when I need to write, it's typically when there is stuff going on - grief stuff. I have somehow been floating in between contentment and a weird sense of normalcy. I have school, school work, my new obsession with the gym, volunteering and worrying about graduate school to thank for my facade of happiness. <div>However, the second anniversary of Michael's death is approaching much faster than I would like. It's almost like October 1st brought a wave of grief. All of a sudden, the temperature dropped, the delicious pumpkin spice has popped up everywhere, plans for Halloween are being formed, conversations about the holidays are floating around. </div><div>All are reminders that in a month - it will be 2 years since the life I knew and loved ended. </div><div>That facade has been slowly cracking and it's about to crumble. I have been experiencing so many flashbacks, it's unbelievable. </div><div>Flashbacks of the moment I found out. </div><div>The funeral.</div><div>Old friends who were there for me that have disappeared over the years.</div><div>Seeing my beautiful husband laying in a casket at the wake and not being able to look at him.</div><div>Screaming in the shower the morning after it all happened. </div><div>Rushing through the hospital only to find out he was already transported to the medical examiner. </div><div>I am starting to remember things that I couldn't remember for the past two years. It is absolutely crazy that it seems like it has been an eternity since I saw his face, touched his skin and kissed his lips but the hurt and the pain feels like it all happened just yesterday. </div><div>And still, all I can think about.... is... why? </div><div></div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-18330223584361544882011-08-18T22:44:00.000-04:002011-08-18T22:44:54.387-04:00anger<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I admit, I have been avoiding this blog like the plague. I haven’t wanted to write about what I have been feeling/going through because I haven’t wanted to deal with any of it. This blog has been one of my biggest sources of therapy and writing on it meant that I was a widow. That I had lost my husband. I have been hiding my grief by escaping - running away whenever being at home long enough started to feel uncomfortable. I fled to New York three times to be with my brother, California, Kansas, and Las Vegas. I have been trying my damnedest to act “normal” - whatever that means. All of this hiding and avoiding has been building and building. I have been getting angrier and angrier. Taking it out on other’s or simply pushing it aside just like I would push aside any other emotion associated with losing Michael. I thought that if I tried hard enough to try to pick up my life and act like I was ok, that I would really believe it, that I would feel ok. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I have been noticing that I have been feeling angrier and madder more and more each day and I didn’t understand why. Today I finally broke down. Anger is not an emotion that I deal well with and it has been eating at me. I wanted to scream, break something, punch a wall. It was probably the maddest I have been in a looong time. I realized that it’s because I have been hiding from my grief. And maybe this intense anger is just another component of my grief. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I miss my life with Michael. I miss everything about it - the good and the bad, the peaks and the valleys. I miss having my best friend. I miss the life we built together. I miss the future we had to look forward to. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I feel like I have gotten so strong this past year and nine months but tonight, tonight I have crumbled into a weak, mad sobbing mess. </span></div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-25929222351956129462011-06-27T17:48:00.000-04:002011-06-27T17:48:05.653-04:00tree and other inanimate objectsI don't understand the strong attachment I have with Michael's belongings or any thing that represents him. They are just things. They aren't him. The attachment that I have to some of his things are sometimes crippling. On Saturday I had some trees removed because the week before there was a nasty storm that came through the week before and it knocked down one of my trees. I took advantage of having someone come out to remove it and I had two palm trees that had died the winter before, but I was too lazy and cheap to have removed after they died.<br />
<br />
Also in my front yard was an oak tree that my real estate agent had bought for me after I purchased my house. He said it would represent Michael. He said that oak trees are strong and resilient, that no matter the weather, they would always live. Well I realized not even 20 minutes ago, after pulling into my drive way that the damn tree removal guys cut down Michael's oak tree! I was livid! I ran in my house and dropped my things and called the company that came out. I was shaking I was so mad. I calmly talked to the receptionist and told her what happened. She then put me on the phone with the manager who had come out the day to remove my trees. I was trying to hold it together as best as I could. I can usually hide my emotions but when he was asking me what kind of oak tree it was I just lost it. I had no clue what kind of oak tree it was... a dead husband oak tree?! I still can't stop crying. I keep telling myself it's just a damn tree. They are going to come out and replace it and it'll probably look the same. But all I keep thinking is that my Michael tree is gone.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBCNuOEYX64MRWZ5STkJc_MGzxa3TsuMKCxbjRQujAXTqiisPSOAWGXZMzU3FAX-sjRczlwLk1Hf0FsxwPLSTDFLZHejKOhqCNNNvXDN5QJI3m7KkHnpbw20W9rTCN9_4d6KiohdmszPk/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBCNuOEYX64MRWZ5STkJc_MGzxa3TsuMKCxbjRQujAXTqiisPSOAWGXZMzU3FAX-sjRczlwLk1Hf0FsxwPLSTDFLZHejKOhqCNNNvXDN5QJI3m7KkHnpbw20W9rTCN9_4d6KiohdmszPk/s320/photo.JPG" width="246" /></a></div><br />
As I started to write this blog I started thinking about everything else I have held onto with a vice-like grip. His clothes, his books, his underwear, his cologne, his toothbrush, everything that Michael had - I can't let go of. I know that having those things don't make up for his absence and they're not him. It's just another thing that I can't let go of. I can't let go of him. I can't let go of the fact that technically I am no longer married. I can't let go of his belongings. I can't let go of the fact that I am still so in love with him. And I don't want to. Letting go, right now, isn't going to make me feel any better, it's not going to take my pain away. I know that maybe eventually, I'll have to or I'll want to. But right now I want to still hold on. I need to still hold on because there is nothing else to hold onto.<br />
<br />
<img alt="Allison" border="0" src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad73/marinegirl0231/Blog%20Design/sig.png" />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-80861395541789840942011-06-08T22:26:00.000-04:002011-06-08T22:26:18.424-04:00profoundSorry I've been MIA lately. Just haven't felt like writing. Also I've been distracted. The first week of May I was up in New York visiting my brother for 10 days.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy9yItYJIB50KunLCD4Q2qZ_LTSzzfk79p2GWbKoVSFJ0fsgw2xd2b-PTx6wCOVM50HqnS1YgvM2ApomVUgKgFn9BQbNzAtz9qIkhcICsV53a3YZ6m7CnYRJ85QiQaOYEmj8MzHul7H70/s1600/IMG_0344.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy9yItYJIB50KunLCD4Q2qZ_LTSzzfk79p2GWbKoVSFJ0fsgw2xd2b-PTx6wCOVM50HqnS1YgvM2ApomVUgKgFn9BQbNzAtz9qIkhcICsV53a3YZ6m7CnYRJ85QiQaOYEmj8MzHul7H70/s320/IMG_0344.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZqfKTCWhqxVGAqQnseOxBQvust6MUcbNPa-GFPc6R9nidvVwTK5FuNQdMpM1bqE5YBispaZkArtVVf8kYasOeb62HHy8w4PT8vygtIPtoPJcYDawDCp0oxr-GKiyMjdQQY4wn9PNZim0/s1600/DSC03337.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZqfKTCWhqxVGAqQnseOxBQvust6MUcbNPa-GFPc6R9nidvVwTK5FuNQdMpM1bqE5YBispaZkArtVVf8kYasOeb62HHy8w4PT8vygtIPtoPJcYDawDCp0oxr-GKiyMjdQQY4wn9PNZim0/s320/DSC03337.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Then, 3 days after I got back, I left again. I went up to Orlando for a wedding. From Orlando I flew to LA to meet up with my dad and step-mom. We then went to go and visit my grandpa. A few days later, we hopped in my dad's new RV (he bought it from my grandpa) and we drove from California to Kansas.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimtVEXZlHYkBeXthQ9VPKgm5OALDOQqq1BGTME_w2-6ahybfj0ICqMYd4DkqBQHkP0hekO7ihpcLKntHMbwH3HuTbuX13ycp-8zttTea9Q5VL7frWaI_uHPw_nGmEQ7lt9eUDLYkCXTco/s1600/DSC03388.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimtVEXZlHYkBeXthQ9VPKgm5OALDOQqq1BGTME_w2-6ahybfj0ICqMYd4DkqBQHkP0hekO7ihpcLKntHMbwH3HuTbuX13ycp-8zttTea9Q5VL7frWaI_uHPw_nGmEQ7lt9eUDLYkCXTco/s320/DSC03388.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I hung out in Kansas for a couple of days, then I flew back to Florida. I've been home for about a week and a half and I am ready to leave again. Too much time at home isn't good for me. Right now, I think the distractions are necessary.<br />
<br />
Anyway, on to the main purpose of this blog...<br />
<br />
You know those profound experiences, that you know for some reason, they will make it past your short term memory and be significant enough to be stored in that filing cabinet labeled "Long-term Memory"? And that somehow you know that you had that experience for a reason. That the universe put you in that particular situation for a reason that you may never understand until it hits you. Well, I had one of those moments yesterday.<br />
<br />
I am starting to volunteer for an organization that has a crisis hotline available to anyone in crisis, may it be sexual violence, sudden death or domestic abuse in the Southwest Florida region. I am still in the process of completing the training, but it seems like it's a good fit for me. I want to be able to help others in their most desperate time of need. Maybe somehow, through the path my life has taken, I will be able to touch someone else's life and give them the hope and the strength to continue on. I don't want what I've been through to go to waste. I want to channel it and use it to help others.<br />
<br />
Anyway, yesterday I went in for a lunch/training session with some of the other volunteers. I didn't know how the training session was going to go or what it was going to consist of, so I was really unprepared for what I was about to step into. As we got started, the speaker, who was a psychologist, tells us that the topic is on loss, grief and depression. Automatically, my heart sinks and my throat tightens up. I reminded myself that it was ok, I am good at holding it together in public. We quickly went over the first two topics - loss and grief. I opened up and shared about Michael because, obviously, my situation was relevant to the topic. What happened after that is going to stick with me for the rest of my life.<br />
<br />
The doctor asked us all to close our eyes. Take a few deep breaths and focus on our breathing. She told us to imagine that we were walking up to a beautiful forest. That the sun was shining and it was a beautiful warm day. The forest seemed very inviting and told us to imagine walking into the forest. After walking for some time, you see a cottage. The cottage is very quant and seems harmless. So you decide to walk up to the cottage and knock on the door. After a moment, the door opens and it's your guardian angel.<br />
<br />
Out of no where my breath gets short and I have to use all of my strength not to start crying. Because immediately I saw Michael. I saw his beautiful face. His gorgeous smile. It was like he was standing right in front of me. All I wanted to do was to reach out and hug him.<br />
<br />
The doctor then tells us that our guardian angel asks us to come inside and sit down. Our guardian angel then says "Tell me your burdens, your losses, and I will carry them for you". The doctor then tells us to think about our earliest loss, our most recent loss, and our most profound loss.<br />
<br />
This entire time I am trying to block her out. But I can't help it. I already have a river streaming down my face. I couldn't hold it together. I am usually pretty good at compartmentalizing my grief and saving it until I am in the comfort and privacy of my own home. But I couldn't hold onto that. I immediately thought of Michael. He was my most profound loss. Then my parents getting a divorce - that was my earliest loss. My most resent loss was a loss of a friendship with Michael's best friend.<br />
<br />
Then the doctor tells us to imagine our guardian angel saying "Now let go of all of these losses, let me carry them for you. You don't have to worry about them anymore".<br />
<br />
Immediately, in my head, I start screaming "NO NO NO"!! I don't want to let go of Michael. I can't. I don't know how. I don't want to. I can let go of my parents divorcing. That's easy. I can let go of my lost friendship. Friends come and go anyway. But my husband? My soulmate? I just can't. And I won't.<br />
<br />
After she told us to open our eyes, I jumped up to go to the bathroom. I was a mess. I couldn't stop crying. That hasn't happened in public since the funeral... I think. The bad thing about it is that I didn't know anyone in that room. I had only met the volunteer coordinator once before and that was it. It was like a faucet was turned on and I couldn't turn it off for the life of me.<br />
<br />
This was so eye opening to me because no matter how strong and composed I seem on the outside, on the inside I'm weak and hurting - it took going through that to realize it. I also realized that I'm not ready to let Michael go. Yes, I'm ready to be happy again, I am ready for a new chapter, but I just can't let him or that part of my life go. I was also reminded that I am still in the midst of my grief. Traveling and distractions aside, I am still in the thick of it all. Perhaps I should take more time to allow myself to feel the pain. I feel like I am in need of a balance. Equal parts of grief, pain, and sadness with happiness, joy and laughter.<br />
<br />
<img alt="Allison" border="0" src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad73/marinegirl0231/Blog%20Design/sig.png" />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-23295930032960798312011-04-22T14:35:00.000-04:002011-04-22T14:35:37.617-04:00Why did it slip my mind? Did I forget? Am I too busy to notice the passage of time?<br />
<br />
On May 12th, it will be our fourth wedding anniversary. It didn't even occur to me until the other day that in less than a month, it will be four years since we said "I do". Four whole years. I am going up to NYC to visit my brother during that time and when I was making my arrangements it didn't even pop into my mind that I will be there for our anniversary. Last year I was so focused on that day and what I would do and how I would remember our commitment to each other. I spent months obsessing over it turning to make that whole week surrounding the day perfect.<br />
<br />
I have to admit though, I have been extremely busy. So busy that I didn't even realize that it was April already, let alone almost the end of April. School and family life has really been consuming my time and maybe that's a good thing. I have been going through the motions just focusing on what I have in front of me and maybe right now, that's what I need.<br />
<br />
But I still feel absolutely horrible for not even realizing it, for letting it slip my mind. That day was huge for us, even though our ceremony was small, it was still perfect. I just don't understand how I could have realized how soon it was and how fast it is approaching.<br />
<br />
Nevertheless, I will be spending it with the best of company - my brother and best friend! And we will be in the best city! So I am sure we will make the most of it. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<img alt="Allison" border="0" src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad73/marinegirl0231/Blog%20Design/sig.png" />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-52324021116419034872011-04-18T21:23:00.001-04:002011-04-18T21:29:15.881-04:00brothers:You know that movie Brothers.<br />
With Jake Gyllenhaal, Natalie Portman, and Tobey Maguire.<br />
The story of the husband that is deployed to Afghanistan <br />
and the Marines think he was killed<br />
so they notified his wife and children that he’s dead<br />
and his low life brother<br />
hangs around the wife and kids<br />
doing things around the house<br />
being a father figure for the kids<br />
and a companion for the wife. <br />
But the husband was only captured <br />
and then found<br />
then returned home<br />
only to figure out that his wife and brother have started a maybe relationship.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhni1eKV8_SbEHklXTmOMRvdJLZcvi4NzmlXVrLq1xgf527oukmLBP-AaL8CNcMarc8bMdWGj4kCzEJH7g8MAj-q-BxX_uhq81RMAc0JAQlUzQjHhou0l4gbhPsRhrPn76bctklcsxilIU/s1600/CIMG0712.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhni1eKV8_SbEHklXTmOMRvdJLZcvi4NzmlXVrLq1xgf527oukmLBP-AaL8CNcMarc8bMdWGj4kCzEJH7g8MAj-q-BxX_uhq81RMAc0JAQlUzQjHhou0l4gbhPsRhrPn76bctklcsxilIU/s320/CIMG0712.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> Michael got to meet Tobey when he was training for this particular role</span></div><br />
Well I had a dream very similar to the plot line of this movie.<br />
<br />
Michael’s death didn’t actually occur<br />
but everyone thought it did. <br />
He was deployed or something and then he disappeared<br />
so they notified me that he died. <br />
We had a funeral and everything.<br />
<br />
Fast forward to two years after his death <br />
and I’m in a relationship with a close friend of his.<br />
I’m not sure which friend this was, <br />
but I just know they were close,<br />
practically brothers.<br />
I was very much so in love<br />
with both of them.<br />
<br />
Out of no where,<br />
Michael comes home. <br />
And I am torn in between his best friend: my boyfriend<br />
and my supposedly dead husband. <br />
<br />
I couldn’t make a decision. <br />
I wanted both of them. <br />
<br />
Then I woke up. <br />
I hadn’t dreamed of Michael in such a long time. <br />
This was probably one of the worst ones yet. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<img alt="Allison" border="0" src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad73/marinegirl0231/Blog%20Design/sig.png" />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-18284141459426915912011-04-13T20:21:00.000-04:002011-04-13T20:21:38.398-04:00when does it stop?Even after a year and a half without him<br />
I am still caught off guard.<br />
My mind will wonder<br />
to the day, the very moment, when I got that phone call<br />
<br />
"Allison, Michael died in an accident"<br />
<br />
And for a couple of minutes I can't breathe.<br />
And tears just stream down. <br />
And it still hurts just as bad as the day it happened.<br />
Like a fire in my chest that causes my blood to burn my veins.<br />
I immediately question<br />
Why us?<br />
Why him?<br />
Why me?<br />
<br />
Does this feeling ever go away?<br />
Or fade?<br />
I don't know if I am looking for an answer<br />
because everyone is different.<br />
I guess I'm just tired of hurting.<br />
And I want to be ok.<br />
If that's even a possibility.<br />
<br />
<img alt="Allison" border="0" src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad73/marinegirl0231/Blog%20Design/sig.png" />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-71915992109038098832011-04-12T23:03:00.000-04:002011-04-12T23:03:03.562-04:00<div style="text-align: center;">I just want to be</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">HAPPY!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Is that so fucking hard to ask for?!</div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-50680935224837150752011-04-04T20:54:00.002-04:002011-04-04T20:54:32.124-04:00I've been through hellAnd now, slowly but surely, I am on my way back. I haven’t written lately because simply put, I haven’t needed to. I haven’t been holding onto anything. I haven’t had that want or need to write. I have been crazy busy with school and family. The semester is almost over and I will be so happy once it is. It has taken a lot for me to continue on with school, but it’s my way to focus my attention on something else.<br />
<br />
I’ve been in a good place recently. The good days have been out numbering the bad. I have been trying to stay positive and focus on the good things. It’s a hard task to do especially when focusing on the bad has been so comfortable and easy for me. Even though it feels so good to be content where I am, I still feel guilty. I feel guilty for not being sad all the time. I feel guilty for experiencing things when Michael will never have the chance to. I feel guilty for putting myself out there and not retreating to my bed all the time. But over all it does feel ok where I am at. <br />
<br />
Sometimes I trick myself though. Just when I feel like everything is smooth sailing and I get into a sense of normalcy, something happens and I feel like I have been knocked off my feet and I am reminded that I am still in the midst of my grief and pain of losing Michael. Yesterday was one of those days. I was reminded of how much I have lost and how much I have gone through since he was killed. And I realized just how much I missed him and missed my life before this all happened. I still would give anything just to have him back for a minute. I realized how much I don’t want this life. I never asked for it! I got married with the very best intentions - spending the rest of MY life with my soulmate. And that is something that I am struggling with to let go. <br />
<br />
Sometimes I am able to let it go for a little bit, a least I think I am able to. I am able to set new goals for myself and envision a future that does not involve Michael. Figure out how my life, now, is supposed to look. But when I realize what it is that I am doing - seeing a future without Michael, I go straight back to square one - wanting to spend the rest of MY life with Michael. <br />
<br />
I have never talked about dating or even having the urge to be with someone else on here, except my opposition to the whole thought. In the beginning, after Michael died, everyone told me that I would find love again. They told me that I was young and I still had plenty of time to start another relationship. A day after your husband dies, that’s the last thing you want to hear. You can’t even get it though your head that they are never coming home, let alone dating someone else. I was obstinate to the very thought and I wanted to go against what everyone was telling me. There was no way I could ever see myself kissing, dating, loving someone else. However I’m at that point, where I think that maybe just maybe I could entertain the idea of letting someone else in. To be frank, I’m lonely. I miss holding someone’s hand. I miss going out to dinner or to the movies with someone else besides friends or family. I miss sleeping next to someone. I miss having someone to tell all my secrets and worries to. I miss having a person. With that said, I am not going out on the prowl, looking for anyone. But if the opportunity comes around, I will be open to considering. Because the Beatles said it best “one is the loneliest number there will ever be”... and I completely agree with them. <br />
It’s scary as hell, but I don’t want to let the fear of something bad happened or getting my heart broken keep me back from living anymore. I have been afraid of life for long enough now. I need to live and I can’t do that without taking risks or chances. I don’t want to let that fear hold me back or keep me from experiencing new things or making new memories. So this is me, telling the fear to fuck off. <br />
<br />
So that’s sort of where I am at right now. I know I have definitely come a long way in the past (almost) year and a half. I can honestly say that I am proud of the work I have done and everything I have accomplished. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<img alt="Allison" border="0" src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad73/marinegirl0231/Blog%20Design/sig.png" />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-64042326340705069492011-03-05T21:22:00.000-05:002011-03-05T21:22:49.803-05:00I have been wanting to write all week, but I just couldn't for some reason. These past two weeks have been so unbelievably hard. Watching my brother go through this traumatic horrific thing and experience gut wrenching pain and despair is killing me. After losing Michael, I was always so afraid that it would happen again, that I would lose someone I love, again. I was always waiting for another phone call to tell me that someone else is dead. When I did receive that phone call, I was in a panic/fight or flight mode that it didn't occur to me until a few days later that one of my fears actually did come into fruition. <br />
<br />
My heart is absolutely broken that there is another widow(er) in my family. My heart would always break when I would learn about another widow, knowing that we share a commonality that most others wouldn't. But this is too much. This is my brother. My best friend. I want so desperately to take his pain away. But there is nothing that any of us can do, but to go through it with him.<br />
<br />
I constantly found myself comparing how I was to how Drew is. But I am constantly frustrated because I can't remember how I was. Those memories weren't encoded, and I am hoping for the same for my brother. I hope he doesn't remember this part.<br />
<br />
Before this all happened, I felt like I was possibly coming to a good point. The peaks and valleys of my grief were starting to level out. I was having more good days than bad. And this happens and I am thrown right back into it. I almost wanted to quit school again and give it another go next semester. I had an insanely hard time leaving my brother to go back home.<br />
<br />
I just wish this was all different. It still doesn't seem real. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<img alt="Allison" border="0" src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad73/marinegirl0231/Blog%20Design/sig.png" />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-49758026501333133982011-02-22T11:22:00.001-05:002011-02-22T11:24:22.661-05:00world of hurt<div style="text-align: center;">Yesterday, my family and I received horrible news. </div><div style="text-align: center;">My brother's best friend, the love of his life, took his life. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I would never wish this life on anyone, especially any of my family members. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">My brother is absolutely heart broken and distraught. </div><div style="text-align: center;">We were all taken by surprise.</div><div style="text-align: center;">And it's really hard to even believe. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">My brother's boyfriend was like a little brother to me. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I loved him so much. </div><div style="text-align: center;">He made my brother happy. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">We will never understand why this happened. </div><div style="text-align: center;">But it is just a reminder that life is so short </div><div style="text-align: center;">and so precious </div><div style="text-align: center;">and to tell those who matter most how much you love them. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZAuMst9nTH9DTcPF8PIw05GG4MszjzfhZPEKLHqmptCfeVsG2MUc8tVWDmHeIPVk6xfNHEGNAcr5Uy82AbwDr0q-doXTKUCvPyW7zogwzgnP8ewYD9uh6osQuxm76YFXNz-P-Yr0QVNs/s1600/JLB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZAuMst9nTH9DTcPF8PIw05GG4MszjzfhZPEKLHqmptCfeVsG2MUc8tVWDmHeIPVk6xfNHEGNAcr5Uy82AbwDr0q-doXTKUCvPyW7zogwzgnP8ewYD9uh6osQuxm76YFXNz-P-Yr0QVNs/s320/JLB.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3z39XuTR0rMfURncZUxPZaj6D4Y4RkF2l5FWQVGo_ycPmFqOPCYOx8ZZoH3tRLazwmAYwdGL-XDn1JKwKtZMfch4sAZgCgXokZd0Obpd-viSmsOh7SvLFdz4_pYCGdJieI2DOSc5qEWU/s1600/JLB2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3z39XuTR0rMfURncZUxPZaj6D4Y4RkF2l5FWQVGo_ycPmFqOPCYOx8ZZoH3tRLazwmAYwdGL-XDn1JKwKtZMfch4sAZgCgXokZd0Obpd-viSmsOh7SvLFdz4_pYCGdJieI2DOSc5qEWU/s320/JLB2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaT3Z_XTPOwzzTwb6vjiikBqycS0x7kKmNXRtKUbqBy9Gxx0tGZaKhMfiQiT1dviuqQiP1EZPsbQmz56l2h-rJQfersicMX-h0svG3q7j81l_J9Wk1-JlhSPjdlEvYgOkkiuofDAj0OJM/s1600/JLB3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaT3Z_XTPOwzzTwb6vjiikBqycS0x7kKmNXRtKUbqBy9Gxx0tGZaKhMfiQiT1dviuqQiP1EZPsbQmz56l2h-rJQfersicMX-h0svG3q7j81l_J9Wk1-JlhSPjdlEvYgOkkiuofDAj0OJM/s320/JLB3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> You will always be loved and missed</div><div style="text-align: center;"><3 JLB <3</div><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Due to the sensitive nature of the situation, please only send prayers and words of encouragement. We are all hurting very much.</span><br />
<img alt="Allison" border="0" src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad73/marinegirl0231/Blog%20Design/sig.png" />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-40831157143531248332011-02-14T22:06:00.001-05:002011-02-14T22:51:48.775-05:00Valentine's Day, Smalentine's DayMan oh man.<br />
There's nothing more that I hate than a stupid made up holiday.<br />
Oh wait. I do hate something more.<br />
I hate the stupid made up holiday that makes me feel even more alone than I possibly could.<br />
It's like adding fucking insult to injury.<br />
<br />
This year, will officially be my second year without Michael.<br />
I am still deciding what's worse,<br />
being on a plane to go saw goodbye to my dying grandmother<br />
or having to go a group project presentation and then going home to be alone?<br />
I would have to say, I have definitely shed more tears this year. <br />
<br />
I have always had a particular disdain for Valentine's Day.<br />
Why have one special day to tell to tell those who are most important that you love them?<br />
Michael and I didn't really care for Valentine's Day.<br />
But we would partake in the festivities, sort of.<br />
And I have to admit, it was really nice having someone to spend it with.<br />
Even if it is a stupid made up holiday. <br />
<br />
The last Valentine's day that we spent together.<br />
Was amazing.<br />
Michael got me roses.<br />
I got him dark chocolate, pajama pants, and a new hoodie.<br />
I loved to spoil him.<br />
<br />
We decided that we would add to our little family of three.<br />
We went to a dog rescue meet up to look at pups.<br />
We looked and looked and we didn't find any dogs that suited us.<br />
That was until we reached the last booth.<br />
And there he was.<br />
<br />
We adopted Koby on Valentine's Day, 2009.<br />
That afternoon we took our pup to our favorite park to have a picnic.<br />
We played with him, people complimented us on our beautiful dog, went for a walk. <br />
The day was perfect. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimuU08o4IezIi67ujcSBrlwZ1VqaRHIu_L4c2AI7kubY7uqLc6GGMJ7MWwIm0lb7KwL0wjzEscrhEcQuFqQRVeX1EcX2YFCH4MsHuu1ETH0Wr1C13mb6MyW7AMdqTSVmOvio2K6Fsyt38/s1600/vday+michael+and+koby+2009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimuU08o4IezIi67ujcSBrlwZ1VqaRHIu_L4c2AI7kubY7uqLc6GGMJ7MWwIm0lb7KwL0wjzEscrhEcQuFqQRVeX1EcX2YFCH4MsHuu1ETH0Wr1C13mb6MyW7AMdqTSVmOvio2K6Fsyt38/s320/vday+michael+and+koby+2009.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb7SIq0mN2B3ZBaXPOwOo7v7TE6B9QGTGbg-ibgDMBFfv4WEYiUCdz7E7lmdank69swG_USiFsyn1P3-EWYpa02rSyuoaPdUf8P1GHHMYRhT-prbw2WSbLQyJRp8afhostVDYoB3g5akk/s1600/n33404587_33641411_4719518.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb7SIq0mN2B3ZBaXPOwOo7v7TE6B9QGTGbg-ibgDMBFfv4WEYiUCdz7E7lmdank69swG_USiFsyn1P3-EWYpa02rSyuoaPdUf8P1GHHMYRhT-prbw2WSbLQyJRp8afhostVDYoB3g5akk/s320/n33404587_33641411_4719518.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHvfpjQWyQM6_o6irbu0qsQVO1G_jz9NI04IANGVbNOmUpHs_37sq_6x01RvyUOZRredg9_VECbBya7xuYkL4WgAATG4DBFRYfZrqV4OqYHHlekj3VTayB_0aZ4wF4QsRM7hdTwZ9Jp34/s1600/n33404587_33641413_3105857.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHvfpjQWyQM6_o6irbu0qsQVO1G_jz9NI04IANGVbNOmUpHs_37sq_6x01RvyUOZRredg9_VECbBya7xuYkL4WgAATG4DBFRYfZrqV4OqYHHlekj3VTayB_0aZ4wF4QsRM7hdTwZ9Jp34/s320/n33404587_33641413_3105857.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>It feels like then and now are worlds away.<br />
The only things we had to worry about then was learning our new dog wasn't potty trained and figuring out how to decorate our new apartment.<br />
Things are completely and utterly different now.<br />
I would much rather spend this stupid holiday with my husband and our pup than a.l.o.n.e.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<img alt="Allison" border="0" src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad73/marinegirl0231/Blog%20Design/sig.png" />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-52552405753353066482011-02-04T21:40:00.007-05:002011-02-04T22:15:36.297-05:00it's not how he died...<div style="text-align: center;">...that made him a hero,</div><div style="text-align: center;">but how he </div><div style="text-align: center;">LIVED.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNZeiZvZ4anu4V54WO5K4pzesYl0_hVxxUUE7T8FvUdCi0Dv4BtaFR5AqTt9wl87WvDAXOROJZW3tWbIJ8N-G2Tb_xrUS5gGUCofxUU1TMRZr1xfUyDhRPZ08XpQRXvCVZhtOc7HeHS60/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNZeiZvZ4anu4V54WO5K4pzesYl0_hVxxUUE7T8FvUdCi0Dv4BtaFR5AqTt9wl87WvDAXOROJZW3tWbIJ8N-G2Tb_xrUS5gGUCofxUU1TMRZr1xfUyDhRPZ08XpQRXvCVZhtOc7HeHS60/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">From the beginning I said that this was not how Michael was supposed to die. If he was going to die young, it should have been <i>over there.</i> Not here, and not at the mercy of an 81 year old man. I worried that people wouldn't see him for what he really is, a hero. I constantly found myself saying to people "but he served <b>two whole years</b> in Iraq". Two years that contained a few close calls, but as we soon found out, God had other plans. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I fear that people think that Michael died in vain. I assure you he did not. His death did mean something. It meant a lot to so many people. In the aftermath, so many people came forth to testify what Michael meant to them and the out pour of love and admiration for my husband was absolutely breathtaking-astonishing-overwhelming! Michael's energy and love for life touched everyone he came across. Michael was an outstanding Marine. During one the eulogies at his memorial service on MCAS Miramar, it was either his gunny or his commanding officer, said that Michael was the type of Marine that everyone fought to have work for them. Michael has inspired me in so many ways. If I am stuck in a difficult situation, I always sit back and think "how would Michael handle this", and I typically do it his way.<br />
<br />
So it's really not the way that he died. He didn't have that choice. He didn't get to have a talk with God before it happened to suggest where he would have liked to be killed. It's how he lived, how he treated others, how he served his country, how he loved, and how he is remember today that makes him a hero.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-fse-TacPZ4xOHNDB2IZyBSjM4TYEHs32lq2k2N0O1KyADipTEt9MNKrqxT6-p4cKvL-1LszUaPY8cyKYtne0Zj8MwGAkMJqYxHx3l6fIdlpKjbiwAs-PkDv3eEgcAsxt_W3N4tWNP9Y/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-fse-TacPZ4xOHNDB2IZyBSjM4TYEHs32lq2k2N0O1KyADipTEt9MNKrqxT6-p4cKvL-1LszUaPY8cyKYtne0Zj8MwGAkMJqYxHx3l6fIdlpKjbiwAs-PkDv3eEgcAsxt_W3N4tWNP9Y/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="239" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
Oh! And I got my necklace made custom from <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/MyBellasBeads">this</a> etsy shop.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaZRMXfnGSnrlgR19Rj2-DQutdazQibpCmQdHtBWVhAHFp4c_WZWzudRZj8IQ4cadcIYfHfBx9255ZNQ6ri2oIkUmnTzaIDwydRfE13dkpwl8k_ItXqXw4mxNlhyBnFVklOYNKJJqIGI8/s1600/100_1112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaZRMXfnGSnrlgR19Rj2-DQutdazQibpCmQdHtBWVhAHFp4c_WZWzudRZj8IQ4cadcIYfHfBx9255ZNQ6ri2oIkUmnTzaIDwydRfE13dkpwl8k_ItXqXw4mxNlhyBnFVklOYNKJJqIGI8/s320/100_1112.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> R&R<br />
August 2008 </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<img alt="Allison" border="0" src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad73/marinegirl0231/Blog%20Design/sig.png" />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-26159568498188074892011-01-29T11:32:00.000-05:002011-01-29T11:32:17.868-05:0024The day that I turn 24 is fast approaching.<br />
It's probably one of the most dreaded days for me this year <i>so far</i>.<br />
I will be turning an age that Michael will never be able to experience.<br />
<br />
Although I have been older than him for a little while.<br />
He was about 6 months old than I am, but I don't know the exact day it happened where I surpassed his age.<br />
But on Monday, I will officially be a year older than him.<br />
<br />
Little ol' naive me used to think that I would never be older than Michael.<br />
It never occurred to me that he would die young and forever be 23. <br />
And I would continue on and age without him by my side.<br />
<br />
This all brings me back to the question, "Why us?" "Why him?" "Why not me?".<br />
I feel like if the tables were turned and it was me and not him, he would be much better at this whole life thing.<br />
It's not fair. At all.<br />
<br />
It's just another reminder that he isn't here anymore.<br />
And he never will be.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<img alt="Allison" border="0" src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad73/marinegirl0231/Blog%20Design/sig.png" />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-16231976286931381012011-01-24T21:59:00.000-05:002011-01-24T21:59:33.073-05:00mushI have writers block. But I'm not a writer.<br />
I have come to a point where I am at a loss for words.<br />
I can't seem to think straight so therefore, nothing to write about.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I feel really passionate about writing something.<br />
I'll have an idea, sentences, or a theme stuck in my head all day.<br />
And it is absolutely imperative that I write something.<br />
But lately it seems like everything I come up with or think about, is just something that I have already written about. (I'm pretty sure I have written about this as well).<br />
Or I come up with nothing at all.<br />
<br />
My head is such a mush that I actually have a headache from trying to sort through it all.<br />
I guess it has been an emotionally draining day.<br />
I don't know.<br />
<br />
Shit still sucks. And it still feels like it happened yesterday. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<img alt="Allison" border="0" src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad73/marinegirl0231/Blog%20Design/sig.png" />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-5291032766696664572011-01-21T00:12:00.000-05:002011-01-21T00:12:52.929-05:00backwards.Lately I have been trying to assess where I'm at.<br />
In my grieving process.<br />
I do this every few months or so.<br />
Sometimes I feel like I have made leaps and bounds.<br />
Like I'm getting better. <br />
Getting a grasp on things.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I feel like I have gotten no where.<br />
Like I am at square one. (is that even a saying? I have no clue but it sounds appropriate)<br />
Like it happened yesterday.<br />
<br />
Lately, it feels like it happened just yesterday.<br />
Like I am just finding out the news.<br />
And my world is flipped upside down.<br />
<br />
It doesn't feel like it has been 441 days, 14 hours and 22 minutes since Michael took his last breath.<br />
(reading that is actually shocking)<br />
As of right now, I can't say that I have gotten any better.<br />
I feel as if I have only gone backwards. <br />
<br />
For all of you that say it gets better over time.<br />
It doesn't. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<img alt="Allison" border="0" src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad73/marinegirl0231/Blog%20Design/sig.png" />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-72766594677201540492011-01-12T19:21:00.001-05:002011-01-12T19:55:01.084-05:00oh the horror!This week I started school, again. This is the 3rd school (and hopefully final) that I have transfered to. With moving back to Fort Myers after everything happened, school choices were limited. Really my only choice was to start going to Florida Gulf Coast University (FGCU). I really dreaded going here because it's not known for being a really <i>good</i> school. It's nothing like SDSU. It kind of makes me sad, but in a way, it's my only choice. And I did choose to move back here, no one forced me... sort of. I was going to wait to blog about my first week until the end of the week, but so far this week has been a joke. No really. A huge joke.<br />
<br />
Day One - My first class was at 2. Which was fine, not a big deal, I usually like to take morning classes to get everything out of the way. But my choices of classes to take were limited since I registered later than most people. I knew I would run into people that I knew from my past. It's inevitable, I am going to the only major university in the town that Michael and I grew up in. But I never expected this... the professor walks in and it's someone I know from high school! Granted, he was a senior when I was a freshmen. He was also in band with Michael and I. In a way, it's not so bad. He remembered me and he knows what happened so maybe he would be sympathetic to what I am going through, I'm not expecting it though. But seriously, what are the odds of this happening?<br />
<br />
Day Two - just one class on Tuesday. Again, this one started at 2. I got there a little early so I was waiting in the hallway waiting for the class before me to come out. About 5 minutes before the class started I recognized someone I knew, I had to do a double take because I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It was Michael's first <i>serious </i>girlfriend (<i>if you know what I mean</i>). And she was in my class!!! I about threw up. I was so nervous/uncomfortable that my heart was racing a mile a minute and I started to get shaky. If that wasn't bad enough, the class size was small enough that the teacher wanted us to introduce ourselves! She knows who I am (again, we were in band together), she knows I am Michael's wife, and she HAS to know what happened. Thank goodness she didn't say anything to me. But seriously, what are the odds of this happening?! The class is offered 19 times this semester, and each of the classes are capable of holding 25 students. AND she graduated in 2003 and as far as I know, she has only really been in school, so why is she just taking this class now? I wanted to die. I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. I can't drop or switch into a different class either. Considering the VA and my scholarship, it's too complicated. And I have to take this class in order to graduate on time. On the bright side, the class only occurs once a week, so I just have to avoid her for the next 15 weeks.<br />
<br />
Anyway, that whole situation just brought on a whole can of worms I never thought I would have to deal with. I never had to deal with ex-girlfriends when Michael was alive, so why now?! The only thing I wanted to do yesterday was just <i>talk </i>to him. Tell him what was going on and what I should do and how I should handle it. I needed to hear his reassurance that everything would be ok, but his voice is nothing but too far away. It's just another reality check that he isn't here.<br />
<br />
Day Three - I had my statistics for behavioral sciences class today. I walk into the class and I see the crypt keeper at the front of the room! My instructor for this class is, I'm sure, older than dirt!! We come to find out that his formal education background is in engineering. Not math. Not psychology. Nope. Engineering. Sooo why is he teaching a course that is critical for psychology majors? It's beyond me. He seems super easy and nice, but I would much rather learn something from someone who is qualified.<br />
<br />
At that point I just wanted to laugh... and then go home, because really? Why does it seem like this whole school thing is the worst case scenario? My sister says that it's God trying to test me. But really? haven't I been tested enough?! God really does have a sense of humor if I do say so myself.<br />
<br />
However, in the moment when all I wanted to do was go home, I checked facebook and my gorgeous friend <a href="http://lovelivelearnalloveragain.blogspot.com/">Mandy</a> posted a quote:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"The test of an adventure is that when you're in the middle of it, </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">you say to yourself, 'Oh, now I’ve got myself into an awful mess; </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I wish I were sitting quietly at home.' </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And the sign that something's wrong with you is</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> when you sit quietly at home wishing you </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">were out having lots of adventure."</span></span></div><br />
And that's what this all is, a freakin' adventure. And I am tired of sitting at home wishing I were somewhere else.<br />
<br />
<br />
<img alt="Allison" border="0" src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad73/marinegirl0231/Blog%20Design/sig.png" />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-67699469899119013412011-01-09T14:22:00.000-05:002011-01-09T14:22:33.852-05:00a thousand thank yous!The other day, I logged onto blogger and I was dumbfounded when I looked at my follower count, and noticed I have over 100 followers. Never in a million years did I think that I would have this many readers. When I started this blogging journey over a year ago, I started it for only 2 reasons. 1 - to be able to connect with others who are going through the same journey as I am. My biggest hope was that other widows would fall upon my blog and realize that they are not alone. 2 - to be able to openly talk (or write) about what I am going through. Ever since Michael died, I have been a closed book. Reluctant to open up about anything to anyone in fear of showing my true emotions. Writing has been that release for me. In a way, it helps me feel better.<br />
<br />
So I wanted to say thank you, to all of my readers. Thank you for wanting to know more about the life and love of my husband, SGT Michael Martins. And thank you for wanting to be on this journey with me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<img alt="Allison" border="0" src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad73/marinegirl0231/Blog%20Design/sig.png" />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-36497140528404729822011-01-04T14:05:00.001-05:002011-01-09T14:25:09.361-05:002011So 2011 is here. I didn't feel the necessity to blog on New Years. <a href="http://nostarallieandmike.blogspot.com/2010/01/2010.html">Last year</a> was completely different. I did not want to embrace the new year. I wanted nothing more than to dig my nails into time itself to prevent it from going on. I couldn't stand the idea of going into a new year without Michael by my side.<br />
<br />
This time around it was a little different. I so desperately wanted 2010 to be over. 2010 was nothing but a bad year, with the exception of a few events. I was scalp deep, and still am, in my grief. I have learned that the only way to achieve happiness is from within yourself. I have learned to rely on no one or thing to make me happy. My struggle this year is to find the strength, will, and motivation to find happiness.<br />
<br />
I have also learned that even though the distance from when I last laid eyes on my breathing, alive husband continues to become greater and greater, I know that the distance from when I will be able to see him again continues to get shorter and shorter. And I am learning to be ok with that. I guess in a way, I am starting to accept what has happened.<br />
<br />
I want more good days than bad days. I don't want to be afraid of life anymore. So I guess my new years resolution is to find some sort of inner peace and happiness. Oh and to lose at least 20 pounds. :)<br />
<br />
<br />
<img alt="Allison" border="0" src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad73/marinegirl0231/Blog%20Design/sig.png" />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-7377645555494375262010-12-29T22:36:00.000-05:002010-12-29T22:36:01.339-05:00my true friends<div style="text-align: center;">Sometimes I feel like grief, depression and anxiety are my only friends. We all sit in a circle on my king size bed holding hands because we are always connected. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Depression leans over and whispers to me "You will never be <i>that</i> happy again. You are a fat piece of shit. You will always be alone. Death is easier than living. Go eat". </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Anxiety interrupts by screaming "EVERYONE YOU LOVE WILL DIE - DON'T LEAVE YOUR HOUSE, YOU'LL GET INTO A CAR ACCIDENT AND DIE- A JET ENGINE WILL FALL FROM THE SKY AND LAND ON YOUR HOUSE AND YOUR DOG WILL DIE"! </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Then grief chimes in with "He is gone. You will never be able to look in his eyes, hold his hand or kiss his lips. No one will ever love you like he did. You will be alone for the rest of your miserable life". </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">And this conversation seems to go on and on. Every. Single. Day. Grief - depression - anxiety are the friends that won't seem to go away, but yet they have been there since the beginning. They have been the constant since Michael has died. It almost seems like it would be another loss if they were to go away. </div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-88557225268789826002010-12-08T14:30:00.000-05:002010-12-08T14:30:16.173-05:00cosmic love<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes<br />
I screamed aloud, as it tore through them, and now it's left me blind<br />
<br />
The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out<br />
You left me in the dark<br />
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight<br />
In the shadow of your heart<br />
<br />
And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat<br />
I tried to find the sound<br />
But then it stopped, and I was in the darkness,<br />
So darkness I became<br />
<br />
The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out<br />
You left me in the dark<br />
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight<br />
In the shadow of your heart<br />
<br />
I took the stars from our eyes, and then I made a map<br />
And knew that somehow I could find my way back<br />
Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too<br />
So I stayed in the darkness with you</i> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out<br />
You left me in the dark<br />
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight<br />
In the shadow of your heart<br />
<br />
The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out<br />
You left me in the dark<br />
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight<br />
In the shadow of your heart</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Cosmic Love by Florence + The Machine<i> </i> </div><img alt="Allison" border="0" src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad73/marinegirl0231/Blog%20Design/sig.png" />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-68416652203830813412010-12-05T14:56:00.000-05:002010-12-05T14:56:53.954-05:00anticipationEach of Michael's deployments landed on the same time schedule. Deploy to Iraq in January/February. Come home for R&R sometime around August, be home for 2 weeks. Then finally come home the next January. His first deployment, he walked into my arms on January 31st, my birthday. His last deployment he got to come home early because he was PCSing in February. So he was home on December 8th.<br />
<br />
This time of year is usually when I would be anxiously waiting for him to get home. I would feel the rush of anticipation run through my body 24/7. It was annoying and frustrating and time always seemed to drag on longer. Counting down the days, hours, minutes, seconds for him to step foot off of that notorious white bus. I just wanted him home and I always felt like I could not wait a second longer to lay eyes on him.<br />
<br />
For some reason, I am feeling that exact same way. I feel it in my whole mind, body and soul - the anticipation for something that will never come. It's so much more frustrating now because I know there is no light at the end of this tunnel. Heaven doesn't have white buses that you step out of to your loved ones. I know he's gone, so why am I feeling this way? Is it just this time of the year? Is my body just used to feeling this way because of the past?<br />
<br />
Everyone who is further out than me always told me that going into the second year is so much worse than the first year. Holy shit, they were completely right. That stupid fog has lifted and I am feeling every bit of pain that I didn't feel before. And this whole anticipation for Michael's arrival that will never be is really throwing me for a loop. I hate it. I hate that this was our fate. I would give up anything in the world to have him back.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<img alt="Allison" border="0" src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad73/marinegirl0231/Blog%20Design/sig.png" />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-58559657244310181432010-11-24T10:15:00.000-05:002010-11-24T10:15:59.708-05:00wordless<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWw2kIZQU0-1ivLK1MZlMbN51NegzZ7x-l5LblaYNrmTp_6yr4SY-hVN2YzN_Uz8n69VaccmrBgav1Yz-L3t_XqMV35CaluXYyzPP1-8UvO0_lOmQ5rjkUpsDXKb-4nzQRck6D9241Cp4/s1600/CIMG0046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWw2kIZQU0-1ivLK1MZlMbN51NegzZ7x-l5LblaYNrmTp_6yr4SY-hVN2YzN_Uz8n69VaccmrBgav1Yz-L3t_XqMV35CaluXYyzPP1-8UvO0_lOmQ5rjkUpsDXKb-4nzQRck6D9241Cp4/s320/CIMG0046.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">This was pretty much how we were :)</div><div style="text-align: center;">Thanksgiving 2007</div><div style="text-align: center;">Wichita, KS</div><img alt="Allison" border="0" src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad73/marinegirl0231/Blog%20Design/sig.png" />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4813049631549130771.post-79719883324137238882010-11-24T09:42:00.000-05:002010-11-24T09:42:23.911-05:00reality sucksIt really does. Just when I think I have a handle on my grief, reality comes and bites me in the ass. I realize all over again, that I really don't have a handle on anything and that Michael is really gone. Sometimes I get complacent in my bubble of numbness and I just absent mindedly (<i>is that a word?</i>) think that Michael is at work or he's deployed. It's only when I really think and really connect the dots together that I realize that Michael is dead. He died.<br />
<br />
In the beginning, all I wanted to do was look at pictures of him, stair into his eyes because that's what got me through. That's what comforted me. Now, when I look at pictures I see the happiness and love that we shared and I realized that we will never physically share that again because Michael is dead, he is gone. Then it starts all over again the hot iron is stabbed through my chest, the shortness of breathe and the tears.<br />
<br />
Last Friday was just a baddd day. I had truly felt as if I had taken one step forward and then reality pushed me 5 steps backward. I was driving to FGCU for my orientation. Traffic was sort of heavy because I pass by a school where kids are being dropped off. Out of nowhere, I see a white hearse. Just like the one that transported Michael from the airport to the funeral home to the church and then back to the cemetery. I automatically had flash backs from all of those scenarios. Going to the airport at night and going out onto the tarmac to watch his casket being taken off the airplane. It was so cold that night and I had a long black dress on that didn't help. I remember thinking that I should have been on that plane with him. I should have been there to escort him home. I remembered riding behind the hearse on the way to the cemetery after the funeral. I didn't cry at the funeral. I took a heavy dose of xanax and I was completely numb. I got up and gave the eulogy and didn't cry. But on the way to the cemetery riding behind my husband something inside me snapped and I was hysterical. The xanax was wearing off and I was feeling it more than ever. It all hit me like a tidal wave of emotion, all of those memories came fleeting back. It was just as painful remembering as it was to live during that time.<br />
<br />
Then as I was sitting at orientation, I realized that this is another chapter that I am beginning without Michael. I will be graduating from this school soon (<i>maybe the end of next year if all things go as planned</i>) and Michael won't be in the audience. He won't be there to help me study for exams, go over flash cards with me. He won't be there to read over my papers. He won't call in between classes. I am embarking on this alone. I am finishing something that we started together, and he won't be here to see me through. It was a struggle to hold it together in a room full of strangers.<br />
<br />
Then that afternoon, my brother came and visited me from Miami and we went to go see the new Harry Potter movie. Michael loved Harry Potter. He read all of the books and saw all of the movies. <i>Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows </i>was the last book Michael read and he wanted to see the movie soooo bad. I remember we went and saw the <i>Half-Blood Prince </i>together last year (<i>YAY! I still get to say "last year"!!</i>) and we were wondering if the next book would be split into two movies. I saw the preview for the movie a couple of times before and every time I saw it, I started to cry. How is it fair that I will be watching a movie that Michael wanted to see so bad? How is this movie here, but my husband isn't? Before the movie started I told my brother that Michael really wanted to see this movie and he replied "You know he's here watching it with us". I have a really good brother. Him saying that meant a lot to me.<br />
<br />
It's just been a struggle since last Friday. I feel like I am a million years old. Having all of those feelings and memories come back bring along Mr. Depression and his sidekick Anxiety. Ohh and how I hate those two!<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 26px; line-height: 30px;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></div></span><br />
<div><a href="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad73/marinegirl0231/Blog%20Design/sig.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Allison" border="0" src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad73/marinegirl0231/Blog%20Design/sig.png" /></a></div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13544827229578730992noreply@blogger.com2