As you get older, your friendships and your family ties are supposed to strengthen and mold into some type of safety net for your life. At least that’s how it happens on the big screen and in many books. Mostly fiction.

Real life is not always so warm and fuzzy.

It’s more of a sticky, syrupy haphazard obstacle course laid out like some game on which I find myself the pawn lately.

I’m tired of it. I’m making cuts. Severing ties. Doing for me. Me. ME. Or of you like the interwebz slang, MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE !

If you’re not aware, there is the asshole uncle saga.

The ex-wife and evil step-daughter saga’s.

The other family drama I have yet to blog about for fear of the nuclear bomb it will unleash upon my barely hanging onto the definition of family.

And now, as it has been before, the frenemies saga.

The people in this picture were my friends. Two of them were what I would have called best and lifelong friends.

They were my friends before Gregory and I fell in love. They were mutual friends of ours. If not for them, there would be no Kim and Gregory. P was Gregory’s friend for 30 years. They went to school together, they lived together, they were like brother’s. C was a teenager when she and P started dating and knew Gregory for just as long. The have a lake house three houses down from ours. Their home is a 1/2 mile from mine, their subdivision borders ours. I worked with them, I cried with them, I played with them. Some of the best memories of my life happened at their home and at the many Auburn games we went to with them.We were as thick as thieves at one point. In the beginning of our relationship, they were less than thrilled with G and I being together. I’m still not totally sure why. There were things said, feelings hurt, but in the end, the friendship prevailed. After we got married, we still hung out, but not as much, what with jobs, the kids, etc. Gregory and P had a falling out, and we tried to repair the damages to save the friendship, but things were always different. One of the reasons we stopped hanging around so much was because of the atmosphere and some of the people in their circle. It just wasn’t good for us. So we retreated into suburbia, soccer practice, weekends at the lake, and us. When G went into the hospital, these people were on a cruise. They came to the funeral. They were “here” for me, to a degree. But really they were here for themselves. They are toxic. They are the kind of people that cannot stand for others to be happy, because they are not. Even though it took me awhile to see that about them, I mourned the death of our friendship as I mourned the death of my husband and slowly tried to put them out of my mind.

And then came the estate battle.

I hadn’t heard from them in months. I had heard about them, oh yes. About them hosting my ex-husband at their home. About their digging into mine and Gregory’s business. Then they showed up at my father’s funeral. It wasn’t the time or place to confront them.

Two weeks after we buried my father, I saw them again. Sitting on wooden benches in a Shelby County courtroom, with Gregory’s ex-wife and my step daughter. Neither would meet my eyes. They sat in that courtroom and listened to the testimony. For what? I don’t know. Neither were privy to our business decisions, personal or otherwise. At that moment they were dead to me. Gone. Ghosts in the machine. I deleted their numbers, threw out anything that physically had anything to do with either of them.

Today while I was mowing my grass, I missed a call. From C. She left a voice mail. I haven’t talked to her in so long, I almost couldn’t place the cadence of her voice. But then I did. I recognized the drunken slur. The “Hey girrrrrl” she always started off with when talking to me drunk. She wanted to know “how the hell I was doing” and why she hadn’t heard from me all summer. Really? REALLY.

At first I was MAD AS HELL. She has some damn set of balls to be calling me after all of this. Then I was sad. I was sad for the past, for the life that I had before, when everything seemed so perfect. Then I was mad again, mad that one call could send me into an emotional tailspin, questioning my emotions, my decisions, myself. Mostly mad at myself. I am in charge of me, no one else. And the me that’s in charge says the hell with her, the hell with them. All of them. All of the people who cause me anger, grief, and to question myself. I don’t need them in my life. Not right now. Maybe never.

They are going away. To some far off corner in my mind where they can stir the pot of crap they bring with them and make mayhem amongst themselves. I’m not dealing with them anymore.

From here on out, its all sunshine and rainbows and unicorns farting cupcakes.

Or as close as I can get.

I sat and cried until snot covered my face and my body was curled into a ball on the floor while both dogs snuffled around me, trying to see what was wrong. I cried until the sobbing turned into dry heaves, and then I cried some more.

I cried because I wanted it to all be new again.

I wanted me to be new again. To be whole again.

Like I was here, like I had just arrived.

I cried because I know I can’t.

I cried because I’m selfish.

I cried because I want my husband.

I cried because I want my daddy.

I cried because I want all of the people back in my life who loved me and made me feel safe.

I cried because I felt so alone.

I want the ones that are still here to be here for me, to tell me they love me and no matter what they always will, no matter the family drama or stupid arguments over a damn fig tree or who did what to who or boathouses or any of the stupid shit that doesn’t matter.

I cried because I wanted my life back.

I cried myself to sleep and woke up on the floor with two terriers on either side, watching me with their big eyes, their tails cautiously wagging to and fro, as if testing the winds of my emotions.

I hugged them until the energy from their bodies give me a reason to get off of the floor.

Then I fixed myself a drink and went and sat out on the deck.

And as I sat there and the images of my life started to run through my head, I started to cry again.

Because I was thankful.

Thankful that I was born to an amazing family.

Thankful that I was given a life and a childhood that so many only dream of.

Thankful for the lifelong friends I have from Singapore and Mississippi and from my life now.

Thankful to have had Gregory for the time that I did, and for the love and the fun and the memories we made.

Thankful that I am healthy, have a job, a home, two cars, friends and people who love me.

Thankful that somehow I gathered the strength I never knew I had to get through this, one step at a time.

Thankful to be here.

Thankful to be me.

Even through it all, I’m still me. With the same goofy grin and dark scary hair I had in that picture up there. Older, not so sure about wiser.

Bruised, scarred and hurting.

A conundrum.

Clawing my way out of bed one day, bounding out and ready to take on the world the next.

But never giving up. Never.

I wasn’t made that way.

And for that, I am especially thankful.

I saw this today…..

I’m not sure what the preacher is going to say, but I know what I think.

When life touches death, it turns the sun and the sky a hazy shade of blackish-gray.

It turns the nights long and sleepless, every sound magnified as if ghosts are walking the halls where the ones you love used to tread.

It turns ” I don’t know”  into ” I really don’t care” with a side of “Can’t everyone just leave me alone with my misery?”

And then it starts to trick you.

It lets the sun break through, it might even let a bird sing and a smile and a laugh run fleetingly across your lips.

It lets you think that maybe you are getting better, that the hurt can’t ever hurt that bad again, at least not quite so much.

But never long enough for you to get comfortable.

“Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in!”

And in you go again, and again, and again.

I don’t think I know what the Sunday message will be for a lot of people, but I know what it’s been for me.

When life meets death here on this earth?

It’s hell.

I try not to sink into the abyss of depression. I try to not let “woe is me” become my mantra. I try, mostly successfully, to put on a smile and face the world outside my home by being the Kim I once was. Most days I leave her at the door when I re-enter my sanctuary. But some days, the old me stays with me a bit longer. I laugh, I have fun with friends, I think about the future past the next twenty-four hours.  I actually go for a walk, attempt to get back into my exercise routine, try to be the person that I want to be again.

But at the end of the day, I am alone.

The standard definition of a widow is : A widow is a woman whose spouse has died. A man whose spouse has died is a widower. The state of having lost one’s spouse to death is termed widowhood or (occasionally) viduity. The adjective is widowed.

I find that I have gone through a period of sorts with the whole thing. At first, when asked if I was married I would nod my head yes. Then, as the months wore on, I would hear my voice saying, “No, I’m a widow.” Now, I have circled back to nodding and then actually saying “yes”.

Random Human : “Are you married?”

My voice : “Yes.”

The blinking red neon sign in my brain : “But he’s DEAD, DEAD, DEAD.”

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

My inner voice: “But I am married.”

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

The sign in my mind has no off switch, I have found. No dangling cord for me to pull on, no switch to flip. It blinks at the most inconvenient times. At work, in the shower, at the store, at 3am while trying to sleep but the messages of worry and woe that the sign displays are so bright and piercing that they flash behind my eyelids like a shard of glass in the sun. Today it hummed to life whilst I was speaking to the two nice census takers that innocently interrupted my breakfast. When it came to the question of how many people resided on April 1st in this big rambling house, I could see them exchange a look when my answer was simply “one”.

My marital status?

“I’m married.”

Another look.

“Well, I’m actually a widow, so I guess that’s the box you need to check.”

An uncomfortable look. The downward glances. The inevitable “We’re sorry for your loss.” Then, the tables are turned, and I’m the one comforting them.

“Oh it’s ok, thanks. I’m fine.”

Neon sign : LIAR. LIAR. LIAR.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

I hope the bulbs burn out eventually, the power that supplies it shorts out, I figure out how to sabotage it, something.

Until then, I live with it. I tolerate it.

There’s probably a pill that will make it go away, seems like there’s a pill for everything, so why not ? I tried something, briefly, but it wasn’t for me. I am one that wants to feel, wants to deal with the pain, not suppress it, where I fear it will fester and come roaring back after me with the ferocity of a lion.

So I go on about my days, my mind bathed in it’s glow, like some kind of internal tanning bed, lamenting my viduity.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

Mentally check your calendar to see if there is any reason to get up and deal with the world today.

Silently curse the reason there is.

Shower. Brush teeth. Try not to stare at his toothbrush, his razor, his stuff sitting on his sink. Smile at your favorite picture of the two of you wedged in the mirror to check your teeth.

Dress. Try to wear matching shoes and remember to button and zip everything. Maybe even brush hair.

Keys. Where the hell are they ?

Notice the clock. Peel out of driveway at warp speed.

Pick up the phone to call the attorney, bank, probate court, people who want money.

Where the hell is the phone?

Turn around, warp speed home. Silently curse more.

Decide to go to bedroom door instead of through garage for time management. Get to bedroom door. Reach in pocket for key.

Where the hell is the key ?

In the ignition of the car. That’s still running. That you actually remembered to put in park. (this time)

Get key.

Enter.

Get phone.

No missed calls. No one calls anyway. Who call’s for death?

Stand in middle of room because you can’t remember what to do next.

Oh. The world. Right.

Smile at picture again. Kiss urn goodbye, say out loud ” See you later baby ! ”

Get to car.

Locked.

Keys hanging in bedroom door.

Curse LOUDLY.

Get keys. Warp speed out into the world.

Hello world.

Smile. Nod. Smile.

Keep nodding.

Say hello !

I’m fine !

Thanks !

How are you ?

That’s great !

Wow !

Yes !

See you later !

I’ll be ok !

Nod.

Smile.

See a person wearing scrubs from the hospital he died at.

Look away.

Tell yourself don’t think about IT.

Don’t even go there. IT wasn’t your fault.

What if I’d …….

I said stop, didn’t I ?

Smile.

Nod.

Get an overwhelming urge to hide in the bathroom until they force you to come out.

Suppress the urge.

Go into a store. Hear a song he used to sing (off-key) to you.

Leave store like your behind is on fire. Wipe tears.

Say the hell with the day.

Go home.

Get mail.

Look at bills. Read letters addressed to “The Estate Of……”

Laugh and say something about blood and turnips.

Bubble bath. Relax.

Look over at the counter where he’d sit and talk to you while you were in the bubble bath.

Close eyes. Stop thinking about it.

Pajamas.

Hungry.

Oops, didn’t go to the grocery store. Was running low on smiles and nods, couldn’t take it.

Hello Pizza Man.

Talk to the friends that live in your computer and watch happy TV shows where no one dies.

Get back in bed.

Toss and turn.

Can’t get comfortable.

Can’t turn mind off.

What was that creak ?

Who just said my name?

Sleep.

Dream. There he is ! Happy dreams. Mostly.

Til 3 am.

Hello Insomnia !

Milk. Maybe a cookie. Or peanut butter. Or cheese. Possibly both.

Play Words With Friends.

Get sleepy.

Fall asleep.

Wake up. Reach over …….

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Bullet-List example …..

• I overheard a woman in the store bitching about her C-PAP machine and how uncomfortable it was, and she just couldn’t figure out how her breathing could effect her sleep…..while she was buying CIGARETTES. I felt like jamming them up her ass and setting a lighter to her nostrils.
• A woman leaving Target with her small son in 38 degree weather, telling him it was his fault he was cold because he was “Mr. I won’t wear a jacket.” Hey MOM ? MOM = you are the PARENT. Make him wear one. Or do us a favor and don’t breed again. Break even on the gene pool please.
• A woman in front of me who threw a McDonalds cup out the window at a red light, while her two kids watched from the back seat. I got out, picked up the cup, and politely as I could told her to keep her trash to herself when I felt like slapping her dumb ass. Instead I told her I was reporting her to DHR for being an unfit parent. Chew on that with your Big Mac, biatch.
• I spent 15 minutes in Belk at The Summit last night looking at clothes while the sales clerk hung up new stock whilst chatting away on her cell phone. I was looking for something in particular and not once did she acknowledge my presence. I took my purchases downstairs to customer service where I paid and asked them to explain to her what that term means and to tell her to tell Kesha that I hope that rash clears up.
• If you’re still going to write a freaking check at Publix – please for the love of all that is good have your ID in your hand with your check ! Don’t send your child out to the car to get it out of the cup holder while I’m behind you or next time,  I may be using your anus as a corkscrew for that pinot noir I was trying to buy.
• People that cannot make a simple decision without checking in via phone with their significant other for every.single.detail. Who dials for you when you need to see if it’s ok to wipe your ass ?
• The media. Must we blow EVERY single thing that happens across the world into OMG IT’S A TRAGEDY AND WE MUST ALL EMPTY OUR BANK ACCOUNTS? I love a good drama but I usually only like to see Geraldo once or twice a week.
• Methodist’s (or anyone claiming to be a “good christian” ) in self-righteous, lying, money grubbing sheep’s clothing. Yes, I mean you. And the rest of your family. Hypocritical asshats, all of you. But please, keep reading! I have much more to say to you.

So that’s what’s lighting my fuse today. I honestly think it’s a combination of stress, worry, the upcoming death-a-versary and just life in general. Maybe once my two spring breaks arrive and I get a change of scenery I’ll have a change of attitude. Until then, to quote Jack Nicholson in one of my favorite movies evah ,  ”Sell crazy someplace else, we’re all stocked up here.”

…and I was there to see it. It was a moment I will never forget, and one that I will cherish forever. In the city I love, surrounded by my close friends, and basking in the feeling of so many that feel the same way. Grown men crying, strangers hugging strangers, screaming so loud until our voices were hoarse, and cries of “Who Dat” filling the streets. It was one of the most emotional moments I think I’ve ever experienced. And it wasn’t just football. It was the city, the memories, the two men that shared those memories in that city with me. I was crying for my team, but I was crying for them. I was crying for my grandparents, my great aunt. All of the people who passed their love of the city onto me. I felt them with me. And it felt good.

Yes, I know what it means to miss New Orleans.

But I also know she lives within me. And I am never alone.

Who Dat.

The impact the death our loved one had on us. The impact of the illness, the dying, the finding out, the funeral,etc,etc. Everyone has a different impact, even though so many of our circumstances are the same.

I have impacts from it everyday. I call them aftershocks. Yesterday, I opened a drawer in the kitchen and the knob came off in my hand. I’ve been asking G to fix that damn knob for 6 months. That little aftershock produced a wave of grief that sent me to the kitchen floor for a good 20 minutes. Then I got up and went to work.

At work, someone told me I was strong and that I was a rock at Gregory’s funeral. I guess I was. I wasn’t medicated, I wasn’t anything. I think I was just in shock. I’m a rock alright, when you can see me. When you can’t I’m like a big blubbering grief sponge. As another blogger recently said about himself, I can grieve like a Ninja.

I think that’s why I feel so odd at this group. Some people can’t even talk without crying or just bursting into sobs. I’ll admit I did tear up a bit last night, but so far I haven’t cried or anything. And it’s not that I can’t….I do. I just do it with me. I’m scared of the day that I can’t control it anymore.

But even though my aftershocks are often and devastating now, the lasting impact that Gregory had on my life will never go away…

*Love
*Happiness
*Smiles
*great memories
*comfort
*self-confidence

Thank you baby for every second we had,even through the bad, we came back to the good. Thank you for having an everlasting impact on my life. Thank you. I love you.