I even tweeted and made it my Facebook status.

My friends were supportive and happy for me, but someone on Facebook, who I also see in real life, said “So I guess you’re pretty much over all that now I guess?”

Uhm, no.

Just because I have a pure moment of happiness and I decide to share it doesn’t mean I’m “pretty much over it.”

I’ll never “be over” my husband dying from a stupid accident anymore than I’ll be over my daddy dying from cancer.

I’m still grieving, still hurting. I just think that I’ve moved into another stage of it, one where I can be happy because I know Gregory would want me to be.

There are still moments when I hear a song or see something that makes me feel his presence so strongly that I can’t do anything but lay down on the floor and cry. Then there are the other times, when things make me smile and laugh because I know how much he would have enjoyed what made me happy too. And I know that both of these things will continue to happen as long as I am still on this earth.

Others who have been down this path have told me many times that days like these would come, and they have. Days when I can’t stop smiling, when my memories are filled with his smile and the sound of his voice. The other days they told me about have come too, the ones where I can’t get out of bed because all I can do is stare at his urn and wonder if I could have changed things, playing the “What if” game with myself. I call it bipolar grief. I never know what side of it I’ll wake to each morning.

I do know that I start my days, good or bad, with him near me. His spirit and love still live inside me, I touch the urn that holds his earthly remains several times a day, and I know that somewhere, he’s smiling at me.

And if that makes me crazy because it makes me happy, someone better call Nurse Ratched.

Cause I’ll be smiling back.

*Dorkalicious since 1969*

It’s also been 17 months today since Gregory died. What else can I say about that? I miss him and I love him everyday, not just on the 20th.

I think he would want me to have some joy today. So I’m going to. Provided by Mr. Jimmy Buffett. I’m going to waste away the weekend in Pensacola Beach at his new hotel. Thanks Jimmy !

Let’s put our party hats on and rock people …..

Hell yea!

Parasol’s is a bar/restaurant in the Garden District of New Orleans owned by a good friend of mine, Jeff Carreras. It’s actually more of a dive, really. But a good one. It’s the center for all activities during St. Patrick’s week in New Orleans. It’s the neighborhood place. It’s where no matter when I went, I knew someone there, and there was always a few hugs hug and some “dahlin’s” for me. Where else but Parasol’s would my wedding picture be on the website and behind the bar? Where else would be the best place in New Orleans to get a roast beef poboy? I’ve spent many a St Patrick’s Day, Saint Joseph’s day and Saint Kim and Gregory days at this fine establishment. Gregory and I eloped but had our “vow renewal/real  NOLA wedding/party” there. And now, it will be just another memory.

But new memories are to be made, and as Gregory would say, better days ahead. Jeff and company are moving to another location, larger and nicer, and the tradition that is Parasol’s will continue. I don’t think New Orleans knows any other way. Rebirth and rebuild. On August 29th, which incidentally is the 5th anniversary of Hurricane Katrina’s landfall along the Gulf Coast, there will be a second line from Parasol’s on the corner of Third and Constance to the new location. As there should be. Taking the old memories to the new and showing it how it’s done. And you better believe that this girl is gonna do her best to be in that number, and will surely be there for St Patrick’s Day 2011.

The best memories I have of Parasol’s though ? They’ll live forever …..

Laissez Lez Bon Temps Roulez y’all….

A storm that has raged inside of me for the last sixteen months, actually longer than that.

The waves began to churn and the horizon darkened when I found out my daddy had cancer.

The thunder rumbled as he began chemo, radiation, pills of all kinds, an endless parade of doctor’s.

Drops began to fall as quickly as the hairs fell from his head and the pounds dropped from his larger than life frame.

The rain blinded me and lightning struck when Gregory died, leaving me unable to see the shore.

The fog settled on me, pushing me down with it’s cold weight and blurring my sight of the life inside me that I thought surely was gone.

I sloshed along the shores of my grief and anger, often walking in circles again and again, looking for the sun, the moon, the light of anything good.

I began to see flashes along the horizon.

I felt the caress from a slight breeze of hope, a calm healing trade wind.

I began to feel the warmth of the sun, the goodnight kiss of the moon, the stars smiling on me.

I see the moon, and the moon sees me I would tell Gregory in my dreams.

Then the winds changed.

The clouds covered the moon, the sun, the stars.

The whitecaps returned.

The thunder grumbled across my mind like a hungry beast, it’s lightning flashing warnings in my brain.

Then the darkness came and took my father.

And the rain began again.

Slowly, but steady.

And it comes.

And it goes.

Like the waves, it comes crashing in and pulls back out, taunting my mind, my heart , my soul.

The storm brews in my soul still.

I will not drown.

I will not let it take me under.

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.

This year, I’m actually looking forward to it. Going to the lake, not the other part.

Like I said yesterday, roller coaster emotions. Last year I was clothed in the black veil of meh over G’s death, and though I took every chance I could to spend time with my daddy, I knew each time was once closer to the last. I think that while the agonizing wait for death propelled me to be with him it also somewhat pushed me away, because I couldn’t stand to see him suffer. It’s odd how things come full circle because he reacted the same way when my Granny was being taken away from us by dementia. This year I have to be strong not only for me, but for my mother. It will be another milestone for her without my dad. The Fourth is a big deal around our house, and anytime you live on the main drag of a huge lake, it should be. We’ll have a bit of the work taken off by my awesome cousins who are also hosting a shin-dig at their place, letting my mom relax and just enjoy time with the family. When we aren’t there she and I will cook, entertain family and friends, lay in the pool and take boat rides. We’ll smile and wave at the folks we know as they go by in the various boat parades. And I hope we’ll make more happy memories.

I’ve decided as such that I am Declaring My Independence from Dr. Lecter and any and all Grief Monsters that may try and impede on my celebration of good times and noodle salad.

Begone annoying grief bugs, no room for you in my life the next few days. I shall swat you with my electronic bug zapper and shoo you away with blasts from my always half full cup of whatever the hell I feel like drinking. I will try and be successful in having a good time and make that happen, snot filled sobs of grief and despair be damned. You may ambush me on another day, another time, but not in the next four. I refuse to give in to you. I must protect mah house. (that’s an Under Armour reference for you non-sporty folk)

And don’t go bothering anyone else either. Why don’t you take a long walk off a short pier? Stick a bottle rocket in your tailpipe and light ‘er up. Whatever you do, leave me alone. And my friends and family too.

We have memories to look back on, and more to make …….

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.