I’ve had it with being a professional griever. Five years ago today, my husband Tim died. In case you’re a new reader, it wasn’t expected or peaceful or anything like a Nicholas Spark’s novel. It was a raw, real drug overdose. I found him. I called 911, and did the chest compressions even though the second I touched him, I knew. In the five years following that it’s almost comical the things that I’ve lost. All of the three dogs…
I am, to put it mildly, a bit of a planner. Some might even throw around the words “control freak,” although that sounds fairly harsh to me. I prefer meticulous, driven by detail, thorough. It’s no surprise then that I had a plan for my widowhood. In my grief, I doubled down in planning and control. My best friend was ripped away from me, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. With him went the safe, idyllic life…
When I feel like I’ve been robbed of something, I try to focus on the things to be thankful for. It sounds pious, but I assure you it’s not. Rather, I have to concentrate on the amazing experience that was Tim and Simon instead of feeling like I’ve had all my happiness ripped away from me. Because frankly, I feel like I’ve had all my happiness ripped away from me. Yesterday was my local horse show organization’s year end banquet….
There are a lot of things I want to express in this post, but I also know I don’t have a ton of mental energy to accurately do that. So, let me tell ya’ll this. On Monday, I picked up a package from my mailbox that was both unexpected and large. In it was the most beautiful book of my horse beautiful horse, which I sobbed over. Like, I sobbed so hard it took me three times flipping through the…
I went to the barn today. I thought it would be terrible, I really did. I was supposed to go a week ago for the barn holiday party and yearly awards, but I couldn’t bring myself to face his empty stall when everyone was drinking and having a good time. So I sent my trainer my regrets, and put off going back until I felt like I couldn’t put it off anymore. When Simon first died, things were pretty bleak…
Moving on looks like many different things. Last week for me, it looked like soup bowls. I’m not one to buy a lot of new kitchenware. It’s expensive, and I don’t even currently own a dining table of any kind. The chances of me setting up a spread with formal china are about as likely as my chances to make the short list for World Cup — it ain’t happening. The plates I use every day are the same ones…
I don’t think I’ve ever been in a situation where all of my friends in my immediate surrounding are writers. It’s not that I haven’t had writer friends before grad school. I have — I’ve known writers my entire life. They’ve been this lovely, obscure group of people that I can gush about books with and don’t blink at the idea of making jello shots for a poetry reading of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner turned musical when paired with…
I could write a lot about what’s been going on in the last month, but I’m not. If I did, it would be a mashup of margaritas, anxiety, bad dates, long walks, mental health and palm trees. Maybe soon, but today I want to talk about headaches. My mom has always suffered from migraines. When we were little kids, she would get quiet in the car and tell us that she wasn’t feeling well. After that it was the fastest…
I’ve been a west coast resident for an entire month. So obviously, I’m tanner and I’m thinner than I was when I left Austin. That’s just what happens here. Something in the air. Don’t hate the beautiful people! Jokes aside, I am starting to get in a better place with my health. To help Pascale cope with losing her big backyard and barn time, I walk the dogs 2-3 miles a day. Plus the university’s baseball complex by my apartment…
People tend to show their love and wealth through possessions. One of the first things I did when my Dad visited this past weekend was to hand him a few trinkets I bought him from Japan. Even as I bought them, I knew that they weren’t items he wouldn’t be able to live without but I felt it necessarily to come back with something. To me, coming back with a few items in plastic bags with foreign script says I was…
Sunday is the two year anniversary of Tim’s death. In the two weeks leading up to this milestone, I dreamt about him often. I dreamt that I was in a van traveling up the east coast, carrying his suitcase and things around with me. He traveled with me in the cargo area, but nobody else could see him. I asked him if he was upset he died young. “I accomplished a ton before I died,” he said. It was something…
This time of year in the land without true seasons, Texas is a slur between spring and summer. Days start dipping into the 90’s and the air is a thick slug of humidity from the thunderstorms and rain that linger from spring. The bluebonnets are long gone, but they’re replaced by wild sunflowers that grow everywhere. Two years ago, I was driving around with Tim to the hill country. He had rented a cabin outside of Fredericksburg for us as…