Day 72

It's been 72 days without Mike.
I've been through the funeral, the social security system, all the paperwork and it still doesn't feel right. I've lived through Mike's birthday and all the emotions and feelings of celebrating without him. This morning, the thought of cleaning out some of his things flashed across my brain.
Fuck. The guilt is unbelievable. I saw on Dr Phil (don't judge me, I watch him) that the amount of time you spend grieving after someone dies does not correlate to how much you love them. But still, the thought of touching his things still bothers me. His toiletry case still sits in the bathroom, his nightstand the way he left it, and a whole closet full of clothing sits untouched. I still sleep on only my side of the bed as if he's going to lay down and complain about me taking over his side. His laptop bag stills in the office, as if it's waiting for him to take it to work. Eventually, these things will have to be gone through and find a new home. What bothers me the most, is the wedding pictures, the family pictures, the furniture that we bought together. These things were timeless to me once, and now the thought of them not being on my walls in 20 years scares the shit out of me.
Someone at some point in the last 72 days has said to me "You'll remarry and eventually you're life will go on"
At the time, it was like lava in my belly. How dare they? My life isn't going to go on...my husband is dead for fucks sake. It's not like going the pound and getting a puppy after your dog dies, this was the man I was supposed to grow old with. And now I'm stuck without him and dealing with stupid people like you on my own.
But here I am, 72 days into being a widow, and the reality is I will go on. Because that's what Mike would want. He would tell me to throw his crap out and go on vacation or get drunk and live life to the fullest. He literally told me this once, when we talked about what to do if he passed.
I start tossing around the idea of moving, to give myself a reason to have to clean out his stuff. But the thought of leaving my home scares me even more. Mike drove a company vehicle that was returned to his company after his passing and besides his clothing and trinkets, the only tangible thing I have to remember him by is this house. The day we moved in is still fresh in my mind, the holidays, the birthdays, the everyday life in this house is a constant reminder of the love and life we had. So for now, I will stay in my bubble of a house and maybe get rid of his things slowly. Rebuilding our lives and remembering what an amazing man he was and will always be.

Fireworks and BBQ's

This past weekend was the 4th of July. Normal 4th of July activities for our family would have been going out to Mike's best friend's house. This year, we didn't go. I couldn't do it. The thought of driving out there and having my friends and family there celebrating, and him not be there was a disaster to me.
What did happen was I get to spend lots of time with my best friend and her family. Her in-laws have a party every year, and since we were home, I finally took her up on her invite. Liv had a great time, and ran around and acted like a normal kid. I drank beer, sat in a chair and watched all these people my age enjoy life. How dare they? I thought...How can they sit there and celebrate and be happy? Probably because their husband didn't just die, idiot. I love when I ask myself questions and then answer them.
My friend, god love her, forced me to play in the bags tournament they had going on. Bags? Not my forte. Mike and I played once in the backyard off the boards that my friends made for us for our wedding. That's about it. When Mike was alive, I never once noticed the age difference. Now that he's gone the age thing keeps hitting me in the face. All of these people are my age, and they hang out and drink beers, and play bags. I can't even remember once when I've done that.
So...back to the bags tournament. She pairs me up with this kid, who is your classic Wrigleyville bro. Immediately, I regret this decision. He's waaaaaaaay more into this tournament than I am. He walks over and shakes my hand, and I can tell by the look in his eyes- he knows. Great. I could kill my friend. She tells everyone my tragic story. I think she does it to help, but in reality I just wanna run away.
When I shake his hand, something happens....he's cute. He's really cute. He's tall, lean, I'd hit it. Immediately, I shake my head. "You're married asshole" runs through my mind. Wait a sec, no i'm not. The guilty feelings wash over me. Fuck he's trouble. I convince myself he's the antichrist. He has bodies in his basement, he has weird midget fetishes, he tortures animals in his spare time. Whatever I can to hate his guts, because he's the first guy to ever tickle my fancy since Mike died.
Of course...the exact opposite happened. The harder I tried to throw the game so we could stop playing, the better I was, and the more we kept playing. We took 2nd place overall.
As much as it kills me to write this, he has "It"  This imaginary feeling I get with all the important people in my life. My best friends, Mike, the minute I met them I knew that had "it" This feeling where I knew they would be an important part of my life. Not sure where this douchebag fits in, but I can tell he's a good guy. In the meantime, I'm gonna try my hardest to stay far far far away from him. I'm not ready to find anyone attractive, except for Mike Rodriguez. So much for a laid back no nonsense 4th of July.