I will apologize in advance, for this post. I have so much to say, and haven’t really thought it through, yet.
I have found myself in tears, a lot the last couple of days. I think my strength is dwindling, with the migraine I’ve had. I found myself on Mitch’s facebook page, looking through old videos and photos. Man, I miss him so much! His goofy smile, his “everything will be fine” mentality, his warm hug, that made everything really feel like it was going to be fine.
As I scrolled through the pictures on his facebook, laughing at the memes he made or shared, the pictures of him and Megan, and the ones of us, I realized, I can tell you things that happened the days that most of those pics were taken. I can tell you that in this picture, we had argued, right before getting out of the car, at his Aunt Cindy’s house. I don’t remember what we argued about, but I remember we were having a tiff. All ended up fine, as it always did with us. I mean, who can stay mad at those dimples?
I have been thinking a lot. My brain has been in overdrive, and I just lay here, and think, “This is really happening? This is really my life? Why? What the hell did I do? Why does whoever is in charge think this was necessary? This sucks! I am strong, but damnit, I don’t want to be!”
Things like this are a regular cycle through my head, recently.
A small part of me is still hoping this is a joke. Or maybe Mitch witnessed something, and is actually in the witness protection program. But, my realistic mind overrules those thoughts. I know what’s real. No matter how much I wish it wasn’t, this is fact. Mitch has passed on, and is without pain or worries. He is free. He is with his mom, grandmother, and many of the greats.
I am here. Meg is here. We are making the best of this situation. We are not just surviving, we are THRIVING. We are being the best that WE can be. We are working to better ourselves each day, with every step and every human encounter we make.
As I lay here, and mourn the loss of such an inspiration to my life, I know it is just my selfish nature, wanting to keep him just for us. He was MINE, and I only shared with Megan. When she was born, he became OURS.
I read, quite a bit, like I’ve said in previous blogs. I actually read a new one, within the last couple of days about “Widows should only date widowers.” My initial thought was “WHAT? WHY??” Then, “NO THANK YOU!” As I read along, and it makes quite a few points about why it should be that way, I still disagree. I think that the right person for any widow or widower, will be the person who is the strongest, and the one with the most understanding. It’ll be the person who doesn’t get jealous over a deceased spouse. It’ll be the one who says “Let’s go to *insert place here* and take some ash!”
It doesn’t have to be a widower. It doesn’t have to be someone who “understands”. It just needs to be someone STRONG. Someone who is willing to understand YOU as a person grieving, and know that there can be a bond, but a different kind of bond that you shared with your deceased love.
I am going to talk about Mitch, probably until the day I die, because he was hilarious, and such a HUGE part of my life, not to mention, he fathered my amazing daughter. So, STRONG and secure in oneself, are a must, when it comes to that point in my life. And, honestly, who knows when I will ever be to the “dating” point? It could be months, it could be years, it could be never, or tomorrow?
It’s funny, when I think about dating. I had seriously sworn off all men, the night before Mitch came into McDonald’s and invited me to his 18th bday party. Sworn. Off. All. Men! I was done! I had it and didn’t even care to talk to them.
Then, in walked Mitch with his dazzling (ornery) smile, with those dimples to die for.
It was over. I was finished. We were going to get married. Plain and simple. I knew it, and I hadn’t even kissed him yet. But, I sure had plans to put my lips on him. And I did. In front of ALL of his friends. I don’t think one person, at his birthday party, missed our first kiss.
And then came our very brief “dating”. We took Michael and Katy to their skate parties, because going with a super awesome big brother and his girlfriend is WAYYYYY cooler than going with the dreaded parents.
Our first movie date is questionable. We can’t remember if it was Coyote Ugly at the Drive in, or Bring It On at the theater. Neither of us could remember. We didn’t actually care.
I remember walking in front of some strip mall somewhere, and we used to write things on the palm of each other’s hands, with our fingertips, and try to guess what we were spelling.
That was how he told me he loved me, for the first time.
I remember our first apartment, together. We were insane! We picked one of the most expensive complexes with one of the most expensive layouts we could find, and only lasted about 3 months there. We were 18, and had our 17 and 16-year-old friends move in with us. We all lost or quit our jobs. How does one pay rent and bills without a job? hmmmm….
We moved out.
After that, for Mitch and I, it was a downward spiral with bills and bill collectors, and we were sued once for a car accident, in which our car insurance company dropped us instead of paying for the other car to be repaired! We were so broke that we nearly lost our shit when we were sued for $1,000. Really? We couldn’t manage that? I worked at mcd’s, he worked at Two Men and a Truck. I think collectively, we made about 36,000 a year. Then, I was put on bedrest, about 2 months before Megan was due. Pregnancy and I didn’t get along. Reason number 1 that we didn’t have more children.
Luckily, the older we got, the better we became with taking care of our bills in a reasonable manner. But, enough about that. Bills and money are boring, when it’s not about winning millions, or earning millions.
Many of you read this each time I post a new blog, some may not, and that’s okay. If this is your fist time reading, It is important to know that my husband was 34 when he died from heart failure. His heart just stopped ticking. Now, you’ll understand the next part of this story.
I have been very busy. I have been to Georgia, near St. Louis, and in Fort Worth and Dallas, TX. That’s just in the last month. I have taken a vow to better health. I have hired a trainer (JRenFitness) and have been trying my damnedest to keep up with the regime. Sometimes it’s hard to keep up, because of my job, but I try. I think I may have overdone it recently, so I am happy to be taking a mini-break. I am planning 3 or 4 more travel weekends soon, for racing. But first, I go to Florida with my family. I am excited to do workouts at the butt-crack of dawn on the beach. It will be our first family vacation, ever. It’ll be my first time seeing the ocean. It’ll be my first time in Florida. There will be a lot of firsts that Meg and I will do together.
One thing we will not shy away from? Talking about her dad. I am sure there will be very emotional times, while we are there. I am sure we will laugh. I am sure we will cry. I am sure we will have an amazing time.
We. Are. Still. Alive.
When I was in the ER for this terrible migraine, they came in to ask me all the questions for billing, and they asked “Is your emergency contact still Mitch Wood at…” and I started crying, and said no. Of course the next question was “marital status, still married?” I said “no, widowed” and kept crying. I didn’t think that qeustion would effect me as it did, but it did. And I was alone in the room with the poor girl taking all of my information.
Now, it’s weird for me to think of myself as “single” because that word is so much less than what I am. I am not with anyone, anymore, but I am a complicated mess of human emotion. I will never be “normal” again. And that’s okay. Who wants “normal” anyway? “Normal” is overrated.