I Used to be a Christian

“The other day, when I was reading something you posted, it hit me. YOU are the writer!”


I know, the title is going to get everyone’s panties in a wad.

Chill out.

Read it.

You’ll get it.

I am 36 years old.

I have one HELL of a story to tell.

I’m not sure I’ll make money off of it, but it I do, I’ll have to A: change the names of the people so I don’t have to get their consent to tarnish their names, or B: Get consent from people I love dearly, to drag their names through the mud, because it’s a part of my story.

I remember when I was little. I remember going to church and loving Sunday school. I remember coloring and playing with other kids, praying at night for all of my loved ones and even all the strangers I never met, and never would meet to be safe. I was naive. I believed that if I prayed for EVERYONE, everyone would be safe. Then, one day, I was in shorts and a t-shirt, accepting Jesus into my heart as my lord and savior, as I was dunked into a pool of water in front of a congregation.

I was 7.

I remember, because I remember the look on my dad’s face when I told him I wanted to be baptized. It was a look I craved. A look of acceptance, of love, pride and happiness. I believed that Jesus was good and God loved all of mankind.

The older I got, the more confused I became. It wasn’t because of outside influences. It was because of everything I had read in the Bible.

I’m not going to bash the Bible, or God, or Jesus, or Christians.

I guess, I am writing this to say a few things. I am one of those “think outside the box” types of person. I know. You probably never would have guessed it, am I right? ha!

I have read the Bible. I have read it cover to cover a few times.

It. Makes. NO. Sense. It’s about as contradictory as anything could be.

But that’s okay. MOST of it is good guidelines for how to be a good person.

Jesus was this totally rad dude, who helped poor people, sex addicts, drug addicts, thieves and more! He totally loved them and taught them how to be good people. He proved to them that the choices they were making weren’t the only choices set out for them. He showed them that, although a rough road, a possible road. Right?

Totally cool guy. Loving, accepting, nurturing.

One of those guys you aspire to be like. Right?

Well, you don’t have to BELIEVE the Bible, to believe in the main character. Right?

Either way, my “faith” is different than it was when I was a child.

I have lived. I have observed. I have survived, and have stayed pretty damn level headed in the process.

At the point where one would finally break, I, instead,  keep striving for better. Not to GET something better, but to BE something better.

When I was a child, I believed that I would forever be protected. Nothing bad could happen to cause heartache or sadness, or the things that I have experienced through my 36 years of life.

Boy, was I wrong.

I say something that I know may piss off a lot of people, but I believe it one hundred percent.

Everything happens for a reason.

I’m sure many people who are grieving right now want to reach through their screens and slap the ever-loving shit out of me, right now.

I believe it. You do not have to. But, I do. I always will.

I REALLY met Mitch at a point in my life where I was really ready to call it quits with dating. I honestly never wanted to see another man in a dating manner again. (That was my dramatic teenage mind)

He walked into McDonald’s, smiled his brilliant smile at me, and told me I was coming to his birthday party.

You read that right. He didn’t ask if I’d go. He told me I was going.

“Hey, What are you doing this weekend? Oh? going to my birthday party. Okay, We’ll pick you up at 6!”

I was stunned. I was shocked. I was ALREADY in love with that boy, and he didn’t even know. We were both 17 years old.

He walked into that McDonald’s on the most perfect night, with the best “invite” to a birthday party I had ever received.

I think if God is real, he laughed when I swore to all things holy that I would NEVER name my child Megan, when I was 15 years old…

Que the laughter…

My favorite human, aka my daughter, is Megan. I can’t even imagine her with a different name.

Just as I remember the first time he “asked” me out, I remember our last night together. I remember what he had for dinner. I remember what movie we watched. I remember the words he spoke, as if they were gospel.

I remember his hand as he held mine during that movie.

I remember the next day, when I walked… ran to the doors of the FedEx Hub only to be dragged into an office and told that he was gone. I remember thinking “There’s no way there is a god. There’s no way a god would take such a man from this earth. No way!”

I always joked with Mitch about how I didn’t remember life before him. I think I phrased it wrong. I remembered life before him, but it felt like another lifetime. Like everything was happening as it should .

When he died, I had that same feeling. Everything is falling into place. Everything is exactly as it should be.

I hate it. Megan hates it. Our families hate it.

But that feeling. Gawwwwwd that feeling.

I’ve thought so many times that if anyone knew how I felt, how I felt as thought this is meant to be, I’d be looked at as heartless.

Now, though, I know I am not. I know my family and my friends, my coworkers and my past coworkers know that I am not heartless.

Mitch, I believe, completed his mission here. Whatever his mission was, he completed it, and he did it FAST.

I can tell you that whoever was supposed to learn from him, learned well.

Whatever it was he taught, he taught it without knowing he did.

I feel like I was a part of his mission, but definitely not the whole of it.

He taught me to be kind, even when I didn’t want to be. He taught me to see everyone’s point of view, and not take sides. He taught me that I have the ability to be amazing, I just needed to put forth the effort. (still trying, babe!) He taught me, most of all, that good men did still exist. He taught me that there were really still good fathers. He taught me that I am so much stronger than I ever imagined I could be.

I could write a book about how much like Jesus Mitch was. He never “laid hands on” and “healed” people like the Bible says Jesus did, but he sure did heal people with his words, his kindness, his acceptance, and his love. He talked to everyone, and he helped everyone.

So, again, I say: I used to be a Christian.

Now, I no longer align myself with any one religion, but, I believe that something is out there. Something is in charge and we are mere pawns in a game.

Am I winning?

Am I losing?

I guess I will only know when I pass on to the next realm.

Until then, I will continue my path of love and acceptance. I will not intentionally harm anyone. I will cherish my family and friends. I will teach kindness, empathy, and happiness through example.




Widowhood and Sex after.

I’ve done a lot of reading since Mitch passed. I haven’t been reading books or newspapers. I’ve been reading blogs by many female widows. I was trying to figure out where I fall on the scale of grief and widowhood, and everything. I never agree with any widow, completely. I’ll find myself nodding along then all of a sudden, hard left! I then find myself screaming to these women, in my head, “no! You can’t say that! That’s no way to live!” But, it’s not my life. I just disagree with their thoughts.

I’ll start with the most recent one I read. Very interesting read, and I was 50/50 agree/disagree with her. She believes that we all only have one soulmate. I believe we have many many soulmates. I believe soulmates are souls you meet through life who compliment each other, or who are drawn to each other. We teach each other, and grow. Some soulmates are for a lifetime, and some are short lived. Mitch was one of my soulmates. We grew, exponentially, together. I liked to believe that I was an independent girl when we got together, but I was not. I was a hot mess. I drank all of the time, partied with some questionable people, and had dropped out of school. He loved me anyway! We grew into politics together. We had the same vast music tastes, but he was the one who found the new music, and would introduce it to me. He taught me how to be ME and not give a damn about what other people thought. This blog I read, said that the next man can have her love, her heart, and everything, but not her soul, because that was only for her deceased husband. That’s not fair. If a man that is that strong, that secure in himself, and that supportive is standing by you, he deserves into your soul as well. Who is to say he isn’t your second soulmate?

I have read blogs of widows who have zero interest in having sex at all. Young widows. Widows close to my age. I can’t imagine never having sex. That’s not something I’ve ever anticipated. I must just be a horny 34 year old. It is terrible!

I read one about how a woman went out, sought out a stranger to have a one night stand with. How do you sleep with a stranger? I can’t even imagine! I sought out a friend, a single, unattached friend. What happened happened, and it was good.  Really good. One time, to rid the body of the wanton desire, and step forward. Even though, afterward I wasn’t excited about not doing that again. There came a point where I couldn’t function because all I was thinking about was sex. Like, all fucking day, every day! So bad that the surgeons I work with were asking me if I was okay during surgery, because I was so spacey-brain, daydreaming about having sex! It was embarrassing! So, the second he invited me, I hopped in my car and hightailed it straight to his house.


Do I feel like a whore? No.

Do I feel like I did something wrong? Absolutely not.

Did I freak out, or cry afterward? Nope. We even talked about Mitch and the last month of his life. He was a curious one, and I commend his ability to ask the questions he so desired to ask.

Would this even be discussable if Mitch were still alive? Nope, because it wouldn’t have happened.

Am I going to tell anyone who I slept with? Nope. Never. He’s my little secret.

I wanted to tell family and friends, but I know what some feel about this topic. It makes some uncomfortable, and they feel like I’m doing something I shouldn’t. It’s okay. Seriously. This was a physical release that was very much needed. He’s not my boyfriend. There’s no real interest beyond physical, and it’s 99.9% never going to happen again. I am perfectly fine with that. It’s what I asked for from the start. But,  I couldnt look each person in the face and say the words. Each family member, and seeing their eyes judge me for something that isn’t really something to judge me for. There’s no cheating here. There’s nothing going against morals here. There is a scientific, hormonal release here. Easy as that.

I can’t promise I’d turn him down if he invited me to his place again, but, that’s not my focus. My focus has finally shifted! Sex is off the brain! I have had so much more focus at work, and that’s GREAT! I’ve cleaned my apartment, and all of the laundry! I’m back on top of the game! I’m flirty, but that’s nothing new. I’ve always been flirty. It’s my social strong point.

I think it’s important to say the things you want or need to say. I think it’s important to not have secrets, from the ones you love and care so deeply for, and even people you are just friends with. I believe it is very important to lay it out there, maybe without so much detail, but enough to get the gist. With that said, if I haven’t said I am interested in you, to your face, it’s because I am not interested in you. And really, that’s everyone. I am not interested in being anyone’s girlfriend, and  I’ve gotten the sex problem out of my system.

I chatted with one guy from high school, and asked him why the hell he was still single, because he seems to be quite the catch. He lives far away. I told him if he were closer, I probably would have asked him out already. He said he would’ve taken me up on that offer.  Most likely it wouldn’t have gone anywhere, but, I still said it! I also told him he needed to date a woman his own age. 😉

People may find my blunt honesty amusing, encouraging, inspiring, crazy (probably mostly this), or undesirable. I really don’t care. I’m already older than my husband was when he died. And I am only 34 years and 7 months old. I’m 2 months older than he was, when he died.  He didn’t say all the things he wanted to say. He held back, a lot! Now, I’m not going to say hateful things to people, to hurt feelings. I am not, nor have I ever been,  that kind of person.

I love people.

I love a strange,  variety of many different kinds of people.

I want to say, if a woman or a man tells you they think you’re hot, and you are uninterested, just say so. You aren’t going to hurt anyone that bad. Truly!

Also, if you want something, or are curious about something, JUST ASK! What’s the worst that can happen? Someone says “no”?   “No” only stings for a second, but going on without knowing could be worse than that.

Live without regrets, friends!

I have none.