Dear Mitch,

 

I know you are probably looking down at me wondering “what he hell are you DOING?” OR “Don’t! Not him! He’s a moron!”

Don’t worry. I’m not.

Not with him, or with him.

It’s okay. You remember, I like guy friends. I always had more male friends than female friends, growing up.

I think I have an equal amount of guy/girl friends, now.

But I do like dating. I like meeting all the new people, which is weird, but not too weird, since you know me.

I miss you, tremendously. I have this empty spot in my bed, that only you could fill. I prefer not sleeping next to someone, even if we have sex. I send them home, or to the couch. No, I’m not whoring it up. I just have sex every now and then with one guy.

You’re probably laughing at me, or wondering what the fuck is happening in my head because he’s so much younger. But, you also know, I have always said “If he’s old enough to buy me a drink… Legally… then he’s old enough for me!” Of course, back then, I was referring to the celebrities on TV (cough cough Zac Efron cough cough). haha!

I miss talking about the hot guys on TV and having your unnecessary, jealous stare. It was so funny. You would get so offended about the celebrities I would never meet. I would do it on purpose, just to get a rise out of you. Why? Because I LOVED that you were jealous. Your slight jealousy was comforting. I knew I’d never lose you. At least not to another woman.

I appreciate you. I appreciate all of the patience you held when I was freaking out, right after we got married. When I got “cold feet” post wedding vows. When “forever” sounded like a life sentence. You were there, but not all over me. You allowed me the space I needed, to clear my mind and really figure out who I was, and what I wanted.

Can you even believe that I thought I was a lesbian? I still laugh at that! I was REALLY freaking out about being married. Then, I reminded myself, it was you. YOU. The best of the best. No one other human on this planet could handle me. Not like you did. You spoiled me, in so many ways. Not materialistically, either.

You spoiled me with love. You showed me that good men DO exist, and let me tell you, I can spot them. You spoiled me by doing for me. After a long day at work, you made me mixed, fruity drinks, and ran me a bath with epsom salt. Not because you were trying to get in my pants, but because you loved me. You wanted me to be happy and felt that I deserved to relax.

Oh, remember when we gave each-other massages? That was so long ago. Like in our early 20s! haha! it got to a point where you would give me a massage first, then I would fall asleep and never give one back. Big mistake on my part, because you finally quit giving me massages, and I developed carpal tunnel.

Remember the Christmas 2003, when we decided it would be funny to tell everyone that we were having a baby? hahahahaha!! Oh man! That was so hilarious. Then, in January, we were pregnant. Easy as that. We found out March 3rd, but, still. It happened so fast.

I remember the conversation we had. We were on I35 in 75th street exit. It was Christmas, 2003. We decided we were strong enough, together, to handle ANYTHING. We decided to stop PREVENTING pregnancy.

Oh man. It happened so fast. We had the most perfect little baby. Oh,  I bet you’re freaking out, when you see her, now. I do have to say, at least she’s covered! She has a mouth like her mother, and the wit of her father. She will go far in life.

I am so glad you were able to stick around long enough for her to know, and remember how amazing you were. I am so glad that I won the bet that got me a baby before I turned 22 (actually 18 days after my 22nd birthday, but who’s counting?) If you won that bet, I would have been a widowed mom to a 4 year old! It goes to show that my belief in “everything happens for a reason” is real. I needed to have a preteen. I needed a well rounded kiddo. I needed a kid who understands far beyond her years. And that’s what we had. We had the perfect-for-us child. Weren’t we lucky? Aren’t I lucky, in that way?

Everyone always says, “I’m so sorry for you!”

I bite my tongue, because I want to ask why. “Why are you sorry that I was able to spend all that time with the most amazing man on earth?” I got 16.5 years with you! That was half your lifetime!

There are so many women who don’t have the luxury I have, of saying, “I found my perfect match. My perfect love. Someone who loved me unconditionally.” I have that! I had that. I was able to feel that. I was able to live that. I was so fucking lucky!

It’s so weird to say that, though. People are always so good at twisting words to make things sound bad.

I was so fucking lucky in the way that I met you, had you, loved and was loved by you.

I was unlucky that you died.

But the beauty is that I was able to know you. I was able to have and to hold you.

You taught me how a man should treat a woman. Hell, you taught Meg how a woman deserved to be treated.

Amazing.

You will forever live in my mind and heart, and the hearts of so many who knew you, as amazing.

Ah

Maze

Ing!

My inspiration to be a better human.

My everything.

I miss you.

I am so glad that I had the opportunity to be graced with your presence.

I am so happy that I had the ability to be loved and spoiled by you.

Thank you.

Thank you for teaching me.

When you died, I thought I was done. I would never get to a point in my life where I could allow feelings for anyone again. It isn’t worth it, I would think to myself. I was mentally crippled by the loss of your presence in my life.

My mind said “WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING??? How do I DO this?” I also had thoughts along the lines of “no one will want me.” But I didn’t care. I bought baggy clothes and hid my body so no-one would even WANT to look.

Those thoughts are pointless.

More importantly, I want you to know, that I hope you are proud of who I am, who I have become. I hope you are proud of my strength and ability to find happiness in such an awful experience.

There are days when I wake up in the morning, and really try to wrap my mind around the fact that you’re no longer here.

Every time I have that thought, my entire body reacts. It’s like I KNOW it is true, but my mind and my soul still refuse to believe.

That’s the impact you’ve left in my life.

With that, I must go to bed.

I will love you always.

I will forever cherish the memories we shared.

You will forever be in my mind and heart.

Love you always,

Ms. Tabbie Wood

 

 

 

 

Social Media VS The 34 Year Old Widow. 

So, out of sheer curiosity, I wanted to check out dating apps, to see what I have to “look forward to” when I am ready to date. I downloaded three, set up 2, and had them for 3 days. 

No!

Stop it! 


I laughed, so hard, for a couple of hours, last night. (Sorry Mehgan, and Katy, but we were laughing far too hard at that one idiot…) Many Guys are stupid.

Entertaining, but stupid. 

I have deleted these apps. 

I hold nothing against anyone who uses them for hookups, and such, but, this is not, and probably never will be for me. 

I guess I’m just old school, like that. I can’t look at a picture of someone and a 200 character description, and be like, “yeah. That person sounds interesting!” Meh. 


I guess, for me, I need to see the way they walk. Do they walk with confidence, or are their shoulders slumped? 

How do they talk? Accent? Intelligence? Or slang-whores? 

Body language. Where are their eyes when they speak? I love reading people. You can’t read people through pictures, or text messages. 

Anyway. It’s a good thing I’m not looking, because I would be totally out of it, and discouraged. 

When it comes time, and it may be quite a ways down the road, most likely, I’m going to meet people the old fashioned way. 

In person.

 I remember when I ACTUALLY met Mitch. Always in the cafeteria, with his camera, and his scraggly long-ish hair. He was always making silly jokes, and pretending to take pictures of me. I never saw him with his shoulders slumped. He was always smiling, and laughing with his friends. That adds so very much to one’s attractiveness. It gives you an idea of how someone really is. You sit back, and observe. 

Right now. My focus is Megan, my family and friends, our health, and work. Strengthening myself in each of these areas is time consuming. 

Plus, my heart, soul, and mind aren’t ready for dating. I won’t be ready for a while. And that’s okay. 

Even though I joke about sex, on a VERY regular basis, that’s exactly what it is. Joking. This behavior is one of the many reasons I was always “one of the guys”. 


Nothing has changed. People may just notice it more, because I am widowed. I post things on social media, just like I have always done. (Thank you for pointing that out, Tracey.) The difference is this: Mitch isn’t responding, so maybe my sexual posts are taken wrong. Maybe it looks distasteful? It’s okay. It’s the same shit I’ve always done, it’s just different without Mitch’s goofy ass responses, that I was always excited for. 

Everyone always told Mitch and I that they loved our social media banter, and our presence. 

Now, my social media presence is one sided. We played off of each other so often, calling each other names, and being silly. At the risk of sounding cocky, we entertained many people. (Or, so we were told, often.) 

Here’s to taking each step, one after another. 

Here’s to making my current relationships (with friends and family) stronger, and healthier. 

Here’s to furthering my career!

Here’s to making this life I was dealt, a  good, great, and happy one. Or as good, and happy as I can make it. 

Every single day brings new thoughts, new feelings. New hopes, or dashed dreams. Each day differs in how I will react to anything. I can watch videos of Mitch’s ash being spread and giggle one day, because the ash blew funny, or bawl my eyes out the next day, because it hurts so fucking bad. I am an emotional roller coaster. But I’m here. I’m trying to be positive. Mitch always showed me the silver lining. Some days, I really struggle to find that silver, but I always find it. 

5 Months Without Mitch.

While Mitch was alive, I was always worried that I would die before him. I was afraid that I would die, and leave him a single father, caring for our daughter. I was afraid he was cursed, you know. I didn’t want to die and leave him a widower. That wouldn’t be fair. He lost his mom, when he was very young. He grew up, pretty rough. 

That day, when I drove out to FedEx, exactly 5 months ago, and the officer dragged me into an office, and told me he was found, unresponsive, I was broken. I was broken, but, I was also relieved that I didn’t die, and leave HIM broken. 

I can’t say that he would be doing better or worse, right now, in this position. I CAN say, that I am so glad he doesn’t have to be the one going through this. That would not have been fair for him, at all. And, yes, I know that life isn’t fair. 

Someone posted this photo, on Facebook, and they said “thoughts?” 

I responded with this: 

“I’ve been widowed for almost 5 months. I am breathing, standing, walking, climbing, running, sprinting, hurdling, etc. it sucks so so so bad! But here’s my reasoning: My husband was the kind of man who made the BEST of EVERY situation. It didn’t matter what the situation was, he looked at the silver lining. He found the good that came from every bad thing. He taught me to do the same. With my husband’s death, at the young age of 34, of natural causes (heart failure), many many family and friends flocked to their doctor, to have their hearts checked. Some found they were healthy as could be, others found they needed further checking, because their white blood count was off, or their whatever was bad. It’s been a hell of a ride this last 4.95 months, and I am heart-broken, but I have a 12 year old daughter who NEEDS me! My husband has passed on, so he no longer NEEDS me. He would NOT have wanted me to screw up my and our daughter’s lives, because I am sad, or heartbroken, or have depressed days. He would have said “look, Tabbie, my death saved my dad’s life!” Because it DID! So, I will sprint, and breathe, and walk, dance and stand. Some days I may wobble, or fall, but I will keep putting one foot in front of the other. I hate this, but I will SURVIVE! We all will.”
I feel like people believe I make widowhood look easy. I don’t try to. This isn’t easy, at all.  I try to live each day. I try to make our lives happy, even when we are sad. I go through times where I feel guilty for thinking other men are attractive, or if I have sexual thoughts about them. I also know that having those thoughts and feelings are totally normal. I am only 34! I am a HEALTHY 34. I am not acting on each thought. That’s where we would have a problem.  But, thinking about things is not a crime. It’s just something that happens. 

Again, not easy. 

One income. I’ve had people say, “Well, there’s one less person, so one less income shouldn’t be too bad.” Well, when you are used to living with double the money you have, it is a TOTAL adjustment! 

I know, that the things people say, are meant to be comforting, and coming from some people, it is comforting. When it comes from someone I am not close to, it doesn’t come out like that. It isn’t taken like that. For some reason, it really is irritating. 

I have always known that I adapt to change pretty well. I typicallyvadapt to change better than most people I know. However, I didn’t realize how well adapted I am, until it was brought to my attention, that I am USED to sleeping alone, already. I have no desire to have someone sleeping next to me. I thought I was going to need friends to sleepover, in the beginning, and I never did. Meg and I slept on an air mattress together for nearly 3 weeks, and both of us got so uncomfortable, she started sleeping on the couch, until we moved into our apartment. I have reverted back to being a bed-hog. I am regretting my decision, to buy a queen bed, rather than a king. I had a king bed, when I was a teenager. I think when Meg gets a “new bed” it’ll be my bed, and I’m getting a king. All that room! 

Now, unrealistically speaking, I would give everything I own away, if it meant I could share a floor with Mitch. But, that’s unrealistic. I can’t BRING HIM BACK! No matter how much I want it, it doesn’t work like that. No matter how hard I cry, or how much I miss him, it just doesn’t work that way. 

Maybe, when my time comes, I’ll see him again. He was a good person. I try to be a good person. Maybe that means our afterlives will be good, if there really is an afterlife. 

I could totally see Mitch and I haunting people, together. Hilariously haunting family and close friends. 

Honestly, I still don’t get signs from Mitch. I haven’t dreamed about him, except the only 2 dreams I had. Maybe he leaves me alone, because he is afraid I’ll lose my shit? Maybe he leaves me alone because I am “doing just fine”? Maybe he thinks I need to continue to “be the inspiration” that I have become? Maybe, he doesn’t visit me, because he is afraid I will be committed to a psych ward, and leave Meg without a parent? Maybe he doesn’t visit, because I told him he wasn’t allowed to haunt me? Jokingly, of course, because when one dies, they can do whatever they want. 😉 And maybe, JUST maybe, he doesn’t visit, because he can’t. Maybe that’s not a true option, after death. Whatever the case, he doesn’t visit me or leave me signs, like I hear everyone else talk about. I have little tidbits of “oh my, Mitch would have said that!” But, nothing too ghostly. 

So, here I sit, 5 months without my Mitchell. I am stronger than I have ever been, in all of my life. I am happy in all areas of life except the part where I am a widow. I still truly believe that EVERYTHING happens for a reason, even if we haven’t figured out that reason, yet. 

Maybe it’s something so simple as my words, helping someone get through THEIR grieving process, just a little bit easier? Who knows if I’ll EVER know the reasoning behind Mitch’s death, outside of the scientific, biological part. 

Keep Living. 

One. Foot. In. Front. Of. The. Other. 

Skip. Hop. Run. Jump. Walk. 

Keep going. 

Do You Know What You Want in Life? Sex? Relationships? Money?

Or, do you only THINK you know?

Recently, I had myself convinced I wanted to be something I am not. I wanted to let myself go, with abandon, and not give 2 shits about it.

I wanted to be this person, who I have never been. Or so I convinced myself. Maybe I do want it? Maybe not. Most likely, not.

I am still figuring things out.

I found I like things I never thought I would like, and that’s what I am going to take from this life lesson. Because, honestly, everything is a lesson, in life. Right?

After being with someone for nearly sixteen and a half years, it’s hard to really know what you want, outside of that relationship, and all of the things that come along with it.

Many of our friends would joke about who wore the pants in our relationship. They always said it was me. It was, mostly. And there’s nothing wrong with that. That’s just how we were. I, more dominant than he. (and before anyone gets all weirded out, I mean in every aspect of our relationship. Not just sexual.)

I had convinced myself that I don’t want those pants, again. I don’t. I say “convinced myself”, but I have figured out, I don’t ever want to be that person who is bossy, and bitchy, and argues, and always gets her way. I was spoiled. Mitch spoiled the shit out of me. I am NOT complaining, at all. He was perfect. Perfect for the person I was. Perfect for the family that we created. Perfect.

Becoming a widow has opened my eyes to many things that I could do differently, when it comes to the next step. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not ready for relationship status, and won’t be for a long time. That’s just not something I want, right now. I wanted sex, sure. But, I realized, after a very long, drunken, conversation, that I didn’t actually want what I was asking for, but for some reason, I thought I did. And that’s fine. I have no regrets.  But, enough about that.

In life, I want to be happy. That’s something that many people struggle with. I am doing everything in my power to keep myself and my daughter happy. Being widowed has shown me, no more “next year! We will do this NEXT YEAR!” No, we will do it NOW! Next year may never come for us. There’s a deep longing to be free. To do everything that I have ever wanted to do. That is one of the reasons I have started traveling. Short, weekend adventures, to run dirty, muddy, obstacle course races. The people I find myself surrounded by, during these races, are genuine people. They are happy. They are out there, playing in the mud, and swinging from the monkey bars, like overgrown children. Happy.

I want to be successful. I want to continue to be successful in my career, in my friendships, and in my LIFE. There’s nothing wrong with being an independent woman. I really hate that the way I had to realize how independent I am, was losing the love of my life, my soulmate, the father of my child.

I have had a rough few days, thinking about everything. I go through phases. Sometimes, I accept what is my life. Other times, I question it all. But, the last few days have been more like living in a dream. I am back to that. Like, I am going to wake up, soon, and everything that’s wrong in the world will be right again. I just need to let the dream go a little bit longer. Just a little while longer. I’ll wake up, soon.

But I am awake. I am completely aware of how awake I truly am.

I have started to spread Mitch’s ashes, as I travel. I placed him in the Grassy Knoll in Dallas, TX. I know it sounds insane, but Mitch was such a nerd, he would have LOVED it there. I placed him by a quote from Kennedy’s speech, that he never was able to give. It reads:

“We in this country, in this generation. Are-by destiny rather than choice-the watchmen on the walls of world freedom. We ask, therefore, that we may be worthy of our power and responsibility, that we may exercise our strength with wisdom and restraint, and that we may achieve in our time and for all time the ancient vision of “peace on earth, and good will toward men.” That must always be our goal, and the righteousness of our cause must always underlie our strength. For as was written long ago: “Except the lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.”
–John Fitzgerald Kennedy

It’s a beautiful place, with beautiful words. And just to make it so much more emotional, there was a man, playing the violin, in the gazebo, and we could hear his music, as we spread the ash. I cried, harder than I’ve cried in a long time, that afternoon. Spreading his ashes was like conformation that he is actually, physically, gone from this place. It hurt. It hurt so bad.

I think that’s when I started to feel like I was in a dream. Or, like I am just a character in a movie, following the script I was given. It’s a very strange sensation. I am not sure what to think of it. I am not sure where to go with it. I am not sure if anyone else feels this way, or if it’s just my widow-brain.

I was chatting with a friend. A very handsome friend, but no worries there, we are both very dedicated to our children, live 1,000 miles apart, and if anything went down between us, it would be at least 6 years from now. ;P But we were chatting. We were talking about how I have always wanted to live in the country, and how he has always wanted big city life. Funny how that worked out, huh? But, my point, we were talking about being single, and how it sucks, but it is what it is. I told him that I feel like people are scared of me. He asked why, I told him, because I am a widow. That’s terrifying to so many people. And that’s okay! I’ll say, you should not be scared of me, because of my being a widow. I’m not exactly sure what there is to be afraid of, but if anyone has any insight, please, share!

I know, that in the future, I will want a relationship. I will want something fun, exciting, sexually adventurous and strong. Key words: In. The. Future. Not now, not next month, and probably not next year. But, I already know that it  will be something I want. I can see it in my head.  Right now, though,  I want to continue to find myself. It’s important to me, to find out who this new woman is. Not knowing myself will be a problem, for any future endeavours.

So please, bear with me, here, as I continue to search within myself, and find out everything I ACTUALLY want. Sexually, in life, or in general. Only I can discover these things.

And keep in mind, this is much harder for me, than anyone will ever realize. I struggle with myself, daily. Like, do you really want to do that? Yes. No. Yes. No. It’s a cycle that I must work through. I’ve only talked to one man about this stuff. Poor guy. I’ve treated him like he’s my private journal, rather than a friend. Sorry, man. I’m working on it.

Now, about money. I know what I want in the money department. I want to be comfortable. I don’t need to be dirty rich, I can’t go back to paycheck-paycheck. I like where I am, with savings, with budgeting, with being able to vacation. I like it. I know that when I do start dating, my number one thing with be, that man has got to have his own self comfortable, financially. I don’t want to worry about someone else’s struggles. That sounds terrible, but I am being completely honest. I have my own money. I have my own savings. I am financially stable, and don’t plan on screwing that pooch. I think, even if in 5-6 years, I end up married to someone else, (IF!) I would not merge bank accounts. I am working too hard to fix all the shit that we screwed up, as youngins. I will never risk ruining my hard work.

In all honesty, I really don’t care about YOUR money, just as long as you have your OWN, and aren’t interested in MINE. Does that make sense? I’m not into sharing anymore. 😉 (dear goddess, I sound like a bitch. oh well. I know the truth.)

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.

Done.

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.

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Lust

I haven’t blogged in a few days. I have been wanting to. I have just been trying to figure out how, best, to write this blog. I touched on it, a little, a while back. It was about sex, and missing it. I have found that there is no easy way to write this. So, I am just going to write what comes to mind, because, what kind of blog would this be, if I weren’t making my confessions?

Lately, I’ve found myself lusting after men. No, I am not acting on any of it. Dear God, not now. That would be ridiculous.

But, it’s true! I’ve thought about sex, and when I saw it in my mind, it wasn’t Mitch. I hated myself for it. Really. It’s been almost every day now. It’s insane!

I have my theories as to why it is happening. I was never without, when it came to sex, and intimacy.  I never had to worry about any of that. I was SEVENTEEN when Mitch and I got together! I don’t KNOW what celibacy is! My body REJECTS it! Not really, but, sometimes, that is what it feels like.

So, one theory I have, is kind of sciency. Pheromones. Maybe, Mitch’s pheromones were so much made for me, that it drowned out all other pheromones, the whole time we were married? Is that possible? Who knows? I like to think that Mitch and I were so much made for each other, that I never caught a “whiff” of another man. And now, I don’t have him here, so I am being overwhelmed by all of these other pheromones. I don’t know. Sounds like, with the right wording, it could be legit. Right?

 

Well, I am embarrassed as could be. I feel terrible. But then I remember, I am 34. I am not 74, or 84. I am a very healthy, active, 34 year old woman. I will, most likely, have sex again. I can’t pretend that I will give that part of life up, because, let’s face it, sex is great. But, let’s be real. It’s going to be a while, before I even dive into that, again, no matter how much I tell my friends that I want to. I want to, but I DON’T want to, more. If that makes sense.

Control. I remind myself, that no matter how much I am wanting to jump some guy’s bones, I shouldn’t do it, because it’ll be a disastrous mess. I don’t have time for that. I have too much to take care of right now, so sex is not even really an option. And, even though my body is revolting, my brain and heart are not. I am not stupid enough to attempt a sexual encounter right now.

Could you just imagine? Oh My God! I would be that woman who cried after sex, and totally freaked some dude out! Funny as that would be, far in the future, it’s not worth it, now.

And, please, guy friends of mine, don’t worry. I am not, as Mitch would say, “damp” over any of you. (Did I really just type that?) Most of my dreams are about men I barely know. Which is good, I guess. right? I don’t think I could look someone in the eye, if I had some steamy dream about them. The dreams. I will bet the sex dreams are a way for me to release the built up stress of this widow’s life, in a healthy way. Again, I was sexual with the same man for 16.5 years. I never had to worry about “releasing stress” in a healthy manner.

EMBARRASSING!

But, these are my confessions. This is what I am dealing with. And, I am comfortable letting you all know. I don’t feel like the ones I love and care about, and the ones that know me, will make judgements. I feel like they know me, and know I won’t be whoring around town. 😉 They know I am smart. I care about my healing process. I care about all things that actually matter. I care about how Megan sees me healing.

This too shall pass?

One. Foot. In. Front. Of. The. Other.

August2008z 063
Mitch’s face when he didn’t get his way. 

 

I Miss Sex!

FAMILY, you have been warned, just by the title of this blog! 

I know! Let me explain, before you tear me a new one. 

I’ve been debating with myself, about even posting this. Really though, I feel like anyone who loses their spouse feels the same way, and are ashamed to admit it. We shouldn’t be ashamed about this. And before any weirdos offer up a piece of their junk, the answer is no. I am not wanting to have sex. I just miss it with my husband.  

Here is the deal. Mitch and I were together for 16.5 years. I am only 34. I was 2 months shy of 18 when we started dating. 

That’s 16.5 years of never having to go without. That’s 16.5 years of “when we/I want it, there it is!” His goofy self, always dry-humping me, as I changed my clothes, or as I stripped to take a shower. The “oh! We got off of work early, wanna do it while Meg is at school?” His goofy comments, and silly pickup lines that he STILL used on me, after 16.5 years together. Every single day, he told me how much he loved me, and how lucky he was to score with such a hot chick. Of course, I would just giggle, say “I love you too.” And tell him to “shut up, I’ve got mom-bod now.”

Now, I don’t have that. I don’t have the ease and comfort of just “hopping in bed” with my husband. I mean, I could take his ash box to bed, literally. But where does it go from there? That’s creepy and I wouldn’t chance spilling his ash. I would HATE myself if a part of Mitch lived on in the vacuum cleaner. 👎 He would probably HAUNT me if that happened!   And ew. I feel gross just typing that, but know, that’s intended to be something for you to laugh at, not take seriously. 

But really! 

I TOTALLY took Mitch’s penis for granted! I thought it would always be here. 

Here I am, at the “height of my sexual prime” and I don’t have my man. 

So, as I boldly type this, and share it with the world, I am thoroughly grossed out about the ash box comment, and hope you can find the humor in my ridiculous mind. 

As my heart aches each day, it does heal. Little bits at a time. 

I’ve got this! 

I CAN do this! 

And family, if you held on, and kept reading, I’m not sorry. You were warned. 😘

Fun Facebook treasures. His humor, though.