Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places

Do you remember the conversation we had about how we would both cope after the other died?  I said that you'd be married again within six months.  I said that I'd sleep around too much but never fall in love again because marriage is too hard.  Too much work.  Too much risk. 

Well, I did exactly that.  I slept around a lot for awhile.  It was fun for a few months but largely unfulfilling.  I reconnected with a few people that I hadn't seen in a decade or more.  Then I fell in love.  It happened last October.  It was a whirlwind of emotions that knocked me out of being numb and made me crave and desire the realness of love in my life.  Things with this man and I didn't work out, but the entire experience changed me for the better.  I suppose everyone is entitled to a rebound relationship and if that's what H was?  I couldn't have asked for a better one.  He woke me up and then moved out of the way, essentially.  It took me months to get over it, but I think, finally, I'm past it. 

I graduated!  I'm staying with family in Charleston... It was so kind of them to take me in.  I wandered across the street to this great little bar and I did a stupid thing. 

I was sitting at the bar having a hard cider and chatting with the bartender when this man walked in.  Something about him caught my eye.  If I'm looking for a hook up for the night, I usually want blonde, blue eyed and younger, but this man immediately drew my attention. 

We chatted all night and he insisted on giving me a ride home, despite the fact that I can practically see my front door from the bar's front door. 

So he did eventually take me home.  When he dropped me off I went to jump out of his jeep and he grabbed my arm and stopped me.  He looked at me and said "do you even remember my name?".  I told him I did.  Then he gave me his phone number.  I was confused.  I have become well versed in the drunken one night stand... No one exchanges phone numbers.  Hell, most don't exchange names, at least not real ones.  He is intriguing. 

We've been hanging out a bit... Drinking together, going to dinner, whatever... I cooked him dinner.  We have interesting conversations.  I love listening to his stories. 

We were supposed to go see a movie.  He texted me and said " will you go on a road trip with me tonight instead?".  And I did. 

He drove me to all of these beautiful places, telling me stories about when he visited them.  I told him I was dying to see a wild bear and we searched for one a bit.  He kept telling me all about him and asking questions about me.

The next morning he took me home.  I had girls night plans Saturday night, but he texted me silly jokes all night and I paid way more attention to him than my friends.  Then?  Radio silence until Tuesday night. 

Then I had my bad work day crap on Tuesday and decided that tequila was the solution.  When I walked to the bar to get some, he was there, playing video slots.  I did a few shots and spilled some of my sad story.  I talked to the guy for a few then played a few games of pool with  the bartender.  I acted a like a fool.  He took me home and I acted like even more of a fool. 

The next morning, in-between vomiting patron and wanting to die, I sent him a text message that said "thanks for being a gentleman.". He said " you were hammered.". I said "Yup.  Most days I can keep my shit together but my demons weren't playing nice yesterday".  Then I didn't hear from him again until Friday night, when he said " miserable week!  Too hot and humid!".  I responded and haven't heard anything since.  This is a man who had exchanged hundreds of texts with me in a month.  He's totally ignored any I've sent since Tuesday last week, including a request to see him...

And now I'm sitting here confused... He was supposed to be a challenge at the bar... A one night stand... And he pursued me.  He doesn't want a relationship but he takes me on a little trip and shared all this heavy personal stuff... I'm just confused.  I'm not in love with him but I'm intrigued and curious and a little hurt that he's seemingly just dropped off the grid...

I can't help but think it was my bad day... And the resulting need for patron... That scared him off.  I acted like an idiot.  I'm so embarrassed and frustrated.  I'd give anything for the chance to explain. 

Travis, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.  And I don't know how to integrate you into it.  You were a huge part of my past and I don't know how to keep you from affecting my future.  I really wish you'd quit haunting me and let me move forward. 

The Smell

*** I wrote this September 2014, with a few edits before publishing it here. 

                PJ came to stay with me for awhile.  I know, you’re rolling your eyes at me, but, I had to give her a chance.  She was ready to get herself off of drugs and away from the abusive boyfriend that cheated and lied and hurt her more times than she could count.  In order to do that, she wanted a totally fresh start, including a new environment.  West Virginia and the comforts of her big sister seemed logical, especially since I have a huge two bedroom apartment that Leo and I are wandering around in aimlessly these days.  I figured I could use the company and the distraction of having her around.  I was so proud of her.  She drove all the way here and that is no small feat.  Well, she lasted three days and then she wanted to go home.  I gave her all the cash I’d saved for my trip to Michigan, which amounted to about $200 and off she went. 

                While she was in West Virginia with me, I wanted her to feel comfortable.  So, a friend and I made her a room of her own.  I didn’t have the money to really furnish it, but I put a desk and the small loveseat in the second bedroom and she seemed content with that.  When she left, I was annoyed, but left it.  Now it’s been months and I want my extra room back.  Stubbornly, I decided to move the loveseat back into the living room on my own.  It got stuck in the door way and I had to throw my entire body against it numerous times in order to dislodge it.  When it dislodged, I ended up flying through the doorway with the loveseat, crashing head first into the ground.  As I was climbing back to my feet and throwing around a few choice four letter words, I saw it. 

                There, sitting on the carpet, was your missing phone.  The one I’d looked for after you died.  I had assumed it was gone, lost in the chaos.  I hadn’t even thought about it in months and there it sat, staring at me.  I have to say, my first thought was “Hot stuff!  That’s at least $300 trade in value toward the cell phone bill I can barely pay each month!”.  As I went to reset the factory settings, I paused, wondering if there were pictures I wanted on the phone before I deleted everything.  In that brief moment of nostalgia, I opened the phone’s lock and started swiping through the gallery.  There were silly selfies, pictures of your food, etc… and then I came across one of the surgical pictures of your hand.  Immediately, the smell of the infection came flooding back into my head and I threw up all over myself, suddenly and violently. 

                I don’t remember ever being shocked or upset or overwhelmed with nausea when you were here and we were dealing with your infection.  It was just what life presented us with and I dealt with it, just like you did.  Seeing that picture did something to my mind that I didn’t know was possible.  It entirely took over my senses and filled my nasal passages with the sickeningly sweet smell of rotting flesh and that entire two years flashed through my mind at warp speed.  All of the moments that I didn’t scream or cry or lose control overwhelmed me and I sobbed hysterically for hours.  I couldn’t stop, spending hours sitting on the bathroom floor, dry heaving over the toilet and staring at the picture of your hand torn open and oozing on the phone in front of me.  I couldn’t get the smell out of my nose.  I couldn’t look away from the image. 

                I’ve looked at the pictures from the infection numerous times since that day when I encountered your missing cell phone and they have never had the same effect.  I’m not sure what happened that day, but, for a moment, the entire experience was all of the things it never was when we were going through it.  I was allowed me to be scared, frustrated and overwhelmed.  I was able to scream and yell and curse a God that I’m not even sure I believe exists for putting me through so much agony.  In those few hours, I found a place where I could be angry about everything that happened to me.  That sounds incredibly selfish, but, it did all happen to me too, and in the end, I lost the man I had intended to be with forever.  That little cut changed my life irreparably and yet, until you were gone, I wasn’t able to see all the ways your infection changed me.

It was like someone swooped down and wrapped their arms around me and let me have a little bit of time to truly acknowledge everything we’d gone through, everything I’d gone through, but pushed aside, because I always felt like it was happening to you and I had no right to be in pain or afraid or feel incredibly violated by the experience.    I was so frustrated when I couldn't find that stupid cell phone, but, it seems like some greater plan knew I’d need it and that picture when I found it, not immediately after you were gone when things were too raw and too fresh for me to truly appreciate the agony.  I found it at the moment when I truly needed a bit of release. 

An Introduction

Hello!

My name is Christi.  I'm all sorts of things... I'm a recent graduate of West Virginia University, having earned my masters degree.  I'm an aunt to three amazing little boys.  I'm a sister, a daughter, a friend, a companion, a cat mama.  I am an academic, a cook, a crazy fish lady, a photographer, a conservation geneticist, a woman who can't resist playing in the puddles as the rain comes down.  I'm also a member of the 'young widows club'; my husband passed away on December 25, 2013, when I was just 29 years old.

Dealing with the loss of the man that I spent 12 years of my life with has been challenging to say the least.  There have been moments that felt like I'd never survive and moments where the memories feel more like a movie I watched than like things I actually experienced in my life.

One of the things that I've been doing in order to cope with my grief is writing.  I've written what amounts to an entire book and yet, I'm not ready to publish it.  I'm not sure I'll ever get to the point where I want to be finished adding chapters and letters and words; it has become the hiding place for my deepest darkest and most honest thoughts in life and publishing it would be letting go of it and letting it out into the world.  After rereading all of the words I've written, I have come to the conclusion that it is too private and too raw to share with the world, so it will remain mine alone.  That being said, I do want to share some parts of it with the world, because I think it'll help other people in similar situations deal with what they've experienced.  It also helps me to share my stories, my emotions and my pain.

So here we go... I'm going to present this as a series of letters to Travis, my husband.  Please don't be confused though, this isn't about him as much as it's about me and my grieving process, my coping mechanisms and both my successes and failures as a young widow.  It's about me growing as a person and rediscovering myself in the shadows of this huge life loss.

I want to thank you in advance for your support and comments while I continue to deal with this part of my life.