I think I mentioned that I sold the house that Chad & I shared.  If not, well, I did.  I didn’t see the point in keeping it when I moved.  I didn’t want to be a landlord and have to deal with all of the hassles of a renter while being over 200 miles away.  And houses tend to deteriorate quickly when they’re not occupied.

I had been approached in the fall of 2010 by a gentleman who was interested in buying the property.  At the time I wasn’t planning to go anywhere.  When I told him this, he asked that I keep him in mind if that ever changed.  I agreed, and then proceeded to forget about it altogether.  A couple of months later I had just accepted a new job and was trying to figure out everything that had to be done in about 4 weeks.  The list was pretty short: resign old job, find new house, buy new house, pack, move, start new job.  Oh yeah, and sell old house.

I had mixed feelings about selling the house – our house.  I was attached to it because of all of the memories contained in those walls.  All of the laughter and tears, good times and bad.  A lifetime in too few years.  But that was part of the reason I needed to get away too.  The weight of those memories was slowly suffocating me.  And realistically I knew I couldn’t handle two houses.  So I contacted a friend of Chad’s (who had recently started selling real estate) to list the house.  He was great to work with.  Since I had never bought or sold a house before I had no idea what I was doing and he spent as much time as I needed going over things and was always available to answer all of my questions.   A day or two after I listed the house the gentleman who had approached me called and wanted to know if I was really selling my house.  I replied that I was and he asked about doing a private sale without including my realtor.  He wasn’t pleased with my negative response, but agreed to handle it the way I wanted.  Editor’s note:  I was trying to protect both parties involved by including a realtor.  This way everything was handled properly – all of the i’s dotted and t’s crossed.  If I had to do it all over again, I’d do it the same way.

A couple of months passed in a flurry of activity.  A new house was purchased.  Everything in my old house was gone through and packed, thrown away, given away or sold.  My family made trips on consecutive weekends to load up and move my stuff from one house to the other.  Many boxes were unpacked as I settled into my new house and started my new job.  And lots of emails and phone calls were exchanged with my realtor as I rejected, countered offers, and sold my old house.  I drove back north to sign the last of the closing papers and pick up the last couple of boxes that wouldn’t fit in my car on previous trips.  It was done – I was the owner of just one house again.  Six weeks later I was standing in Menards when my cell phone signaled an incoming picture message.  I opened it to see a photo of  a pile of boards and dirt where my old house used to stand and the words, “Thought you might like to know,” from my former neighbor and brother-in-law.

The new owner had torn the house down to make room for a new one.  I knew that was his plan all along – he told me as much when he first approached me about buying it.  But seeing that hole in the ground reminded me of another, smaller hole that I had looked into just 18 months before.  That hole had marked the end of a life.  This one seemed to signify the beginning of another.  But it still made me sad to see that photo.  It made real the fact that I had chosen to relocate myself away from all of those friends and family, favorite locations, and memories.  It was sad, but it was a relief too.  I could finally leave the “widow” label behind and focus on just being me again.  Being a widow is part of who I am but it’s not the only thing I am.

Things with S are great.  We’re settling into our relationship and continuing to learn more about each other.  We still talk most nights, usually for at least an hour, and never run out of things to talk about.  We have discovered that we can have a good time together even when we do nothing.  We enjoy cooking meals together.  We successfully navigated grocery shopping together – and managed to not maim or kill each other or any other shoppers.    Last weekend I even got some work done while I was visiting for the weekend (gasp!).  Like I said before, things are great. 

But.  Every once in awhile, something will be done/implied/said that freaks me out.  Something completely innocent like the use of a term of endearment will startle me.  Any mention of celebrating a holiday or birthday that’s more than a couple of weeks away causes my palms to sweat.  My heart races at the thought of meeting each other’s families.    Why, you ask?  After a couple of sleepless nights I think I have the answer.

I believe that I’m afraid of getting hurt.  The last time I got seriously involved with a man I married him.  Then he died, shattering my life into a million tiny little pieces.  Now I’m not saying that things are that serious with S – we’re firmly in the “like” stage - but occasionally there are small reminders that we are getting deeper into our relationship.  Like pet names, holidays, and talk of meeting family members.  While more serious is a good thing, it’s (also) very scary because the more serious we get, the more it will hurt if our relationship ends.  And I’ve had enough emotional pain to last the rest of my life, thankyouverymuch.

I feel like I’m cheating both of us out of what our relationship really could be because I’m holding a part of me back.  I just wish I knew what to do to fix it.

I am 31 – why does that sound so much older than 30?

Ugh. I tried writing something here several times, but it all sounded whiny, ungrateful, and not appropriate for my age. Guess I’ll try again another day.

Or how I’m in a relationship with someone again. Someone who cares for me, thinks I’m beautiful, and who is willing to help me deal with the emotional baggage that remains from Chad’s death. Someone who I care about and want to spend time with. How I don’t feel any guilt about this relationship because Chad would want me to be happy.

And I am happy. Happy with who I’ve become in the past 2 years. Happy that I somehow found the strength to build a new life out of the rubble of the one that Chad & I shared. Happy that I’ve made a few mistakes along the way, but even happier that I learned from them.

I feel like I should write something, but I just don’t know what to say . . .

Thinking of you more today than usual, and missing you always . . . .

Love,
Me

Today marks 103 weeks since Chad died. The anniversary is 8 days away. For the past week I’ve been moody and distracted. Had trouble sleeping and/or strange dreams. Today I cried over an episode of M*A*S*H and then fell apart completely on the kitchen floor. The dog came over to snuggle and to lick the tears from my face. I think she hates me crying even more than I do!

I’m hoping to get back to normal (or at least closer to normal) this week. I have plans with my sister-in-law on Thursday and Friday nights and I’m going to see S for the rest of the weekend. Hopefully I can distract myself enough to prevent a meltdown in front of him. Our relationship is new enough that I don’t want to subject him to anymore of my baggage than I have to. It’s my ‘thing’, my hurdle to overcome. But I’m so tired of handling my problems on my own! Just once it would be nice to have someone to take care of me, even though I wouldn’t be able to tolerate it for too long. I just don’t want to mess up the good thing I’ve got going. While it may not be a ‘forever’ type of thing (way, way to early for those kinds of thoughts!), I’m enjoying the journey to whatever this becomes. I don’t want my issues to bring about a premature ending.

Suggestions? Advice?

I love fall – the cooler temperatures, leaves changing colors, football . . . but the beginning of the season is a painful reminder. I feel myself beginning to slide into a funk, the likes of which I haven’t seen for awhile now. I hate that it’s happening but I’m not quite sure how to stop it either. Distractions help. And the days leading up to September 6th will (hopefully!) be worse than the actual day itself.

Guess there isn’t much I can do but put my head down and muddle through. . . . .

Yes, I have returned to the realm of dating.  Apprehensively, cautiously, and curiously I dipped my toes into the stormy waters of the dating pool.  Fortunately I’ve gotten lucky and found a sweet, understanding guy who seems genuinely interested in me as well.  We met online (gasp!  oh, the horror!) and have spent countless hours talking – first via chat, then voice chat before exchanging phone numbers so we could text and/or call.  We have met in person, but live a couple hundred miles apart so we don’t get to see each other as much as we would like.  Thank goodness for technology!  While cell phones are handy, voice and video chat make up the bulk of our conversations.  I constantly find myself marvelling at how easy he is to talk with – it’s not uncommon for us to talk for a couple of hours in the evening.

I haven’t really mentioned him to my family yet, for a couple of reasons.  One, there is something special about a new relationship.  Telling others about it opens it – and me – up to judgement and criticism.  Two, while we are very compatible, there is a significant difference in our ages.  While it doesn’t really bother me, I don’t know how my friends and family will react to it.  I want them to like him, not just because I do, but because of who he is.  I’m afraid they won’t be able to see beyond the age gap.  It’s too bad that they can’t get to know him first then meet him.  Wishful thinking I know, but I can dream right?

Maybe I’m not giving them enough credit.  Maybe they won’t notice or mind.  Maybe they’ll be so excited and happy for me that they can overlook this one issue?  I’d like to think so and I know they only want the best for me, but let’s be realistic.  I don’t know how they will react.  And that makes me want to keep this little secret quiet for a little longer.