Tag Archives: tears

Let the Sad Pass Through You–Even Slowly

His birthday in 2010

Thirty two years ago at 0914 my mother in law brought my husband into this world.

As a child, my father did not believe in celebrating birthdays. As an adult, I fucking LOVE birthdays. Paul and I always celebrated. And what better way to celebrate than to drink yourself back to toddler-hood. You know what I mean?

“Tell me more about him…tell me about your first celebrated birthdays”

This was the question my sweet, well-intentioned girlfriend asked me. It is one of the reasons that she stole my heart. She does not just tolerate Paul’s memory and love, she actively shares in it.

Last night was a bad night. On the eve of his birthday, I was wrapped in emotions. I was lonely. I was mad. I was devastated. And when I read that text, I thought “Oh man. That’s a great question.” And I couldn’t think of anything in particular. Only snipets. The birthdays ran across my mind, not in sequence but a jumble of snapshots of birthdays memories over the years. And the harder I tried to pin it down, the harder I tried to sort it out–the more difficult a time I had remembering. The tears welled up and I started to cry. I brought up my Facebook and realized how much I post. I scolded myself. “Why the hell do you post so much? It is going to take forever.” I was trying to scroll through the years to find each birthday. And I cried. I reached out to my friends. Trying to find some type of outlet because the hurt would not subside.

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His 29th birthday! 2013 We were all the best of friends then.

And just when I thought I’d reached the peak…I saw the last picture of my used-to-be best friend, on the last birthday that she celebrated with him. It was 2013. I was out of nursing school. She was the thinnest I’d ever seen her and I had packed on some serious poundage over the last couple years. Paul was so excited to have us together. He looked sharp in his new purple button up.

We always pre-gamed to save money at the bar. I don’t remember who bought the Tennessee Honey Whiskey but we took it as a personal challenge to drink the whole bottle. She got sick at the bar, I held her hair back, she threw up on my dress and hers.

My heart literally ached as I thought about this night. As I thought about the following year which was his last birthday…his 30th. She didn’t make it to that birthday. She had come to every prior birthday. Even the first one in 2010, when we had a surprise party at Don Quixote where I’d gathered enough ‘donations’ to give him cash to put a CD player in his truck.

I couldn’t help myself as I typed in her number. I don’t have her number saved as if it will be less tempting to message her but I try. I sent her the photo with my word vomit. She did actually respond. And I cried some more. She told me “I’ve always cared about you and always will”. It was like relief and a knife to the heart all at once. I can’t really explain it. She (or rather the memory of what our friendship and life used to be) is a comfort to me. She is a connection to Paul. And sometimes, I like long for that hard core–as some sort of comfort.

I frantically kept trying to piece together the birthdays since I couldn’t remember. I finally did it. The frenzy in my soul calmed and my tears ceased. My eyes hurt. They are swollen. My head aches.

Love. Death. Grief. It is a kick to the gut, man. And you just never know when it will hit you hardest. My buddy gave me the best advice, like usual, last night. She told me to not “fight the sad and to let it pass through” me. I took a deep breath in and out. Actually, I’m doing that right now. It will pass.

Today is my beloved husband’s would have been 32nd birthday. I’ve been up most of the night. I’m off work and plan to keep busy. I have lots to do today.



Remembering Paul is my biggest comfort in the world. And it has just become my necessity. I live and celebrate my life in his honor. I feel compelled to do so. To do any less would be a disservice.

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On his first birthday without him (10/25/2015), I went skydiving. He never actually wanted to go skydiving with me stating “why in the world would I jump out of a perfectly good airplane”…I thought about this as we climbed to 10,000ft and the airplane rocked back and forth and sounded like it would fall apart. I thought I’d say to him…but I think we are better off jumping from this plane.

Last year and this year I threw birthday parties for him. My mom asked me last week why I am still having a birthday party when he isn’t here. That really threw me off but my answer “because I feel that I need to”. And that’s the truth. Maybe I won’t always do this but for right now I want to. I like celebrating him even in his absence. I love getting together with our friends. It makes my heart happy to spend some time with those who were touched by him.

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Even if I can’t remember every particular, one thing was and is always the same for birthday celebrations: epic loudness and shots! This is Jared. He was a dear friend to my Paul. He is good people. :)
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Those friends that will always have your back and always be by your side. Rob has said it many time since the day I married Paul “your stuck with us now”. I’m certainly thankful to be stuck with them. Celebrating Paul’s birthday at Don Quixote’s 2016.

Yesterday I had a phone interview with a journalist in the UK for a couple upcoming interviews for two magazine offers I have received. They want to publish a story about my weight loss journey and Paul. The journalist has a British accent which made me giggle and was a bit distracting at first. But once I settled into the conversation, it was great. She asked some of the same questions that the previous journalist did but then she asked some different ones. She asked about how we met and about his health history. They have kinda titled what I call my accomplishments as my bucket list. I find it a little funny. I guess it is a sort of bucket list but I make this list yearly.

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A list of my milestones to date

I got to reflect on some very good memories that Paul and I shared. And I reflected again on how much my life has changed. How much I have changed. How much I have experienced because of him. I’m fortunate in that way. To have had a love that inspires me. That motivates me. That has had the ability to help me push on when I all I wanted to do was fall.


I hope you all take away a positive from this. My message is usually the same. But I still want to repeat it. Live out loud, guys. Seize your day. Don’t put off for tomorrow.

To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all. -Oscar Wilde

skydiving2015
It’s okay to feel fearful of the jump. But do it anyways. I promise…it is worth it.

Who’s That Girl In the Mirror? *Graphic Images*

Have you ever thought to yourself if I had this or if I accomplished this then I’d be happy? I mean…with whatever…be it weight, money, love. All my life I’ve imagined what my life would be like if I were thin. Surely it’d be better and it’d be different. So many times I’d look at myself in the mirror and say ‘man, if I could just lose {fill in the blank}, I’d be content’.

I’ve always been very unhappy with my boobs and my arms. So extremely self conscious. It impacted everything from what I wore to how I sat to how I had sex. I can remember very vividly when Paul had moved into my house and I was changing clothes and I turned away from him as I took off my bra. He kinda chuckled and said ‘why do you do that’? I instantly felt embarrassed. I told him that he wouldn’t understand and it turned into this huge conversation. In summary, I hated the way my boobs sagged and he loved me just the way I was. He told me so many times throughout our relationship how beautiful and sexy I was and how much he desired me. This is the first time I’ve really said this but I never really believed him.

It was and is so absolutely irrational. My body issues are deep seeded. It wasn’t until probably a year into our relationship that I actually took off my bra during sex. Because I hated how they looked. I hated the sounds that they made.

I’m a bundle of emotions today. I’ve said it a thousand times: grief is a bitch. She’s an evil bitch that I think waits until you’re least expecting it and the she pushes you down and laughs at you. At least that’s how I feel today; how I feel this week.

I can’t tell you how long I’ve imagined having my arms and boobs done. Probably the first time I ever really gave it thought was at 16! That’s a lot of years of fantasizing of what it’d be like to have slender arms and perky boobs. I’ve never had them. And I’ve always had a negative body image about it too. I’ve always thought about how amazing it’d be if they looked a certain way.

As I showered today, I could see myself in the mirror. My boobs are very perky; perfectly rounded. They look they way I’ve imagined they should all of my life. I squeezed the soapy rag against my outreached arms and watched as the suds streamed down my arm, down my body. I washed my stomach and the underneath of my breast. It was foreign to me that I did not have to lift my breast. I bent down to wash my feet and my breast did not hang or sway and neither did my arms. I got out of the shower and dried off. I tried to whip my towel around my back to catch it with my other arm like I always do but I wasn’t able to. My face felt warm and my head was pounding, my nose turned red and my eye began to water.

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Significant bruising to underside of right breast. Minimal pain now.
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I can almost extend my left arm completely now. I only have about half of this range of motion on my right arm. Both arms are tight. I continue to have to ice them.

I stood there and I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked at myself from head to toe. Not intending to critique myself in the least. Just kinda soaking it all in. And I began to cry. Who is this girl?

This face. It’s slender with a defined jaw line, no double chin. Topped with the darkest shade of brown hair, so short that it barely brushes my brow. And my boobs: my nipples are centered and in the correct anatomical position. My bellies are still there but as I put my hand on my hip, I can feel and I can see my bone. I take a deep breath in and I can see my chest rise, my stomach drawn in; I can see the outline of my rib cage. I turn to the side and I look at my arm. Slender. One smooth, semi-even line from my shoulder to wrist. I dry my back and I can see my shoulder blades. My lumbar spine is defined and there is no back roll or rather back ‘shelf’. I stand forward again. My thighs are still thick by not massive and when I look down, I can see my toes.

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I don’t recognize this girl. She’s everything I’ve bargained with myself to be. She’s everything I’ve been working to accomplish but I just don’t recognize her.

I finish drying and I have to put my compression vest on. And the tears come full force as I have my right arm in the sleeve and I can’t quite reach behind my back for the left sleeve. My arms are tight.

And I close my eyes and I see Paul.  We are standing in our home on 46th street. He’s holding my shrug as I put my arm in. And he tells me that it’s awfully warm outside and that this jacket isn’t really necessary. And I tell him ‘you know I hate my arms’. He kisses my shoulder and tells me he loves me just as I am.

I struggle but I get the vest on. And I snap it. And I look at myself tears streaming. He loved me just as I was but I didn’t. Now I look the way I want but I don’t recognize myself. And I have this rush…this panic…this feeling I felt for days, weeks, months on end following his death after all my friends and family had to leave my side to get back to their lives…I’m alone.

There’s some days when my house is so quiet and I walk through it and I have flash backs of a moment where he stood in that spot. And I think of the moment we stood there together. And now my memory is not of the girl that I see in the mirror now. And in some morbid way, it’s devastating.

**big sigh**

Being a widow is tough. Being a bariatric surgery patient who lost her husband on the same day is even more tough. In time wounds heal, but big wounds always leave a scar. I’m still healing. I still have days like today where it hurts like it is January 2015. On nights like right now, when my heart is literally aching and it seems that I’ve surely cried every tear a person could possibly produce, I try to tell myself to be thankful. I’m so thankful that I experienced Paul. I’m so thankful that I experienced a love that touched me to my core. I’m thankful that I survived. I’m thankful that I’ve pressed onward. I’m thankful that I’ve experienced new love. I’m thankful that I get to keep his memories with me. I’m thankful for this blog to share them with you.  And I know that sooner or later I’ll recognize the girl in the mirror and I’m gonna love her too.