Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Widow vs. The Fridge (of Doom)

Today Widow takes on The Fridge (of Doom). Epic battle ensues.

Fridge has been collecting expired bottles of condiments, growing slime, and harbouring hidden foodstuffs for far too long. Widow finally summons the courage and strength of character to take him on.

She comes armed to the teeth: Rubber gloves, bucket of suds, scrub brush, industrial strength garbage bags.

Plan in hand, she begins at the top shelf, set to work her way down.

Shelf 1: Fridge Takes An Early Lead
Widow forgets they are removeable and spends 15 minutes bent at awkward angle, tediously cleaning between each wire in the rack. It is only when she twists away for a breather and gets her cloth stuck (thus jerking said shelf from its hanging) that she remembers this all-important fact. 10 points to Fridge.

Shelf 2: The Cheese Drawer
This time Widow knows better. She removes shelf and attached cheese drawer. She tosses expired dressings and sour cream, washes drawer by hand, is feeling triumphant! When replacing cheeses back into drawer, a small block of cheese falls out of its half-sealed Ziploc bag. Widow reaches for it and unsuspectingly wraps her hand around one mouldy-ass block of havarti. She flings the cheese in disgust, emitting a hoarse scream. She then crawls on her hands and knees to the laundry room where said cheese has landed and must pick it up again, just to throw it out. This time Widow dons gloves. 10 points to Fridge.

Shelf 3: The Glass of Illusion
Third and final shelf, made of glass. Widow is feeling desperate and tired. Stupid Fridge is turning into a beast of a job. Where oh where is faithful husband who always takes care of such things? But Widow has learned and she is clever. She tugs and pries and glass shelf is removed. She cleans it carefully in the sink, extra cautious so as not to drop and shatter it. She is triumphant! 10 points to Widow! However, Widow is baffled when trying to return said glass into intricate and maze-like shelf contraption. She struggles, she shouts, she falls to her knees and curses the heavens! Finally, her father's words echo across her mind, 'When all else fails, use brute force and ignorance. Guaranteed to get results!' Widow decides this is her last hope. She slams said glass back into shelf, where it clicks into place. Victory is mine!!! 10 more points to Widow.

The Final Battle: Fridge Door
Widow removes all condiments, chucking numerous bottles into industrial strength garbage bag - a gift from the heavens. She wipes, she scrubs, she polishes until all surfaces gleam. Pleased, she reachs for door and begins to slide it closed. Much clattering ensues. Widow has forgotten all the bottles she so carefully lined up on the floor, now knocked over by the closing Fridge door and rolling across the kitchen. Much profanity ensues. 10 point deduction to Widow for unsportsmanlike behaviour.

Finally all surfaces are clean, Fridge is practically empty. Widow is pleased. But what's this? Why is Fridge silent? Where is the screaching of the motor she is so used to hearing? Where are the whirs, clicks, and grunts normally emitting from its backside? Please God, prays Widow, please let me not have jostled the cord loose. I am but a weak Widow, incapable of pulling it from the wall and plugging it back in. Widow weeps. If Husband was here, this would never have happened.

Then, slowly, quietly, out of the silence Widow hears it... an almost imperceptible click and the gentle purr of the motor returning to life.

Widow leaps to her feet and cheers! 100 points to Widow! Justice has been served!!!

Take that you stupid Fridge.

The Disappeared

Once a woman came to the Buddha, carrying her dead son in her arms. She asked him to have mercy on her, to give her back her son. The Buddha said that he could help her. First, he said, bring me a mustard seed from a family that has never experienced death. The woman searched from home to home. People wanted to help but everyone she met had experienced death - a brother, sister, parent, husband, child. After searching for a long time the woman returned to the Buddha.

He said, Where is your son?

The woman replied, I buried him.

- The Disappeared, by Kim Echlin

Monday, August 30, 2010

Happy Anniversary

Today would have been our fifth anniversary.

5 years ago today, Craig and I stood on a beach in Maui at sunset, and promised each other forever. I love our wedding vows. They were so simple, but so perfect. Today was a good day to crack out the old wedding album and remember what he said (mine were pretty much the same):

"There are no other human ties more tender, no other human vows more sacred, than these I profess this day.

I Craig, take you Emily to be my wedded wife, to live together in holy matrimony. I will love you, comfort you, honor and embrace you, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to you all our married life together. This is my solemn vow.

Emily, I give you this ring as a sign of my love, and with all that I am, and with all that I have, I honor you. Let this be a reminder of all that I have pledged to you today."

When I think about that day I see little flashes. Craig helping me zip my dress in our hotel room. Our bare feet burning in the sand. Our little minister having to stand uphill from us so you couldn't see he was at least a foot shorter in all the photographs. Craig staring so intensely because he was trying so hard not to tear up. Us laughing over the staging of the photographs, how they sucked the romance right out of the moment. The crowd on the beach that gathered and cheered (and the lone woman who broke out 'Another One Bites The Dust' when we finished. Later, when my family asked me what 'our song' was for the funeral, this was the only one that came to mind. Needless to say I thought it a touch inappropriate to use). Going to dinner in our full wedding getup, too giddy to even eat. Falling asleep in a heap, barely making it out of my dress.

One year later Craig took me to the Calgary Tower for dinner to celebrate our first anniversary. I remember the frustration of this, thinking, this man doesn't know me at all! Has he forgotten already I'm terrified of heights!?! He told me that day that when he had taken me up there for one of our first dates, he had looked at me and truly thought I was an angel. That he had never felt so blessed and so loved. That was the day he knew he'd marry me.

And then just last year, for our fourth (and little did I know, final) anniversary Craig took me to buy a proper wedding and engagement ring. When we got married we could afford little more than a cheap and mismatched set (from two different jewellery stores) and he had promised me the most dazzling ring imagineable by our first anniversary. Well, life happened. Bills came, we moved, Craig went to school, we could never quite afford it and never quite got around to it. I had pretty much given up on getting new ones. But he surprised me with a trip to not one, but FIVE jewellery stores that day. We shopped for hours and hours, me trying on everything in every store, him sitting patiently, gently making suggestions, hiding his exasperation when I finally chose the very first ring from the very first store we had gone to.

I love those rings. In all honesty, I'm pretty sure he took me because he couldn't think of anything else to get me for our anniversary. But I don't care. I don't look at those rings and think about how he left these things to the last minute or how it took so long for him to buy them for me. I think about how I didn't have to ask, but he knew and understood how much I wanted them. I think about how much he hated malls and hated shopping and went with me anyway, never complaining, not even once. I think about how for the first time in his life, he was the exact opposite of cheap, how he let me break the bank, and was just damn proud to be able to buy them for me. I think about how much he loved me, for almost a decade, and how he loved me more and more each year. How in the end, we were so happy together, best friends for life, finally at peace in our lives.

It seems unbearably unfair that I only got to wear them for a few months. It seems even more unfair that I only got Craig for a few years.

I cracked out my box of cards (yes, I have kept pretty much every card I've ever been given) and pulled out a few gems from family we received for our wedding. My favourite was from my oldest sister:

"This card is a happy wedding card! Congratulations and may God bless you both, bro and sis. I am so proud to have family like you. You rock! On a more serious note, I have discovered the key to a long and lasting marriage. It appears to be... um... popcorn. It is good for eating and also for throwing at your spouse if he/she does not pick up his/her socks. Keep it handy."

Solid advice. Popcorn fights are waaaaaaaay better (and tastier) than pillow fights, hands down. But to be honest, not the best remedy for socks on the floor.

And of course I pulled out the ones I have gotten from Craig over the last 4 years. I won't include them all, just a couple of my favourites (and yes, these are quoted exactly so I take no credit for the grammatical errors):

"We had a pretty good year. Good vacation (Maui love), bought a place to live, didn't kill each other (ha ha you could never kill me!). I am really happy to be with you. We've got everything because we've got each other and its all we'll ever need. I love you with all my heart."

"Happy 2 year anniversary, Emily. It's been a good time being married to you. Your very important to me even if I don't tell you all the time, but just know that you are. I love you, Friend. Ever since we said 'I do' I'm so glad we did. For real."

"I love you sweetie. With every year that passes I find more and more reasons to commit myself to you. Your my best friend and soul mate. Me and you, baby."

"Roses are red
Violets are blue
I'm a diabetic
And can't live with you.
(that means your my sugar!)"

When I think about what we would have been doing today, it tears me apart. I'd had the week booked off work, and Craig was actually going to book it off when he got into work the morning of his accident. We were going to go to Radium, as we did most years. We'd probably be finishing up supper at our favourite pub there, then heading off to the hot springs for a sunset dip. Going to bed, curled up next to each other, so content with one another and trusting entirely that we would both be there the next day.

The very thought is almost too painful to speak out loud.

But not as painful as this one: Five years ago today, if you had asked me where we would be in five years, this is the very last thing I would have imagined.

That for our anniversary I would be remembering alone.

That there would be nothing to celebrate.

So please, please, please... for those of you married or engaged or with anybody at all. Tell them you love them, hug them, kiss them goodnight.

Because five years from today, you just never know where you might be or who you might be without.

Friday, August 27, 2010

The Monument

This morning I decided to try a little exercise in meditation. Thought I would just sit and try to remember something funny I experienced with Craig. First of all to see if I could (my memory has been really spotty - there are thousands knocking about in there but I can't always seem to grab onto them). Secondly to see if it would make me smile or just reduce me to tears.

First thing that came to mind?

When we got married we frequented this little restaurant in Maui that was right by our hotel. Craig was going through his coffee snobbery phase at the time and asked the waitress, a giant of a Hawaii woman, if they had cappuccinos or frappuccinos or iced latte whatsits or something.

Now, this was a tiny hole in the wall local place. Bamboo furniture, dirt floors, sketchy-looking customers. But very good food.

She was downright offended. And didn't understand what in the heck Craig was asking for. Which, to be honest, neither did I. Unlike a normal human being, who would just let it go when they said they didn't have it, Craig insisted, INSISTED they make it for him.

She stomped away and returned with an iced coffee beverage of some sort a good 40 minutes later.

I'm pretty sure she spat in it.

Craig was all proud of himself for getting what he wanted. Until he took a sip of that damn drink. And almost retched.

I'm pretty sure she took whatever was left in the coffee pot from the night before and just dumped some ice into it. NASTY. He wouldn't stop complaining about it so I tasted it and, yup, it was gross.

He never finished it, obviously.

When she finally came back and we paid our bill she noticed he didn't drink any of it and flipped out! And she was scary. We pretty much ran out of there, laughing hysterically. Craig very nearly had his ass handed to him by a giant Hawaiian woman.

Craig dubbed her 'The Monument' and the name never ceased to reduce us to a fit of giggles.

Moral of the story? Be happy with what you have. Especially when faced with a 'Monument'.

And for the first time in five and a half months, I am thinking about him, remembering him, and laughing instead of crying.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Say Craig To Me

It pains me so much when others do not want to talk about Craig or grow uncomfortable when his name is mentioned, turning away. I have already seen his photograph being taken off the walls in the homes of family members. Do they not know how much this hurts me?

He is not a dark secret to be swept under the rug or a bitterly divorced spouse. He was my perfect and true husband, the richest part of my life's history, a permanent fixture branded to my very soul. Please do not pretend he never happened. There is no shame in remembering him.


The time of concern is over. No longer am I asked how I am doing.
Never is the name of my partner mentioned to me. A curtain descends.
The moment has passed. A life slips from frequent recall.
There are exceptions … close and comforting friends, the occaisional sensitive family member.
For most, the drama is over. The spotlight is off. Applause is silent.
But for me, the play will never end. The effects are timeless.

Say Craig to me.

On the stage of my life, he has been both lead and supporting actor.
Do not tiptoe around the greatest event of my life. Love does not die.
His name is written on my life. The sound of his voice replays within my mind.
You feel he is dead. I feel he is of the dead but still lives.
You say he was my partner. I say he always will be.

Say Craig to me and say Craig again.

It hurts to bury his memory in silence.
What he was in the flesh has now turned to ash.
What he is in spirit, stirs within me always.
He is of my past, but he is part of my present. He is my hope for the future.
You say not to remind me. How little you understand that I cannot forget.
I would not if I could.
I forgive you, because you cannot know.
I strive not to judge you, for yesterday I was like you.

Say Craig to me and say Craig again.

I do not ask you to walk this road. The ascent is steep and the burden heavy.
I walk it not by choice. I would rather walk it with him in the flesh.
I am what I have to be. What I have lost you cannot feel. What I have gained you cannot see.

Say Craig, for he is alive in me.

He and I will meet again, though in many ways we have never parted.
He and his life play light songs on my mind, sunrises and sunsets on my dreams.
He is real and he is shadow. My shadow.
He was and he is.
He is my partner and I love him as I always did.
Though I may find new loves and a new future, he will forever be a part of me, branded on my soul.
He will never stop being me.

Say Craig to me and say Craig again.

(This poem was rephrased and based on the book “Saying Olin to Goodbye” by Donald Hackett.)

Monday, August 23, 2010

All The Things I Miss

I miss...

The way you would sit in your chair, fiddling with the hem of your pants, waiting for me to walk in the room.

The way you would obnoxiously shout 'hhhhhhhhaaaaaa' sarcastically whenever I said a joke that was entirely un-funny.

The way we would sing together in the kitchen and the car, as off-key as possible, louder and louder until one of us broke down and laughed.

How you would always rest your hand on the small of my back.

The way you would come home from work to me passed out on the sofa and would cover me with a blanket, every time.

The way you could always make me laugh, no matter how angry I was, no matter how inappropriate the timing.

How you would put me to bed at night and tuck the blankets in under me like a little kid whenever you went for your midnight jogs.

The way you drove, one hand on the top of the wheel, like you owned the road. You were so handsome.

The way your wedding ring looked on your hand. The little tan line you had from it, from never taking it off.

The way you planned out everything with pie charts and spread sheets and detailed to-do lists. I was your idea girl, you were the planner. Now I can't seem to make a single decision or plan more than 5 minutes ahead without you.

You teaching me how to skate, ever so patiently. Even though I never quite caught on.

You sitting at the counter, carefully taking notes while I made dinner, demanding I narrate like it was a cooking show.

The way you would sit and analyze for hours with me the movies we watched. I always ended up taking over the conversation and you would just listen and laugh.

You sitting at the kitchen table early in the morning, still wrapped in your blanket, sipping coffee, half asleep, while I yammered on about work.

Our post-party debriefings, chatting about everything said and done during the evening. You always did the best impressions of everyone.

Hearing you call me by all the pet names you had for me. Now nobody will ever call me Sal again.

Finding the notes you would leave me all over the house. And in the car. And in my purse. And everywhere.

Talking to you on my lunch break, venting about my day. You making fun of my coworkers just to make me laugh and show me I had at least one other person on my side in this world.

All the clever comebacks you would suggest I should have used on the people who pissed me off. I would always say, 'Where are you when I need you?' and laugh. Now I wonder, where are you when I need you now?

Stealing your t-shirts when you weren't looking. Now I can wear them any time I want and it just isn't the same.

How you would gush about every single thing I cooked, no matter how inedible.

Curling up and spooning on the sofa when we watched movies. We would always joke we were getting too fat to fit, but we would keep doing it anyway, no matter how uncomfortable.

Seeing your car in the driveway, looking forward to stepping in the door and knowing you were there.

The sound of your voice. Angry, sad, happy, mad... doesn't matter. I miss it all.

The way you smell.

That look you would get on your face, like you couldn't believe your luck at getting me all to yourself.

The way you would tell me everything, pouring out your heart. That I was the only person in the world you trusted with your true self.

Hearing you snore. I'd kick you to wake you up to make you stop and then pretend I didn't do anything and was still sound asleep. Now I would give anything to hear you snore next to me one more time.

Knowing you were there, always there. I could reach you, find you, talk to you anytime I wanted.

I miss everything.

Friday, August 20, 2010

Not Okay

No, I am not doing ok.

I might get dressed, shower, leave my house (on occaision) but that means nothing. I am not ok.

My days are consumed with an overwhelming feeling of isolation and loneliness. I can't think about my future because I just don't care about it or whether or not I even have one. I can't think about my past or our life together because I can barely remember it and when I do, it makes me want to not go on.

My chest hurts constantly. It was like this the first few weeks after the accident and then went away for awhile but now it's back. It literally feels like my heart is breaking. My sinuses hurt, my head aches, my eyes burn... how is it possible for someone to cry this much?

I don't care about my messy house or not having a job or going broke or how anyone else is doing. Food tastes like plastic, I'd just as soon not eat at all. I should pay my bills but I can't even remember where I put them.

I have a million things to do but each tiny task feels like climbing a mountain. Go get groceries? I'd have to climb off the couch, turn the shower on, get in, clean up, towel off, dry my hair, find clothing, put them on, brush my teeth, wash my face, find shoes to wear, leave the house, get into the car, drive, walk up and down all those aisles, pay, drive all the way back home, unload all those groceries and put them away... it just feels too hard. And besides, I'll just throw half of them out when they go bad anyway.

I am numb.

I look at pictures of Craig and feel nothing. I am so empty and so cried out and so beyond hurt or pain that the suffering has drained every last feeling out of me.

All I want is to see him, touch him, run my hands through his hair. I miss every single thing about him.

How can a person go from being here and so alive to just gone? How can someone just disappear?

Why does it feel like I'm just disappearing too?

Why don't I care?

Thursday, August 19, 2010

The Fear of Forgetting

What is my greatest fear?

Not spiders or sharks or snakes (well, ok, maybe snakes a little).

Not public speaking like most because, well, I love being listened to (especially if they have no choice in it... mwahahaha).

Not dying because I've come to realize it's not nearly as bad as it sounds.

Not even being alone for the rest of my life. I have experienced aloneness and at least it's nice and quiet.

No, my big fear is none of the things that everyone else seems to worry about.

My biggest fear is one unique to me. It is a burden I alone must carry and it is getting heavier and heavier.

My biggest fear is that Craig, my Craig, will be forgotten.

It was actually a discussion about names that brought about this revelation last night. The conversation being - what does a widow do about her last name if/when she remarries? My immediate thought was, I am Emily Garvin now and will be forever. Why on earth wouldn't I keep that name? (and for those of you women who have changed your name after getting married you know how much of a pain in the arse it can be) But the debate around this seems to come mostly from the men - they all appear downright offended at the idea of a woman not taking their name or even keeping the former husband's last name as a middle name. I was kind of surprised at this response but felt very, very strongly about wanting to keep Garvin in my name.

So being the obsessive nut that I am I reflected and over-analyzed until it hit me why this matters so much to me. Keeping Craig's name is a tangible and public way of acknowledging him for the rest of my life, for as long as I exist.

He was so young. He never saved the world or made it into the history books. In fact, his one claim to fame was the way that he died. This means the rest of the world goes on without him, as though he never was.

I am terrified that I will be the only one who remembers him, the only one fighting to remind the world that he mattered, that he was important, even if it was just to me.

I was his wife, his other half, his twin. I knew him more intimately and more honestly than anyone else in this world. If I do not keep this memory alive, who will? Every memory I have, every story we shared, every subtle nuance on his face, the most intimate hurts and joys of his heart - I carry these with me. 10 years worth. These are things I cannot simply write or explain - there are too many and no words would ever be enough.

And that means he could fade into non-existence and disappear.

And this is something I will fight with every last breath in my body.

Because he was important and he did matter.

And he will always matter.

To me.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Dear Craig

I thought this was the first big decision I had to make without you - whether or not to leave my job.

Then I remembered:

I had to choose whether to cremate or bury you.

I had to choose whether to go see you at the morgue or to send someone else.

I had to choose what kind of flowers you might want.

I had to choose whether or not to go see the wreckage of the car.

I had to choose which photos told your story the best.

I had to choose which words to use in your obituary.

I had to choose who would speak at your service on your behalf.

I had to choose which people to keep in my life and which ones would do more harm than good.

I had to choose which of your things I was ready to give away and which ones I just can't part with yet.

I had to choose what to do with your wedding band and mine.

I had to choose, every day, whether or not to get out of bed, to keep going or to give up.

So maybe this one isn't so big after all.

Still wish you were here to help me logic this one out. To be the sounding board. To add just the right amount of humour at just the right moment to get me laughing again. To tell me what I should do next, even though all you ever did was guide me back to what I was already thinking anyway.

Where are you, babe?

When are you coming home?

Your Wife

PS I still miss you, dammit.

Saturday, August 14, 2010

The Grass Grows

With the approach of the 5 month mark on Monday I have to do something with the memorial cross at the side of the road. Our wonderful city beaurocrats have kindly posted a notice informing me it has to be removed by the 16th. Hurry up and grieve, they might as well say.

I have tried repeatedly to remove the cross and flowers. I'd like to pot it and do something with it, though I have no idea what. I like the idea of having some of the soil where Craig came to rest. If I had a garden, I'd put it there.

Unfortunately I can never quite bring myself to do it. And not owning a shovel certainly makes things difficult (imagine the poor bedraggled widow on her hands and knees, scooping the dirt into a flower pot on the side of the road with her bare hands, sobbing, filthy, scaring the poor neighbours driving by).

Today when I stopped to attempt (and fail) to take care of it I noticed something.

The tire tracks from Craig's car, skidding their way into the ditch, cutting an ugly scar away from the pavement... they have tiny little shoots of brightly colored grass growing in them. The broken pieces of metal and rubber and the shattered remains of glass are slowly being covered and filled in by fresh summer grass and flowers.

It's almost as though nature is slowly reclaiming the accident scene, reminding me that healing can happen no matter how bad the injury.

And that's exactly what it feels like for me. All that shattered glass, the blood, the pain, the horror of what has happened... it is all there, sitting just below the surface. But slowly, despite myself, I am healing. New shoots of grass growing in and taking over.

Those broken pieces will always be there and they will always be broken.

But eventually you find ways to allow life back in.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Gossip and the Widow

Why is it when we become widows we are suddenly up for public consumption? Every aspect of our lives fodder for the masses?

I have experienced some real ugliness with the 'celebrity' that seems to come from losing a spouse. People who couldn't care less about you suddenly can't get enough of the gory details. Supposed relatives who never bothered asking you how you were doing now suddenly feel entitled to the intimate moments of your life. Acquaintances, neighbours, friends of friends...

I welcome most people into my life. I am a fairly open book (hello, blogging about all the heartache in my life should tell you I'm fairly comfortable spilling most secrets). And I love the new friends I have made and the new and wonderful people who have become a treasured part of my life.

But what I cannot accept and what I find absolutely deplorable are those who want to be involved, not because they care or are offering support, but because they love the drama and want to be at the centre of it.

I recently encountered a second wave of this ugliness from someone fairly close to me (ah, DNA, the great inclusionist). Lying, gossiping, relishing in the smut she was able to spin about me to anyone who would listen.

I find this absolutely reprehensible. I am struggling to survive. SURVIVE. Get out of bed, breathe, not give up. And someone who should be a blessing and a support to me instead finds my heartache too boring and would rather spice it up and peddle it to gain a little attention.

So here's a little attention for you:

THANK YOU for making me realize that even in the most painful time of my life I can still count on you to make me hurt even more.

THANK YOU for reminding me why Craig said you were nothing but bad news and not welcome in our home.

THANK YOU for helping me understand that nobody can be trusted, not even family.

THANK YOU for kicking me while I was down - bleeding, bruised, utterly broken.

THANK YOU for your testimony. For acknowledging God with your lips and then walking out the door and showing the world just what ungodly looks like.

THANK YOU for delighting in destroying the one and ONLY good thing in my life right now.

THANK YOU for trying to tear down and slander someone who has been there for me, cared for me, and bloody well SAVED ME while you were too busy destroying your own life to bother helping.

THANK YOU for taking something as sacred as the death of my beloved husband and trying to turn it into a circus act for your own amusement.

THANK YOU for reminding me that I am truly alone. Nobody has my back anymore.

To all of you on the outside looking in, let me remind you: Gossip is an ugly thing under normal circumstances. But to gossip and slander a widow? Heaven help you, that is one karmic b*tchslap you are asking for.

Remember that we widows live our lives in a fishbowl. Everyone stares, everyone has an opinion, especially those who have absolutely no idea what they are talking about. And if you have never lost somebody this close or do not have a degree in psychology, you fall into that category. We live every day with the constant, crushing weight of everyone's expecations and opinions on us and what we are doing. Whatever decision we make, we offend someone. Often someone who has no right to be offended. In the end all we can do is try our best to keep breathing and make it through one more day. Please try to keep this in mind the next time you feel like judging.

Because I just pray that you never have to know what this is really like.

To quote a rather wise widow, "Stare all you want. I am fierce and not going anywhere. Deal with it."

Saturday, August 7, 2010

More Notes

An email I just found from Craig from five years ago:

"Out of everyone in the whole world, you are the
greatest. I love you little girl with all my heart.
Everytime I need help, your right there beside me. And
thats not the country music talking, It's the truth."

And this is one of those stupid quizzes you fill in about the other person. Craig completed this one about me way back in 2002:

Your name: Craig Garvin

Where did we meet? "Forest Lawn Cafeteria"

Take a stab at my middle name: Martha

How long have you known me?: A year and 4 months (believe it was in November of 2001)

Do I smoke?: Hell no.

Do I believe in God?: With Compassion.

What was your first impression of me upon meeting?: Look out and stay out of her way. (Well you want the truth dont you)

What's my age?: 17

And my birthday?: September 26 1984

What colour hair do I have?: Brown

And colour eyes: Brown

Do I have any siblings?: Do you ever. 4 to be exact.

Have you ever had a crush on me?: Ever since I met you.

What's one of my favourite things to do?: Lay on my bed as I hold you, then fall asleep in my arms.

Do you remember one of the first things I said to you?: "What are you looking at?"

What's my favourite type of music?:Wow. This is a toss-up. You enjoy band music(Big Band I believe it's called) as well as Christian music. You also enjoy pop music which is up beat and really says something. Pop music like Backstreet Boys (I want it that way) not some group like Destinys Chid (Bootylishes). You also
have a thing for Black People singing. So to answer your question, I would say your favourite type of music would have to be music "Which has Feeling".

What is the best feature about me?: Your Caring and Compassionate Character. I have always enjoyed your Warm Personality. For example, I know I can always talk to you because you will always be there to listen. You have a Huge Heart of Gold which makes you
very appealing to anyone who knows you and has a heart beat. Your best feature is the fact that you are Emily Kolman/Garvin.

Am I shy or outgoing?:Depends where we are. Afterall I see the many Sides of you.(Insert Gasp Here)

Would you say I am funny?: You know damb well I would.

Am I a rebel or do follow all the rules?: Again, there are those Sides of you again. In public, definitely all the rules. But in private, Well???????

Any special talents?: Many. Being the Talented musician and a wonderfull writer you are, puts you at the top of the talented list. You also have a talent for running into "MG".(Slap me at will).

Would you consider me a friend?: For the rest of my life.

Have you ever seen me cry?: The first time was when Lydia dident come home. I walked down the stairs to the Phys-ed office and there you where. Since then I have seen and felt you cry on many different occaions ranging from anger and frustration to Joy and
Overwhelming Love and Happiness.

If there was one good nickname for me, what would it be? See this coming? The one and only, Emma-Cakes.

What's your favourite memory of me?: Too many to chose from honey. All the times on the steps talking in the winter; going to all thoes movies(Saving Silvermand and Time Machine); or on my bed either laying there peacefully or watching a movie or "watching a movie" are Great Memories. But specifically, going to the Calgary Tower just to talk; When you took my stubborn ass to the hospital; When we froze our asses off looking down on the City from just beyond the Saddledome are Cherished Memories. O.k here we go. On
the morning you left for Vancouver I took you for McDonalds breakfast and we went for a walk on "The Hill". It was a bright sunny morning with a clear view of the city. We dident say much that morning but we both thanked God many times in our hearts for this time we had together. It was time that was ment just for us as we walked and held hands simply enjoying one anothers precious presence. Priceless.

What single trait about me annoys you the most?: Slamming the damb door.

If you and I were stranded on a desert island, what one thing would you want to take with us?: A box with all our notes and cards in it with just enough room for a Bible.

Ah, I needed these today.

144 days since I last saw you and you are still making me smile.

I miss you, babe.

Friday, August 6, 2010

Facebook Updates

Sometimes people's Facebook status updates really piss me off.


I said it.

Those people who post about missing their husband because he has to work late? At least he's coming home. You have no idea what missing someone really is.

Those people Facbook breaking up - she's now single, he's now single, she 'doesn't know why she's the only one fighting for them', blah blah blah. You suck for throwing away a spouse when I would give anything for mine.

Those people who feel the need to post about every insignificant event that happens to them during the day? I'm so glad you just took a pee. My husband died.

Oh and to the person who posted Craig's obit all over the place? Get bent. It's not that fun or exciting. And you don't even know him. Grrrr...

Yes, it's ridiculously bitchy.

Yes, their lives go on even if mine doesn't.

Yes, I may spend too much time on Facebook.


Time to head back to the widow boards where cyberspace isn't as full of the DGI (Don't Get It) masses.

Or maybe I just need some chocolate.


That one.

I think there's a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup in the kitchen...

*shuffles to the fridge*



Still bitchy.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Getting Myself Together

Am trying to pull my sh*t together (pardon my language) today. I feel like I have been all over the map this week. Don't know what's wrong with me (outside of the obvious: my husband died).

I have been sad, angry, frustrated, sad, angry, and sad some more... And usually all in the space of five minutes. So funny how Craig used to say I have tornado mood swings. I can only imagine what he'd call them now! Ha!

Time to put on my Big Girl Panties, toughen up, and get myself into the right mindframe to go back to work and get on with things.

My house needs cleaning.

My car needs fixing.

Photos need scanning and organizing.

My laundry desperately needs doing.

Letters need writing.

Groceries need buying.

The gym is calling my name, begging me to come back.

I need to find somewhere to live.

I need to organize my banking.


That list is too bloody long. Help! I'm drowning in To Do's!

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

To My Husband

Dear Craig,

Thanks for completely screwing up my life forever.

Your Wife

PS I still miss you, dammit.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Off To Work I Go

I will be heading back to work next week. It has been on my mind for the last few days, circling around in my head. I just had this feeling of anxiety over it that I couldn't quite place.

Until last night.

When it hit me like a brick wall with a spectacular show of waterworks.

I have worked at this company for four and a half years. Basically as long as I have been married.

I was there while Craig was in school, I was there when we bought our first home, I was there when we struggled through infertility. With the exception of the last year, it was where Craig picked me up from every day after work (meeting out on 'hooker corner' as he liked to call it), where he would occaisionally meet me for lunch (but only if he'd been in trouble for something), where he would make his hurried calls to me over his lunch hour just to say hi or to share a story about some client.

He would email me almost daily something ridiculous or hiliarious or just an update on our bank account status ("we are down to $30.12 in our account, Sally, quit spending our money!").

Every time I worked late, which was often, I would get the text message or email from him, "It's 5:15pm do you know where your Sally is?"

But next week when I go back, it will be just me. I am no longer married, I have no darling husband to pick me up and argue with me over who was late and who waited the longest. I will get no surprise emails or text messages telling me I am loved. When I stay late, I will take myself home, back to an empty house, with nothing but dirty dishes waiting for me.

At 5:15pm nobody will be wondering where their Sally is.

When I returned to work after the accident it was about surviving in a place for 8hrs a day where I was told my husband was dead. It was about sitting in that same spot, forcing myself to think about things other than police officers delivering bad news and bosses trying to keep me together long enough to get out the door.

Now when I go back it will be about continuing on alone.

Don't be surprised if you see me toting around some of Craig's emails to get me through the day.

Or leaving by 5:14pm.