I’ve been toying for a while about revamping what I want to do with my blog.
And while some of it will be filled with sadness and the heartache I feel everyday, not everyday-all day is miserable. That’s a lie, some days just plain suck ass. But not always.
Some days I’m so busy working and rushing and bringing kids from here to there that I hardly have time to notice.
So what is this going to be about? Simply everything; from dating as widow and dating in general (which is terrible by the way!), to raising my kids alone, to taking care of myself, and in a world of self discovery I had never expected.
So, before I leave, I will tell you a story about where it all started. No, not the beginning beginning with Andre. The beginning when I had my first “widow moment”.
You’d assume that these moments would take place while I was lying in my bed, crying and clutching one of Andre’s shirts. Look, I did, and still do plenty of that, but this moment came unexpectedly in the basement of the funeral parlor.
My mom, my sister and I were looking at urns. The funeral director is gently guiding us through a room full of caskets to the place where they display the urns. And he’s talking in a clear, gentle voice as you would expect someone with many years of experience dealing with people at their worst moments would, and I started to think.
Side bar: I was drugged with Xanax, incredibly tired and pretty damn distraught. That being said, it’s also a very awkward and uncomfortable situation. And when these things combine inside of me in the basement of a funeral parlor looking at urns for my now dead husband, I become very funny. I say basically whatever comes to my mind in a comedic style rivaling Tina Fey.
So I was standing back, in deep thought. I was running a few things through my mind, and the three of them (my mom, sister and funeral director) noticed my lagging behind with a quizzical look on my face. The funeral director asked me a question I am sure he will very quickly come to regret, “Mrs. Bermudez, did you have a question?” and as if it written for a sitcom, I blurt out, “Yes. How are the urns secured? Do they screw on or is there like a cork? Because to be honest, I have a 75 pound husky and two kids and the last thing I want to do is have him knocked over and I end up having to vacuum up my husband”.
The sheer look of horror and, well, surprise that was displayed on my sister and mothers faces in combination with the stuttering of the funeral director trying to come up with an appropriate answer to a pretty inappropriately worded question made me realize at that moment that this was it. This was a moment that would be burned into my memory forever as my first “widow moment”. Here I am in a funeral home picking out the urn my husband will likely be in for the rest of… well forever, and I can’t help but think of how I would handle his urn being knocked over accidentally by one of my kids.
What followed after that was my sister bursting into laughter, then my mom, and then when he realized that it was a really funny moment, so did the funeral director.
The rest of the arrangements were made and we went to the car to head back home. As I stared out the window watching the trees and stores and road go by, I couldn’t help but think how my life would never again be the same.