Weeks like the one I’ve just had should definitely be named like tropical storms. I think I’ll call this one Alastor, given his repeated tormenting and destruction of any and all emotional stability. Seriously, he (Alastor, that is) just wouldn’t back off.

I will likely never get answers to so many of my questions, but I’ve barely begun to ask some of them. On the contrary, because I know that even if I knew WHY he killed himself that it wouldn’t change the circumstances, I’ve hardly even scratched the surface in terms of learning more about my late husband’s suicide.

It reminds me of the Maggie of my childhood, the one who wants to please others, but also has so much more to say. She’s the girl who feels she can only let her true self out in little bits at a time and then punishes herself for having done so.

It doesn’t feel at all as I had imagined. I’m honestly not even sure what I had in mind, but this definitely isn’t it. It’s wonderful and marvelous and makes me all warm and giggly and dreaming about things I didn’t know I even wanted for myself anymore, or maybe even at all.

So, my fellow widdas, here's a lovely collection of some of my bestest worst choices in this widowed life. THIS is the stuff we relate on. Hearing other widows' shitstorms and complete disasters helped get me through the early days when I didn't want to remember Mark, but instead wanted to party. So if you've done it, I probably have, too, and probably worse. You're not bad; you’re human.

And though one should never compare one loss to another, I've heard about many of my fellow widows having to sort through a lot more STUFF than I did, and I'm just glad I didn't have to go through all of that. A few bags of clothes were hard enough. 

This was not the first poor financial decision we'd made as a couple; it was just the first one we made while married. Picking out rings was way more fun than I had imagined it would be. But it was all downhill from there.

Even saying that is painful, and this is as far as I can go down that road. It's too much.

I'm not going to offer any new advice because, at this moment, I don't have any. Everyone has been posting and sharing all the right things all week. It's not rocket science. The only thing to do now is go act on it and check in on your people.

I am having a DOOZY of a time getting through this Memorial Day weekend. I was once an ignorant civilian like most of you and would say stupidly careless things like "HAPPY Memorial Day". This is not an insult; it's a fact. If you've never served or lived in a military family, you simply do not know what it's like and don’t have the fortune of viewing things from a military perspective.

To my fellow suicide widows: I feel your pain and share your relief. Whatever you were going through before, the worst is over; you can take a deep breath now. (Except for when you can't because you're too busy having an anxiety attack. I get that, too.)

I miss the way you always ignored me while I was dancing and pretending to be a great singer. I also really miss how you always allowed me to take videos of you ignoring me while I was dancing and pretending to be a great singer. 

To say I had a horrible time with running after Mark died is a gross understatement. I've never felt so disconnected from my body in my entire life. What was going on with me physically didn't line up in the least bit to what was going on with me mentally and emotionally. My mind would think one thing, and my body would do another. There was no rhyme or reason to it. Everything was wonky.

Forty-eight hours of hell resulted in a completely warped version of reality, my “new normal”, all because I finally took a stand for my own life, free of lies and the complete lack of trust that goes hand in hand with being married to a compulsive gambler. 

I am in no rush, and I really mean that. But I do look forward to that slow dance. 

Most of us have been through some sort of wake-up-call-esque experience that has us see how short life really is and that most of our concerns are superficial and not even worth mentioning at our funerals. Losing your spouse to suicide is DEFINITELY one such experience. Here are some of the things I've been able to experience now that I don't waste so much energy sweating the small stuff.

For a while, I held on to the certainty that the only constant is change. It really didn't matter what was next; I just knew something would shift at some point because things always shift. Sometimes it would be for the worse, but after months and months of anger, depression was a nice break. Intense anxiety then became a vacation from being miserable. I haven't much cared what phase is coming next, just that it's coming.

The truth is, I think that I am supposed to talk about suicide a LOT. Life is what you make it, but life also has ways of giving you clues and signs. Things that keep showing up aren't to be ignored; they keep showing up because they're not resolved or complete. So, as much as I often don't want to keep talking about all this, I have so much more to say. 

Sadness is eating the chips and nearly choking on them while I ugly cry at the same time. Depression is eating the chips with no expression on my face and not even tasting the salsa, or maybe not even bothering to get any salsa for the chips in the first place.

Life has given me lemons, and DAMMIT! There will be lemonade for everyone!

No.

No, there won't.

No lemonade.

I have acid reflux.