I’ve had a hell of a life the last two years, but I refuse to let that define me.
September 2009, my 29 year old husband got sick with the flu. He landed up in the hospital with double pneumonia, and was in the CCU for almost a week. He got better, was moved to a regular room, and then died two days later of a pulmonary embolism. Less than two weeks after he died, I found out he had H1N1, which caused the pneumonia, which caused the pulmonary embolism, which caused the cardio-respiratory arrest.
Which caused me to become a widow at the age of 29.
We were married for almost 10 years. 9 years, 9 months and 11 days. We had four beautiful children together, three girls and one boy. I watched him die. I told the doctors to stop the CPR. I made the decision because I knew he would make the same one for himself. A life as a vegetable was not the life for him, he was too strong for that.
And I miss him. We all do. We love him still, and always will. He is a daily part of our lives, and we talk about him all the time.
Dude, it sucks being an only parent. Apart from telling my kids their father died, this is single-handedly the hardest thing I have ever, EVER done in my life. Quite honestly, I fucking hate it. I do plan to get married again one day, I plan to find Mr Right for Me. I plan to be happy with someone again. I’m 31 years old, and too young to be alone for the rest of my life. And anyone that tells me I have to learn to be happy alone can shove it, because I am validated in the fact that it is OK to not be happy alone.
I wanted this blog to be a fresh start for me. A break from the old blog that held my identity of so-and-so’s widow. I’ll always be a widow, and I’ll always define myself as one, but I need a new blog that is just ME. One that I can share all about my new life as a single mom, with my adventures in parenting, dating, life, and maybe even sex! (only if my family doesn’t read that one! haha!).
I can’t let the last two years of my life dictate who I will always be. Yeah, I had a hellish last two years, but things can only get better right? I’m pretty sure I’ve already hit rock bottom.
Glitter is My Prozac 