December 13, 2011


Sometimes I just sit here.  I try not to even think.  I feel like I’m dead…like such a big part of me is dead.  I still wish we could all die, but I don’t have the courage to kill us all.  I know we could all be together in heaven, so who cares.  Everyone left here could see how I feel then.  Broken. Sad.  Done.  Lied to.  Manipulated. Tricked.  The more I look at pictures of you, the more I see a diseased person.  A person who did not look well.  A person who appeared to be dying of cancer.  A long time ago you looked good, here and there you looked well.  A lot of times you didn’t.  You looked horrible at our wedding.  You so did not ever handle stress well.  I do hate you a lot.  I feel like you are a big loser and you didn’t try.  I hate that your family doesn’t see the truth about you.  I don’t know what it’s gonna take for me to be happy.  I want us to be happy again.  I want to be loved. I want to love.  For now and maybe forever I will love my kids so damn much it will burst my heart open.  I hope they feel the same way.  Thank God for them.  I truly desire peace and happiness for us.  Lord please give us respite in your Sacred Heart.  Forgive me for being angry and hateful towards a sick man who hurt us so deeply that we may not recover. 

November 27, 2011

Fuck You

You know what, Dave. You’re a piece of shit.  Jay told me there were papers and boxes of your things in your mom's empty rental.  I went there yesterday to get them and see what was there. Your usual chaotic mess of receipts I probably asked you for 100 times, your tablets with small writing that made no sense, notes and lists that you probably never followed through on, and at the bottom mixed in with paperclips, dirty nickels and pennies and junk was a plastic baggie with a crushed up pill in it.  What is surprising and alarming about this is that all the stuff was from 2008.  You were doing that fucked up shit that long ago.  I can’t even imagine all the lies you told me.  All the stuff you hid from me.  How many times I asked you what was going on, begged you to be ok, prayed and wished for our marriage to be better, and all you ever did, it seems, was lie.  I hate you for being a liar.  And a coward.  You are so right….I do deserve better. I know I am a good person who always tries to do the right thing.    Everyone thinks I should be over this by now.   So many people act like nothing happened.  I’ll never be over it.  How does one get over this? There is no fucking way.  Driving up to this house and knowing right away you were dead was the most horrible thing that has ever happened to me.  Knowing my kids saw you die, you fucked up piece of shit, you did this in front of them. I fucking hate you.  Loser loser loser.  I hope you are rotting in hell, for a little while anyway, you deserve it.  I’m sick of being sad.  Sick of being ruined by you.  All I ever wanted was happiness and peace and love.  There was never peace with you around. One can’t be at peace when their soul is full of lies.  One can’t be happy when their whole life is a lie.  And as for love, I don’t think you really know what it means. 

November 26, 2011

Joy to the World

Omg I can't do this. Day2 of the holiday season and I cannot stop crying. I can't do this for a month. I'm scared.

November 22, 2011

November 15, 2011

This really happens.

I think for your listening pleasure I will start recording the phone conversations with the credit card company calling to try to convince me to pay for my dead husbands debt. They usually call while I am simultaneously cooking, on my 2nd hour of 4th grade homework, and have little ones either in the tub or destroying my house. I should add that I am not medicated but have been drinking and also quit smoking yesterday. LOL

October 25, 2011


There...I said the word. And I so hate it. I've been thinking today about how many people just don't get it. They think Dave is a coward, a quitter, a man who deserted his wife and 3 kids, babies so young they won't even remember their daddy. I probably thought all that too, before my life was destroyed by it. I've even admitted that if this happened to someone else I knew, I would be saying "How did the wife not know? Why didn't she help him? Why didn't anybody DO anything?" It's such a sneaky killer, really.  Those of us close to Dave in the last few weeks were the most shaken, obviously, but also the most stunned. Why didn't he say anything??? Why did he suffer in silence? And for how long?

When this happens to you, you realize that no one in their right mind does this. Looking back, I believe Dave suffered from anxiety and depression since Katrina. But I don't even think he KNEW what IT was. He never said "I'm depressed" or "I feel anxious". It was his way of life obviously. To cope he snuck pills, hid it from everyone. But the wrong kind of pills of course. And when he finally sought medical attention, he was prescribed adderrall. The adderrall put his problems front and center. Made everyday bullshit seem INSURMOUNTABLE. I feel so badly for him. I'm so sad this was his life. His one attempt at help killed him because he didn't understand the disease himself.

My sister in law is walking in the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention Fundraiser. The website is So appropriately named. I was saying this morning if you have cancer or diabetes or MS people do walks and raise money...but there is less understanding about mental illness. You can't see it on an x-ray so it mustn't be real. I wonder what would have happened if Dave would have seen a commerical or heard a radio spot or passed a billboard with a flashing suicide prevention number? Would he have called? Would he be here today?

October 5, 2011

3 Months

‎3 months. The last 30 days have taken 2 years to pass. Perhaps time does fly when you're havin' fun, because when you are definetely not havin' fun, it creeps ever sooo slowlyyyyy! I try to use all the additional minutes to love my kids and keep my house clean. That's why my house is still clean people! I've come to the realization that this is basically just "IT". I do what the grief therapists say, I "work through the grief."  I try to "live in the moment", blah blah effin blah. I don't like the grief people right now. Cause right now, in this moment, it SUCKS. And guess what, I think it's always going to suck. I think there might be varying degrees of I'm not always laying on the floor sobbing, sometimes the tears just stream silently and I don't have a panic attack. But they are there everyday, with this gaping hole in my heart. I believe that old ladies are the only ones who tell the truth. They come up to me from nowhere, grab hold of my arm, get so close I can smell the peppermint in their mouth and they look me right in the eye and say, "This is it baby, the hurt doesn't go away."  BAM! So now what? I practice acceptance. I don't question God. And I pray so hard, so hard, so hard, to feel true happiness and peace everyday. I saw a post today that said "Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain." So I will vow to dance in the rain, but I think I know that people dancing in the rain are doing that so you can't see their tears.

September 25, 2011

Physical Pain

I miss you so much it literally takes my breath away sometimes.  It feels like I just can’t breathe, like my heart is bursting from the pain.  The knot in my throat hurts so badly.  This morning I asked the baby “who loves you?”  As soon as I said it, I was thinking “daddy”.  Daddy loves you.  It’s been months and he is so tiny and clueless, but he answered daddy…like he was in my head, and in yours. I know you were right there with us, I felt you.  And it hurt me so bad.  I am glad you are here, glad you are helping us, glad you are trying to pull me through.  I love you so much and I know you love me too.  I know that you are happy now, you are well, you are all the things you couldn’t be here.  But that makes me sad.  I wanted to enjoy all those parts of you.  I wanted you to feel all that here with us.  I don’t know why you couldn’t.  We all have so much love for one another here…the boys and I.  We are happy and peaceful…but we miss you so.  Please stay near us Dave.  The last few days have been rough for me.  Friday I cried until I thought I was going crazy and almost had a panic attack.  It hurt me and scared me.  I just ache for you. Want to hold you, hug you, kiss you, feel you, see you, hear your voice.  You’re not in my dreams…and I hate it.

September 21, 2011

On Me...

Has 9 lives, thinks it would take alot to kill me, feels like I've been alive a million years, could kick the asses of 10 men, still wants to shoot robbers, divorced a ghost this week, is looking old but feeling better, thinks the term widow is for arachnids and will never check that box.

September 13, 2011

Nap Day

So today is little darling's first nap day at school.  The 23 mos old baby who has to 'hold hands, hold hands!" with me even while I cook or fold clothes is going to attempt 'napping' on his big boy nap mat today.  I've already called school.  He isn't crying, but he isn't sleeping either. Good enough. We always layed down with him for naps. He has been so needy with real separation anxiety since Dave's death.  Can't blame the tot.  He literally watched his daddy die.  For 6 solid weeks after, he tossed and turned and thrashed around the bed chanting "Daddy fell down, daddy got a bad bobo" over and over again until I thought I would pull my hair out one by one.  The bigger kids would beg me to make him stop.  I couldn't make him stop.  No amount of caressing, singing, holding, hugging, crying would make the baby stop.  His sheer exhaustion is all that made him stop.  One day while laying down with him for a nap, I was reading and basically just tuning out the chants.  When I 'came to' and focused on what he was saying, I was jolted into reality.  "Daddy don't die, Daddy don't die, Daddy don't die".  What exactly is the response to this?  I just smiled and snuggled up close to him.  In my head I was screaming the same thing.  The tears rolled down my face and we fell asleep.  The last month or so has been better.  He doesn't say much about Dave anymore, but when he does it stops your heart.  The phone rang this week and he ran to it, picked it  up, and said "OH, It's Daddy!"...his tone was sort of like " daddy is calling!"  I had to pick myself up off the floor.  Really, daddy, this is serious torture in a small kitchen.  How much can a frazzled mommy take?  We had another incident this week too, where I went up to him and kissed the back of his neck and said "Who loves you baby?"  In my mind, I answered "Daddy".  The baby answered for me.  "Dada."  Yes he does my sweet love.  Forever and ever and ever.

September 5, 2011

2 Months

how can it be? we miss you so much. so many things i've wanted to say, wanted to share, wanted to do with you in those 2 months. things will never be the same. trying hard to adjust to the new normal, the normal that we hate, the normal that hurts all the time. the happy moments are bittersweet. will it ever go away and stop hurting less, so that we can breathe normally, laugh with abandon, and live...really live. the prayers from everywhere have lifted us up, and literally keep us going. Today I found the card you gave me for valentines day this year. it said alot of mushy stuff..and ended with "...and no matter what i always love you with all my heart".....

August 8, 2011


Why am I searching for granite cemetery vases and not cooking supper.  It’s 5:46, why aren’t you home yet?  And if you were here, how many pills would you have taken today? How many lies would you have told me already today? Where were you all day and what were you doing? What kind of drugs were you taking? I hate having more questions than answers, and I feel horrible and awful that you couldn’t share your pain with me.  I wanted to ease your pain, help you, love you, hold you, be intimate with you.  I wanted you to be healthy and happy and gorgeous and glorious. Now you are dead, you are a burned up body, crushed up ashes….i know your spirit is somewhere…but where? I don’t see you. I don’t feel you. You are not showing yourself to me. I am low as low can get…I am ignoring our kids, not being a good mom, not playing with them…I’m just being how you were, depressed and nonexistent.  I don’t want to be this way, God please help.

July 17, 2011


The bar of soap is almost gone, and then I have to open a new one, one that you never used.  Last night big darling wanted hot sauce, and the searing pain I felt knowing you were the last one to touch that bottle was unbearable and made me lose my breath.   The baby tosses and turns before passing out at night, thrashing his head from side to side saying "daddy fell down, daddy got a bobo" over and over until my head is exploding. What the fuck do you say to a 21 mos old baby who saw his daddy die? "Give these boys a better life than I can give them" is what you told me.  Really?  Cause this seems like hell. I am the stupidest person of all for letting this could I? Someone said yesterday it was the perfect storm. All things fell into place just so...and the end result was the end of all of our lives. We miss you so much. Why, why, why didn't I tell you that your eyes looked the color of the water in Destin on that day? Because I thought it, multiple times.  I wish I could dive in right now, and maybe that was my invitation to do so....but I probably folded clothes instead. I said nothing, because I was too used to the silence between us.  You took a step back each day, and I tried to stop you but failed.  People say God doesn't give you more than you can handle, but it's not true, because you're not here. The world is full of stupid clich├ę do this or that and you'll get "closure".  It’s all bullshit.  People keep saying I'm the strongest person they've ever met. I'm not strong. I want to quit right now. I have no fucking clue how I'm going to go on, how I'm going to give these boys any life, much less a better one. The truth is we were not living.  We were all alive but not living. I do want to live, I want the boys to live, but I can't even imagine ever not being in this much pain. I feel like the world sucks.  The news is horrible, the front page of the paper is horrible, people kill each other, themselves, get cancer and horrible diseases. Look to your kids, they'll give you strength people say. But when I look at them all I can think is that you should be looking at them too.

July 9, 2011

Seriously. This Really Happened.

Life can be so great.  Sometimes I'm convinced that God is trying to hand me my ass on a platter.  This is a true story.  Zero embellishment, simply because none is required.

At 4:30 on the morning of my husband's funeral, I was awakened by a noise in the kitchen.  I thought it was Charlotte, maybe getting a snack or a drink of water, and I thought she shouldn't be eating at a time like this.  Poor Charlotte, she is probably so nervous and sick and depressed.  Now she is up in the middle of the night, trying to calm her nerves.  Damn you, Dave.  She is such a good friend to me.  We've been friends so long; how long has it been? 20 years?  And just like that, really quietly, there is a black man standing in my bedroom.  I watched him walk in.  He wore a black baseball cap, had a black bandanna around his face, a black shirt and black jeans.  He wasn't that tall.  He looked pretty young.  He pointed his gun towards me and the kids, holding it sideways for extra thug-like emphasis.  He stood quietly by my door and said "Where da money? Where da safe?" 

"I don't have a safe," I say quietly as I bolt upright.  I was in bed with my 3 kids. We had gone to bed clutching one another for dear life.  We had cried hysterically, all of us, until we were so spent, so crazy, so out of our minds....surely we would die of the sadness.  I prayed for it.  I was surrounded by little boy arms and legs and sweaty sheets and I couldn't get out of there fast enough.  "You betta get dat safe and open it up o' I'ma kill you." 

Really, motherfucker? "Well, I don't have a safe, so fucking kill me, I don't give a shit!"  I'm not the least bit concerned that he will.  He flipped on the light and all three of my kids sat up and started crying.  I leaped from the bed and floated across the room at lightening speed, right up into his face. I quickly turned off the light.  "Turn out that fucking light and don't you fuck with my kids.  Now get in the kitchen!" I hissed the words like a snake.  "My fucking husband just killed himself and the funeral is in 5 hours, so I really don't give a fuck if you kill us all.  I already told you I don't have a safe.  But I do have some money, and obviously you need it more than I do, so I will help you, but if you fuck with me, if you hurt me, you get nothing, do you understand?!" 

I know there is $120 somewhere, it was in Dave's truck and a hundred people have been in my house taking charge while I stand in the corner and try to figure out how to kill us all, making sure we all die at the same time so we can get the fuck off this earth and be with him.  This motherfucker in my kitchen is desperate, but he hasn't a fucking clue how much more desperate I am.  Is this shit really happening?  Fuck you, Dave!  I dug through some papers and the stash in my kitchen where I keep pizza money.  Nothing.  I went to my purse, and he said "I done already been through there, they ain't no money there."  Fine.  Charlotte is asleep in the living room, I prayed she had some cash, surely she drove here with something.  I said, "Let's go ask my friend if she has some money."  We walked into the living room and I quietly said, "Charlotte".  She looked up and there we stood.  He was holding his gun to my head, and holding my arm.  I calmly said, "Charlotte, this man needs some money.  We need to help him get some money."  She bolted up, said, "Ok", and she walked calmly to her purse.  I don't even know if we took the time to look at one another.  Again he repeated that he'd already been through our purses, and I suddenly noticed that credit cards and receipts have fallen all over the floor.  He doesn't want that, I'm thinking, he just wants CASH.  "You're gonna have to go to the ATM, take our cards and we'll give you the pin numbers" I said.  "OK, but I'm going to take you with me," he said.  "No way!" I hissed again.  "I already told you my fucking husband is dead!  I'm not leaving my kids."  Then Charlotte says calmly, "I'll go."  She says it like we are just about to drive to the store with friends for a six pack. I can't believe it, but then I can.  She knows I'm not leaving my kids, and somehow we know this man is not here to hurt us.  He's here for money.  I'm talking to him like he's a piece of shit, and he's not getting mad.  I give her my ATM card, she gets her purse and keys and towards the door they walk.  I run up and grab both of their arms and say, "Can we say a quick prayer?"  He says quietly, "Ya'll do that when we get back."  Then he says, "If you call the police, I'm going to kill her."  "I'm not calling the police, I told you we would help you."  As they head back through the living room he tells me to put my flat screen in the back of my Navigator.  They leave and my first words are to Dave.  "Damn you, I don't know where you are, I don't know if you even know what to do yet, but you need to figure it out in this instant and fucking help us NOW!"  My next prayer is to St. Theresa, she will not fail me.  It's just not possible.  Dear God, please don't let him kill her.  We just need to do what he says.  A little bit.  With a slight twist.  So I dial my neighbor across the street.  This guy has been a friend of ours for years.  He's such a good neighbor that I think he even cleaned Dave's blood and guts from my garage floor two days ago.  Really.  And now I'm calling him to say, "I need you to get alert and wake up right now.  We're getting robbed.  A man just walked into my house, took my friend to the ATM at gunpoint and told me not to the call the cops or he would kill her."  "Ok," he says, "we need to call 911."  "No!  We can't call the cops.  We can't take that chance.  I can't let him kill her.  She volunteered to go in my place."  The phone then makes a noise, and he is gone.  The battery died. 

I decided to call New Orleans 3rd District Police Station.  This should be a safe alternative to 911, which would surely result in sirens blazing and Charlotte being murdered in front of my house.  Oh hell no!  We just did that.  Somebody just died; we cannot at all go through this again.  I quickly explain the situation.  My voice is calm; I'm alert and coherent.  I say we need an unmarked car.  "We ain't got that," is the answer.  Really, pricks?  Really?  This is your answer to me?  So I say, "Well you need to go outside and get in your own car and drive over here then."  "That's against the policy" is the answer.  Really?  You have a fucking policy that you can't fucking save a widow and three kids from an armed fucking thug ass robber who has just carjacked and kidnapped my best friend.  "What the fuck am I supposed to do?"  "Call 911," he says.  I scream, "I thought I was talking to the fucking police!  I already told you why I can't call 911!"  It's too risky.  There is no way in hell I'm putting my friend's life in the hands of a 911 operator asleep in her snuggie.  If they get it wrong, sent cars flying over here with sirens and cannot have anymore people dying here, especially Charlotte. 

I thank him for ensuring that now we are all going to die, and I hang up.  I have second thoughts and great ideas about sending regular police cars into the alleys, and I'm going to tell them where to park, on what streets, what route I want them to take here, etc.  I've got this all figured out.  And I'm looking at the getaway car, only its really dark and I can't see what it is.  So I redial third district.  It rings and rings and rings.  No answer.  You gotta be fucking kidding me.  I hang up and dial again.  Same thing.  There is no answer.  I badly want to believe its because they're running like Starsky and Hutch and diving into their cars to come and save us.  Instead I know they are eating donuts and figuring out that my husband just committed suicide at this address and they're deciding that I'm a crazy, fucking lunatic. 

The thug returns with Charlotte unscathed, but there's trouble.  I've given them the wrong card and pin.  It wouldn't work.  I'm calmer now, thinking more clearly, so I quickly find my business card and thrust it at her.  He's standing right there.  Listen to me, I say to him.  This is my business card.  You can get two withdrawals with this card.  $800.00.  He agrees this is some consolation for my screw up.  They leave again, then return shortly thereafter.  Charlotte is shaking like a leaf.  I've already loaded up the widescreen myself, into my own fucking SUV.  She runs inside as he takes off in my vehicle.  My neighbor dials 911.  We have a nine minute lapse while we wait for the cops to arrive.  Seriously.  This really happened.