Monday, the 23rd

This post will most likely be the hardest for me to write…the hardest to figure out how to put my feelings into words. When I thought about starting a blog, I knew I wanted it to be about moving forward, and getting through all the hard days, tough times and different experiences along the way.  I didn’t think I would go back to the day that ultimately brought me here, but maybe there is someone reading this that doesn’t know me, doesn’t know Danny, and can relate.  So here I am, an open book. 

I think about Danny every single day, but I try not to think about the day I found out he was killed.   I am only 28 years old and I have already experienced the worst day of my entire life.  Who really wants to revisit that?  The one day I wish I could wash from my brain, is the only day I can actually remember, in detail, from the past 15 months.  15 months ago, to this day, I found out my husband was never coming home: Monday, December 23^rd, 2013.  Like an addict, I have triggers that can be set off; anywhere, at any time, and completely unexpected.  When I hear a gunshot, I go back to that day.  Rain.  Big white vans.  The kitchen counter.  Things that are normal to other people, to me- are reminders of my husband dying.   Going to work on Monday always sucks, so trust me, I knew today was Monday.  I asked my brother in law the simple question, “what’s the date?”  He responded “the 23^rd.”  Monday the 23^rd.  Trigger.

Danny and I got married December 19, 2009, both 23 years old, and I moved to Hawaii, where he was stationed with 2^nd battalion 3^rd Marines, on January 12^th, 2010.  A year-long honeymoon in paradise?  Yes puh-lease.  I’m listening to a Jack Johnson playlist as I write this and it instantly brings me back.  If we could only turn back time!  Gorgeous beaches with crystal clear water…sunshine everyday…palm trees…I’m getting side tracked.  20 degrees and snow in March… Ok I’m back.

 After two deployments, Danny was out of Hawaii (which he was totally fine with) and moving on to Quantico, Virginia, where he became a combat instructor at TBS.  He reassured me that he wouldn’t deploy again for a while, if ever.  We were lucky to have lived together for 3 years without any deployments getting in the way.  Trust me, that is rare for newlyweds in the military.  I was lucky.  Fast forward…luck ran out and he got orders to 1/9 at Camp Lejeune and would be deploying to Afghanistan again.  Since this was happening quickly, we decided it would be easiest, and best for me to live at home with family while he was away.  There was no point in moving to North Carolina to be by myself, not knowing anyone and having to find a temporary job while he was constantly training and leaving a couple months later.  So come September, off he went, and I would be here in Massachusetts waiting for him. 

I started working at Starbucks when I moved to Hawaii, and it turned out to be really convenient for when we had to up and move, because I could easily transfer to another store.  I worked in Virginia, and was able to pick up shifts in Mass for the short time I’d be here.  The morning of December 23, I was scheduled to work at 6am.  My internal alarm clock went off at about 3:00am and I panicked thinking I was late for work.  I have to open today..shit!  I got up, got ready and got to work prepared to open at 4am.  They let me know I was way early (the worst) so  I stayed and hung out in the back room until 6:00 instead of driving home just to turn around and go back.  It was a normal day, kind of slow, and I ended up getting out an hour early.  This made my day because I had a ton of Christmas shopping left to do…procrastination at its finest.  I got home (my parent’s house) and ran inside and went upstairs to change.  I remember coming down the stairs, standing in the kitchen and glancing out the window at the rain.  Right as I looked out the window, I saw two Marines walking up the front lawn.  Blue pants, tan coats and covers.  I knew why they were here.  No, God please no.  After that moment it became a complete out of body experience.  I ran out the front door to meet them by the side, standing in the rain.  I think I asked “Is Danny ok?” three or four times before they even spoke.  “Mrs. Vasselian?”     “Yes, is Danny ok?”  They said “That’s why we’re here… can we go inside?”  Why the fuck aren’t they answering my question.   I brought them inside and told them I needed to put my dogs away and to hold on.  I brought my two dogs into the basement and put them in their crates.  I remember squatting in front of the two crates, holding on to the metal latch.  I didn’t want to get up…I didn’t want to go back upstairs.  This can’t be happening.  This isn’t fucking happening.  Maybe if I stayed down here they would just go away and I would wake up.  They called for me and I remember just looking at them, waiting for them to say something.  Praying they would not say what I knew they were going to say.  The details of their wording at this point is a little foggy, but they informed me that early that morning, Danny had been shot and they were not able to save him.  I remember thinking ‘I can’t go back from this moment.  This happened.  It can’t be undone.  This is happening. Oh my god.’ That morning, as I was waking up for work, my husband was dying. 

One thing I am grateful for that day is the shock my body underwent.  My casualty officer, later on, told me that my face just went pale and I had no expression.  I couldn’t cry.  I couldn’t feel anything.  I was completely numb.  It felt like someone stabbed me in the lungs and it was really hard to breathe.  I was standing by the counter when they told me, and I just leaned over the counter trying to catch my breath and stop shaking.  One of them was rubbing my back.  They told me to take a seat, so I sat down for a second, and stood back up.  I could literally see this happening to myself, but it wasn’t me.  “Why am I not crying?”  He said, “I think you are in shock.”  I just kept looking at them, still waiting for them to take it back…to tell me Danny was hurt but he would be ok, and that they were here to bring me to him.  I asked if Danny’s mother knew and they said that there were two other officers at her house.  I asked if they could drive me over there, so we went outside and I got in the big white van.  I sat in the front seat and had my head in between my legs, trying to catch my breath.  We pulled up to Danny’s house and I ran inside and made my way passed the Marine standing in the hallway.  Besides him, the first person I saw was Danny’s younger sister, Julianne, who happened to be one of my best friends.  I think I just fell into her arms and my tears rushed out.  “Oh, Erin I’m so sorry” she managed to get out through her own sobs.  Seeing her made it real. 

Time doesn't heal all wounds.  My heart hurts just as much today as it did that day.  Can shock last this long?  Some days I still have to convince myself that this really happened; my brain just won’t accept it. Other days, I find myself crying on the kitchen floor.  I guess it’s all part of the process.  I do know that no matter how hard it is, I will come out stronger.  I refuse to be stuck in the rain.  

I am a huge believer in signs.  They say you will get them when you aren't looking for them.  It's hard not to look, when that is all you have left.  Today as I was thinking about writing this blog, I was debating it in my head, not knowing if it would be too much.  I grabbed my phone to text someone, and it was 12:23.  Danny's anniversary date.  So I took that as a little nudge from Danny "go ahead, babe."  I'll take it. 

Birthdays in Heaven

Today is Danny's birthday.  It hurts and is hard to get my fingers to even type the next sentence.  He would have been 29.  It's like taking a knife to the gut.  I know there are more "would have been's" to come..more anniversaries, special days, and future endeavors that he was supposed to experience with me.  I don't know if any of these days are more painful than the other, but man, the birthday hurts. This day represents life and the celebration of turning one year older, but now is a harsh reminder of how short his was cut.  Danny has always been older than me; we were born in the same hospital just 8 months apart.  When my birthday rolled around last year, the last thing I wanted to do was celebrate.  I was turning 28, one year older than my husband ever made it to be.  It was a very strange feeling for me, outliving him in that way.  He will always be 27, and my life here just keeps on going.  I'll continue to get older and it is just weird and not fair. BLA!  End of pity rant.
To make the best of this day, family and friends will gather and celebrate Danny's life.  As much as it sucks that he can't be here, there can always be a positive spin.  Today is Danny's special day, so that is what we will make it- special. We will enjoy each other's company, toast to an unbelievable, one of a kind person, and laugh as he would want us to.
Last year a whole busload of people met at the cemetery to release Chinese paper lanterns into the sky, and it was a beautiful sight.  The sky was dark and the lanterns had a pretty, soft glow as they floated up into the sky until out of sight.  (or until out of neighbor's tree..oops!)  Each lantern filled with hello's, I love you's, I miss you's, and Happy Birthday's.  
Today I'm going to pick up 30 balloons, 29 plus one for good luck, so we can send our wishes up to the birthday boy in Heaven.  As I let go of my balloon, it isn't my hope that Danny will somehow "catch it", but that he will be beside me, smiling and guiding my hand as I release it to him. (and knowing Danny, probably trying to pop my balloon to scare me!)  I hope he can feel how much love is filled in that little balloon.  Happy birthday, my Danny.
"If love could have saved you, then you would have lived forever."  Ain't that the truth!

How did I get here?

There are some days when reality just gives me a nice smack in the face.  The picture of Danny on my desk is one that I see every day at work, but today it caught my eye differently.  I glanced at it as I always do, but couldn’t look away.  How did I get here?  Why don’t I get to say good morning to my husband anymore, give him a kiss goodbye before I go to work?  How did this happen?  

He should be here.

I can almost see his face like he is standing right in front of me and nothing has changed.  It’s really hard to think that everything actually has.   I can see and remember every freckle, every scar, the imperfection of his nose that I could never describe to him but always liked for some reason.  Danny has not yet become a memory to me, and I don’t know if he ever will.  He is so much a part of my every day and I really don’t want that to change.  It’s hard not to tear up while writing this, which may support the fact that I thought starting a blog and sharing my feelings, would be therapeutic. 

Deep breath, and back to work. 

Everything happens for a...shut-up.

"Everything happens for a reason."  When something bad happens, why does this seem to be everyone’s “go to” phrase?    Sure, SOME things happen for a reason (a breakup, a change in career), but everything?  I beg to differ.  I know it seems comforting and meant well but I think this should be on the banned list of things to say to people experiencing death, tragedy, illness, etc.  Just don’t.  If you can’t think of anything to say... it is so much better to just be honest and say “I don’t know what to say.”  So many people have said to me “You are young and beautiful, you will find someone else” and I just wanted to scream.  (I shouldn’t have a tongue from biting it so much!)  When I finally heard “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to say” I could have kissed the person.   The reason Danny died is because someone shot him.  There is no good reason that anyone could possibly try to explain why he was taken from me, why his life was cut short, why he couldn’t have been saved.   I do believe he was put on this earth for a reason, and accomplished so many great things that he was meant to, but I also believe there was so much more in store for him.  There was so much in store for us. 

The thing that pains me to my core is not having children.  I’m not only grieving the loss of my husband, but also of our unborn babies, who can no longer be.  “You still can”..again..shut-up.  I don’t want any children; I wanted those of mine and my husband, which is no longer possible except through immaculate conception, so, no...I can’t. He would have been the best father and I was so excited for that part of our future, to see him as a Dad.  Now what’s the reason for that? Insert thumb down emoji here. 

White Noise

Danny and I were together for what seems like a lifetime..well, I guess it was a lifetime in a way.  It was our lifetime.  We were 15 and 16 years old when we started "going out" in high school.  We had our ups and downs along the way but we always found our way back to each other.  Twelve years we were together and to this day I don't know anyone as loud, outgoing and just go-go-go as Danny.  Picture the Energizer Bunny.. jack him up, throw some aviator sunglasses and a man-tank on him, don't you dare call him a BUNNY...and you have Danny.  He was either telling jokes (or trying to tell someone else's), singing, jumping around, dancing, or rearranging the living room.  I'm not kidding, he moved the furniture around at least once a week, even if he put it right back.  He just had to be doing something.
As I sit here in my living room that has been the exact same since the day I moved into this apartment, I miss Danny. I wish he were here to yell at me for being lazy and not wanting to help move the couch.
The flag that draped his coffin is displayed on the wall above where I am sitting, a photo of his boots hangs across from me.  Silence and thoughts of my husband.
The white noise is haunting and the buzz of the refrigerator is a reminder of what I used to have.

A piece of me. Hi.

“Tell me about yourself.” Oh God, please no.  Whether it be in school, at a new job, or just in conversation- those words give me instant anxiety.  I dropped out of a class in college once because I had to do a presentation based on yours truly.  One thing I do know is that there is no Erin without Danny.  Or maybe there is, but I just haven't found her yet.  Which brings me to my inspiration for this blog(among many other things)-my husband, and the journey I am faced with...without him. 

My husband, the person who made me "me" gave his life defending our country.  14 months ago, shortly after turning 27, I became a widow.   I still have not gotten over the urge to want to throw up after using that word.  It’s like I have to force it through my clenched teeth.  I never thought I would be a widow, ever.  Who does?  And at 27?  Hell. No.  I'm not looking for pity or sympathy, nor do I want my life viewed as a sob story.  I hope that in sharing my story, our story, there is opportunity for growth.  

This past year has been a whirlwind and roller-coaster of emotions.  I have been presented with a big, sucky, muddy, ugly, mountainous bump in my life's road.  "Where do I go from here?"  "What am I supposed to do now?"  Questions I've asked myself a million times, that really have no answers except one: Climb that bitch. (sorry) 

Our last picture taken together before he left for Afghanistan. 

My hubby, Sgt Daniel (Danny) Vasselian