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