December 7, 2002: My husband died.

All of January 2003: I cried. Like non-stop, all the time.

February 1-February 10, 2003: I cried some more. I would yell at people who would tell me that they understood how I felt because they once lost their family pet. People, I totally love my cat too, but her death will not even compare to the loss of my soulmate.

February 11, 2003: My 4 best girl friends make a pact to take me on a vacation to get my mind off of things. They buy me a ticket to go to Chicago so that we can all meet up there and have a girly-girl weekend of girly-goodness and fun.


February 12-February 20, 2003: I cry. I wonder how my body stays hydrated despite the constant niagra-like waterfall pouring out of both of my eyes.

If you were to meet me today, (and you had never read my blog,) you would never guess that I'm a widow. I am far to happy, joyful, wonderful, fabulous, full of giggles, and humble to be a widow. Some people don't believe me if I do finally tell them that I am. "What?!? You're a widow? Nuh-uh...you're way too happy. You shouldn't joke about that, you know." I fill my life full of sunshine, laughter, and ice cream. I always see the silver lining very clearly, my glass is always full (and not just half full...it's filled to the rim with brim,) and the grass is totally greener on my side of the fence. Gag, I know, but you should totally be jealous of me and my merry life. And I have 4 girls to thank for that: Jaime, Lisa, Laura #1*, and Kelly. (*Sidenote: There are three Laura's in my life. My parents have assigned each one a number to differentiate them.)

February 21, 2003: I reluctantly fly to Chicago. I cry on the airplane.

Jaime is my best friend from elementary school, Lisa is my best friend from high school, and Laura #1/Kelly are my best friends from college. Collectively, they know every single thing about me. Individually, they each know me in ways that one else can. Jaime knows my moods. She knows the exact point when my happiness will turn to anger, when my anger will turn to tears, and when my tears will turn to laughter. More importantly, she knows how to switch my mood from one to the other. Lisa knows my methodical ways. She knows that I have to put a lot of thought into each decision that I make in order to be at peace with myself. She knows that if she asks me a question, and I don't answer right away, it's not because I have forgotten, but rather because I am thinking. Laura #1 knows my love. She was there from the very beginning...she was there when I secretly told her about my crush on my future husband. She was there when my and his relationship turned from friendship to love. Kelly knows my sultry side and knows how to bring out the inner goddess in me. She and I have matching tiaras. All four girls were there when he died and when my heart was broken into 8 million little pieces.

But on February 21, 2003, Jaime, Lisa, Laura #1, and Kelly pulled out their needles and thread, their super glue, and their band-aids. They focused all of their attention into mending me and my heart. They set out to make sure that I found hope, faith, and most importantly, my smile.

So I flew to Chicago. They were all waiting for me when I stepped off of the plane. And the instant that I did, my tears of sadness turned into tears of joy. I forgot all of my sorrows for just a weekend and immersed myself in their love. We drank champagne, shopped, stalked Oprah, flirted, did facials, tried on make-up, watched movies, and laughed. In fact, I don't think that I had ever laughed so hard in my life. I practically got a 6-pack from using my stomach muscles so much with all of my laughing. By the end of the weekend, we all agreed that our "girls weekend" had not only cheered me up, but it had cheered us all. We made a pact that we would reunite every year, in a different location, for a weekend chock-full of cooter talk, drinking, and facials/massages.

April 29-May 1, 2005: 3rd annual "Girls Weekend."

It's been a long long long time since I've cried. Well... sort of. I still cry whenever Julia Roberts dies at end of Steel Magnolias, or when Ritchie Valens dies at the end of La Bamba, or when Mr. Big finally decides that Carrie is his true love in Sex & The City. But it's been a long time since I've cried about my husband's death. I've since been able to refocus my memories on the good times...the lovey-dovey "I love you. No, I love you more." fights that we had...the healthy times. My girls did that for me. Not only did they hold me up when I couldn't walk on my own, but they taught me how to run again, how to skip again, how to jump again. And they continue to do so every year when we meet. I hope that one day I can return the favor to them.