the aftermath

Please bear with me. I know the last couple of posts have been a bit on the depressing side, but I'd appreciate it if you'd hang in there with me for one more post. Then I will get back to my regularly scheduled programming about man-free summers, dating, girls nights out, and reality tv...



Some may wonder "why go there?" Why tell such a graphic, disturbing, personally intimate story in this format? Well as I mentioned, I'd been itching to tell the story. I have suspected that I really need to write about it, and by doing this, I have discovered my instinct was correct. And the feedback from a couple of my commenters made me realize that the story that I most need to tell is "how did you get from there to here?" In other words, how did I get back on my feet? How has this drastic, traumatic experience impacted my life?



Well I can't answer that question here. Way too much to tell. But I can give a brief overview of what happened in the weeks and months to come...



1. The immediate aftermath- The morning after, although I woke up feeling physically ill, as if I had been severely and repeatedly kicked in the gut, I also felt a sense of relief. A sense of relief that he was out of my life, and that it was over. Because I knew that if something drastic hadn't happened, I would have spent the rest of my life taking care of a manic-depressive alcoholic. Then I felt deep guilt over the relief I felt.



2. The responsibility- I was surprised to learn how amazingly strong and resilient I am. My ability to work through this crisis gave me such a deep sense of confidence. Sort of a "if I can handle this, I can handle absolutely anything..." type of feeling. It turned out that Fred's mother did not want anything to do with the funeral arrangements, she told me to let the "state take care of it". She couldn't even afford to fly down for the funeral. So the things I had to take care of, consisted of, but were not limited to, the following-

• Obtain power of attorney from his mom.


• Empty Fred's house of all possessions. Sell them in a yard sale.


• Return his black corvette to the bank.


• Sell his motorcycle


• Raise money for his funeral (his friends, my friends, and my family all contributed)


• Pick out a casket.


• Pick out a tombstone.


• Find a new apartment so I could take Max to live with me.


• After a few nights with Max, realizing I was in no emotional state to care for him, I had to find a new owner for him.

3. Fred's last message to me- One of the first things I found out was that he had made me the beneficiary of all of his accounts, including a life insurance policy he had taken out a few months prior. The cops were generous enough to call Fred's death an "accident", so I ended up inheriting some money. On his beneficiary listing, he had me listed as his "fiancee". He never really formally proposed, he simply used to refer to me as "the woman he's going to marry". I refer to him as my second fiance, even though technically that's not entirely accurate.

4. The funeral- It's hard to be a woman losing her man, but not really being able to be the widow. I lost it at the funeral, I don't think I've ever cried so loud in public in my life. For some reason, I did not want my family there (my brother had come down days prior to help me with some of the arrangements, my mother came down during the funeral and waited for me back at my apartment.) I also must say that Fred had loved some pretty great women in his life. Two of his most recent ex-gf's came out of the woodwork, wanting to be involved with the funeral arrangements. At the actual funeral, there were a couple hundred people there. Dozens of them were women from Fred's past. If it wasn't so tragic, it was almost comical.

5. My emotional downfall- During the weeks / months that followed I became "romantically" (I use that term lightly) with two of Fred's close friends. I hate the fact that I did that, though I can forgive myself for it. It really was a pathetic attempt to stay close to him, to stay connected to him. Needless to say, it also alienated me from the majority of his circle of friends (who had become my circle of friends, and my family away from home.)

6. My stellar rise in career- The tragedy brought me attention in my company (Jenny Craig herself donated to Fred's funeral, as did dozens of my co-workers). What was freaky is that I started kicking some serious butt, almost immediately, on the job. I was breaking records, winning national contests. I was promoted three times over the next year, more than doubling my income. I also moved three times- New Orleans, Dallas, and then Houston. All within a year.

7. Therapy- A little more than a year later, I suffered from a pretty serious health issue. (I believe it was directly related to my grief.) Being out of work for the surgery made me realize I was ready to go into therapy. And I did. For years, and years. I also managed my grief myself- I scheduled times to grieve, time to think about him and what happened.

So yeah, it was a tough year. To say the least. And a lot has happened since then. I've grown, I've healed, I've moved on. But I also feel like I carry this thing around with me all the time. It's like a scarlet A on my forehead that only I can see.

Back to my original question- why write about this, now and in this way?

I feel like I'm letting the universe know the answer (or actually part of the answer) to some of the questions that have been asked of me over the years...

* Why haven't you married yet?

* When you are in a relationship, why do you work so hard to hold on to it, when it's so clear that it's over?

* Why did you give up alcohol for so many years?

* Why do you have such a phobia about guns?

* Why do you cry so much, and feel like you have tears behind your eyes all the time?

* Why didn't you ever go back to an acting career, like you had intended?

* You're so laid back...how come nothing seems to faze you?

I feel like I have dealt with his death intellectually. And even emotionally (mostly). But I'm not sure if I've dealt with it physically. Meaning, that it does feel like this tragedy is somehow imprinted in the cells of my body. The drastic shock of that night, as if being in a very serious car accident, just banged the hell out of my body. I do feel like there's this barrel of tears deep inside of me. In some ways, writing helps with that.