So here is my
intro-First I would like to welcome you all to this crazy adventure and
humoring me along the way. I sincerely look forward to reading your stories,
hearing your music, and seeing your art. Whatever your muse maybe I look
forward to seeing them. This project was started because someone took my wine
fueled fantasy and told me it was a great idea. But I guess I should start from
the beginning.
Married
at 19, to the love of my life Jeremiah “Jerry” Izquierdo Sancho,all we ever
heard was “are you sure?” “This is a commitment, marriage is no joke” blah blah
blah. We knew (despite our many ups and downs) at 16 we would be married as
soon as we could. I was never perfect, who is? But in his eyes I was
everything. He would always tell me how much his life made sense when I was in
it. I remember the time we broke up, I broke his heart and was being selfish
(something to this day I cannot forgive myself for it), he was sitting in the
back seat of my car when “wait for you” by Elliott Yamin came on. I glanced in
the rear view mirror, we made eye contact and he started mouthing the words.
That image alone will never leave my mind. Anyway after realizing the stupid
ass mistake I made I asked him to take me back, which he was waiting for. With
a smile on his face he said only if you marry me, obviously I did, almost 2
months later.
I
packed my belongings and moved back to New York to be with him at his first duty
station and our first apartment. From June until April it was just me and him.
Sometimes just me because he would have to leave for a month for training, but
he made sure to call me as much as he could and remind me of how beautiful I
was in his eyes. Sometimes he would leave me notes throughout the house. They’d
be in the fridge, bathroom, bedroom, etc. They were my favorite part of my day
when I would find them. But the time came when we got the orders. Those damn
deployment orders. I was 20 years old signing my husbands funeral arrangements
because “You have better hand writing and if I die I want them to be able to
read what I want” His favorite excuse, I always did things better than him he
would say mostly so he could play xbox which I never minded. I remember calling
my friends and telling them how scared I was “what if he doesn’t love me when
he comes home” “what if he dies” “I don’t want to be a 21 year old widow” Well
you can pretty much gather what happened next.
October
15th I found out my husband was killed two days prior. I was numb. I
would cry uncontrollably for a while and then stop. He was dead two days before
any of us knew. Two days. I can still see the faces of my dad, my mother in
law, my brother, sister, and our friends who just happened to be at my parent’s
house that day. Their faces burned inside of my head. Their faces that
sometimes come back to me in flashbacks or nightmares. And even when I could
physically feel my heart breaking I was trying to comfort them. Go figure. I
was told by a very young chaplain from the army, who was probably younger than
me, that my husband died from wounds sustained from an IED attack and that he
was the only casualty. I was always grateful that he was the only one as messed
up as that sounds. I didn’t want anyone else to suffer the way I was. I
wouldn’t wish that kind of pain onto anyone. I got drunk a lot after that. I
did a lot of things after that to try and numb my pain. There was a time when
just seeing pictures of him would cause this burning sensation in my chest and
I would know it was time for pills or whiskey to ease my pain and help me
sleep. I tried to be strong for my family. I would only cry at night In my bed,
quietly as to not wake anyone. I would sometimes go for walks at 3 in the morning
just so I could cry. I did not want to kill myself but I wasn’t trying to
protect myself from harm either so take it for what you will. Eventually my dad
sat me down and told me the drinking needed to stop, I listened, I knew Jerry
would have been so disappointed to see me like that, so I did my best to best
to do better. I started going to therapy (hit and miss), started working again,
and started writing. It wasn’t two or three years after his death that I found
TAPS and my life changed. From there came American widows project and then most
recently Holbrook Farms. At Holbrook is where I was brave enough (after having
some liquid courage) to tell a complete stranger about my blog, about my crazy
idea to make a series of stories for widows by widows and maybe one day reach
people who don’t know our stories. To show them that our pain is still here but
were using it to try and change things. That even though I have had something
incredibly devastating happen to me I can still smile, still have a good time
and most importantly still laugh. Jerry would be proud of that, because even
though I hate my laugh he always thought it was my best quality. This person
who knew nothing more about me than that my husband was killed, had the faith
in me to say “Lets do this”. So ladies and gents here we are. Writing is how I
survive, I like to write about my sad times, my crazy widow moments and of
course the times that make me laugh because those to me are most important.
