Beginnings

So I posted my beginning story to the Survivors of Hero's facebook page that is the soft version of the book idea I talked about at Holbrook farms. I felt it was important to share my story because then it could make others feel more comfortable in doing so as well. But for those not on that page I wanted to give you the opportunity to read it if you wanted to so here it is, enjoy :)

 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 15^th 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.