Dear Dazzy

To cope with what life throws at us, some people write in a diary, a journal, or even on cocktail napkins. This on-line journal will be my attempt to keep my brain intact with some shred of sanity after the sudden and shocking death of my wonderful husband, Daryl, on April 20, 2007.

Just writing that sentence is surreal enough to have me wondering if this is not just all a bad dream, some Faulknerian novel plot twist with a dose of horror from a Stephen King thrown in for the hideousness of it all.

Dead? Gone? Hurtling into his afterlife, should there be one after all? WHY? He was only 42 years old. He was the kindest, most magnanumous man I have ever met. He-we-had plans, for goodness sake.

He was not finished living. I was not finished loving him. His kids were not finished learning from him. It is the ultimate cliche that, "Only the good die young." Indeed.

I know he didn't want to leave us, the twins and me. Still, those unknown variables of blood clots and bad genes took their toll, ambushing him at a time when life could not be sweeter.
He had been promoted at work, with a promise of great things to come. He saw me teach my first year's class, after he helped me get through college at an age when some women become gradmas, and he was prouder than I was of my own acomplishments.

He saw the twins settle in at UNT, all good grades, hard work, and fabulous dance and music performances.

His Mum had just been in from Australia to see his good fortune first hand-a loving wife and family, a loyal dog, a beautiful home, a good job, happiness to the nth degree.

Then, like a comet that brilliantly lights up the sky for a very precise time and is gone, so was he.

There is an emptiness that shadows my days and nights now. It's been roughly three weeks, and I am still in shock and disbelief. In the morning, I stifle my sobs while I pour my tea. Making my tea was a nicety that Daz always took pride in doing. During the day, I pretend that he is merely at work; that when I arrive home I will be making us dinner and we will talk and laugh and all will be right with the universe. At night, my tears flood the pillow with the warm, salted rain formed of tears from the stormclouds that gathered over our storybook fairytale gone horribly wrong.

I have returned to work, but my heart is in too many pieces to be able to find any motivation for what I do. I go through the motions, thankful that school is only a fews weeks away from ending for the year. The kids tell me I am "real quiet." Anyone who knows me would laugh at the notion of the words "quiet" and "Susan" being in the same sentence.

I promise the dog that we will soon be able to sleep later, walk to the park when we like, and we'll wait for "daddy" to come home and pet him again.

I promise the kids that with time, this black hole of emotion will become easier to deal with.
"I know," I reassure them. I have walked with death before, with Derrick, their brother, and Jean, their beloved grandma, my Ma.
"It will get easier, and we will cherish all the wonderful memeories we have of him and us."
My mouth forms the words, but my heart knows of the lie they weave.

We miss Daz so much right now, that daily life is a metaphor for sadness and nothing more.
I have to do something, however, I just cannot sit and wait. Paitience may be a virture, but it is one I will never have.

Hence, this blog.


I remembered how Daz and I always said that we know it is up to us to create an amazing life. I liked that as the title for this blog, which is an homage to the man who called me princess and made my tea every day we were together here on Earth. The idea of this blog to "talk" to Dazzy came about because one thing that we had that was so amazing was our ability to communicate. We had been together almost eight years at the time of his death, and we used to joke that from the time we made initial contact we had never stopped talking. We met via computer on ICQ and we didn't let a little thing like distance-he was in Australia, I was in the USA-stop us from being together. It took about two and a half years, but in 2002 we settled into a blissful married life with my twins and the dog. We bought a house the year after, and we were renovating it and making plans for being old and grey together as well. So much for planning.

So, every time the mood strikes, when I need to tell my darling hubby something that is funny, eloquent, poinient, important, serious, stupid or otherwise, I will be writing it down here. I hope that in ways I do not yet comprehend that he will read it and smile.