My Blog

One Year

04/13/2012 22:43:00

I'm a writer. Alright, I enjoy writing. I don't make any money doing it, but I use it as an outlet. It's a part of me. Every writer has their own methods when it comes to writing. Some outline. Some free think. I use a little combination of the two. And every once in a while, you get stuck. But you learn little tricks to get through those moments of "writer's block". I'm sure they are different for everyone. For me, I tend to take a step back, set the project aside, and revisit it later to finish what I started. That's usually the best way. You see, I hate having unfinished writing projects lingering. Even if they aren't perfected, I finish them.

I have often thought of life as a writing project. You outline it. You pretty much have all the major points in your head on what you want to accomplish with your main "character" and then the rest - the details and dialogue - fills itself in. And even in life, there are times you get a terrible case of writer's block.

As most of you know, if you've followed this blog at all, I married my FLC on February 3, 2011. A short eight weeks later, on April 1, 2011, he took ill and was admitted to the hospital. After a two week period of ups and downs, I was alerted to an emergency surgery and arrived at the hospital in time to tell him how much I loved him and hear him utter those words to be me for what would be the last time. It was then a waiting game. Only, we were waiting for the inevitable - his ultimate demise. On April 14, 2011, I stood by his side, along with family and friends, and whispered into his ear how much I loved him. I watched as he was removed from the machines that were keeping him alive and witnessed as he eventually flat-lined, indicating his time on Earth was over.

It has been a year since that day. What a year it has been. I've run the gambit of emotion from despair to fear to acceptance and even had some happy times mixed in for good measure. I truly never would have believed, this time last year, that I would have made it this far.

When you experience the death of a loved one, you have choices to make. Most times, those choices aren't even conscious decisions. They just happen, like breathing. You learn to save your mind for more useful things, like trying to figure everything out. You must have an answer to the "why". Why was he taken? Why didn't the gods listen to my prayers? Why was I forced to be alone? Why didn't he try harder to save himself? Why do his daughters have to live the rest of their lives without their father? These and a thousand other questions run through your mind.

In the past year, as I've gone through the normal mourning process, I've learned a significant amount about myself and my situation. My speculation is that was part of Mike's purpose in my life - to teach me how to be a better person and to make me realize I do deserve to be happy, even if he can't be here to share in that happiness.

I learned that:

The age old adage of that which does not kill you makes you stronger really is true. The world didn't stop spinning when he stopped breathing. It went on. Every day, the sun rose and every night, it set. His death wasn't a precursor to mine. I'm still here - a year later - and I am a stronger person for dealing with all that has come my way.

While others feel compelled to pass judgment on things they are ignorant about, I cannot control their minuscule minds. I can merely hold on to what I know in my heart to be true and, if need be, stand up for myself and my husband.

Love doesn't stop. It goes on. It may shift its position slightly in the grand scheme of things, but it never dies. People are not forgotten merely because the tears have lessened and the smiles have returned. Mike will always be a part of my life. No matter what my future holds. He will always have a part of my heart and soul and one day, we will meet again.

Life is an ever changing, evolving process that we cannot predict. While we hope the goals and dreams we have in our hearts and minds come true, we cannot ever be confident that the path we are on won't end at a deadend or a fork in the road, forcing us to continue down a different path.

I deserve to be happy and Mike wouldn't want it any other way. He would want me to live my life, be a good person, a great friend, and to fall in love again one day. He would want me to experience all that life has to offer and to not hold back merely because his time on Earth was so abruptly ended.

Mike is always here. He's in my heart and my soul. He is a part of me. He is watching over me. He is guiding me. And when I forget that and I start to lose faith, he sends me a sign or two. Sometimes ever so slight. Something that I may not even pick up on until I relive the event hours (or days) later. Sometimes it is so obvious it's like a punch in the face. It's as if he's watching over me and, in that way I loved so much, he would get frustrated with me and my insecurities and say "Hey darling, get your head out of your ass!"

My situation is not unusual. Everyone loses someone at some point in their lives; sometimes to death and sometimes to life. Sometimes it's the love of their life and sometimes, they merely think it is when, in reality, it was the person sent to them to teach them that they deserve better. In most cases, it's irrelevant. Realizing what you had and why you had it, is the most important thing. It's knowing how to appreciate those things in life and learning from all our experiences.

We never know what someone else has going on in their life. While we are so self-absorbed with the goings on in our own universe, someone else, possibly even standing right next to us, is dying inside - physically or emotionally. Learning to understand this can make us all better people.

I anticipate this to be the last of my blogs regarding my love affair with the greatest man I've known. It is time, as he would want, for me to move on and to merely remember him for the good he brought me and not to mourn and be sad over his physical absence.

I would ask that you take with you my own personal philosophy, shared by many others in this world, life IS short. It's easy to say, yet not always easy to fully comprehend. You can't take with you the houses and cars, the jewels and furs, the material things you now hold so dear. The "riches" of this Earth do not translate into the afterlife. I fully believe, however, that you can take with you the love of those whose lives you touched. Sometimes so significantly that they cannot imagine ever going on without you. Others are people you are not even aware you impacted.

We all have a story to finish. Our lives are the story. In my case, the story outline in my head has been written, revised, erased, and rewritten so many times. I've been blessed with great moments of creative clarity resulting in "pages and pages" of experiences. By the same token, I suffered through endless bouts of writer's block which, after Mike's death, increased to the point were I thought my "book" - my life - was never going to be finished.

The time has come for me to revise my "story" outline once again, for the chapter entitled "Me and My FLC" is now complete.

Michael Richard Asiala will always live on. His spirit and his memory guides so many of us every day. Rest in Peace Mike. You deserve it.

Michael Richard Asiala

09/21/1959 - 04/14/2011

No, Really, How ARE You?

03/28/2012 19:16:00

You get tired of the questions. Sometimes you just don't want to answer one more person who says, "No, really, how ARE you?". Internally, you sound off and respond with "Why do you care? You never cared before last April, why do you care now?". However, the woman my parents raised politely responds, "Oh, I'm fine, thank you for asking".

People tend to think you're depressed . . . when you lose someone close to you, that is. "You really should take something for the depression." "Have you tried counseling?" "Don't do that, it might be too depressing for you." I just want to scream out - "I'm NOT depressed."

Depression may be described as feeling sad, blue, unhappy, miserable, or down in the dumps. Clinical depression is a mood disorder in which feelings of sadness, loss, anger, or frustration interfere with everyday life for weeks or longer.

Wow - if I look at that, then maybe I have been depressed. I've been sad. I've been blue. I've definitely been unhappy. I've had my bouts of anger and frustration. All of this lasted for a while. Truth is, it's called mourning. That's different.

People go through bouts of depression and sadness for all sorts of reasons. Ask any Detroit Lions fan and thus far, last year had been the first time in many a year that we didn't start getting depressed come September. But does that constitute depression?

My husband died. You all know that or you wouldn't tune in every so often to see what I have to say. Is it depressing? That's the understatement of the year. It's mind blowing. It numbs the body. It causes strange outlooks on life that one never experienced before. If you've never lost a significant other to death, it isn't something that can even be verbalized. There are no words or expressions that can describe the feelings you have every day.

There are good days and bad days. There are days when I can contain myself enough that the tears only fall when I'm driving in the car and, of course, as I am in bed waiting for sleep to shut my mind down for the evening. There are other days when I'm able to laugh and smile as if nothing ever happened.

I've been asked by people why I stay around this area. "Aren't there too many memories?". This question usually comes from the same people who aren't convinced I'm being truthful when I respond to their question of "How are you?". Again, there is the internal response and the external response. Internally, I respond with "Of course there are too many memories. But will those memories cease once I'm displaced from here? Memories don't change when you change your zip code. They are just conjured up differently!" Instead, I assure them that it is easier to stay where it's familiar and where I am surrounded by a great support group.

April 14th will mark the one year anniversary of Mike's death. Wow. A year. Amazing. Am I depressed? No. Can life be depressing? Yes. In the past year (almost), I've witnessed my own internal struggle with life - going from despair, to guilt, to anger, and eventually, to acceptance. Acceptance. What a strange word to describe the loss of a loved one. But it is acceptance. I know he isn't coming back. I know he's gone. I know, because of that acceptance, that he wants me to be happy and he wants me to love life and live it.

So, really, how am I? I'm not depressed. I'm merely human.

Unpacking, Sorting, and Packing

01/26/2012 12:54:00

It's been a while since I've had a visit with my blog. Trust me, it's not for a lack of emotion (or opinion). Mainly, I think, I needed a breather. An opportunity to sit back and re-evaluate things. To unpack. To sort. To pack.

Next Friday (February 3rd) would have been our one year anniversary. I'm sure we would have done something romantic and spectacular, as was always Mike's way. Nothing expensive or overdone. Just he and I being together. Instead, I will spend the day with friends. Not reliving our wedding day. Not reminiscing about good times. Just spending time trying to not think about the pain of celebrating my one year wedding anniversary alone. Attempting to replace my memories of pain with good memories of times spent with friends.

In these past few months, I've spent the time unpacking, sorting, and packing. While I've attempted to unpack, sort , and pack the hundreds (literally) of boxes, bags, etc., that I have filled with our belongings - both mine and Mike's - I haven't been very successful. Each time I begin, something triggers too strong of an emotion for me to continue. For instance, last night, as I was AGAIN attempting to sort through things, I stumbled across a pair of Mike's favorite shorts. Khaki cargo things that always made me smile when he wore them because he had such nice legs! As I went to fold them to revisit yet another day, I felt a tin of Skoal in the pocket. The smell of that disgusting chew brought with it memories of Mike. That's all I needed to lose it. I backed out of the room, turned off the light, and shut the door to perhaps attempt the task once more another day.

Instead of unpacking tangible things, I've unpacked my feelings, evaluated them, sorted through them, and then reorganized and repacked them into the appropriate sections of my mind. Some to be revisited later. Others to hopefully be swept from the cobweb filled corners of my head. It's an arduous task and one that never seems to get crossed off the to-do list. I remind myself of the happy days - closing my eyes and remembering walks by the river, visits to Stratford, days spent in each other's arms without a care in the world. I try and bag up those memories of his last days on earth and the fear and sadness of losing my FLC.

Grieving is a strange process and one that I'm beginning to be very good at. Hell, everyone needs a talent, right? I've gotten where I can pretty much never show sadness or anger in the presence of others. I can usually spend the entire night laughing and joking with friends to the point an outsider would never guess I was struggling with such pain and grief that it takes everything for me to not let it consume me.

I try to imagine what Mike would think of how I was handling things. Was I doing right by his girls? Was it ok for me to laugh? Should I be more saddened with his loss? If I go a single day without a tear and merely my thoughts of him, was that ok? Does he realize how much he means to me?

Life must go on. That's what they say. But, it's not a question of must. The fact is, life DOES go on. No matter what happens to us, until the day comes that we take our final breath, life goes on - be it good or bad. That's one of those thoughts that I unpack, sort, and repack on a daily basis, always hoping that I can make some sense of it. How one is supposed to just herald on when the one thing that kept them going is gone.

It doesn't get easier as time goes on, despite what everyone would tell you. It just gets . . . adaptable. You adapt to the sadness, loneliness, emptiness. You stop kidding yourself that it's all a nightmare that you will soon wake up from. You adapt to the constant rearranging of the boxes on the storage shelves of your mind.

For now, I'll just keep unpacking those boxes, reminding myself what's in them, and then packing them back up again to revisit another day. After all, I'm a hoarder when it comes to matters of the heart.

Life is Short

11/12/2011 21:57:00

Life is short. We've all heard that phrase before. "Hey - you better go skydiving if you want to - life is short!" "Life is short. You better have a career you enjoy!"

Life IS short. I know first hand how short it can be. In the blink of an eye - or in my case, in the manner of two weeks - everything can change. All those things you thought you would have time to do, you don't. You run out of time to say "I love you" or "I'm sorry". You can't get it back. Trust me. I've been willing to make a deal with just about anyone or anything if I could just go back and have one last moment. One last touch. One last kiss. One last I love you.

I get irritated with people. I listen to friends complain about their significant other and I just want to scream some times. Especially when their gripes are so insignificant to the grand scheme of things. "I swear, if George leaves another dirty dish on the counter and doesn't rinse it off, I'm going to file for divorce!" While I mask my irritation with failed attempts at sympathy, inside I'm thinking - I would give anything to have Mike back so he could leave a dirty dish on the counter.

Then there are those people that are truly in bad situations with their relationships and instead of doing something about it, they just settle, afraid of starting over. One day, they will wake up twenty years from now and realize they've just spent two decades in a fog of unhappiness and regret and that their life is passing before them and soon it will all be over and they can never get it back.

No one's life is perfect, I understand that. We all have things that bother us or annoy us. But think about your life as a whole. If George were to get hit by a truck and unable to leave those dirty dishes on the counter, would you be happier? If you had to struggle for a few months to get your life back on track after getting out of a bad relationship, wouldn't that be better than spending years wishing things were different?

I people watch. I always have. I think that's part of what makes me good at both my career (paralegal) and my passion (theater). I try to read people. Of late, I watch people and think about what they have going on in their life. I guess it's sort of a little step outside of my reality where I can remind myself that I'm not special or unique. Everyone has problems. Everyone has things that aren't right in their world. One thing I noticed, is how unhappy the general population is.

The other day, for instance, I went to dinner alone. Oh - please don't say "that poor woman". I'm used to it. I eat alone every day. You adapt. Like a dog gets used to wearing its collar and eventually stops noticing it. Back to dinner. So I sit at the bar at a local restaurant - it isn't as pathetic when you're dining alone at the bar as it is when you have a huge table all to yourself - and I people watch and listen. Across the bar from me was a couple. They were tired of the wait for a table and decided to eat at the bar as well. I watched as these two people sat and did not say a single word to each other during their meal. For an hour, they said nothing. I take that back. I think she asked him how his steak was. He nodded. So I created a back story for them. Back story - for actors it's the information about the character that isn't written. It's what you do to create more depth to the character so you can get more out of him/her in the role. I thought to myself, now there are two people who have probably been together for a long time. They had their kids. Their kids grew up. They probably grew apart and their interests changed, especially after the kids left. Neither of them is happy in the relationship, however, at their age, they would never think of starting over. Neither of them even know why they're unhappy. They've just decided to settle.

Then there was the woman sitting next to me who, in the twenty minutes they were waiting for their table, never said a single positive, upbeat thing. "Oh, I am so tired of my job. Did I tell you what my boss did the other day?" Then it was "I tell you what, Bobby's teacher better not send another note home with him. He's a good boy." I know you can't just up and quit your job or slap your kid's teacher for being mean, but maybe your boss was having a bad day or the teacher is just trying to help Bobby reach his full potential.

I used to be one of those that always thought, in relationships, there was probably a better one out there. That the little idiosyncrasies of my beau were deal breakers. Even with Mike there were times I would get so frustrated with him for certain things. He was always late for everything. He rarely loaded the dishwasher. He slept most of the day and was awake most of the evening. I would get so irritated with him. Since his death in April, I realized that all of those things weren't deal breakers. They made him the person he was. I don't have regrets about my relationship with Mike, except one huge regret - that I would get irritated with him and that I never stopped myself from saying harsh words. I was unable back then to take it in stride and focus on the good stuff.

You learn alot about yourself when faced with adversity. You learn that the world keeps spinning and people continue living their life even though you're dying inside. You learn to appreciate little things that you always took for granted - a hug, an I love you text, a companion, the Sunday newspaper crossword that you and he used to complete together, even the sound of his laugh and his snoring. You learn that life is short.

I try to keep a positive outlook on life. I truly do. Mike wouldn't want me to just curl up in a ball and wait for death to come knocking on the door. There are times, however, that it isn't easy. I have to remind myself every day that Mike would want me to live my life and embrace it. To not give up doing those things I love to do. Mike would want me to laugh more than cry. He would want me to take away from this tragedy the concept of life being short.

So my task to you dear reader is to stop and think about your life. Think of the good, the bad, and the ugly. Think about all those things that make you happy - maybe not all the time, but they make you happy just the same. Now, take a moment, close your eyes, and imagine your life without those happy things. Imagine a life without your soul mate. A life without your family and your friends. Imagine all of it being taken away from you and your life being changed. Scary thought isn't it? So the next time you are ready to divorce good ol' George for leaving his dirty dishes on the sink or his dirty underwear on the floor, stop yourself and remember that George is your happy thought. And life is nothing but frustrating and painful without your happy thoughts.

Life is short. Live it. Love it.

Sisu

09/30/2011 11:28:00

My husband was Finnish and very proud of his heritage. The Finns are quirky. Their traditions a little different. As Mike taught me - they don't say kiss my ass, but instead say "heista nupa" - smell my belly button. One thing about the Finns I admire is what they call Sisu.

Google "Sisu" and you'll find a plethora of explanations. Wikipedia states that Sisu is a compound of bravado and bravery, of ferocity and tenacity, of the ability to keep fighting after most people would have quit. It is strength of will, determination, perseverance, and acting rationally in the face of adversity. The Finns translate Sisu as "the Finnish spirit" but it is a much more gutful word than that. It is not a word that translates exactly into English - it is more of a concept.

I've faced quite a bit of adversity in my short time on this Earth. Sometimes I think I'm God's little experiment - how much shit can He throw at me before I crack. I'm not saying I'm somehow unique - everyone has their own adversity and it comes in many forms, but if you have a few hours, get in touch and I'll give you a run down of my adversity.

Ask any Finn about Sisu and they will definitely be familiar with the term. It is in their hearts and in their souls. I never truly understood it or embraced it. Mike spoke of Sisu and gave the Finnish explanation for it - guts and determination - but I would say that, until April 14, 2011, I never truly comprehended its meaning.

I have people tell me quite often how they can't believe I'm functioning. How, if they were in my shoes, they would have crawled into the fetal position and never moved from it. Trust me - I have those days. But what choice do I have? I have to go on until God is tired of His experiments and welcomes me home. Until then, I must herald on, taking it day by day - the good with the bad.

While I merely married into the Finnish heritage, I finally understand and embrace Sisu. It is what drives me, what helps me get out of bed every morning. I have faced adversity and continue to face it every day. Sisu is my determination to try and make the best of my remaining days on Earth and to honor my husband's memory every day and in every way I can.

I thank Mike for introducing me to all that is Finnish, for I now face each day with the realization that what must be done will be done, regardless of what it takes - Sisu.

My Husband Created a Monster

09/29/2011 13:41:00

Seafood? Yuck! It swims in its own feces. Why in God's name would I eat that? Sushi?? Even a bigger yuck. Not only does it swim in its own feces, it isn't even cooked to get rid of some of that nastiness. Nuts??? Yuck! Ever since the whole "crunchy peanut butter" fiasco as a child, not a chance in hell! Red wine???? That's only for communion and, I will confess, and as many of you know, I rarely drink the stuff. Cheap vodka? Ahhh - my favorite. Why pay a bunch of money for the top shelf stuff. It all tastes the same. Just give me a cheeseburger, ketchup only, and I'm happy.

All of that was me - before I met my husband. After I met him, he contributed in creating a monster in me . . . a foodie monster!

I never could stand the thought of seafood. Truly, I felt that seafood was swimming in the feces and waste of millions of other sea creatures (and Lord knows what else). No way am I eating it - raw or cooked. "Just try it", he would say. "No", I would adamantly state, "not now, not ever". "You don't know what you're missing". He was right. Now, I tend to crave sushi, shrimp is one of my all-time favorites (mainly because it's damn easy to cook), and most seafood I will try - except scallops. Slimy little bastards.

On our first trip to Stratford Festival in Canada, we stopped at a rather pretentious restaurant to have a cocktail in their still rather pretentious, but much cheaper, bar. "Let's get dessert", he said. Mike, always the one wanting dessert. Me, I could take it or leave it and, to avoid having an ass the size of Texas, I would avoid it. "What do you want to get?", I asked. The options were few, but all sounded decadent, except the macadamia nut dessert. Nuts. Yuck. Enthusiastically Mike says, "Let's get that macadamia nut dessert". Go figure. "I don't like nuts", I responded. "You haven't even tried it. You might like it." I thought about it for a moment - alright, more like a split second, but I didn't want to dash the poor boy's hopes. "Nope. Won't like it", I finally said. "When was the last time you had nuts?", the ever so logical Mike said. "I told you the crunchy peanut butter story. Babysitter fed me crunchy peanut butter instead of creamy and I haven't had nuts since", I stated with a cocky grin on my face. I was going to win this argument. "You were three", he said, waving the waitress over and ordering the macadamia nut dessert. It was awful. . . ly wonderful and freakin' delicious! All we kept talking about for months was going back and having it again! I hated when he was right.

I never liked wine. I started drinking white Zinfandel as a substitute so at those events when I needed to look sophisticated I could try and fake my way through it. Little did I know, white Zinfandel is a dead giveaway for unsophisticated. Mike loved wine and he got me to try it. The problem, I found, was that I never liked red wine because I had only tried cheap red wine. Mike, on the other hand, would get us very good bottles of wine. I'm now a regular wino who has developed a taste for good wine, as well as boxed wine. Hey - you can't always afford the good shit.

It was the same with vodka. I remember Mike and I going out one time and the next day I felt awful. Head pounding. Stomach churning. I had been hungover before, don't get me wrong, but I was fairly good at holding my liquor. This particular morning, ugh. That sums it up. Ugh. "It's that cheap crap you drink", he said. Whatever, I thought, just shut up and stop talking so loud. "I think I didn't eat enough", because there was no way I was going to buy into the fact that my tight-wadedness (if that's a word) caused my hangover. "Try Stoli next time." Again I thought, whatever, shut up. "Fine dear, I will", I mumbled to get him to stop talking. Dammit, he was right again. Now, cheap vodka doesn't touch my lips.

Before Mike, I never would have tried the things I have. I have had beautifully, well-prepared meals and haven't even wavered shelling out the big bucks for a good meal and a great bottle of wine.

I credit my husband for so many things. He taught me self-respect and to stand up for myself. He showed me how it felt to love someone unconditionally, even embracing their faults and idiosyncrasies and loving them just the same. He gave me courage to do those things I always wanted to do, even if it meant I may fail. And, of course, there are the little things - how to play cribbage, how to shoot darts, how to appreciate the History Channel, how to laugh at myself.

For over 30 years, I was one of the most picky eaters you would meet. Every time I ordered something, it was minus this and minus that. The waitress needed a spiral notebook to take my order! Today, I enjoy fine dining. No longer do I ask them to minus the tomatoes or hold the sauce.

Yes - my husband helped me become the woman I am today and I will forever be grateful for that. And yes - at the same time I curse him for the fact that my food budget went from EZ-Mac & Cheese to filet mignon, but what can I say? My husband created a monster. . .

Happy Birthday

09/21/2011 12:16:00

Fifty-two years ago, my angel arrived on Earth. There was no big fanfare. No parades. No news announcements. Just proud parents Lorraine and Richard Asiala welcoming their first born son, Michael, to this world.

All parents hope that their children achieve greatness. They want us to succeed on varying levels and mainly, to be good-hearted human beings, always giving to our fellow man. As is the case with Mike, I'm not so certain people understood how successful he was at doing just that.

When Mike and I first met, it was theatre that drew us together. Two friends on stage to make audiences laugh and enjoy the show. As both our personal lives began to change, we became each other's confidant, lending an ear whenever needed. Being there when we felt no one else was. As friends, we helped each other get through those rough patches.

I like to think that I gave Mike my all. That I did everything I ever could have possibly done for him. That I always showed him my love. That I was one of those good-hearted human beings. Some days I doubt that in myself, but I know I loved him completely and unconditionally and supported everything he did - and that he knew that as well.

Mike, with his own friends and family, was also one of the good-hearted. He supported his children in everything they did. Spent countless hours consoling them, counseling them, cheering for them. He made them realize how beautiful they are, even when they didn't believe it. He was his girls' biggest fan and still is, always wanting the best for them.

He was a friend that would lend a hand when you needed it most. Making sure someone who might have had too much to drink made it home safe. Standing up for those that couldn't quite stand up for themselves. Offering a few bucks for a friend who was slightly behind on their bills.

Not to mention a fellow human being who didn't mind helping the less fortunate. Like the time Mike happened to see a man trying to manuever his almost-stalled car into a parking lot, only to find that the car just didn't have enough left in it to make it up the slight incline into the lot. Mike didn't waste a minute to give the guy a push. Or when he helped out the recovering addict in the neighborhood by giving him odd jobs to do.

What he did for me was so much more. So much deeper.

Before Mike, I had been in relationships, some good, mostly bad, and at a time when I truly started feeling that I was the cause for the demise of the good relationships and the reason for attracting the bad, he was there. I had faced abuse and financial ruin (just to name a few) in connection with these bad relationships. I was settled in the fact that I wasn't worthy of true love. I wasn't worthy of finding my soulmate. That I deserved to spend my life going from one bad relationship to another.

Mike taught me to love myself again. To realize that I am a good person. That I do have so many things to offer this world. That I'm beautiful. That I'm intelligent. That I'm funny. That I'm sexy. That I'm fun to be around. That I'm talented. That I'm loved. He taught me that the only way to live this life is to live it to the fullest and that sometimes you have to just throw caution to the wind and know your guardian angel is watching over you.

Fifty-two years ago, my angel arrived on Earth. While his time here was short, it was far from meaningless. They say only the good die young - I guess they knew my FLC.

Happy Birthday Michael Richard Asiala

September 21, 1959 - April 14, 2011

38 Years Young

09/14/2011 00:02:00

I turn 38 today.

In the 38 years I've been on this Earth, I have never broken a bone, had major surgery, been to Europe, had a child, owned a sports car, been to the Colorado Rockies, won the lottery - I have never done alot of things.

In those 38 years, I have witnessed at 15 year old boy die; went through the divorce of my parents; watched my mother battle through breast cancer; lived in a foreign country; suffered mental and physical abuse at the hands of a significant other; been married and divorced; went through financial ruin; watched the events of 9/11; made friends, lost friends; fell in love, fell out of love; gained pets, lost pets; held a steady job; faced medical scares; lost grandparents; purchased cars and homes; lost cars and homes; acted, produced, directed, and wrote stage plays; discovered the true love that is a niece and a nephew; found the love of my life, and then, in a twisted fate, lost my one and only true love - my best friend, my lover, and my companion.

When I think of all those things I haven't done, it's a list that is nothing in comparison to the things I have done. Some good, some bad.

On today, my 38th birthday, I ponder where I have been in life and where I may go. But I also remember my FLC, for today is five months since he took his final breaths. I remember birthdays past and how they were celebrated.

The first birthday I celebrated with my FLC, we went to Olive Garden in Saginaw for a late lunch/early dinner. I told him, as we sat down, "don't you dare tell them it's my birthday. I don't want the wait staff singing to me". "Don't worry baby, I would never do that", was his response. I believed him, as he never steered me wrong before. We enjoyed a great meal and a couple of glasses of wine. As we were finishing our meal, Mike said to me, "I need to go use the restroom", to which I replied, "Ok, no problem." Next thing I know, Mike is standing up in a packed dining room at Olive Garden, singing Happy Birthday. I was never so embarrassed, happy, and stunned all at the same time. As I sat there when he finished, red-faced and all, I said to him "I told you that I didn't want them singing happy birthday to me". His response - "I know, that's why I did it."

Birthdays come and go. Holidays come and go. Jobs come and go. Even friends even come and go. Memories, those are harder to leave. Bad memories or good memories, they aren't as easy to shake.

As a child, I could never even fathom ever being 38. It seemed like an eternity and it really seemed "old". But now that I'm here, I can't help wonder - if, at the age of 38 years young, I've gone through all I have - what the hell is in store for me in the next 38 years?

We Will Never Forget You

09/12/2011 09:37:00

The 10th anniversary of 9/11 was honored with memorial services across the country. I had the privilege of performing "The Guys" with William Federspiel at Saginaw's Pit & Balcony Theatre on Saturday. A moving production about a fire captain who needs assistance writing the eulogies of eight of his men who perished that morning. During rehearsals for "The Guys", I was able to pull from my own experience at losing my husband to bring my character's anger and sadness to life. However, I realized how different those experiences were.

My beautiful husband died after a brief illness at a local hospital. I was by his side as he took his final breaths. Before he became non-responsive, I was able to tell him I loved him and hear him utter those words back to me. I was able to continue to tell him how much he meant to me even while he was on a ventilator, unable to respond to my touch or my words.

I am able to go through every day being able to reassure myself that Mike knew how much I loved him as he lay there dying. While it doesn't make it easy, it helps - even if just a little.

Almost 3000 people died in the 9/11 attacks. Some were first responders who put their lives on the line every day to save others. A majority, however, were "civilians" who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. People out making a buck to support themselves and their families. Out of those 3000 people, perhaps a handful were able to speak to their loved ones before they perished - we've heard the stories of last minute cell phone calls.

But the majority, never got to hear those final "I love you"s. They can never reassure themselves that the love of their life or their brother, sister, daughter, son, cousin, knew, in all certainty, how they felt. Perhaps there was a small spat that morning over who was to pick up the kids. Harsh words from son to a mother who was pressuring him to get engaged and have babies. A couple that part ways on bad terms, never thinking they wouldn't be able to patch things up that evening. Now the one that was left behind must struggle every day wondering if the other person felt loved at the time of their demise.

I lost my husband. I cannot turn back time and bring him back. But I know, beyond all certainty, that he loved me more than anything and that I did everything possible to let him know how much I loved him as he lay dying. For this, I am one of the lucky ones.

For those that lost loved ones suddenly and unexpected, as on 9/11, dig deep into your hearts. Pull from your memories. Think back to all those times when you shared a special moment - be it a loving glance across the room, an impromptu mini-vacation, or Thanksgiving dinner at mom and dad's - and remember that all those moments say "I Love You" louder than the words. Know that as your loved one was facing death, he or she was thinking those same thoughts you are now - Does he know how much I loved him? Realize, no matter how hard it may be, that they did know and they were worried about the same thing.

Loved ones are lost every day. Some suddenly and some after a lengthy battle with illness and disease. We cannot always tell them we love them before they pass. We cannot take back harsh words spoken in anger and frustration. Once spoken, they remain forever. We can only try and remember all the times we made each other feel loved. Perhaps knowing this will make us more aware of the present - to have patience with our loved ones and remind them as often as possible what they mean to us and what joy they bring to our lives.

To all those who have gone before us - please watch over us and know that we will never forget you.

The Competitor

09/05/2011 21:36:00

Mike loved competition. In every avenue of his life, he was a competitor. Whether it was in his youth playing baseball and basketball or, when I knew him, darts.

He would argue a point, sometimes just for the sake of arguing. If he felt the need to compete, he'd bring up a controversial subject with whomever he was with so they could debate it. Even with me he did that from time to time. Fun, loving debates. My favorite was "I love you", he'd say. "I love you more", I'd respond. "Impossible", he'd say. We'd go back and forth a few more times before finally changing the subject. I think we both knew it was a draw.

I remember watching him playing darts with his friend Greg. Mike was good at darts. Don't get me wrong. He was very good. And so was Greg. Those two would get going and Mike would either yell and curse if he was doing bad, or he'd do his victory dance when he did well. While he was very talented on many different levels, dancing wasn't one of them, so his victory dances were quite hilarious.

He even participated in more than one "dance off" at our favorite watering hole. I remember being there one afternoon, watching football, and there were very few people in the bar. Next thing you know, somehow the topic turned to dancing and he challenged one of the regulars to a dance off. Nothing funnier than two men with no rhythm having a dance off. But Mike needed to win. That's all there was to it. And he made sure everyone knew he won, when, in all actuality, they both were awful.

Whenever Mike would golf, it was the same thing. While golf is essentially a personal competition, he'd always make sure to brag if he out shot the other guy. When he didn't, however, he was pretty tight-lipped. That was usually my first clue that he didn't shoot well.

Mike's life was over way too soon. There are so many things I wish he could have done before he died. Even if it were just the little things. Golfed another round. Shot more darts. Debated about instant replay in baseball.

I miss Mike every day. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about him, long to be with him, cry about him, or curse the gods above for taking my beautiful husband. However, sometimes, all I want is to have one more debate with him - about anything - just so I could let him win one more time.