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Memoirs of a Christopher

A raw and honest look into the life of a Young Widow(ish).

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loss

Luck

I am screwed. I am totally and utterly, incomprehensibly screwed.

Chris was a catch. The most almighty catch I had ever had in my life. He was muscly, he was tanned, he had the most beautiful clear green eyes and thick luscious hair and when his eyes caught mine the first time we met, he strode confidently across the room to tell me, “You have a very pretty face.” The girls who had been fighting for his attention all night and I almost fell over in shock.

Now I’m not saying I’m overly hideous, and to be honest I probably do have some endearing qualities, so it’s not COMPLETELY crazy that he came to speak to me, but still… I couldn’t quite believe that he had chosen me.

Annoyingly, his amazing qualities didn’t stop there. He was intelligent. He was funny. He was incredible with his hands and could fix or build anything. Seriously, it was not a rarity for literal strangers that we had met for the first time together as a couple to turn to me and say, “Oh my god, you are soooooooo lucky!” It was such a common comment that it became a running joke for him to do something gross like fart on me, or accidentally break something, and he would turn to me with a cheeky grin on his face and tease, “Wow… You are sooooooo lucky!!”

He looked like freaking Ryan Gosling for god’s sake! (Which, by the way, he hated being compared to.)

But I was lucky. And I knew it.

Fast forward 11 months after the accident, many, many, many, MANY (times infinity) tears later, and I’m really feeling the loneliness.

I haven’t even kissed another human on the lips since the day before he died.

It’s quite a bizarre feeling to be totally and utterly in love with someone, but actively searching to hook up with someone else.

Cue last night where a quiet cocktail housewarming party turned into a tequila, vodka, peach schnapps, champagne fuelled rave. TONIGHT WAS GOING TO BE THE NIGHT!!!

I was going to break that drought, because, “It’s not like it’s going to mean anything anyway.” So I chose to do it at the dodgiest (and only) club in town.

First I had to find my prey. “Mmm, no he’s not attractive enough. Mmm.. He’s a bit sweaty. Hmm… WHAT is going on with that guy’s HAIR?” Ok. So none of these guys were gonna be a Christopher but they were going to have to do.

I started my “sexy” “woops, I accidently bumped into you” dancing, and realised I have the confidence of a gnat whilst doing this. Now, I don’t know how confident a gnat is, but I’m assuming not very. And awkward. Very, very awkward.

Unsurprisingly, none of the guys were confidently striding across the room to give me a compliment. One of them even kind of pushed me out of the way!

This was fucked.

I went and sat down on the dingy, alcohol soaked couch in the dark corner and started drunkenly reflecting my night.

I was competing against girls and getting rejected by guys that don’t even have an inch on Chris. How did my life end up like this?

Oh no. I was beginning to get my drunk cry on. Time to leave!!

After an hour of hysterical sobbing at home I passed out, and today I’ve been left with a killer hangover and lovely, puffy eyes to match.

So can you see why I am screwed?? The Bachelor plan is really starting to make sense now isn’t it!?

I don’t want this life. I don’t enjoy this life.

I just want Chris to be back, farting on me and joking how lucky I am, while seeing in his eyes that actually, he thought he was really lucky too.

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I HAVE A MASTER PLAN!!

I am going to go on The Bachelor.

If you have no idea what The Bachelor is, go here: Rosie Recaps

And if you can’t be bothered going there, just continue reading…

The Bachelor is a reality TV program where 20 girls battle for the love of a man which is represented in the way of receiving a rose. No rose? Then adios amigos!!

Now now.. . I hear you wondering, “Why would a broken woman 25 years of age who only lost her partner just under a year ago want to go on such a thing?!”

Well hear me out.

Here is my list of why I should go on The Bachelor 2016:

Reason Number 1: You are forced to go slow. No jumping in bed with some random hottie after 25 drinks which makes you think, “YES THIS IS DEFINITELY THE RIGHT TIME FOR ME TO TRY AND MOVE ON!!” Resulting in the morning after regrets.

Reason Number 2: He has to be nice to you after you drop the W (widow) bomb. If he’s not, the nation would just deem him an asshole.

Reason Number 3: You are subtlety revealing to a wider audience your background story, resulting in a lesser chance of having to reveal the W bomb to suitors in the future (what IS the widow etiquette here? Date 1, Date 2, Date 3? Anyone? Anyone??). Admittedly there is a slight flaw in the plan at this point as the likelihood of the audience being single, heterosexual males is quite limited.

Reason Number 4: You get to dress up and look hot in sparkly dresses while drinking copious amounts of alcohol, DUUUHH.

So as you can see this plan is ingenious and is MUCH better than my Options A, B, and C that I wrote about here:

In our year of living together in Australia, Chris and I would watch a renovation reality show called The Block religiously. Chris was super duper talented at building things out of wood and my eye was quite adept at styling. We made a pretty incredible team (and a beautiful house) and just to put the cherry on top he was a major hotty to boot! I thought we would be a shoe in for sure!!

Chris said no.

I can just see him shaking his head, showing his amusement with a slight grin on his face at my master plans right now…

Jeez, I’d better get on with practicing those head and body photo shoots needed for the application!!

DISCLAIMER: This post may or may not have been written with tongue firmly in cheek…

Maybe.

Where’s Home?

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When you discover the horrific news that your partner has been killed you find it very hard to imagine that someone so full of life, someone so healthy and happy just cannot come back.

I’d spent a lot of my relationship missing Chris, separated on opposite sides of the world, bogged down by paperwork and money, waiting for visas to be approved and taking full advantage of my holiday to Europe I had been planning for the last 5 years by taking small fortnightly trips to far flung countries.

All the while missing Chris.

In fact although I enjoyed my trips around Europe, my favourite part of the holiday was boarding the plane with the full knowledge I’d be seeing his handsome face again in a couple of hours.

The butterflies would start in my stomach as we began to land, my steps becoming more rapid until I was stalled by customs. Moving as quick as I could through the gates, bursting through with my bulky, unsteerable bag.

And there he would be.

Hands in pockets, head down, until he would look up and smile and his eyes would lock with mine. I would feel my face crack into a giant grin.

“Hello,” he’d say in his soft, always polite English voice, “How you going?”

My too-heavy bag would be easily lifted with his strong hands, both the size of dinner plates, and I would be whole again. Protected, and where I was meant to be. With Chris by my side.

… So I’m used to this constant ache. This constant need to see the person you love, but being made to wait.

But I’d always see him again.

What now?

It reminds me of a quote from the Sad Book by Michael Rosen, “I loved him very, very much, but he died anyway.”

I miss him very, very much… But he’s not coming back.

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