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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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modern loss

Blah.

After the excitement of the Olympian, nothing very interesting has been happening in my life of late. It’s just been coasting along, as life does. In fact, I’ve become weirdly numb to the whole “Your love of your life died suddenly” thing. I thought I’d be getting more upset about the upcoming month and it’s anniversaries, or at least reminiscing about the happy feelings I had with Chris this time last year. But it feels like I’m forgetting. I’m not even sad. I’m just succumbing. Is this acceptance? Or is this giving up? I don’t know – but it’s happening… One more thing that confirms the control we have over this life is actually very little.

Anyway, just thought I’d check in. I’m sure my next post will be much more inspiring… Or at the very least entertaining!

Hope you’re all well.

xx

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My Night Out with an Olympian

This post was originally going to be about how hard life is, how there’s no hope, how I can’t keep going, blah blah blah blah… But then something strange happened.

After my epic failure of a night out trying to meet a man, I fell into a bit of a depressive hole. I saw no light at the end of the tunnel and it seemed like an endless drudgery of pain. Furthermore, my feelings were being compounded by the fact that the year ‘anniversary’ and my birthday (one of the happiest days of my life which occurred only 11 days before the accident) are next month, and creeping ever so closer. To survive (and yes, this journey for me can literally be a life or death battle) I needed something to change.

Almost miraculously, change something did.

I met an Olympian… And when I say an Olympian, I mean a no joke, full blown, body that people dream of, cute dress sense, lovely smile, Olympian (and please God, do not EVER let him find this page – Jesssuss, how embarrassing!)

Being a teacher we sometimes have people come into our schools to demonstrate and encourage people to play the sport that they are involved in, and this was one of those days. My best friend so happens to be the sports teacher so was directly involved with co-ordination of the program.

I was on my planning period and on my way to the office to do some photocopying. Up comes best friend with said Olympian.

He shook my hand.

Hoooolllllyyyy Mollllllly.

*Swwwwwwwwoooooooooooooooonnnnn*

I am a bit ashamed to say… I went all giggly.

I look at best friend. Oh it’s okay, she’s being all giggly and weird too!

I had to get outta there before I made a fool of myself… “Ummm I gotta go photocopy these pages… Yep busy, I’m reaaaalllllllllyyyyy busy hahahahahahahahaha”. Smoooothhh, I think to myself…. Reaalllll smoootthhhh.

I walk back to my office. Oh Jesus! He’s still there. Eep! I can’t look him in the face! What the hell is happening to me?! Now… Don’t get me wrong.. I like to think of myself as an, “I don’t need no maaaann,” strong independent type of woman. But I couldn’t control this! I had an hour left of preparation time and I could NOT for the life of me concentrate. It was like when we shook hands he put some kind of magic spell on me. I was going cuckoo! I was flustered!! Ahh!!

I needed to go for a jog around the oval or something.

Anyway, deep breaths…

*Beep Beep*. I received a text from my best friend.

“His team number is number 19!!!!! And he’s going out to the local pub tonight, are you keen?”

Keen, KEEN? By jumping around like a fan girl all excitedly I guess you could say I was keen.

“Why are there so many exclamation marks after she told you about his team number?” you may be wondering.

Well. And this is where it gets a bit crazy. 19 was Chris’ number. Chris was an avid motocross rider, and he was actually quite good at it. He qualified for nationals as a teenager, but broke his leg just before he made it to the race. In the next few years he went to uni and had to give up his riding, so never quite made it back to the level he once was. To this day I believe it was his biggest regret.

19 was the number of his first bike. Subsequently every bike he owned after that had to have ‘19’ on it, in some shape or form. He loved to tell the story of the time he went to Vegas with his best mate and played roulette. He didn’t know the rules fully so assumed that if someone had already placed chips on a number, he couldn’t as well. Number 19 came up. Thousands of dollars were won. He went to place a bet again, still thinking he couldn’t place on Number 19. Number 19 came up. Thousands of dollars were won. Third round of betting. Number 19 was free! “But surely it won’t come up again after falling there twice already.” He placed a bet on a different number… I’m sure you can guess how this ended. Number 19 came up. Thousands of dollars were won… Just not by Chris. I mean bloody hell. Even our puppy was born on the 19th of March. Chris thought that was a good omen.

Number 19 was his number.

So this guy, that I was feeling fireworks about, him being number 19 was a big deal (even though part of me also feels it was just a massive coincidence).

I got ready at my mates house. To be honest, neither of us had much hope that’d we’d actually see him at the pub, but we were joking around and having a laugh about what our ‘strategies’ would be anyway.

We walked up the stairs AND OH MY GOD HOLY SHIT HE’S HERE WHAT AM I GOING TO DO I CAN’T LOOK AT HIM I DEFINITELY HAVE NOT HAD ENOUGH TO DRINK TO MAKE ME SEEM COOL AND SUAVE IN THIS SITUATION, WHAT THE HELL AM I TALKING ABOUT I’M NEVER COOL OR SUAVE ANYWAY AND OH MY GOD HE IS HERE!!!

We sat down. We said hello. I got a drink.

Ahh, that’s better. I’m not so nervous now I can actually form words.

Awww. He was lovelllyyyy. Our conversation flowed. As we drank more.. We got more confident. He bought me a drink. I bought him a drink. He showed me a picture in just his underpants (HOLY JESUS GOOD LORD), he told me that he lives just around the corner from the uni I am going to be at next year, he laughed at my jokes, I laughed at his, he told me I should come down and watch him train at the campus, he told me he had a girlfriend… Wait WHA?!

Fricken dammit. But probably not unexpected. He was smart, funny, could hold a conversation and was good looking. Very very good looking. (PS I feel like I should put in a disclaimer here about why he showed us a picture of him just in his undies even though he had a girlfriend. His mate who he was with thought he was single and was applying the pressure for him to take his shirt off – I wasn’t complaining! We got drunker. I think my other best mate was about to rip his shirt off by the end of the night. It was a happy, 1 second of glory, compromise)

Anyway. He told me to add him on instagram. I did. He followed me back. I stalked him on facebook and drunkenly messaged him. He accepted my friendship request after a day.

I understand my chances of actually getting with this guy is mmmmmm…. 0.5% (on the off chance he does break up with his girlfriend and I do happen to bump into him at uni next year).

BUT! I don’t even care. I am so excited. I honest to God thought I would never feel like this about a person ever again. The last time I felt like this, was when I met Chris… 4 years ago now. I honestly thought I was never going to get that OHMAGAWD feeling about a person ever again.

So thank you Olympian man. Thank you for being so sweet and kind and for not rejecting me straight out. Thank you for making me feel my heart beat again. Thank you for making me realise I am not broken, and I have the potential to love once more.

And thank you for making me feel something other than sadness for what I have lost.

Hopefully I’ll see you around campus… Got any hot mates WITHOUT a girlfriend you can hook me up with??

Till next time 🙂

xxxx

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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