Dealing in D.C.

I am deciding on a city in which to live.  I have narrowed down the prospects and my choices are: Northern Virginia (Washington DC area- this is where I grew up) or Denver (just because). 

Here's the condensed version of the backstory:  My beautiful, lovely, happy fiance, affectionately called Lovey,  passed away suddenly on February 18, 2008 at the age of 39 of a massive heart attack due to undetected heart disease while running on a treadmill. He was perfect, wonderful, and the best person I have ever known.  I could talk for months straight about how incredible he was and still not touch the surface.

I lived in Florida, he in Michigan and both of us owned or own businesses.  We met while he was on vacation in Florida, visiting mutual friends of ours and it was really love at first sight.  I know it sounds kind of hokey and overused, but it truly was.  We knew immediately that one of us would have to move. I decided to sell my businesses and move to Michigan.  It took one year- that's one year of flying back and forth between Michigan and Florida for both of us and looking for our dream home and making plans. 

Everything came together in December 2007 and I sold my business and we bought our brand new dream home in Royal Oak, Michigan, which we moved into just before Christmas.

On Valentines Day 2008, he proposed.  It was the proposal that I had dreamed of: down one one knee, roses, surprises and crying.  He could have told me that he was a transvestite serial killer and I still would have screamed "YES!"  We called our parents, told them the great news and answered all the excited questions. 

Four days later, while running on a treadmill in our basement, he died.  I was there, I found him immediately and what ensued was a nightmare from which I have yet to wake.

I was told at the hospital that my Lovey died instantly.  I find that interesting - he died instantly and so did I.  So did our hopes and dreams. 

For weeks, I walked around in a fog.  I had to take on so much all at once: selling the house, dealing with his family, finding a place to live in another state, attempting to find a job, selling our new furniture and the list goes on.  All the while, I couldn't  eat, I refused to shower, brush my teeth or take off my pajamas.  I would walk around in my robe, carrying his toothbrush in one pocket and a picture of him in another. I couldn't sleep, I was consumed by the horrific images of that night.  So often, I just wanted to end it all and be with my Lovey.  I often thought: Is this grief?  This doesn't feel like grief.  It feels like pain.-a tremendous, overwhelming  pain.

The old me became a distant memory.

Within two months, the house sold.  I packed enough clothes for a month, put everything else in storage and flew to Virginia to stay with a old friend.  Now I am supposed to figure out where to live, find a job, and still grieve. 

The life I had before Lovey was a pretty good one: I traveled, shopped and worked hard. I owned my own business (clothing stores), my own home, and had friends that were like sisters. I was a happy person. I often wonder if the old me will come back or if a new one will emerge.  This is the story of me trying to find myself.