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Cindy Maddera

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I had this whole entry I was working on about flirting and my inability to recognize when its happening to me. I just always think they are engaging in polite conversation. Nothing more. Any way...I deleted the whole thing because I felt it just wasn't a very good entry. Actually, I feel like I just don't have a good entry in me this week. My thoughts are too scattered and random to collect into one whole entry and I don't catch them in time for a twitter entry either. I am caught between routines, fantasies, and marking time. The other day, as I was attempting to clear my mind in meditation, Eric Northman came into my head, which was weird because I haven't watched that show in ages. If this were a different kind of blog I might be tempted to tell you exactly in vivid details what happened inside my brain that morning. But it's not that kind of blog and I hear those particular readers gasping my name in shock "Cindy!". I'll just tell you that Eric Northman has some mad skills. Or I have an overactive imagination. I think both options are correct. I did finally change my facebook status from married to widowed. I thought it might be time to stop being married to a dead man.

Facebook is the cruelest really. Chris is always there "poking" me or influencing web pages to follow. People leave messages to him and I see them all. They are sweet and heartfelt messages, but they still sting like bees. Before the internet, when someone died, they stayed dead. Now there is always a lingering presence of the one who moved to the beyond. We have made our own ghosts through the power of the internet. It is my own undoing. I choose to leave his facebook page open. I choose to keep his blog online. The things I don't do is visit them. Just like the pictures on flickr. If I need to go in and pull an image for the blog, I only go back so far careful not to move past a certain year or a certain date.

I don't tell you things for sympathy or to make you feel bad for the messages. I know that tomorrow Chris's page will be filled with messages of love and loss and tales of how much he is missed. I tell you these things so you know that no matter how easy I make it look sometimes, this is still hard, that I still feel guilty for not being able to keep him safe for you. I tell you these things so that you know my grief isn't only for my own loss, but for your's as well.