Yesterday I deleted my personal blog, ironyandxtc. Why? Well, for one, my last post was in March, and two, I felt like I was developing a split personality with two blogs. So, there’s going be some changes to this here deathwriter blog. Despite the morbid title, I will now post stuff from my life and what is going on with the book. Yes, the book. It took me a long time to actually figure out how I was going to tell the story. Was it about me? Or was it about the people I met? Since I know a lot more about me than them, I decided to show my character and how I changed by taking this strange journey with some amazing people.
Okay, so today is September 11th. For most Americans, including me, September 11th is a day that we will never forget. So many innocent people lost their lives. If you were over 5 years in age, you probably remember where you were, what you were doing, how you felt. You probably spent the day watching tv, or checking the internet or calling your loved ones to see if they were okay. And you were scared. I know I was.
September 11th also marks the anniversary of the day I married my husband, Erik twelve years ago. 9/11/1999 seemed like a really cool anniversary date. But, two years later, it wasn’t. I’ve always felt guilty about celebrating my marriage on that date, but this year I’ve changed my mind. I can’t change the day I was married, I can only change the way I feel about it. If anything, it makes me grateful for all the blessings that I have in my life.
So, Erik, if you’re reading this (and you better be) Happy Anniversary!
I am so grateful that you walked into a tiny, icky dive bar in
San Francisco and accepted this stranger’s awkward invitation to attend a self help seminar.
(Folks, that’s a great story, but for a later date.)
I would also like to thank you for being a wonderful father to our kids. They bring us a lot of laughs, love, joy and sometimes a little bit of freak outs, but they’ve made our lives so much richer.
Thank you for supporting me in all the crazy endeavors I’ve taken on through the years—party bus, Mary Kay, writing about death—and not blinking an eye.
What I love most about you is your willingness to roll with the punches, to cherish the wackiness of life, and last, but certainly not least, your sentimental streak. And to top it all off, you’re pretty easy on the eyes.
You’re my best friend and I love you.
Pamela
