Holidays are never really fun anymore.

Once you have experienced loss, you always know something or someone is missing. Maybe I took holidays for granted, but it wasn’t until I lost Carl that I realized how much I treasured our holiday time together.

Today April 1st, marks the two-year anniversary of coming back to San Antonio. In some ways I look back and it feels just like yesterday.

Nathan was driving me and the dogs back to Texas from Colorado to another new beginning and in other ways it seems like it’s been forever.

I am laying on my yoga mat in chavasna and instead of my eyes closing to relax I have a million things going through my brain.

I know this is the opposite of what Yoga is supposed to be about but I can’t stop thinking.

It’s St. Patrick’s Day. Downtown is maddening and I am running late through traffic to arrive at a hotel for dinner with the ladies of our Wine Club in San Antonio.

That sounds so crazy to be part of a wine club, but when I moved back I had one brave friend who slowly held her hand out to me on the ledge I was standing on to walk me back into the window.

I have learned that when you think things could not get any worse, pour yourself a drink and sit down because it’s gonna get ugly.

Yes, Carl was an attorney in San Antonio. Yes, he was really great at it, but like most attorneys he was not organized, so to say I had to “clean things up” is putting it mildly.

I was the skinny kid growing up. I never really had to worry about my weight and it was a real blessing. I love to eat, and while dealing with Carl’s loss, I ate my emotions.

Then, I wake up in August and realized that the heat in San Antonio had gotten so bad I was swelling and well my clothes were not fitting well.

I have arrived in San Antonio and started falling into a routine, sometimes I think, how am I doing this, day after day? Is this it?

Deciding to come back to Texas was difficult, before my dad died we had a pretty sad heart to heart. He was telling me how much he didn’t want to leave me and made me promise if anything happened I would come home.

Today I feel strange, not happy or sad but reflective. I am thankful for being a strong woman. Thankful that I am compassionate. It is what makes me different and special.

I miss hearing my dad’s voice telling me I am ok and am doing a great job. I miss having Carl to take over when things get difficult or just to break things down for me.

Dogs have a funny place in my heart, and in January of 2006, we had to make the gut wrenching decision to put our beloved chocolate lab Cesar to rest. He was the dog that set the bar for all the other pets we would own.

The initial sadness of putting a pet to sleep takes you down a very sad slippery slope. I remember getting home and Carl saying “let’s wait to get a new dog.”

How do I explain the little piece of joy that came into my life when all hell was breaking loose? Before my father died, he thought it may be good for me to have a pet to go home to while in Denver.

He wanted me to have a sense of normalcy and not be alone. Everyone has a dog in Denver so I set out looking for a dog that needed to be saved.

Dogs have always been a part of my life. Carl bought our first dog for Adyn when she was 2 years old. Barkley, named after Charles Barkley (Nathan’s pick) was a yellow lab. He was a beautiful yellow lab who jumped right into the family mix.

Soon he was ruling the backyard. Unfortunately, he was stolen shortly after we had him fixed. And while we sent out the search parties we knew after a few weeks he was gone. The hurt you feel when you lose a pet is horrible.

Thanksgiving, the holidays have arrived. I ask myself, “what stage of grief is this?”

Every holiday before this one has always been the 5 of us. Sitting around the table talking about politics and whatever other subject area happened to make its way onto the lips of one of us. And the eating! We would eat until it hurt. I was blessed.

I am lying on the floor of the ladies’ restroom at my employer’s office in downtown Denver. I can hear the heels of women coming in, using the bathroom, talking to each other and then leaving. I am simply paralyzed.

I can’t get up and at this moment in time I am thankful that these bathrooms have doors that go all the way to the floor, so no one sees me.

We cross over into Colorado from New Mexico. A cheer goes out in the front of the car and I take a deep breath in the back seat. So many emotions are running through my head and my heart aches. How I will sleep in our bed where Carl was restless his final days of his life?

I am scared. There is a sense of fear I am having about going back to the place he took his final steps. The memories of him dying right in front of me and me not being able to help him are destroying me.

My heart sinks as I walk out of my childhood home and get into the rental car taking me, Carl’s ashes, Adyn and our friend Pat back to Denver. San Antonio. I will never think of you the same way again. You will be the place I saw the clouds break when I was holding Carl in my arms and I burst into tears so loud I thought my head would burst open.

You were warm and muggy with mosquitos biting me as I walked outside the Hospice Facility to drown out the inevitable. You were the warm arms that embraced me the minute I stepped outside after Carl died.