mainecoon

Oh, jeeez . . . Should've seen that coming.

I'm sure I've got a pack of Blackjack somewhere around here. And, hey! What can I get for those Green Stamps? I must have thousand of 'em. By the by, Jenny, Debi makes a good point.

When you have a chance please visit the following site: http://home.att.net/~c.d.luce/Margaret.html I just want people to see what a special person I lost from my life. This loss has served to make me more acutley aware of what we all stand to lose, and how deeply we can all feel such a loss.

Outrageous! LOL, as they say. This has got to be a stand-up routine, but so well put.

It goes without saying that cancer is a deadly serious subject that brings profound tragedy into people's lives. But there are those times . . . My wife died from SCLC on July 28. This devastated my two adult stepdaughters and me. We all knew that Margaret's condition was a desperate one, but we all thought she would live to see one more Christmas with the family. I didn't expect the end to just run up and punch me in the face the way it did. For the first two weeks it was as though I moved in another world. I slept all right because I popped Valium every night to quiet the deafening silence. But I just stopped eating and drinking. I just didn't think about it. Didn't get hungry or thirsty. I finally returned to work in the middle of the third week largely to get back into a more healthy routine. I always did my eating and drinking largely at work, and I was just damaging myself at home. Anyway, my co-workers proved incredibly supportive. Much more so than I had ever hoped. This gave me a big boost toward recovery and helped lead me back into the land of the living. Then last Thursday one of my second-line supervisors comes up to me and says, "Have you lost weight?" "Yes. Yes I have. Twenty pounds in the last month." "Why?" This sort of caught me off guard. I had to pause and think for a moment why he couldn't figure out the obvious. Because he had been one of the people who came to offer me his condolences. So I knew he wasn't trying to be heartless or uncaring. So I replied with the obvious. "Because I stopped eating" "Ohhh. That's no way to lose weight." "I'm not trying to." "You know, you've got to eat. Otherwise, you might do some damage." "I know. I know." "Well, you just eat something. Don't try to lose weight by not eating. It's no good for you. No good" Having imparted this nugget of insight he turned on his heels and walked away. I stood there with my mouth slightly agape, wondering what the hell that was all about. The whole episode was rather surreal, but in a funny sort of way. Still, it was at that point I knew that I had returned to the land of the living.

Oh, Cathy. I am so sorry to read of your loss. Even though it's only been a month I'm trying to get on with things. I mean, I have to. There's no one else here, and things have to be done. Margaret and I have a house on Inkster, just north of Nine Mile. The floor's covered with hair from our Mainecoon, and the plants are on the verge of dying from thirst. For the first three weeks I couldn't even think about these things. Dropped twenty pounds. Only when the cramping began did I realize I might be damaging myself and began to eat. Writing has helped me tremendously. Writing to heal, at first. Now just writing. Putting memories of our life together into form. This helps me to somehow enshrine the memories. Still, there are the days. Why? I just don't know. Like when hanging up some of my own slacks today. A pair of Margaret's jeans were still laying on the bed next to them. I suddenly found myself sobbing and apologizing to her that I couldn't save her. As though any of us ever can. Life is simply tragic in that way, that those we love eventually leave. I'm certain time will bring you healing, Cathy. But I sure wish the time would go faster and the pain would lessen more quickly.

Oh. God, Shelly. I'm so, so saddened to hear of your loss. May the coming days be merciful to you and your loved ones. Please forgive the photograph of Margaret. I know it's too festive in appearance for this occasion. Know that I grieve deeply for your loss.

It saddens me deeply to read of your father's passing. He sounds like a good, strong, honorable man. I have no doubt Antonio Villela will be greatly missed by the many to whom he meant so much.

Man, just when you think you have it pretty well all wrapped, things come undone. I go to the bank today for the fourth time to assume control of my wife's paltry checking account. Unfortunately the woman I'd been dealing with is on vacation, and no one seems to know where her papers are located. Could I come back another time? OK. No big deal. I work for the government myself, so I know how that goes. The problem came when I sat down and started going through the mail my wife received during the last thirty days of her life. The realization that despite the inevitability of doom and her approaching extinction she still tried to be responsible for what she regarded as her own obligations. This awareness started ongoing spasms of sobbing I can barely control. Then I saw the notice that she was being referred to a collection agency for a thirty dollar bill. And the customer satisfaction survey from the hospital in which she'd spent six weeks without them finding any kind of cancer. I howled. When my tears ran dry I just sat there gasping loudly. I still can only control myself with a great deal of will. I have a dental appointment to go to in a couple of hours. I've got to get it together. I watched a video the other day, that thing with Bruce Willis called 'Tears of the Sun'. I discovered that crying can be just as contagious as laughter. Anyway, he has a line toward the end, when he tells one of the characters he can't break down. He's got to "cowboy up". I took a liking to that phrase. There are times when we all have to pull it together and handle the situation, when we have to "cowboy up."

Incredible! I can't imagine how you even found the strength to post with such humor and detail. Margaret was under the care of Dr. Kalemkarian at the U of M. Not the warmest of physicians, but that doesn't mean much to most patients. He is highly regarded, and tends to be quite direct in his evaluation of a person's condition. His treatment of her was hampered by the fact that she only had 40 percent kidney function, which significantly reduced the strength of the Carboplatin and VP-16 she received. Kalemkarian said quite clearly that often the treatment is more deadly than the disease, and a stronger dose would have resulted in total kidney failure. Anyway, I ramble. I just wanted to say how impressed I was with your post, that your strength and determination are clear, and I wish you the best of fortune in dealing with this miserable disease.

In the August issue of Biography magazine there's a short two-page article on Paul McCartney. In a side panel, where you would expect to see the ad for Verizon or Zocor, there's a quotation from McCartney: "I still believe that love is all you need. I don't know a better message than that" The full significance of this simple thought occurs to me now far more than it did when I first heard that song. When love is gone, you become very aware of how important it is in one's life.

You know, Norme, after Margaret passed I just sat for hours staring. Just staring. I couldn't get out of bed to write thank you cards for the people who came to the service. I just pretty much shut down. And sobbed. A grown man sobbing and staring. Yeah, that's grieving. I finally tried to do something like eat, and screwed it all up. Thank god for pizza delivery. It's the end of the second week, and I'm clawing my way out of that deep, deep hole. Hell, I even went to Probate Court today. That ain't pretty. I do believe time heals. Some.

I'm so glad to see you're doing well. I really admire your strength and optimism. I truly wish you only the best for a long time to come.

I'm deeply saddened to hear of your loss, and send you my heartfelt sympathies. It's good to read how well your faith has sustained you in such difficult times. You're right in saying that one shouldn't take loved ones for granted. It's so important to have people to whom we matter. Again, I'm agrieved to read of your loss.

I recently lost Margaret to SCLC. I was able to hold it together until the last moments, at which point I just lost all control. I couldn't speak because of the loud sobbing which overcame me. Even now I cry, just thinking of those moments. It helped me so much to read the simple and sincere expressions of comfort from other members of this forum. I wasn't aware of how comforting they could be. I want to help others facing the same dark tragedy. My deepest thanks to all of you.