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Aaron, You and Julia have a special place in my heart. So sorry to hear how poorly you're feeling, and hope you feel better soon. Many thoughts and prayers...

I have the attention problem too. It's getting a little bit better. For months, I literally couldn't read a page of anything and retain it. I also couldn't learn anything new. I hope that's changed, but I haven't really tried to learn anything new lately. Chanwit -- please keep us updated on your travels. I know how difficult that trip will be for you. Will someone go with you?

I'll keep it short this time. I just want to say that I so appreciate reading where others are in this process too. After I posted this topic last night, I shut down the computer and thought, "wow, I bet that sounded really shallow -- all that practical stuff." But it's not shallow, it's one of the hard realities of losing your husband. The grief, sadness, and emptiness almost can go unspoken -- of course we feel that. It's the other stuff that our friends and family need to be educated on. And that we need to be educated about. It's so easy to think no one understands what it's like to not know how your own house works! And I'm not stupid, but Bill did so much here and set everything up "just so." And, frankly, that's an easy issue. It's frustrating and can get expensive, but it's solvable. The really hard ones are what Nanci shared about, "who is that in the mirror?" And "am I going crazy?" And "Now what?" And Ry -- I cannot even imagine that social security fiasco you're dealing with. I really hope that gets sorted out quickly. I'm so glad you know you're going to the art classes. I think doing something new that you enjoy is very healthy. And Debi -- the courage to say out loud that you're relieved not to be living in the daily cancer existence takes bravery. I too feel that relief. Every time I drive by the medical center, I think how strange it was that those places became such a huge part of our lives. They feel so cold and distant now. I remember our wonderful radio-onc hugged me once and said, "you can always come back and visit." Why would I want to do that??? We'll all get through it, one step and a time...

Another long one... I find myself toward the end of another phase of my grieving process. I've come to some realizations that might help those who are newer. I'm just hitting the 6 month mark of losing my husband, Bill. (He was so much more than a husband!) I can only speak from the perspective of a widow. (Debi, thanks for giving me the encouragement to use that word without shame -- it is what it is, right?) I imagine there are some similarities no matter what close relationship one is grieving. After Bill passed in July, my life was very hectic. I had family here. There was much activity surrounding Bill's service, his wonderful brother-in-law was working endlessly trying to finish many unfinished remodeling jobs on our home, and his wonderful sister being here as a tremendous support. I think I had one week on my own after they returned home to Spain, then I quickly went back to a high stress job, even though I cut my hours down. I then traveled overseas to visit Bill's family (our family) and spread two of three parts of his ashes (the third yet to be done). When I returned, I realized I was running on empty and gave notice at my job. I've been off work since the end of October 2007. The first month off was almost just as hectic, because I had other deadlines that were volunteer, but deadlines nonetheless. I felt like I wasn't grieving properly, even though I didn't really know what that meant. However, I had started to attend a grief group at my church and found a lot of relief being able to relate to two other recent widows, and to find hope within my faith. When I left my job, I had a list of things I must do. I had planned to dutifully attack them one at a time. The list was comprised of financial things to sort out, practical things to take care of, and I needed to start addressing the work to be done here at home (finishing the remodeling, organizing, etc.). The sorrow and heartache aside, it's insurmountable what one must deal with practically when a spouse dies. It's six months, and I've only just begun. I'm sure it's very similar to when a surviving parent dies -- especially if you're the one left to deal with it all. Within that I also wanted to spend time with friends in a way that was hard to do when working a lot. At first I thought I wasn't succeeding at any of it. I feared I was wasting valuable time. I was all over the place -- emotionally and practically. But then a few weeks went by. With no rhyme or reason, I was doing all of it bit by bit. Not at all in the order I had set up for myself, but things were happening. Some of what I thought was urgent initially has now become a "whenever" task. Other things, like establishing a new bank account and going to a financial planner, became top priority. Sometimes I was shocked at what I had accomplished when I was seemingly trudging through life in a fog one day, and in a hyper "out of body" manner the next. The next phase will be a departure from what I've begun to call my "comfort bubble," and going back into the working world and trying to live within my new financial boundaries (which until recently I've all but ignored). I will be seeking new work opportunities, rather than going back to the old one. I'm nervous about it all. Can I earn enough to keep this life going for a while without being forced to do something drastic? After all, Bill was a high earner and we were a two-income family. How will I handle my new status of "widow" with people I don't know yet? How will I handle knowing I don't have Bill's "financial rabbits" he always managed to pull out of his magic hat? Will I have flexibility so my sweet dog won't be alone all day? How will I handle knowing it really is all up to me? Will I have the courage to break out and strive for what I believe I'm meant to do, rather than just what I know pays the bills? I still have an endless number of items on my "to do" list. Some are more urgent than others. But there's no panic any longer. They will get done when I'm ready to do them. Sometimes I'll be surprised at the productivity I've managed; other times I'll be disappointed at my lack of action. But in the end, taking it one step at a time, they will get done. Every time I'm tempted to think Bill would be critical of my way of doing something, I remind myself of the situation I'm working in. I can hear him cheering me on and telling me I'm doing a [expletive] great job at it all. What's next, besides the search for work? The search for someone to fix this damn roof that's leaking all over with these latest storms (something Bill would have done himself)...and then, whatever I think needs to be done. So to you all who are thinking, "how can I possibly do it all?" Don't think of "it all," just think of the one thing you can do right now. And if there isn't anything you can do right now, don't worry about it. Take your time. It will come. I find the truly urgent items make themselves known. Wishing all of you the blessings of comfort in this new year...

I have Bill's treatment calendar too. We were all shocked when the calendar itself ended the month he died (it was one of those year and a half calendars I'd been using just for his medical info since dx in 2006). It's sad, but it's part of our history. I also still have all of the test results. I'm sure I won't keep them forever, but for now they're staying. Hugs,

(((Linda))) You sound very healthy and honest, and like you've found "your" way. Thank you for sharing your journey and your valuable insights. Hugs,

Yes Cheryl, we did it! (I love that pic of your mom!)

What a great topic for a new year. After his diagnosis, Bill started writing again with a passion -- and probably the most meaningful writing he'd ever done. He was an absolutely gifted and beautiful writer. The fact that he was writing again, he considered a miracle. Previously, all of those seemingly important things (like making money, working on the house, etc.) took priority.

I have been unable to stop thinking about this since I read it this morning. What a beautiful, caring gesture. What a beautiful man and a true love. I'm so sorry for your loss, Pat. With love,

((((Pat)))) Sharing in your tears this morning -- what a beautiful, touching, moving, heartfelt story you tell. It speaks so perfectly of your love for each other. What an amazing man Brian was. What an amazing woman you are. Thinking of you today,

A few hours early for Pacific Coast Time, but what the heck. U2 is my favorite band since the 80s. I don't know what they were talking about, but somehow these lyrics seem to fit what I'm thinking about... New Year's Day by U2 All is quiet on New Year's Day. A world in white gets underway. I want to be with you, be with you night and day. Nothing changes on New Year's Day. On New Year's Day. I... will be with you again. I... will be with you again. Under a blood-red sky A crowd has gathered in black and white Arms entwined, the chosen few The newspaper says, says Say it's true, it's true... And we can break through Though torn in two We can be one. I... I will begin again I... I will begin again. Oh, oh. Oh, oh. Oh, oh. Oh, maybe the time is right. Oh, maybe tonight. I will be with you again. I will be with you again. And so we are told this is the golden age And gold is the reason for the wars we wage Though I want to be with you Be with you night and day Nothing changes On New Year's Day On New Year's Day On New Year's Day

Perfect example of "the difference": I had planned on just staying in tonight for New Year's Eve. I went to the movies yesterday with some good friends (a couple). They asked me if I wanted to maybe join them for dinner out tonight. I said "sure, but don't feel obligated if you guys would like to just go out together." Now it's 4:20 and I haven't heard from them yet. But I don't want to be the one to call, because I don't want to put them on the spot to have the "extra" person along! If it was Bill and I, I wouldn't think twice about making the call. I don't even care if I go out tonight, but I do care that I feel like I have to wait to find out! Roll on 2008...

OK Bobby -- I'm used to road rage, but snack machine rage?! Thinking of you this New Year... Hugs,

My husband agonized over this issue. He went back and forth about how he felt about it. I don't think he ever really could get past it fully and feel peace about it (because he apologized to me so often), but I can say that everyone else in our life that mattered did. I don't think he ever heard anyone say to him that he did this to himself. (His mum had quit many years before she was diagnosed.) You can say that about so many things in life. The guy that ran a marathon and had a heart attack. The person who loves food and gets heart disease. It's not a matter of dismissing the impact of smoking or downgrading the importance of quitting -- it's just a matter of starting from "now." No one deserves lung cancer. I wish you and your husband all the best.

Wow, all of your reponses really touched me. What you said, Nanci, about feeling more isolated when someone tries to relate or make you feel better and fumbles -- I hadn't understood that before, but I think that's exactly how I felt last night. It had happened twice in one day. I just want to scream, "you don't get it. EVERYTHING has changed!" It's just so different when someone acknowledges that they don't know how I feel -- then I'm usually totally receptive to whatever they have to say. It made me realize how important the grief groups are, especially those that are specific to different types of losses. I haven't been to mine in a month. I think when I was really active in my weekly one, I didn't feel the need to discuss things with other people as much.

I'm feeling especially frustrated at the moment when well meaning (truly, well meaning) people in my life try to relate to what I'm going through when they haven't been there. When I hear, "I know how you feel," but I know the person can't possibly know, I get so upset inside. When someone assumes I'm generally "depressed" or "down," I actually get angry. I almost feel insulted, like my grief and my situation in general are being diminished. I sometimes find myself going a step further than I'd like to in order to explain where I am at the moment. It's not enough for me to understand that there's a difference, I want them to understand it also. Then I start to feel like I'm being insulting, assuming that the person doesn't understand. I imagine being on the receiving end of it probably makes the person wonder why they bothered trying to make me feel better in the first place. Then I have that sense that I'm in "it's all about me" mode. Why can't I just let it go and realize that they're just trying to be good friends, and that they're relating in the only way they have to relate? I so don't want to become one of those people who is always "one-upping" someone else's misery. Oh, the horror of that thought. I'm starting to drive myself nuts. Anyone else dealing with this?

I only just watched it -- thank you so much for posting this. I'm going to send it to my family.

I too am so sorry -- my dog is a major member of my family, and I know how deep that loss is.

I have cancer in my family too, but I don't worry about it. I get my regular checks, but I figure you can't control everything in your future. My paternal grandmother died of leukemia in her early 40s. For some reason I always assumed I would too, but it wasn't really fear based. (I don't assume that anymore, by the way.) However, I was a "head in the sand" person as far as symptoms go. I never dreamed Bill had lung cancer. I always assume the best scenario -- I think that's a type of fear that makes me do that. But it's not a good thing. Like "if I don't know about it, then it won't be real." I HOPE I won't be like that in the future with myself or my loved ones, but I don't know. As for the mole -- can't hurt to take it off. Your worry was based on factual information. I think you did the right thing.

I'm so glad this topic came up, because it's allowing me to face some feelings I've had that I've never expressed to anyone --- that "thing" of suddenly being perceived as "single," and therefore a threat to your married female friends (or "available" to your single/divorced male friends). Gini, thank you for pointing this out. I haven't felt it in a huge way, but I have felt it. That brings me also to what Debi said about using the word "widow." That's very interesting -- because it's a sad word. Perhaps when people hear it they better realize that we're in a state of tragedy, not in the midst of a planned lifestyle change. The perceived threat is almost like one friend whose house was spared by a fire being threatened by their friends whose house was burned down. In my case, I do know that I'm the one who is keeping distance from certain people. Both Bill and I went through radical changes through his illness -- mostly spiritual changes. I find that my comfort zone consists of people who either were there during that process and know who I am today and accept it, or are people I've gotten to know more afterwards. I do realize in that case, it's me. But I also think that's ok.

Hi Barb, I'm so sorry you're having such a rough day. You're in very early days. I think you will find that it's different at different times. I too have had those days where I'm just physically sick and can't believe it. Other days, I'm just so sad. Other days I deal better and go about my business and even enjoy myself, never forgetting the loss, but able to also focus on other things within it. I think the "shock" aspect lasts for some weeks as well. And it's painful to come out of that phase. It's also very painful when each bit of reality sinks in. I think that's what people mean about it getting worse -- the more real it gets, the deeper the pain. I don't think it's even possible to feel it all at once and survive it -- we have to have it in small doses. But I don't think you can ever start to heal if you don't allow yourself to feel the pain. I do believe when those especially difficult days come, it's because you need them -- allow it to happen. Yesterday was especially difficult for me, so I cancelled previous plans I had so that I didn't have to push back feelings that needed to be at the surface. I think we need to allow ourselves that option. Hugs,

I'm so sorry your family is facing this. It's too much.

Hi Ry, I notice that with some friends. But I also notice that I am more comfortable around some friends than I am around others (particular those who were very much "couple" friends). I have a theory that some couples feel uncomfortable around someone newly widowed (hate that word) because they see the possibility in their own lives and don't want to face it. I have found that I purposely gravitate toward those in my comfort zone. The people in my comfort zone always talk about Bill -- I'm never worried about making them uncomfortable. I figure those are the people I need in my life now. Sorry you're feeling that. I think it's very common, unfortunately. I imagine with long-time friends, it might be more of a process. It's weird.

Always grateful for Jackie and to read her wise words. Also grateful for my little great nephew, Jack, who turned one today.

My tear ducts finally opened today. Writing this note to Bill helped the process. It's personal, but I felt I wanted to share it. It's long, but perhaps some can relate. *************************************************** Today is Boxing Day, 2007. My first Christmas without you. I’ve just described it in an email the best way I know how. We had a wonderful family Christmas, a lovely Christmas Eve church service, and delicious food. I read scripture in front of church for the first time. I could feel your support saying, “just take it slow.” I feel connected to people and loved. I feel hope for the future, even if there is no detail within it. But everything is de-saturated without you. You brought the vivid color to my world, and to so many others. I sometimes am so wrapped up in my own loss that I forget how many other people miss you so deeply. I wonder if you have any idea. I wonder if you had any idea before you left us that an unfillable void would remain in your place. Thank you for the picture and note you left for me. I try to imagine what that must have been like for you to do. To think ahead and realistically know there was a chance you might not be here this year. To do that and still maintain the hope you had will always amaze me. To think of me and want me to have not just a loving reminder, but a message. I’m proud of us for embracing Christmas last year. Remember we bought the decorations for our beautiful new dining table? You always chose the nicest things. Then we kept the tree up for weeks! Played Christmas music endlessly. And planned Christmas this year in England. Oh, how I wish we were there today. To you I owe so much. So much I never got to tell you. I owe apologies. I owe thanks. I owe generous deeds. I owe time. I owe uninterrupted movie nights. I owe you help with the house. I owe you hope. I owe you understanding. I owe you encouragement and compliments. I comfort myself knowing you feel the same back. That you were nowhere near “done” growing with me. Nor am I with you. How is it that you’re gone nearly six months and I am continuing to learn about this thing called “love” that we embarked on all those years ago? I’m still learning what it means to be married. What “till death do us part” actually entails. Except that it goes beyond death, doesn’t it? You will always be my most favorite person. I can say that without a shred of doubt. Within the disappointments and silly arguments we had. Within the plans that didn’t happen, and the ways I can still feel hurt. And within the great hope we had for our future and the endless love we had for one another. Your face is the most beautiful. Your smile the brightest. Your eyes the window to love. Your heart my home. Your love the most treasured of treasures. I will never say “goodbye” to you, my love. I will try to learn to say, “I’ll see you soon.” For in heavenly time, it will be soon. But even that is too hard today. My eyes are tired, my stomach over-worked, and my head a little fuzzy from an extra glass of wine last night and too much coffee this morning. But my heart is as sober as it can be. And my heart misses you more than even I can bear to feel.