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Ken, Your post really touched me, because my wonderful husband went through all of those emotions that you describe. I'm going to PM you... Hugs,

So sorry...

Hi Leslie, Part of what you might be feeling is "life is going on without my dad." I went back to work a month after losing Bill. It was an awful feeling. My co-workers were wonderful and I was given much flexibility. But it was like, "Bill's gone -- how can I just be getting up and going back to a job??? How can this world around me possibly go on as normal?" If you think that might be part of it, I would say the best advice is just to do the old "one day at a time." After Monday is over, the anxiety of anticipation should subside. Then perhaps you want to think about moving on, if it's not for you. Take care,

Your story made me feel really sad. I think a lot of it is being human, and that yes, people do actually forget on some level. I think with your husband it might be more of a denial thing. Perhaps with your family too. I'm sure I had that with Bill, and I know other people in our life did. They (your family) probably can't even deal with the possibilities. (By the way, I'm not saying that makes it okay at all.) I think you're probably always "the strong one," and people will always see you as that. You'll have to remind them when you're not so strong and need their help. And you'll probably have to be the one to bring up sensitive topics. Your neighbor with the babysitting thing -- okay, she needs a bucket of ice water over her head to wake her up. But I'm thinking maybe order pizza for Thanksgiving -- that might give them a hint!

Toasting you with my morning coffee right now! Congratulations Geri! Many more to come. Hugs,

Hi Nova, Bill did some of this too. He never told anyone it was gone, but he did always want to make it out to be much less than it was. I always believed this is what he needed to do, and I never, ever disaggreed with him. But...having said that, telling people you're actually cured is a different thing. I tend to agree with Ry -- if it's not actually causing you a problem, I'd let it go for now. If people ask you about him being "cured," perhaps just say something like, "he's stable now, but they never consider it a cure until it's been 5 years." You're not lying, and you're not contradicting Harry. Hugs,

Thank you for taking the time to share your moving experience. I know these days when everything calms down brings a new silence and reality. I'm thinking of you both and your family in your loss.

I too am so sorry to read of your loss. Be kind to yourself in these first days (and the rest). Do come here for support -- you'll always find it. Hugs,

My precious Bill, bware21. My mother-in-law, Eileen (also died of LC) Nanci's Joe. Bobby's Bev. Melinda's Kevin. Grace's Carlton. Too many good people...

Thanks so much everyone -- hugs back. I decided to put the new pic up just for the season. Reminds me of the blessings we did have (I've also just framed it). Bill had said to me on more than one occassion that he truly didn't think he'd see Christmas, as he felt so terrible at the time of his diagnosis. With love,

It seems that since I looked at the calendar on Monday and saw "16 weeks," that a shift has occurred. My energy level has dropped significantly. My emotions are close to the service. Is this just the effects of coming down from months of uncontrollable frantic energy? I'm thinking perhaps it has less to do with the amount of time since I lost Bill to the time of year it is and what we were doing last year. Early last November, we had finished one round of chemo. We were scared but optimistic. We had received good news, then bad news, and misinformation from our original doctor. We had little bottles of Purell everywhere you looked (and it worked). I see them in the store now and I get a twinge in my stomach. I see Ensure and feel the same way. I still have bottles of expensive supplements that proved to be useless. Last year we were a team like we'd never been before. This was to be just another challenge, albeit a monumental one, that we would overcome -- and both live to tell about it. Thanksgiving weekend we shopped in earnest for Christmas decorations. (Bill absolutely loved Christmas -- he listened to Christmas music year round; we played it at his service.) We set up a tree early and took it down late. We watched old Christmas movies. We enjoyed every minute of Christmas, despite the black cloud that hovered overhead. On December 26th we heard "it's almost gone!" I remember how excited Bill was. I remember how tentative I was. I remember he did a post here that just said, "Oh bollocks -- Merry Christmas!" And we had planned this Christmas in England. My step-daughter Gemma and her mum Linda had the menu all planned out last year. It would be our first real Christmas in England. No one doubted that we'd be there. But we won't be. Sorry for the downer...Is this just yet another "it's real" moment sinking in? And why is grief making me so self-centered?

Hello Pat, That quote really struck me. A good friend just asked me last night, "how are you adjusting to living alone?" I thought about it later -- it's not living alone that's so hard, it's living without Bill. Yes, the house is very quiet and I've taken on many new responsibilities, but I could have five people living with me, and that particular "aloneness" wouldn't change a bit. Thank you for putting that into words. I'm so sorry about your son's partner. I wish you peace as you move forward with new decisions.

Thanks to all for your thoughtful replies. There are just so many new people in this section that it's heartbreaking. This "grief" thing is definitely a process. Something happened to me just yesterday--obviously a part of the feelings I posted about. My niece described it best when I showed up for my Monday night babysitting. First she asked if I was okay. I told her I was, but that I felt very sad (which immediately brings her own tears). The kids were an extra joy last night. So cute (Sophia 2 1/2 yrs, Jack 1 yr. in Dec). They're both experiencing milestones in their young lives. Sophia's "almost" potty trained, and proud of it. Jack Jack, as we call him, is just walking (or stumbling). Then as she came home, she was still concerned. She described it as me coming off a sugar high, because apparently I'm usually "bubbly" when I arrive. It's kind of like that. The ability to really feel the sadness, rather than the frantic energy I had been going on these months. I have been going days being hyper and never stopping, then falling apart. I don't know if it's a real shift, or a temporary change. The sadness is extremely difficult, yet I want to feel it because it's real and oddly, I'm closer to Bill with it. Bobby -- not working on any books just yet. All in good time though. He deserves my best, and I can't give it yet. I agree, I KNOW Bev and Bill have met properly now. Maybe they can better understand each other's accents! For everyone who has a very recent loss, be kind to yourselves and don't have expectations of how you "should" be acting, or what you "should" be doing.

Nanci, So true -- all of it. Thanks for taking the time to post that. I'm going to print it and bring it to my grief group. I think one of the key points in there for other people is to invite you to spend time with them more than once. I said yes to everything at first. Now I'm more selective and have a smaller comfort zone -- I need some space, especially with the friends we only saw as "couples." But later on, I'll hope that people won't think, "well, we asked and she said no." Thinking of you tonight... With love,

Rochelle, Be kind to yourself in these days. Thank YOU for all of your support. May we return all that you've given. Hugs,

This morning I woke up with a pit in my stomach like I haven't felt in a little while. Actually, it started last night. Then I realized that today marks 16 weeks since I lost my precious Bill. In some ways it feels like he was never here -- like it was all a phantom life I wish I had. In other ways, I think he's still here and he's just downstairs, or working outside, in the next room writing at his computer, or off at the card club trying one of his new "plans!" My step-son turns 22 this Friday. For one of his gifts, I've sent him a side-by-side picture frame. On one side, two pics of he and his dad when he was little. One pic when he's only nine. They're on the teacup ride at an amusement park in England. You know, that horrible ride that makes you sick just watching. The other was of him sitting next to his dad, proudly showing the model military helicopter they had just completed. He was 11 then. How I remember that triumphant moment! The other side has two more recent photos. One of he and Bill making the same silly face -- they're like twins at times, except Bill was even more of a trouble-maker! Another one where they're at the shooting range here in Los Angeles (they both look so handsome). Something Bill only did when the kids came. An activity you couldn't do so readily in England. They loved it. Besides being flooded with memories, I was overwhelmed with how "healthy" Bill looks in these photos. Cancer is so insidious. One day you look fine but have some weird symptoms, the next day your world is shattered with a diagnosis you never expected. Then after months of [watching your loved one] enduring treatments and tests and ups and downs, we -- the loved ones -- find ourselves here. Feeling the same shock again. No matter how sick he may have been, one day Bill is still here with me -- we're still in it together. The next day(s), you're looking around wondering what happened and why the house is so quiet and how could it possibly be true? And no matter how many loved ones you're blessed with, there is no replacement. There can never be. And all that he's missing. I have to believe he's not really missing it, that he can see it. Sixteen weeks -- feels like a second and an eternity.

Leslie & Adrian, My heart goes out to you both. How wonderful that you can find the beauty in your dad's final moments, and that you shared them as a family. I think you're both wonderful.

Mary, I'm so sorry. It is absolutely heartbreaking. When Bill was feeling very poorly, he was supposed to go into work for a meeting and to complete a project. I didn't understand at the time just how important it was to him, and it used to frustrate me. Finally as the day was approaching, he realized that we would both have to go to the meeting, and tell his manager that he wouldn't be able to continue any longer. As it happened, he didn't make the meeting, because of bad effects from pain meds. But even as we left for the hospital during his last week of life, one of the most important things he wanted me to do was to apologize to his manager (who was a friend) for letting him down. It was only then that I realized just how important continuing to work had been. I can imagine for Vic, if he hadn't understood that, just how saddened he must be. He probably feels abandoned in some ways, and like a giant part of his life has been taken from him. And it has. I'm so sorry. I will pray for you both.

Finding it hard to find the right words tonight. Just that I understand...

Lily, Thanks for sharing that. What a wonderful gift you gave everyone, even yourself.

Rochelle, I'm so very, very sorry. There are no words that will do. Please know you will be in my prayers tonight. With love,

Hi Mary, With all of the paperwork you're filling out and your hubby's new employment status, it's a huge change. It's not surprising that it would have an impact, even though it might just seem "practical" on the outside. All of those things carry emotional responses. The fact that you're having to take care of them makes it difficult also. Thinking of you,

John, Keep up that great attitude of yours. As long as there is a new plan, there is a new hope for a better result. Take care,

Debi, Your post was hardly too long -- it was a beautiful testament to who you are, and the love that you and Tony shared. I'm so very sorry for your loss. Just looking at Tony's picture, I know I would have loved him! We've had some good PMs in the past, and if you ever need to talk one-on-one, I'm here. As to how you fit in this community, I wondered that too. I guess it's different for everyone. I felt myself drawn back, even though I thought it would be too painful. Sometimes I'm online a lot, sometimes I just skip around and find the cancer part too difficult. You do whatever is right for you, and it doesn't matter if that changes from one hour to the next. Whatever that is, no doubt you will find that you're helping others along the way. With love,

Barb, Good friends are wonderful at any time of your life, but when going through what you are -- you realize that they're priceless. I'm glad you had a great day.