teriw

Larry, Thank you so much for all that you've contributed and for the support you've given -- I wish you well.

Bobby, This post is probably too late for you tonight, but I hope your visit goes well. I'm so sorry for the news. The advice to just be there and listen is great. If she talks about fighting and getting stronger, just encourage her. The truth is, none of us ever knows what's going to happen until it does. I have a feeling Bev will be quite strong and maintain her great sense of humor. Enjoy that with her. Tell her what she means to you as a sister, and how much you love her. Tell her that all of us here are so proud of her strength and bravery. Just be yourself. We love you,

I think it might have to do with the timing -- the one year mark. The "it's really real" feeling, and plus just missing her so much. I'm earlier in my grief. I'm 12 weeks from Bill being gone, and just at the one year since diagnosis place. Every time I think "this time last year...," Bill is in the memory. After a year goes by and I have that same thought about 2007, he won't be (at least not in the physical sense). I imagine that will feel really awful. Perhaps that's part of it. Don't apologize for it. Allow yourself to go through it, and perhaps even seek out a grief support group. I'm sorry you're going through this. Hugs,

Hi Bobby, Sometimes you have to let the tears out before you can get stronger again. Most of the time when Bill was in treatment, I was pretty strong. Around scan times (especially when I knew it wasn't gone) and when he really wasn't feeling well, I had a harder time. I would go through my day and appear fine, but when people asked me, it was hard to hold it in. And sometimes I was in a constant state of "almost crying." Also -- showers. Totally my cry space. I'm so sorry you're going through this...hugs to you and Bev. Maybe you need to go for a visit soon.

Bobby, You're a wonderful sister. You were one of the first people we "met" here. You've been right there with her through everything, taking care of her house, researching treatments, etc. It's an extremely hard situation and there's no "right" way to deal with it. Just be there for her as you have been. Don't let her doctors brush her off if she isn't feeling well. Something I learned the hard way. Make them listen. Hugs and prayers,

Your replies are all comforting -- thank you.

Reality is really weird. Sometimes (most times) I just don't believe Bill is really gone, and that all this is some kind of test. He'll be back in a few weeks or months and we'll talk about all that happened since he'd left. And that if I stay busy enough, I can go on with this illusion indefinitely. Then someone else expresses their raw uncensored grief to me (in today's case, a friend's daughter wrote a heartfelt letter to Bill), and it hits me. Or I see an older couple, and my heart aches -- I wanted "us" to be that older couple. And I want to retreat from it. I get a sympathy card in the mail one day, and I just unemotionally read it, then set it aside. I get one the following day and I just stare at it in disbelief and sadness -- this can't really be for me. But it is. For the most part I talk about everything with a weird detachment. I understand it's a survival mechanism, but it's starting to bother me. I went to my first grief group meeting last Sunday. I was the only one who didn't (couldn't) shed a tear. In one way, I think facing the reality completely is the only hope to finding any kind of peace. Yet, I'm scared to death to face it completely, because the loss is too overwhelming. This morning a frustration with my computer brought me to tears. Next, I was mad at Bill for leaving me with problems I can't fix, in a house that's more than I can handle, and in a life that was built for the two of us -- and just for leaving me in general. The next minute, I was filled with sorrow over my anger knowing how he would do anything to help me through, and he would have done just about anything to stay with me. An hour later I'm at work as if nothing in my life had ever changed. There was a section in a grief book I'm reading titled, "You're Not Crazy." I guess that kind of answers my question. It will be 12 weeks on Monday. I'm rambling...

My neighbor, who is our very good friend, also had two dreams with Bill. One was fairly shortly after he left us. She dreamed that she walked in our house, looked in the dining room and Bill was sitting at the table. He looked at her, and she ran out. She said she woke up and was very upset. Then maybe a month ago she had another one. This time we were talking on the phone, and I said to her, "I think someone wants to talk to you." Next thing, Bill is on the phone with her. He was asking about me and how I was doing. I find it all very interesting.

N, Thank you so much for sharing your beautiful tribute with us. I've never heard of a butterfly release. I can visualize you all standing there -- how absolutely beautiful, and with the flowers as well. I have no doubt your tribute made your hubby ever so proud. Just allow yourself to go through these initial days in whatever way you need to. (Being in a coma is a perfect description -- sort of a walking coma.) If you need to stay busy, stay busy. If you need to go to bed, go to bed. There's no wrong or right way. The only specific advice I would give is to allow people in -- people that you trust and know care about you. I've heard people say things like, "it's different when someone is ill, because you know it's coming." "Different" than a sudden accident, yes. But the shock and trauma of the actual loss is just as sudden and blunt. Contact me any time. Thinking of you and praying for you... Hugs,

Congrats Nova. We all knew you could do it!

I showed that warning to our doctor when Bill was being treated (he had Procrit often). I believe the warning is when they raise the dose too high.

Sheri, As much as you probably don't want to deal with it, I would seek out a reputable estate attorney. When Bill and I were having our wills drawn, we joked a bit with the attorney about the family situations he must witness. He made a comment about one of his clients having nothing but a hand-written note that wasn't even signed, which I believe was being used in court. The fact that you had all of the financial access is proof of your dad's complete trust in you. Seeing how the brother is acting quickly, I'm afraid you'll have to act quickly too. So sorry you're having to deal with this on top of everything else.

Happy Birthday from me too...

I think contacting other people who might reach out is a good idea. Sometimes people don't quite know what to do. Especially if there is someone that your dad can relate to. The other idea I had, is does your dad like animals and does he have a cat or dog at home? Because I'll tell you, I cannot imagine going through this and feeling an "empty house" without my canine companion. When my grandmother had a stroke and my grandfather was pretty old then too, we snuck out one day and got her a parakeet (she confessed that she would love one). It's the last thing my grandfather wanted. Do you know that bird was such a blessing. It gave them both so much joy -- it was out of it's cage visiting them more often than not. Animals are very healing. They accept you as you are, and they give you a living thing to care for.

Oh sweetie -- I knew this was coming, but it was still such a shock to read. I'm so, so sorry. You were amazing through it all -- please never forget that. Your honey will never forget it either. Here come those tears...I'm so sorry. You know I'm here for you.

Here is a web site for Grief Share, which is a Christian grief recovery program. It includes a search to find groups in your area. It also has a lot of information, including a sign-up to receive daily emails. http://www.griefshare.org/

Does he belong to a church or any other organization where he has friends? Did he and your mom have many friends in the area? It might help if people like that invite him out -- even if it's just for a coffee or something quick. After Bill passed, I had a house full of family for a week or so. Then I stayed with my parents for a few days. That first week I was home on my own, I had quite a few plans with people that kept me occupied. I had made a decision to accept people's invitations, even if I didn't really feel like it. I did some things I hadn't been able to do for a while, like going to the beach with my niece. For the most part, it was good for me. Is there a grief group in his area? Even in a small town, a local church might have one. It typically doesn't matter whether or not you attend the church -- you can still attend the support groups. No matter what, there is no quick or easy way to get used to being without the one you love. I think if you could call him each day at a certain time, that would be helpful. Just from my experience, it's still getting harder for me. And well meaning people always say things like, "I hope things are starting to feel normal again." That's probably happening to your dad. Because at first, you're consumed with things you have to do. And people call all the time. And you almost wish you could just get some peace from all of the support. You're on an adrenalin rush and in shock from the loss. Then it quiets down, and very, very slowly some reality starts to sink in. Don't be surprised if he goes through major swings, or changes his mind about things a lot. Don't expect it to be something where it goes steadily from worse to better. You are so sweet to be putting so much energy and thoughts into your dad. Just keep being the close family that you are, and remember to take care of yourself too.

I'll be praying for you, Nova. Know that if this is truly what you need, then you'll pass that test. Have confidence in that brain of yours! Hugs,

Aaron, A BIG congratulations to you both! Hoping those pains clear up soon.

Hi Bobby, I know how hard it is to see someone you love who is usually strong suddenly become weak and unable to do everyday things. It's heartbreaking -- I empathize with your tears. Please stay strong and tell Bev to keep that wonderful fighting spirit of hers. Hugs,

I'm grateful for my family, my friends, my church, and my always lovable, always goofy, Mrs. Dickens.

When we scattered Bill's ashes in England, my step-kid's mum read a scripture to me: the 23rd Psalm from "The Word on the Street," which is a modern interpretation of the bible. It's author, Rob Lacey, also fought through cancer while writing this book. In fact he defied his doctor's predictions and lived long enough to finish the book (and another). At age 43, he lost his battle in 2006. Psalm 23, from The Word on the Street You're my guide and my guard, my minder, my mentor. What more do I need? What's better at the centre? You sit me down, put my best CD on, And my dismembered soul remembers who I am again. You're with me; you comfort me. And you hold my swaying heart -- so soft, so strong. You're with me, you comfort me. You stop them tearing me apart -- I fear no wrong. You show me where to go, without telling me; You set a value on my life, without selling me. You're with me, you comfort me. You call me to the streets; you show me such good things. Right things with no hidden strings -- just your name on. My soul celebrates; there's something about your great repute, Like a distant flute it comforts me. I crawl through the alley of the shadow of cancer; I know, you know the answer, and the battle won't rattle me. You're around, and I've found there's something about your empathy, Your symphony of sympathy, that comforts me. You lay out a table; you sit me down; My rivals arrive from the greatest to the least, But my cup's kept full, and my head's held high As you boast about me, your least priest, And make them toast me right through the feast. Boy, does it comfort me! I know that your good, your best, your love and passion Will stalk me, steer me, stand alongside me, Outlast every fad and fashion, through all eternity. For I'm going to live with you, See heaven's great views from my own cosmic mews; No lease to renew, no terms to review, no one else to view -- Just me and you, me and you, me and you, Right through, to the end of time.

"It's a Beautiful Day" by U2.

Do many of you have dreams with your loved ones? In your dreams, do you know they're gone? I've had many dreams with Bill, but he always looks like his healthy self. In fact, I almost have to look at a picture to see him looking ill as he did in the final weeks. Most of the dreams don't appear to have any meaning -- he's just there as normal. But some are different. In one of the first dreams I had after he was gone, he said, "I don't want to die, you know," as if we had argued about him leaving. In one while I was on my trip I was physically holding him tightly -- I could feel it as real as anything. As the dream ended, I kept saying, "don't go away, don't go away..." When I woke up I could feel the void of him not being there so deeply. The most recent I was openly crying harder than ever "about" him being gone, yet he was the one I was crying to. But never in my dreams have I known he was already gone. It's weird to explain. It mirrors my deepest feelings. Intellectually I know he's gone, but spiritually and emotionally I convince myself he's coming back. I just wondered about any other experiences anyone might like to share.

Mary, I'm glad you've found some help from Grief Share (I literally just picked up a brochure yesterday), and I'm glad you're back here. There's so much support from people who understand. Hugs,