It seems that I am waking up about 3 AM and I just can’t seem to sleep, so I find myself here.

For so long, I had to squeeze bits of time here and there to write a post. Sometimes, I would start one and then be interrupted. By the time I returned to the post, I had lost what I was wanting to write…now, I write from my insomnia…

Yesterday, the funeral director brought my husband’s ashes and ern to me. I sat and help him again. This time, I was holding the remains of a ravaged body. The essence of my husband is not in this decorative container.  The scripture came to mind, “Why do you weep? The man you seek is not here!”.

But, I placed The Corrs, “Everybody Hurts” on and I held his remains and cried for quite a while. I cried for our lost future, for the love that is between us and its final result that is so far from what we expected. I cried for this terrible pain that I feel inside and its incessantness.

As my son’s wife’s family invited me to their holiday celebration, I decided to go. I thought that it would keep my son from worrying about me and, in that, spoiling his holiday.

The day was cool, damp and dreary. I thought that it captured my inner climate rather well…to sum it up…it was a miserable day for the 4th of July.

There was the usual USA kind of feast…grilled chicken, hot dogs, hambergers, salads and desserts. All  I could think about was how much my husband would have enjoyed the food had he been able to eat, then it hit me, he is able to enjoy all of the things from which the disease cheated him. He is not in this body, but he is free from the depravation that emotionally is more difficult than any other part of the loss of eating.

As I watch my grandson learn to ride his bike and played dinosaurs with the little one, my mind was distracted. I was thinking about the 4th of July’s that my husband and I spent on the Harley, riding wherever the road would take us.

I remembered breaking down in the middle of no where and no one was home to call to bring us the bike trailer so that we could get home. The events that unfolded made that 4th a memorable one.

I thought about 4th that we chose to ride home through the night on 2 lane roads and when we left about dark, we began to see fireworks in the sky as we passed each community, town and small city. We had a 2 hour light show with a few stops to just drink in the beauty of the sky and its exploding excitement over our nations history. It was a moving fireworks display that I will never forget.

As the day wore on, I began to feel this overwhelming sadness. I wanted to go home. Of course, I disappointed my grandsons because they wanted “NanNan” to watch the fireworkswith them. I asked my son to take me home. I should have driven separately so as no not interrupt his holiday.

It was just to strange to have celebrated my husband’s independence from a body riddled with cancer and then to celebrate our nation on back to back days…I just wanted to be with our little dog because I knew he is so afraid of the firecrackers and I didn’t want him to be alone.

So, early evening, I came home. I felt a peacefulness and a solace that I needed at that moment. I needed to just unwind my heart and mind so that I could cry without being in the company of anyone that would see my deep sadness. I guess, I am more of a private person that I once thought myself.

As I was trying to occupy my time with the TV, I realized that each day may be something like this one. One where you venture out and try to re-immerse back into the life that was being lived while my husband and I were living in the confines of illness. I have been gone so long, that I have to re enter a little at a time.

I will have to wait until next year to see just how far I can gauge if I am truly walking out of these Shadows. Right now, I am still surrounded by them and strange as it sounds, they are more comforting than anything else.

I will walk back into the world of the living, but I want to do it a my pace.

Overwhelmed is the only word that comes to me at this time in the morning.

Overwhelmed by the outpouring of comments, sympathies and condolences that all of you in the blogshere placed at my hurting heart. To say, “Thank You” is so inadequate. But, my heart is full of gratitude at your expressions and thoughtfulness over my loss.

My husband’s wishes were somewhat unconventional to the way that many have their funerals or final rites. His wish was that if he could not fight this terrible disease and win, he wanted the cancer totally destroyed. He chose to be cremated.

He didn’t want anyone to see his wasted body or the terrible ravaging that this disease leaves behind. He wanted there to be no remains of it left on this earth. Instead, he wanted those who knew him and loved him to gather at the church where he and I first met, celebrated our renewing of vows, and found the man that he called “Pastor”. He told the pastor the verses of scripture that he wanted the sermon to be based and then he said, “Have church”.

So, as the church filled to capacity, a power point presentation played showing the years of his life. Those years when he was a baby, the birthday parties, the grandmothers that he loved and cherished so well. They showed the school years, he in his ROTC uniform, his first car and of course, his motorcycles. Then the years of his children and the stages of their growth.

As I watched, I remember what he said about the memories of those years when he lived a different life than he had with me. I felt a pange of jealousy that I didn’t have those years. Years where we would have beenyoung and having a family between us…but that faded away when the pictures of our life appeared a definate and noticeable change came over him. He had soften. He smiled often and it was captured. He was truly happy.

The final scenes were those of his living legacy. The legacy of families that are left behind to walk in his footsteps. Each showed the adult children and their children. The circle of life continues and it produced these fine and wonderful people.

Indulge me a moment to recount his legacy. His oldest son, my son is a Disabled Veteran from the first Persian Gulf war. My husband’s pride to be in my son’s life at the time he joined the Marines was tangible. He had a sticker on our vehicle that said, “Proud Parent of a US Marine” and he was so proud that he had a son, it didn’t matter that it was a step son, it was his son, that was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for his country if need be. And my son has made many sacrifices for his country. He lives them everyday through the pain that is constantly in his body from his service related injury.

My husband oldest child and son is a entrepreneur and city counselman in the city in which he lives in Washington State. He has always been political minded and he has worked on several campaigns of past congressmen. His burning desire is for the American family and its values. He is an accomplished young man and even though he and his father walked to the beat of different drums, there was always pearls of wisdom shared. “Son, cherish your wife and be sure that you have some trade to fall back on when times get hard.” These were just a few. 

His oldest daughter is a full time mother and homemaker. She has a new baby, my husband’s namesake. When she did work, her tender heart lends itself to those in nursing facilities. Her talents make her invaluable to activities in  nursing homes as she plays her guitar and her beautiful voice fills space and time of those who have only have space and time.

Then there are the faces of the grandchildren. Each one filled with delight. Living footprints in the sands of time. He loved being their “PapPap”. And, they loved him. My oldest grandson carried a little folder full of pictures that he and his PapPap drew with him to the service. That was his tribute. It is the grandchildren’s future that will cause him to smile as he watches from Heaven’s Door.

Each of the adult children played a part in the arrangements. My son was my strong arm as I leaned on him to help guide and protect me through the jungle of final arrangements. Believe me, I found the funeral business a difficult one as it is so easy to take advantage of people in grief. I was fortunate that my son and daughter in law found someone who was willing to follow my husband’s wishes without pushing “pachages” that included unnecessary and unwanted things down my throat.

We were fortunate to find someone who would work with us. I am very grateful to the people of this establishment that worked with me despite my lack of funds. They were a Godsent.

My husband’s children decided to honor their father with their musical talents. They are conciderable and somehow, someway, they lifted their voices and presented a tribute to their father and lead all of us in his favorite hymns. He would have been so very proud. I know that I was.

Then came a time for those who wanted to share their memories of my husband. There were stories and tales full of life and laughter. From finding the eggs on his grandmother’s farm and throwing them at the girl cousins, to the sharing of his life changing experiences from when he first moved to this community and made a friend of my cousin. And then his brother shared things that only brothers know. What a special snapshot of a life in progress from beginning to end.

Then came my husband’s witness. In that fact, it was clear that as radical as he lived  before  Christ, he was going to live as radical for  Christ and that witness and testimony rang out in that sanctuary. He was a wounded warrior in every way, but in death, he won final victory over all things. And his love for Christ was shown forth by the testimony of his mouth to his pastor.

A very special person also came. My husband’s physician came to the Memorial. Most doctors don’t make housecalls. This wonderful young man came to his patient’s memorial. I can’t think of anything that vexes a doctor more than loosing a patient to death, but this young man helped my husband prepare for his final journey. He truly is one in a million and we are so fortunate to have had him as a “hub” of my  husband’s care. It meant a lot to me to see him there.

I was alone for the majority of the day. There were times that I could feel his presence. I don’t know why, but I remembered how he would always say, “Baby, make me look good.”…I smiled as I thought about the first time he said that to me. The “femenist” side of my nature wanted to knock him into next week, but today, I understood more about what he meant when he said that statement and I wanted him to be proud of me.

So, I finally got my hair cut and styled. For so long, there wasn’t time for that sort of thing. My daughter in law helped me find a dress.  Because my drastic weight loss was so much,  nothing I had fit me. 

As the day progressed, I carefully laid out the dress, shoes and accessories and everything pertaining to what to wear.  As, I walked out of the door to go to the church, I silently whispered in my mind, “Baby, I am making you look good now.” and smiled a little smile.

He always admired women and he was never stingy with compliments …somewhere in the inner recesses of my mind, I heard him say…”Stunning” and I was ready to go.

There were tears of sorrow, joy and laughter.  All hearts were full of heaviness and gratitude for knowing a man that as one friend said, ” He had a quality that I call ‘Stardust’. He entered a room and his prescense was known and he didn’t even have to say a word.”

He was celebrated and honored for the multifacted man that he was. A biker with a no nonsense way about him, a musician that thrilled to the classical masters, an artist and sculptor. He was a Renascence man in every way.

I am honored to have been his wife and now I am honored to be his widow. It will always be my honor to have loved such a unique and complex man because he was my soul mate…and I am overwhelmed that out of all the women in the world, he chose me…

There are hard days ahead. I will continue to become more familiar with this word called, “Overwhelmed”, there is no other path to take but one step, one day, one moment and place the next foot ahead and at that rate.

This morning July 1, 2008 at 9:30 AM, my husband’s journey ended and he went on into the sunset.

Always strong and valiant, his struggle to live was a courageous fight of the soul and body, but his body could not continue to sustain any longer his love for his family, his friends and for me.

His strong heart kept beating in spite that his other systems failed him. He didn’t want to give up. And for days, longer than the average person’s efforts, he stayed.

But, finally, after so much effort, he could not stay. So surrounded by his children, grandchildren and me, he breathed his last. As we watched in amazement, he preceded to shrug his body. It was as if someone was gathering him in their arms. This hugging happened several times, then he breathed his last with a sweet smile that I will never forget.

During these final few days, there were wondrous moments with him. The semi consciousness and the drug fog kept him from communicating clearly with us. He had moments that he made it clear what he wanted and needed.

When his son lifted his little daughter up so that she could see her “PapPap”, he reached out his arms to take her. His smile was glorious.

There had been conversations between us when he would come back from a place that must have been between the two worlds. He said, “Honey, you have been wanting to check out and you can’t.” I asked him what he meant about “checking out” and he said that I knew. He continued on with saying that without me here that my grandsons would be devastated without me and that I must stay. He also told me that he was in my way of realizing my true destiny. As I tried to tell him that he was my destiny, he closed his eyes as if to say that he could not hear me.

I understood. I understand that the “cry of the heart” is different from our conscious prayers and the place where he went  showed him  that I was wanting to follow him into the sunset. He revealed a truth that I could never see because I wasn’t understanding how wanting to be with him was so much a part of me that I had a death wish…he set me straight, I must stay.

 But, the best and final memory I will cherish for the rest of my life is this one. The next to the last day, his ability to have speech and clear speech had gone. Because he rested so well, I refused to place him in a hospital bed and so, late at night, I slipped into the side that he was leaning toward. As I climbed up and closer, he looked up and saw me. A huge smile spread over his face and he raised his arms as he has done so many time before as to welcome me into his bed. I had a smile that stretched from ear to ear and I laid down and rested myself into those beckoning arms. I kissed that wonderful face and allowed him to enfold me. I was in my safe harbor for the last time. But, I got one last landing in that harbor.

For a moment that could never last long enough, I had to see to his care and so I left his arms knowing that was the last time he would ever hold me. It was the last time that I would find rest and feel safe in his arms. As I lay there, I remembered all of the times that he opened his arms to me or smile a sly smile and open the covers for me to get in his bed. This precious memory much last for my life time. It was not long enough.But, it will have to be. It was the last time that he could do anything like that.

So, now, my journey without the love of my life begins…I can’t tell you how heart broken I am, there are no words that express this deep grief and pain.

He was a unique and multifaceted man that I will always love. This bond is never broken, even in death.

It would seem that his dream of walking with the Lord on the Prairie has come to fruition. He is talking and walking with Jesus. They are discussing this great old Buffalo who has battled so many hard winters, escaped capture and been challenged by others. The old Buffalo was searching the Prairie for a safe place to rest. Sensing no danger, the old Buffalo slowly wonders towards the western horizon of this LIfe’s Prairie. The old buffalo is  through the sunset now. Isn’t it strange that my husband has had the nickname “Buffalo” from the time he was a small child. I have no doubt, that the dream was showing my husband the way home to rest and comfort. He fought a hard fight and he won. Now he can walk and talk with the Lord everyday on the Prairie.

To celebrate the life of my husband, there will be a Memorial Service at the church where we renewed our vows. His desire was to have all that he loved come and to have “church” as he called it. There will be many heavy hearts and I only hope that the pastor can find the words that will reach our broken hearts to speak comfort to our wounded souls.

I am alone for the first night in 16 years. I am finding things too quiet and I am at a loss because I physically cared for him for so long…

Now, the sun has set and I can no longer follow where my love has gone. I must turn toward a different course no matter how much I don’t want to leave him at this point in time.

This long journey into the Valley of the Shadow of Death is completed. I have a different journey to walk and it must be alone.

There is a moment when the sun is heading for the horizon. The sun’s rays seem to burst in every direction or the sun looks like a huge ball slowly descending into a vast emptiness. It is clear that in a very short time, the ability to see it will be gone. Moment by moment, the sinking continues and as you stare at this glorious array, it disappears from view.

You are aware that this setting is on the verge of completion, but there is very little to indicate  the length of time that it takes to occur. So, you stand very still and you watch intently and in the process of trying to catch the very moment of “Sunset”, time stands still.

That is how it feels right now. Many things are happening, but it seems that time is standing still and only the losses are signs that the moment is upon us.

In the past 72 hours, my husband has gone from being able to perform the basics of life, i.e. personal hygiene, feed himself, clothe himself and decide what he wants to have for entertainment to loosing control of his legs and this afternoon, he can only stay in bed…

He mentioned on Monday that his ability to balance himself as he walks was becoming a little troubling. Tuesday morning, he was up before I was and was in the kitchen getting ice out of the freezer when I heard a heart sinking thud. He had fallen.

I went running into the kitchen to find him on the kitchen floor. His knees had given way and he was unable to stand so he fell on his knees and pushed himself onto the floor. As I tried to assess his injuries, he said that he was beginning to feel his legs again. I helped him up into a kitchen chair and pushed him to the table so that he could steady himself.

I was trying to stay calm so I fixed the coffee and asked if he thought that he might enjoy a cup. As he sat there drinking the coffee, he began to cry. We embraced each other and cried the tears that we tried so hard to hide from each other…I told him that we were a team and that we would face this new challenge together, just like always…I told him that I would call the hospice nurses and see if we could get a walker. I suggested that this might steady him and give him something to help with his balance. I thought that the walker was the ticket and we waited for the hospice nurse to deliver it to us. 

In the mean time, we walked to the recliner in the living room. In a house this size, it isn’t a great distance from room to room. He managed this walk without difficulty, but he chose to stay in the recliner or to rest in bed most of the day.

About 4:30 P.M., the nurse delivered the walker and I thought that we had a better chance of not repeating the mornings adventure.

My son had come early in the morning and was with us most of the day. Around 5 P.M., my husband wanted to go to the bathroom. He said that it was the perfect time to take the new walker for a “spin”.

As I helped him from the bed to his feet, he grasped the walker like a “pro” and as we were trying to navigate the bedroom doorway, his legs gave away again. This time, I was behind him and laid him down as gently as I could, but this wedged me and my husband between the doorway and the bed. Neither of us could move enough to help ourselves.

Thankfully, my grandson was on the front porch playing on the computer. I began yelling for my grandson to go get his father so as to help us. Seven year olds are great at yelling and he was able to get his dad into the house in short order.

My son literally picked up my husband from off of the floor and placed him in the recliner. This is my son who has the traumatic brain injury. Who fights his own battle for quality of life. This is my Marine, my warrior child who has said, “My misfortune shall be my Fortune.” I am amazed by him.

I watched as he lovingly cared for his step father. From the outset of this journey, both my son and daughter in law have been with us every step of the way.

My son has always been a support. After my husband’s surgery, my son gently performed basic nursing care. (The Marine Corp teaches all of its members basic emergency medicine for battle injuries) He has a wonderful bedside manner because he has a wonderful caring heart.

As my son and I lifted my husband into the bathroom, it was becoming clear that my ability to care for my husband alone was becoming an impossibility.  When my husband goes down on the floor, he has to have some ability to control his extremities or I am unable to manage.

My son and I got my husband back to bed and I immediately called the hospice nurse for a bedside commode. I thought that I could manage my husband the few feet from the bed to the recliner if we didn’t have to walk the length of the house to the bathroom.

The rest of the evening went well. My husband was so very tired from the events of the day that he went to sleep around 9:30 P.M. and I stayed awake until 2:30 AM, Wednesday morning, keeping watch over him.

At around 5:30 A.M, I awoke to find him sitting on the bed. He wanted to use the beside commode. I said that I was coming and to wait for me.

The next few minutes were like a nightmare that seems to never end. As I approached him, he seemed to loose consciousness and he fell forward. He didn’t put his hands up to break his fall and his face scooted along the carpet leaving a rug burn that was bleeding. His neck and body was pushed up against the wall.

I am sorry to say, but I burst into tears. I tried to rearrange him so as to relieve the obvious pressure on his head and neck. He was unresponsive to me. My first thoughts were that he had died. But, I was wrong.

I was able to reach the phone to call for help. My son was here in about 20 minutes. By the time my son was able to get here, my husband had regained consciousness and control of his legs. Together, we were able to get him up to the beside commode. There we waited for my son.

My training told me that this was a neurological kind of episode or a cardiac interruption of blood flow to the brain. No matter, either one is directly tied to the disease process of cancer.

Those in the healthcare field call this the dying phase. It is when the body is deterioating at a rate that the disease controls. There is nothing that can gauge its progress and the goal is to makes everything as comfortable as possible.

The rest of the day Wednesday went well with my son’s help. His strength, in every way, is invaluable to us. His physical strength is so necessary right now. My son has stayed with us at the expense of his wife and children for the past few nights. No matter what I say, he is not willing to leave us.

Somewhere in the memories of my mother’s cancer battle, I knew these days would come. I know that I was frightened of them from the first when the doctor said the word, “Cancer”. It was this part of the journey that I dreaded.

 I knew this part of the journey would be rocky and very difficult in every way. This part of the path challenges the physical stamina, the mind, and it slowly breaks the heart.  But, no matter what I thought I knew about the days that approach this horizon, the reality is that they are so much more difficult than what I remember.

This morning, I went to Road’s site, “The Price of Love”. He has a song posted there that is so true of our present situation and of our walk towards this sunset. Right now, this song has captured the place that we find ourselves on this long journey….It is called, “Everybody Hurts”.

Yes, It hurts right now. It hurts in places that I didn’t know existed.  And I know that this part of the journey requires a dogged determination for putting one step in front of the other. It must be walked no matter the fatigue, the heart ache or the fear.

These is no stopping the advance toward the setting sun. I must echo my son in living my misfortune. And, somehow, it must become my fortune, my treasure of great riches that must sustain me for the rest of my life. These are the last of the precious days to live and to love him.

I have a few more steps to take with him and I will find a way to walk them. And as the song say, “Hold on.” That is what I am doing. I am holding on until that time that there is nothing left to hold…until those last rays of this sunset journey are gone…

For months now, I needed to gather all of the winter clothes and put them into the storage totes so that I have a place for the summer clothes. When you live in a house with 2 closets, total, this is a rite of passage of the seasons.

I have washed all of the sweaters, coats and the fleece things. I have made sure that they dried completely so to prevent any mold or mildew and now for the true challenge, where to store the totes???

I have a storage trailer, but what was once my husband’s task is now mine and I don’t have the upper body strength to lift and carry these heavy laden totes down to the trailer that is stored in the barn. I will wait to see if my son will help.

While gathering my husband’s winter things, I began wondering who would be the ones that needs these clothes and who is that size that I can give them too. I caught myself and felt like I was betraying my husband in some sort of way because I was concluding that he would not be here to wear these clothes when winter returns this year.

I know that it is the practical side of me, but it still felt like I was betraying his living. That is the reality, though. He will not be here and he and I know it.

Yesterday, his oldest daughter called and said that she felt the need to spend time with her father. I told her that if she wanted time with him, now was the time. Not next week or this weekend, but now.

I don’t know where we are all going to sleep, but that doesn’t matter. She needs to come and she needs these days to say her “Goodbyes”.

Her brother was here last month while my husband was in the hospital. He needed to be here. He needed to see for himself the state of his father’s condition.

Somehow, words can never convey the actuality of the present. It takes eyes to see and ears to hear so that the mind and heart comprehends the reality of the moment. Anything else allows the mind to fly away to the daily details of life. When you are in his presence, there is no escaping what this cancer is doing to someone that they love.

These are hard times for his children. Their time with their father was restricted by divorce from an early age. My husband’s son has had the most time as he was 7 years old when his parent’s divorced. His sister was only 18 months old when the marriage ended and she has no memory as a child of living with her father on a daily basis.

That doesn’t seem to matter. She has always been a “Daddy’s Girl” and she has grieved for the loss of her father from the time of a small child. Her life was greatly impacted by not having him living with her.

She did live with us when she turned 18 years old. She was needing her father’s love and protection as she stepped out into young womanhood. I think every girl needs their father most when they are embarking on adulthood.

When she dated, she brought every boy home to meet her father. She decided if this guy didn’t have the courage to meet her dad, then he wasn’t enough of a man for her…pretty good reasoning for a girl of 18.

So now, she will be here for these last days. She will drink up his presence and it must be enough for a lifetime. She needs to be here and, more than words can express, she wants to be here.

It is the time of gathering. Gathering of things, gathering of people…there have been many in the past week that find their way here. Many are from our life as business owners, former employees, old friends, extended family, all from his life and our life together.

They felt it in their heart that it was time to come and see him. A time to come and be in his presence and without words, tell him that they love him. The tears are not far from their eyes and when I walk them to their cars, the tears are no longer held back. The sorrow is there. My husband’s life has impacted theirs and they had to come.

It is good because my husband wants to be cremated. There will most likely not be a viewing except for the immediate family…There will be a memorial service here and one where his family lives. The second where his family resides because his parents are not able to travel and I do not have enough room for everyone to stay overnight. The house is just too small.

So, let the gathering begin and continue until all who need to be here, who need to be in his presence, who need to say their final “fairwell”, come…Soon, it will be too late.

I think back and remember my husband always said that if the effort could not be made during the life of the living so that the person could enjoy the moment, why bother after the person is gone. For his sensibilities, the effort was only valued when the person was still on this earth. Everything done after their passing is done for those who are left behind and the person is already carrying on with his new life…That was his viewpoint…and it is mine.

Let the gathering begin. Let the goodbyes be said and let him be here to enjoy the moment…

It is quiet and I have a few more moments at the computer. My husband was having a lot of pain and the IV pain medication wasn’t helping. I gave him some Phenergan to potentiate the pain medication and he is sleeping.

I go in once an hour to check on him. Sometimes I wake him to make sure that he can come out of this deep sleep. I seem to not be able to help myself. He is in such a deep sleep that it looks like he isn’t breathing. When this happens, my heart stops for a moment and then I go to his side and brush his hair  from his face. He stirs and my heart begins beating again.

Last night, I had to give him Zofran. It is a drug that stops vomiting. He slumped over in the recliner and I woke him so that he could lie down in bed. He grunted and said, “ Am I still here? “. I responded with, “Were you going somewhere?” He replied, “No, I just was a little surprised that I woke up this time.”

I don’t think he was joking. He was making a statement of fact. He looks at the unknown just as I do and he is surprised that he hasn’t left us yet. Somehow, he knows that the time isn’t far off. I helped him to bed and he slept. He didn’t wake up until around noon.

He started looking more pale in the late afternoon. I could tell that his pain level was rising and he was feeling weak and tired. He was so tired that when daughter called, he didn’t want to talk. He was feeling really bad…

And so it goes. Another day and then it is night. It is the night that seems so long and hard. I never know what to expect.

Like I said earlier, last night he was sick to his stomach at around 9 P.M. and I gave him medicine for nausea. He woke me again at 3 A.M. He was sick again and I gave him more medicine. There are nights that seem to draw out forever. Last night was one of them.

Our life is full of uncertainty. At first, it seemed that the uncertainty pertained to years…then months…now it is days and nights.

I wish that I could do more for him. He is still able to be up and about but he no longer finds little projects to do. He sits in the recliner most of the day. His big event is going outside and sitting under the tree. Soon, he tires and his pain starts to build, so he goes back indoors to sit in the recliner some more.

The look in his eyes is hollow and he rarely smiles. There are not many things that cause him to rally from his “fog”. There are moments, but they are few and far between. I can’t tell what he is thinking. I could always in the past, but he is shutting me out now. He is just staring at nothing most of the time. That is the fog of the pain medicine.

We are approaching the twilight now…the suns rays are fading and so is he.

I am grateful that we are in a quiet place. It has its moments of peace and contentment. I wish I knew what was coming next, but most likely, I really don’t want to know. I would be anticipating it and I would not find those small moments of peace or contentment because I would be fearing what lies ahead.

I went in to see if he was still sleeping. He looks so unlike the man that I knew. I miss the man he was. I miss this lifeforce that contained the essence of the man. I know that he misses it as well. The next time I see it, it will be in another form, a different reality than what I know now.

He is sleeping, but he is slipping away. Moment by moment, minute by minute. Day by day he walks closer to the sunset and I can’t go with him…I truly miss him and I will miss him for a very long time to come….

Lately, it seems that the incidents of cancer are popping up all over. Our doctor made a comment not too long ago about the increase in new cancer as a diagnosis in his patient population.

Yesterday, when I went in to grab a few things at the closest convience store, the lady that works there has become a new aquaintence and she has voiced support for me and my husband over the past year. As I was paying for my milk and other things, she asked me if I could do her a favour. I responded that I would do whatever I could.

She asked if I would write down questions that she needed to ask her doctor. This coming Thursday she is going for her first visit with an OB/GYN oncologist and she wanted to make sure she asked the right questions that would produce the most information.

I was stunned. She was diagnosed sometime while my husband was in the hospital and I was unaware that she was told that she had cancer. Another one in our age group has cancer! Another one without insurance to cover this catastrophic illness. Earlier this month, my cousin buried her husband. He died of a rare form of cancer of the kidney…She is a widow at 48 and so it goes. It seems that my generation is being plagued by this terrible disease. The numbers keep growing.

So, this afternoon, I must sit down and try to figure out the best questions for her to ask her oncologists…Oh, Lord, God, I need Your help.

I know what I would be asking, but what if that isn’t what she wants to know? I think that I will write out a guideline that will help her form her own questions and that way, she will still be the one asking the questions. I also will tell her that I may be able to help in deciphering all of the medical jargon that goes along with doctors and cancer treatments.

It saddens me greatly that this wonderful lady must begin this frightening journey. It is long and arduous. It is full of ups and downs, twists and turn. That is just the emotional part of this journey. Then there is the physical… 

 It is like walking in a rocky place without the benefit of moonlight…                                                   

I really hate cancer, I truly do hate this thief that kills, steals and destroys!!!!

I have just come inside after trying to mow our acre lawn. I seem to have lost a part of the exhaust on the old Bolens mower and it seems to have overheated and blown a head gasket. At least, that is my best guess as it blows white smoke from under the hood…

I stopped mowing when it started to belch out the smoke and when I raised the hood, oil was thrown all over the exhaust. When I opened the breather, it was full of oil…most likely, head gasket…it is going to be a long summer.

I started the LawnBoy push mower to try and finish up, but I finally gave up. I am really tired after today’s events and my allergies are having a fit. What a disappointment.

I was looking forward to mowing until sunset…around 9:30 PM. I do a lot of thinking while I ride the old lawn tractor. I needed to do some thinking this evening. I needed to ponder on what our family doctor said to my husband today.

Usually, on Wednesday, after his usual patients, our family doctor has us come in to do a little talking and then he takes my husband through some peaceful imagining and sometimes, he lays his hands on my husband abdomen.

Early on, we learned of our physician’s commitment to holistic healing and we have enjoyed this 45 to hour time that is used to block out the events of the week and look ahead to whatever comes into our lives. Today when our doctor saw him, the first question that he asked my husband was how much he weighed.

My husband told him and then he looked on the chart and saw that he had lost over 20 pounds since he last weighed in at the office. That was about 2 weeks ago. That is a lot of loss in a short time. It seems to be advancing and the loss of weight tells most of us that the cancer is winning the battle.

My husband enjoyed today’s session immensely and he got up off of the table to feeling like a new person. His energy level was increased, he felt a sense of well being and he was renewed. His fatigue seemed to be gone. That was amazing.

Our doctor informed us that he would be gone for two weeks and then he said, ” I expect you to be here when I return, but, if I don’t see you again, it has been an honor” and he put out his hand to shake my husband’s…

I wasn’t surprised by this statement. I think that my husband will be here when our doctor returns, but I also see why our doctor wanted to say this to him. There is no guarantee that he will be here. The time is getting closer for my husband’s journey on Cancer Road to end.

My husband complains that he is so tired and he is short of breath when he moves around too much. He doesn’t have the will to push himself to do things as he has always done in the past. This kind of fatigue is beyond just being tired. It is an absence of life force, it is an emptying and a lack of replenishment of life…

My husband has said a few things that lets me know that he is aware that he cannot continue on much longer. He sees his face in the mirror and he doesn’t recognize the man that is standing there. His eyes look so big and open now. He sees that his muscle mass is dwindling.

It doesn’t make it easier to see this and make these kinds of realizations. He wants to live and he wants to be a part of his children and grand children’s lives. He knows that all, but my oldest grandson, are too young to remember him when they grow up. He wants them to remember him, not from photos or from stories; he wants them to have their own memories. But, most likely, they will not.

Our time with our family doctor has been such a blessing. This young doctor has a wonderful heart and he does practice the healing arts and not just the science. He truly cares for my husband. That bond has grown over the months and it was clear that saying this to my husband struck a deep cord within his heart.

There are no words to express our gratitude towards this remarkable young man. He has been a great part of this journey and he has played one of the most important roles in my husband’s survival…I truly hope God blesses him as he has blessed us…

As for the next few days, I will have to push mow this monstrous lawn. Summer is just beginning and that is a lot of pushing and shoving….maybe, I will plant wildflowers and place signs along the road for people to not mow, native wildflowers growing…

Last night was one of the most difficult nights that we have had since arriving back home. I can honestly say that my stress level went off of the chart, not once, but twice and I have been trying to recover from the intensity of this stress all day.

I don’t know where to begin to try and describe all of the events that took place from noon yesterday until 6 AM this morning. I don’t know if I have the energy to recount all of the events. I know that I don’t.

I do know that my husband had a partial bowel blockage yesterday afternoon and that he and I had to re engineer the tubing for the PEG tube because the design was contributing to the problem.

I do know that without careful monitoring of the PEG tube and taking action on a timely basis that my husband would have been totally blocked and we would have been in an emergency situation.

I do know that the pain pump set off a false alarm and no one knows why it decided to scream at 2 AM for no apparent reason. But, because of the alarm, I set into motion a multitude of activity that woke up at least 4 people, including the hospice doctor, and disturbed their sleep, all because this alarm malfunctioned. I felt terrible about that, but as I see the remaining events of the night, I realize that something next to a miracle occurred.

That is because the hospice nurse was here when my husband seemed to have a total bowel blockage. Thank God, I was not alone when everything took place. I had another pair of hands that helped me with him and I was not alone to face all of this.

As I try to evaluate the events and actions of those 24 hours, I don’t know how to take into account that help was here, right at the crucial moment, when it was needed most. Help was here based on a totally different set of circumstances than what actually occurred. It is like having a prayer answered before you knew that you needed to pray.

Only an All Knowing God could set off a set of unrelated events so that help would be here at the precise moment that I needed it most. I don’t have another explanation for it, especially when the pump malfunctioned and nothing has been found to explain why it would sound an alarm at that time of the morning.

I am still trying to process everything that happened. It really shook me up. Every muscle in my body aches from the tension that was coursing through me. I refused to take my blood pressure. That would have only made me more stressed, I am sure.

I am resting and I am reflecting on all that happened. My only conclusion is that it is very peculiar.

This Father’s Day has begun with a cool morning breeze and memories of Father’s Days past.

He is up and walking around the yard. The dog and two cats follow him as if he were the leader of this parade. He is quietly contemplating something. Maybe, he is praying or just enjoying the feel of the grass on his tender feet. Maybe he is thinking about firing up the Harley.

He is looking so thin. His face is more gaunt and his skin has a yellow tint to its naturally dark tone. His knees look like those in the pictures of people who are starving in Africa. As my eyes cover the rest of his frame, they rest on the protrusion of his abdomen…It is hard to realize that the man that I am watching is 55 years old. He looks like he is 70.

I am shocked by his weight loss over the past few weeks. But, it is hard to maintain weight when all you are allowed is liquids and clear ones at that. It is hard to pack calories into water or juice that goes through you in such a short time…That is not considering the fact that most of the fluids do not get to pass through the body, but find an escape through a tube that is anchored in the stomach…

There are moments that I wonder how can this be?  It is in these moments that I step out of the circumstance and I look at us as if I were an old acquaintance that has not been in contact for several years. I am shocked by what I see. It is incredulous to comprehend that this is our life and I wonder just who are these people that look familiar, but are strangers? I don’t recognize them.

The next moment I slip back into my skin and I see us. I see two people who are weathered and worn down by all of the pains and problems of the past few years. I see sadness and a little hope. I see pain and a glint of joy. I feel comfort and feel a little anxiety over the future.  I know that if God doesn’t allow a miracle, this is his last Father’s Day.

He has come inside and he is setting in his recliner listening to the Christian TV Station. He is without pain this morning and I can see that he is thinking. I would guess that he is thinking about the motorcycle in the garage. He would be thinking that It would be a great day to ride the Harley. I doubt that he is strong enough to keep it up on two wheels…but that is what he is wanting. That is his Father’s Days wish. He wants to ride.

He wants just one more time when he is in control of the throttle. One more time that he can point the bike  toward the sun and see where the road takes him…One more time to feel the wind in his hair and enjoy the feeling of freedom that only a ride on a motorcycle can bring…one more time to let all of the fears, cares and worries blow through him so that he can be free of them…even cancer can’t follow him on the motorcycle…

Yes, his thoughts are of his children and grandchildren. He spent yesterday with his daughter and her 2 little ones. He enjoyed watching them and holding the 2 month old.

Watching my grandsons and his run, jump, hunt worms and play games caused him to remember the days when he and his cousins did the same at his grandmother’s house. It seemed to satisfy him that he was able to replicate this memory for the next generation…it was a sweet moment, a lovely memory made.

Memories made with pictures of him with his daughter and grandsons…a quiet day to celebrate his fatherhood. A few living footprints that declare that he lived. It is another Father’s Day and most likely his last.