As midnight draws closer I’m getting anxious and panicked again. It’s like losing her all over.

Earlier tonight I was looking at the “wallpaper” photo I have on my computer desktop. It was taken when we stayed at a B&B in Maine. We were standing outside our cottage and the owner took a picture of us. Heads touching. Big smiles.

I was looking at her beautiful blue eyes in the photo when I remembered how about this time two months ago I was leaning against her bed, holding her face in my hands and looking into her eyes as her breathing slowed to a stop. When she passed away her eyes immediately dilated, as if to say goodbye.

Five minutes…time to hug the urn…

The time approaches again in a few hours – less than three, actually. But it’s really a daily, hourly, every second event for me. I constantly think about Sheila. Constantly. She’s the ache in my heart and the presence in my head.

The nights and weekends are still the hardest. In general I find that I talk a lot less now. And I’m mostly silent at home. It’s weird when you’re use to having someone to talk with everyday. To break the silence I’ll start talking to Sheila about whatever comes to mind – the events of the day, an article in the newspaper, the Car Guys on Saturday morning (we rarely missed listening to that show on NPR), or something that’s on TV. There’s an article in today’s WSJ about Jane Austin that I’m saving to read to her later. She and I watched a couple of movies about Jane that we really enjoyed, so I’m sure she’ll like the article.

If I’m watching a movie – especially one I know she would have liked – I put the urn on the couch with me in the place where she used to sit. It’s the right height for me to rest my left arm on. It gives me that feeling as if we were leaning against each other like we used to. She’s about a foot away from me now, next to me on the counter. I still carry her around the house to be close to me. I thought about taking her outside today to be with me while I worked, but didn’t want her to get dusty.

I finally felt well enough today to get outside to do some long overdue yard maintenance. The cough is the only thing that persists. The nausea finally ended on Thursday. It’s been a long three weeks.

As I looked at the Chinese Elm tree in the front yard I remembered how utterly pleased Sheila was when I trimmed up the bottom of the limbs a few weeks before she passed away. Over the final weeks, anytime we were outside she would comment, with a big grin, about how nice the tree looked. I couldn’t remember her being that happy in some time. Of course it made me happy to do something that pleased her so much.

Anyway, I finally got around to trimming the hedges and more important, I got to clean-up and fertilize one of the two blueberry bushes that Sheila planted. I have more to do, but I’m trying to make sure that all the trees and plants we planted survive. I can’t have any of them die too.

Tomorrow morning I’ll work on the other blueberry bush and maybe have time to attack her garden before heading over to Steve and Joni for the Charger game. Amazingly, the tomato plants are still cranking out tomatoes. Like her, they’re tenacious.

I love you bunches, and miss you, Sheila….

During the drive to the grocery store this afternoon I was channel surfing and backed up to a station when I heard the words of a song that said, “…when you breathe out, I breathe in…”

I turned off the radio and spent the remainder of the trip in silence as I thought back to all the times when I would do that with Sheila.

Most nights when we went to bed Sheila would snuggle close and put her head between my left shoulder and neck. At some point she’d turn her face upward, for a kiss or two, but some times she’d fall asleep in that position as well. I would still be awake, listening to her breathe, feeling her heart beat against my chest.

In the blackness of the night I found myself focusing my attention on the various sensory experiences of her closeness – the warmth of her body as she pressed full length against me intertwining her feet with mine, the softness of her skin, the curve of her hip pleasuring the palm and fingertips of my hand, her soft hair cascading over my chest…and the feeling of her breath lightly caressing my face.

At some point we’d move apart, but still be touching in some manner.

I’m not sure when it started exactly, but one night several years ago I found that I wanted to breathe in her breath. I wanted to share the warmed air that moments ago had been inside of her. So when I could, which was often, I would put my nose as close to hers as I could without waking her so that as she exhaled, I would inhale. It took a little practice to comfortably sync my breathing to be opposite of hers, but it was a task that I took great pleasure in. If possible, I’d lightly rest my right hand against her chest at the same time so that I could feel her heart beating slower as she fell deeper into sleep.

I continued this practice to the end, and of course breathing in her breath became even more important to me the last few months.

I never told her I did these things. I’m sure she would have loved the thought, but it was just something, a secret ritual I guess, that I kept to myself. And a great memory to look back upon…

Well, the fever is gone, but the deep persistent cough and mild fatigue remains after almost two weeks. I managed to go into the office for about 6 or 7 hours on Monday, but hacked for most of the time and grew more tired as the afternoon wore on.

This is the longest I’ve gone with minimal human contact. I can’t talk much due to the sore throat, so the days have been very quiet as well.

I checked-in with the nurse at the surgeon’s office on Monday, and finally spoke with Dr. Salem this morning. With my symptoms she didn’t think it advisable to risk any complications during or after the surgery, so she canceled the procedure for tomorrow and suggested I call my primary doctor to find out what else could be done.

So I left a message for Dr. Lin, and he called back this afternoon. He reviewed my file and test results and said it was confirmed that I have H1N1. Considering that my fever is gone the Tamiflu worked for that, but  he said it’s possible – based on what they’re seeing in other patients with H1N1 – that it’s morphed from a virus to a bacterial lung infection. So he started me on two inhalers – albuterol and a steroid – and Hydromet cough syrup.

If I’m not better by Friday, then I’m to call him. Not sure why – what he’d do next – but hopefully it won’t be necessary for me to call.

Kathi, (and others who have asked for it)…here’s the list of songs that would have/should have been burned to a CD per Sheila’s request, but was instead played at her service.

1. Back At One: Brian McKnight (We sang this to each other every time it came on the radio or TV.)
2. Beauty and the Beast (Soundtrack Version): Céline Dion & Peabo Bryson (You can figure out who’s who.) 
3. Don’t Let Go: Take 6 Brothers (We both loved their a cappella singing. It gives you goosebumps) 
4. Friends: Michael W. Smith (a religious song, but I liked the lifetime friend’s part)
5. Friends in Love: Dionne Warwick and Johnny Mathis
6. I’ll Be There: Take 6 Brothers
7. I Will Be Here: Steven Curtis Chapman 
8. Know By Heart: Dave Koz 
9. A Love That Will Last: Renee Olstead (One of Sheila’s favorite songs. Reminded her of what she found in us.)
10. Music of My Heart: *NSYNC & Gloria Estefan Music of the Heart (Soundtrack from the Motion Picture) (We liked the movie – especially the Concerto in D Minor for 2 Violins by Bach that was played at the end.) 
11. My Everything: 98º (We would dance to this song all the time at home. And it was our First Dance at our wedding)
12. Now I Know Why (They Call It Falling): Michael Franks
13. On Golden Pond: Dave Grusin
14. Once In a Lifetime: Michael Bolton
15. One More Time: Kenny G Featuring Chante Moore
16. Sailing: Christopher Cross
17. Someone To Love: Jon B 
18. Still: 98º (We danced to this one at home too. Plus the music video was shot at the base of the Tower Bridge in London which we’d crossed over, so Sheila was pretty giddy when I showed her the video.) 
19. Theme from the “Color Purple”: David Foster 
20. Turning It Up: Pieces of a Dream Love’s Silhouette Jazz 
21. When I Fall In Love: Celine Dion & Clive Griffin Sleepless In Seattle (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack) 
22. (You’ll Always Be) My Heart and Soul: Stephen Bishop (This one I played a lot when Sheila was most ill and asleep and has the most meaning since she passed.) 
23. 5 Corners: The Doobie Brothers Live At Wolf Trap Rock (We heard this for the first time at a Doobie Brothers concert in San Diego for her 50th birthday in 2007. She had just met Pat Simmons, the guitarist, backstage so hearing him play this song was very special for us.)

Several of you had asked for a copy of what I read at Sheila’s service, and I finally figured out how to post it. It’s long, so grab a cup of tea and settle in.

Just click on the link below.

My Tribute to Sheila

Last Thursday I was exposed to someone whose husband died of H1N1 and then became ill myself 24 hours later. I was very sick over the weekend and finally went to the doctor on Monday. The rapid lab test confirmed that I have influenza A, but the subtype won’t be known until next week.

Because of being at higher risk for complications due to having prostate cancer the doctor said they couldn’t wait for the test results and started me on Tamiflu. In the meantime I’ve been quarantined to the house until the fever is gone for 24 hours. It will be gone or else my surgery next week will be delayed, and I can’t have that happen. 

My neighbor, Tammy, aka “Stalker” (a friendly term she’s given herself), didn’t know I was sick when she showed-up at my door Monday night with warm muffins and hot soup. She’s adopted me since learning of Sheila’s passing.

And CiCi also brought over a bunch of homemade soups and bread the next day. So I’m well stocked for the duration. I really appreciate all the support they’ve provided.

The downside of being home fulltime, and not feeling well enough to do things that would be distracting, is the large amount of time I’ve had to dwell on all aspects of not having Sheila. I would have probably been fully recovered by now if I had Sheila’s touch to soothe me. Or her body to lay next to. Her kisses and touch were medicinal for all things that ailed me. I can imagine those strong fingers of her’s massaging my temples or neck.

I was reading an interview that Patrick Swayze’s wife recently gave where she said that the grief she was feeling was “at the cellular level.” I thought, that’s a near perfect way to describe what I’m feeling.

The house is deafeningly quiet. I look at her slippers and remember the sounds of her walking down the hall. I memorized how she looked when she’d walk. When she knew that I was behind her she’d put her hands behind her back and wiggle her fingers on both hands, inviting me to catch-up and hold her hands.  

I look at her photos everyday and listen to at least one voicemail message, but not everyday for that. Hearing her voice – and the sweet messages she left me – only makes it more difficult to not have her to call back. Her voice adds substance and a perceived reality to a situation that doesn’t exist anymore. How will I ever adjust to not having the other cellular half of my existance?

One of my favorite photos of Sheila

Well, here are the last of the photos. Don’t forget to scroll over the photos for descriptions:

She's so incredibly beautiful. So elegant...

Sheila's the one on the far right...

Dip Dip Dip Stroke...Dip Dip Dip Stroke...

I’m sitting in my home office listening to the songs I played at the memorial (and I’ll get that list to you Kathi), and I also remembered that I hadn’t put all the pictures up that were shown at the memorial service. So here are more of them. Scroll over the picture(s) to get the description. I’ll need one more Post to get them all in:

Sheila, Brian, Ken

Sybie, Tammy, Laura, Gordon, Sheila, Ken and Steve

Gordon called yesterday, Saturday, to see if I wanted to go for a ride today. We hadn’t been for at least 8 months. I wasn’t even sure the bike would run properly. Sheila had bought me a battery saver a couple of years ago, so I knew the battery would work. The fuel and oil were a different story.

But the bike started and ran fine so I took off at 11:30 to meet Gordon. As soon as I pulled away from the house it wasn’t the same. It was the first time I had ridden without Sheila.

Sheila and I took the motorcycle training course together and got our licenses at the same time. But other than an initial interest in getting her own bike, that desire pretty much went away because she loved riding on the back of my bike, a Harley V-Rod. To make it more comfortable for her, I changed out the stock seat and got one that has more cushioning, with a backrest.

So I really missed feeling her pressing against my back and the regular hugs she would give me throughout our rides. Sometimes at the lights she’d rest her helmut against mine, or if I was leaning a bit forward, she’d rest her head against my upper back. She also developed a habit of massaging my butt at the traffic lights because they’d go numb. The V-Rod is not really built for comfort – at least my portion of the seat doesn’t feel that way. But it was just another way for her to be in contact with me and provide her brand of affection. I’d also reach down and massage her calves. I liked feeling her legs on either side of my hips.

So I missed having her with me on the ride today. I told her about our trip when I got home. Gordon and I went to a restaurant in Temecula, Penfold I think is the name, that we had taken Sheila to once before.

I miss kissing her in restaurants and sitting next to her in the booth. We always sat next to each other even if it was just the two of us. I miss holding her hands at the table, or stroking her leg, or hair (or head when she lost her hair). I miss telling her that I love her and seeing her face light up. Whenever she would tell me she loves me, I would say, “but I love you more,” and she’d laugh and respond, “no, I love you more.” We didn’t do that all the time, but it always made her giggle and smile real big when I’d start it.

The last “good” meal we ate out – as far as how she was feeling - was lunch on September 9th at the Island’s restaurant on Nobel Drive. She was trying to work her way up to a meal at Flemings – her favorite steak house. Our very last meal together was on September 11 at Sheerwater at the Hotel Del. She had soup.