I’ve been doing better, emotionally, the past few weeks but for some reason I’m struggling today about Sheila.

After I got ready for work today I was walking down the hall towards the kitchen and felt drawn to the large engagement photo that has all the signatures and well-wishes people wrote the day of our wedding. I stood there and read all the entries and looked at Sheila’s sweet smile and was overcome with a heartaching sadness at her absence that has stayed with me all day.

It’s almost 1:30 in the morning, and I still can’t go to bed yet. I miss her. I still can’t believe she’s gone.

When I was in Vancouver last week I took a day trip up to Whistler, and I had forgotten that Sheila had been there years earlier with someone else, and it was a place we had talked about visiting together. As I was walking between Whistler and Blackcomb I got tense, sad, and a bit anxious realizing that she may have walked the same path and it was a path that we’d never walk together. So many things that we won’t get to do.

Well…after several years of thinking about it, “we” made it here, finally.

If you recall, one of the places on our “someday” list was the Long Beach Lodge Resort in Tofino, British Colombia, on Vancouver Island (www.longbeachlodgeresort.com).  I checked in yesterday afternoon for a three day stay.

It’s about five and a half hours from Vancouver to Tofino by car and ferry. The ferry ride from Horseshoe Bay in Vancouver to Nanaimo, otherwise known as Departure Bay, on Vancouver Island is about an hour and a half. Beautiful vistas, and if you’re a photographer, lots of photo ops with the majestic snow-capped mountain ranges. If you have a long lense you’ll be able to get a really great shot of Vancouver. Take an early ferry – 10:30am – and the lighting will be just right.

Upon docking in Nanaimo I took a leisurely drive to the resort making sure to stop along the way to take pictures, even in the rain, which it did for most of the trip. Sheila and I love(d) waterfalls, and raging streams and there were several nice ones along this trip. She would have liked them. Here are a couple of them (clicking on any of the photos should enlarge them for better viewing):

I splurged and got a really nice room on the top floor overlooking Cox Bay. It’s a room and a view Sheila would have really enjoyed. It’s very, very relaxing and tranquil. Other than breakfast and dinner I spent the entire day in the room, something I’ve never done before. But it’s that nice and I could picture just hanging out with Sheila. She would definitely have liked sitting outside and reading while occasionally looking out at the view.

I’m glad the resort is living up to the built-up expectations I had. I’m pleased that it would have been a place that we would have made “ours” and wanted to return to.

Here’s what the room and view looks like:

And finally, the sun broke through for the first time in two days – just in time for a spectacular sunset. I had the blog up at the time I was taking pictures, so I thought it would be cool to take a picture of the sunset with “us” in it.

Here are some other sunset photos…enjoy…

I love you Sheila…

On this night, the eve of another Christmas, I want to take this opportunity to thank all who have been with Sheila and me, physically and otherwise, throughout this most difficult year. It certainly didn’t end as we would have craved, but it’s ending nonetheless. And the journey would have been profoundly more difficult if not for the friendship, love, and seemingly endless compassion many of you lavished on us.

The house is deathly quiet tonight, and needless to say there’s a somberness to this season. I miss Sheila most during these days, but I’m getting better at coping with it.

Tomorrow, I’ll bounce around the house until the mid-afternoon when I head over to Steve and Joni’s for dinner and watching the Charger game. On Saturday morning Stephanie and Kevin, a niece and nephew of Sheila’s, will be stopping by for a visit. I need help with righting a tree that was blown over in the recent storms, and Stephanie wants to look through Sheila’s recipes. It’ll be good to see them.

Well, I wish all of you a joyful time on Christmas with your families and for all of us, an uneventful but very happy new year.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, being focused on the pain and recovery of my surgery has deflected my attention away from the normal intensity this day typically brings. I still looked at the clock and thought of Sheila as usual.

I called The Brighter Side yesterday, the place that Sheila purchased her wig, about an invoice and the process for donating the wig to someone who doesn’t have insurance. I was surprised at the emotional response I received when the woman who answered the phone found out that Sheila had passed away. Being a center that caters to cancer patients I assumed that they hear about the passing of customers all the time. So I was caught off guard when her voice broke and it sounded like she was about to cry. Of course, that immediately touched off my own emotional response. So we were quite the pair on the phone.

I continue to talk with people who have lost loved ones and the common element is that the pain and sense of loss never fully goes away, it gets dulled over time of course, but it’ll still catch you off guard at unexpected moments.

Perhaps for coping reasons, I’m coming to terms that as much as I would prefer to have Sheila in my life and everything as it was before January ‘08, the reality is that it’s not going to happen and I need to accept that and start getting out and doing things. I’ve basically been going to work and coming home (before the surgery of course), or hanging out with Steve, Joni, and Gordon. I know that’s not healthy and have taken steps to see more people and do more things.  I’ve got the catalogs out and will start planning trips to Alaska, New Zealand, Australia and some domestic rafting.

I’m anxious to get well enough to get back to the gym and my physical activities. I’ve clearly gotten out of shape this past year and when I look at photos now compared to a year ago, this has all aged me.

I do give thanks, on a daily basis, for the friends and family who have provided consistent love and support throughout this ordeal. That is the salvation that’s helped me through the difficult times.

The pain from the big incision has finally subsided, although not to the point that I can sleep on the right side yet. I learned that the hard way a few times now that I’m able to sleep in my own bed instead of the couch. And sleeping on my stomach is out of the question. So as a result I’m sleeping in two hour blocks and get woken up when I turn the wrong way.

But at least during the day it doesn’t hurt as bad as it was earlier in the week.

Tammy flew home today. Always hard seeing her leave. She took good care of me for the week that she was here.

Other than a visit earlier this week from some of my staff – Kimber, Scott, Frank and Aussie Vanna (one of the nicknames for my Australia executive assistant), the parade of visitors have all come to an end and the house is quiet once again. I am having my  staff and their significant others (about 12 people) over to the house on Saturday (about 12 hours from now, actually) for dinner. I’ve never done this before, (cooked for so many) so it should be an experience. Where’s Ed Wallace when I need him! I’m fixing my specialty – pasta with my special spaghetti sauce, and of course Mama Bella garlic toast for the clan. Yummy…

In three days it’ll be three months since Sheila passed away. Saying she’s died is still rare for me to say. “Passed away” sounds more…mmm, benign.

To cope better, I’ve had to make some mental adjustments because I can’t keep dwelling in the state of mind that I’ve been up until now. I’m coming to terms with the fact that Sheila won’t be coming back. I don’t have a life with her anymore, as far as doing things together. She’s clearly with me in my thoughts everyday, but one thing the past two years taught us – and many of you have commented on – is that there’s a lot of life to live. I don’t know what Sheila would have done if I passed away before her. I talk to her asking for her guidance, but so far nothing is smacking me in the middle of the head. Time will reveal the path forward.

The recovery process has been more painful and prolonged than I expected, but not outside of what’s usual. I’m just impatient to get back to “normal.”

I’ve had to sleep on the couch since getting home last Wednesday night due to the catheter. What a major hassle that’s been.

Pain has a way of capturing your complete and undivided attention like few other things in life.  I have six small incisions, mostly an inch long, stretching from one hip to the other. But there’s a three inch one on the right side of my stomach that’s causing all the problems. Which is why I haven’t written in awhile. I’ve struggled to even read for any length of time. Here I thought I’d catch-up on work and pleasure reading, but that hasn’t happened in a week. But I’ve finally turned the corner a bit and here I am writing.

On the day of the surgery I was in the pre-op area around 6am being prepped – blood samples, IVs started, etc. When they first brought in the special surgical gown and socks I was pleasantly surprised to see that the socks were a vibrant purple, the same shade Sheila liked, and the gown was a purplish/lavender. What better clue that she was there to watch over me?! Between Dr. Salem, and being covered in purple, I knew the surgery would be a success.

When they wheeled me into the OR a little after 7:10am, the first thing I saw was the robot. It was smaller than I thought it would be, but I was struck by the number of “arms” it had – five. I didn’t focus too much on it as I wanted to check-out the rest of the room. The only time I had been in ORs before was as a field engineer servicing “C’ Arms, x-ray machines used for hip surgery. So this was a new experience being on “the other side.”

After they moved me to the operating table, the anesthesiologist, Dr. Todd Austin, (a young Doogie Howzer), came around to my left side and said, as he injected something into the IV, “it’s time to get the joy juice started.” That’s the last thing I remember until I sort of woke up in Recovery three hours later.

I stayed in Recovery for almost 4 hours because I was having a bit of trouble coming out of the anesthesia, and the pain was intense. They finally moved me later that afternoon and got the pain under control that night with a combination of morphine and valium.

Because of excessive bleeding in my abdominal cavity they had to put a vacuum drain in my side. Having that slowly pulled out on Wednesday was the worse, short term pain I had experienced. But it passed within a few minutes.

Steve, Joni, Gordon, and Sandra came by and visited over the three days. More often than not I was sleeping, or incoherent – who knows what  I muttered – so Steve spent a lot of quiet time.

And the hospital was really, really strict about visitors. They apparently had 28 cases of H1N1 brought in by visitors, so they understandably greatly limited access.

I got the pathology report on Friday. Looks like they got it all. The lymph nodes came back clean and by all appearances the cancer remained within the prostate “vessel.” So I have no follow-up treatment after I recover from the surgery – no chemo, no radiation. Just blood tests every three months to see if any rogue cancer cells broke off and are lodged elsewhere. Very unlikely, but they have to check.

So hopefully by the end of the week I’ll be more painfree and the “equipment” will be well on its way to recovery.

Thanks again for all the calls and emails.

Thanks for all the calls, emails, voicemails, and text messages.

I got home last night, a day later than expected, and I’m really hurting, but I at least wanted to let everyone know that I did survive the surgery. I’ll write more, and respond to your messages when I can.

I haven’t received the pathology results yet either. Maybe today.

Not having seen rain for countless months, San Diego has been in a stage 2 drought alert. So it was clearly poignant, and emotional, that today – the day that I was meeting with three of Sheila’s sisters and one of her nephews to go through and hand over to them hundreds of Sheila’s family photos – that gray skies, pounding rain, and hail should envelop the day.

Karen arrived before the others and there were some photos that she had brought to share with me. One of them, an 8 1/2 x 11, immediately surprised and overwhelmed me at the same time.

When we got married in June 2008, Sheila had to enter from the left and rear of the outdoor patio at The Thursday Club and descend some stairs. Just after she descended the stairs, and before she made the right turn to the main aisle, there was one incredibly brief moment when she looked up and toward the front where I was standing. It was obvious from the look in her eyes and on her face that she was eagerly, emotionally, searching for me. I’ll never forget that look, and how she smiled so broadly when our eyes locked, or how I unexpectedly responded with tears at that moment. Her eagerness for some reason caught me by surprise. I think if she could have run down the aisle, she would have. We were both so incredibly happy. We had beat the odds of her illness and made it to our wedding. We were going to be husband and wife, finally.

I had been searching for someone who had been able to capture that amazing moment. The photos from the two professional photographers were bracketed on either side of that moment, but the videographer did capture it. However I wanted a print of it. Somehow Karen had captured it with her camera. What an amazing coincidence. So this morning was the first time I had seen the photo. And the sadness of losing her prematurely gripped my heart once again and the tears just flowed.

When everyone left this afternoon I went to the grocery store. After getting the cart I paused near the entrance to check a voicemail message that had come in earlier when an employee from the deli approached. She usually served us so she knew Sheila, but hadn’t known about her illness, and I haven’t been shopping much so she hadn’t seen me since September. When she asked how our Thanksgiving was I thought I would be able to answer “normally,” but I think because of having just spent 4 hours going over photos and reliving anecdotes my bottled up grief came pouring out, and I sobbed and cried as she held me. Trying to make light of it later I wondered to myself if people thought I was overcome by the lowered holiday prices.

Other than today, I’ve been coping better on a daily basis, in general. The sadness and emptiness is there but it’s not as debilitating all the time as it was. I’m sleeping more than I was, so that’s helping.

Mike from Texas called on Wednesday. He’s the friend who promised to be in the empty SuperBowl stadium sitting next to me. A month or so ago he sent me a very long handwritten letter sharing his grieving process when he lost his first wife about 7 years ago. Mike is a former police officer, a military special forces guy, and was in the Secret Service on President Bush’s (George W) protective detail. Not one to easily rattle. But he cried on Wednesday when we talked about the loss of his wife.

So having talked to others who have lost their spouses, both men and women, I know that it’s a long process and one that never completely goes away, as it shouldn’t. Mike is very happily remarried. Laura is a wonderful, beautiful, attentive woman. He always smiled broadly, in person and on the phone, when he mentions her name. And I’ve talked with strangers who have reached out and other friends or acquaintances and the story is much the same for them. They’ve “moved on” and found happiness in other ways, but there will always be a part of their heart and soul that’s permanently reserved for their lost love.

Met with the nurse today that will be at my surgery on Monday to go over the medical history, did the EKG, and blood work for type and match. I’ll meet the anesthesiologist bright and early Monday morning at 6am, or he may call on Sunday night.

Feeling well other than the cough and some chest congestion. Shouldn’t be a factor. Of course, a bit apprehensive about the days after the surgery, but not much I can do but go through it. I’ll mentally focus on the fact that a month from now I’ll be much better and this will all be behind me.

Going over to Jim and Nancy’s tomorrow for turkey day. Norma is going to stop by on Saturday for a visit. And I’ll see Steve and Joni for dinner on Saturday, and Gordon on Sunday for breakfast and our last motorcycle ride for awhile.

 

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…