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.

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.

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?