(This was written on 10-7 and for some reason it didn’t post.)

I had my second surgical consult yesterday, October 6. I went in with the expectation that it was perfunctory, as it seemed almost 99% certain that I would choose UCSD for my surgery. It’s the place Sheila was treated of course, so that scored major points, it’s certainly familiar terrain, and I felt comfortable with Dr. Kane. But I wanted to be thorough, so I kept the meeting with Dr. Carol Salem.

Wow, what a difference! She spent over an hour going over my tests results and all my various options. She agreed with my primary urologist, Dr. Tran, and Dr. Kane at UCSD that surgery was my best option, for both short and long term reasons, given my age and staging.

Many people have asked why I don’t get radiation or chemo first instead of dealing with the trauma of surgery. Radiation, at my age, can cause worse cancer problems later in life, but more important, it would probably rule out surgery if the radiation didn’t get all of the cancer, so I’d have even bigger problems. And with chemo, not knowing at this point whether the cancer has already spread, would risk killing good cells and unnecessarily compromising my immune system. I certainly wish there was a less invasive method, but I’m comfortable that surgery is the right decision. If it has already spread then I would still have the radiation and chemo options. 

I also learned for the first time that the other half of my prostate has pre-cancer cells. So one half is cancerous and the other is pre-cancerous. For some reason the other two doctors didn’t point that out, but she showed me where it was called out in the pathology report.

The other consideration is that UCSD is a teaching hospital, so something to consider is the likelihood that a resident would be doing a good portion of the surgery and there are portions of it that there is only one chance to get the cut right – the cut just below the bladder to separate the bladder from the urethra, for example .

So I’m going with Scripps Mercy hospital and Dr. Salem. In the meantime, I’ve received unsolicited feedback from two nurses who have worked with her for at least 5 years, and they couldn’t say enough positive thing about her, so that is very reassuring. Surgery is scheduled for 11/5.

On the way back to my office I stopped at the dry cleaner. It had been some time since I’d been, and I thought I should check to see if I had left anything.

The owner looked in her computer and said that I had one item, a pair of pants. So when the carousel came to a stop and she handed the pants to me, I immediately noticed that they were too small. When I examined them further I realized that they were Sheila’s favorite black slacks. I wasn’t expecting that. She always took her clothes to another dry cleaner near USD, which reminds me that I need to check there as well.

I got very, very sad standing there at the counter. I kept running my hands over the legs of the pants as my vision became obscured from the sudden emergence of tears as I thought back to the countless times I had unsnapped the buttons and clasps and pulled the pants down past her feet when she couldn’t. Although she did like me doing that even when she was well, so it was both a good and sad memory at the same time. Something else for me to envision the next time I’m in the bedroom…

In exactly three hours it’ll be one month since Sheila passed away. I didn’t write anything between 9/12 and the evening of 9/15, but I have certainly relived those days, those hours countless times since.

If I had known that they were her last days and certainly her last hours I’m sure I would have done and said things differently. And I can’t help but agonize over how things went.

That Saturday, the 12th, started out poorly with the news that afternoon from Dr. B that Sheila’s options had run out. Unfortunately, from a mental preparation and action standpoint, we were left with the impression that Sheila still had time – maybe 2 months. So while I was distressed that the end was near, it was still some time away.

Being conditioned from years of watching death play out in movies and TV shows I had this idealized impression that we’d have a defining moment where we’d hold hands and have “the conversation”  that would neatly tie everything up. We’d look deeply into each other’s eyes and say everything that needed to be said with perfect clarity.

Unfortunately that didn’t happen. I just wish I had better, clearer conversational closure with her before she passed.

The day progressed with the tempo of visitors picking up as word spread through family and friends that things weren’t looking good and maybe they should come and see Sheila just in case.

We had an impromptu belated birthday “party” in Sheila’s room that evening. I had originally ordered a sheet cake of the same type we had for our wedding, but of course had to cancel that now that the party at the beach cottage was canceled. Jean managed however to bring a small slice for two. So we put a candle or two on the cake and simulated lighting them. We couldn’t actually light it because Sheila had an oxygen mask on.

Monica, Nancy, Steve, Joni, Kevin, Jean and I took a bunch of pictures (which you’ve seen perhaps in an early posting) and Sheila looked pretty good, very happy, under the circumstances.

The nights in the hospital, no matter when we stayed there, were always the worse for some reason. And this was no exception. She was in increasing pain, and sleep for both of us was fleeting, if at all.

By Sunday she had to be moved from the intermediate medical unit to the ICU, but there wasn’t a bed available, so they moved her to the post-op recovery area temporarily so she would have a dedicated nurse.

In hindsight, this is when I should have realized that the end was much closer than two months, or even two weeks. Once they put that “industrial strength” positive pressure oxygen mask on her (to force air into her lungs) it became very difficult to talk with her and it was becoming more difficult for her to breathe on her own, let alone talk, so she was reduced to writing on a clipboard.

I couldn’t kiss her as much as I wanted. We would occasionally lift the mask, with difficulty and awkwardness, but we wanted/needed to keep kissing. It got to the point however that she couldn’t keep the mask off but for a few seconds before her oxygen level would start to plummet, so I felt guilty about trying to kiss her anymore and stopped doing it. I should have at least kissed her more on the head, hands, arms…somewhere.

They finally moved her to the ICU after about 6 hours in the pre-op recovery area. They gave her a huge room, one that would easily fit two patients. And that encouraged lots of visitors. Too many at one point. It certainly got me jacked-up, and I know that at one point it was too much for Sheila. She was sweating from the effort to breathe even though the room was cool and she looked panicked or agitated. She wrote on the clipboard that she needed a break and asked that everyone leave us alone for awhile. But that aloneness only lasted about 10 minutes before people started drifting back in again. No one wanted to leave her. And I didn’t have the energy or will to enforce the ban.

Eventually people did leave and we started what was to be another long, problematic night. I was dead tired from not having slept much over the last few days, so I laid down on the cot around 11pm to try and sleep. But around midnight I was jolted awake by a commotion. I spun around and saw that Sheila was out of the bed, her mask was off and she was wildly pulling the cables and IV’s out of the machines. I rushed over to the bed to stop her and a nurse ran in to help. Sheila was panicked and out of control.

When we finally got her untangled and back in bed, it was obvious from her appearance and demeanor that she was worse. We didn’t know how long she had been off the oxygen, but she was clearly disoriented, fatigued, and confused. She had the most frightened look on her face and kept looking at me and then the nurse while she asked where she was, why she had all these cables and tubes, what were we doing to her, etc. I asked if she knew where she was and she didn’t. I asked if she knew what was wrong with her and she didn’t. She didn’t know the day or much of anything we asked her. I of course didn’t know what would be causing this condition and was now panicked that she had lost touch and maybe I wouldn’t get her back. But when I asked, almost in fear of what her response would be, if she knew who I was, she all of a sudden turned to me, smiled, and said, “yes, of course, you’re my husband, Ken.” You cannot imagine the happiness, the elation, I felt that even in her most confused and distressed state, the one thing she was immediately sure of was who I was to her. There was hope indeed…

So we got the positive pressure mask back on her and within two hours she was okay again, as far as her awareness of where she was and what was going on.

She dozed on and off for the next hour, so I laid down near her on the cot and rested until I saw that she was wide awake at 3am. I sat next to the bed while she worked on her Suduko and tried to encourage her to sleep. Her speech was starting to slur at this point, and I finally understood her when she said that she was afraid to go to sleep because she didn’t think she’d wake up.

So we sat silently for awhile when all of a sudden she said very clearly through the mask, “tell me a story.” I was clearly caught off guard with the request. She’d never asked me to do that before. It’s not like I told her bedtime stories or something. But I asked her what she wanted me to tell her about. She shrugged her shoulders and said, “anything.”

All I could see were her beautiful blue loving eyes peering over the top of this big plastic mask. We looked at each other for a few minutes it seemed. The only sound in the room was the oxygen machine working and the occasional beeping of the various monitors.

I sat on the side of the bed, held her left hand and told her to close her eyes. And then I started to talk about our ski and snowmobile trip to Wyoming. I asked if she remembered where we stayed – the Rusty Parrot – and then recounted her first solo snowmobile ride through near whiteout conditions, and the walking we did through the town, the side trip to Old Faithful, the meals we had, and the time we got to spend together at a photo studio looking at the pictures that now hang around the house.

I could see her smiling under the mask as she was visualizing what I was talking about. It was a great trip. One of many we took together. I was relieved that the memories were bringing her some respite from the pain and trauma she was going through.

The rest of the night was uneventful, and she finally got a couple more hours of sleep.

It seemed obvious that she only had a few days to live, so I requested a meeting with the San Diego Hospice people that Monday afternoon, the 14th. I thought that Sheila would want to spend her final days at home and not in the hospital. But as the hours passed it was clear to me when we came back to the room that Sheila was in no condition to travel by ambulance, and I didn’t want to subject her to the hourlong drive. So I said that we’d wait until Tuesday and re-evaluate her condition at that point. Obviously she didn’t make that milestone.

By Monday afternoon you could barely understand what she was saying, so when she needed to communicate it was by writing on the clipboard.

I’ve kept the clipboard and all the sheets of paper that she wrote on. It’s on the hearth in our bedroom. And of course I’ve looked at the papers a few times since. It has the handwritten list of items we ordered for our last meal together. She wrote, “I love you” when it got to the point that she couldn’t speak coherently anymore. And you can see how her handwriting started to get worse. She always had beautiful, elegant handwriting, so it was difficult to see that changing to an almost grade school quality.

As Monday evening wore on the pain increased and therefore the morphine levels increased. She lost consciousness sometime around 6pm I think and never came back fully.

Around 7pm or so we had to continuously suction her nose and mouth. Karen and Monica took turns relieving me from the effort, but I wanted to do as much for her as I could for as long as I could.

Around 9:30pm they had to move Sheila out of the ICU to make room for another patient, and they moved us to the 3rd floor. The suctioning continued down the hall and on the elevator.

At 10:15 Karen, Jean, Pam, and Monica left when Steve and Joni arrived. We were in a much smaller room and it was too crowded.

We had been suctioning for over three hours straight, and as far as I could tell it was going to be an all night thing. I wasn’t sure I would be able to stand all night, and I was joking with Sheila that she was doing this on purpose to really test my love for her, but I was determined to do it for as long as I was physically able. Even though she didn’t seem to be conscious I swear she could hear me because a couple of times I told her I loved her and asked if she loved me too and she raised her left eyebrow both times. What a woman. Devoted to the very end.

Joni left around 11 I think because she had to get up for work at 4:30. So Steve and I stayed with Sheila.

Things started to change suddenly by 11:40pm. The intervals between breaths increased, and I started to panic realizing that this was finally happening, and Sheila wasn’t going to prevail this time. I was running my hands over her, for whatever reason, maybe thinking that would somehow reverse the process. I didn’t want her to go. I was afraid to lose her. It couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t real.

By 11:57pm it seemed like 30 seconds passed between each breath. I called for Dr. Test to come in. He arrived a few minutes after midnight and Sheila was gone.

The nurse came in and put the bed down flat. Steve left the room and called Jean, Monica, Joni, and Karen. Karen didn’t want to come back and see Sheila like that, but the others were on the way.

I laid down next to Sheila by her left side. It felt odd because I normally slept to her right. But I wanted to immediately be close to her, so for the moment I didn’t care what side it was. I lifted her right arm up to lay over mine and cuddled as close to her as I could. I stayed in that position for about an hour, and then I changed sides. The others had arrived by then and quietly drifted in and out of the room. I was so relaxed being that close to Sheila and feeling her body that I actually dozed off. It felt wonderful to be close to her. For the longest time I hadn’t been able to lay on her and had to be careful about where I touched her because she hurt in many places. So it was  nice to be able to freely touch her without causing her any pain.

I would have probably stayed all night like that but I knew that she had to go, and the others had to go home as well. So I released Sheila to the staff around 2am and went home with Steve and Joni.

The house is still a shrine. Nothing has been touched. It doesn’t seem like a month has gone by. The pain and sadness of Sheila not being with me is very fresh. I’ve gone through her photo albums, and that’s about it. Of course I’ve had to deal with several lingering business sale issues, but other than that I’m a bit on autopilot.

I cooked tonight for the first time in a month. The food that others have given me – including a very nice casserole that my neighbor, Tammy, dropped off – has sustained me until now. I don’t have much of an appetite anyway, so it’s been pretty easy in that regard.

I wasn’t here for a few days due to flying back East to be with Ralph, an employee/friend who had a brain aneurysm the day before Sheila went into the hospital. He survived the surgery and is making daily progress, so hopefully he’ll be back in a few months.

I’m still carrying Sheila’s urn back and forth every night. And I kiss her when I get home, when I go to bed, when I wake up, and when I leave for work. I really like being able to do that, and she fits well in my arms when I carry her down the hall. I talk with her about my day, or whatever’s on TV. I ask for her help when I can’t find things or need to make a decision on stuff. I miss my best friend. My most desired companion.

I finally went back to the gym today after a break of several months and at first it felt good to be there. But that feeling evaporated after I realized that the last time I was there I was with Sheila.

We tried to go to the gym after work, together, a few times a week when she was well. Surprise, surprise. So I had “forgotten” the image of seeing her visually searching for me if she lost track of where I was in the gym. But the memory abruptly came back when I was on a lat pulldown machine and immediately remembered/sensed being on that same machine one time when Sheila was across the room on a treadmill. I remembered seeing her head swivel while those intense blue eyes scanned the room looking for me. As I was recalling the memory I looked up and across the room, in a way hoping to see her there again.

I remember how her face would brighten up when she’d spot me between the equipment, and a big smile would erupt when she finally saw me. She’d usually put her right hand up near her face and wave at me with just her fingers going up and down, sort of the “bye, bye” type of wave.  And then of course I’d smile big too and wave back the same way.

We’d usually reconnect, physically, a few times when transiting between routines. Sometimes I’d stop behind her on the treadmill and gently run my hand over the side of her butt. Then she’s straddle the moving belt and lean down to kiss me. Or if we happened to cross paths I’d embrace her around the waist with one arm, put my other hand on her hip, and she’d put her arms around my shoulder, and we’d say “hi” or just kiss right in the middle of the gym. I was always so pleased that she didn’t have a hang-up about public displays of affection. We’d kiss and embrace in the aisle on airplanes when either of us would stand to go to the bathroom. She was very, very loving and affectionate. We loved touching each other and being in touch with the other. 

So with that flashback at the gym today, and then a song that came on later that Sheila liked, my chest tightened up and I choked up. It happens at the most unexpected times. Just like my friend, Patti from Florida told me on Friday it would. She lost her husband over 20 years ago and it still happens to her.

There have been many “…the last time…” thoughts in the past week. And it just adds to the burden of adjustment. But I don’t want to adjust. I miss her terribly. My hands ache to touch her again.

I finally changed the sheets on the bed today. I considered not putting her pillows back on the bed, but dismissed that thought as soon as it entered. I’ll always put her pillows on the bed.

I took pictures of her desk, her corner of the kitchen counter, her shoes in the hall, her closet, and the small dish of spaghetti she had left in the refrigerator on the 9th.

She intended on eating it when we got back from the cottage – although she really wasn’t one to eat leftovers. But it had started to turn bad – along with the other science experiments in the frig – so it was time for them to go. For some reason that small, curved, greenish glass bowl stood out in importance. Probably because it was the style she always had her apple sauce/cottage cheese in when she sat on the couch.

I’m sitting here writing and playing the Stephen Bishop song (You’ll Always Be My Heart and Soul) crying my eyes out. I was sooo sad today. I putz around the house absently doing busy work, but she’s everywhere. And nowhere.  I drove her car to see if that would help and it didn’t. I talk to her urn. We watched a little football. I try to turn her urn around to always face me, as if she really could be watching what I’m doing. I put Chuckles the dog on top of the urn to brighten her, and me, up. That helped a bit. Kevin, Sheila’s nephew, who stopped by last night for a few hours, initially thought it odd until I explained.

I wear her wedding band on my left pinky finger and every now and then it’ll clink against my band. I touch it a lot. And I wear the “Sheila” purple wristband she had on the day before she passed away. Her body temp was high due to her heart working overtime and the watch and wristband were uncomfortable. So it’s keeping my wristband company.

Tomorrow, I’ll be going to Cici, one of Sheila’s girlfriends, and Joel’s wedding.  It’ll be at 4pm. The same time of day Sheila and I got married. And also on a Sunday, like we did. Fortunately it’s not the same place. If they are even half as happy as Sheila and I were together, then they will have a very rich life. I wish them the very best.

I dropped my daughter, Tammy, off at the airport on Friday morning and met Jean for lunch and to give her back the thumb drive with all the photos she had taken of Sheila’s impromptu birthday celebration in her hospital room on Saturday, the 12, the day after her actual birthday.

I knew, or expected, to get Sheila’s remains sometime on Friday, so I didn’t want to drive all the way home and be too far from El Camino. I was anxious to get her back. To kill time I did some much needed shopping for running shoes and misc. clothes at REI and the Runner’s Store.

Finally I couldn’t take it anymore and called El Camino at 3pm. They said that the urn had just arrived a few minutes earlier and it would take about an hour before Sheila was ready for pick-up. I immediately headed over. I wanted to be there to get her as soon as she was available.

The urn, pictured below, is nicer than I expected. Of course it has her name and dates on it. But it also has a sailboat carved into it. I know how important water is to her, and it also symbolized our sailing course.

Sheila's urn resting on her nightstand

Here are more of the photos that were in the video tribute:

August 2009

December 2008

March 2009

Many of you asked about seeing the photos that made up the video that played during Sheila’s service. It’s getting late (almost 1am) and I’m getting tired, so I’ll post some photos now and the rest later. Put your cursor over the photo and it’ll give you some details:

I arrived at the crematorium around 7:20 yesterday morning. The manager was standing outside, and we talked for a few minutes before he showed me to the room where Sheila was waiting.

She’d been kept in a cooler all night, so she was a bit cold to the touch. I stood by her side for a half hour or so and laid across her chest again with my face against her neck. I got very relaxed, and at peace, like I did on Sunday. I think I dozed off again. I don’t feel that kind of calm except when I’m with Sheila.

One time, when I stood up to look at her face, it looked like she was crying, but of course it was just condensation on her face from the room temperature difference.

Debra from El Camino showed up a little after 8am. She spent a few minutes holding my hand while I cried over Sheila. I didn’t want to let her go. I knew what awaited her/us on the other side of the door.

I could see that her body was already starting to breakdown and that the form laying in front of me was “only” the flesh that once contained my best friend. But it was still very difficult to purposely wheel her into the area with the ovens. The time had come however.

So Debra, the manager, and I slowly wheeled Sheila toward the unoccupied oven. There were three in the room and the one to the far left was already occupied. We positioned Sheila in front of the open door to the middle one and slowly pushed her in. The walls of the oven are lined with large heat-resistant tiles, similar looking to what’s in a fireplace, but much larger. I could feel the heat escaping through the door. I briefly glanced at the temperature gauge and stopped reading when I saw the first digit, “6″, followed by two other numbers.

Debra stepped back and stood next to me. The manager slid the door down and then stood to the side, at attention. We stood quietly for a minute or so. He then looked at me and motioned with one hand toward the “on” button that would start the process. I shook my head, “no.” I know it had to be done, per Sheila’s wishes, but there was no way I was going to press a button that was going to unleash 1800 degrees of heat and flame on my sweetie. I turned away.

After a few minutes I asked, “What’s next?” He said that the process would take about two and a half to three hours, and then he’d remove her remains, let them cool, and place them in a processor to render them to a uniform consistency.

I was supposed to get Sheila back today, but when I didn’t get a call from Debra, I called late this morning. She called me back early this afternoon to let me know that the urn I had ordered for Sheila’s remains hadn’t come in, so hopefully it’ll arrive tomorrow and I’ll get to bring Sheila home.

Sheila had a very good turnout yesterday, well over 100 people. And a very special thanks to those who jumped on a plane on such short notice to fly from the four corners of the U.S. to pay their respects to my sweetie.

It was a nice service with wonderful comments made about Sheila and the great memories people have of her from the past. I learned a few things myself that only deepened my love and respect for her.

Jean, Kevin, and I met at the funeral home this morning at 8:30. I rode in the hearst with Debra from El Camino Memorial, while we escorted Sheila to the crematorium. She was in an oak casket with beautiful purple and pink flowers resting on top.

She will be cremated at 8am tomorrow.

It took me a bit to select the clothes Sheila was going to wear. She doesn’t have high collar blouses and I had to also consider that whatever I was going to dress her in, she is going to be cremated in. 

I know it’s really stupid, and a bit irrational, but I found myself selecting her bra based on how much metal there was in the clasp. I wanted to minimize the amount of hot metal that would be touching her skin. I know intellectually she won’t feel the heat, but nonetheless, it helped me with the whole process to do what I could to avoid it being a “problem.”

I found a nice purple turtleneck and some black slacks that I know she liked how they fit. I’ll dress it up on Monday with a pearl necklace.

So on Friday, I collected up the clothes and headed down to El Camino. Clay met me and we went over the last of the paperwork and I paid the bill. I reviewed the program – they did a nice job. The photo of her came out quite nice on the cover. She’s so beautiful. Her smile just lights up the page.

I couldn’t visit Sheila because they were in the middle of embalming her. So I left and went to UCSD to thank Mike and the others in infusion who took care of Sheila during all the chemo, then over to the ER to thank the  many nurses who had treated Sheila, and finally over to the radiation center to thank Dr. Lawson for the extra time he gave me with Sheila through his treatments.

On Saturday I got to spend three hours with her – from 9 to 12. I had brought along some music and the newspaper. I read stuff to her that I thought she would have been interested in, we “talked” about various things – mostly how much I missed her and how it was to sit with her. I laid across her chest and kissed her a lot.

Then I got the music out. One of my regrets, and I’m sure more will surface over the next few months, is that she  had asked me several times to make a CD of my favorite music so she could play it in her car. I had been slowly compiling the playlist, but never did cut the CD. So for what it’s worth to her now, I played the songs to her on Saturday.

I left a little after 12 noon to meet Clyde, Susan, Kathy, and Steve for lunch in Little Italy. Susan and Clyde had just flown in from NJ to see Sheila. We ate at Mimmo’s and talked for a couple of hours. Then I headed to the airport to get my mother, one sister, and my daughter. Monica helped because my truck wouldn’t hold everyone.

Today we went to El Camino at 1 so that I could help dress Sheila. It was difficult to see the large embalming incisions, the drain plug, and the toe tag from the morgue. I’ll have to be sure to remove the tag before she’s cremated, if they don’t. 

Otherwise, her skin is almost albaster white, and she looks as beautiful to me as always. I never tire of looking at her. She has such a beautiful face.

After the mortician helped me dress Sheila, mom and Tammy came in to visit for awhile and then I was left alone with her again. I put the music on, stood next to the table and laid diagonally across her chest. Her head is resting on a pedestial so I was able to get my arm behind her neck and hold her close like I used to. After kissing her a bunch of times, I laid my face down on the left side of her neck.

We listened to the music for almost an hour and at one point I actually dozed off. I was at peace laying on her. That’s where I wanted and needed to be. In her “arms” once again.

For the past two days I’ve been writing a tribute to Sheila that I’ll read during the remembrance portion of the visit. It’s actually helped me to put things – details about our lives together – down on paper. I cried much less today. Not that I don’t feel the emptiness and sadness, but writing provided a channel for the deep ache I’ve been feeling in my heart.

It also doesn’t seen totally real yet. I look at her closed eyes and still think/hope that they’ll open followed by her big grin. Spending as much time with her as I’ve been able to has also helped certainly.

So tonight and tomorrow morning I’ll finish up the tribute and in the morning I’ll iron a shirt. We’ll head over to the memorial around 2:15 so we can be there by 3 to set everything up – the large picture of Sheila, the audio, check the video slideshow and hopefully some more time with Sheila.

Tuesday morning the processional will leave El Camino and head down to the crematory. And at 8am on Wednesday, they’ll cremate her. I’ll be there to witness the first part of the procedure. They said I could help load her into the oven and actually throw the switch to light the burners. WHO COULD DO THAT???!!!!! It’ll be incredibly difficult enough just knowing what’s going to happen, but to load her and throw the switch??? I don’t think so…

Visitation for my sweetie will be on Monday the 21st from 4 to 8pm at the El Camino Memorial located at 5600 Carroll Canyon Road in San Diego. The phone number there is 858.453.2121.

From 6pm to approximately 7pm we’ll have a rememberance period where people can share memories and/or stories they have about Sheila. And if my composure (and nerve) are intact I’ll try and share some music that was particularly meaningful to us. Regardless,  from 4pm I’ll be playing  music that we enjoyed.

Sheila requested that in lieu of flowers, if you want to do something for her, to please donate to the Lung Cancer Alliance so that more research can be done to find a cure. I will post information on that shortly.

I spent today visiting funeral homes stretching from Mira Mesa down to Bonita. It’s certainly an industry needing a make over. I also toured a crematorium, which was quite an experience. I won’t go into the details, but it’s more involved than I thought and gives me pause now as to what I will choose.

In any case, I was fortunate to find El Camino and Clayton Amundson, the memorial specialist. He unexpectedly ended-up lifting my spirits at the end of the day. I asked if I could go with them to the hospital to accept Sheila into their care, and he let me ride in the van with Debra. She offered to cook for me if I didn’t have anyone to do that! What people!!

The irony of the trip is that as we pulled up to the receiving area I suddenly remembered that when Sheila was hospitalized for 13 days last month her room overlooked that very area. I had looked outside the window then and saw some else accepting their loved one. And now here I was a month later looking up at that very window.

When they rolled Sheila out of the door on the gurney she was encased in a very pretty maroon velvet cover. Of course I lost it, again, for the umpteenth time today, but I was really happy to “see” her.

We gently placed her in the van and locked the gurney down for the short drive to El Camino.

When we got back I asked Clay if it was possible to spend a few minutes with Sheila and even though they had closed for the day, he immediately said “yes,” as long as Debra was willing to stay late and prepare Sheila, which she immediately said “yes” to as well.

So while we waited, Clay and I sat on the employee deck behind the building talking about our respective days in the military. We both worked on jets – him in the Navy on F18’s, and me in the Air Force on F4’s.

Within a few minutes Debra came and got me. She had put Sheila in the large visiting room where she’ll be on Monday. She was covered with a white blanket, and her head was veiled by a white towel. Now I was really happy to actually see her beautiful face.

I kissed all over her face like I used to. She loved it when I kissed both of her closed eyes. So of course I did that. Repeatedly, but not annoyingly, I hope. She was very cold to the touch, but I didn’t care. I buried my face in her neck, kissed her cheeks, and her lips. I ran my hands over her and massaged her feet a little. And then we “talked.”

I asked if she was happy with the choices I had made today. I asked how she was doing where she was and what it was like. I told her how much I missed her, and how difficult it was to sleep last night without her. I told her how much I was looking forward to seeing her again.

I didn’t want to keep Debra from her kids, so I said goodnight to Sheila, and she was rolled back to the prep area. I’ll see her again before Monday. They said that I could help dress her, and they’d also let me spend time just sitting with her.

When this all started in January 2008 I stopped dreaming for a time. And it’s happening again. I have not had a dream for the past two nights.

Tonight I’m preparing a CD (hopefully) of songs to play at the visitation that we loved and especially of the ones that I would sing to her while we danced in my home office, or while we were driving.

In the morning I need to select what to dress her in – something with long sleeves and a high collar.

And then there are photos to collect for display, finish up the obit, write acknowledgements, etc. So I should get busy.