It was the original box that contained her wig. I had finally moved the wig from the stand in the bathroom and wrapped it up in the tan tissue paper, placing it all back in the box. It made it from the back of the house to the front of the house. Baby steps…

So after several months of looking at the box, I was finally able to donate it this past Thursday to The Brighter Side, a boutique for women who have cancer (www.mybrighterside.com).

I hadn’t been back there since we bought the wig, and was surprised how impactful it was to walk through the door. You hear about how scents bring back memories. The combination of physically being there, and smelling the pleasant scents, immediately, tangibly, brought back the days that we wandered around the store looking at the various hats and clothing items all designed to make the unfortunate process of dealing with cancer more palatable.

I handed the box carefully to the woman behind the desk. They accept donations for women who can’t afford to buy a wig. I hoped, as I’m sure Sheila would have, that someone will have better luck with it than she did. I told the woman that my wife didn’t make it, and I wanted them to have it now. She nodded a couple a times, offered her heartfelt condolences – as I’m sure she’s had to do more times than she would care to remember – and placed the box on the corner of the desk.

After I left I sat in the car, Sheila’s car, and felt the weight of the moment. How sad. How much I still miss her. How sorry I am that she’s not here to love, in person.

As I left the small parking lot I was struck by the name of the business. Hopefully, in fact, Sheila is in a brighter, happier place. The name made me feel a little better, actually.

So on this third Christmas without you, I’m sending you my deep love and tons of kisses as I do everyday. Merry Christmas, Sheila.

Uncle Earl finally passed away and his funeral service was at Fort Rosecrans on Monday. Jeanie looked good, considering the loss of her 62 year partner. Couldn’t imagine what it must be like after all that time together. She was cute…she wore his military ball cap.

Working on your tennis tournament. Doesn’t look like it’ll be as big as it was last year, but it’ll happen no matter what.

Well, I’ll be looking at the clock in an hour.

I love you, Sheila…

I actually thought you were outside with me on Sunday when I was working on the new float for the pond. It was weird…I could have sworn that a shadow passed over my work area, and I quickly looked up to see who it was and of course no one was there.

As I came to terms that no one was there, I looked over at the flat rock at the other pond and remembered taking the picture of you and Jean sitting there one evening, a long time ago, after her birthday dinner.

I love you, Sheila….I hope you’re at peace….

I’d been off my mark early last week without knowing exactly why, and then I checked the calendar, and immediately knew the cause. Last Wednesday, the 15th, was the 21 month mark since Sheila passed. I find that, even without knowing what day it is, I start to get unsettled a day or two before the 15th of the month.

Ironically, I was having lunch at Joe’s Crab Shack across from the San Diego Convention Center. The last time I ate there was with Sheila.

I was sitting at a table, alone, across from the booth where we last sat. The booth, and the table, look out at San Diego Bay. Beautiful view.

Part way through the meal, the Woo Who song that always made Sheila crack up giggling and smiling came on. It always makes me smile recalling how happy the song made her feel. For some reason she really got a kick out of the Woo Who verse and would sing along while bobbing her head to the beat.

The place where we had the pivotal discussion about whether we should start dating each other happened at the Embarcadero Marine Park next door to the restaurant. I’m so glad we did.

Happy 3rd Anniversary, Sheila. I love you!

Well, today, a year and a half later, I’m finally having the car cleaned on the inside. I’ve been having the outside cleaned regularly, but, for probably obvious reasons, I couldn’t bring myself to have the inside cleaned. Sheila’s presence was evidenced by the fingerprints on the headliner, and her personal items in the various trays. But it had to be cleaned at some point, and I thought today was as good as any. So I went through everything last night and took out the hair barrettes, eyeliner pen (?), sour candy tin (which is now empty), hair comb, pins, etc. 

At the bottom of the armrest tray I found a small love note I had written to her on a Post-it note many years ago. It’s always a heart-grabber when I stumble upon such items.  

So they’re outside working on a complete detailing of the car now. Reminds me of a time when I stopped by her office unannounced on my day off, and she was so happy to see me. I was looking for something to do and saw that her car needed to be washed. So I took it to a local place and had it detailed for her as a surprise. Can still see the usual big grin on her face.

It’s ironic that in December 2007 Sheila and I spoke with exuberant optimism about 2008. Little did we know. So I don’t think in those terms. It’s life. Something to be lived, endured, and experienced with the occasional highs.

It’s about experiencing as many positive things as you can. Creating as many (good) memories as you can fit in, because you don’t know when you’ll be “called” to the plate.

I miss Sheila all the time. But I’ve had no choice but to pick myself up and look forward. To do otherwise is too debilitating. I can’t do the positive things in her memory I want and need to do.

I’m creating new memories and experiences with Sandra now. I’m told that’s what Sheila would have wanted. I think everyone says that. But it’s made a big difference in my survival and outlook. I’m working on getting the tennis tournament USTA sanctioned. Still researching where to devote the money I raise.

Create memories. That’s what you’ll have, and cherish the most. Take lots of photos. And videos. Gosh…I wish I had done videos of us on the various trips.

Merry Christmas, Sheila. I love you…

It’s after midnight, and I’m anxious for some reason. Heart’s racing a bit. Restless. Reluctant to go to bed. But that part isn’t unusual. I rarely get to bed before 1 am. Sometimes closer to 2. And then I wake up around 6. The eyes just pop open. On autopilot.

I have an early morning meeting with Dr. B. We’re meeting for breakfast. She’s patiently helping me find the road less traveled. I don’t want to raise money or conduct events just for the sake of doing either. I want it to matter. To make a difference in the outcome.

I continue to get emails from both patients and caregivers. The angst, the fear, the frustration is tangible in each letter. I’ve been there. I recognize the signs. The words. The emotions. We’re all searching for an explanation of “why.” And searching for a solution.

Maybe part of it is because we silently see our own mortality playing out in front of us.

I’m fortunate to have Sandra now in my life. We help each other. Although obviously I need it more than she does at this point. She’s had 14 years to come to terms with her loss, so I’m a novice by that standard. She’s a good woman and has been very supportive and was actively helpful on the tennis event.

I just returned from an ISO meeting in South Korea, and during the long flight couldn’t help but remember that Sheila went with me to the last meeting when it was in Shanghai.  That was our last big trip together. She was in a lot of pain during the flight, but trouper that she was, she toughed it out as always. The flight crew gave us a large bottle of Champagne, which we ended-up giving to Vic and Margaret, a couple from the UK who was also attending the meeting.

Well, writing has helped, as usual. And the eyelids are growing a bit heavy finally. So time to end…

Love you, Sheila…

In a nutshell….it was awesome!!!! I’m so happy that, with the participation of the 100 players, I was able to fulfill my promise to Sheila that we’d have this event to raise awareness about lung cancer and funds for the Lung Cancer Alliance.

An ankle injury sidelined a player a day earlier, but we had no (serious) injuries on the day of the event. We even had people show up – dressed and ready to play – who hadn’t registered but were hoping for no-shows or injuries (joking, a bit on that last one) so they could play.

The marine layer burned off by 10am and it was a beautiful day with an ocean breeze. The La Costa Resort and Spa is a beautiful property and many of the players were thrilled to get a chance to play on their world-class courts. (The Mercury Insurance Open, formerly the Acura Tennis Classic, was played there recently)

I’ll provide more details in a few days about how much was raised for the Lung Cancer Alliance, who won what, and any other important things I can think of.

But I certainly want, and need, to thank the volunteers who busted their chops on Saturday: Sandra, Joni, Steve, Kim, Maria, Judy, Jan, Jerry, Mary E, Monica, Corinne, Alma, and Kimber. So many people commented on how great the volunteers were, and how professionally run the event was, and I owe a debt of gratitude to them for “branding” the Sheila Ann Wheatley Tennis Classic with a stamp of excellence. Nice way to start off a tradition.

Of special note was the surprise visits from Mike, Al, and Dawn.

Al and I worked together for many years and have kept in touch since he retired about 8 years ago. He and Dawn live in San Antonio and they had come out for the wedding and decided to fly out for the tennis event and spend the full day with us.

Mike is a friend and colleague. He’s a retired Secret Service guy and also a Chief Security Officer. He’s the one that I talked about at Sheila’s funeral (Mike’s wife, Laura, flew out for our wedding and sadly, for Sheila’s funeral) about being in the “Super Bowl Stadium” with me after others had left. So, true to his word, he surprised me by flying in from Utah for the event.

On Sunday, Sandra and I cooked an early dinner for Dawn, Al, and Mike.

I also appreciate that Sheila’s niece, Stephanie, flew in from Colorado to play doubles with her mom, Karen. I didn’t find out until much later that Karen was slightly injured during one of the rounds but refused to stop playing because she wanted to be there for Sheila.

And I would be remiss if I didn’t also thank Matthew Hall at the San Diego Union Tribune. There’s no question that his coverage of the event drove a lot of the awareness, and sign-ups. So thanks, Matt, for the tremendous support. Sheila would have been so pleased with the outcome.

Stay tuned for more info on the final parts of this event, and for my comments about the future.

It’s been a long year. A very long year at times. Because I think of you, and miss you, constantly. So the minutes and days sometimes crawl by. It’s like I’m living two lives. One half laughs and does things, the other is sad. I have this ache for you that just never completely goes away. I miss you so much.

There are still times I can’t believe you’re gone. We had such a great life together. I adored being with you. You made me the most complete and content person that I’d ever felt in my life. And since this time a year ago, I’ve had to adjust to living life without your touch. Your kisses. Your hugs. Your foot rubs while watching tv. Holding your hand, all the time. Touching you as often as possible.

It’s midnight, September 15th, and you’re gone. Again.

There’s a song by Stephen Bishop that I’ve played over 114 times this year – I’m playing it now as I write this - that perfectly captures what it’s been like to lose you, and how I’ll always feel going forward. The song is: “(You’ll Always Be) My Heart and Soul.” You’ve heard me sing the song to you many times since you’ve been gone:

The years they come and go
And change will come I know
You won’t be there
My heart and soul
A different time and place
That time did not erase
The smile that lights your face
As you gaze in mine
It will always shine
And you
Will always be
An angel making sure I care
A memory that’s always there
Your dreams won’t die if they live inside of me
You know you’ll always be my heart and soul

The years roll on and on
I looked and you were gone
I miss you so
My heart and soul
The years can make you wise
Now I finally realize
That if I just close my eyes
I can see you there                                                                                                                                                               From the love we share
And you will always be
A dream so real it cannot die
A trust in faith that lets me fly
A thought so strong it just belongs to me
You know you’ll always be my heart and soul

An angel making sure I care
A memory that’s always there
You’ll always be my heart and soul

————–

Rest in peace, my love. I will carry your memory. I will work on your behalf until my last breath.

I love you, Sheila….I adore you. Always did…always will…

Six hours ago, last year on this date, the doctors wanted me to talk with the San Diego Hospice people about moving you to the house. We knew the end was near, just not how near. A few days? A week or two? 

You were still conscious and able to understand me. We talked, as best you could with that huge oxygen facemask on, and you wanted to come home. I can remember you shaking your head, “yes”, and those big eyes looking at me so desparately. So eagerly. So tenderly.

But I could tell that you were suffering – having a lot of difficulty breathing – and subjecting you to the hourlong ambulance ride would have been to much. As much as I wanted you home again for my own benefit, as well as yours, I knew it wouldn’t be the right thing.

Six hours and ten minutes from now you’d be gone.

I miss my friend. I miss my wife. I miss…you…