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

At first I thought I was being weird by carrying her from one end of the house to the other so she could be in the same room with me. But then while I was channel-surfing the other day I saw in the movie, “P.S. I Love You” that the wife carried her husband’s urn around as well. So I felt a bit vindicated. She also laid in bed replaying his voicemail messages, and I’ve done the same. Obviously they had a grief counselor consult on what’s the norm for people like me.

 

So I leave her in the bedroom during the day because it’s cooler at that end of the house, and when I come home, after kissing her name and saying “hi”, I carry her down to the family room and put her on the mantle so she can be with me while I fix what could be loosely called dinner, read the paper, go through the mail, or watch TV. At bedtime I bring her back with me and put her on her nightstand.

 

The urn is much heavier than I would have thought. I’m not sure if it’s the wood or the contents. Or both. But the heft actually helps me to feel like I’m really carrying “her” down the hall.

 

The weekend was very long, very quiet, and very weird. I went grocery shopping by myself for the first time and there was a point when I felt the urge to abandon the effort. My heart just wasn’t into it. I was anxious and tense walking the aisles without her. She wasn’t there to solicit her opinion on what to buy. Did she like the bananas I picked out? Will she actually eat them this time? Should I get white or wheat bread?

 

I’m obviously not used to being without her, so her absence was very pronounced. I didn’t buy much and actually (legitimately) qualified for the 15 items or less lane with items to spare. I haven’t been all that hungry. I needed to lose weight anyway.

 

Sunday I worked in the field tending to her fruit trees. The dreaded moles are back, so I had to “feed” them. I checked this morning and it didn’t work, so I have to give them another dose. They’re terribly close to the rootball.

 

I expanded the dripline around the avocado tree and gave it two nutrient spikes along with a good soaking. It looked happier this morning, so hopefully I’ve salvaged it. We just haven’t had time over the past month to really tend to them, and I would be very upset if any of them die on me.

 

Monday was my first real day back at work and all went well until the afternoon. I had a momentary lapse of reality when it dawned on me that Sheila hadn’t called in the morning like she normally did. I looked at the clock and it was almost 3pm. She also usually calls between 3 and 4, but I got concerned that she hadn’t called earlier, so as my hand touched the phone to call Sheila it suddenly hit me that she wouldn’t be calling, nor could I obviously reach her. Ever. I lost it at that moment as a deep sense of sadness and despair washed over my heart.

 

There are still times – too many actually – when it just doesn’t seem real or possible that Sheila’s not physically here. When I look at the photos we took of her just two days before she passed away it didn’t seem at all likely that she would soon not be there. I really thought she’d rebound, once again, like she had so many times before. So I didn’t take advantage of the final hours like I would have had I known. Did we say all that we wanted and needed to say under the envitable circumstances? Did she know? I don’t think so, otherwise she would have probably said something to me. Even though it was 20 months in the making, it still seems like it happened too fast.

 

It’s now 1:35 in the morning on Thursday. I’ve only been getting about 4 or 5 hours of sleep. The pleasure of going to bed is no longer there. Even before we’d go to sleep we would comment about how much we looked forward to waking up with the other beside us. The ritual intertwining of legs, her individual ritual of laying on one side for a few minutes before flipping to the other can be envisioned but not physically experienced. I do take one of her pillows – the one she would lay her head on - and lay it lengthwise to simulate her being next to me. I think that’s what ultimately helps me go to sleep. Trying to replicate the tactile sense of her touching my side or back.

 

I may not feel the warmth of her body, or hear her gently breathing when I close my eyes, but she is home now, so there is some peace.

 

I love you, Sheila. You’ll always be my heart and soul.

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

August 2009

December 2008

March 2009

August 2008

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.

Sheila passed away this morning just past midnight. She struggled and fought to the very end, but her suffering is over, finally. I will miss her terribly. She is and was the love of my life. She brought such joy and happiness to me every minute of everyday. I am hollow without her…….

You just never know when it’ll strike.

Willard called this morning around 6:30 to check on how Sheila was doing, and then I got more text messages from some friends. When I first woke up to Willard’s call I found myself sprawled out diagonally on the king-sized bed with my head on the pillow Sheila had used the night before.

There were dull gray shafts of light that slipped into the room letting me know that it was early, just not how early. And other than the airconditioner, there weren’t any other sounds in the room.

I got up and looked past the shades and saw that the marine layer had cast its usual somber blanket over the sun. The surf was unusually big and pounded the shore with repeated booms.

I turned back to face the semi-darkened rooms trying to decide what to do. I really knew what I had to do. I just didn’t want to do it. Pack.

Last night that didn’t seem like such a big deal. But now it felt like a very heavy task. Something definitely worth procrastinating over. As bizarre as it sounds, I never had to do this. Pack up Sheila’s stuff and put it away in her bags. We were only going to be there for 4 days, so we clearly didn’t have that much stuff. Sheila is a light packer. She had one bag, some toiletries and some clothes hanging in the closet. But it still took me 3 hours to do it.

I started in the bathroom and had to stop after packing her toothbrush, perfume, earrings, and make-up. I was suddenly struck with a deep sense of despair and sadness. I needed a break.

I went outside on the patio and sat in the lounge chair Sheila had occupied the day before. It’s the one on the right side. The green and white stripped towels I had laid over the cushions for her were still in place. I wanted to be where she had been. I sat for awhile and read the paper and watched other couples walking by, runners with their dog, families with their baby strollers, and the breaking surf.

This cycle went on for the rest of the morning until I finally had to check-out. I ran into Patty, the concierge who had been so helpful and empathetic. She gave me a hug and told me how sorry she was that Sheila hadn’t been able to stay.

Shortly after I got to the hospital at 1pm, Dr. B showed up unexpectedly. She asked Sheila a bunch of questions, but I could tell from her body language and how she had just launched into the questioning phase without any of the usual niceties that something was wrong.

In short order Dr. B looked at us and said that she had reviewed the latest CT scans while at home this morning and based on the findings she felt she had to come in and talk with us.

The tumors in both lungs have grown and morphed into a kind of film that’s now blocking at least a third of her lungs. So that’s why she’s struggling to breathe. The “film” is blocking oxygen transfer.

The cancer has also spread to her liver. There are several tumor sites that weren’t there a few weeks ago. Some time ago Dr. B had mentioned seeing dark shading in the liver, but at the time it wasn’t anything she was concerned about. During Sheila’s 13 day hospital stay it was speculated that her liver might be the source of the side pain she was dealing with, but they ruled it out at the time.

It’s apparent that the Alimta she started three weeks ago isn’t working. But we knew there was only a 10 percent chance it would. We always hold out for those small odds. So Sheila didn’t get chemo today like she was scheduled.

There is one more drug, the last one in short list of drug options, that they can try and they’ll start that tomorrow. But it has an even lower percentage of effectiveness than Alimta, so clearly we’re not expecting it to do much.

So the bad news is the prognosis. Assuming this last drug doesn’t work, there’s nothing left to do. No more trials. No other drugs on the horizon. Just palliative care. Treating the pain, not trying to cure anymore. Dr. B thinks Sheila has about 2 months at the most. Surprisingly, Sheila was unemotional when she heard the news. Almost blase. I was more upset. After Dr. B left, Sheila was her usual smiley, affectionate self.

Things were going along okay today otherwise. She only barfed once this afternoon. Her oxygen level was holding steady in the mid-nineties. Then tonight after 8pm her oxygen saturation level plunged into the 70’s and might have gone lower if they didn’t immediately change out her oxygen tube for a mask that delivers a higher volume of oxygen. If she removes the mask her level drops within seconds. And her heart rate is oscillating between 115 and 130. Her heart is working overtime to compensate for the reduced lung capacity.

So they took a chest x-ray and the internal medicine doc is concerned that the pneumonia or infection (they don’t know what she has) must have taken a hard turn due to the sudden drop in her oxygen level.  He’s adding two more antibiotics to combat what infection/pneumonia she has. So that’ll be four antibiotics she’ll be taking. I didn’t know you could do that.

And we’re waiting on something else to address the ulcers that have developed on the roof of her mouth.

Because her pain level is an 8 out of 10 they’ve given her a morphine IV that she can self-administer every 10 minutes.

It’s going to be another long night.

Today is Sheila’s birthday. Her one and only wish for weeks was to spend the weekend in a cottage on the beach and have a party with friends and family between the beach and cottage.

So I booked a one bedroom cottage at the Hotel Del Coronado in their Beach Village section. It’s a beautiful place with a living room, dining room, kitchen, bedroom and bath – with a huge sunken tub. There’s also a patio with seating for 6 and a circular fire pit. All of it overlooking the expansive Coronado beach.

We checked in last night around 6pm and watched the sunset an hour and a half later from the patio.

Sheila was already in a lot of pain since earlier in the day. She had to stop and sit for a few minutes when we were walking from the car to the cottage. By the time dinner rolled around we weren’t sure she could make it to the main building, but walking very, very slowly she made it.

We had dinner at Sheerwater. Sheila had the lobster bisque, and I did something different – a salad and just sides: mashed potatoes, maccaroni and cheese, and spinach. All very good.

We didn’t get much sleep last night because she couldn’t find a comfortable position in bed and kept waking up in pain. She needed pain pills every two hours and water regularly because the chemo and radiation make her mouth so dry it almost glues shut. So by the time sunrise hit I felt like I had pulled an all-nighter.

She wasn’t well enough to walk to breakfast, so I ate alone at the Windsor Cottage, and brought some fruit and yogurt back with me for her. She ate a little, opened the first of two birthday cards I had for her, and then decided that it was time to head to the emergency room. She was in agony.

We got to the hospital around 11am and by 5 they had determined that she either has pneumonia and/or an infection in her lung. All they can see is a cloud of something overlaying her tumors. Being on chemo, her immune system is suppressed, so she’s susceptible to infections.  There’s also some fluid in and around her lungs, so they may have to drain the fluid at some point.

And she also has tumors on her liver. I don’t recall hearing that she ever had them, so to us this is a new development. We’ll have to clarify this with the oncology team tomorrow.

So she will be in the hospital for a few days which means that the party for tomorrow is canceled, and I have to check us out of the cottage two days early. I think we spent a total of 5 daylight hours in the room, if that.

She cried big alligator tears when the ER doctor told us that Sheila would be staying at the hospital. Sheila pleaded to be patched-up so that she could come back to the cottage.  We had dinner reservations for her birthday at the 1500 Ocean restaurant. As much as I wanted to do that, Sheila and I knew in our hearts that she wouldn’t be able to enjoy it being in so much pain. And we certainly couldn’t risk her getting even worse.

Nancy, Jean, Monica, Steve, Joni and Kevin all stopped by tonight. Jean had picked-up a slice of the strawberry bagatelle cake that was the same as our wedding cake and brought it to the hospital. I had ordered a sheet cake of the same thing for tomorrow, but obviously had to cancel the order.

So we had a small birthday celebration in Sheila’s room. We couldn’t light the candles because Sheila has an oxygen tube and we didn’t want to risk a fire. But we took a bunch of photos which I’ll post when Jean sends them over.

I left the hospital around 9:30pm after the nurse got her settled in and the morphine started to make her sleepy.

So here I am, back at the cottage. It’s after 11pm. Sheila and I just talked on the phone. She woke up and wanted to say goodnight. I’m hoping that she’ll get a good night’s sleep. In the morning I’ll pack our stuff up and head back to the hospital.