The Blog Book

222 pages!

My brother graciously arranged to have the blog printed and bound into a book. I included a dedication in the beginning, added pictures, and wrote a note to Tyler at the end. The book is his... for him to read when he wants to feel closer to his dad. It breaks my heart that someday he will need the book to help trigger his memories.

I have a hard time reading the past entries. In fact, I make it a habit to NOT read it for a few reasons, 1) it's not edited well, and I cringe to see mistakes and poor word choices, 2) I am thankful for the ten and a half months we had together, however, I don't want to relive the "sick" months. I fear my memory will focus on the unhealthy past, instead of the healthy.

So, the Blog Book is on its way... ALL 222 pages of it. The entries stop somewhere in mid-July, but I plan to print the others that are pertinent and include them with the book. Although I don't want to sit and read it, I am excited to see it. Thank you, Todd, it is a gift that Tyler and I will always cherish.

And...

Sorry it was SO expensive... I'm sure that's not what you had in mind. ;)

Bittersweetness

I began this side of the journey counting days "after." I thought that would never go away, but it did. Then I began counting weeks and was convinced that I would do that forever, but I didn't. Now I often have to think of the date before I can calculate how many months. Getting to this point is definitely bittersweet. We are managing to live quite happily in our new normal.

I have numerous people who help to keep us afloat. I think everyone has days feeling they could sink like a stone. Some days are definitely easier to maintain buoyancy than others. I am grateful for the weightless feeling, because prior to cancer I don't think I appreciated it with my entire being, like I do now. I suppose I am thankful for cancer showing me how vital it is to rest on top of the surface instead of thrashing and treading under it. Life is far too short to spend it trying to find the surface while gasping for breath.

The Fish Bowl

When a crisis hits there are usually two ways people seek help in handling things. Either they shut down and keep things secretive, OR reach out to others and let people in. We chose the latter, mainly because secrets turn into rumors, and I thought we needed all the prayers we could get. I actually enjoyed living in a fish bowl the past the year and a half, and felt comfort in people knowing what was happening without me having to actually say the words. (I desperately needed the fish habitat.) The love and support was incredible and if I had to do it all again, God forbid, I would not change the path we chose.

Although I still update here every so often, it feels a little odd to still live in the same (proverbial) fish bowl. I'm not sure how to fix this, and I am not sure I even need to fix it. I suppose it's simply that I would like to draw the blinds once and awhile and live incognito among the "normal." I definitely don't want to be defined by a tragedy, and hopefully won't live forever being "the one whose husband died". Who knows... maybe I'll change my mind tomorrow, and I'd like to reserve that right.