HAP

Dear friends, As always, Marty, use it as you wish. I think it will be the last chapter of the book eventually, if I can ever finish the thing. Meanwhile, if it can be of use elsewhere, I have no objections. It's the least I can do. Butch, my heart grieves with you. I could not write a eulogy for Jane--the priest did not like eulogies he did not write and deliver himself. I'm not sure I could have written it if I had the opportunity at that point, though I have seen more than a few done truly well both before and since. If I can help, let me know. Shalady and Annew, when Fae and I got here, others inspired us. You will help inspire others when the time comes that you are ready to do so--as will Butch--who already inspires me with all he has been through--and who is willing to let even the dog have what it needs in his time of grief. Anne and Fae and Mary and QMary and Melina and Kay and Teny and Lainey and so many others, we have been on a long journey together, sat at many a fire and many a tavern. It is hard to believe we have none of us had met and likely never would have save for our losses and this blessed spot in cyber-space. Even taken together, we can never replace what we have lost--but we have made a difference in each other's lives, nonetheless. Lest you think that sounds like a good-bye, rest assured I am not going anywhere--at least not that I know of. Be well, all of you. Peace, Harry

Dear friends, Jane and I loved house plants in the winter. They brightened things. Jane got into creating topiaries at one point and created a heart from an old coat hanger and an English ivy. When Jane was in the hospital, I rarely got home, but when I did I made sure everything got a good drink. When I came home after she died, we had lost just one of the plants--the topiary heart. The symbolism was not lost on me. But in another pot there was a single tiny sprig of ivy that had survived. I took the heart frame and moved it into that pot. I have tended it carefully since then. Forty-nine months after Jane's death that single strand has grown to cover 4/5s of that frame. It is not as dense as it was when Jane was alive--that will take a couple of circuits--but it has nearly filled the frame. I tell myself my heart will finally be healed, perhaps, when that frame is filled again with green life. A couple more sprigs have appeared in that pot. Eventually, they will grow long enough to join that first strand and strengthen that heart. Not long before Jane's cancer came to light, I was reading a story about the Dragonriders of Pern. One of the Riders loses his dragon and the children ask why he is so sad. They are told that if a man or woman loses their dragon they lose half their heart. One of the children tasks how long it takes for the missing piece of heart to grow back. None of the adults have an answer. When Jane died, I suddenly knew what it was to have only half a heart--and I had no idea how long it would take for that piece of my heart to grow back--or if it would do so at all. That silly topiary tells me each day how to regrow my heart--and reminds me every day that it is possible. It takes patience and careful tending--but it can be done. I don't expect ever to love again in the way that I loved Jane. But I know that, some day, my heart will be fully healed. It will not be the same as it was before. There will be scar tissue there that is never quite right. A part of me is dead and beyond recovery. But I will grow strong again and I will love again. Truth be told, I have never stopped loving--even in the worst hours of grief. I will love Jane until I die--and even then I will still love her. And I will love the world and every creature in it--because I always have. The pain of loss makes us forget our true nature at times--but forgetting does not mean that nature vanishes or ceases to be. When we are born, the agony of birth makes us forget where we came from. But that pain does not leave us empty of who we are, nor does it change where we came from or where we will go. Jane's death cost me a great deal. It has taxed me physically, mentally and emotionally to the limits of my strength--and sometimes it has seemed like beyond that. And it still hurts--hurts more than anyone who has not had a similar loss can know. But it has made me a better man than I was. It has made me more compassionate, more patient and more driven to be of help than I was before. I understand now things that I really only knew in theory before--as much as I truly believed I understood them. We each have a road to walk and things to endure. We learn from every thing and every being we encounter--and from every experience. Jane paid a hideous price for the knowledge she gained from her illness--and I have paid a hideous price for what I learned from losing her and what I have faced every day since. I cannot dishonor her sacrifice or my own by turning my back on what I have learned--or by failing to share those things with those who need that knowledge. I have learned what it takes to love those around you when what you really want to do is hate them for the things they still have that you do not--and that you will never likely have again. I have learned what it takes to hold a broken soul in your hands and will it back to life and health. And I have learned, again, to let the dying go. Most importantly, I have learned what it is--and what it takes--to grow a new heart. Be well, all of you. Peace, Harry

Dear friends, A largely quiet day so far. I went for my walk this morning for the first time in four days--things got a bit crazy this weekend and I needed some sleep Monday and Tuesday, I guess. Someone is giving Walking with Jane a table at a craft fair in May. Now I need to get my team members to generate some craft items since I have no talent in that area. I already have some items, but I always look for ways to do more. Bridgewater State wrote yesterday to tell me the name of the student who is getting the Walking with Jane Scholarship there this year. He is planning to go into medical research--cancer in particular. He's a perfect fit for the award. He graduates in June. I'm working on the script for the first Walking with Jane audio podcast. I hope to have it online by tomorrow night--Friday morning at the latest. The testing for the Uppsala Oncolytic Virus will start later this spring in Europe as soon as their equivalent of the FDA gives its approval. It's cold here again today--at least by our standards. The birds have been mobbing the feeder all morning--mostly sparrows, but three cardinals, a blue jay, a grouse, and a titmouse have all put in appearances as well. Fae, we have nothing as nice as your photo. No snow, just empty brown grass. At least I have not had to shovel anything yet this year. Peace, Harry

Dear friends, Thank you all for your kind words. I've been meaning to write this piece for about a year now. It seemed to me that we needed some sort of first aid kit for those newly arrived here. We all write similar things for each person as they arrive, but that means they have to wait for our response--and I'm not sure that is always a good thing. Of course codifying that response in this way has it's own weaknesses. Butch and Shalady, you--and those like you--are the people I really see as the main audience for this kind of piece. You are in the early days of your grief and are just beginning to come to terms with all the nastiness of those times. I hope that as you discover things you wished you'd known that you will let me know, either here or privately, what they are so I can add them to later versions. I've also posted this on a grief group specifically for NET cancer caregivers who have lost loved ones to that foul disease that took Jane from me. I'm hoping they will find it useful as well. It gets posted there with a link to here, since that group has no professional counselors monitoring it. Peace, Harry

Dear friends, I met with a former student this morning. She is a college senior studying journalism. One of her requirements is a PR course for non-profits that requires she do an internship with one. She picked us. We talked for over 90 minutes and she has a long list of projects to work on, starting with a presentation we are doing for local student councils later this month. Having her work on that will free me up to do some other projects--and generally ease my cancer-fighting workload a little bit. I read a novel last night. It is part of a series about a practicing wizard living in modern Chicago and doing what wizards do. He is heading out on a job and has packed up a kit for dealing with the current problem: "I had a nylon backpack full of various magical tools I might need...salt, a bunch of white candles, holy water, a ring of keys, a small silver bell, and chocolate. Yeah, chocolate. Chocolate fends off all kinds of nasty stuff. And if you get hungry while warding off evil, you have a snack. It's multipurpose equipment." So you see, even the magical sorts see the value of good chocolate. Butch, there are actually more than 187 pages of this, but we had a little technical issue at one point and some of them vanished. The idea of this thread is to try to find something positive in our lives on even the darkest days. It reminds us that there is still good in the world even when what we are dealing with is massively depressing. Don't worry about catching up. Here, there is no need. We share the positive moments and move forward--and hope it lightens everyone's burden, if only for a little while. Fae, have you thought about feeding the faeries some chocolate now and again? Mine seem to like pizza, but I don't think they'd turn down chocolate, given the opportunity. QMary, may your day be filled with good memories. Peace, Harry

Dear friends, I slept in this morning. The weather was supposed to be nasty--freezing rain--so I knew my walk was not going to happen. I slept until almost 10:30. Then I discovered there has been no precipitation this morning of any kind. Had I but known, I might have gone for that walk. But I also needed the sleep. I've had several consecutive bad nights. It has started raining since. The cold has broken for today. We go back in the freezer the next few days, so I am doing laundry today. Were I smart, I'd spend a couple hours in the cellar working to get the other part of it in order, but I found it a little too chilly when I started the wash. The concrete walls hold the chill as well as they do the heat. A week from tomorrow I go in for the next phase of the dental surgery I started ten months ago. They are restructuring the sinus cavity and doing the other prep work for the implant. If all goes well, I'll be shut of it by the first of April. Sometime yesterday, walkingwithjane.org had its 3000th view for the month of January. Last year, it was April before we reached that number for the year. In the last three months, we've had close to 8,000 visits. I would be more pleased with that were it not for the fact that most of those visits are from people newly diagnosed with the disease who are looking for hope and for answers--both of which are in short supply. I hope every day that we will come up with a cure so that no one ever needs to visit our website again. QMary, be well tomorrow. I will carry you in my mind and heart tomorrow especially. Peace, Harry

Dear friends, Jan, I'd call tomorrow if it is not in the mail by then. I had a journalism meeting Friday night to plan our annual conference and deal with some online issues the organization is having. The meeting went well enough--but the night went downhill thereafter. By the time I got home I was in a foul mood--the subway, the traffic, and general yuckiness. Yesterday was the 49 month anniversary of Jane's death. I spent most of it reorganizing the kitchen for what seems like the 100th time. At one point, I had to go out for a bit and ran into two people I know from Relay but have not seen in several months. Their youngest daughter is getting married this spring. In the context of the last year, that may have been the last straw. I came home, continued working in the kitchen, tried to watch the Patriots' game but was too enervated to pay full attention to it. Instead I kept cleaning and vacuuming--something I get obsessive about when I am upset. I woke up this morning in tears. I've lost too much. I couldn't fully mourn my mother's death because I was too worried about Jane's health to make the trip west for her memorial service. In the last 12 months, I've lost a good friend, learned my best friend from high schools wife has breast cancer, lost a niece and my father, learned that one of my favorite patient's cancer has now moved into her brain and that another has reached the stage where liver embolization is a necessity in the next couple of months. In large part, I have walked away from everything for the last month. I focussed on being home for Christmas and on healing my heart. I've walked every day, trying to get my body back in shape, knowing that always helps my mood. My weight hasn't moved but everything feels a bit tighter and stronger. The weight will come in time, if I can just keep doing what I know needs to be done. My mind and mood will come around eventually, too, if i keep doing a little bit each day. I went to the cemetery this morning. It was cold and windy and silent. I didn't stay long. Jane would not want me standing in the cold very long. And the truth is, there is nothing there--just a stone, some Christmas decorations and a hole in the ground that holds Jane's coffin and her mortal remains. There is more of her in this house than has ever been there. The weekly and monthly visits to her grave give me time to vent the hurt and sense of failure I feel every day at this point in the month. The positive is I don't feel those things every day as I once did. Even what I feel at this point in the month is not as sharp as it once was. I read a piece in the newspaper this morning about a man who lost his wife to cancer. He went back to riding a motorcycle after she died--something he had given up when his first child was born. It helped him get through those times as my walks have gotten me through the awful times since Jane died. The work on NETs has helped as well. I don't function well when I don't have a purpose. And much of the time, I'm OK in ways I never expected to be again. This current mood will pass. The healing will continue--and I will learn to live with the scars. Peace, Harry

Dear Butch, I know too well what you are feeling. If you need to talk, let me know. Peace, Harry

Dear friends, My legs are finally getting close to where I want them to be at this stage. Today was the first day that my left leg hasn't tightened up unpleasantly at some point during the walk. This is normal at the beginning of training for me. I took down the Christmas tree and most of the indoor Christmas decorations today. The furniture is rearranged. The candles are still in the window and the poinsettias will stay in the window until they stop putting out red leaves. The project was emotionally easier than I expected, but physically tiring, in part because the living room, dining room and kitchen struggled to stay in the mid-60s today. My FIL seems to be behaving himself, which is a load off my SIL's mind. They are working to get him a hospital bed for his bedroom, which will make it easier for him to get up. Otherwise, it's been a quiet day here. Quiet days that don't end up turning depressing are a good thing. Peace, Harry

Dear friends, Great night listening to blues by a very talented musician who deserves a much larger audience than he gets. Unfortunately, that meant I didn't get in last night until close to 1 a.m., which has thrown off my day from one end to the other. I also got a call this morning from my Ohio friend who was not available when I called yesterday. We had a good visit--getting caught up on what has happened in both our lives the last few weeks. One of my former students has been working on putting a new arts magazine together for the last few months. They announced officially that they are moving from concept phase to reality today. It will cover the various arts in New England and come out 10 times a year. My student/friend will be editor-in-chief--though that announcement has not yet been officially made. I went for my walk this morning despite getting a late start. I am keeping a better pace very day and my legs have better definition--but I have yet to see anything that looks like weight loss. Sigh. I'd like to drop 20 pounds by June--and another 10 by the end of the walk season in late October. That last 10 would not be necessary if I hadn't messed up my knee and had to take two months off from walking. QM, I don't know that goal-setting is something one is born with. I trace my devotion to it to my Grandfather teaching me to do it when I was five--and doing the follow-up to make sure I was keeping it up thereafter. As a successful director, you have to be pretty good at goal-setting and planning--you just aren't obsessive about it. I taught mini-courses in it at the beginning of every school year with my classes. A couple kids have since told me it was the most important thing they ever learned in school because it made everything else suddenly possible. I'd like to take that show on the road. People tell me I could make a good living doing seminars on it. Stay warm, everyone. Peace, Harry

Dear friends, Tonight is Epiphany--the arrival of the three kings. For me, it is all about light dawning in the brain. It is the end of the Festival of Light and the beginning of the work of the new year. Usually, Jane and I were back at work by now. The tree came down after New Year's, depending on when we had to go back to work. We both loved having the tree up but knew we would not have time to take it down once school was back in session. The luxury now is that I can wait to take it down until January 7 wherever it falls. But it is a bittersweet thing without Jane here to help take it down. Putting the ornaments she made back in their boxes for another year was hard enough when she was alive. Now... Many years ago, when I was in high school, there was a German family in the neighborhood. They lit their tree with real candles for tonight. They asked my mother, brother and me to come dressed as the Three Kings one year. My mother was the King who was supposed to be the joker--I've forgotten which one it was. As we were leaving, she asked the host if he had three Camels we could borrow for the trip back. He smoked Camel cigarettes. It was supposed to be a joke. He didn't think it was funny. While our families remained good friends, we were never again asked to impersonate the Three Kings. My tree will be lit the next to last time for this season tonight. It has LED lights that can be either colored or white. I prefer the look of the colored lights. It's what I grew up with. But tonight I will use the white light setting. It seems appropriate, somehow, to bring the colors into a unified state for tonight. I'll likely put the lights on again tomorrow when I take the tree down. It seems to lighten the mood. It's been a strange holiday season, this first one staying for Christmas here since Jane died. There have been times I have thought it was a bad idea, and others when I thought, "Yes, this was the right thing to do. You own this house now at every season of the year." Have a good 12th Night. Peace, Harry

Dear friends, It's certainly cold in southern New England today, though nothing like what Mary is seeing in Wisconsin. Temperatures will continue to drop through Thursday, when the current forecast says we will struggle to reach double digits--and the wind chill will be well below 0. But it is warm here in the study and I expect I will spend much of the next few days here in my rocking chair, drinking tea and writing on a range of subjects. I'll likely do some reading as well. But I will venture out every morning to take a walk at a local mall, as I did today. I also had my monthly lunch with the other retired teachers at a cute little restaurant owned by a former student and his family. I had some nice eggplant and now feel I will not need to eat for the rest of the week. My plan is to make my Tuesday night drive to the pub to listen to some music and drink a little beer. But we'll see how the weather looks first. People in southern New England go crazy when they see a snowflake--or even if they are told there will be a snowflake in the air. I went to buy groceries yesterday afternoon, forgetting there were snow flurries in today's forecast. The supermarket was packed with people buying bread and milk. My drive to lunch today was plagued with people "driving" as though we were in the midst of a blizzard. I'm from "away" so this sudden deterioration in driving skills makes me a bit crazy. I don't know what people would do if they had regular substantial snowfalls to deal with. I don't mind driving in the kind of snow we generally get here. It's the other drivers that keep me off the road. I'm working on a series of pieces on Walking with Jane's goals and plans for the coming year this week. It's not exciting writing but it is necessary. I really do believe the dictum that "those who fail to plan, plan to fail." Things written down and shared are more likely to happen than things that remain visions in the mind and nothing more. I wrote about 1500 words last night on raising awareness about NET cancer and what steps we will take to make that happen this year. This afternoon, I'll start drafting the piece on financial goals for the year. That piece will likely run even longer, and I may have to split it into two pieces when I post it. When I was out walking this morning I met a woman who runs an exercise place for children in the mall. I use trekking poles any time I am training and she thought they were a great idea. She told me about a new type of shoe that is supposed to reduce the amount of pressure on the knees. It was designed for people who have had reconstructive knee surgery. I am not there yet, but the shoes might help me delay that inevitable moment for a while longer. Unfortunately, I'd probably have to have them specially made because of how long and narrow my feet are. We had a nice conversation, but she had a group coming in shortly and I was in the midst of my cool-down lap--which I have to do or I get very stiff. One of the most difficult things for me since Jane's death is getting to talk with people. My father, who was in many ways even more socially isolated than I am after my mother died, would strike up extended conversations with wait-staff, people running cash registers, receptionists--even people he encountered in waiting rooms. I find myself doing similar things--albeit not as drawn out as his conversations were. And I count any of those conversations as positive things simply because they alleviate that social isolation--even if in a very small way. Speaking of which, I need to go call an old friend from Ohio who sent me a piece on the new cancer center at Ohio State. It sounds impressive. And I think I know some people in Ohio who might have an interest in helping them get a NET cancer program further off the ground than it is now. I think that's somewhere in the plans for the coming year. Peace, Harry

Dear friends, QMary, I am very sorry to read about your sister. I wish there were something any of us could do to make that hurt better. I won't say anything about the suicide. Marty has said all that I would say. Today went sideways from the start. I had planned to write a piece on Walking with Jane's awareness goals for 2015, but Stuart Scott's death grabbed my attention instead. For a while it appeared he had NET cancer--and that the media were, again, getting it wrong. It now appears he had something even more rare. I wrote a piece this morning that took off--and then spent the day correcting it as more information came to light. That information really did not change the central thrust of the piece--that rare diseases are often misdiagnosed because doctors don't know about them and that we need to do more to educate both doctors and the general public about the so-called zebras. But I felt like I screwed up and that today's huge view numbers should not really count. I have the goals' piece ready to go for tomorrow. It is the first of three parts on the subject and admits I need more help. I've realized I just can't keep up by myself with everything I have set in motion. It is all necessary stuff, but more than I can realistically handle. There just are not enough hours in the day. I did my grocery shopping today ahead of the oncoming snow followed by arctic temps that arrive tomorrow and continue through the week. I'm with Kay on the cold weather. My flannel sheets have been on since early November. Tomorrow is my monthly lunch with the retirees. We are going to a place that specializes in comfort food. We'll see if my efforts to eat healthy survive the experience. I'm maundering--my word for nattering, Fae. Time to get some sleep. I have to go walk tomorrow morning. Peace, Harry

Dear friends, Karen, this all takes time. Jane is gone four years and 25 days and I am still working through things. Part of the reason I am working in the basement is I have not been able to face what I've stored down there since Jane's death. Today, I cleared the top of her potting bench. Two weeks ago, I worked on her crafting bench--and could not finish it. Be patient with yourself. I spent the morning doing laundry and working in the cellar. I spent much of yesterday down there as well. I made some progress on my workbench area and the garden storage area, as well as working on Jane'd potting bench. I found the rooting powder I've been looking for since spring, 2011. It was hiding in plain sight. I also took down the outside Christmas lights before the snow arrived. It has gone over to rain this morning, which largely washed the snow away here. Temps are rising this morning, but Thursday's forecast high is 12F. By morning it is supposed to be below freezing and is likely to stay there for the next couple of weeks I went out yesterday afternoon to look for a couple of frames. I found nothing I could live with at a price I was willing to pay, but did find a new quilted bedspread I rather liked. I've been looking for something to change the look of things in the winter in the bedroom and this seems to fit the bill. Jan and Mary, I envy you your children and grandchildren sometimes. Chores, laundry and writing await. Best get back to them. Peace, Harry

Dear friends, Another quiet day yesterday. I did some writing, some reading, some walking and some thinking. I got up this morning a little earlier than usual to get my walk in early. We have some snow arriving tonight that will turn to rain tomorrow. Then we go in the deep freeze next week. Normally, I leave the decorations outside on until January 6, but given the weather forecast, I want to take all of that down today before it freezes in place until spring. That means doing some work on the basement to recreate the space they normally live in that has filled up with other stuff during the cellar cleaning process I'd hoped to finish up this week. Ah well... I reframed a piece of artwork that hung in my classroom for years and moved it into the bedroom, where it works very nicely. It was in a box of stuff that has been sitting downstairs since I retired. An artist gave it to me back in 1974. I've no idea what became of him. He simply vanished one day. He'd been living on a tug boat. Then, it was as though he never existed. I walked about five miles in an hour this morning. My knee seems to be close to fully healed. It gives me an occasional twinge when I'm sitting or moving around the house, but seems fully satisfied to let me walk at a good clip in relatively straight lines. It no longer swells when I walk on it, nor does it get stiff afterward any more than the other one does. I have a couple of 5K walks on the docket in April. Those will give me a better idea of where things are. If I'm going to get the things done as need doing today, I'd best be getting to them. Peace, Harry

Dear friends, Kay, I use honey or raw sugar, depending on my mood. I avoid the highly refined white sugar, just as I avoid highly refined flours that are often bleached to make them whiter. My hope is that either this year or next I'll start keeping bees so I can have better control over that sweetener than I have now--not to mention trying to help those critters not go extinct. And honey has become insanely expensive. I am also seeing fewer bees in the garden each year and have noticed a significant decline in production of many plants as a result. But I need to find a sheltered spot for them to live where they won't be disturbed and my backyard is going to have lots of disturbances next year because of a number of landscaping projects. Last night, my sister-in-law called to confirm I was coming over for dinner today, then broke down as she told me the problems she is having with getting her father to do his exercises when the PT folks are not around. He yells at her and tells her neither she nor they know what they are talking about. I let her vent for more than an hour. He is a stubborn man and always has been. Only Jane could ever get him to see reason. I can sometimes, but not always. We had dinner and he went off to bed, immediately. Gail and I had a good visit, though. We watched the Winter Classic hockey game and talked about a number of things other than her father. I will try to get her out of the house periodically, either early in the morning or when he is at dialysis. I baked bread this morning. The chill in the house caused the bread to rise more slowly than usual, but it came out even better than it usually does. It had a lighter texture than usual, which seemed strange. Maybe there is something to be said for a longer rising time, though I have never heard that. I managed to stay up to see the ball drop last night--though it did require a nap earlier in the evening. I drank my annual toast to Jane as everyone in Times Square kissed and cheered in the background. New Year's is a time I spend reflecting on the past and planning for the future. My current five year plan has one more year to run--next year will require a full review that will likely take three days and result in an entirely new plan stretching off into the future. This year was pretty straight-forward. I set 10 goals each for both myself and the two organizations I run. That becomes the heart of my daily, weekly, and monthly plans for the year. The year goals are based on what I set out to do in 2011, modified by the successes, failures and experiences of the current year. Everything gets a quick review at the end of each quarter to make sure I'm still on track. The last four years have never worked out the way I planned them, which is always the case to some extent--just more so since Jane died. Keeping that process going at all after Jane's death has been hard. At the end of 2010, it was only the inertia of 53 years of doing it that kept me at it. I scrapped everything that year even though I was only in the third year of the cycle. Jane's death changed everything and made the old goals largely pointless. I spent my flight back from Seattle that year creating a new set of goals and modifying even the ten and 25 year plan to make room for the assault on NET cancer. Mourning Jane was front and center in dealing with everything, but I grossly underestimated how hard that was going to be. I was still in shock--and part of me still is I think sometimes. I still don't have my full focus back and it makes me crazy. But the focus seems to be coming back, if slowly. And despite not feeling even close to 100 percent, I've made progress on every one of the goals I set four years ago. Most won't be reached by the end of the year--especially the ambitious goals I set for what became Walking with Jane. But that's OK; as my fifth grade teacher used to say, "It is better to aim for the moon and clear the fence than to aim for the fence and crash into it." The goals of a lifetime don't turn in an instant, and promises made cannot be abandoned unfulfilled, regardless of the circumstances. Delivery may be delayed, of course.... The year just passed was difficult--more difficult than any save the year before and after Jane's death. It shattered some of what I had rebuilt since that cold night in December of 2010. The year ahead I can hope will be better. And even if it is not, I am not too proud to rebuild again, even if the tools be worn beyond proper use. When it comes to humanity, I never give up. Peace, Harry

Dear friends, Jane and would go out for an early dinner tonight, then come home and stay talking about the past and the future up until the ball dropped. We'd have a champagne toast at midnight and then go to bed. I still do the midnight toast and watch the ball drop. New Year's Day we would go to her family's house for dinner. This year that will be renewed for the first time since she died--though who knows how long that will continue as her Dad is 89 and in poor health. May this New Year help us each find new strength and new light. Peace, Harry

Dear friends, My brain seems to have gone on vacation. I've been doing a lot of sitting the last 24 hours. Part of that is bringing order to the chaos of my library/office and realizing that I should have made it the guest room and the guest room the office. I just don't have enough space to organize all the projects in this small space. But it is the warmest room in the house and that has a number of advantages. I've set up one corner as a reading nook. It has my rocking chair--a gift from my parents 30 odd years ago--a small table for my tea and my book, and a lamp over my shoulder. It's a comfortable, warm spot to sip tea and read novels in on a cold winter day like today. I spent two hours there just reading something of absolutely no importance yesterday--and will do so again today. But first I need to sift through the pile of papers on my desk, filing what needs filing and stacking what needs to be dealt with sooner rather than later. Once that is done, though, I will finally have the living area of the house set up the way I want it after four years. Of course the front rooms need a coat of paint and I'd still like to replace the sofa and love seat in the living room and replace the 20 year old energy-hog refrigerator--but those will have to wait a while longer. And their are pictures to frame and drawers and cupboards to reorganize.... As my father-in-law says, there's always something that needs doing when you have a house. Last night, I went out to hear to some music that turned out to be pretty horrible to listen to. But my musical acquaintances at the bar were in a silly state of mind and the evening was filled with one-liners and good laughter. They told me New Bedford is doing a First Night thing at various venues across the Downtown area. I may go there for a bit early in the evening, though as cold and windy as they expect it to be tonight I won't stay too long if i decide to go. I'll be home before the ball drops to drink my annual toast to Jane. For reasons no one knows at this point, the Mall I usually walk at was closed when I got there. Like the others for whom that is a morning ritual, I was disappointed, but it meant I got some things done here earlier than I'd planned. I am hoping they will be open again on Friday. When I got home, I discovered about a hundred sparrows attacking the feeders in the back yard. I went to the living room to pick up a plate I left there last night and discovered they had all vanished and been replaced by a red-tailed hawk by the time I got back. It had killed one of the sparrows--I could see it clenched in its foot. Or maybe it was a mouse. The sparrows dodge away at the slightest shadow or disturbance, so it's hard to imagine one of them getting caught. I'm baking bread this afternoon--a habit I've gotten into the last couple of months since I discovered how hard it is to find bread that is not made with high fructose corn syrup. I've been developing a new bread recipe based on my memory of one I created in the 1970s and lost in one of my moves. I've about figured it out at this point. I'll make a more traditional bread tomorrow for my in-laws, who want me to come there for lunch on New Year's, something we used to do every year when Jane was alive. It's been a quiet 24 hours here. I hope you all have a good New Year's Eve, whether you go out or stay home. Peace, Harry

Be well, Kay.

Dear friends, I've gotten out of the habit this thread was meant to develop in all of us: looking for the positive moments in each day that happen even while we are immersed in the deepest grief. Sometimes those positives are tiny, almost insignificant things; other times, they can be shatteringly good; always, they are uplifting. This year filled up from the beginning with new grief and new heartache--and each of those events called me back to the first days after Jane's death, sometimes for weeks at a time. I've been an infrequent contributor to this thread as a result of feeling overwhelmed too much of the time by the nasty things going on in my life. I've lost track of the number of deaths I've seen this year; I've lost track of the number of serious--potentially fatal--diagnoses friends and relatives have received. The constant emotional turmoil has worn me down. It isn't that positive things have not happened this year. Nor is it true that I have failed to share many of those upbeat moments here. I just have not been regular enough in attending to them. Positive events are the real flowers in the garden of our lives. The negatives we sometimes obsess over are the weeds that can take over if we do not properly fertilize the positive moments--and do what we can to weed out the negative ones when they can be removed. Some, of course, are boulders that we have to work around in shaping that garden. Jane's death is not going to disappear from the landscape of my life, but my life has to be about more than her death. All of us here have similar boulders we are trying to live with without letting them destroy what our lives are really about. I am not one for New Year's resolutions in general. When I find something wrong, I try not to put off fixing it. This decision that I need to make a change occurs now, not because of the New Year, but because it does. It emerges from a month spent living and reliving Jane's death and the days since then over the last month as I work on this book project. It is one of several changes I am considering that grow out of that experience--and some others that have nothing to do with that--not least of which is that my knee has finally recovered to the point I can get back to some serious walking. Here then, silly as they may appear, are my positives for the last 24 hours: 1. I walked for an hour this morning. My knee did not swell or stiffen from that walk, the first time that has happened since I started walking again at the beginning of December. My legs and body are still more tired than I'd like afterward. A nap later seems likely. 2. I filled my nearly empty gas tank this morning for less than $20. I can't remember the last time I paid $2.199 a gallon for gas. 3. I finished the draft of the sixth chapter of the grief book yesterday afternoon. 4. I got to the bottom of the junk mail pile yesterday and paid the bills for the next month. Nothing earthshaking there--just some nice things that happened in the last 24 hours. Peace, Harry

Dear friends, Some good news on a couple of different fronts: Jane's Dad is home from rehab. The cancer is still there but he seems to be responding well to the treatment. They came here for Christmas dinner. Jane's sister's biopsy showed no cancer, just an especially hard ball of fat. My late niece's daughter has been formally adopted by my brother and his wife and spent her first Christmas with them last week. She has a new bedroom that two of my brothers assembled earlier in the month. I have the first five chapters of the grief book drafted--and a good start on Chapter 6. I seem to have survived my first Christmas at home since Jane's death. Pieces of it have been difficult, but I got through it. I've spent the last three New Year's home alone, so while I expect it to be difficult, it is a known experience I've been through before. Time to get back to work. Peace, Harry

Dear friends, Jane died 15 days before Christmas in 2010. We buried her a week before Christmas. That first Christmas was nightmarish. I spent it with my father outside Seattle. He'd lost my mother to Alzheimer's 10 months before. It was our first Christmas for both of us without our other halves. My father had a stroke in August. He was braindead before my plane took off and body dead before it landed. This year was my fifth Christmas without Jane--and the first I spent in the house Jane and I built together. I went out to be with friends Christmas Eve and went to a Methodist church service. I knew those things were purely to get me out of the house for a few hours that night. Neither Jane nor I were particularly religious in any traditional sense. The next day, I had my in-laws in for Christmas dinner. I surprised them with a couple of presents. They left about 3 p.m. Jane's father was released from a rehab facility the day before. He has prostate cancer that has metastasized to his bones. He tires easily. I watched "It's a Wonderful Life" Christmas night and sat for a time in the glow of the Christmas tree. Jane made me promise I would always have a tree--even that first year. Gradually, I have dressed the house for Christmas more and more since then. It is hard to do, sometimes, but I do it anyway. For many of you reading this, your losses are fresh. You are trying to adapt yourself to the most horrible losses imaginable--and there is no easy way to get there. Holidays can be the worst because they have so many memories and triggers built into them. But sometimes the "ordinary" days can be just as difficult. I am not a grief counselor but I have been at this for a very long time. I've listened to a lot of folks who understand this state far better than I do. They have been certified as grief counselors as well as going through their own grief. And I remember well what they told me in the early days after Jane's death. First, it is OK to cry and feel miserable--and to feel that way for a very long time. People talk about the "Year of Firsts" as though once you've been through each of the events in a 12 month cycle you are magically OK--that you are back to who you were. For some folks, this may be the case. But for most--especially if you had a good relationship with your loved one--it doesn't work that way. You are never going to be who you were before they got sick. You've lost a major part of the life you had and of the person you were together. "The deeper the love, the deeper the grief," is the reality. When someone says to you that you should be over your grief by such-and-such a time, they are generally people who have not lost someone important to them in the way your spouse was important to you. They've read an article or a book or taken a course and think they understand. Most of the time, they really have no idea. But while you are never going to be the same, that does not mean you will never be happy again. Right after Jane died I didn't think I would ever smile again, let alone laugh. But the smiles did come back--as did the laughter. I am never as happy as I was when she was alive--but the grinding sorrow and depression have lifted to a great enough extent that I feel alive again. The holidays--Christmas, Halloween, her birthday and our anniversary, in particular--remain especially difficult, but I no longer feel I am drowning most of the time. You do get better at coping as the months and years pass. You can speed that up in several ways. Not fighting with your feelings and trying to control them is the first step in that. Grief often comes in waves and all any of us can really do is ride them out. Fighting your grief is like fighting the undertow: fighting it will just make things worse. Let yourself have that good cry when you need to. You will feel better afterward. Crying, of course, is more dehydrating than people realize. It is important that you drink plenty of water--especially in the first months when the tears are falling like a torrential downpour. Avoid alcohol, however. It is a depressant and will only make you feel worse. I didn't have so much as a beer in the first 14 months after Jane died. Even now, I drink alcohol sparingly. Crying also burns huge amounts of energy. That means eating properly is important. Unfortunately most of us bury ourselves in comfort foods when we are stressed or--worse--eat nothing at all. You want to establish good eating habits as quickly as possible. Have a good breakfast, a good lunch, and a good dinner every day. Begin cooking for yourself as soon as possible--even if you are cooking only for yourself and hate every minute of it. It will give you better portion control and make you feel like you have regained control over at least one aspect of your life. Gaining control over your life is an important thing. Grief makes us feel like everything is out of control. Start small in regaining control. When you get up in the morning, make the bed, pick up the bedroom, take a shower, shave and have breakfast. Little acts of control like this are the beginning of regaining control over your life. The sooner you begin to establish regular habits, the better it will be for your state of mind. One of the toughest patterns to re-establish is regular sleep habits. I'm still wrestling with that four years out. You don't want to go to bed because if you do, you have dreams. You don't want to get out of bed, sometimes because of the dreams and sometimes because of the corrosive reality that awaits you. But I set the alarm every night and try to get up at the same time every morning. And I try to go to bed the same time every night. The former is easier than the latter--at least for me. Get exercise regularly. It doesn't need to be strenuous. I try to walk for an hour every day. In bad weather, I drive to a local mall and walk there. In good weather, I go out my front door and walk through the neighborhood. Exercise releases endorphins into your bloodstream that make you feel better. Even a half hour walk gets them cooking through your system. Do see your doctor before you undertake any kind of new exercise program. Join a grief group. Your local newspaper will have listings for groups in your area--as will your local hospice organization. Many hospitals and cancer facilities sponsor groups. Just talking with other people who are going through what you are going through can be very helpful. There are a number of groups available online as well, though there is nothing like being in a physical group where you can receive and give hugs. Online groups, however, are especially good when a huge wave of grief hits you at 2 a.m. For me, one of the toughest things was the social loss. Jane was not just my wife, she was also my best friend. We did everything together. I try to have at least one social event every week--even if it is just going out for coffee with someone. I do lots of volunteer work, in part, for the same reason. Much of my work is cancer-related, so it really does double-duty. I am avenging Jane's death and getting some human contact at the same time. I didn't think about the social aspect of that work when I started doing it, but the social aspect does help me get through the rough patches. One of the problems we all face is that the grief really gets worse just about the time everyone around us has gone back to their daily routines. Their lives get back to normal just about the time the shock wears off for us and we enter the real heart of our loss. Finding something to do to help others can provide us with social outlets beyond our traditional circle of friends. Another thing I find helpful is writing. Sometimes I write for no greater purpose than to move my grief from inside me onto the page. Keeping a journal can be a good way of doing that. You can write things there you don't want others to hear or see. You can rage against the gods, the doctors, the insensitive person who asks three months in if you are going out with anyone yet.... That's another thing you are going to encounter. Sometimes people can be so insensitive you can't stand it. Most of the time that insensitivity comes from their ignorance. Most people see TV and film as reality. There, grief is over in an hour or two. It just doesn't work that way for most of us. There are others who try to compare this loss to a divorce. One of my brothers did that to me barely a month after Jane died. He'd had a divorce many years before. He did not see why I was not already out there dating. He didn't understand that while he and his wife stopped loving each other, Jane and I hadn't. That alone makes the situation different. But people don't see that. In fact, rushing into another relationship is frequently a bad thing. You are wounded and vulnerable and incapable of making a rational decision about financial matters, let alone emotional ones. I swore off making major financial decisions for a year after Jane died--a vow that has lasted until at least now as I write this, with the exceptions of getting my will written and committing as much as I can toward NET cancer research. I'll also admit to having had a number of crushes in the last two years. I have acted on none of these because I still feel emotionally too fragile to do so. After four years and 19 days, I'm still wearing the wedding ring Jane put on my finger 25 years, three months and 27 days ago. I hope those of you who are relatively new to grief will find what I've written above useful. Grief is not a sprint. It is not a marathon--though it may be an ultra-marathon. But there is no finish line and there are no prizes for those who finish first. And unlike a competitive race, we can help each other get through it. Peace, Harry Note: I've been thinking about writing this piece for several months. Eventually, I think it will find its way, in some form, into the book I started on earlier this month--likely as a closing chapter. If those of you with more experience can think of things I should talk about here that I haven't, let me know. Marty and Mary, if you can find a broader use for this, feel free to do so. --H.

Fae, I understand your reluctance. This is the first year I've been able to face George Bailey. I cried like a baby at the end. But then I nearly always did before. Still, these tears were very different in many ways--though I don't want to go into that just yet.

Dear friends, It's been a peaceful 24 hours. I went out to the home of some friends for a bit last night, then to the Methodist service I talked about yesterday. It was very informal with some readings from the Christmas story in Luke and lots of carols. I was in bed by 11 and up before seven. I had my croissant and cocoa, then set to work getting ready for my in-laws. I baked bread and made lasagne roll-ups, picked up the house and wrapped some presents for them. Unfortunately, I broke my big Pyrex mixing bowl when I dropped a mug on it. Fortunately, everything was safely in the oven by then--nothing damaged but my pride. One of the fruitcakes I made early this month went home with them, as did a box of chocolates. I'd found a National Geographic book of pictures from WWII for my FIL, who served in the First Marine Division, Fifth Regiment as a grunt in the Pacific. He has always been a student of the war, since they never told them where they were or where they were going next. I gave my SIL a bracelet the Jimmy Fund gave me for my work last year on NET cancer. It's a nice bracelet by Alex & Ani, but I am not much for wearing jewelry and she is. They were both genuinely delighted. I also sent them home with a loaf of bread and the leftover lasagne rolls. Gail hates to cook and that will make at least a couple of meals. I had a pleasant conversation with Jane this morning when I first got up. I may make peace with this loss yet--but that day is still in the future. Tonight, I'm going to watch "It's a Wonderful Life." It's time I reclaimed that, as well. It's not going to be easy but it's the next step in the process for me. Kay, I'm not going to yell at you. Marty and Anne have done that. And I know what you were thinking because I would have thought and done the same ion all probability. Simon and Shalady, be patient with yourselves. This all takes time. Give yourself permission to cry/scream/curl-up-in-a-ball when you need to. Four years in, I still have full-dress meltdowns. They are just less frequent and i go into them knowing I will come out the other side. That was not the case at all at the beginning. Off to remind myself what it really means--and what it really takes--to be the richest man in town. Peace, Harry

Dear Fae, Thank you for your kind words. I hope the faerie folk are behaving themselves and letting you heal without further interruption and distraction. Be well, always. Harry