July 8th 2013

I spent the weekend down the shore with two of my friends. What a refreshing time to get away for a few days. It felt good to laugh and relax for a little while. My friend told me I am making progress. There is a song called  "I Don't Want To Feel Better". It defines perfectly how I feel. I fear if I feel better I will not remember my Duke!!! I know this is not rational thought. I will keep looking for moments of life and a little light where things are good.

I am sitting in our den, barely able to function today. I feel weak kneed like I did the day I found out Duke had a brain tumor.
I'd like to report progress today, that I'm feeling better, that things are looking up, but i can't because they are not. I feel so alone, I need to hear Duke's voice, feel his touch, kiss his face. I know this is not helping me so I will try harder.
My thoughts go out to all of the brain tumor warriors and caregivers I've crossed paths with since August of 2011. 
I will try again another day.

Tuesday April 2nd 2013

The weather is beginning to get warmer. There are so many things I could be doing in the yard, I'm still waiting for inspiration to strike.
I will be returning to my part time job in a few weeks after having the winter off. It will be good to get out of the house and interact with people again. I still feel the pain of losing Duke deeply. I can't get a grip on the reality that yes, he is really gone from this realm forever. I try to imagine what he must be doing in heaven but I cannot comprehend that realm he is in. I long to be where he is, at the same time knowing that my family needs me here for now.
I ask God to show me what He needs me to do while I am still here. I'm trying to listen for His still small voice.

Here I am, January 7th 2013. 2013 is the first year of my life since 1968 that will not have Duke's physical footprint anywhere in it. That is a sad reality for me, one I was very much aware of on New Year's Eve when the clock struck midnight.

I want to write about my hope for a future, but right now I long for the past far too much.

It has been 8 months since Duke died. The silence in our home is deafening. I never fully comprehended that saying, but I truly get it now.
I am thankful for my grown children and my little grandchildren, but the pain of losing Duke still is so raw. Sadness is my closet companion right now. Other women that have been through this kind of loss tell me I will feel better in time but it doesn't feel like I
will.
The day after Christmas, my youngest son Brett and his wife Emily had my newest grandchild, a son, and my first grandson. Duke would have been ecstatic, as he was at the birth of our two granddaughters. This is perhaps the hardest part for me, that the grandchildren will not remember their Pop , who loved them so very much.
I want to try to move forward with this life without forgetting everything in the past. Duke and I were together since we were 16. He is in almost every memory of my past.
What will I do? I don't know. My heart hurts as I sit here alone. Please God, help me.

This is a reflection of my life since it was turned on it's end August 8th 2011. That was the day a mass was discovered on my husband Duke's brain.

From that day forward me and my family have been on a journey none of us would have chosen, but we had no choice. I say it was the day the course of our lives changed forever but in reality that was always going to be where our lives were going. All the days of our lives were put in motion by God before any of us were even born.

As I sit here alone 3 months after Duke's death I am overcome with sadness. It feels like a million years since I've seen him, touched him, and heard his voice. I miss him so very much that at times I think I can't go on another minute without him.

We were married for 40 years, and during that time we didn't spend many nights apart. Did we ever get on each others nerves? You bet we did, but there was never a day in all those years that I doubted his love for me, and I hope he felt the same.

Duke was diagnosed with a brain tumor called Glioblastoma. It is the most aggressive and deadly form of brain cancer. By the time we found out he already had brain damage so he was not able to react emotionally. The tumor took away his ability to perceive joy or sorrow, or at least it seemed that way to us. He never shed a tear over his diagnosis or reacted in the way he would have if he were himself.

His battle with GBM lasted 11 months, but really it was all one sided. He never had a chance against this beast. We did the conventional treatment,  radiation, chemo, and steroids for the swelling.