Dear Laurie: That is a normal response. You are in 'shock'. It will take a while for all to sink in, a long while. You were so busy with doing what was best for Leroy - everything was centered around him. Now he is in Heaven. This is to be expected. It is hard to go on, like nothing has happend.
It takes a while. Be kind to yourself and understand this is a natural reaction. You kind of feel a 'relief' for Leroy,he is out of his pain and at peace. You are left, without the center of your world. WHAT NOW..is how you are feeling. Just take one moment at a time, do things for yourself or just do nothing for now. It's too soon. This is now a rollercoaster. Remember we are here...1...2...3...LIFT!
Virtural Hugs and Real Love,

Sent by Joanie Weaver, Front Royal, Va. | 7:18 AM ET | 08-21-2008

He's gone from our touch, but not from our hearts. Time will become your friend again, Laurie, but I know it's a long way from "here" to "there". I don't know if it helps, but we are all in this together and we share your pain. Pam in S.C.

Sent by Pam Booth | 7:19 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Reading your words today made me smile Laurie. I don't know, maybe others would look at it differently, but the fact that Leroy was still enjoying food and watching the Olympics right up until the end is wonderful in my opinion. Things could've dragged on so much longer for him. Maybe he chose to fast forward over the upcoming weeks and get to his finish line a little sooner. I think it was a good move on his part.
You're doing a great job!

Sent by Sue in Rochester, NY | 7:23 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, don't expect too much of yourself right now. You have been SO focused on keeping Leroy alive and things 'normal' in your lives that, once it's over, you're numb. Your world as you've known it has stopped. You're going to need some time to lick your wounds, feel sorry for yourself and re-group; and there's no time frame set up for that.

It's been three years since Pat died and I'm still finding my way. As many have told you, it really is 'take one day at a time.' You will survive this.

Hugs and prayers to lift you up.

Sent by Kathy Barney from Michigan | 7:24 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,

I'm so glad that you and Leroy got to spend some time together at the end that you both enjoyed so much. I continue to think of Leroy day and night. Just doesn't seem right that he is gone. I know it's going to take some time to get your bearings and find a new direction. Prayers for you, always.

Sent by Connie (Bungert) | 7:28 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Yes, Laurie, it is.
The best I can offer is the thought that grief is a tunnel through an enormous mountain. There is no way to go around or avoid it; you must go through it. How long it takes to pass through it is different for each individual.
Like everyone else here, I wish I could do more for you, but this journey is yours personally. May all the love you shared strengthen and comfort you as you go on your way.

Sent by Harriet | 7:28 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Just rext, Laurie.. You are so tired.. Of COURSE you are.. That is a lot of living in a short amount of time..

I ask for peace and rest for you...

To never have met someone(s) I sure have cried a lot.. I can't imagine your loss and pain.. One Day At A Time....

Sent by Patsy Elmore from Knoxville, TN | 7:31 AM ET | 08-21-2008

I know that you feel stranded, as though on a deserted island. I feel for you during this time of grieving and adjusting to being without Leroy. Hugs

Sent by Susan | 7:41 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie ~ It is a whole new world. I have never lost anyone close to me and do not know what to say.

I guess this, 1 . . 2 . . 3. . LIFT.

We're all behind you.

Sent by tracy | 7:48 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie,
I wish I had some great words of advice to give right now, unfortunately I don't. But what I can say, is that it starts with baby steps. I hope I don't sound ridiculous. But as I said on Friday, we are with you in the storm, and we will always 1, 2, 3,...lift..and hold on and support. We are here.

Love and support,
Charles

Sent by Charles Willingham | 7:56 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Oh Laurie,
My heart just aches for you. I don't know when the zest for life starts again. I just don't know.

My only advice is to live for today, the moment is now. If you hurt, its okay, if you cry, its okay, if you want to talk to Leroy, talk. Tomorrow is another day. Worry about it when it gets here.

We love you! We hurt with you, we cry with you and we will do what ever it takes to help you and each other through this.

For now, time has stopped, it's a step toward healing.....

Sent by Laurie Hirth | 7:56 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dearest Laurie~ Welcome to your "whole, new, world" and thank you so much for continuing to share it with us. You both have such an affectionate place in our heart and shall always remain there. It is one of the legacies that Leroy gave us. I understand exactly what you mean today. Just brought my husband home from the hospital butwhile he was gone for those 4 or 5 days, I was lost. So much I could have done or accomplished, yet the desire and purpose was not there. With him around, there was so much to do and I did it. Laurie, you will gradually adjust to a new routine with Leroy sitting on your shoulder, whispering in your ear. He has not left you.
Thank you for telling us something about your past with Leroy. Didn't realize that you, too, were a Journalist. Oh, what a life you shared together!YOU will keep him alive.

Sent by J C R | 7:57 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,
I am just beginning to realize after two months in this "New World" that in a way, losing a spouse is an incurable disease a lot like metastized cancer. Just as I had to find brief moments of happiness while being a caregiver, I suppose that I must do the same while grieving. If the Olympics no longer do it for you, keep trying other things and don't be hard on yourself. My thoughts are with you.

Sent by Elaine | 8:00 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Hi Laurie,
I guess to begin any movement in any direction one has to come to a compete standstill first. Much like the laws of physics, we too must respond to nature's rules. Intuitively, too, we know that by remaining very still is to try to capture the moment we wish we really had but that is gone. We keep time frozen, we hope beyond reason, and we simply cannot move until we are ready.

Great music has rests built in to the melody. Without them, it is all traffic sounds. It is the rest(s) that give the music its true sound, and hence its ultimate meaning.

Stay well.

Sent by Cory From Cowboy Country | 8:05 AM ET | 08-21-2008

It's a whole new world, yes. And just take it one moment at a time, then one hour at a time, then one day at a time....do or don't do exactly what you need or want to do.

Sent by laurie | 8:07 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie,
Still lifting......
I read in one of Leroy's obituaries that you were his partner for more than 25 years and then were married in June. Some time-when the time is right, I am sure we would all love to hear how you met. Did he say something witty? Was it his laugh?
Heartfelt wishes for you on this day

Sent by Peggy | 8:11 AM ET | 08-21-2008

After 33 months and 7 days of endless, devoted care-giving, it is no wonder you are completely physically and emotionally exhausted. I took care of my mother, who died of lung cancer, at her home for only 17 days and I was drained beyond imagination. Take some time for yourself. Have you thought about going on a vacation? Not a 10 day, American type of whirl-wind tour of 12 countries, but rather, a "spiritual" or relaxing type of holiday retreat? Renting a small cottage in the mountains, for example, where you could go on some hikes and enjoy the wildflowers. Or, perhaps rent a house overlooking the sea? Someplace you have never been to before? When my cousin lost her husband to cancer at the age of 58, she came to visit me shortly afterward, here in the French Alps. We took journeys all around--lavender fields, sat beside Lake Annecy, hiked. She was able to return to California with fresh perspective and a bit more rested. You are welcome to come visit.

Sent by Jennifer Kealy | 8:13 AM ET | 08-21-2008

I am 53. My husband died in a car accident 7 years ago. Life will return to "normal" (altho different)at some point but that's so hard to beleive at first. In themeantime, you are in a rareified space- God/universe is very available to you right now. This is your time to accept and eventually recreate a life for yourself. Use as much time as you need. Speak to God/Universe often. Seek help and guidance. Give youself a break. Clean house. Create. Make no unchangeable decisons. You are in flux, floating along bouyed by the love and caring of thousands.

Sent by Marjorie Hamilton | 8:13 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,

It's ok to be stopped, and not doing. What you had to do in the past is through, you have to rest first and regroup. Don't look for something to do, unless you absolutely have to. I think, it is called being numb, stunned, and a bit lost. Now is the time to be. Breath, eat when hungry (BUT EAT DAILY), drink water, and don't try to do too much. Listen to your body and just be. Go for a walk, listen to the birds, the sounds of traffic, water moving. Rest and take care of you now.

Sent by Sue Chap | 8:14 AM ET | 08-21-2008

I understand this. I haven't turned on the television since July 2007...I'm not even sure it still works.

It's the old "what the hell do I do now?" thing. You suddenly have all this time and no idea how to use it.

My suggestion is to spend time with friends. Like I've said before, it's important to not isolate yourself.

Sent by Bruce | 8:16 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Yes, it is a whole new world and it's all changed. :-(

Take care of yourself!

Sent by Liz L. | 8:21 AM ET | 08-21-2008

No amount of planning can control how the heart feels and heals. You were just slammed into that wall and it will take a while to see the best way to handle it. Thanks for finding your way here again today. I just can't stop visiting either. Love and prayers for you today.

Sent by JaeMoyer | 8:31 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, It is a whole new world and not one you wanted to visit. Take your time, let others pamper you and give you support. Cry and stomp your feet when you need to do so. Slowly, ever so slowly, the wonderful memories will make you smile & laugh again. Leroy is still a part of you. Prayers for comfort coming your way.

Sent by Mary | 8:32 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie,
I get it. You are in shock. Care/Life-givers, like you and me, had a clear goal- keep the loved one alive and comfortable as long as possible. If sheer will could have done it, your husband and mine would still be here.

When they go, we don't know what to do with ourselves. Their absence leaves a very large void in our lives, which seems impossible to ever fill again.

It's okay to sit still and feel all that you have lost. Why should life go on as usual? I found it maddening that it seemed to all around me. In fact the phrase, "Life goes on", I came to despise.

At some point, I found it helpful to read poetry. Donald Hall's poetry, especially "Without" was the kind of raw stuff I needed.

Take care of yourself, Laurie, and let others help. Eat, drink, sleep, go out for walks in the sunshine. You are on your own journey now. Eventually, with time, you will figure out what to do with your new life.

Sent by Marilyn | 8:36 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, I really understand. This mornings post, like so many of Leroys hit on a very human feeling. One that I have been going through for the last 3 months and wondering if I could possibly be normal. I too have not turned the tv on. My husband had kept it on constantly, I am sure to help keep his mind occupied and away as much as possible from what was happening to him. We kind of go through this time of existing, as you say no desire. After a short time I returned to work and have tried to just work very long busy days and find some little bit of normalcy in life. The only thing is when I come home the emptyness is still here but most of the time my body is exhausted and needs rest and then I start it all over again. That may not be healthy but it is getting me through life one day at a time. Someday when I can I will try to deal with everything differently, just not able to right now. I am sure everyones copeing ability is different. I do understand the "now I am stopped in my tracks".

Laurie, thank you for your post today. I hope you will continue to post. We need you and I do hope that somehow we may help you in some way.

I will continue to keep you in my prayers.

Sent by dorothy in oregon | 8:38 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, as much as Leroy's words have meant to those among us with cancer and to the people who love them, your own words are just as powerful in helping us deal with the now, the after, the what next. My godmother's husband is in the end stages of the same nasty disease, and I don't even begin to know how to help her grieve. I understand the ministry of presence, the willingness to hear and talk about cancer and death, and to hear and talk about other more normal things too. But there is so much else to be processed after the death of a loved one to cancer. Your voice is invaluable to those left behind, shedding light on what it means to be the survivor. Thank you for carrying on in your grief. Blessings as you move forward through these early, difficult days. You are in my prayers.

Sent by Anne | 8:44 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dearest Laurie,

It's like your body, mind and spirit have suffered an amputation. Believe it or not , you are probably still partially anethetized from the 'surgery'. Be very patient and loving with yourself. The healing has already begun but it's a long process. Please be assured of our love and prayers. All of us, and time, will help but probably not in the short run.

Sent by Kathleen ( Northern NJ) | 8:46 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, it is a whole new world, and this new world will continue to evolve. Grief will come and go like the ebb and flow of the tide. Something or nothing will cause your grief to rush ashore, bringing tears as well as laughter with the flood of memories. If I might be so bold to suggest be with those moments, don't brace against them or shut them out painful though they may be. Be with that tide as you move through this new world and you will begin to see joy and light once again as you continue to hold Leroy in your heart. Continued peace and blessings to you.

Sent by Andrea | 8:48 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie,

I can just imagine the two of you watching the Olympics together - enjoying the events along with the rest of the world - being a part of the bigger picture instead of the smaller snapshot that was cancer.

Day by day, that's the key. I think the best way to approach things right now is not to set any expectations of what you should or shouldn't be doing at this point. Just take your time to do what feels right to you.

You are in our hearts and in our prayers.

Sent by Jan | 8:48 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, I'm hearing you. My kid and the requirement that I go back to work forced me into doing "normal" things shortly after my husband's funeral. But, 4+ months after, I still can't do certain things I associate with him, including:

1. Watching the History Channel or certain other cable shows. Took me awhile to turn on Jon Steward and Stephen Colbert even. Now I watch dumb reality shows with my kid.

2. Listen to most music that we own: Bob Dylan, Lucinda Williams, John Prine, Concert for George.

3. Eat fried shrimp, cheescake or chicken noodle soup.

4. Drive down certain roads.

5. Go deep into the garage where his fishing tackle and Chevy parts are.

It is a whole new world, but kinda like "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind," snapshots break through when I least expect. I still get ambushed, in the oddest places and times, but something that connects to him. Rack of Hawaiin shirts in the men's dept of Lord and Taylor. Picture of Audrey Hepburn in Target. Mention of Viet Nam. It is HARD! It would be easier to move and utterly change my life, which is not possible.

Expect the unexpected, and carry a hankie or two is my advice. You'll have parts of days where you'll feel like you're dealing OK, and then something will throw you off. Very fits and starts, it is. Good luck, my dear...

Sent by Teri | 8:49 AM ET | 08-21-2008

That sounds about right for still being in the first week after your loss.

I love fish tacos and key lime pie. Good food and good company are so important in life.

Sent by Celeste | 8:53 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, it makes me happy to know Leroy was enjoying eating as well as watching the olympics almost up to his death. Since I just read here and don't know the details of Leroy's health close to his death (except for what he told us) I think I assumed things were worse than that. So thank you for sharing that small detail of your life with him.

As for not doing the things you were doing before, I can't tell from your post if that is just because you have been busy with making arrangments for a funeral or memorial service as well as doing legal stuff (all the things that keep a spouse very busy usually right after a death) or if it's been because you are just feeling the need for times of stillness and silence in your life to process your loss. Probably both?

If you are feeling that need for some time just to absorb it all, I hope you give yourself all the time you need. I know that, like Leroy, you are a busy professional used to getting a lot done in a day, but if your heart is craving stillness and time to just reflect it's because you've just been through something really huge that drew on your strength in new ways. Take this time to take care of yourself including giving into the need for some time for grief, stillness, reflection, if you need it. The new world must seem very empty right now, and there are so many people here wishing we could make it less so for you, but don't rush to fill that hole. Honor your loss.

Sent by N.R. | 9:06 AM ET | 08-21-2008

I just want to thank for writing these last few days. I think it is a huge help to us all who heard from Leroy everyday , a connection because he and you were so closely united and it seems like of such similar minds. Great to hear about fish tocos and key lime pie. Yum!

I truly hope it gives you some strength or some sustenance.

Nancy O

Sent by Nancy Oliveri | 9:10 AM ET | 08-21-2008

I just wanted to send you my condolences. I listened to Leroy's podcasts every week through my own cancer treatment and radiation and later subscribed to the mycancer blog. He was clearly an amazing person and I am so sorry for your loss. He has left behind a great legacy.

Sent by Diana Burgess | 9:13 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Yes.

I know that feeling.

Advice my family gave me: never turn down an invitation if you can bring yourself to go.

I left my lights burning bright in my house anytime people were welcome. They burned bright for two months bringing friends and neighbors all hours of the day and night.

Do what you will; what you wish. Be how you are. Eventually, you'll come back into view through the fog. What comes is still life.

As told by my dear friend's 17 year old son Isaac three days after my husband's death: "Elaine, is that you? You're NOT dead."

Sent by Elaine | 9:14 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie ~ I'm not quite sure what to write, I have so many things going on in my head ~ that I really don't know what to say, except that I miss Leroy immensely ~ a man I've never met before but felt touched by all the same. And you, Laurie, Leroys partner of 25 years the thoughts and feelings you've shared have touched me deeply and I thank you for them. My heart hurts for you in this loss and my prayers are with you as you try to figure what to do next, as the saying goes.

Sent by Tom DuBois | 9:15 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dearest Laurie,

In the deepest time of grief and for days, weeks, months and even now- years later, I take solace in the words from "The Jungle Book":
"Let them fall Mowgli, they are only tears. So Mowgli sat and cried, as though his heart would break and he had never cried in all his life before." So our dearest Laurie- let them fall they are only tears. We are all still lifting for as long as you need.
Lots of love xx

Sent by Shom | 9:16 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,

Thank you for keeping the blog going. It really helps me. I lost my Mom on July 2nd back in Germany and I had to leave shortly thereafter to come back to the US... my life is crazy with 2 kids, a job and all but some days it seems like life stops for a bit where I can't get anything done, can't motivate myself and then I catch myself dialing my Mom's number and hear the ring just to then realize there is no one on the other line anymore...Leroy's blog was and still is so important to me..it always gave me hope, Mom could make it (Because of the fact that Leroy never gave up and always looked for new ways to beat this nasty thing) your blog gives me hope. Thanks You!

Sent by Cory Holz | 9:18 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Hi Laurie,

It is like time stopped and when it slowly starts up again, life has drastically changed leaving us wondering who we are and what we stand for. I think you will be amazed at your exhaustion. Rest when you can. Journey through the pain when you can. The pain of grieving is a wonderful teacher of finding that new person within. But it takes times. Pamper yourself. You have earned every pampering moment.

Sent by Kathy B, | 9:22 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,
I have sat on the sidelines of the blog for over a year now. I am a financial advisor who works with clients who are going through traumatic life changes like what you have experienced over the last 3 years. Be gentle with yourself. Do clean house of the scars-- and if it feels like that's too much to do, ask someone else to do it, or to help you. The hospice people would be happy to help you, I'm sure. Perhaps some of the "scars" (I love that word for these blemishes on the landscape of your home and your life) could be donated to benefit others.
As Joanie says, take one moment at a time. Whether you choose to distract yourself or just sit, the fog of grief is part of the healing process, even when you have no idea how or why.
Above all, know that you are loved. You are loved by Leroy, who knew he could depend on your love and care as his world shrank and, because of Leroy's gifts, you are "known" and loved by this wider community.
Leroy used his unique abilities to destroy one of cancer's least recognized and yet most powerful weapons: the isolation that often imprisons patients and their partners in cancer world. By sharing your stories, you and he have made a unique contribution all of the members of this community.
We are all here. And we'll keep lifting (on three) for as long as it takes. And even beyond the time when you need our muscles to help with the lifting, we'll be here to listen and learn from you if you choose to go on processing with the blog. Your contribution to the blog and therefore to the world can help those who travel the rocky road of grieving, wondering when the numbness will stop.... Or when they'll forget the bad things.... Or if they'll forget the good things....

Whatever you choose to do in this minute or in the coming months and years, be kind to yourself.
Give yourself the benefit of the doubt. You have fought the good fight, and Leroy awarded you the caregiver's gold medal not long ago, writing that he hoped that you knew he couldn't do this without your help every day. Caregivers cannot prevent death. Their goal is to persevere in loving and caring so that Leroy wasn't facing the bewildering landscape of cancer world alone. Caregiving is about keeping on keeping on even when everything is out of control, and doing whatever it takes -- even if it means eating a donut.

Now it's time to massage those muscles that have been on alert for 33 months and 7 days -- and more.

God bless you.

Sent by Susan Wambaugh | 9:22 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie,
It is a whole new world, but please find the good in it. It may seem so odd that the rest of the world goes on while you go through this, but things will get better, and you should be so proud of yourself for each day you make it through. Leroy is around you, he will always be in your heart and soul.

Sent by Kathleen, NJ | 9:24 AM ET | 08-21-2008

It took me a long time to be able to say the word "died". I just couldn't say it.

Sent by Sandra Mann | 9:27 AM ET | 08-21-2008

I would imagine that it's pretty shocking to suddenly be without THE thing that took all of your thoughts, time and energy for such a long time. I believe that's very normal. It will take time to make this adjustment. As you say, it's a whole new world. This is place you've never been to before.

After my mom died suddenly, one of the first things I did was write all my feelings, fears, etc. down in a letter and sent it to a friend who lost her mother suddenly several years ago. She wrote me back and explained how she got through all of it, specific things she did, actions she took, etc. It helped tremendously. I still have her letter and look it every now and then as a reminder. You are most fortunate to have this blog and therefore a special place to bring all your thoughts as you go through this. We are all ready to help. As you're probably finding, many of us have been where you are.

Sent by Linnea | 9:28 AM ET | 08-21-2008

We can only share a small portion of your grief. We can only send our thoughts and wishes of support, and hope that it helps in some small way.
Take a break. Then with a nice deep breath, lift your head up,and survey the landscape. You will have to find your new "normal."
We will always be here to help and listen.
Find peace and know that you have many people behind you.

Sent by Brian "Brit" Goss from Long Island, NY | 9:28 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,
33 months and 7 days of love, care and partnership through the ups and downs of life together with Leroy. What a wonderful gift, and yes, I include even those difficult final times when the two of you worked to outwit the cancer for as long and hard as you did.
Time, Laurie. That's the only word to give you now. Take time, give yourself that gift. Will you ever "heal"? I doubt it, but you reach a different place to view what happened. I won't kid you about it getting "easier" or "better", but if time does its work, you reach a place where you have a perspective. One thing that should be of great comfort: you did during Leroy's life, everything you could, everything you should, and you loved him. No regrets. And know that out there are thousands of us saying 1 - - 2 - - 3 - - LIFT! Be good to yourself, lean on your friends and family, and take time for the precious gift it is.

Sent by Susan Crawford | 9:29 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Thanks for continuing the blog. Leroy's story doesn't end with his passing. In your future, would a book on the 33 months and 7 days be a possibility? May your memories of Leroy bring you comfort and strength.

Sent by John | 9:29 AM ET | 08-21-2008

To me, it's like you are sailing and then comes a change of course, now the horizon looks different, you feel different, you're off balance. Even though you knew this change was coming it takes time for your brain and body to make the adjustment. I think its okay to have made the turn and then just float for a bit before heading out on your new course. Let the change settle in before you put your sail back up. Leroy will be in your heart no matter where or when you start out again.

Sent by Mary | 9:30 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dearest Laurie, After fighting the fight of your life and giving everything you have to help the one you love, you are in the full time business of recovering and survivng right now...and that is probably taking all of whatever energy you had left. Whatever feels right to you right now...IS right. You will find your way to your passions again when you are ready. Until then, I hope you are never hard on yourself, that you receive gentle kindnesses, and that you feel lifted and supported for as long as it helps.

I want to take a moment to THANK YOU for being here, for being open and for letting us do our best to help you through this. Just as Leroy opened a dialogue and raised awareness about experiencing cancer, you are not just working through your grief, you are helping others now and in the future to understand each other, and to get through some very difficult stuff. I hope you never feel obligated or burdened to continue if you dont have the energy for it...but that you do get some measure of comfort from awareness of the good that you have already done and may continue to do.

I was in the camp of when Leroy is gone, let this blog be done...but now that we are here it doesn't even seem close to the right time to end it. So now...I am here as long as you are here. :)

You and Leroy have touched so many and improved relationships and experiences that you will never fully know about.

Peace and comfort to you.

Sent by Nichole in FL | 9:33 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, it's been four years for me. When my husband died that August, I found that it felt good to be outdoors. I began to take on simple projects that didn't require a lot of focus but were physically exhausting. I built a vegetable garden. I was digging, hauling concrete, raking, planting, etc. It felt wonderful. I could see direct results. I guess, after all those months of pouring every ounce of energy into trying to fight cancer as my husband's health slipped away, it felt good to work hard and make something happen. Something new that I could nurture. It felt better than sitting around resting and was about as mentally challenging as I could handle. People had given me favorite novels to read and suggested ways I could get involved in activities, but I found I just wanted to dig and hoe. It was over a year before I could focus enough to read a book or concentrate well enough to function in my job.
Looking back, what I went through mentally during John's illness reminds me of old Star Trek episodes where that wall of little blinking red indicator lights showed everything on the ship was working. Sometimes, the wall would go almost dark, with a few lights left to slowly blink alone - engines were down and the ship was in trouble. I think that's what my mind did. It must have been protective, shifting me into survival mode with only the most basic lights blinking. Well, when John died, the lights didn't just reappear. I remember telling people that it seemed like I had burned some brain cells. Very, very slowly I'm finally able to focus and function. My life will never be the same and neither will I. Many of the lights are coming back on, but I suspect I'll never again have a full flashing wall!
Laurie, I hope that when you are able you will be pro-active about your own health. The stress that you have endured not only affects your mind, it also strains your body. Get check-ups. Take advantage of grief counseling. Exercise. Eat your veggies - maybe even plant some. Please know how much we care.

Sent by Laura | 9:34 AM ET | 08-21-2008

It is a whole new world. I lost my husband to cancer one year and 17 days ago. After 29 years together, adjusting to living without him has been the biggest challenge of my life. Reading this NPR blog became part of my daily routine and I hope you continue it Laurie. I would appreciate reading about how you're coping in your new world.

Sent by Annamary Dean | 9:35 AM ET | 08-21-2008

I really hope you keep this blog going so we can all see how you're doing. You are very much loved.

Sent by Sarah | 9:37 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dearest Laurie, The clue may be in your last comment: "It is a whole new world." It IS a whole new world that must readjust itself to again be whole following a loss so deep that it seems that wholeness itself is a myth. For me, I had to take a break and be NEW in life. Let alone those rituals and practices that were part of a life that remains forever in my heart and mind, but no longer in the physical world. In my own newness, I had to find new meaning and re-find my person to have value based on this new world. You are strong, creative, and wholely Laurie. Wish we could have lunch and chat. You will find and already have many to hold you so you can regroup life...

Sent by Susan Mazer | 9:38 AM ET | 08-21-2008

You and LeRoy have left foot prints on our hearts. Peace be unto you.

Sent by Maxine | 9:38 AM ET | 08-21-2008

It's a strange ride I know. You'll just go with the flow and find your way through moment by moment. What lovely memories you must have of the shared moments. I am so glad you are continuing to write here. Peace to you from sherri in texas

Sent by Sherri Eggleston | 9:39 AM ET | 08-21-2008

You have the ability to describe exactly what it's like-as did Leroy. My mother succumbed to lung cancer four years ago, and we spent a lot of time watching the Olympic games, summer and winter. I remember her saying she intended to live to see the next Olympics, but as I looked at her, I knew that wouldn't happen. Maybe she did as well-it was something we never talked about. Now, four years later, I find myself feeling so much grief, because it's almost an anniversary of sorts. Even after four years, certain things trigger the emotion. I'm sure it's a different kind of emotion than losing a spouse. I can't even imagine that.
Thank you so much for continuing to carry on Leroy's good work. The first time I heard his voice, I ran straight to the computer to find his blog. It was exactly what I needed, and I rarely missed and entry. I now find myself heartbroken over the loss of someone I never met, but who spoke so clearly to me. I only hope that, if you are able to continue the blog, it will serve the same purpose for you and provide some measure of comfort. Please know there are people all over the world who are thinking of you and sharing in your grief. You are definitely not walking this road alone.

Sent by tina simpson-collins | 9:44 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie- I'm going to join the others is saying all of this is normal and you need to follow your own timetable on the road to a "new normal". My husband died 18 years ago and there are still times when I want to talk with him or share something. I believe the loss never goes away, but the sharp edges do smooth out and it becomes manageable. God bless you, dear. Although it's not the same, we're here for you.

Sent by Kathy from Wisconsin | 9:46 AM ET | 08-21-2008

(((((( HUGS ))))))

Thinking of you today.
Debra Altschiller

Sent by Debra in New Hampshire | 9:46 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Of course you are, I can't imagine it. I know that someday my family will be doing just as you are. It must be very hard.

Sent by Elisabeth Dyer | 9:46 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie -
Rough times ahead for sure - You'll feel better... I promise. You'll be scarred, but you will heal. And you'll only remember the good stuff.

Sent by Tim | 9:50 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,

It sound corny, but only time will heal. Just rest as much as you need to, cry when you need to, and all the other stuff will come back together in time. After my Mom passed, I couldn't enjoy doing any of the things I normally enjoy, but one by one they came back to me.
Sending hugs and support.

Sent by Donna G. | 9:50 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie,
Thank you so much for your words and continuing the blog. It is wonderful to hear from someone who is on the other side of the cancer journey. So many of us are finding your words to be the words we would have said if we were so eloquent. I hope that you will continue to lift us as well as aollow us to lift you!

Sent by Dorothy | 9:51 AM ET | 08-21-2008

To Sue from Rochester
What a great take on Laurie's words today! You are so right to I bet. And it made me feel so much better! Thanks for the brighter perspective!!

Sent by JudyM | 9:53 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Be gentle with yourself. It is something my mother always says, and it always sounds good to me. Along with your loss, you have also just had an enormous change in the routine and rhythm of your life, and I'm sure it's a huge adjustment in ways large and small.

Good luck to you, Laurie.

Sent by Linda | 9:57 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie, 33 months and 7 days was a life of its own. Now your focus is looking for a shift that does not come easily. You have been through so much in that time. And it's hard to put it all behind and move forward. Take some quiet time to reflect. Hurt,cry, smile, laugh, even some primal screams are in order. We're all praying for you. Give it the time it needs.

Sent by Jeanne Stevens | 9:57 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Thank you for staying with us. It's gotta all feel so different now, I can only imagine. As far as I'm concerned, you and Leroy made a gold medal team, at the risk of sounding too corny.

Sent by JSM | 10:00 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Leroy and I were roommates freshman year in college, room A226 in the Princeton Inn. I was a kid from suburban NY, but Leroy was an exotic creature from San Marino CA. When we met that first day, he fit my imagined picture of the big, blond California surfer dude - except for the Coke-bottle-bottom thick glasses.
But even more striking was the deep, infectious belly laugh,m that great rumbling noise that came bursting out with such frequent energy. It could fill the whole hallway.
Leroy taught me to sleep through ANYTHING, because he had those adenoidal problems. "If I end up sleeping on my back and the snoring bothers you, Scott, just punch me or push me to roll over."
The first time the racket woke me up, I just started to laugh; how come it didn't wake Leroy up? His whole face seemed to be vibrating.
And I figured, if he can sleep through it, so can I, and I rolled back over in my bunk and went back to sleep.
Leroy was also funny when we had to dress up in coat and tie for some University appointment - clearly this was not attire in which he was comfortable, and he stiffened like he had been starched, not just his shirt!
We didn't keep up after freshman year, and our paths diverged.
But I often think about that introduction to college, to far-away places like California, and to one of the most jovial and fun-loving, inquisitive and bright classmates, and boy was I lucky to have Leroy as my roommate in that collegiate cinderblock cell of a freshman dorm room.
Laurie, my thoughts and prayers are with you, now and always.
Scott Finn, Montgomery, Alabama

Sent by J. Scott Finn | 10:00 AM ET | 08-21-2008

This is where it gets hard - after all the "to dos" have been done after a death and you are left alone with the stillness and emptiness.

Go for long walks and tire that body out. Go out to a coffee shop where no one knows you - wear sunglasses to hide the tears that will come anytime. Be with people in situations where you don't have to interact with them right now.

It gets easier but it takes a lot of time. Getting your feelings out in this blog will help a lot - and it will help others. You already know how much we all want this conversation to continue.

Lifting ...

Sent by Kay | 10:07 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, When we got back from a two-week trip, one of the first things I did was log onto NPR and look for Leroy's blog. I saw your postings and realized that he had died, and right now I feel as though I have lost a close friend. I admire the courage you both showed throughout this fight. The two of you have helped to give me strength to support my daughter who has brain cancer.
I will miss both of you. All my love to you.

Sent by Miriam Freiter | 10:08 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie: I began reading this blog when my husband was diagnosed with Stage 3 prostate cancer. I wanted insight into his feelings and Leroy was so wonderfully articulate. I see that you, also, are able to express so much in so few words. David, who died in January, lived and breathed politics and I shared his interest--although not as enthusiastically. Even though this is an election year, I am not yet able to feel any enthusiasm for something we both enjoyed. It's just not the same any more.

Sent by Lenore Ort | 10:09 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Hang on and take really good care of yourself. You know that's what Leroy would tell you to do.

You're in my thoughts and prayers.

Sent by Gyla Fowler | 10:09 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie - Thank you for continuing to blog. Leroy blogged about living with cancer. You're blogging about living after cancer. Something about that just seems right.

Sent by Elona | 10:12 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie, No words of wisdom from here, but thank you for giving us that picture of you and Leroy and the onc enjoying the opening ceremonies. For what it's worth, someone once told me "there is no substitute for time" and that does NOT mean "time heals all" or anything like that...just that you can't rush certain processes - getting to know someone, or grieving a loss. Just do what you can do, and know that many of us are out here lifting.

Sent by Leigh | 10:12 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, I am so very sorry for your loss. I was hooked on Leroy's blog and when he shared the news about the spread of his disease, it literally took the breath from my body. I want to tell you what a blessing he was to me even though I don't have cancer that I know of. One thing I learned from Leroy was that he had a strong love for you, and I'm sure he felt blessed to have you in his life. I hope you will be uplifted by the years you had together and the memories you carry with you. I can only tell you that I have never found that special someone to share my life with and when the time comes for me to get cancer, as I believe we all will at some point, I will have to face that battle alone.

I'm very sorry for your loss, Laurie, and I pray that you receive strength each day to carry on. Please keep up the blog for as long as you want to because writing is one way to deal with grief and the blog keeps all of us connected. Thank you for sharing your feelings.

Sent by Sylvia Hysek | 10:12 AM ET | 08-21-2008

One day at a time. You are not alone.

Sent by Sue McPeek | 10:18 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Hi Laurie, I was scrolling down the comments to get to the Send a Comment box and I observed the length of many comments. Not only did Leroy give so many a place to go with their own cancer world but you too are allowing us in. That is priceless.

I pray you are getting through each day as peaceful as you possibly can. Your discussion of scars yesterday was interesting as that was a topic our pastor brought up at our son's service. The physical and emotional scars that not only Theodore wore but also the ones that loved him. The pastor said that sometimes we need the scars as a reminder and should not want to get rid of all of them. Our son was a very courageous young man. His outward scars were visable for us to see, wounds that would not heal because of the cancer. But his inward scars did not show as much. He suffered that alone to protect the ones he loved.

His clothes are still in his dresser and closet. We are in no hurry to change that...

Thanks for letting us in Laurie.

God bless you.

Judy

Sent by Judy Voller | 10:23 AM ET | 08-21-2008

This life you have now is all fresh and new. You are bound to feel empty and lost. Before you know it, all the warm and pleasant memories will fill you up. We are all feeling the loss and you are not alone. We are with you every step of the day. We pray for strength and wisdom, and it will come along very soon. Sue Sheehan Bothell, Wa

Sent by Sue Sheehan, Bothell, Wa | 10:26 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie'

It IS a new world. You won't like it at first and you won't know how to be yourself in it. That takes time. The best advice I can think of is to allow yourself to be where you are and let the world as it is going to be without Leroy reveal itself. It will.

Blessings.

Sent by Diana Kitch | 10:31 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, I've been where you are--so here's some extra "lift" and love! I'll just echo what others are saying: this is natural and normal, take this time to rest and you'll move on when you're ready. And we'll all be here "lifting" for as long as you need us.

~Patsy in Knoxville--I wanted to share this lovely comment from Maya Angelou: "It is healthy and honorable to weep at the loss of someone we love. Healthy because such passion must be released. Honorable because it is respectful to admit the importance of people who have loved and supported us...people whose footprints cannot ever be matched." I too have wept this week, in respect and gratitude for what Leroy and Laurie have given us.

Sent by Nita | 10:32 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Just like the tears that eventually demanded expression, the need for stillness will now get its turn in your life. And now you have the chance to hear what your deferred and emerging needs are, and to lovingly tend them. Doing so will restore you, will recreate the self-nurturing habit, and will enable your reserves to refill and overflow in time. Follow what feels right, take naps, steep in baths or showers or massages or whatever makes you feel refreshed and deeply relaxed. Expect tears, but also shoots of joy as they sprout and flourish. Leave space in your schedule for whatever comes up. Hold your life with a gentle, open hand. You managed to be fully present for an amazingly intense sharing of life during the last many months. Your adrenal glands and sense of peace now need a counterbalancing season. Your equilibrium will return. But please rest in the new "new" and consider it a frontier that will emerge at the speed of your choosing. Peace and nourishing energy to you!

Sent by Sarah | 10:33 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dearest Laurie
You are in deep shock as so many others have said. I think the numbness you feel is the mind's way of protecting you from the intense pain. I also think that it is impossible to bother with anything that you and Leroy enjoyed so much together. For me, there seems to be no point when your soulmate isn't with you to share them.

I wish I could ease your emptiness and sadness and huge feeling of loss, but I know Leroy is close to you, loving you, and holding you. We are too, always.

Sent by Tina from Alton, IL | 10:36 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie, this will echo some of the other thoughts posted here; but they are truths, as well. For now take your time learning how to move in this new world of yours. Let yourself grieve your loss. Allow time for all the stages of grief. To pass over them now will only hurt you more in the future. Take comfort in your wonderful memories of Leroy and your times together. Know that you have the support of all us " strangers" as well as all those who are close to you and love you.
Sondra Scott

Sent by Sondra Scott | 10:38 AM ET | 08-21-2008

That sucks. Sometimes life is just so damn hard.
Give yourself time to feel this way. You are like the olympian whose event is past. Your body and mind are injured and tired. Recovery is a long process that starts with stopping in your tracks. Stop for a while, it's okay.

Sent by Missy Patterson | 10:40 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Life has changed irrevocably for you, Laurie, and it takes time to recover, to process. Although you'll eventually find your center, there is no way to know how long it will take. I know you have to go through this struggle but know, too, that you are loved and in our thoughts and prayers. Thank you for taking the time to share part of your struggle with us.

Sent by Molly | 10:40 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,
Be kind to yourself. Indulge yourself. You have been through hell and it will take time to find a new normal.
I am glad you, Leroy and his doctor got to enjoy the evening of the Olympics opening...a good thing to be able to remember. I have always loved that saying "Good memories are our roses in December". I wish you many roses.
Charlotte in Rural Ridge, PA

Sent by Charlotte Kewish | 10:48 AM ET | 08-21-2008

The silence of the "void" can be deafening and totally debilitating. Every simple task accomplished is a step forward. You rose from your bed this morning and posted this blog!!! Amazing to me, Laurie. Great feats while in the throes of initial grief.

Sent by Dawn | 10:49 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dearest Laurie,
Some days will be harder than others but in my heart I know "our Leroy" would want only for you to strive for happiness again. I say "our Leroy" because over the weeks, months and years you and Leroy have become family to so many out here. Alway's know that you are in our hearts and prayers and you will never walk this road alone. Thank you so much for continuing to post and let us know how you are doing. Time will help with the healing process and having your "friends and family" will help also. Just know that we will lift as long as necessary. God Bless

Sent by Teresa in WV | 10:50 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Remember to breathe and be gentle with yourself, Laurie. We are here with you.

Sent by Karen | 10:51 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Went thru 2 1/2 years of the dying process with my husband who was just 56 when the end came. Won't matter what any of us say to you right now. You are right - it is a whole new world and a curious and unfamiliar one at that. One day, you will find your place in that new world.

Sent by Terry Lynn Hale | 10:55 AM ET | 08-21-2008

When my sister died I realized for the first time that our generation, I'm the same age as Leroy, was NOT exempt from the pain and suffering that all generations endure.
We have been blessed in so many ways, that when the unthinkable happens it is that much more starkly contrasted.

I learned so much from my grief, about myself and about the nature of life. I hope the same for you, Laurie.

Peggy C.

Sent by Peggy Carey | 10:56 AM ET | 08-21-2008

The Olympics have been such a conversation point with my husband and me...and we aren't usually sports-watchers. I'm glad to know that you and Leroy were watching together and he was eating and enjoying the shows during those last few days. What a gap there is in your life now. I'm truly sad for your loss and so glad that you feel comfortable coming here to the blog to let us know of your feelings and include us in the story of his last days and your ongoing story. When I watch the Olympic events it will be "for you and Leroy" too. Thank you for your candidness and willingness to share. The blog gives us all blessings...the morning meeting place we have all established.

Sent by Sally in Spokane | 11:01 AM ET | 08-21-2008

You're right. It is a whole new world. There is a big adjustment ahead, and I hope we can help, I hope this helps. This is the hard part, doing EVERYTHING because it HAD to be done, it NEEDED to be done because time MATTERED. Time may not be as precious or important but you still must motivate yourself to pick up that remote, watch a Cubs game, Leroy will understand if you need to take a break from everything, but there is still a lot of life out there to live and he expects you to still go out there and live it.

Sent by pc | 11:01 AM ET | 08-21-2008

I remember the fog of early grieving, Laurie. Folks have offered all sorts of wonderful, practical ideas to aid your move through it. My first weeks and months felt like I lived on the shore, with fog coming in everyday, sometimes thick as pea soup, and sometimes swiftly lifting to reveal a bright blue sky. I cried, somedays, as if I had never cried before, as if I could never stop. I physically hurt, with grief just sitting in my chest. I was so surprised that grieving didn't follow some learning curve, that with time I could sort of conquer it or tame it. Needing my dad was like needing water, absolutely essential to my existence. And then imperceptibly I started to change. I found myself able to think of his "Helloooo, Kay" and chuckle. And look at photos from our last visit and smile and let them trip more memories. I found ways to steady my breathing when grief sat on my heart. Life holds more promise and love and joy. Be gentle with yourself as you travel through your fog into the next sunny day. I am one more cyber-buddy lifting on three.

Sent by Kay from PA | 11:03 AM ET | 08-21-2008

I would recommend reading Joan Didion's masterpiece "The Year of Magical Thinking". Maybe you already did. But, it is an incredible discourse on dealing with the death of a loved one. Replete with all the fears, confusion and out and out denial. You'll need all the voices you can get to help you through this time. As someone said after my sister in law died from cancer, "it will never get better just different".

Sent by Mike Rosenwasser | 11:04 AM ET | 08-21-2008

I know just how you feel.
I used to exercise faithfully every morning at 6:30 until my mother got sick over six years ago. She died four months later. I stopped going to the gym and for the most part still don't. I also stopped taking pictures, and I was an avid photographer. I've resumed the picture taking this summer because I realize how much of my kids' childhood I have missed chronicling.
It's very strange how we are affected by deep loss.
I hope you will be able to enjoy sports again in the not too distant future.

Sent by Susan | 11:04 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Wow. To you Laurie, and to all on this blog that have lost a spouse/loved one, my thoughts and prayers are with you.

Thank you for sharing your experiences and grief with us, and know that we continue to lift you up.

Sent by Dannielle Higgins | 11:07 AM ET | 08-21-2008

To Cory from Cowboy Country:
Thank you for your post. I copied and pasted your thoughts, and now have them posted on my bulletin board collage. I find myself at a crossroads again to a new normal, and though it is because of a healthy life change, last child in college, there is still a deep sadness and loss. To compare these moments of grief to music's rest notes has been very helpful to me. Thanks,

Sent by Kay from PA | 11:08 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie, It's just me again. Leroy filled such a space in our hearts that he-and you- became family. Why not pack up and visit some family members (us!) and catch up with our cancer worlds -and our ways of coping? We all have space in our hearts and homes for you. Jo-Ellen in South Carolina

Sent by Jo-Ellen | 11:09 AM ET | 08-21-2008

*sigh* Yes, a new world and sometimes a struggle to find your place in it, but you will. Do what you can, ask for help when you need it.

I'm so glad to see your posts.

Sent by LindaK | 11:09 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie - it certainly is a whole new world after we lose someone as special as a husband. One day at a time - the best advice I can give to you.

Sent by Deb from Michigan | 11:10 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Bless you Laurie. I have you in my prayers every night that you find peace.

Sent by Ruth White | 11:15 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,
Thank you for telling us about Leroy enjoying those fish tacos, Key lime pie and the Olympics!It's good to know he got enough relief from the pain at times to take pleasure in such things.
Your feelings now seem completely normal. I haven't lost a spouse, so haven't really experienced what you are going through. But I have experienced other losses. All those months that you were cramming as much life into each day as possible -- well, that was for Leroy, or rather for the two of you. Now everything must seem pointless. Time will gradually change that, I think. But as others have said, there is no way around grief, no shortcut. You just have to pass through it, one day at a time. I hope writing here can be healing for you. Taking long, rambling walks and focusing on nature might be helpful sometimes. Just know that there are hundreds (or maybe thousands?) of people all over the world who wish you well and are here for you.

Sent by Doris | 11:18 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie: I'm so sorry for your and our loss. Leroy was and continues to be an inspiration to many who are struggling and hurting. Please focus on the important part you played in his life and disease. The love and support you gave him are priceless and precious. You and Leroy made a great team - that will never change, even in this new world.

Sent by Pat C. | 11:23 AM ET | 08-21-2008

You bring back such memories. After my mother died I went to work, did the daily chores, but at night when it was dark and I could do no more, I sat in the room and watched old black and white monster movies - Dracula, the Wolfman, so many more. It was a quiet, quiet time and I was so grateful
for the quiet around me. The silence of that dark room with its flickering movie was the only healing space I could find. I remember that the grief was insurmountable, always close, always stunning. I look back now and realize that it had to be there and be my life for a long time and the intensity of my feelings for the loss of her never quite stopped. The lessons I think we're here to share is that slowly your life grows and expands to include other things so that Leroy's death becomes a part of your world rather than the entire world.

Sent by Tess | 11:27 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Yes, it is a whole new world. One of the best phrases I remember thru all the reading I've done on grief and mourning (my husband died almost two years ago) is 'the new reality." You have to adjust to the new reality. We each do this in our own way and on our own time schedule.

My thoughts are with you.

Sent by Ginny Bird | 11:32 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie:

Your words are full of activities-- remembering, loving, feeling, grieving. The post is full of grace. That seems like a lot to do.

Our family has used the blog to deal with the complicated feelings around the cancer of parents and grandparents--and more generally about loss. Through your words, we have to come admire both you and Leroy greatly. We grieve with you.

Sent by regina | 11:32 AM ET | 08-21-2008

I should be working. I sit here at my desk hiding tears. This grief is another demon which has broadsided me. Everyone comments on how well I'm doing-"Hardly any change-a tremendous professional, a very strong and elegant person.Why--he has running gags and practical jokes planted in every department." I have been granted more income. I have attended many very nice dinners. It is not uncommon that the names of single, middle aged women are somehow knitted into unrelated conversation.
It is a little scary. I believe no one knows that a big part of me is gone. It went with her. It went slowly and ever so slightly with every labored breath.I searched for it, for me. I frantically kept looking for that wonderful light in her eyes, but I had to stop. I had to gently close her eyelids and I had to respond to the chemo wizard and the hospice priestess. It came time to follow protocol and to meekly and discreetly pack up and go- - - home?Families were told to keep children behind doors. The black Cadillac was pulling into the back driveway, behind the beautful arber, which hid any evidence of unhappiness. It was time to go on. Everyone was going on. I don't think the big sunny world realized what had just happened. I wanted to be a child again. I threw that awful feeding tube across the shiny, proper floor and I realized that, at that moment, I would give anything for one more moment with her, regardless of her cognizance.The memory of her bravely entering the cancer hospital-weaker weekly-is burned into my mind. I am haunted by memories of doctors who could not look me in the eye and did those young hospital volunteers, who were huddled at the nurses desk ever close their gaping mouths? Do they ever trouble their bright lives with haunted memories of us? I don't know. The best advice I have received was the factual comment: There's no getting around this thing, you can't jump it, you can't hide from it-not under or over it-just straight through.
When I learned Leroy had died I wrote: "What has broken has passed away, what remains sparkles with the iridesense of love defined, courage lived, and peace cherished." That, sister Laurie, is my secret wave to you.
God bless you and keep you

Sent by Ned Lemon | 11:33 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie,

I have found that what truly soothes the soul is love. Know every day that although your true love, Leroy, is now gone, every moment of every day there are thousands of people feeling your pain but more importantly sharing their love with you. May your pain become more tolerable each day and may you know in our hearts we will shed a tear for you often and I will be praying fervently that God will wrap His healing arms around you and His love will always provide you with peace. Thank you for sharing so much the past couple of years. First you gave us Leroy and now you share your pain and feelings with us. You are truly a remarkable person and Leroy was so very fortunate to have had you by his side through it all.

Sent by Ed Brown | 11:35 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Lots of memories. Lots of heavy sighs. Lots of very small steps. Lots of people here for you; physically and emotionally. Peace and laughter (probably some tears as well)to you!

Sent by Beth Lehman-Brooks in Seattle | 11:39 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,
When our 14 year old son died of cancer, we set up a shrine -- a floor to ceiling bookshelf of his mementos and prized possessions. It was like have his presence looming over the room. Really, it was almost like an upturned wooden casket with shelves. An Etruscan tomb that replicated the environs and the visage of the dead. Immediately after his death, the most memorable and poignant part of his life was the year we fought a losing war with the cancer, but the display reminded us of all the periods of his life, his many ages and interests. It was far more balanced than we could be. Initially, it was hard to remember anything but Hal the cancer patient, but over time, the objects and pictures in the shrine reinforced a more diverse collection of memories. Over time (it has now been 11 years since his death), the shrine has been essentialized and dispersed. Now his presence is felt around the house as a few special objects and works of art acknowledge his life amongst us. He still looms large, but we now feel more joy than grief at the thought of him.

You have expended so much time, focus and effort on Leroy's cancer. I know what you mean about cleaning up afterward. It is horrific and consoling at the same time. I am so glad you got to share the Olympics. I wish I could bear some of your grief, dilute your burden. God and humanity will honor your compassionate service to Leroy.

Sent by Mark Magleby | 11:42 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Breathe, Laurie, breathe.
You are in my thoughts every day!!

Sent by P Sut | 11:56 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dearest Laurie,
Time, time will help!! we can tell you be kind to yourself and be good to yourself, but I know at this moment all of that seems so unimportant!! Remember Leroy is there with you, within you he is part of you and he is trying very much to comfort you as he always has.
Time will make it easier. We are here to lift you up 1..2..3... up up and away we gooooo...
Peace be with you Laurie. Thank you for sharing.
Marelly

Sent by Marelly | 11:56 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie-Take your time, you have been in a war and it is suddenly over and you are not yet ready to change gears. Take strength from us and from your Higher Power.

Sent by Martha C. | 11:57 AM ET | 08-21-2008

My dear Laurie, Someone once explained to me that dealing with cancer was the equivalent of running a marathon. They were preparing me for the long road ahead. I don't know how long it takes the body to recover from a marathon, but I can tell you this... my brother died with cancer six months ago and my body is still recovering from the race. Between trying to cram all that living into the time he had left and the caregiving (which I only helped with), that was the most exhausting eight months of my life. I believe you said your marathon was 33 months. You will need to give yourself lots of time to rest and grieve. Just listen to your body and your heart and you will know what to do when. You are on my heart and in my prayers!

Sent by Brenda Carroll | 12:01 PM ET | 08-21-2008

This is all part of a process that you'll need to ride out. Listen to yourself and do what you want or what you feel you need to do for yourself. Not what you think you should do or what you have to do.

Sent by Maggie in Seattle | 12:04 PM ET | 08-21-2008

A care givers job is so difficult. You ramp up to help fight the battle and ultimately, you are left behind when the battle is over. That is the really unfair thing about cancer.

I think you need to give yourself time to find a new "normal" and path. It seems totally normal after your life centered around Leroy and taking care of his needs.

I really had my fingers crossed (and believed) he would make it through the Olympics. I am glad you both got to share the events that started it all. It makes me smile to know you both shared so good times even in the face of a scary future.

Hang in there. We are here. Thanks for sharing your thoughts. I know I enjoy your posts and think of you constantly.

1....2.....3....LIFT

Sent by Alexis Redmond | 12:07 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Good day, Laurie!! Many of us need to hear your voice and share this time with you--as we are dealing with the loss of a loved one also. You and Leroy feel like very good friends.
Sending love...Linda

Sent by Linda Lee | 12:07 PM ET | 08-21-2008

In addition to being terribly sad, things probably feel quite surreal as well. Give yourself time, do things as you want to not as you feel you "should" do them.

1, 2, 3, LIFT.

Sent by emily | 12:13 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Beautiful comment, Ned Lemon. Your ability to see through and around your grief while still existing in it is amazing. Best wishes to you, and I am so sorry for your loss.

Sent by Emily | 12:16 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Still praying for you. Still in awe of you and of Leroy. Still waiting for the doctor to tell me that the test that shows new cancer is wrong. Laurie, you are loved and in a community whose hugs surround you every minute. Leroy would be proud that you are still sharing of yourself. I know I am. Love and peace, Ellen in NC

Sent by Ellen | 12:21 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie:You need time to heal your heart and rebuild your spirit-this is now your time. Don't pressure yourself, don't be pressured. Everyone heals in their own way and their own time. Just be, at this point.We are going to be here for you.

Sent by Syndi Holmes | 12:28 PM ET | 08-21-2008

I think Ned Lemon said it all. How I could relate to his post about his wife! I flashed back to the final day of my sister's life and the following days, weeks, months. He described how I felt and I can't say it any better.
Still, nine months later, I want to pick up the phone and call her - then I remember. . . and my heart breaks all over again.
In my Native American culture, we cut our hair and give up our favorite things for a year as part of our grieving process. The year (in my mind anyway) represents all those anniversaries that will pass without our loved one. Birthdays, Holdiays, anniversaries, etc. Getting through them, surviving them.
As my only sister, she was my other half. We complemented each other. Now I go through life with half of me missing. I take comfort in my belief that her spirit is always with me and her other loved ones. I still talk to her occasionally, especially when the radio plays a song by one of her favorite bands. I say "Hello sis" and I feel her presence.
We'll all survive our grief by taking baby steps, baby steps, baby steps. . .

Sent by Susan from Michigan | 12:28 PM ET | 08-21-2008

I mean no disrespect by disagreeing with your words today. But I'm reminded of 9-11 and how some said we should change our sense of humanity because of this fierce terrible act. We should be afraid and we should change the very way we view life in the 21st Century... ergo the "post 9-11 world". Believing that concept has limited the responses to it. So, however much you feel that "it's a whole new world", and however much the entire world SHOULD change... in acknowledgement of Leroy's no longer being in it, this enormous grief promises to bring up resources you didn't even know you had. Leroy's death brings you an ironic clearity about life's magnificance and the sweet inspiration Leroy will ALWAYS bring to it. So I hear the beach volleyball final match will be one to watch.

Sent by Melanie in Phoenix | 12:37 PM ET | 08-21-2008

So many people here describe it so well. It is what it is and it is doable! ODAT, my husband used to say, and now I say it as well, "one day at a time",Laurie.

Sent by Lucy from Alaska | 12:38 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Dearest Laurie, And this is a different world- and right now it is one step at a time and you cannot imagine how the next step will come. But, one day it will come easier and one day you will feel differently - but now, just keep on breathing. With much love and affection and sympathy.

Jan

Sent by janice goldberg white | 12:49 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,
My heart aches for you. May you find peace. I wish I could ease your sadness...........

Sent by sasha | 1:01 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,
I've been reading Leroy's blog on and off for most of its duration. I have to admit I haven't been able to of late, and I just read, with real sadness, of his death. Laurie, I've been where you are and know how lost you must be feeling right now. I know you know it will get better with much time, and I know you probably don't believe it right now. But it really will. I am so glad you are taking some small comfort in peoples' writings to you. You are so not alone. You will need to be from time to time, but when you can, surround yourself with good friends; friends who let you talk - or not. I will be thinking of you a lot in the next few days and sending warm thoughts your way. And I will miss a man I never knew.

Sent by Holly Smith | 1:01 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie thank you so much for keeping up the blog. I feel like it helps all of our spirits to lift together with our loved one's spirits.

Sent by Joanne Bergamini | 1:05 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie-I never sent a comment to Leroy during his whole blog; I felt that since I didn't know him, how could I be of any help or consolation? But I feel compelled to send one to tell you how very sorry I am that you are without him. I cannot imagine the pain or the flood of emotions from one moment to the next...or is it a numbness for you right now? I never met either of you but feel as much of a loss as I can that he is gone. It amazes me the courage you both have to share such a personal experience with all of us, strangers that we are to both of you. I thank you both for your time and your generosity. You have my heartfelt condolences and will stay in my prayers as you go through this suffering of your own. God bless.

Sent by Shellie | 1:05 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Oh, Laurie, I am so sorry. I am late to this site. How I wish I'd known about it long ago! What an incredible legacy from Leroy to . . . well, to the world.

My David is a cancer hall of famer, too. We are still fighting the fight. You know exactly what that means.

I could say that I can imagine how you feel. I know I can't. And so I simply wish for you healing for your heart and spirit.

Sent by barbara miller | 1:12 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie,
My heart is breaking for you, for me, for all of us who have lost a loved one. I walked on the cancer journey with you for over a year--and with my husband for 10 months. I am glad that you are continuing the blog--I need it, as I am sure many others do too. And hopefully it will help you as well. You and Leroy have been in my prayers for a long time--and that will not change. My best to you.
Suzanne

Sent by Suzanne Kennedy | 1:14 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Thank you Laurie, for sharing with us. I still find myself here every day. Old habits are hard to break. I hope you find some peace. I'm absolutely sure it will be slow coming, but it will come. Take care.

Sent by Marcia | 1:21 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Oh Laurie,
I hear the pain of loss in your words. We have grown to love both you and Leroy over these last few years and even for us cyber-friends we too are experiencing pain for our dear friends. Elisabeth Elliot's husband Jim was murdered in the jungle in the 50's during a missionary mission and she was alone and confused on what to do next. But her mother had taught her a poem long ago about "Do the next thing." And that's what she learned to do, having a young daughter and far from home, she put her hand to the task and "did the next thing." In her case it was change her daughters diaper, etc...But for you, you said it best, "its time to clean house." Anything you can do to move forward will help you to not be paralyzed. You are a smart and bright woman and have so much to offer to all especially in the cancer world. Use your gifts for good and "do the next thing."

Sent by Debbie | 1:28 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie,
I wasn't sure if you would be posting everyday but I am so glad you have been able to for the last few days. I know it must be difficult therapy for you. My husband was diagnosed with stage IV prostate cancer 4 years ago and he has been through a lot and our lives have completely turned around. All my spare time is spent with him and/or taking care of his needs. His major issue at the moment is the damage to his lungs from radiation. I often think if there comes a time when I dont have him (and we have been told that will certainly be)I don't know what I will do with my time. I know you must be feeling at loose ends right now but as you know lifegivers and their charges are so very adaptable. I can't imagine your overwhelming grief right now but all you can do is keep putting one foot in front of the other. I told someone last week that I didn't want to go to dinner because I was staying home and wallowing in self pity. Sometimes you just have to do that I think. It recharges the battery somehow. Allow yourself to feel the grief because I just don't think there is any other way to begin anykind of healing. I think of you and still of Leroy many times during the day as well as the others in this community. God Bless.

Sent by Kathie | 1:34 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,

I was saddened to hear of Leroy's death and tried to post earlier from my cell to no avail. I am already missing his words, wit and wisdom each morning, and his amazing candor and steadiness in living with the mounting losses and uncertainties stage IV cancer brought him, especially in the last ten months. I found myself checking in on him even though I am neither a cancer patient nor life-giver right now. Leroy taught me important lessons on how to enjoy life and give to others even when you're living with the pain of treatment, of not knowing, of losing control and ultimately of leaving the life you love.

While studying yoga I learned that in the Hindu tradition great beings don't die but leave their bodies. Leaving one's body seems particularly apt for those whose cancer load has become too great, the final triumph of a soaring spirit over its temporal home in one's body.

I'm glad Leroy was feeling well enough a week before his death to enjoy tacos, key lime pie and the opening of the Olympics, and that his doctor came by to share this with you. I am also glad Leroy's final decline was fairly swift. It's as if Leroy loved you so much that after all you two had been through, he didn't want you to witness prolonged agony at the end, and simply left his body. Sounds like he died with grace, just as he lived.

August 15th also marks the 13th anniversary of my Dad's death from cancer. From now on, I'll remember two very special, gentle men who told great stories and had deep belly laughs on that day.

As you grieve, know that I'm adding my hands to those lifting you. Sending you a big cyber heave-ho and hug as you enter a whole new world.

Joy in NYC

Sent by Joy G | 1:38 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, I am glad you continue to post, as I find myself wondering how you are doing every day. May peace, love and encouragement find their way to you.

Sent by Anne M. | 1:40 PM ET | 08-21-2008

You are in a liminal state. Not only is there grief and other emotions. But there is pause in life...between one time and the next. In an odd way, this is a kind of initiation for you...perhaps one of the most difficult initiations a person can sustain. This too will pass, and you will see a vista of possibilities open up.
My thoughts and feelings of deep compassion are with you.

Sent by Marsha G | 1:42 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,

Your path today is the one I know so well. Floating, falling helplessly through a day. The routine that defined you a week ago seems completely foreign and the reality that defined you a week ago seems like someone elses life.

The advice to breath and praise yourself for each minute you continue walking forward is sound.

You are in our thoughts, and hearts, and not an hour goes by that we don't send loving prayers your way.

Leroy is still with you....and he is oh so proud of you too.

Sent by eaf | 1:42 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie:

I am "lifting" as hard as I can for you. You will overcome the loss, in time. Right now just take it day by day and know that your "extended family" are with you..."lifting".
Jeff Ehrlich, Highland Park,Illinois

Sent by Jeff Ehrlich | 1:43 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie
Baby steps. Don't expect anything from yourself for as long as it takes. To do so is to put more stress on yourself. I remember the same issue with my Dad's "cancer scars." My Mom cleaned everything out the next day because she didn't want the house to look like a hospital any longer. I think it was cathartic for her.

I can't emphasize enough that you need to be so very kind to yourself right now. Don't do anything you don't feel like doing. My mother had the problem of her well-meaning friends trying to tell her what she should do. She firmly but kindly told them all that she is not an invalid and is capable of knowing what is best for her. Her friends did not go away, but they backed off. It took her a few weeks to rest up and be ready to do some low-key activities with a friend or two. It takes as long as it takes. Best to you.

Sent by Peg | 1:45 PM ET | 08-21-2008

With Leroy's passing, I feel that I have lost a member of my family. The only family member who truely knew what I am going through and COULD PUT IT ALL INTO WORDS. What a benefit he has been. Laurie, I hope you keep this blog up as you can do much the same for the families of patients, especially if they have to deal with a death.

Sent by Bill Lane | 1:49 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Dearest Laurie,

My heart is heavy and my tears flow as I read your posts. I am so glad that you are still here and I know that we all share your pain. Yes, Leroy is gone from this world but he will live on forever both in your heart and in ours as well.

Laurie, I hope you can feel the love and support surround you, we are here. I know that as you try to look ahead now it is so hard to see beyond the blank wall of grief. But in time you will chart a new path on that wall and new chapters of your life will open. But this does take time. So for now; rest, remember and rebuild your strength. God Bless!

Eileen Pruyne
Charlotte, NC

Sent by Eileen Pruyne | 1:52 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Hi Laurie,
I'm so glad you and Leroy shared a great
day together. That was a blessing. You
are a strong woman. Enjoy the quiet moments and know he is with you.
God Bless you and give you the grace to move foward. Love and hugs, Kathy

Sent by Kathy Willett | 1:54 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie,
I don't have any wise words, but be assured that you continue to be lifted by the rest of us. That is what we do; we are community. Thank you for your honesty and for speaking truth to us -- we promise to keep lifting you up and being here for you! May you experience grace for each difficult moment.

Sent by rj | 1:58 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie,
It eases my mind to read your post and find out what and how you are doing regardless of what that may be.
See you tomorrow.

Sent by Gene Koeneman | 2:04 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie,

I can relate to your feelings, even after a year. There are times when I am "stopped in my tracks", feel derailed a major wave hits me...my Mom is not here.

I miss Leroy's blogs and felt hit by one of those waves, the day I opened my browser to NPR and learned he had died.

Some days I can "ride the wave" others... well...

I hope for days ahead when you too will be able to "ride the wave"

Sent by Karen | 2:11 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, The time gets away 33 months and some days, then nothing. Fighting so hard to live and it all just stops. It is always difficult starting over, trying to fill the time with meaningful activities. Most seem to pale against the fight just lost. Moving on takes time, you will get there, when it is right for you. Just getting through at the moment. Thoughts, Stan

Sent by Stan Wozniak | 2:21 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie,

I lost my wife of 32 years to coloin cancer 3 years ago. I have been reading Leroy's blog for over a year. He was truly a hero as my wife was. Both of them faced their illness with such courage. They are both my heroes.
I can tell you grief is a tunnel. Just remember you are not alone or any different from others in this time. I realized life has hope and there is a future. One suggestion is to be with your friends, negihbors or family. Pour out you feeling to them and do not isolate yourself. I still talk of my wife with my friends.

Sent by Mike Taylor | 2:22 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Ned Lemon, every day I say I should be working but I am drawn to this blog and the comments. Today is the first time someone (you) has written how I have been feeling. Sitting at my desk, reading this blog, hiding tears.

This Saturday night a year ago the Cancer Treatment Center in Zion, Illinois made a wish come true that Theodore had. Theodore wanted to go to a Bear's game (a fan since he was small)with his Dad. The week before, Theodore had been sent home from the hospital for good. There was nothing more they could do to fight the cancer. But the day of the Bears game Theodore went to the Treatment Center to have his lungs drained so he was well enough to go to the game. A limosine was provided along with tickets to the game. The staff at Bear's stadium were waiting with a wheel chair and took Theodore and his father to the field to watch the Bear players practice. Robby Gould came up to Theodore like he was his long lost friend. My husband will never forget that. Theodore could only make it for half of the game. A week later he was gone. Memories are flooding back right now to a year ago as time dwindled down for our son. To this day the pain is as great as it was then.

So thanks to everyone here. I need you.

Judy

Sent by Judy Voller | 2:24 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Lauri, From the time of Leroy's special with Ted Koppel, I have been following his journey. At about that same time my 46 year old son had a recurrence of a 3 year old melanoma. He is stage IV now and is in the fight of his life. Leroy's words have helped guide me in understanding what my son is going through. We are close and talk a lot, but I learned so much from Leroy and looked forward to his journal entry each day. I too, feel like we have lost a family member. I really miss him. I wish only the best for you and that you find comfort in your memories of Leroy. One day at a time. That is the best I can do right now. Hugs to you, Judy

Sent by Judy | 2:24 PM ET | 08-21-2008

It never feels like life will be normal again, but I promise on the other end of the road there is a new normal. And you will have wonderful times again. It just doesn't feel that way now. It's been 11 years since my mother passed away at the age of 50 and now I cannot for the life of me remember what she looked like when she was sick. I can try and try but I cannot pull the image up. I only see her healthy and happy. It's amazing how the mind can heal itself.
Hang in there

Sent by Karen Skoglund | 2:27 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Oh, Laurie, the community that you and Leroy created is still here for you. I hope you keep posting-it makes me feel like Leroy is still here. In a way, he is. Maybe you should write a book about this blog-the proceeds could go to the American Cancer Society.

Sent by Ann Dougherty | 2:28 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie,

I have never commented before- but I feel strongly compelled to share something with you.

I was 24 last year when the doctor told me I had Lymphoma and I naively asked, "What's that?" I postponed my plans for graduate study and spent the year in chemo-lounges, reading Leroy's blog and listening to his powerful voice on his podcasts. I have always loved to write but Leroy gave me the inspiration and strength to write about something that I didn't even want to think about: my cancer.

I am now 6 months cancer free, 25 years old, and about to start graduate school after a cross country move to New Mexico. I arrived here on Tuesday, August 12th.

Leroy helped to get me here.

My thoughts are with you.

Patricia

Sent by Patricia | 2:28 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie, When I lost my mother this year, I kept thinking that I wanted time to stand still for a while just so I could process what had happened. Time marches on but I'm figuring out that time has let me think about all that has gone before and the memories are precious and sweet. I pray you will soon find comfort in your memories as I have begun to find in mine.

Sent by Lorrain Cook | 2:38 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,
Thank you for posting. I think we all need you. I hope the cleaning was helpful yesterday.
That you are now stopped in your tracks, having arrived at a whole new world seems so natural to me. It's all new territory for you, for which no one can prepare you. Don't push yourself; just rest, rest, rest. And feel all of us lift, liFT, LIFT, with LOVE,

Sent by Jenifer | 2:41 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,
I'm so sorry that Leroy passed away. While not a regular poster, I've been reading his and your blog for ages, every day. I was away on vacation when he passed and just now logged in to read this terribly sad news, so I'm sitting at my computer cyring for him and for you. Thanks for sharing your journey and your strength with all of us. Sending you hugs and lift....
Jessica

Sent by Jessica | 2:43 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Just back from a walk on the cold and windy beach, I had the realization that this blog is still Leroy's "My Cancer" because, of course, what Laurie is going through, and what each of us is going through, is the natural consequence of Leroy's disease.

Ned Lemon: You put it so much better than I did. But I still believe it was the "going through it" that gave me character and strength, and a stronger will to fight when my own diagnosis came.

I wish you all the smell of salt air or a windy day, and the sound of children squealing as cold waves was over their feet.

Peggy C.

Sent by Peggy Carey | 3:07 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Querida Laurie,

Uno, Dos y Tres...ARRIBA.

Sent by Nelson | 3:13 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, I know it's such a tough go for you. But you'll be moving forward. Keep close to your family and friends and hug a lot!

Sent by Dorothy - Los Angeles | 3:18 PM ET | 08-21-2008

This is the moment when words are simply not enough. I believe that you were placed on this journey with Leroy for a purpose. You are a survivor, and here we all are. After my husband was diagnosed with two different kinds of cancer, it was earth shattering. Life moved at what seemed like the speed of light. There were many storms,and many calms. Here we are riding the wave we call life. Right now, this blog is probably the last place you want to be, but in time I hope you find it your second home. You have so much to share, we all do. Today I count my husbands cancers as a blessing. I am blessed as he is still here, but I am also blessed as I am now able to share our story with others, and guide them through this crazy traffic pattern that exists only in the world of cancer. Leroy will always be in our hearts as well as you. I encourage you to find your voice in this, carry on for Leroy and the rest of us. We need you, support you, and thank you for sharing Leroy with us.
All our Love,
Jeff and Shawna Gunter

Sent by Shawna and Jeff Gunter | 3:20 PM ET | 08-21-2008

My prayers have been with you since I found the My Cancer blog. My daughter died of colon cancer on Feb 26, 2002. I can tell you that your bewilderment and grief will in time heal. You must be patient with yourself. Now, six years after her death I have been able to talk about my girl without weeping for perhaps the last 4 years, but I still find there are times when it is difficult, and I forgive myself for the tears, and for my own sins of omission and commission, during her life, all over again if necessary...which is the hardest part, you will find, of our grief. Bless you, my dear, it will get better, all it takes is time.

Sent by Harriett Dunn | 3:20 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie-
I've been reading "My Cancer" for almost a year, and this is the first time I've ever posted. I, like countless thousands of others are deeply saddened by the loss of Leroy. I'm comforted only by the faith that he is in a better place and that he is now pain free. I hurt for you, and I have been particulary touched by the beauty of your posts this week and how very proud Leroy is of you right now! Tomorrow, like every day for the past year, I will start my day checking in with this blog.
I came to My Cancer on accident. At this moment, nobody in my immediate family is suffering from cancer...but the cancer for me...was a metaphor for any "thing" that people are afflicted with...so I LOVED that Leroy (and everyone who posted) gave ALL OF US a reason to take life one beautiful, incredible day at a time. To be gentle to those we love and to live life to it's fullest. Many days I would sit at my desk and cry...sometimes because the posts were very sad...but mostly because I would be suddenly struck with how fantastic people are and how many times...even for an instant...we could all be bound together and lifted up. That life is simultaneously fragile and incredible...happy and sad...joyful and painful. That what Leroy accomplished in his final hours...some people never accomplish in their lifetime...and I pray that you find enourmous peace and joy in that amazing legacy. And that, through him, your life and your next chapter will no doubt do the same. God has a marvelous plan here...and I can't wait to see how it unfolds.

Sent by Lisa C. | 3:23 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie - read Ned Lemon's post - to me it was the as emotional and telling as a broken heart can be - just like Leroy would write. Thank you, Ned, you've spoken to me as well, Marsha

Sent by marsha bacenko | 3:30 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie,
Thank you for continuing to write. I hope it is as therapeudic for you as it is for all of us.

Sent by Kara | 3:37 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie: It is so soon and things happened so quickly at the end. Give yourself a break. Give yourself some time. But please please continue to share your thoughts with us for as long as you can. We are grieving with you.

Sent by Toby Levine | 3:38 PM ET | 08-21-2008

My thoughts are with you. This new world is so difficult to navigate.

Sent by E.L. | 3:45 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie - Thank you as always for sharing yourself with us. I breathe deeply and send love, be where you are. You are listening, you are heard.

Sent by Joan S. | 3:54 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Leroy's last days were lived. So many would have thrown the towel again by then. Neither you nor Leroy were such people. Choosing to live to the fullest as much as you could, was a choice which rewarded you both.
Mourning is difficult, but you can to it. Hang on Lauie and remember that one day things wil be good again.
Prayers,
Wanda Amorose

Sent by Wanda Amorose | 4:08 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,
I have been reading this blog for a few days and I am so sorry. I'm sorry he lost his battle and sorry that you are having to find a new normal. I'm also so sorry that I didn't become aware of him until he was gone.
I lost a dear friend to cancer a few months ago. I didn't get to talk to her about what she was going through. This blog has given me a glimpse into the world of cancer fighter. Your husband has inspired me, made me smile and his passing brings me to tears.
Soft hugs,
Deb

Sent by Deborah | 4:11 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie: The fact that you are getting up each morning and posting a blog entry (at 7:00 a.m. no less!)says to me that you are doing more than most of us could do in your position.
I was walking down M St. today and thinking of Leroy; I would sometimes run into him at one of the lunch spots between our offices and we would share a chat and a laugh. G_d, that laugh of his...
Hold onto that, and whatever else you can latch onto without too much pain. You are doing exactly what Leroy would want you to do.
with love, Myra

Sent by Myra | 4:15 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, I want to add my name to your long list of supporters. I send you love, caring and sorrow for the pain of your loss and want to lift you up for as long as you wish. Hopefully, you find some release in writing to us of your feelings.... it helps us as well. Hugs, Joyce

Sent by Joyce Hughes | 4:21 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Take a deep breath, and do the things you want to do (or have to do) at your own pace, when you're ready. You will know when...

Thinking of you

Sent by CBM, Conshohocken, PA | 4:39 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, There are times when the cost of loving someone seems very high. To everyone who prayed, thank you. The 12-hour surgery is still going on. A.M. is not related--she is my dear friend's son's domestic partner. I wanted so desperatly to do something, so I posted the request. The minute I hit the button "post," I thought, what have I done? But I recovered from that feeling, to one of gratitude. Thank you for continuing the dialogue.

Sent by N. Holmes | 4:45 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Last night after my mum got off the phone with my grandmother, she broke down. Well not really, I could see she wanted to, but she continued getting dinner ready and emptying the dishwasher and I told her, "You don't have to keep it together." I think you might need to hear that too. It's completely unfair. The pain Leroy had to endure is terrible, but you had your own pain too. My grandmothers cemo is not working as well as her doctor would like. She is 87 and battling her second round with ovarian cancer. The next treatment her doctor wants to start will make her hair fall out. She has already been through that. I can not even begin to understand how and what my grandmother is feeling, but I know she needs to feel something. Anger, frustration, anything! My mum said she knows her mum won't live forever, but she doesn't want to see her pain. I agree. And thats where I stand right now. I'm a daughter watching her sad and frustrated mother try to keep her own mothers spirits up. My grandmother is one of the strongest women I know, and I will miss her when she is gone, but I don't want to see her in pain anymore. She has battled this demon long enough. All I can do now is look to her for her incredible strength and I give you the same advise. Remember how strong Leroy was and never forget that.

Sent by Leigh | 4:56 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, I am so sorry. I wish I could bear some of your pain for you. I have no new words of wisdom - one moment/one hour/one day at a time is all.

I thought of you when I listened to this song today. Remember - "when the dark nights seem endless - please remember me (us)" - as we are thinking of and lifting you up.

Hugs to you....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPmLVQaWQho&feature=related

Sent by Alice May - Nebraska | 5:03 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Great that you all had the time to share. There are indeed lots of stories in each Olympics. I did manage to go to the Olympic trials in Sacramento two cycles in a row. Just a lot of fun to see the famous and not-so-famous athletes.

It's also nice you had such a good relationship with your oncologist. Mine hardly remembers me from visit to visit, though he is a nice man. Just so busy, I think.

Sent by Scott S. | 5:15 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, my heart goes out to you. I know what you mean... it is as if you have stepped off a treadmill.... the body just stops in its tracks. And how do you shift from fighting something so hard, day after day.... you don't, you just don't. But gradually you will begin to feel again. Your husband did a wonderful, absolutely wonderful thing allowing us into your lives...to hear his voice and know he was fighting and living every day to its fullest.

Thank you for sharing with us. We are all stronger for it and hope to share your burden.

Namaste

Sent by Heidi | 5:28 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,

(This will be the third time I've tried posting today (due to my own ineptitude) ... Maybe the third time will be the charm?)

Reading your message today about "a whole new world" no doubt strikes a chord with each and every one of us here. It's a little like a Twilight Zone episode, isn't it? Your life for the last 33 months and 7 days was all about trying to maintain a balance while loving and care-giving and being a lover and a friend, and keeping thoughts of grief and fear at bay for so long, 24/7; and then, as Stan Wozniak said, "nothing". Only "nothing" isn't really "nothing" ... It just seems like it, with time alternately standing still in a moment while the world keeps on keepin' on. It feels like such a leave-taking and a betrayal, that movement forward ... but it's not. I like Debbie's gentle suggestion to "do the next thing" -- That could be a mantra for all of us when faced with paralyzing grief or fear or indecision.

Ned Lemon -- You have given an eloquent voice to mourning's effects. I am so deeply sorry for your pain and loss, and wish you kinder, joyful days ahead (although it must seem impossible just yet).

Scott Finn -- Thank you for sharing your wonderful memories of "freshman Leroy"! I love the recollections of Leroy's friends and loved ones (especially you, Laurie); his colleagues and acquaintances; allowing us further glimpses of who this extraordinary man was while he was here roaming and exploring the earth. We are richer for hearing how a talented, thoughtful, funny, loyal, insightful, loving human being brought so much to so many by the virtue of his authenticity.

I am grateful to everyone here for all the gifts that are brought to Leroy's and Laurie's table, each and every day. Mentions of books, poems, prose, movies, music, and Youtube videos have been such an abundant compendium of enrichment ~ But mostly the notes and letters that we send to one another, day in and day out, that offer connection and communion.

A quote in closing ~ I offer it up to you, Laurie, with hopes that it might offer a bit of comfort:

"I thank thee ... that I have lived
In this great world and known its many joys; ... The cooling breezes in the secret dusk, ... Music at night, and moonlight on the sea, ... The love of kin and fellowship of friends, And all that makes life dear and beautiful." ~Elizabeth, Countess of Craven, England

Thinking of you,

Kim Forester

Sent by Kim Forester | 5:42 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, my life was centered around sports also. We were were avid Nascar fans, I havent's watched a Nascar race since he died. The only sporting event I watched was when the Colts won the Superbowl and I cried the whole time. Your life is different now and will get even more different, give yourself time.

Sent by Cindy | 5:59 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie,
I am sorry for your lost and here is the lift you need. I hope that you have Spanky sitting next you to give you a hug once in while. I meant to write to Leory that day that we have similar dog in our family pocession that is ceramic look like dog of my grandfather's dog Lady. He had Lady sitting by his bed at the ended and all of us grandkids after almost 30 yrs since his death still walk into the house of my grandmother and give it a pet to remember him. So even with Spanky being a stuff dog it helps with the connection and will be there for a good lift.

Sent by Annie | 6:21 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Words of two of my Buddhist teachers have helped in the dark hours you're experiencing now -
"Never give Up"
His Holiness the Dalai Lama
"Keep Going"
Chagdud Tulku Rinpoche
- seems like simplistic advice, but its hard to absorb anything more sophisticated in the face of the huge wave of grief. Know that we're here for you and you're in our prayers.

Sent by Susan from Colorado | 6:24 PM ET | 08-21-2008

I think it should probably be called The Brick Wall. And hitting it isn't very much fun --- but someday you will be able to walk around it, climb over it, or find another way to get to the other side of it. Just keep breathing.

Sent by Marilyn Trujillo | 6:32 PM ET | 08-21-2008

I lost my wife 18 months ago. You're right. It's a whole new world. Nothing is the same. The perspective has changed and so have you. It's not a welcome change and it is unavoidable. I still miss her.
My best to you as you navigate these stormy, uncharted waters of life and love, loss and pain.

Sent by David Farnworth | 6:51 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, you are the only place you can be: stopped in your tracks. It's not only the only place you can be, it's where you should be. I remember it well.

My Don was like Leroy was - up to the very end. It was amazing and such a blessing. It was also such a shock. How could I be shocked when I knew it was coming? But I was - at least to some extent.

A book I found helpful, though I wish I'd found it before Don died, was "Final Gifts". It was written by two hospice nurses, Maggie Callahan and Patricia Kelley. Don was never in hospice, and it doesn't matter that Leroy was only there for a short time. But, it was about "Nearing Death Awareness" in people who knew they were dying...and all of the endless possibilities about how they sometimes pick their time of death. I found it very comforting. I think Don found a good time for a quick way out one sunny Sunday in January 1993. It may be that Leroy did the same last Friday. It doesn't even matter, but the book just gave me a lot of answers, or possible answers, to consider. No one can prove anything about those final days, hours, moments, in a love one's life. But, it's nice to have some insights and this brought those to me. Maybe they will to you, and others, too.

Alice May from Nebraska provided a link to Loreena McKennitt's "Dante's Prayer"; it is one of my favorites. Here is the text:

When the dark wood fell before me
And all the paths were overgrown
When the priests of pride say there is no other way
I tilled the sorrows of stone

I did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night
When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed me your love in the light of the stars

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me

Then the mountain rose before me
By the deep well of desire
From the fountain of forgiveness
Beyond the ice and the fire

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me

Though we share this humble path, alone
How fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars

Breathe life into this feeble heart
Lift this mortal veil of fear
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears
We'll rise above these earthly cares

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me...

Sent by Jan Richardson, Olympia, WA | 6:59 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Dearest Laurie,
I am deeply grieving your loss...I have been devoted to the blog for more than a year and never questioned Why? Just knew that I needed to learn what you and Leroy could teach me about Grace, tenderness, patience and love. And then I was diagnosed the day before Leroy passed away...and my erstwhile mentor is gone. I am praying for you now but I do have questions for someday when you are (more) ready. I am deeply puzzled about Leroy's reluctance to use hospice?
Love to you Laurie.

Sent by Shawna | 7:12 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,
I have no clue how you really feel but I know it must be so hard for you. I hope you can be kind to yourself and allow yourself the time and pace that you need to regroup and to move again. My warmest thoughts and a virtual hug to out to you right now!

Sent by Betsey from Albany | 7:13 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Oh, Laurie. When I read your message, the first words that came to mind were "Bless your heart," something my grandmother would have said. You are going through so much right now, and we, both far and near, are sharing willingly in your experiences, sending you our love.
Take care.

Sent by Judith Newkirk | 7:18 PM ET | 08-21-2008

PS - Well ... Here's a little more to add to my previous (and perhaps all too long posting). The quote that I closed with earlier is one that had been sent to me in a time of grief. I just now "googled" it, and discovered there is so much more to the quote, which also speaks to loss and mourning. Here it is, encompassing some of both the joys and sorrows of living:

I thank Thee ... that I have lived
In this great world and known its many joys:
The songs of birds, the strong sweet scent of hay,
And cooling breezes in the secret dusk;
The flaming sunsets at the close of day,
Hills and the lonely, heather-covered moors;
Music at night, and moonlight on the sea,
The beat of waves upon the rocky shore
And wild white spray, flung high in ecstasy;
The faithful eyes of dogs, and treasured books,
The love of Kin and fellowship of friends
And all that makes life dear and beautiful.

I thank Thee too, that there has come to me
A little sorrow and sometimes defeat,
A little heartache and the loneliness
That comes with parting and the words 'Good-bye';
Dawn breaking after dreary hours of pain
When I discovered that night's gloom must yield
And morning light break through to me again.
Because of these and other blessings poured
Unasked upon my wondering head,
Because I know that there is yet to come
An even richer and more glorious life...
I thank Thee ... that I have lived.

Elizabeth Craven 1750-1828

Sent by Kim Forester | 7:24 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, Thinking of you and keeping you in my prayers. Peace Always...

Sent by Julie | 7:38 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie
People often ask me what a diagnosis like cancer feels like. I tell them its alot like the people you see after a tornado just ripped their lives apart. They stand before the camera with the remnants of a shattered life in the background. There is a look on their faces that is almost beyond description...that blank, just woke from a really sound sleep to find youeself naked in your neighbors livingroom look.
You are that person right now, live on camera, life in peices in the background and still reeling from the blow. Consider all of us as your rescue squad...(maybe not FEMA) but loving and caring rescue workers....
we are here as long as you need us.
Love
Liz Z

Sent by liz Zimmerman | 7:42 PM ET | 08-21-2008

It's the time of Lamentations. No one has sung about the loss of the Beloved like Mirabai. This is from the Songs of Mirabai, translated by Andrew Schelling:

Another night sleepless,
tossing in bed,
reaching for someone not there.
Tossed darkness--
life wasted--
a tossed mind convulsing all night.
Another night sleepless and then--
the bright dawn.

Sent by Hanna Michaels | 7:42 PM ET | 08-21-2008

And that tunnel seems to twist and turn. Goes way down and up now and then. Sometimes it drips from the ceiling. But I think there's an end, even if we can't see it.

Sent by Jane Snell Copes | 8:18 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie-

I have kept up with Leroy's story for quite awhile. The world lost a good man last week.

I am so sorry.

Sent by kate | 8:28 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Dearest Laurie, I don't know how to say what I'm feeling, but today I will try. Only you and Leroy know what the two of you meant to each other. From the postings through this journey you pretty much know how we feel about the both of you. Leroy lives inside your heart, he has taken up residence there. He is there always. Give yourself time, keep your eyes and ears open and you will feel him around you. I lost the one person who loved me unconditionally, but he is with me always. Yours was a special kind of love, the kind that death can neither divide nor separate. Remember, leaving you was the hardest thing for Leroy to do. You will keep him alive by honoring him by living your life until you meet him again. Love and prayers,
Antoinette Comprelli

Sent by Antoinette Comprelli | 8:33 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie and all---

I wrote a couple of days ago...I'm in the end stages of pancreatic cancer (among other tumors at this point) I am only 27, this is very overwhelming for me. I want to know....from all of you who have gone through the pain of losing a spouse...is there anything special I should say or leave for my husband before I go? I struggle with this every day.

Tonight, however, my husband and I had Key Lime pie and watched the Olympic track and field and diving....two disciplines that leave me in awe... The pie, of course, was in honor of Leroy. Laurie my love is abundantly still sent your way and remember we are here--whatever it is you need. With all my love.

Sent by Laurie in NJ | 8:45 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, Thank you for your postings. I always found comfort here when Leroy was here, giving me & my husband hope, expressing our thoughts and helping us cope with cancer world. My husband's 21 month fight ended on 7/16, he was 58, we were married 37 years. Now you and fellow bloggers are helping me again with my grief, my 'new normal'. Like you I have lost pleasure in doing the things I loved to do. My body has been numb and my energy is just coming back. I went back to work a week after the funeral, now realizing I pushed my body to quickly. Now its my turn to go to the doctor and get things taken care of. Stress & caregiving takes a toll on you that you don't realize. I have found my friends and family are here to help me, and I accept their invitations, even though at the time I may not feel like it. I never regret it afterwords. Their love keeps me going, I hope that you are comforted by everyone here that cares for you.

Sent by Mary Ann S | 8:49 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie
Wishing I could ease your pain. Do what you want and only that. We can all suggest but this is your time to grieve.
Me--I keep the TV on most of the time--don't care about it but it is on. My doors stay locked now, night lights stay on. No, I am not afraid to be alone---I just don't like it without Leon here!!
Every day I read a message from someone new that I haven't connected with, and they seem to say exactly what I feel. So thanks to all.
Laurie, thank you, for staying here with us. One day at a time!!

Jane

Sent by Jane in AR | 8:57 PM ET | 08-21-2008

What a beautifully profound, loving group>
A perfect match for Leroy and you, Laurie.
I hope you can take some comfort in all this love
from "all, all, all" (Bishop Tutu.)

Sent by William Atsumi | 9:14 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, I am sending you blessings and love every moment of every day. I have never met you personally, but you and Leroy gave me the privilege of sharing your journey. I am forever touched by your poignant messages and valiant courage. I pray that your heart and soul will heal quickly and all that will be left are the wonderful memories and the love that surrounds you.

Sent by Dori Dreisbach | 9:15 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, it's been twenty years in the new world without
Kerry, and I still remember the lost feeling I had that first summer - first year. Everything had been "we" and suddenly it was "I" and it just felt wrong and it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other through what felt like molasses. I was grieving and felt the world out of joint without him, and I was also physically and emotionally worn out from taking care of him, hoping, hanging on and letting go. I don't think I consiously rested, but my body must have rested and in time my energy came back.

Sent by Victoria Hendricks | 9:18 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Hi Laurie...I am thinking of you often. I want to express my sorrow at Leroy's death. It came as a shock to me. I was not prepared for the suddeness of it. I thought as you guys worked through the Hospice stuff and getting the bed,etc...that there was much more time to have with Leroy.To me it seemed he was doing alright (in the best scense of the word) ..In my experience...once you get the hospital bed and outside care..that was only a step towards comforting Leroy as best as everyone knew how. After a while I presumed that Leroy would be in the care of the Hospice care facility. What happened to Leroy truly astounded me.However I am happy he did not suffer a long and agonizing downward spiral as so many people do. What ..if anything can you tell us about his(what appears to me and many others)sudden death? Did Leroy's great big giant heart give out? I realize cancer has everything to do with Leroy's passing..but I feel he was fortunate not to have sufferd longer than what I would have thought. I know he was a great inspiration to many cancer stricken men,women and children. What Leroy had done..was to put a face on this horrific disease. His blog as well as your incredible input and insightfulness helped survivors of cancer and their familys.It also helped all that were going through the same walk as Leroy. He will be missed. ..Laurie..please give thought to carrying on this blog. It will be about you and your recovery.For all the people out there that have been following Leroy and you..I think they might feel abandoned ... This is not pressure on you. It's a thought. Ihave no doubt that if you continue to express your feelings...it would help a world of victims held hostage by cancer world. Please consider it. As you travel the path that has been given you..you can truly help others. That I have no doubt. You have a long and difficult journey ahead. I wish you well Laurie. Sincerly Karen Davis

Sent by Karen | 9:18 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Earlier today, I absolutely believe that there were some 224 messages. What happened, some glich?

Sent by Kathy B. | 9:21 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,

I am so sorry for your pain. It just breaks my heart to think of what you are going through. I am glad that you shared a great time watching the Olympics together. I too wish I had some great words of comfort for you but the right words never seem to come. All I can say is that I am thinking of you often and keeping you in my prayers. Thanks for continuing to share your thoughts with us, I hope it is not adding to your pain coming here everyday.

Karen

Sent by Karen | 9:24 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie,

I just wanted to say that I give you all of my sympathy for you. I am only 12 years old, but I thought that maybe you would be interested in hearing some youth comments. Well, here it goes.

My mother is Paula, the woman who wrote the comment about the face mask still hanging on the dashboard. My brother had brain cancer, at age 11/12. It was a very scary time for him, my parents, the rest of my family, and me. Since he was only twelve, everybody wanted him to feel better, so he was getting lots of attention (which is kind of obvious for every cancer patient, young and old). All this time, I was feeling left out. I always thought "I feel so neglected, I feel so excluded," but I was ten at the time. After my brother was cured, I had to take time to think about the people who really took care of not just me, but everyone else. One of the people who took care of me was my best friend on this planet, Michael. He is a true human being who knows the basics of taking care of person. I need to pay him back now, because his mother is getting cervical disk surgery. My mom said that he is very scared, so now I need to take care of him. I need to take care of my other brother.

My point is that if you ever felt left out by others while Leroy was in need, wipe that thought away into the breeze. You should take time to think about the ones who thought of you while you were in just as much need as Leroy. And now, you should pay them back, like I will with Michael, by taking care of them when they are in need. And if you never thought that you never got enough attention, then you should still take care of your friends, at work, in your neighborhood, and all of the others. Thank you for reading. Again, I give all of the sympathy I just regained while writing, and hope I helped

Sent by Sarah | 9:25 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie,
Sending you much love, peace and happiness during this time of readjustment. Take all the time you need to restart your new life, it has been a long road and remember all of the great memories that you have made during the last 33 months.

Sent by Kim Schmidt | 9:26 PM ET | 08-21-2008

I found a book called "Comfort Prayers" or rather it found me tonight. This one struck a chord, I thought of Laurie and Ned and many others here and wanted to share it with you.

Though bowed,
You are not broken.
Though stretched,
You're strong my friend.
You are resilient like a willow -
You'll find your spring again.
Though your branches
Now weigh heavy,
Your roots go deep and true.
This is just a change of season -
God has better plans for you.

Sharon Hudnell

Sent by Nichole in FL | 9:35 PM ET | 08-21-2008

I was thinking about how wonderful it is to love somebody, and then about how much it hurts to love somebody so much at a time like this. I am really sorry for your loss, and I send prayers your way.

Sent by Beth S | 9:38 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie,
I don't think anything I say will help you at this time. Barry died two years ago and I still find myself crying at the drop of a hat. But I also have some very good days. More good days than bad now. What helped me the most is that I wrote him love letters telling him about my days adventure. I did that for over a year and then I didn't need that crutch any longer.
It is a tough time you are now going through and noone can make it any better. The sooner you put normal daily life back in action, the better you will be. And you will know when you are ready for that. Barry and I were married for 4o years. Don't think I'm crazy, but he does come back and is with me some of the time. It does happen so wait and be ready for it. You are in my prayers.

Sent by Carol Harrnacker | 9:54 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie, take good care of yourself. Do whatever it takes to get through - My mom always said just put one foot in front of the other. And know, I, along with so many others am still lifting. I wish you peace, strength, & comfort. I am so sorry for your loss & am keeping you in my prayers.

Sent by beth | 10:03 PM ET | 08-21-2008

laurie
it must be really hard adjusting or even thinking about your new world....thanks for posting and continuing to share experiences with us....Leroy would be so proud of you!!!!! There are lots of us who you both helped and we're here to try and give a little back.....please let us know anything we can do ......
prayers and strength for you

Sent by pam in WI | 10:18 PM ET | 08-21-2008

You put a whole different perspective on the Olympics and how 2 weeks can change a person. Thanks for making me think.

Sent by Elizabeth Hertzfeld | 10:29 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,

My heart goes out to you. You ARE living in a whole new world. Every day is one farther away from the moment you lost Leroy. Right now my life is defined by my Mom's death April 2nd of this year from lung cancer. There is my life before it, and everything about her diagnosis and illness that led up to it. The day she died is the crux. Then there is my life after that day. And ME after that day. Finally, five months later, the "before" and "after" are just now starting to blend. I am able to laugh at things that I would have laughed at before. I am able to recognize within myself characteristics of my Mom's I have decided to embody -- things about her I want to live on in me so that I can share her with the world. I am recently able to think for stretches of five minutes and longer about topics without associating immediately her illness and death. But even now I have the "I can't believe she's gone" moments. No one has been able to tell me when that will stop.

And the "scars". As soon as you can, I encourage you to get rid of them. Hospice came the very next day and took the hospital bed to which she had been confined her final four weeks and all of the equipment. What they wouldn't take got shut in a storeroom in the basement, or given away. Then, shortly after the funeral Dad and I completely redid the room. The physical labor of patching and sanding and obsessively taping and matching seams and the destruction of ripping up carpet and all the staples was the best therapy anyone could have prescribed. And now the room is a beautiful guest room with pictures and objects that celebrate Mom's life, not reminders of her illness.

I hope this blog continues to be an outlet for you, and that you feel the support and love of this community around you as you begin your long journey of grieving. We are here to "1...2...3...lift" you up when you need it. By the way, I have an elderly (ancient, really) dog with arthritis in her hips. For the last year or so, whenever it is time for her to go out or go eat, and she's looking reluctant, I give her a count of three. It's just the little verbal encouragement she needs to get the old hips up and moving. Well, she doesn't always make it up on the first count. So I just start over. And she always makes it on the second one. If you don't make it up on the first count, it's okay, we'll start another one.

Peace,
Sharon

Sent by Sharon Singer | 11:05 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie,
I only know my own grief has expressed it self similarly. For me writing is the venting and resolution. Here is an excerpt of how I felt that stopped feeling.
"I don't know what they call it
That you end up scattered like dust in the sky,
When I'm looking in the mirror,
Seeing what I appear to be,
Something makes me stop...and then I wonder why,
But I can't get started again...I'm stopped and empty.

And in this forgetting, I awaken;
In my misery and deprivation, I know Joy;
And in Silence, I sing volumes;
In this laying down all empty schemes, I am being reborn.

Allan Stocker 2001

Sent by Allan Stocker | 11:12 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Bathe. Eat vegetables. Walk outside. Cry. Smile at a stranger.

It only took one word and one moment to change your whole world...now you get to find the 'next' world that awaits you.

If I may, C.S. Lewis' "A Grief Observed" is truly excellent. Not too thick, but very deep.

Hugs from Kansas

Sent by GFC | 11:30 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Laurie~
I am here thiking of you and your journey now. Hopimg that it helps you to know we are all here for you.
I know that the most difficult time is now when you can finally "let go" as e you no longer need to support Leroy.
Please feel the love and support being sent to you. I am so sorry for this huge loss in your life.

Kathleen

Sent by Kathleen | 11:31 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,

You asked for lifting, and it has come in proportion to your plea. I add my voice to those of many in hoping that you know you are not alone as you work through this difficult time.
But I also see in you a quick evolution of coming to grips with the stark reality of it all...how could one enjoy a vibrate evening with Leroy and suddenly have it all end overnight?
Many of us have felt one with Leroy and you, often feeling that we were further along the path toward the unavoidable finish, and perhaps could give you benefit of our experience (questions like
the bed, hospice, compassionate use of new drugs,
etc.) Now I have something to ask of you, if you are up to it.
Every night before bedtime I ask...will I get through the night? And now, with no real warning,
my blogger friend didn't. Can you find the strength
to tell us what happened, or if anything could have
been done? That would be a legacy from Leroy,
though painful to transmit.
I hope this is not too great an intrusion on your
privacy and Leroy's memory.

With love and hope for your future, Don

Sent by donald coyne | 11:43 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Thought of you so often the last several days, Laurie. Missing Leroy, but knowing the blog is still online is a great comfort to me, and I'm glad it is for you too. Grief is a new fight...but it can be overcome. The smiles Leroy left behind will help with that.

Sent by MJ Dulmage | 12:04 AM ET | 08-22-2008

Laurie-thank you for continuing. I miss Leroy. My heart goes out to you. His "boy and his dog" entry really got to me. I think you need to get a dog. Leroy would like that.

Sent by Georgia Norton | 12:50 AM ET | 08-22-2008

Laurie:
Tonight as I laid with my son while he fell asleep I felt a tremendous sense of loss and sadness about Leroy. Then I was astonished how some man, hundreds of miles away, whom I have never have met could have impacted my life in such a profound way. And not only my life, but thousands of lives. It's amazing how many people Leroy's life and story, have affected. I first stumbled upon this blog, like many others, when my aunt was diagnosed with cancer. Even after she died, almost 2 years ago, I felt like Leroy was a family member and I had to be there (in a sense) to support him. This made me realize how many of us want, need, and seek community and comrade. It is an undeniable shame that what has brought this sense of community to thousands of people was this horrible disease. But it did and I hope Leroy knew how many people in this world were here rooting for him, and you, like he was one of our own.
Part II....
And now, as you have shared such personal moments of your grief and a new community happens upon you as they search for that one person out there that might understand what they are going through, I hope you can feel the footsteps of all of us that walk beside you. We all know that you never 'forget' or 'completely move on' but I do hope that as you tap into those precious memories of Leroy, you will find yourself seeing that healthy, happy man that you so dearly loved.
Thank you!

Sent by A. Naranjo | 1:20 AM ET | 08-22-2008

It has been said that life is eternal, love is immortal and death is but a horizon that marks the limits of our vision. I believe it to be so.

I'm lifting, too, Laurie. Thank you for continuing the blog. The mission has changed with Leroy's passing, from navigating cancer world to addressing grief, but the depth of the need is the same. Some of us are approaching the horizon and some will remain behind. We're all still checking in with NPR for the shared wisdom and comfort of this unique space.

God bless.

Sent by Dawn Whitehead | 1:34 AM ET | 08-22-2008

Dear Laurie,
Happier memories will resurface. It's just too new; too raw. Be kind to yourself. We love you.

Sent by Paulette | 1:56 AM ET | 08-22-2008

I join those who read daily but never wrote. It makes it too real & painful to acknowledge being a care partner.

A thought: An important personal lesson for me as an elementary school counselor was that grief and loss were not problems to be solved but an experience we live - hopefully with the gentle arms of love supporting us and carrying us.
A sad realization: Cancer doesn't end with death.
From somewhere inside me, I felt compelled to encourage you to find a locale you can visit when you can that is "Laurie's Place" - where you go to ponder your future & who you are now. Of should not be a place you two visited together.
Permission: Talk to him. He helped after Katrina - his spirit will surely join the cause to help you.
An oft- used tonic: With the fund - or in whatever way you seem best , do something in his name. It's an act of love & a flip of the finger to cancer.
Last thought before turning off my iPhone so I don't wake my beloved survivor next to me in bed - maybe appropriately and privately you should watch the closing ceremonies. Good night -

Sent by Deb Davis | 2:14 AM ET | 08-22-2008

Laurie,

I'm very sorry for your loss. I am currently battling colon cancer for the third time. I didn't know about this blog until i saw the tribute on Nightline. I've spent hours reading the postings and they are quite remarkable. you should take solace in the knowledge that this site has helped thousands of people fight this disease. I hope you keep it going. The caregivers are just as important as the doctors and the even the cancer patients.

I appreciate leroy's and your efforts,
Rick

Sent by Rick | 2:34 AM ET | 08-22-2008

It is anew world, and so it's going to take some time to adjust to, and adjustments might fluctuate.
try to be kind to yourself and look after yourself.
Listen to what your body wants.

My best wishes are with you
JJ

Sent by JJ | 2:47 AM ET | 08-22-2008

I woke up on Saturday morning in a bad mood with the chemo fogging my brain. Not by any means a new feeling, after battling ovarian cancer, now stage IV, for the past three and a half years. My eight year old son, tired from a busy week and his first week of football practice in near 100 degree temperatures, woke up feeling cranky, too. Losing my temper I yelled at him and sent him to his room. I then went to my email and saw the NPR Blogs: My Cancer which was a surprise on a Saturday, making me anxious, but when I saw the title, "Leroy" I knew he was gone, and I sat at my computer crying.

It didn't take long for me to put things in perpsective, how I should continue to cherish the days I still have and remember all the great things Leroy wrote. I went in and apologized to my son, it isn't his fault I am sick and of course he and my whole family feel the effects of this cancer at least as much as I do, something that I am aware of and feel guilty about every day.

I will always remember the first time I heard Leroy on NPR. It was in July two years ago. He was waiting for the results of a scan, and so was I. Thsi had a profound effect on me, to have someone else with this disease so well verybalizing my feelings. When I got home I subscribed to the blog. Every now and then I sent in a comment, but mostly I just read it first thing in the morning. Some days I thought I don't have time to read today, but something would catch my eye and I was always glad I took the time. What comfort his words brought me, to know he, and likely thousands (perhaps millions) of people who have cancer have the same thoughts, anxieties, hopes, disappointments, and feelings, that I have every day.

Laurie, I hold you close in my thoughts and prayers. I am grateful that you have shared your feelings as well and have had the strength to continue the blog. My heartfelt and sincere sympathy goes out to you.

Sent by Andi Daschbach | 3:53 AM ET | 08-22-2008

today i find myself at a loss of words...
wishing you courage
blessings
francesca

Sent by Francesca in Zurich, Switzerland | 6:28 AM ET | 08-22-2008

Laurie,

Do what you feel like doing. Your body knows what you need, even if you don't. Listen to it.

Sent by Nancy | 2:16 PM ET | 08-22-2008

Laurie from New Jersey - what a strength to write what you wrote today. To look toward your spouse being without you is agonizing. The good lord has his plans for all of us, and there's nothing we can do. Just do what you always did with your dear husband and hold fast. If you can, eat what you want, hold each other, watch movies, just BE. Prayers to you, Marsha

Sent by marsha bacenko | 5:17 PM ET | 08-22-2008

You may be surprised at how long you stay stopped, or at least stopped from certain activities. I agree with all who wrote saying just take care of yourself, be "useless" for as long as it takes, and let reality seep in. It takes a long time, and sometimes when you think you're done, you get surprise tears. Your husband was lucky to have had you by his side, a partner and companion right up to the Pearly Gates. I hope that gives you some comfort; so many people never have that.

Sent by Liz West | 10:05 AM ET | 08-23-2008

Dear Laurie,

Leroy shared his experience of the journey each and every individual must take.

In terms of value, it is priceless.

And now you are sharing the journey of the one who continues on alone. That is beyond priceless.

Thank you from the bottom of my time-limited heart. And my infinite universal soul.

Sky

Sent by Sky Mitchell | 2:48 AM ET | 08-25-2008

After we lost our son at age 11 everything was painful - grocery shopping (no more of buying his cereal), the movies I saw that he'd never see, watching his friend grow up and knowing that he wasn't there with them and us. I cried and cried and still do but can say I smile too. I remember how wonderful he was, his beautiful smile, how he liked to hold my hand in the car while we'd drive. I miss him and my life will never be complete without him. But I also move on and know that life is not bad, it is just different and I am a much better person for having loved my Teddy. And you are a much fuller person for having had LeRoy. Two good books that got me throug - "The Gift of Hope",and "The Precious Present". I"m sending you good thoughts and strength

Sent by robyn | 3:20 PM ET | 08-25-2008

Oh Laurie,
My heart breaks for you and at the same time I want to thank you. My 19 yr. old daughter began her fight with cancer at the same time Leroy began his blog. At the moment she is doing wonderfuly well, but the honst face you and Leroy put on the day to day struggle with cancer was truly a public service. Because of the two of of, someone else's journey will be easier. I read your blog often and was always humbled by your fight, as we all are humbled by our fight with cancer. You now have the most difficult journey of all, the journey of a survivor. I hope you will have the strength to keep writing. I hope there is a book coming to memorialize your love for Leroy and your immense courage to move forward. God Bless, Kim

Sent by Kim Bollinger | 9:31 PM ET | 08-25-2008

I know that we were all knew that this day will come, but I was still shocked when I heard the news. I suffer from a terminal sickness as well (not cancer). He gave me strenght and hope and now that he is gone I feel weaker than ever in my own battle.

Sent by raymond | 12:51 AM ET | 08-26-2008