I think you are right, Laurie. Those are things that can be donated somewhere and help someone else who doesn't have the means.
But I remember keeping the wash-worn, soft flannel shirts of my dad's- to wear sometimes to feel like his arms were around me- until I felt that I could feel his arms, without the shirts. And that's okay too...

Sent by Norma | 7:31 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Oh Laurie:
Now comes one of the hard parts of your new journey....I had a hard time letting go of the "Scars". Maybe I felt I should keep them, that they would make me feel closer to my husband. Just take one day at a time (Actually one moment). Someone had told me not to do anything drastic or make any changes in my life for a year. I found that to be true. I understand getting rid of the 'scars' and the timeline, but take it slow. Only you can decided when the time is right..
Much Love and Hugs!

Sent by Joanie Weaver, Front Royal, Va | 7:42 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,
I'll be thinking of you often today and tomorrow (cleaning day...) and for many days to come. While the journey you and Leroy were so brave to share with us has come to an end, you're faced with another journey now. Some days you just get through as best you can. Please know there are many of us out here who will be "lifting" for you...1.2.3..
with my heartfelt sympathy and deepest respect,

Sent by Kellie in Switzerland | 7:46 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie~ Oh, I feel for you so deeply. The aftermath of all this misery must be as bad, if not worse, as going through it with him daily. Now that it is all over, the silence must be deafening! Lean on us all for support and love. We shall remain here for you when needed. Much love~

Sent by J C R | 7:49 AM ET | 08-20-2008

I am so saddend by your loss. Although you can never know how many of us were touched by the sharing and caring of you and Leroy. Please know there are lots of people lifting right now.

Sent by Gay Ousley | 7:50 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Oh Laurie, this post did bring back the tears. I was with my sister during her last week, the time when all the Patient tools were sent in by Hospice. Within hours of her death, they were thankfully removed from my mother's home. The image I have burned into my brain is how peaceful and sweet Mary looked after the Hospice team prepared her body to be taken out. They even redressed her in her favorite pink PJ's.

I don't think of that time as a battle lost ... oh yes, war was waged, but in the end, Mary won. She left this world surrounded by family and friends. She taught us how to live, and how to die with grace. The words she wants on her marker "When in death I'm free, I'll sing on for eternity". Mary left us June 29 after a 6 year battle with Multiple Myleoma.

I hope that you will see your beloved Leroy as free, and victorious. His life and legacy matter. He touched so many others.

Sent by Anne P | 7:50 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie

My heart aches for you. We just learned my dad has stage IV lung cancer and I dread what lies ahead but it is a path we must take.

Words cannot describe what I have gotten out of this blog. I have learned so much that I feel better prepared to deal with dad's illness and what lies ahead for my family.

I wish you the best of luck in moving ahead with your life without Leroy, as I know that will be difficult as well. Oh how I will miss reading Leroy's blog every morning.

Best wishes to you and everyone else in this community.

Pam

Sent by Pam | 7:55 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,

I have followed this post for some time now and have wondered from time to time what the draw was for me, since I don't have cancer (that I know of). I soon realize it's my way of trying to understand the cancer that ravaged my father 23 years ago.

He was so secretive about the cancer that I didn't know he had it until the day he died. I was in the Army, and I got a call from my mother (they were divorced) telling me to make arrangements to come to Chicago (where we're from), because my father was dying of cancer. She called back later that day to say there was no rush; he was already dead.

Apparently, he had cancer for years and was undergoing treatment, but he never told me. The members of my family who lived in Chicago knew, but didn't think it vital to let me know what was going on--I think they didn't want to face it any more than my father did. I remember one statement that my father used, probably hundreds of times, in his pre-cancer days that was indicative of his life: "If I were hungry, I wouldn't tell you." He took pride in never letting anyone know he was suffering, which I consider a deficit of his character.

What you call the scars of cancer would be, for me, things to connect me to a father I no longer have, who didn't think it fit to let anyone into his world. Not the big things, like a hospital bed; something like Spanky (the stuffed dog).

It's amazing to me that, at 47 years old, I still wish my father opened up and told me what he was going through, and how much I still wish it would've been.

Sent by Leonard from Alabama | 7:55 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Jewish families wait a traditional period before giving away the possessions of loved ones who died. I think it gives you time to really assess which items have a deep meaning to you. I'd give away the medical stuff in a heartbeat--that could help someone else. But I'd leave the rest for a while.

I have been the caretaker of two people who died recently, one after a very long bout with cancer. The ordeal certainly takes a toll on caretakers. Others often talk about "moving on," as if you should blithely forget what has happened. Believe me, every day you get out of bed you're moving on. Use this time to take care of yourself, to grieve this sad loss, and to face your own fears of the future. Lean on your friends and family, and visit places of great natural beauty--local spots that offer peace for the moment. I send you a long-distant hug.

Sent by Liz | 8:02 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie ~ That sounds like a great idea! I'm sure your hospital, clinic, etc. would appreciate the equipment.

Why look around and see reminders of the sickness, when, instead, you can look around and see the years of happiness, or picture that big smile or that infectious laugh?

We're all here behind you. Thinking of you today and praying for peace.

Sent by Tracy | 8:04 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie:After about one month of my end of treatment but still feeling very sick and weak.. I went around the house.. .collected every singled medicine bottle.. port care pads... everything.... and threw it all away... it was a wonderful felling...
tomorrow will be hard as you will revisit every single step of Lerou journey but I reckon that will make you fell batter..
thinking of you and lifting.. and lifting ...
blessings
francesca

Sent by Francesca in Zurich, Switzerland | 8:04 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie:
We are all so different, yet your post on the scars of cancer reminded me of a friend of mine who died of breast cancer after such a battle! She had a hospital bed in the living room (rather ironic name for the room under the circumstances). Before her passing she made her husband promise that the first thing he would do after she left was to remove that bed so her young children could be spared of its emptiness. I never gave it that much thought until your post.
Take care.
Susan

Sent by Susan | 8:10 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Those are not the reminders you need around you now. Spanky maybe but not that stuff. Sending you love and energy for the days ahead. Thank you for thinking of us and sending the post today.

Sent by JaeMoyer | 8:13 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Oh Laurie,
Welcome back. Yes, getting rid of all that stuff will be a good thing. I cleaned house as soon as I could. I needed no daily reminders of the cancer that tore my life apart.

As far as the rest of the stuff, everyone said I would know when it was time. I have just sent Neils clothes to my brother and a good friend of his, his fishing stuff went to his good buddy that teaches kids fishing, and I still have the two shirts he wore the days before he fell. Sometimes I wear them, sometimes I sleep in them, I can still smell him and I need those moments with him. As far as the few other things that were important to him....when I am ready, I will decide. Some things I will never part with but I have decided that I need to find a special place for them. Someday, I will. I am in no hurry. All things in their own time.

Reading all the posts over the last few days made me realize how lucky I am to have found this blog. It has helped me now to cope with the issues surrounding my loss. I have found I am not alone and it is still okay to hurt, even almost 9 months later. I learned that 2 years down the road I can still cry and it will be okay. Although I cannot imagine my life two years down the road without Neil.

My dream was ripped apart by cancer. I have learned all about greed, anger and hate. I have been told I did not need to move to MS because I knew he only had 6 months to a year to live. How could I not? We fought for every day we could with each other and no one will ever understand how important that was to both of us. He wanted me to close to him every night, he told me he was afraid he would not wake up. I gave him the love and security he needed to sleep and the love and support to fight. I love him, I miss him and no one will ever take that away from me.

There are so many of us out here still fighting for hope, still suffering, still hurting, some are where you are now, and some are close to being there.
What matters most now, we are all here, supporting each other, loving each other, sending cyber hugs to each other and we are here for you now.

To all of you out here in cyber land, thank you for being here for me too! I am truly blessed by each and every one of you...

Sent by Laurie Hirth | 8:13 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Scars. Interesting way to think of it.

I also went through that, getting rid of the walker, the wheelchair, the bedside commode...

I can't throw out the canes. They're in an umbrella stand next to the front door, along with Terry's umbrella. With everything I've thrown out or lost along the way, it's important to me to have the canes and umbrella there, to silently tell visitors that Someone Was Here. A life was lived here, and it mattered.

Sent by Bruce | 8:14 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, take it slowly & do only what you're truly ready to do. Many, many people are here to offer support & caring for you throughout this part of your journey. Thank you for sharing with us. It is a gift.

Sent by mary | 8:14 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,

All of us who have been part of this community will be more than glad to continue to "lift" you as long as you need it. The "scars" were hard for my mom to deal with when my dad died more than 16 years ago. Only you know when the time is right for you and we are all here for you. (Writing this comment has made me think so much about my dad and how we all miss him. I have some of the things I gave him over the years and it is a good and comforting reminder of his presence in my life.)

Take care and take one step at a time. It is all any of us can do each day.

Sent by Carolyn, Haslett, MI | 8:15 AM ET | 08-20-2008

It took me awhile to be able to begin to let go of the things that cancer brought to my wife, Debbie's, life...I finally was able to donate the two wigs she bought to the American Cancer Association and that did give me some peace but go at your own pace...you will know when it is time...I still have not been able to tackle the closets and drawers and don't know when that will feel right.

Remember always that all that your love could do was done.

God bless and comfort you.

Tim Broussard

Sent by Tim Broussard | 8:16 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,
Leroy may not have beat cancer, but he won at life.
Janie

Sent by Janie | 8:21 AM ET | 08-20-2008

I just returned from taking my youngest to college, to find these posts waiting in my mailbox.

My heart aches with you, Laurie. 1.2.3. We will lift you, as long as you need. And very selfishly, I hope that Leroy's Army begins a new tour of duty through you. I will miss Leroy, and all of this community very, very much.

Sent by Kay from PA | 8:23 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Take your time Laurie and do it at your own pace. Thinking of you!!!!!
Cristina

Sent by Cristina Barthel in Tampa, FL | 8:24 AM ET | 08-20-2008

You'll know when the time is right Laurie. For some of the ugly memories, the time will be sooner. Dad died 3 weeks ago, and as Norma mentions above, I want one of his worn, warm flannel shirts. Take care Laurie, and sending love your way...Linda

Sent by Linda Lee | 8:29 AM ET | 08-20-2008

For me, the silence in my mother's house was so hard when I was trying to clean up/out. I remember a huge thunderstorm and Beethovan's 9th on the radio cranked up as loud as I could make it. So make some noise!

You can do this. You've been so strong. We can do it with you. Jane

Sent by Jane Snell Copes | 8:32 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Thinking of you today. Having been through the cleansing process, for me it was disposing of all the left over medication that was most difficult. With each container that was spilled into the commode I thought of the wasted medication and the lost hopes for the pain and illness they would never relieve.

Peggy

Sent by Peggy | 8:33 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,
I have already tried to erase the "Scars of cancer" from my house. I had to re-carpet the room that we used for hospice care and paint the walls. I have replaced the hospital bed with a comfortable queen-sized bed and have ordered new curtains for the windows. The room is bright and cheery but the scars on my soul remain. My thoughts are with you.

Sent by Elaine | 8:33 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dearest Laurie -

This is a hard time. I am assuming that the memorial services have happened, and the immediate things to do are winding down and you are left with the big tasks.

Outsource anything you want to to your friends (I'm in NJ - so I can be there in 3 hours :-) if you need me).

For my Dad it was my Mom's 4 decades of clothes that hung in her closet. She moved into their house in 1970 and never threw anything away! You can imagine the collection of clothes. My sister inherited 100 pairs of size 11 shoes! My Dad couldn't do this job, but we could.

There is a reason everyone says it takes time. Even these practical matters take a lot of time!

When my Mom died my dad ended the newspaper subscription, so for 7 years I have been reading it online, just in case there is someone he knows in it. An outsourced job that I still do.

Remember to take care of yourself!!!! You can't face these things without being kind to yourself.

PS - I am so glad you blogged today. If you are still blogging in November, will you tell us how Leroy was planning to vote :-) :-) :-) I have my theories.......

Sent by Liz L. | 8:34 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,
It is so nice to get to hear from you again. I can't even imagine what it is like. 1...2....3....lift! Whatever you may need from us. Your journey is taking a new turn, and it will be wonderful for those about to go through this side of it, or are going through this side of it to hear from you.

Sent by Gina B | 8:37 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Well said Laurie.

Then there is not only the sound of your loved ones breathing stopping, but the whoosh of the oxygen machine is silenced. The quiet is deafening.

I just heard Josh Groban's song Awake on the way to work this morning and I lost it. Still 11 1/2 months later. If only he could be here. I hate cancer!

Please give yourself time Laurie. Your race has come to an abrupt halt and it takes time to figure out what to do with yourself and your time. Let it be.

God bless you Laurie and thank you for sharing with us. We appreciate it.

Judy

Sent by Judy Voller | 8:40 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Godspeed Laurie!!!!

Sent by sarah | 8:40 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie
You keep doing whatever you need to heal your own scars......we all do things in our own time and our own way and that autonomy is very important! You continue to be on my mind lots.....

Sent by Jan | 8:41 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie, you hit the nail on the head. My Dad went to the beautiful Hospice facility for only the last day of his life. We stayed with him into the night... Then my mother asked to be alone with him. I had been staying with them, caring for my Dad and I went back to their condo to rid the condo of all the 'scars of cancer'. I could barely see through my tears but I wanted to cushion the blow for my mothers return. After I was done, all that was left was his striped hospital bed. Then I freaked out. Maybe my mother would be hurt more to see all evidence gone! Oh man! What did I do?! I was a nervous wreck. When she came home she was so relieved to see all the 'scars' gone. It could have gone the other way. We all have our ways of grieving. Everyone of them is right. Peace, peace, peace. Namaste.
Susan

Sent by Susan | 8:45 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, I understand and agree. The day after my husbands memorial service I had scheduled for the oxygen tanks to be picked up. They were the biggest reminder. Other items I found could be tucked away for another day to deal with. I will be thinking of you as you go along this path. So many of us are walking with you, and praying for strength and guidence for you.

As someone posted yesterday, Leroy did leave you something very special. The "My Cancer Blog" family. Laurie, in Leroys comments his love for you showed through greatly. He had to know that all here in this family would reach out and try to comfort you and help give you the strength to go forward. You are a very special person and so lucky to have had someone special like Leroy to share your life with.

We all care.

Sent by dorothy in oregon | 8:46 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Cleaning day is important. It helps you remember your beloved the way they were. You are so right about the reminders of the hard times. Anything you can donate will help somebody else, and that is a good legacy.

One thing that people sometimes find helpful is having a quilt made of clothes or other personal items that are left behind. Sometimes the clothing still has the person's fragrance, and it's a comfort to have that to hold onto. It's just a thought. I'm a quilter and I know of quilters who have made these kinds of remembrances, either as a kindness or as part of a hospital program. Our local cancer hospital program has such a program for children who have lost a parent and the kids work with a quilter to say what about their mom or dad they would like the quilt to represent. It's never a bed blanket project; it's more of an object to hold for emotional comfort.

Sent by Celeste | 8:46 AM ET | 08-20-2008

When I was through with my treatment I suddenly looked all around me and was reminded of Cancer, every where I looked. When I was ready, i got rid of all the reminders. I donated my wigs and cancer information and my scarves etc.... It was a release for me. When the time is right you may want to do that too. We can't erase the memories and why should we, but sometimes just making a new space for yourself can be very healing. Moving onto the next phase of life. Step by step. Whatever works for you.

when you are ready.

Sent by jenngie | 8:58 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Thinking of you today, Laurie. Take good care of yourself.

Sent by Jen | 9:01 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,

Sending you lots of lifts as you go through this monumental task of cleaning the house. Remember that scars heal slowly

Keeping you in my prayers,

Sent by Laura | 9:03 AM ET | 08-20-2008

I was unaware of this blog until a couple of days ago. I wish I had known of this sooner. I was diagnosed with metastatic colon cancer in March 2003. I have been through multiple surgeries and been off and on chemo ever since (currently back on). What Leroy did in creating this site was truly remarkable. What a wonderful way to give back to others. May your memories of this man sustain through the difficult days ahead.

Sent by Judith | 9:03 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,
My heart aches for you and you are in my prayers and thoughts daily. We are all here to help lift you up and help ease the pain in whatever way we can. How lucky you were to have had Leroy in your life and for him to have had you in his. That is what will sustain you - the love, the memories....

Lianne

Sent by Lianne Friedman | 9:04 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,

I remember after my mother passed away, I was trying to help my father in those first few days. He wanted to leave everything exactly as it was, and I agreed that it was the right thing to do. But seeing the 'scars' from mom's illness was taking a hugh toll on me and I felt it was the last thing she would want as her remembrance. She always balked at keeping the 'take homes' from her trips to the hospital, but in the end needed the help that as you say 'make life a little easier' although emotionally I know it made it hard on her to be dependent on them. Dad agreed that she wouldn't want to maintain any of it any longer than was necessary and it seemed like a good place to start when you don't know where to begin...

Thank you for continuing to give so much to us even in these difficult times. Still lifting and loving you...

Sent by Faun | 9:04 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie - I am so surprised that you have to do that. Hospice did all of that for me while I sat outside and right after my husband passed. I came back in to a clean house with all the "stuff" gone and all my furniture put back where it originally was. They took all his meds too. You take your time and take care of you in the process. Prayers are with you -

Sent by Deb from Michigan | 9:06 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,
I hope you will continue to write to us. I saw you and Leroy as a Team. It is hard enough to loose one of the team , I would not want you to be lost to us also.
This pain, although different ,can be comforted by
those who shared Leroy's journey with you. I hope you will continue writing until you no longer need or want to.
Wendy

Sent by Wendy Narzem | 9:06 AM ET | 08-20-2008

I have read your blog for a while but never posted. This entry really hit home. After my husband died 15 yrs ago...my house looked like a small hospital. It drove me crazy!!! Like a demented fool I went through and donated what I could and I'm ashamed to say I threw out the rest because I simply couldn't stand to look at it anymore. Do what you have to do Laurie!! There will be light again. It took a long time for my light to come again, but it did happen. Patience...which is not my virtue...would have come in handy!!! LOL!

Sent by Rose a Lee | 9:07 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Yes Laurie you are so right and on target with your thoughts. These items are not part of who Leroy was or would have been. I feel he is almost directing you or confirming/agreeing with your decision. I hope you are feeling this as well.

Sent by Carolyn | 9:10 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Sounds like a good plan. Give yourself time to deal with all the things he left behind that actually meant something to him, but anything you both regretted ever having to bring into the house? I can't imagine why you'd keep that stuff around. It might be something that others could help you with; it might even be a favor to give them something to do. (I know that seeing your message yesterday was oddly comforting, just the thought that there was something that could be done that would help you a little.)

If you only ever had an item because you absolutely needed it, then when you don't absolutely need it? It can go.

Good thoughts. So grateful that you're sharing this part of your travels with us.

Sent by Linda | 9:10 AM ET | 08-20-2008

To J.C.R.

Hope your husband is better after his surgery

Sent by Irene | 9:11 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie
I hope you know that hospice care does not end here. You can and should ask them for help. And I don't think the cancer won. Leroy had 33 months. I saw in the obit that you were married in June. I went back and read some of the posts from then, and Leroy talked a lot about getting his "affairs" in order. Maybe when you feel up to it you can tell us more. I also recommend hanging on to his things for awhile. My brother died in 2001 and I still have a wear one of his car coats, which still has some dog biscuit crumbs in the left-hand pocket. Take care and thanks for writing.

Sent by Dianne (DC) | 9:11 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, what a treasure this blog continues to be. I cannot begin to describe how much both Leroy and your entries have meant to me. I hope you know how many prayers are being sent your way as you continue your journey in the coming days, weeks, months and years.

Sent by Kathy W. | 9:12 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Good morning Laurie,

I can relate. After my dad passed, I wanted the equipment, bed, etc out ASAP. Of course my ASAP and the companies were a bit different. Going through the clothes was easy, it was other stuff, small stuff, finding things with notes, smells, and now vacancy. I don't have be at his place except to spot check and even then it is in and out as quickly as possible.

Take your time, do what you can and walk away when it gets too much.

Sent by Sue Chap | 9:12 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, thank you for writing what you are
experiencing.....It was a relief to hear your voice. Your honest way of stating your dilemma..is needed....The gift that both of you have given to me is your real, absolutely gut feelings and thoughts. I have appreciated more than you will ever know-the realness of
the dailies. The rest of the world is
either giving advice or wanting to fix, rather than accept the reality of living with a loved one who is not going to recover. I don't have any sharing as to my experience. We are walking through the reality that his health will not improve. The juggling act of having good days and then scary changes and days. Love, blessings and peace to you. Diane

Sent by Diane | 9:17 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,
After I posted today, I was thinking about what a gift you are giving to society by writing to this blog. Seriously, you deserve some kind of official commendation for your efforts. You and Leroy have provided an invaluable aid and much needed resource for the fight against cancer. Your contribution is tantamount to this fight and I salute you.

Sent by Elaine | 9:18 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,
Look at that. You made it through another day. I have had the scars of cancer, and I can tell you cleaning house is so very helpful. My husband and I had to do it after both of his parents passed away. It's not easy, but necessary. You are stronger than you know.

Sent by Kathleen, NJ | 9:19 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Wish I could be there to help.

Sent by sarah j | 9:20 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie...oh so happy that you are letting the kind people on this blog "lift" you as you go. After all my treatment was finished and I could get out of bed, I just stuffed wigs and medicines and medical props in a big box in the basement, so I wouldn't have to look at them. When my sister's husband died, she made teddy bears out of some of his favorite shirts and ties, and gave them to his children and loved ones. Their youngest daughter was married last week, six years after he died, and one of Dennis' teddy bears was the ring pillow. It was a wonderful way to keep his spirit with us. It takes some time, but one day, your memories of Leroy will be dominated by the the good and happy times...namaste, Rebecca

Sent by Rebecca Bauder | 9:22 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Yes, it was a battle, but not one that Leroy lost. His legacy lives on and I will cherish everything he has brought into my life. I've learned to appreciate my life more; I've learned that a job is job; I've learned that one sweet kiss from my daughter makes my world right again. Laurie, my heart is heavy as you begin to wind down from Leroy's battle and begin your own. You have and will continue to be in my thoughts and prayers everyday. We are here for you...hugs!!!

Sent by Tess from KY | 9:23 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie:
Soon I will be in your position, as my partner of 34 years was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer 30 months ago. So we know how this story is going to end. Interesting we live in a small rural village and there are 6 other women here, ranging from 45 to 70 who have lost their spouses to cancer. Quietly watching them, the "flashy one" has remarried and regrets it. Two others have gotten into relationships that give them companionship and maybe love, after originally being in a state of depression, for many months after their losses. And the last two, the oldest and the youngest have chosen to live solitary lives with the memory of the spouses taking center stage. As for me, I have no wish to share my life with another person again, as John can never be replaced. A psychiatrist once told me that there would always be someone for you to love at every stage of your life. Maybe this is true, I just know that John is a part of me and that is more than enough. I'm guessing that the same is true for you and Leroy. I hope that the pain you are feeling now, diminishes with time.
With love,

Sent by Jacqueline | 9:23 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,
You'll know what needs to be done at what time.
It takes how long it takes.
I am honored to be with you on this painful journey.

Teri, Sasha & Judy Voller: Thinking about you and sending warm thoughts your way, hang in there.

Much Love ,
Debra Altschiller

Sent by Debra in New Hampshire | 9:24 AM ET | 08-20-2008

We are all with you sending thoughts of strength and care.

Sent by anne lumberger | 9:25 AM ET | 08-20-2008

I agree with Janie's comment above: He may have lost the cancer battle and he won at life.
And we are so greatful for him sharing his personal story, the good , the bad and the ugly.

Sent by Jane Kaminske | 9:25 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,
Thanks for taking the time to keep us abreast of what's happening for you. We will continue to walk beside and behind you--whatever you need. I agree with everyones comments about getting the medical stuff out and to whoever can use it. The other stuff will take time to relinquish; allow yourself that time and be kind to yourself in the process. My heart goes out to you!

Warmly,

Sent by betsey in albany ny | 9:25 AM ET | 08-20-2008

You are so right Laurie. Bill died at 12:389 pm on a Thursday and Hospice came that same day to remove everything. I just didn't want to ever see those things again. Get rid of all of it as soon as you can.

Sent by Laurie B | 9:30 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,
All of your comments are all to familiar to me, as I walked with my mom through her battle with brain cancer last year. Thank you for articulating these 'little' details that, sadly, ring true for so many of us.
Know that you are surrounded with love and prayers. Praying for comfort.

Sent by Autumn | 9:30 AM ET | 08-20-2008

1-2-3 LIFT!
Just a reminder that we are here for you.

Sent by Sherri Beadles | 9:35 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,
When my Dad died last summer, Hospice carted off the hospital bed and oxygen tank the very next day. As I work in an oncology setting, I was able to donate the soft hospital sheets, cloth chucks pads and blue pads to some of my patients who where just entering the end stage and were getting set up at home. The bedside commode, walker and shower chair were given to other families in need that I work with. Most all of Dad's clothes Mom donated within a few weeks. But there was this one striped shirt Dad wore constantly! In the memorial pics, he had it on in over 2/3rds of the pictures! That shirt was wrapped up along with his cribbage board and given with love to my brother's last Christmas. By the end of the evening, everyone (all 12 of us) had taken a turn wearing that shirt. Our memories continue...as yours will. We remain your army as you find your way on your journey without Leroy. We love and miss him, and are so blessed to know you will lean on us in the days ahead.

Sent by Karen | 9:36 AM ET | 08-20-2008

It's a very positive thing to get rid of the sickroom stuff, and you will feel a lot more positive when it is gone. After my mother died at my home under hospice care, we donated everything to a local organization that gave these things to other cancer patients who needed them. That is a good feeling too! Love to you, Laurie.

Sent by Kay | 9:36 AM ET | 08-20-2008

First of all, I'm so glad you are blogging, for us and for you. I had done that elsewhere, and still do, and it really helps -- in the present, and to review. You are so right, Laurie.

The first thing I did (with the help of a few friends) was to get the medical equipment OUT of the house. That stuff was an unpleasant reminder of the turn for the worse. The second was to throw out all of the drugs, especially the hospice provided pain drugs. I did call to inquire whether there wasn't some way the unopened could be reused; there was not.

Our living room returned to looking like a living room, which our 14 year old daughter desperately wanted. Gone, too, are all of his comfort accommodates that made up his nest in the recliner: the heating pad, the neck pillow, the lumbar pillow, the special fuzzy blanket, the pillows to cussion his boney behind. Other than that, I couldn't bring myself to toss out any of Curt's "special" foods. Somehow, somewhere in me, I guess I wanted them to be at the ready should he return. Basically, I waited for their sell-by date to pass.

I have done nothing more than that, 4-1/2 months alter. Yes, I like many often sleep with or in his bathrobe, which still faintly has his sent. His clothes still hang in the closet, his art supplies and model making gear still are out on the table in "the computer room." When the time is right I will dispose of them or give them away. That time hasn't come yet. I work, parent, clean house, go to movies and so on, but I am not yet ready to remove the physical evidence that until a few months ago, Curt was alive and busy.

FWIW: The only thing I wish I could've done/could do, and cannot, is take a trip to somewhere pleasant and far away for a week, possibly even alone. At a certain point, all of the hovering of concerned parties got on my nerves. I wanted nothing so much as a vacation from my normal surroundings and the reminders. If that strikes you as a good idea at some point, and you have the money, do it.

Sent by Teri | 9:42 AM ET | 08-20-2008

My sister in law did the same thing...quickly purged the house of all the equipment and medications. She even moved pictures and anything that hurt to look at into his music studio because she was having a hard enough time making it through the day without constant reminders. She even went so far as to redecorate her bedroom completely differently and in soothing colors so she had a new place to retreat to. Our whole family supported what she was doing and it worked out for her. A little more than a year later, she has been able to re-introduce pictures of him and special things here and there and to listen to him singing (cd's) again. At first these things hurt too much, but over time, she cherishes the fact that she has them. I think you are probably in the same situation with his recorded musings here, etc. It sounds so trite and yet it is true that time will make it bearable again.

I'm still thinking and praying for strength and support for you and missing your dear Leroy.

Sent by Nichole in FL | 9:42 AM ET | 08-20-2008

There is the emotional side of all that, and the practical one. The shifting gears and cleaning house makes room for a new normal, and for whatever comes next, without in any way displacing all that has been lived in your home.

Two offerings for you today, Laurie: 1)a Rumi poem I keep in view at my desk, which applies to every day life and trebly to seasons of grief, and whose powerful reference to house-clearing makes it a fit for your message today; and 2)a practical note in case you want to recycle the medical equipment and supplies to others who can use it.

Poem first:

"This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whomeever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond."
Jalal ad-Din Rumi, 1207-1273

And now the recycling bit. I know Virginia has equpment recycling programs for durable medical equipment and suspect Maryland does as well. If interested in seeking such an option, Maryland Technology Assistance Program (MDTAP) may be able to direct you to recycling programs. You can reach MDTAP at (800) 832-4827 (voice),(866) 881-7488(TTY),(410) 554-9237 (fax), or mdtap@mdtap.org(e-mail)

Wishing you a sense of liberation and reclamation, of restoring your home to normal order, all while honoring the journey that you and Leroy have shared. May there be peace in that activity for you, and may the business of that clearing dissipate the extra energy building up, and trigger the feelings you need to explore, and give you space for healing to continue.

With blessings,

Sent by Sarah | 9:42 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,

Thank you for sharing your life with us at this most painful time. All of us are thinking of you--and lifting!

Sent by Donna G. | 9:43 AM ET | 08-20-2008

HI Laurie.
I hope whenever you start putting away the things that assisted Leroy you have someone to help you with that. I imagine you well need alot of support that day.

Be gentle with yourself

Karen

Sent by Karen | 9:43 AM ET | 08-20-2008

You lost Leroy, but not the battle. To lose the battle, is not to make the most of the time one is given. Leroy lived bravely with cancer, so yes there are battle scars. I will die of cancer before I am ready, but I am trying to live courageously and follow Leroy's fine example. But not having him with you really sucks

Sent by elissa Rosenfeld | 9:46 AM ET | 08-20-2008

It is a brave thing you aspire to do, but will be a spiritually cleansing act. I remember within a few days of my husband's passing...staring at the big old clunky oxygen machine, the wheelchair, the masks & cannulas, the nebulizers, etc. Donated all usable things to those who needed them. Then had a meltdown!! dear Laurie, we are here for you and I feel privileged to be able to walk with you on this road. Bless you. love from sherri in texas

Sent by Sherri Eggleston | 9:51 AM ET | 08-20-2008

laurie,
thinking of you.

Sent by roni | 9:52 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Someone here posted "The Guesthouse". That is one of my very favorite poems and very appropriate. However, don't rush anything. Do what you can and at a pace you can handle. You have so many ups and downs coming...know that it is normal. Lots of folks here wrote very good things. Be kind to yourself as Leroy would have been to you. Ask for help...don't do things alone unless you really want the space.

Wishing you peace,

Sent by Lori | 9:52 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Yes, Laurie, get it all out of your house. Even if it is putting it out of the home somewhere else until all those services come pick things up, and restore your home to how it was before so that happier memories can return.

Sent by Kelley | 9:54 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Hello Laurie,

Following Leroy's blog with the final entry brought me right back to when I lost my mother. She was a suicide which left her children in an awful state, wondering about her soul. Somehow she seemed to come to each of us as a calming presence. It was all at separate times and only weeks later did we siblings tell one another about it.

All this to hope that in the quiet times, you are able to sense some kind of Leroy presence around you. I don't think it lasts long.

All the bereaved spouses I know have gone a little off kilter for quite a while, so do let friends and family comfort you. And if others eventually get busy, you make the effort to connect with them continually. You may not feel up to it sometimes, but it's really important.

There aren't any words that take away sorrow and the emptiness of such a large presence in one's life. I just wish I could hug you and provide a moment's solace.

Gail in Maine

Sent by Gail Johnson | 9:55 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Hi Laurie,

I'm a very infrequent contributor, but you and Leroy have been in my thoughts for a long time. I can really understand how uncomfortable and foreign those "clinical" objects quickly become, now that their reason for being in the home has passed on to a certainly better place where such items will never be necessary. IT sounds like a good idea to get them picked up, leaving your home as it was when you and Leroy weren't living in Cancer World. My prayers are with you.

Leslie

Sent by Leslie Erickson | 9:55 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dearest Laurie and all those whom have also lost a loved one.....

Although I know in grief you can see nothing but a "battle lost"... but I hope one day you will see him victorious.. Leroy NEVER allowed the cancer to "defeat him"... he was indeed victorious... the cancer died not Leroy.. he will live on forever... in our hearts and minds and "on the other side"!!

Anne P put is so well...

"I don't think of that time as a battle lost ... oh yes, war was waged, but in the end, Mary won. She left this world surrounded by family and friends. She taught us how to live, and how to die with grace. The words she wants on her marker "When in death I'm free, I'll sing on for eternity". "

I truly believe the same to be true for Leroy!

You remain in my thoughts and prayers for strength through this most difficult time of grief........

Sent by Ron Bye (NH) | 9:56 AM ET | 08-20-2008

The things that can help others, part with now. We gave my sister-in-law's fabric to a hospital group that makes quilts. The medical equipment went to a chemo center. That helped us feel more powerful, if that is the word. But the personal stuff. That can wait. Give yourself the gift of time. Let healing happen.

Sent by Karen | 9:58 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Yay, go clean those things out. No one would want to be remembered by their medical leftovers. They are helpful -necessary sometimes- during the struggle. But they are never what should be remembered.

I also agree with those who said that that Leroy didn't realy lose any battles--even as his body grew sicker from the cancer. He knew eventually the cancer would get him and he kept going for as long as he could-refusing to give up any pieces of his life to it before he had to. I wish the cancer hadn't taken him from you and from us, but I think he was a winner up until the end.

Sent by N.R. | 9:59 AM ET | 08-20-2008

For all of you out there..who have lost a loved one. My friend and I make Hugging Heart Pillows out of fabric/shirt/pj's of a loved one. She made me one out of one of my husband's favorite shirt that I can leave on the bed and hug as needed( and cry into it)! If you are interested, please email us at Felltheirlove@yahoo.com
Laurie, we would gladly make you one out of one of Leroy's shirts or whatever.
All our love

Sent by Joan, Virginia | 10:02 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie
I don't have any practical advice for you, but I'm sure you'd feel much more at peace without all the cancer gear around. I'm so glad you're keeping up this blog for however long it feels right for you.
In an attempt to get some endorphins flowing for you, I submit for your consideration this clip from "What About Bob?", one of my favorites.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HROJflp4-EY
Hope it brings a fleeting giggle your way. With love,

Sent by valerie Longfellow | 10:06 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,

I don't see Leroy as losing. I don't see all those things as scars.

Those were his tools to battle with. That is what helped him get thru the days, just as a soldier needs his weapon. He did not lose, he just ran out of newer, better tools.

Just as Leonard from Alabama, I too have been reading this blog for the last two years, marveled at Leroy's willingness to share his illness, while my father never did. He died when I was 15 and even now, 25 years later, I wish he would have been more communicative and asked for help.

Pass those tools on to someone else who needs them now, and keep his memory alive by living. Go to Maui and drink some mai tais in his name, walk the beach as you would have with him. Celebrate his life, and don't dwell on his death. It will make it easier.

Some days will indeed be emptier, more silent than others. Friends will be at a loss for words and nothing they can say will make the void go away, but it will get easier. Just don't forget to live.

There is a saying that goes:

If you cry because you can no longer see the sun,
the tears will not let you see the stars.

So get the house cleaning done, let his friends have a piece of him, and have a party with all of them, where you can have a chuckle at his expense. He would have liked that.

My thoughts and prayers are with you,

Sent by David Abad in Cincinnati | 10:06 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Hi Laurie,
I recall that after the passing of my grandfather, my family had a hard time parting with some of the tools needed for his care. It took several weeks for it all finally to go and for everyone to be comfortable parting with it. I do recall being up late one night, unable to sleep. I took some house plants that were badly in need of repotting and replanted them in the commode (thoroughly cleaned of course) and putting it in the living room. Everyone had a good laugh when they saw it, and it helped to alleviate some tension and led to some funny stories from the past two years of his care. While his care was serious business, Daniel was full of life during that time and there was plenty of room in him for humor. Stories, remembering, tears, laughing, a few more tears all helped us to heal. I learned a lot from those stories that helped me appreciate him even more. Three years later, there are some clothes in the closet. It takes time, and only you can decide how long that needs to take for you. I wish you peace and healing in this tough time.

Sent by Don Richard (Rehoboth, MA) | 10:07 AM ET | 08-20-2008

If in doubt, don't pitch it out--at least not immediately. 30 years after my grandfather's fatal heart attack, my grandmother was still wrapping herself up in his old bathrobe.

Sent by Shirley P. | 10:09 AM ET | 08-20-2008

I can't imagine how painful this is for you. Thank you for continuing to talk to us. My thoughts are with you.

Sent by Lisa | 10:11 AM ET | 08-20-2008

After my husband, Bob, of 26 years died at 51 years; fast and furious metastic brain cancer, I can remember taking all of his "medical tools" (ie, shower chair, bed pans, etc.)and throwing them in a DUMPSTER! I was very intent in this act....I'm sure it was with great anger as I very rarely displayed any throughout his sickness. I can remember feeling that all these "appliances" NEVER represented my husband and I wanted no reminder of such an awful time in our lives. On another note however, after 5-1/2 years I CAN NOT part with his clothing, hunting guns, shoes, toiletries, motorcycle, etc. Those items bring to memorary the "real Bob Morgan" to me. Good luck Laurie with every moment of every day! Shannon

Sent by Shannon in Keithville | 10:13 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie - Thank you so much for sharing with us again today. I can truly empathize - when you rid the house of these painful reminders of Leroy's and your battle, you are able to remove some of the evidence of the monstrous struggles you both had to endure. But the scars remain on your heart - they bring anger, frustration and terrible grief. The housecleaning helps you remember your beloved the way he used to be before cancer took over. But getting rid of all the outward evidence of the illness can, at the same time, make it very hard on the remaining survivor (which is indeed what you are.) Those items, the walker, the special cushions and bed pads, these unbidden houseguests, all may also be tender reminders of a precious time you shared and of the most intimate connection you might ever be blessed to make with another human being. I say "blessed" from experience, as I have learned at the bedside of several dear people that, as arduous and unmerciful those days together may have seemed at the time, there is a holy presence and blessing that comes with sharing another's last journey. For myself, I found that, as much as I was anxious to rid myself of the things which seemed like monuments to our defeat, I also needed to take my time before removing all vestiges of the heroic last days, months shared.
You were very present when Leroy needed you the most and you were a bold, unrelenting advocate for him in the face of something frightening and horrible. Although the battlefield is strewn with heart-wrenching tokens of a most valiant fight, it is, like all battlefields, a sacred place which honors the memory of the blood and tears shed.
God bless you, Laurie. With love, CaroleD

Sent by CaroleD | 10:13 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,

Add one more LIFT to your collection. Feel one more set of arms holding you. Rest in the comfort of the love of all who know and care about you....including those of us who have never met you or Leroy. May you find peace in the abundance of light and love that surrounds you.

Sent by Sandy | 10:17 AM ET | 08-20-2008

You're a funny girl...I *know* that feeling of wanting to Do Something, and cleaning house is one of the most satisfying things you can do. You're funny because you're so much like me...like all of us...just doing what we can.

Peace
jj

Sent by Joan Jones | 10:19 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Good morning Laurie. I can't speak as a surviving caregiver, I'm on the other side of the equation...but once the medical scars are moved out...the true stuff of Leroy's life will be there waiting for you to cherish. More than 10 years after the fact, my family is excited when we run across something that belonged to those we have survived.

I hope that Spanky is helping. Thanks for writing.

Sent by Joan S. | 10:19 AM ET | 08-20-2008

I know exactly what you are saying, Laurie. We needed so much "stuff" for my beautiful sister during her fight. Seeing it after she was gone, every bit of it, a painful, traceable memory of what she could or could not do at that particular time. It's crushing. My heart is hurting for you. I really understand.

Sent by Catherine Bury | 10:23 AM ET | 08-20-2008

My sister and I kept my mom at home while she was in hospice. I think some times, when we act strong for the person who is ill and needs our strength, we do it for our own sake as well. We do that so much, that we can't allow ourselves to be fragile after they're gone. And it is okay to be fragil, it is okay to cry and ask for support, and you're right: cleaning up the house is a good idea. The real person wasn't in the things -- those things were there for him.

God bless you,
Carmen

Carmen

Sent by Carmen Ruggero | 10:24 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Something that has always bothered me was when you read that someone has lost their battle with cancer. Lost their battle?? When my Mom passed away from her cancer I felt she had never "lost" her battle. Her body could not endure any longer but her spirit remained strong. She fought bravely dispite how terrible things were but she never complained, never. I was her main caregiver and I cried every time until I reached her apartment door but as I walked in I put on a whole different face for her. One day I walked in that door and could not stop crying. She kept asking me what was wrong, what had happened, please stop crying and tell me she said. I said " Mom, what am I going to do when I don't come here and care for you? I don't know what I will do." Oh please don't worry about me she said. I will be fine. I have lived such a good life , I am ready to go. It was the first time in 1 1/2 years we had talked about such a time, when things would be over with. Its been 2 1/2 yrs now and I want to call her up and tell her I'm okay. Just want her to know I am okay.

Sent by Rose | 10:25 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie -

You go girl! Don't ever forget our lifting you up. Although we cannot be with you in person, know that we are lifting, praying, meditating and sending cyber hugs to you constantly. Do what you need to do when you feel up to it, and know that you are loved.

Danni in Traverse City, MI

Sent by Dannielle Higgins | 10:26 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,
I ofen think about "The time to clean house" but I have to admit a little secret. As John's illness progresses I find myself cleaning out closets and getting rid of things that we have not used or touched in years. I don't know if I am being premature, but I feel that it is that much less that I will have to face when the time comes. I know that the first things I will get rid of are the oxygen machine, walker, commode, etc.............all the "Scars". When John ends his journey I will have to move because my house is too big and despite the beautiful memories of a happy marriage and raising three beautiful children, I cannot see myself staying here alone. This is what makes me the most sad...........leaving all the beautiful memories. I guess today is the day of telling my secret thoughts...............I also pray that John passes away in a hospital and not at our home. I only want to remember the happy memories here. Today is chemo day and I guess I am just rambling on.....sorry. The chemo is just buying John a little more time. I did not like the idea but it was John's decision to try one last time. I hope you are healing each day Laurie. I pray that you continue to heal and thank you for sharing your thoughts with us. You will be my inspiration. I admire your strength and courage.

Sent by sasha | 10:26 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie Laurie, What a peace came over me this morning when I opened my email and there you were. I need you, we need you for the continuity of our grief. We are together in this where ever we go, that was Leroy's greatest comfort for us all. Stay with us and we will all move on together, caring for each other and lifting us all up up up. Elizabeth

Sent by Elizabeth | 10:29 AM ET | 08-20-2008

When my son's friend Matt died, his dad said that the things that at one time were so important to Matt's care had now just become "stuff". Little by little any of the stuff that couldn't be donated to the next kid in the middle of their own cancer battle, was piled at the curb.
Two years later Matt's dad was outside at 2 o'clock in the morning taking down the basketball net. I guess after a while everything becomes stuff. One good thing though, he is not able to talk about his son and we laugh about Matt's funny sense of humor.
Keep the good, get rid of the sad, and take your time.

Sent by Sue in Rochester, NY | 10:30 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, I would definitely get rid of all of the medical gear that cause you to have painful memories when looking at them. But as far as the personal effects, I would do that a little at a time. It can be overwhelming. Please know that we all are praying so hard for you right now for strength and inner peace. Your strength is something I will always admire about you. And Leroy's? - well that just goes without saying. Although I don't know you personally, I can sense that his spirit will never leave your side. The both of you have been truly blessed. You are both still in my prayers.

Sent by Jeanne Stevens | 10:31 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dearest Laurie
Yes, get rid of the medical stuff - that is not Leroy,and you don't want to have that around you. Keep Spanky and everything else that you and Leroy love. Put on loud music, wear one of Leroy's Hawaiian shirts, blot out the world, and clean out all the medical reminders of the pain you and Leroy suffered. Lean on us, dear Laurie, and know that we are there with you. We love you and cry with you and rage with you. Cancer has not, and will not win any battle.
Sasha - I am thinking of you and John. How are you?
JCR - how is your husband?

Sent by Tina from Alton, IL | 10:37 AM ET | 08-20-2008

My brother died of the same cancer Leroy had - a little over 4 years ago. The hospital bed went the same day. My sister-in-law wanted it gone. All of his sisters wanted it gone too.

She is still meaning to move his clothes, but hasn't gotten around to it. I think they comfort her. All in it's own time. We'll be here for you as long as you need us.

Sent by Kathleen | 10:39 AM ET | 08-20-2008

3 - 2 - 1 Wheeeeeee! and caught by thoughts of admiration, strength, comfort and peaceful nights and joyful memory days. And, those little phoophoo drink umbrellas. I am amazed by your resilience and grace. You both are so lucky to have found each other, and continue to have the gifts you each brought to your marriage. Dreaming to be a blessed in this life and the next as you and Leroy. Scars? maybe, just don't pick at them.... they will fade, and all those grand life memories will rise up to replace these scars. Your candor in sharing is helping a lot of us heal, thank you Laurie.

Sent by Stitches | 10:47 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,
Whether you see those pieces of medical equipment as tools or scars, if you feel like it is already time to remove them from your home, go right ahead. If they are tools or weapons of the battle, neither you nor Leroy need them anymore. If they are the scars of cancer in your life, then they should go right away, because certainly where Leroy is, he carries no scars. He is a whole and wholesome being, full of the love you know. Remove the scars, and someday, when the pain, is a little less, you can look at the other things and make decisions.
My prayers are with you. They will lift you up when I cannot.
Dianne

Sent by Dianne | 10:50 AM ET | 08-20-2008

I guess Cancer (does the word cancer deserve a "capital" C?) can never take away your memories of a time before. Before cancer slammed your lives. Wallow in those good memories...forever.

Sent by Marilyn Cowles | 10:53 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Yes, Laurie, those are your battle scars and the wounds are still open and fresh. Take one day at a time, and if you need to, break it down into smaller components of time. If you decide to remove those reminders tomorrow, take a break here and there. Allow those emotions to take their course. Personally, I believe that the American culture does not allow us enough time to truly grieve. Give yourself that right. It's important that you do.
Hugs to you.

Sent by Kathena@sbcglobal.net | 10:53 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,

I am saddened by Leroy's passing - I so admired the bravery and generosity he displayed in this blog. I will miss him, though I didn't know him in person.

Now I'm thinking of you and, along with everyone else, hoping that you will always remember that we are holding you close - in our own ways. So be and do as you wish, knowing we're here to lift you.

Peace and love

Sent by Carolyn in Seattle | 10:57 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,
You will be in my heart and thoughts today as you face the scars of cancer. I wish you peace in this tough time. Just breathe, and know how much you and Leroy are loved. That you honored us with sharing your journey as well as Leroys with us. Please just take care of you.
Blessings,
Miriam

Sent by Miriam | 10:59 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,
I offer this wisdom as a source of comfort:

In the first place, nothing can fill the gap when we are away from one we love, and it would be wrong to try and find anything.
We must simply hold out and win through.
That sounds very hard at first,
but at the same time it is a great consolation,
since leaving the gap unfilled preserves the bond between us.
It is nonsense to say that God fills the gap.
He does not fill it, but keeps it empty,
so that our communion with another may be kept
alive, even at the cost of pain.
-Dietrich Bonhoffer

Sent by Mary Schnorr | 11:00 AM ET | 08-20-2008

I have never posted before but have been reading Leroy's blog since its inception. After following his entries devotedly, I shared it with some of my co-workers. We were all touched by your joint resilience, hope, and determination. I work for a company who creates patient education materials for cancer patients; after discovering Leroy's blog, I made sure we stuck a link to it on our materials. I can only imagine the number of people whose lives have been so greatly impacted by his honesty and frankness. I know mine certainly has, and I can only offer you my sincere thanks for sharing your lives and love with all of us. You both uplifted me with your strength on a daily basis, and are in my thoughts and prayers. I have lost a member of my extended family with Leroy's passing, and I grieve with you. I thank God for the blessing of Leroy.

Sent by Shelley C. Stoltz | 11:00 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie, Im a cancer patient, and I wonder many a time if this battle is just as hard on the caregivers, family and friends as it is on the patients. I can only imagine the helplessness and sorrow you must feel when looking around. Please know you are in my and many other "friends" thoughts. Roxi

Sent by Roxi | 11:01 AM ET | 08-20-2008

When my John and I received the news that his cancer had metastasized, we had a good old house cleaning and went through closets and boxes getting rid of stuff. We both like a good cleaning.

It's been a year since John was considered terminal and we still occasionally look at each other and say, "That could go" and donate another box or give something to one of the kids.

I've also made a list, consulting with John, assuring that each of our nine collective children and four grandchildren will receive a special item.

I'm grateful that John has been able to do this with me...helping me to prepare for the next phase of my life when he is gone.

But the really personal items? Who knows. I guess I will know when the time actually comes.

A good friend of mine lost her husband to sickle cell anemia and planned and made a cross country trip with her dog, stopping in cities where she had friends and family. This took her a couple months.

I think this is a fabulous idea and in my mind, I plan my trip. Sometimes John and I talk about this trip and where along the way I should sprinkle some of his ashes. I know some people think we're nuts to talk like this.

Laurie - we are with you...following behind and some leading the way. It is a long, strong column.

Sent by Ricci | 11:02 AM ET | 08-20-2008

My family found that getting rid of the "apparatus" accompanying cancer care was helpful, in that the visual reminders of the illness were gone. Obviously the scars run much deeper and will continue to be there, but we just hated all of that "stuff." My heart is with you during this process. It is so hard. If you need to vent any anger at the disease, getting rid of these particular "scars" (as you so aptly put it), may be a good way to release some of your feelings. Wishing you some sense of peace today, Laurie. Will be thinking of you as always.

Sent by Donna R. in NJ | 11:02 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Thank you stitching the fabric of connection together
again this morning. It is easy to lift when a community comes together and joins together to " lift". I have a vision many hand joined, and lifting you each morning to help you remember you are loved.

Sent by Joan Unterschuetz | 11:07 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, if you're comfortable in giving away all the flotsam and jetsam of Leroy's medical journey right now, you do that. But, nothing says you have to begin cleaning out the closets, his office, and his other spaces in the house right away. In fact, you might even find some comfort in not tackling that job right away.

I won't kid you....when you do decide it's time to clean, it won't be an easy process. There will be tears, laughs, puzzlement (what in the world did he ever do with this?!)and frustration that he was such a pack rat. Even if he wasn't. But, it's all a part of the process.

I hope you're having a beautiful, sunny, end of summer day. In my part of the world, we're bringing in trash cans, lawn furniture, picking up those limbs the wind has already knocked out of the trees, buying water and ice and shocking our pools all in anticipation of Tropical Storm Fay. Please stay a TS, girlie! And please pray for us in NE FL!

I wish you peace.

Sent by Joyce in FL | 11:08 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,

Thank you for writing today. I'm sure we were all worried about you. We fellow life givers understand this time all too well.

2 months ago I moved from the apartment that I first moved into after Melody's death.

When I first moved in to that apartment, I had her wheelchair, walker, heating pad, and various other life-giving tools. I didn't want to deal with it. I put them in a corner of the kitchen, and there they sat. I couldn't bear to let them go. I half-heartedly tried, but I didn't succeed.

When I moved 2 months ago, I got rid of the heating pad, the support belt that helped me help Melody up the stairs, and some other odds and ends, but the wheelchair and walker, I moved into storage. I will donate it... at some point. The stuff I kept were hospital footies, my floor pass for the ICU on the day she died, the stuffed teddy bear she always took to the hospital (one I gave her for valentines day in 2003), her first hospital bracelet when we found out she had cancer (that is around my gear shift in the car), and other various small stuff. See...I'm still dealing with stuff after 22 months.

But dear Laurie, take your time in house cleaning. I know some of it makes you angry, some of it makes you sad, some of it makes you smile, but all of it reminds you of Leroy. Ride the experience. Allow yourself to feel.

We're here for you, now and always.

Michael

Sent by Michael (Lifegiver Survivor) Chicago | 11:08 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Hello Laurie:
Leroy and you have not 'failed' though I know it's easy to get caught up in the 'what ifs' and 'if onlys' in such a heartbreaking situation. Both of you did the very best you (anyone!) could under awful circumstances. There's certainly no shame or failure in that.

I miss Leroy's posts already, so I can only imagine the depth of your emotional pain right now. Please know that others in this blog-community understand and care.

P.S. I knew a man who lost his wife to cancer when she was barely 50. He donated most of her personal belongings to charity -- but he kept some of her clothing that was used to create teddy bears for her best friends. Over the top? Maybe, but it was a way to keep her scent around and gave those who loved her something to hug. How about making Leroy throw pillows to hang onto when you watch the news? Just a thought...

Nancy from Canada

Sent by Nancy | 11:09 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Last night I went to my first healing group for cancer survivors. I still hate that term, survivors - makes me feel like I don't belong. But the group brought me something I didn't expect. They divided cancer treatment and healing into two different camps. Cancer treatment is about curing the disease they said, and it can fail. But healing is about healing lifelong and that never has to fail. Leroy's writing and your writing helped to heal. His writing, his ability to stay present with himself and with us was a healing and I hope that he experienced that as well.

Sent by Tess | 11:14 AM ET | 08-20-2008

You have so many other wonderful things to remind you of Leroy...it definitely makes sense to pass those medical things along to someone else who might need them.
Take care,
Maggie

Sent by Maggie, Seattle | 11:17 AM ET | 08-20-2008

I don't have a lot of experience in dealing with the few days after a loved ones death but I do think it is theraputic to remove the medical items that remind you of Leroy's battle. I can't imagine in a million years that a bed pan or a IV stand is going to make you feel closer to Leroy.

I would be a little more slow in removing his personal effects such as clothing or types of things like that. I agree with others that wearing a worn out shirt that smells like Leroy can be very soothing as your heart aches.

Only you know what would be most helpful. If you feel you need all items out, have a friend box them up for you and put them away for a bit. You may find you want to visit them later.

I'm sending you good juju vibes and hoping you are surrounded by people who love and care for you. You and Leroy are so so special to me.

Alexis Redmond

Sent by Alexis Redmond | 11:20 AM ET | 08-20-2008

I could never decide if all the things to clean up and out were a blessing, to keep my mind off the sadness, or whether looking and touching each item just brought back the memories of pain and cancer more.... i hope it's the former for you.

Tried to send a note about this great song by Bruce Springsteen... it's special, and wonderful:
"Lift me up"

When the morning bright
Lifts away this night
In the light above
We will find our love, we will find
our love
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aext39mEYqg

Sent by crow | 11:20 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Thinking of you in this challenging time. Many people are thinking of you.
A big lift today!

Sent by Laura | 11:24 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, It is so good to hear from you-I am thinking of you.
Sasha, you are in my prayers as well.

Sent by Jen | 11:25 AM ET | 08-20-2008

It would be nice if someone else would take care of what to throw out, what to donate and hauling it all away... Sometimes the act of cleaning and clearing away clutter-scars is exactly what is called for. Getting rid of the reminders of the cancer could possibly, in time, open up more space for all the beautiful memories of Leroy to come back stronger than the memories of the battle.
Please do this with support of those who are grieving along with you. We all lift you, Laurie.

Sent by NancyGM | 11:25 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie: We are here. While you thank us for these postings, know that we are all so thankful for you. While we have tried to support each other on this blog, you have done the hardest work, in the trenches. And you have done it so well. I only wish that all of us had Laurie-like support as we fight our own cancers, and I am so sad for the fact that we may leave our loved-ones in the same position that you are now. Know that I'm adding my hands to the "lifing" effort, for whatever help it may hopefully provide.

Sent by Sarah B. | 11:27 AM ET | 08-20-2008

I hope you have a friend to help you, Laurie. The cancer 'scars' from Pat's illness went right away.

I know this sounds crazy, well, no, maybe not. There are things of Pat's that I can't let go of yet. His favorite baseball hats from the Detroit Tigers to the University of Michigan. They're still hanging on the hook that he put them on the last time. I dust them but they stay there. His 'wall' of ties that he built in the closet is still there--my daughter won't let go of that either.

It all takes time, Laurie.

Hugs and prayers.

Sent by Kathy Barney from Michigan | 11:27 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,
I have been without computer access for the past several days so I'm trying to get my breath after reading the news. I have been carrying around such a heaviness in my chest the past few days, could I have known in some way? The timing of the end of Leroy's journey happened to coincided with that of my mother's last year, so I felt much trepedation when August rolled around. Please know that we are here for you as we have been through out what is different now, is that Leroy no longer needs us. I am a person of faith, so I believe Leroy is doing quite fine and he knows our work continues on. Please be assured we are up to the job, and are here to lift you with the enormity of our collective love. In peace and friendship - Holly

Sent by Holly | 11:29 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,
I agree with you that the "scars" should be removed right away. The presence of all that medical stuff only conjures up sad memories. They served their purpose at the time but have none now. The rest of Leroy's stuff can wait until you're strong enough to deal with it.
I helped my brother-in-law with the life giver role in the last weeks of my sister's life. Once she was gone (lung cancer), all the medical equipment, drugs, etc. were removed immediately because the loss of her was so painful none of us needed reminders of her suffering.
Her personal items were another thing. In a way, there was comfort in holding her blanket or shirt up to my face and breathing in the scent of her. I sat in her room with her blanket held to my face, breathing her scent, while hospice readied her for the funeral home. I sat that way for a long time after they took her away.
My brother-in-law gave me most of the concert shirts she purchased when we went to different concerts. Each holds a precious memory for me. Even now, 9 months later, I still sometimes hold one of those shirts to my face and breath in her smell. I dread the day that the smell is no longer there.
My brother-in-law has only recently started the process of going through her things and still has a hard time doing it. Baby steps. . . all in good time as we grow stronger and are able to deal with it.
My thoughts and prayers are with you in this unbelievely sad time in your life.
Baby steps . . .

Sent by Susan from Michigan | 11:29 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,

It is so comforting to hear from you. I miss Leroy so much. I know this is such a difficult time for you.

Love to all,
Betty Lewis

Sent by Betty Lewis | 11:31 AM ET | 08-20-2008

My father died suddenly in 1999. My mother (now 92) stayed in the apartment they had shared for decades. Until she moved to assisted living almost four years later, she kept all of his clothes in the closet and in the dresser. His favorite jacket hung in its usual spot. I think seeing such reminders of him were of great comfort to her. Then, when Mom left the apartment, it became my task to go through Dad's things. Even years later, I cry thinking of it, just as my brother and I both found ourselves waking up crying in the days after our father died.
Some of his clothes went to his three grandsons. Most of the rest went through the church of a friend at work, to men who them. I kept his wallet (with his laminated WWII discharge papers) and a few other reminders of someone I miss so much even 9 years later.
Because of Dad's sudden death, I did not have the Scars to deal with, which must be very hard to see. And, as sad as losing a parent is, losing a spouse or child is far worse in the order of life.
As you write, I think of what my husband and son will need to do if my remission (indolent non-Hodgkins lymphoma) ends and they someday need to make the same choices.
1-2-3 Lift.

Sent by Roz | 11:35 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dearest Laurie, those medical supplies will do a world of good for a medical clinic or hospice patient. But you might want to consider having a quilt made out of scraps of Leroy's favorite shirts, sweaters, etc. It is a wonderful reminder of your amazing husband. And it's perfect to cuddle up in during the cold winter nights.

Sent by Mel Sebastiani | 11:39 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,
When my mother passed away, Hospice came the next morning to take her tools. I found myself so busy with the funeral planning that I wasn't able to really process it until a few weeks later when I found myself with a huge void. We had focused on caring for my mother for months, and suddenly I had time that I didn't know what to do with. It was hard, but we had so much support from friends and family. Grieving is a personal journey too, and each person goes at their own rate. Do take time for yourself, and as I learned, it is important to see your own doctor at some point, because stress is hard on a person.

Sent by Margaret | 11:45 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,

First off.....I'm so sorry for your loss of such a huge part of your life. I didn't write before because, after reading many of the extremely eloquent comments of other "My Cancer" readers, I didn't feel I could say anything to help comfort or cushion the heartbreak I know you feel. My dad passed away, gosh, nearly two years ago, now. I live with my mom now as I did with both my parents while my dad was going through a cascade of illnesses during the last couple of years of his life.

Everyone is so different about decisions of a loved-one's possessions. I called the oxygen company the day after Dad died to take away their huge liquid oxygen tanks, of course, but there are many medical items we still have around...like his walker and canes and crutches. Heck, who knows, I might need them sometime and they remind me of Dad. We donated his electric mobility device to the disability dept. of our local college so that made both Mom and me feel good to know it would be helping somebody else. Other than that, Mom hasn't wanted to do anything else. Dad's clothes are still in the closet and his drawers. His, ever present, caps are hanging on pegs in their usual places in the backroom just as always. I think that's perfectly normal....for Mom...and many other people, I'm sure. I, personally, would feel very sad not seeing that favorite cap each time I passed through the house. It was so much a part of him.

I, also, see nothing wrong with packing most things up nearly right away. It's all such an individual "thing". It's the same thing with mourning. There's not a right or wrong way....or a correct or incorrect amount of time. Mom gets angry at herself at times for continuing to have much difficulty about missing Dad so and not having him here. She thinks she should just be able to "get on with things" like "everybody else" is able to do. Pooh....that's nonsense! By the way, Mom began taking an antidepressant a few days after Dad passed away. I've been taking one for years for reasons other than Dad's illness and death. Even though they, of course, don't make everything terrific....I feel they do give a foundation to stand upon so there's less of a likelihood of falling down into the depths of all the muck that can immobilize a person after a life altering event such as the loss of a dearly loved person. That's just a personal opinion, of course, but I feel it has helped.

Be kind to yourself, Laurie. Two steps forward and, sometimes one or, even, three steps back. The important thing is striving to keep moving in that forward direction. You've got thousands of good thoughts being sent and helping hands reaching out to you. Don't be afraid to latch on to some of those hands whenever you need or want to!

Sent by Nancy | 11:48 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,

We're all different about when to clean house and how much to pitch. I kept my husband's robe for months after he died and threw/gave away everything else. I just needed to smell his scent now and then...

Blessings.

Sent by Diana Kitch | 11:50 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,

I work at a comprehensive cancer center and I am recommending Leroy's blog to all staff so they can see through his eyes, this veryp personal journey. Of course we have our perspective as long-term providers, and the losses are painful, but nothing can draw us closer to our patients, and the gift of life, than being able to see them as individual people, with unique reactions to the process. Leroy has reminded us of the daily challenges in such an eloquent way that we can't help but become better people because of it. We all have a desire to leave this world a better place, but Leroy left us better individuals, through the privilege of knowing him. We will talk about Leroy for a long time to come, and we will encourage others through his wisdom. Thank you for sharing him with us all. We've been truly blessed. Lory Grimes, RN, Clinical Manager, Norris Cotton Cancer Center. North

Sent by Lory Grimes | 11:50 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, the hospice equipment has to go back, on to someone else who needs it. It takes up a lot of space and as you said, it is the debris of battle.

But, I have found parting with everything very difficult. Two years after my husband's death, I am just beginning to deal with his clothes and personal belongings. A pair of his pants have hung on a peg at the back of our bedroom door, right where he left them. Just recently, I moved them to a hook in my closet.

Be careful. Take your time. Don't let anyone rush you. Your time schedule is the only one that matters now.

Sent by Marilyn | 11:50 AM ET | 08-20-2008

That's a great idea, Laurie. You set the pace for your healing, and we are here to do any heavy lifting you might need.
Thank you for think enough of all of us to post.

Sent by Lanie | 11:52 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear dear Laurie,
We feel so privileged to lift you up as much as is possible. Along with everyone else, my heart is with you right now. Grief is as unique as each person experiencing it.
With much love,
M.A. Sullivan
Charlottesville, VA

Sent by M.A. Sullivan | 11:56 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,
I came late to Leroy's blog. I was just getting to know him through his writing when we lost him. I'm not a cancer victim or survivor and (blessedly) nobody in my family or among my friends is. I found his blog via NPR main page, loved his writing, and began reading it because of Leroy the Writer, not Leroy the Cancer. So it's possible that in my ignorance I could blunder here, but here goes anyway:

You write today of the pain you feel seeing the objects and equipment Leroy needed at the last. As a reader, when I think of the hospital bed he blogged about, I remember noticing that in the last few entries he seemed to me to be putting down the outside world (and his world had been vast, larger than most of us will ever come close to) and coming into a small, compact world-- his bed, in his home with his Laurie nearby and even (referencing his last, sweetly painful post) his stuffed dog.

I do understand that the props around him (bed, commode, etc.) and even the setting (home!) could be seen primarily as triggers to bad memories. But death is deeply personal, the last and most private intimacy we can share. It is rarely beautiful, to be sure, and last way we have of loving someone is not to flinch. The last gift we can give is not to turn away but to look squarely into the face of the person we're losing, however it looks, wherever it rests, hospital, home, hospital bed... wherever, whatever. To be there as long as we can in the only way we finally can, in the midst of the entire ugly equipage. Who see us and yet loves us in our last extremis -- in our unlovely hospital bed, for example, -- that's our finest friend. That we exit this world with one such friend nearby may be all, finally, that we can ask. I don't have such a friend, it won't be like that for me.

So in another way, I hope you can let that cancer equipment serve to remind you of the valiance of you, Laurie, and how you traveled with him as long as you could, surrounded by all those homely tools and props, to the final destination when it was time to go there. I salute you.

Sent by Leslie | 11:58 AM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,
From his writings, Leroy hated words like fight and battle when it came to cancer. It implied losing because one didn't try hard enough.
Leroy didn't lose.
He stood up to the Beast and stared it in the face. And all the time, he looked out for us.
He educated, he led, he cared.
And he has all of us to show for it. We loved him and because of Leroy we love you, too and lift you up at this most sad time. That's not losing.
Cancer is just a horrible, ugly thing.
Myrna Baker

Sent by Myrna Baker | 12:03 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Go Laurie Go... get rid of all the stuff that remaind you of the "scars", but try to do all the other daily living things slowly. When my mom died it took me many years to let go, even know after 10 years I still have some of her things. So dear Laurie we are here to lift you 1.2.3 LIFT!!!.
Peace be with you and thank you for writing.
Marelly

Sent by Marelly | 12:03 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Maybe the job of cleaning out all that sickroom gear could be given to some of your close friends or relatives? After all, they want and need opportunities to be useful and "lift you up" in any way possible, too. And as others have said, don't make any hasty decisions about the many reminders of happy days with Leroy. Give yourself plenty of time so that you don't someday regret getting rid of personal items that you or another of Leroy's loved ones would treasure.My mom died just before my diagnosis in Dec. 2005. I only have a few small reminders of her, but they mean so much. I love using her old kitchen utensils & cooking pots and wearing one of her soft shirts and even her socks sometimes!

Sent by Doris | 12:08 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Dearest Laurie,
Cleaning house is a good thing to do. After my Dad passed away from colon cancer, me and my Mom cleaned house. It was hard to do in one way, but in another way it made dealing with things a little easier. It is hard to look around and see those thing's after they are no longer needed. You are heading in the right direction. Hang in there, we are all here for you.

Sent by Teresa in WV | 12:10 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Good for you, Laurie! It also may help to think of such items as "tools," and their job,as completed. My dad would complain if my brothers and I left tools out after we had finished with them, so you are wise to go ahead and return them to the "tool box" so others will be able to find them, if needed!
And Laurie, I do hope that you are getting out of the house as much as you can find time for; frequent changes of scene, as I well know, can greatly assist in clearing the mind and calming the soul.
Please remember that we are all still "lifting"!

Sent by Frances Price | 12:12 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,
It's good to hear from you. I totally understand wanting to remove all the hospital items. Rooms get filled with cancer;it's up to the survivors to clean them. I hope that you have friends and family to help you with these tasks. Even one person, standing by with a glass of water and a gentle hug can help so much.

Sent by Libby | 12:12 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,
The scars are painful. Think of your web friends as surrounding you as you "clean house". Maybe, in a way, we will all be cleaning house.
I wanted to share with you a little story. Last Sat afternoon, some friends of our daughter came to visit. They brought their dog.... A Burnese Mountain Dog named "Shemp". He was huge and full of energy and as he bounded through the door I thought about Leroy. It made me smile because this dog was so full of life. I like to think about Leroy somewhere out there with his very own big dog in a place where he isn't in pain and he's smiling.
Sending love to you and continuing to "lift".

Sent by Beth | 12:12 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Hi, when my mom passed from ovarian cancer we got rid of those things pretty fast as well. You don't need reminders cause you never forget. We kept my mom's gowns and about a yr later my husband had me a quilt made from them. I love it and just cuddle in it when I am having one of those bad days. We had them done for my father and sister as well. Maybe there are some things you could do this with.

Sent by Lori B. Jackson | 12:15 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie: There are so many people who still need this powerful blog. I am sending out a plea for prayers and loving thoughts for a lengthy operation in the morning, at Sloan Kettering Memorial. A. M. is only 28 and has battled colorectal cancer successfully, but this is an entirely different cancer and is very serious. Although I have hesitated to post this, I feel that I just have to for her and her anxious family. If you can all mentally be with her and the team of doctors, it will be so good. Thank you in advance.

Sent by N. Holmes | 12:19 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Truly a day of sadness and sorrow! Our muse, our mentor our teacher has died. What can you say to Laurie, to the family and friends to make the pain of the loss tolerable...nothing, nothing at all! The pain in their hearts is acute as they struggle to cope with Leroy's death. The void his death creates is very wide and extends from soul to soul, an expanse you cannot see. Because as we all know, Leroy touched hearts and souls around the world. His blog was a beacon for those in need in the cancer world. He dispensed hope, humor, front porch rocking chair wisdom, humanity, compassion, empathy and sympathy for all to take as they required each day.

What shall we do now? I believe that we should all honor Leroy's memory by doing as he did for us. Even if our individual efforts only touch one other person, what a wonderful memorial that would be to Leroy. Leroy is watching so let's not disappoint him! He reached out unashamedly to us and shared his and Laurie's journey with cancer. He taught us how to live and yes, how to prepare for death. He chronicled the frailties of the human spirit when faced with decisions that signaled that the end was getting near. It is not easy to admit that death is not far away and he allowed us to see his humanity as he wrestled very publicly with these issues.

The darkness may think that it has won! But no it hasn't. The little light of HOPE will continue to burn in our collective hearts if we will allow. Leroy's memory, his spirit will fuel the flame and keep the darkness at bay. I believe that Leroy's soul is now in Heaven and suffers no more. I also believe that God will bring His mercy, grace and healing power to soothe the pain of loss in Laurie's heart as well as the hearts of his family and friends.

Let us keep Leroy's spirit alive by emulating his good deeds.

Time to clean out the reminders of the struggle. Laurie, let all of the good memories wash over you to try to lessen the pain of your loss. May God bless you, keep you, comfort you and bring you peace!

Sent by Al Cato | 12:29 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,

I am hoping that the skies above you today are beautiful; with an artist's rendition of ever-changing clouds and sun, and a soft breeze floating through your home. May that breeze whisper a prayer of gratitude for the life on earth that was Leroy's, and wrap you in comfort as you honor and begin to part with the tools of his well-tended care.

Breathe deeply, dear Laurie, and know that you are surrounded and enveloped by love and friendship and care, and that Leroy still "is":

"And if I go while you're still here, know that I live on, vibrating to a different measure behind a thin veil you cannot see through. You will not see me so you must have faith. I wait for the time when we can soar together again, aware of each other. Until then, live your life to the fullest, and when you need me, just whisper my name in your heart. I will be there." ~Emily Dickinson

With fond, warm wishes,

Kim Forester

Sent by Kim Forester | 12:30 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, thanks for the post today!! Funny, we all keep coming back. Maybe expecting a different ending to the last chapter we read? So, on to the next chapter and as others have said, do everything in your own time. My dad has been gone since 1991 and my mom still has some of his things(a hat he never seemed to take off and one of his t-shirts)They are reminders of his love, his presence and 40 years of memories. Time helps to ease the ache in the back of your throat and in your heart but Leroy will always be a part of your life so what makes you smile, keep close. Everything else is just stuff. My very best to you.

Sent by Jenene K./AZ | 12:31 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie - As a cancer survivor, I picture my husband doing this for me, and I can't stop crying for you. Cancer is hard on the afflicted, but I think it is harder of the loved ones. Leroy's struggle has ended, he is in a better place. Your struggle continues. Please know that prayers are being sent your way.

Sent by Tammy Valley | 12:33 PM ET | 08-20-2008

I and others lost a hero and mentor Friday night to colon cancer.

I never met Leroy fact to fact, only thru his writing in his blog. But he taught me through his words and the example of how he lived his live how for me to with a terminal disease and I grew to love the man.

Doctors don't tell you have to deal with the uncertainty of living with a terminal illness. Everyone is going to die sometime, only god and nature knows when. But most people who haven't faced a life threatening illness spend much time thinking about how long before you die. But with cancer, it's a daily thought. The problem is the uncertainty. The statistics for my and Leroy's colon cancer were not good. Overall, there is less than a 25% chance of making it two years. But on an individual case-by-case basis, no one knows. Do we have weeks or years? Living with this uncertainty is one of the hardest part of living in cancer world, but is something that Leroy helped me to comes to terms with.

His outlook wasn't a "la-la" land rose colored glass view that a miracle will come or that we'll never die. With the number of setbacks, regular ups and downs, that's not a sustainable strategy. Instead, he taught me to face and accept that we will all die sometime. Those with a terminal illness, although we don't know exactly when we will pass on, we actually have a blessing in that we have a bit more warning than others. In his life, he treasured every day. As even those of without cancer don't know how much time we have, it's a lesson I wish that everyone would take to heart.

Rather than dwell on the pain, the embarrassment, the continual loss of privacy and the slow ebbing away of the energy and ability to do many of the things we previously enjoyed, he managed to find joy in what he could do. As simple as spending time with friends, reading a good book or taking a brief walk. There are some many things to do each day that most of us overlook or put off, thinking we have time. What Leroy taught me was that we need to treasure every minute and focus on the joy of doing what you enjoy.

With encouragement from Leroy, I try and pass along what Leroy showed me in volunteering on colon cancer support forums such as www.colonclub.com
I try and help those newly diagnosised with understanding and accepting the fact that they have cancer, but try and tell them that they can live a normal life. It's the best way I know how to remember and memorialize him is to carry on doing the best can to pass on the lessons he taught me.

Leroy put up a good fight with his cancer. As recently as 6 months ago, his outlook was looking pretty good, but situations can change remarkably fast. Lately his cancer had taken a serious setback. It came back faster and more aggressively. In particular it was attacking his bones. I don't think he let on how much pain he was really in. I can tell you from having my cancer in the bones of my legs, how very painful this is. But he tried not to let it stop him from going on with life.

But in the last months, as he discussed publicly on his blog, he struggled with the final decision, of when he should stop the fight and turn to hospice. I hope that when my time to pass comes, I can handle the decision with as much grace and thoughtfulness as he did. In the end, I think the combination of the pain and other discomforts got to be too much. Sometimes your body knows when it's time for your life to end. For Leroy, he passed quietly in his sleep which was a blessing.

He is survived by his wife Laurie and his many friends. Even in the limited window I had to him in his writing, you could see he was a larger-than-live man and could easily become the most important presence in your life. I can only imagine the larger hole that Laurie and those who knew him personally must now feel. I wish I knew something to say to help to take away the pain. Somehow, I think Leroy would know what to say with, just with another of his simple, honesty observation on the passage of life and death.

I will miss him dearly. But he will live on as I will always remember what he and his writing have done to help me and my family. Laurie, I hope it gives you some comfort to know how much Leroy has loved by all of us.

Sent by brady richardson | 12:34 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Oh, the time after.....it is a bitter reminder. I know the "scars", so aptly phrased, well. My sister wore a bathrobe during her cancer, and after she died, I never wanted to see it again, but I couldn't bear to part with it either. We wouldn't bring them back with all their pain and suffering, but oh, to have them with us again well and the way they were......my prayers for healing and comfort Laurie, as you navigate these new waters. I will miss checking on him.

Sent by Marilyn Hilliard | 12:36 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie:

Remove the medical equipment, but don't move to quickly with Leroy's things. I gave Burge's brother some shirts shortly after Burge left, and later wanted a favorite one back when I saw Burge wearing it in a picture.... Now I wonder why I wanted it back but at the time I was almost disparate to have it in my hands.

Move Leroy's things to another place if necessary, but don't hurry yourself to remove them from your house. There will be time later and believe me you never know what little thing becomes extra special later...only to fade in status as time passes.

You are in my thoughts today.

Love always,

Nikki

Sent by Nikki in Kansas | 12:48 PM ET | 08-20-2008

I think a good house cleaning is indeed needed. It will be hard for you to do, but you will feel better when you're done. When you're done, sit down and relax - think about all the good memories you are left with. Sounds like youre getting back to your usual strength!! Sue Sheehan, Bothell, Wa

Sent by Sue Sheehan | 12:49 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie....Thinking of you. Sending love and prayer your way.

Wendy

Sent by wendy | 12:51 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,
My dad had a recliner he rested in once the bed was no longer comfortable. After he died, my mom kept it but every time I saw it I felt it was like seeing a ghost image of the man himself. You're right to remove those things as soon as you can. Hang in there.
Brent

Sent by Brent | 12:51 PM ET | 08-20-2008

N. Holmes,
Prayers and best wishes for A.M.

Sent by bettye | 12:52 PM ET | 08-20-2008

This is for N. Holmes We are there with you, all of us. You are loved by thousands of us. Take heart, keep writing. We are there for you. elizabeth

Sent by Elizabeth | 1:03 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie

Sending you a (((hug)))

With His love that surrounds us!
Dorothy

Sent by Dorothy | 1:09 PM ET | 08-20-2008

I sometimes think of Some of the "things" as medals, not scars. We are all with you, Laurie. I am ten years down the road since Cliff's retinal melanoma that gradually moved all over his body and took his life and I can tell you that things will become more bearable because his spirit will never leave you. Cliff's spirit has helped me through my own cancer battles and I know Leroy's spirit will help you, Laurie. Just as it will all of us. Give yourself permission, love and time, Laurie.

Sent by Lucy from Alaska | 1:13 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie:

My thoughts and prayers are with you. Leroy gave those of us living with cancer hope, courage and daily encouragement in our own fights.

I never knew you or Leroy except through the 'blog, but please know that the gift Leroy gave us will live on, as more and more Cancer patients and their caregivers read his words.

Best,
BEN

Sent by Ben Timmons | 1:14 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, you have my prayers and you do things how you need to.. Hospice for my mother-in-law took all meds and oxygen but we had to do the rest. We put it in the garage until the suppliers could come.. Out of sight..

I didn't hear you saying you were going through all of Leroy's personal things this weekend.. The scars are what you are ridding yourself of, not Leroy's precious things... The right time will come to you for whatever you feel is right.. Take all the time you need.. Leroy is at peace and no longer in pain.. I KNOW they say "Don't say THAT" but to me, it would give comfort to know that he is doing his writing painfree!! SMILE

Please take care of Laurie.. And don't leave us too soon.. Please... This place is a habit..

Sent by Patsy Elmore from Knoxville, TN | 1:14 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, It is time, when you think it is time. These things are now just a painful reminder of a War fought and lost. It is now time for healing for you and the rest of us. Very lonely out here, so good to hear from you. Laurie, thanks for everything. Keep it up if you can. Thoughts and Prayers

Stan

Sent by Stan Wozniak | 1:15 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie -

Since my mom died suddenly at home, we didn't have medical things around as you do. We had things like her glasses, laying on the sofa where she probably had just been before she died; her purse, sitting open on the kitchen table; food out on the counter, as if she were getting ready to have dinner.
The glasses I donated to the Lions Club. They went to someone who cannot afford to see properly. Her purse we emptied of money, bills, etc. and donated the useful part to charity. Her clothes - many of them very expensive - all went to Goodwill. We knew that many women who normally could not afford clothes like that would now be able to enjoy them and feel special in them as she did. The things with sentimental value we shared between my siblings. I found myself caring deeply about little things that never really mattered before, just because they belonged to her. I wanted the blanket from her bed, probably because that was the last thing she touched. I wanted her bathrobe to wrap around me and comfort me. I wanted her perfume so I could remember her in that way. I wanted some of her ashes so that I could have her with me always. The tiny ceramic heart holding those ashes is right here on my desk as I write this. All of these little things helped me greatly get through the grieving process. You will find these things, too, as you begin to clean. Save them, hold onto them. They will mean alot to you later.

I feel for you. This part is not easy.
Hugs.

Sent by Linnea | 1:20 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Beautiful, Laurie. Keep letting us know how things are going. We're here for you, full of loving thoughts and hugs for the journey ahead.

Sent by Lisa | 1:23 PM ET | 08-20-2008

SOME PRACTICAL ADVICE - Please read this, if you can bear it. When my mother died, I put some of her clothes in a plastic garbage bag, a quick fix for a job I just couldn't face at the time.

And, boy, I was so glad I did. About a year later, I was finally going through the last of her things for sale or donation. I opened the bag, and BAM! it was like she was in the room with me! Her smell, so unique and so precious, brought her back in a way nothing else had, even pictures and letters. I started remembering things I'd completely forgotten. I've kept the bag of clothes, and still take a whiff, now and then, when I need her presence in my life. It's truly amazing what an impact her special scent had.

You may want to consider doing this with some of Leroy's things. It may be too painful now, to even think of such a thing, but in a year or two, trust me, you'll be glad you did.

Sent by Jessica | 1:29 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Hi Laurie,
I had to clean house quickly after my Mother passed away. I was trying so hard to eliminate all those things that reminded me of her dying days. I wanted only to remember Grace as she was BC. It helps. Just a little, but it helps.

Sent by Sharon | 1:31 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,
I can only tell you from my experience that it was very important to have the hospital bed removed as soon as possible. When the medical equipment place brought it, I asked at that time if they would pick it up quickly. It had to be in the living room and every room in our house was affected by things being shifted here or there. The house was full of reminders. I had to get them out of sight. The Hospice folks had to dispose of his medicines and I am glad for that. It took me over a year to begin thinking about the closet. I would go to reach for something to put it away but could not find the heart too. My mom finally helped me pack some things away. I got those big plastic containers and put most of his clothes in them and put them in our storage house. I know there will be a day when I want to go back through them, just not soon. It has been 20 months since I lost David, he was just 55 and died much the same as Leroy. I feel so for you and hope that you find a way to deal with the pain. I still feel a lot of bitterness and anger, it just seems so hard to let go. I hope you continue to post when you feel like it. I have found that I can only really relate to other widows, it seems that others just cannot understand. I turned 50 this year and can't imagine anybody ever measuring up to my David so I am probably doomed to a lonely life. I am learning to deal with it, but will never get over it. I don't mean to sound so pessimistic, wish I could help "lift" you up but I am still living this experience that you are just beginning. Actually the grief starts from the time of diagnosis. At least it did for me when I really understood what stage IV cancer means, for most anyway. So for about four and a half years you go through so much that when it happens you are still in shock and maybe I still am that it really happened. I feel the same way about Leroy, but knew it was coming. Please take good care of yourself and let us know how you are doing.
Love,
Janice

Sent by Janice Dunn from Troy, AL | 1:43 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,

I'm three months ahead of you in my journey. The medical scars were the first to go. The rest was placed out of sight until I was ready to deal with it. I am sorting things little by little at my own pace. You will need to find your own. I kept his bathrobe because it had his scent. I go to it when I'm having an especially hard day and find it comforting. I also kept his upper denture. Sounds odd but it was his smile and it makes me laugh. Find your own pace and the special reminders that will comfort you and make you laugh.

Sent by Marcine | 1:44 PM ET | 08-20-2008

That's just how I felt. I couldn't wait to get rid of those things - the commode, the hospital bed, the emesis basins, the drugs. Those things reminded me of the dying Jim, not the living Jim that I loved.

Sent by Denise Galloway | 1:44 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,
Different people have different time tables for dealing with the scars. My style was to get it gone. Do what makes you feel right. This is such a hard time for you. You are in my prayers.
Charlotte in Rural Ridge, PA

Sent by Charlotte Kewish | 1:46 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,

On June 20th Leroy asked us when the time comes, how do I say goodbye?

He did so for us on this blog when he left us with the words: "A Boy and His Dog"

This was oh so profound for me. I have above my desk this saying:

Dogs are our link to paradise..to sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring..it was peace.

Perhaps you should take Spanky and find a hillside. I wish you more peace than you can imagine. Jude Kegerreis

Sent by Jude Kegerreis | 1:51 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Yes, take your time, but it seems the things you mentioned aren't the things that will be hard to get rid of. It's the clothes and pens..stuff like that. Oh, and go eat some choc. peanut butter ice cream for him.

Sent by Susan | 2:07 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,
I have been reading this blog for such a long time, now. I was saddened to read of Leroy's passing. Please know that I am praying for you often. I pray the God would wrap his loving arms around you during this difficult time.

Sent by Jennifer from Northern Indiana | 2:14 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Another image: they are medals awarded at various points along the trajectory from life to death--for valor, for sharpshooting, for showing up. Attendance counts. He attended his life consistently, with rigor and compassion. As did you.

Sent by Paul | 2:25 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, you will know what is best for you. There will be tears and anger, I am certain; but what you are getting rid of was NOT LEROY; Leroy was the flowered shirt and the fun and the cruises, etc. And those memories will come back in time. Take care of number 1 now, and that is Laurie. G-d bless you. Jan

Sent by janice goldberg white | 2:27 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,

Thank you so much for taking the time to post in the middle of all that you are going through. Please know that we are all here for you and will continue to be here long from now. I am lifting you with all of my might!!!

After my mom died we cleared the house of any left over 'artillery'-- hospital chairs, beds, medications, etc.... Besides this everything is exactly the same. Who knows when/if we will ever change things around but I don't feel in a hurry at all. My aunt recently offered to make a quilt of my mom's many chemo hats and articles of clothing but we just cannot bring ourselves to part with any of her belongings. Maybe in 10 years or so we will revisit this idea....

Sara

Sent by Sara | 2:30 PM ET | 08-20-2008

I agree! Keep mementos and whatever else you need. Ditch the bedpans!!

Sent by LindaK | 2:33 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Oh Laurie I know just how you feel. My mother passed away July 13th from lung cancer. After she was gone, there was still the oxygen, commode, wheelchair, hats, side tables...just reminders of the struggles that she had to endure. Some of the things we have put away, others for some reason we haven't touched yet. Her hats are still on the table, her medicines on her night stand. The strangest of all that none of us have moved is the piece of paper of her last night showing the different medicines we had been giving her to help keep her comfortable. (she was in the hospice program). For reason its still sitting there. I look at it and relive that night. I think that paper serves as a reminder that she was at peace, and not in pain?? I don't really know. I have learned not to question this hard process called mourning.

I didn't start reading Leroy's blog until after my mother passed away. I went back and read all of them since it started. It was so comforting, funny, sincere and honest. She would have loved it =)

God Bless,
Lisa

Sent by Lisa | 2:33 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Everyday since day one of the blog I have been coming to this site. It was a daily affirmation of how many extraordinary people there are in this world, and Leroy was (to quote a line from Sienfeld) the straw that stirred the drink. "My man Leory" was how I referred to him. I'm forever grateful to him, and to you, for your words these past few days have provided comfort and have helped fill this void he's left. We grieve with you.

Sent by Susan | 2:42 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie, I read your post this morning before going to the gym, and thought that I'd send in a comment about not losing the battle. Then, in the car I heard Frank DeFord on Morning Edition eloquently describing Michael Phelps' accomplishments. He ended with a statement that sums up my feelings about Leroy, that I think so many of us share. With apologies to Mr. DeFord on my paraphrase - "I have no idea where he ranks in the pantheon of ... greatness. I just know that by what he did, with as much grace and courage, day after day," Leroy Seivers "made the human spirit ascend, and that's as good as it gets, whenever, wherever." Laurie, there was a battle against a grossly mismatched foe. Clean out those reminders of pain and suffering, and treasure all of the reminders of happiness, joy and courage that you and Leroy shared together.

Still sending hugs, and lifting...

Sent by Sheara | 2:43 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, today is the first day I've been able to write anything to you since I learned on Sunday of Leroy's passing. I have just been without words to express what Leroy and you have meant to me these past 2 years, but I'm ready to give it a shot now.

I was just finishing my treatment for breast cancer when Leroy started writing regularly, in June 2006. I hadn't sought out any traditional cancer support groups, yet Leroy's blog filled a need I didn't know I had. Over and over again, the things he wrote about were exactly what I and so many others were feeling as well. It became a safe place to share things about life with cancer that no one else could understand. I felt both privileged and honored to be on Talk of the Nation with Leroy back in April 2007; it gave me a chance to tell him (and lots of other people) what a godsend his blog was to all of us in cancer world.

And now, here you are, in the midst of your grief, continuing to give to this wonderful community Leroy created. As you write about what you are going through now, and everyone chimes in with their advice and other thoughts, it helps those of us who aren't there yet. Maybe I won't experience what you and Leroy had to face - but if I do, I think I will be able to handle it, thanks to you and Leroy, and Leroy's Army.

Sent by Gretchen Hoag | 2:50 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,

It is so good to see you here today. I wish we could make things better for you but I know you must deal with all of this in your own way.

Leroy's life was so much more than the medical equipment that has been left behind. Once those "scars" have been removed you will be able to see and remember who Leroy really was through all of the good years.

Take care of yourself, Laurie. Visit here often. We can help.

Sent by Jan | 2:53 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie: The next day after Joe died, my stepson and I carried out a throw rug that was scarred with lord knows what - blood from when he fell, cigarette burns, whatever. We hauled it to the dumpster and I threw away that sad and ugly reminder. His cane and walker were borrowed from a friend, and I returned them right away. But that was it. It was weeks before I could move the smallest thing, like his razor blade from the bathroom and his sandals are still sitting by the front door from when he last wore them. I have no intention of doing ANYTHING until I am absolutely ready - when will that be? I have no idea - could be weeks, months. Don't go through anything until you're ready. There's no need, until your mind calms. Oh, Laurie, I'm with you on this journey in my mind. Be well, Marsha

Sent by marsha bacenko | 2:53 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie
When my mother passed away from cancer 11 years ago when I was 21, my father kept all of her things in the house for three years. I convinced him to get rid of the hospice items within a few months. His instinct was to create a museum, while mine was to clear out the bad (the hospice items) and keep the good (personal belongings).
I also found myself taking long drives alone and going to museums and zoos alone. For some reason, being solo but in a public place was soothing to me. A place where no one knew me and no one wanted to extend sympathy, and I could look at art or animals, and tear up behind sunglasses if needed.
Best regards,
Karen

Sent by Karen Skoglund | 2:56 PM ET | 08-20-2008

After my sister died, we were all given a chance to ask for something of hers. I only wanted her garddening hat and a funky old lab coat she wore when gardening. She gardened until she literally could not longer get out of bed. I have pictures of her, bald as can be, with the huge straw hat sitting a little further down with no hair to hold it up, huge goofy looking gardening gloves, and her blue lab coat. I wore the hat until it fell away in pieces, finally tucked the lab coat away.

But the medical reminders, the equipment and paraphanlia of increasing dependence, I agree they should go.

I listened to Ted Koppel's remembrance. With time, the memories will be of that booming laugh instead of this last decline.

Peggy C.

Sent by Peggy Carey | 2:56 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, I hope you can eliminate the painful reminders and maybe the memories of happier times will be more prominent. Thank you for sharing with us. I appreciate your strength and honesty. Oh how I wish I could "lift" you in some way during this time. Take care

Sent by Susie R. from Ohio | 3:02 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,
Leroy became a beacon for me during the past two years. I searched his blog every week, trying to find ways to deal with my friend's brain cancer, and my father's death from cancer eight years ago. I found wisdom, humor and an open sensitivity that I often wished were mine. I originally sought his words to help me find ways to make my friend's struggle easier. She did not want to discuss her "medical issues". And I had thought that sharing feelings with a trusted friend would help ease the daily battle. But I found from Leroy's writings, that the "patient" wanted nothing more than being treated as normal and to forget even for a time the medical issue. I tried to write to him several times, but my concerns and my philosophical wanderings were never blog worthy, so I hesitated to communicate. After all, I am not a member of the cancer group and could not have anything relevant to add. But, I did want very much for you to know that when I heard of your loved one's passing, tears filled my eyes, and my heart ached for you, and Leroy and all the pain and the loss. My deepest sympathies,
A caring but formerly silent and distant friend.

Sent by Ann Wildgen | 3:17 PM ET | 08-20-2008

In my life I have experienced the loss of loved ones through cancer and am currently aware of and supporting others close to me in their coping-with-cancer struggles. I read Leroy's and your blog with both a nurse's eye and a human's heart. It was and is very powerful reading. I wish you strength and and the grace of family and friends. Darlene Tunney of Shell Beach, CA

Sent by Darlene Tunney | 3:22 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Dearest Laurie,
My first thought was "what would Leroy do" It seems he did not care for the scars of cancer and would not wish them on anyone. He lived an exemplary life, one without scars. I think he would want you to remember life, not equipment.
Please, now take care of yourself. We are all here for you and you have been for us.

Sent by Karen | 3:38 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie and all,

Some things - particularly the mystery of life and death - are word-defying: Just too deep to capture. For me this third slow movement comes the closest to expressing the mystery. If you hang on 'til the end you'll see what I mean. Beethoven gives you his "Message to God". I give you my love.

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=6387666

Sent by Cathi | 3:42 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,
I send my deepest condolences.... I've read Leroy's and your posts almost since the inception of the My Cancer blog. I appreciate the honest, candid way in which you both opened your lives up to us. I entered cancer world when I was 25 and my father-in-law became ill and I became his caretaker until his passing. I, too, have cancer scars, still, from the whole experience. I'm 45 now. The obvious ones are the ones you are dealing with now, the not so obvious ones are the ones you will carry inside you the rest of your life. I think that you should at least consider the idea of making this your recovery blog, post cancer blog, or whatever name you want to give it. I really think that to leave you as well as the rest of us who read this blog at an end of the road would be to increase the pain and sadness of Leroy's passing. I know it is a big thing to consider, but your healing process could be as valuable as Leroy's cancer experience has been to all of us but especially to you. As you heal, the experience of writing about it has the potential to help so many people. Again, I do realize that your feet haven't even touched the ground yet, but as a faithful reader and one who has been in shoes similar to yours, please consider the opportunity to keep this blog going for all who may need the lift. Thank you again for sharing Leroy's and your life/journey with us, we are much richer for having shared your experience. May the Universe bless and embrace you and may love rain down on you during this most difficult time.

Sent by Margie Koger | 3:57 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Hi Laurie- I was interested to read yu had just gotten married in June- it was an ah ha moment for me, because Leroy used to refer to you as his partner and then he started referring to you as his wife.I wondered about this and now know a little more. I am just so happy you had each other, and I know Leroy wants you to be happy, so just do whatever suits you best.It is not, and cannot be, an easy time- just know that all of us are thinking of you. And, I love that you are still posting, and take solice from us. Thank you.

Sent by linda h. | 4:07 PM ET | 08-20-2008

When my mom died, which was shortly after my father died, someone sent me this "poem" and it helped.

I can't go on.
There is no way I can go on.
I. Cannot. Go. On.
I don't want to go on.
I just can't go on.

So, I guess I will get up and go on.

This blog was a blessing to me. I will never forget a lot of what I read on here. Thank you.

Sent by Shannon | 4:11 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Since losing my sister to colon cancer just last month, I've realized how much it really was "our cancer". I've not only lost her, but I've lost what was the focus of my days. As caregivers, we try so hard to ease the pain, fear and sadness of our loved one, and when that is gone we are lost. I've spent the last month clearing out things and trying to move on. It is odd what things make you cry. The poor trash pick-up guys watching me sob as they take away the possessions of her life. Now the feeling of being alone is getting stronger. And not only that, I feel like I'm just not needed anymore. I suspect you will have many of the same feelings, Laurie. And we will cope, and move on, I suppose. It just sucks!

P.S. Does anyone have an actual contact where I can donate unused, unopened (and expensive) prescription drugs? All my leads have turned to dead ends.

Sent by Kate | 4:14 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Wow. I'm just in awe, wondering how you are coming up with such eloquent metaphors in the midst of all of this.

Know that you are in the thoughts of so many.

Sent by keri | 4:17 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, I hope you keep up this blog for yourself. Get your thoughts out, and keep recieving the support we try and give you. There are so many who care. In my prayers, Lori

Sent by Lori West | 4:38 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,

the real scars of cancer probably will never disappear. That being said, not being assaulted by the big ugly visible ones every minute of every day will help make the time before the cancer easier to recall.

I am so sorry for you loss.

Sent by Helle Bunzel | 4:41 PM ET | 08-20-2008

i wrote this note, and then sat on it. I didn't know whether or not to send it to you. But, hey, nothing I could say could make you feel any worse than you are! I wish I knew how to console you. I went through a similar ordeal and was devastated. I am still devastated. Nine and one-half years later. Of course, the devastation is not like being in a forest the day after a fire has ended. But the scars from that forest fire remain forever; they just recede deeper into the soil. I don't want to minimize this, you will feel broken for a long time. There it is. Don't expect to get over this any time soon. You may find some solace in a group setting, but that didn't at all work for me. What I did learn is that in a deep relationship, there is never enough time to be together. And, horror of horrors, I thought that my loss was greater than anyone's could possibly be. In one group session I attended, an eighty-six year-old woman who had been married for sixty-eight years was just as devastated as I was. There is just no way around it, grief really sucks. But, there comes a time when it just needs to be over, for the patient, for us. It just needs to end. And then, when it does end, the other monster, Grief, gets to work on us. I swear to god, some days I cried so hard I thought that my eyes would pop out of my head. I would drive around disconsolate and inconsolable and literally scream. I would try to find a road less traveled to avoid being seen or heard, knowing that a padded room was soon to be in my future. But the storm passes, slowly; the raw pain subsides. And if we are lucky and remain healthy, we heal; though never completely. And, here's the strange part, I don't want to heal completely. I want to feel that loss, even if it is subtle. It's a form of love and respect. My girl deserves to live deep within me, never to disappear. I want to be reminded, sometimes keenly, of that loss. Reading LeRoy's blog was sort of like having conversations with my wife which could not take place. Let me explain. My wife became ill in November and was gone three months to the day later. She suffered gravely in those short months, but was as brave you could imagine. But, once the horrible prognosis was delivered, we only had one conversation which dealt with what was to come. It was too painful - and this may surprise you - for me! She could not stand seeing me cry, so it became the elephant in the room we chose never again to address in that way again. Each and every time I sat down to talk with her, I wanted to tell her how much I loved her. I just wanted to weep every time I saw her. I wanted to tell her that I didn't want to live without her. I wanted to tell her how afraid I was of being alone. But, I kept all that bottled up inside. Naturally, those emotions were just too painful for her, literally (her physical pain would increase if she was emotionally distressed). Instead, as LeRoy told us over and over, we talked about "normal." She once said that her impending death - how did she phrase it? "What's going on . . ". - was more painful for us (me and our sons) than for her. Reading LeRoy's blog brought part of her back, and in a good way, if only for a brief spell.

Sent by philly | 4:43 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Hang in there, Laurie.
Rachael S.

Sent by Rachael | 5:04 PM ET | 08-20-2008

I have the same pair of shoes you just got and please know you will make it through these difficult days.There is no timeline or deadline for cleaning and boxing. It comes when you decide its time.I took memory walks with Jim'shirts, I bet Leroy has some Hawaiian shirts you can do the same with.I am praying for you daily.

Sent by Helen Drab Stigant | 5:04 PM ET | 08-20-2008

I am so glad you are sharing your feelings with all of us. Makes Leroy's leaving not as painful.

Sent by trisha zuckerman | 5:05 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, I'm back from work and could read the rest of the messages.

I still believe you should get rid of the Cancer scars--with a friend. The rest will wait until you're ready to do something with it.

I felt sick about throwing away good, really expensive medicines that Pat had. I talked to one of our pharmacists and she gave me the info for World Relief.

Address: 7 East Baltimore St.
Baltimore, Md

Phone: 800-535-5433

I felt good that I could contribute to some one who could use it.

Judith from 9:04 am: Welcome! Please go into the archives. You'll be caught up in no time.

N. Holmes: Absolutely, good luck.

Hugs and prayers, Laurie, you'll be fine. Take your time.

Sent by Kathy Barney from Michigan | 5:05 PM ET | 08-20-2008

My mother-in-law died of ALS and it took my father-in-law over a year to get the electric wheelchair off the front porch. Take your time and do it on your own timeframe, not when you think others expect you to do it.

Sent by Elizabeth Hertzfeld | 5:16 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Hi Laurie-- when I sorted through things after my mom died, I cried-- a lot.
I was given some good advice by a friend that I share with you. Before you start the cleaning process, set aside a few things that will make your heart sing remembering of times when you felt shared love. Set aside a few things that make you laugh thinking of silly/joyous times. Look at them as you do the "other" cleaning and sorting.
The sadness is hard-- if you didn't love him so much, it wouldn't hurt so much
Please know my thoughts and prayers are with you waiting for the times when the remembering of good times is greater than the time spent feeling Leroy's loss. That time does indeed come.

Sent by Jean | 5:24 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie - I can't imagine how hard this is for you - thank you for sharing with us. A good friend of mine lost her husband suddenly in an accident two years ago - she stayed up all night in a cleaning frenzy and since than has redecorated everything. But she kept many of his things including his tools, where they sit as he left them.
Cleaning can be therapeutic - but keep Spanky! That post of Leroys was one of my favorites. I hope you can find some comfort in the things and happier memories of a shared life together.

Sent by Marcia | 5:29 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, you and Leo cannot be defined by the cancer years. Now, it seems like they're the only life and years you lived. My husband of 31 years has lung ca dx on our 30th anniversary. It's a uear later and he's fighting the fight but loosing ground. We're both in the health fields which I swear makes it all worse. I hold my head up when I'm weak and say , " I won't be defined by this year of our life, or how many other days we have" God bless you and keep you. Suze

Sent by suzanne mcLean | 5:34 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Definitely get rid of the "scars". Dear friends were there for me when they came to take Burnie's body away as I waited upstairs. When they called me to come down, they had completely dismantled the hospital bed and all the equipment, stashed it somewhere in the yard, I think, and had moved the furniture back to where it had been. I was so very grateful for that.

Sent by Nancy | 5:38 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Today I sat in a waiting room with other cancer patients and thought of you Laurie, and the rest of Leroy's readers here, how many times you'd sat in places like that over the years, and the strength it must have taken to be there in support of another.

Today I saw the scars people carried with them; one walker and a cane - but most scars were left behind at home or hidden under shawls and baggy pants today. Later when they got home the accommodations were surely there, and new ones made all the time as we creatively try to think about what we can do to make our lives, or our loved ones lives, something close to normal.

Thinking of my husband and children going through what you're dealing with is heartbreaking. And I would not wish it on any of them - nor on you.

All I know for sure today is that on the outside I'm doing what I need to in order to keep cancer at bay but on the inside I could not go to the hospital without feeling that Leroy, our "pied piper of telling it like it is" - would have come home with at least three good stories to share and help the rest of us. Yup, I'm carrying a little bit of Leroy around with me now. I hope that would have made him laugh.

Sent by Susan Reynolds / BoobsOnIce,com | 5:50 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, The detritus is something we survivors have to deal with. How interesting that some people say save the personal items for later and work on the "scars" now. My mother surprised me when Dad died. We quickly rid the house of the scars. Then she proceeded to go through his closet and drawers. She reminisced about certain things but she was determined. And she has never regretted it. I don't know if I could do the same in such a short time. My husband is still wearing some of my Dad's shirts 10 years later. I told him he's like his father, who is wearing some of my husband's clothes from high school (he finished school in 1958!). We cleaned out the closets and drawers as a family and there were no fights over anything. Does that say something about our family or our state of shock? Take care, Laurie

Sent by Susan in the beautiful mountains of Colorado | 5:52 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts and feelings in your posts. I remember when Leroy asked the question about what should happen to the blog when he stopped writing it.

Now I'm hopeful that perhaps you will continue to share with us your experience and feelings, and in turn this community can continue to learn and get support from each other.

Today was the first day that so many of our comments, it seems, were about our connection to each other.

Thank you Laurie. Thank you everyone.

Sent by Libby from Belmont Ma | 5:53 PM ET | 08-20-2008

I just returned home and read about Leroy's passing last Saturday. I spent hours reading all the posts through tears the entire time.
To Laurie and Leroy's family I extend my heartfelt condolences.
I've been reading the blog since we saw the Living With Cancer show and continued reading it even after my Jim died from lung cancer this past January. I will miss hearing from Leroy.
Laurie, my Jim also died right after we went on home hospice - within 36 hours in fact. He hated the hospital bed and kept sitting up and trying to get out of it even though he couldn't walk by himself. He refused to die in that bed! (and he didn't) Thankfully, Hospice came and took everything away the next day.
It's been over 6 months and I still cry everyday and miss him so much. My thoughts are with you as you start this very difficult time.
I love all the poems people are sending and I want to add this one that was on a sympathy card I received:

Let There Be Memories by Linda Barnes
Let there be memories -
fond recollections
of special occasions
and everyday things.
Let your heart start on its journey to healing
by feeling the comfort remembering brings.
Let there be memories -
pictures, mementos and favorite stories
both funny and sad.
Let your mind wander
the paths of rememberance,
reliving the joys
and the good times you've had.
Let there be memories -
signs that our loved ones
remain near in spirit
long after they're gone...
tender, surprising, heartwarming and welcome -
sweet proof of the promise
that love will live on.

Sent by Laurel | 5:57 PM ET | 08-20-2008

I've been through three major purges in the last 18 months.

Purge #1 came before T died. I started selling all the books from our library, and began getting rid of clothes that I knew wouldn't be worn again (and yes, I did keep 4 shirts). And I was pleased with the progress.

Purge #2 came a couple of months after I was alone, prior to moving out of our house. Even more stuff went, including some things I couldn't bear to part with in purge #1. It was just too painful during #1, but not so during the second major purge.

Purge #3 came a few weeks ago, as I was preparing to move back in to our house. Even more things saved from purge #2 went, including our sofa and Terry's favorite chair, which was by now ratty and threadbare. And as I continue to unpack and settle back in to our home, I imagine even more will hit the dumpsters...and I'm OK with that.

I realized, somewhere in the process, that none of it is important. It's just stuff, and "stuff" can always, always be replaced. The memories can't, but the stuff can.

Sent by Bruce | 6:15 PM ET | 08-20-2008

I can still remember my Dad in the two years he suffered from colon cancer. Next Thursday will be the 30th anniversary of his death. I knew I did not want to remember him as he was in those last few years but rather the years before he was diagnosed. Since objects and scents can bring us back to particular times I have things around the house that remind me of the happy times. Of the memories that I hang on to, one that comforts me is how my dad took me with him on the opening day of trout season. Being his daughter it was a very special day for me every April 1st. So now I have his fishing reel on my bookshelf to remind myself of our times together. Even 30 years later looking at that fishing reel and picking it up and holding it provides me with a sense of comfort and peace. So what you might want to do is replace the items with unpleasant memories and surround yourself with objects that bring a smile to your face and bring back memories of your life together before cancer. Thank you for taking the time to write during this difficult period. I hope that you may find comfort in knowing there are many of us who care about you.

Sent by Chris D. | 6:20 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Dam...you hit the nail right on the head. The reminders of the lost fight bring pain. While your memories of Leroy may currently as a frail and dying man, they will fade and you'll be left with the young strong vibrant man you married. It takes time, but they will change. It took my a year. Hang in there....and do what feels right. Be with others when you want to...or be alone. Both are healing.

Sent by Russ | 6:21 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie, I hope deep-down you know that you and Leroy didn't lose. You dealt, you far exceeded docs' predictions. And you reached, touched and helped countless others as they face their own journeys. It's true that the timing sucked, but none of us has control over that. You took control of what you could and made it valuable. As a culture we are masterful at ignoring death, but let's face it; we're all terminal. What we have control over is what we do now, and you and Leroy did good. I hope that knowledge comforts you in your grief. ~Pam,(brain cancer survivor, 15 years so far)

Sent by Pam | 6:26 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Lauri -
I think your idea to get rid of the "scars" as soon as possible is a great idea. Those are only reminders of Leroy in his final days and months. You want to quickly remove them so your first memories of him are of when he was happier and healthier. Hang on to other things like clothes and his favorite possessions as long as you want to. The majority of those things will eventually go, but I still have other favorite items that I will keep forever, and my husband has been gone for 15 years. When the time is right, you'll know it. But the scars don't need to hang around for a mourning period; you were mourning when they first arrived and you don't need them as reminders.

All the best,

Sent by Jan Richardson, Olympia, WA | 6:36 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,
My son finished chemo over two years ago. During that period he accumulated at least half a dozen face masks which he had to wear whenever he went up to Hopkins because of his compromised immune system.
When the chemo was over, I got rid of the masks - except for one. I kept the one that hung off the dashboard in my car. It was a talisman against the cancer coming back. I insanely thought that if I got rid of all the masks, I'd jinx the cancer into coming back. Completely irrational, but there's not much that's rational about anything in cancer world. That mask is still hanging there today, and I doubt I'll ever remove it. Irrational or not, that mask is doing its job.
What's my point? I just want you to know that you should do whatever you need to in order to get through this. And realize that we will all be with you .

Sent by Paula | 6:36 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,

Yes, please get rid of all that stuff! I called the medical supply company the day my 42 year old brother-in-law died from Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. We literally walked in the door after leaving UCLA Medical Center and I called. They said they would pick up the hospital bed and all the other equipment the next day. I refused to take no for an answer (not my usual M. O.) and they were there about 2 hours later. I couldn't stand for my sister to have to look at it anymore. It was more than sad enough to be in that house without him.

Please, please let your family and friends take care of you right now. You need it.

Still lifting!

Love,

Sent by Janice J. , Los Angeles | 6:48 PM ET | 08-20-2008

If it turns out that you can't clean house tomorrow, that's OK, too.

Sent by Tracy | 7:01 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,
Thank you for the posting. Thank you for caring about us and thinking of us even during this difficult time. I gather strength from this community and it has helped me immensely.
Best wishes on cleaning day. May the scars be supplanted by happy memories.

Sent by roxane | 7:01 PM ET | 08-20-2008

We know you have not asked for this role of hero, but every day your strength and courage (and Leroy's) have come through in his blog...and in my own daily struggles and challenges and pain, I am strengthened. My hope is that this bravery you have radiated is reflected back to you, tenfold. My prayers are with you.

Sent by Stephanie | 7:17 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, I agree with others, get rid of the hospital bed, ours was in the living room and shouted out "He is Gone". I could not go into the room until it was taken away. And on the other hand, his robe still hangs in my closet to caress and hold when I need to. And after all these years.
My thoughts and love to you, Kathy in San Diego

Sent by Kathy Peacock | 7:18 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Oh. I'm sorry that you are going through this too. I remember this moment.The morning after my Dad left us, my brother took away all the medicines, and whatever else was part of my Dad's treatment.He cleared my mom's vanity which was covered and put it all in a box.He said it's only a harsh reminder and it's not good to have it. My sister and I found the best pictures of my Dad and had them enlarged for his memorial, not an uncommon thing. we celebrated his life and my Mom still has the big pictures in her walk-in closet. We all gathered the best photo's of my dad and provided them to her. It didn't immediately help.The tears flowed for what seemed forever.And they still come-but it's so helpful to swap the good times with my Dad, to his jokes to his goofy finger-snapping dance that he'd do no matter what song came on. Leroy would want to hear you tell what you loved best about him-share what you know and remember-even if you cry during the entire story-Share Leroy with everyone you can. I asked people for their best stories of my dad, months afterwards, when I felt a bit better. Sharing helps. It's still gonna hurt but it'll help. We're here for you

Sent by Michele in Chicago | 7:40 PM ET | 08-20-2008

So many times during the day, I stop and remember that Leroy is gone, and I simply am still in shock.
I took comfort in keeping so many of my Dad's things. I am wearing his knit woolen socks right now. And so much else of his brings me peace.
But each of us is different. I am finally have managed ot erase all the things which remind me of my cancer.
You need to do what will feel right.
May The Grace Of God Be With You,
Wanda Amorose

Sent by Wanda Amorose | 7:41 PM ET | 08-20-2008

You both have fought the good fight, and the evidence or scars of that fight may only bring up painful memories later. My prayer for you, Laurie, is that Leroy's inspirational life, his wonderful memories and his eternal passions will bring you constant hope and enduring strength in your future. God bless you for being his faithful caregiver, and battle buddy during his toughest days on earth. Many will not forget Leroy's life for the rest of their lives. My wife is fighting Stage IV colon cancer, and I consider it a privilege to be her caregiver and battle buddy.

Sent by Len S. | 7:52 PM ET | 08-20-2008

It is decidedly odd to grieve for a man we have never met. The Ted Koppel program aired when my husband was about 2/3 of the way through chemo for lymphoma.

We are average, middle class people - married since 1970, no children and thought we had it made. Obviously not.

After that broadcast, I began to follow Leroy's "My Cancer" blog and came to know a bit about him and his life.

We were lucky that no trace of cancer has reappeared in my husband but we also know that the rest of our lives will be lived between scans. Our biggest fear at this time is that his job remains secure so that we can maintain health insurance. He is 5 years away from qualifying for Medicare and we are painfully aware of how much we need the health insurance benefits for that time period.

Every afternoon I would click on Leroy's blog and keep up with what was happening in your world. I so admired his spirit and determination to beat the beast and we were so proud of him for prevailing five times longer than the experts believed possible.

I cannot comprehend your pain at this time and can only offer my prayers and deepest sympathy. Please know that many lives are also forever changed - I don't know what I will do every afternoon without a word from Leroy.

Thank you for sharing him with us.

julia

Sent by julia anderson | 7:54 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, It was great to hear your take on dealing with the "scars of cancer". I know this is a difficult time but I would like to offer you a challenge. I know my time is limited and others reading this are in similar situations. When you are ready could you tell us what we can do to make it easier for those we leave behind? I know you and Leo worked through many things. But after the fact, what was helpful and what wasn't? Is there anything you all did not think about that you now know would have helped?

What I would really like is a cheat sheet. I think I know what would help but I want to be able to check off a list to be sure I have taken care of everything.

Sent by Dona | 8:03 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,

I have been praying for you as you take this next step. This is a bit premature I know but down the road, their is a place called Life Quilt that can take some fabrics that hold special meaning and quilt them into pillows or quilts. Just a thought for down the road in case you want to do something like this and don't quilt yourself or don't know of anyone else that does. Their web address is www.lifequilt.com.

I will continue to hold you up in prayer.

Sent by Tracy | 8:14 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Hi Laurie,
I understand what you mean by scars. After my husband died and I was still at the hospital, I called and requested that all of that "equipment" be removed as soon as possible. I did not want cancer living in my house any longer. All of that stuff.............medicine, equipment, syringes, oxygen, etc., etc. did not save his life.
My husband and I read Leroy's blog everyday. After my husband's death (last August 17) I continued to read it every day hoping that as long as I continued to read it, Leroy would stay alive. His writing was so real and human. I will miss him too.

Sent by bj hunt | 8:34 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,
I've been a long time reader and never a commentor. I've been to the cancer battle three times with family members and now consider it four. I read Leroy's words everyday and felt an amazing connection to both of you. Your thoughts and feelings of the beast and the battle were conveyed in the most eloquent, down to earth, truthful way. I miss Leroy so much. Laurie.... I'm lifting.

Sent by Cathy | 8:37 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,

See how you feel about it tomorrow. Only do what you feel the need to do. Please have a friend or two help you. Try to not impose any "shoulds" on yourself.

Gentle thoughts to you.

MJR

Sent by MJR | 8:39 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Please do not feel too alone. I know we cannot all be there in the flesh to help, but you are not alone. He is with you, and we are with you. He Loves you and we Love you. The two of you are in my prayers always.

Sent by Park | 8:42 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,
You will find yourself talking to Leroy for years to come, forgetting that he is not physically in the room with you. Clear out the sad reminders. I am thinking about you and all those who have been faced with this daunting task.
Claire

Sent by claire fritsche | 8:44 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie,
I am all for you getting rid of the most recent 'furniture' additions, and packing up some things. They are such huge reminders of the most difficult last days.

Did the same thing, but strangely, took a few photos of things as they were. Three chairs in a row - the last 'good' sittng chair, the wheelchair, the seated-walker. Where the hospital bed was. The view out the window. Just little snapshots of such a strange time and how we made it work.

The pictures stay hidden, but console me sometimes with a 'We did that. THAT's why today was SO hard, THAT's why I'm still SO tired, THAT's why no one I saw today REALLY understands.' Other times when my brain loops back to shock & can't process what I already know - I see those pictures & they help me 'remember.'
Now, after 2 years, I might edit them to black & white shots - to fire me up to fight cancer again in a new way, for others.

For now, you will feel better sending out what can help others in need - instead of keeping them as a burden to you. Leroy was here for us. Now, we're here for you.

Sending you my sincerest condolences,

Sent by Karen - with you since Sept. 2006 | 8:53 PM ET | 08-20-2008

I feel like I must keep reading this blog...I am so glad you have posted your feelings. It became the way I started my day. And now there is so much emptiness even though you are there. I am hoping that you are having some measure of comfort from the response you have received. So many people share your grief but of course it is you who must live it. Live your life one day at a time.

Sent by Helene Weingarten | 8:54 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,
Thanks for writing--Each day I find myself still checking this blog and I was so glad to "hear" from you.
As I look around my living room, Leon is everywhere I look. I haven't been able to touch him since April 7, 2007 but he is definitely still here with me. Pictures everywhere, poems he wrote, his voice singing and talking to me (old audio tapes from 1969 converted to CD's). His work gloves still lay in front on the fireplace where he left them--I sometimes wear them to work outside, and I swear I can feel his hand when I put them on. A fly swat still hangs on the swing on our front deck where he hung it as we sat there together during his last days.
I say this to agree with all those before me who say "take your time and do what you want at whatever pace you need".
Sasha, I so wish we could help you. Leon did not want to die at home, I think partly because he didn't want me to have those memories, and I am grateful for that. Of course, we only had to spend his last week in the hospital--before that, he was doing OK. He used to say "I feel good, it is hard to believe I'm dying of cancer".
My thoughts are with you all each day.
Jane

Sent by Jane in AR | 8:56 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie - thinking of you as you take the steps you need to take. You have the support of so many.

Sent by Denise Bennett | 9:12 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie:

I lost my husband last year. Not to cancer, but to a 20 year battle with depression. I can understand == the reminders are there; the hope is there; the dust and remnants of everything that had to be set aside is there.

Regardless of the things that remind you of the pain, the love is there. Your focus now may be ridding yourself of those objects and may you find many more reminders of his joy, your joy, and your shared lives.

Healing and peace to you,

Elaine

Sent by Elaine | 9:24 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie - how wonderful to see your post today!! I know this is incredibly difficult for you; perhaps this next journey you have just embarked upon can be helped by Leroy's army as well. As someone had posted earlier - there is no right or wrong time to dispose of those scars around the house. Some of the scars in my house had to go immediately - a couple I still have, and probably won't let go of any time soon. Whatever is good for you is what to do. Other people will give you "good advice", but only you know what is right. I pray for you every day - I believe that is what got me through my journey.

Just remember, Leroy would be so proud of you now!!

Jeanette Carney

Sent by Jeanette Carney | 9:37 PM ET | 08-20-2008

I know exactly how you are feeling. I spent several days with the hospice hospital bed in my living room until the rental company came to pick it up. It served as such a reminder of my husband's last couple of weeks. Although I felt he was "there" in the bed in some way; in another way, I needed it to be gone so I could start the real grieving process. You will continue building the strength to move forward. You never forget, but it does get easier. God bless you!

Sent by Terri | 9:50 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,

Yesterday our oncologist at Sloan gave my mother 6 months. Lung cancer. It's all like a dream, surreal. Twilight zone.
You and Leroy have been the only real source of comfort, the only ones out there who understand.
I am so sorry for you both.

Sent by Ali | 9:55 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, Remember to rest. Things don't have to be done right away. One thing I did do right away though was to clean our bedroom after the hospital bed was taken down and our bed was put up again. I was exhausted after that. Take your time. It's been seven months and I'm just now thinking about cleaning out the closet. The media stories about Leroy have been wonderful. You should be very proud of him. Take care. Linda G.

Sent by Linda Graffius | 9:57 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie you go girl. I am one of the Voyers who is going to miss Leroy's daily blog My name is Scott Devine 44 I was given a year to live and took another rout ACAM Doctors nutritional healing and vitimins and suppliments I have the bills to prove it because most of the alternatives are not covered by insurance it has been worth every penny it's four years now and I need more treatments and will the rest of my life all we all can do is take it one day at a time. The healing prosess takes time Im sure Leroy is with you giving you the strenth to carry on their is no easy way I wish I would hit the lotto so I could start a foundation to help people pay for their uncovered medical expenses. God Bless Take Care Peace to the Healing Process.

Sent by Scott Devine | 10:13 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Dear Laurie, I am so sorry to hear the news about Leroy. I am a faithful reader, non-commenter, of the blog; it gave me hope and strength in my life- as well as in my hopes for my friends who have cancer. I can imagine your day of cleaning was an emotional one, loving and sad. I am sending lots of supportive thoughts your way in this difficult time. Thank you for sharing your lives and giving so much to us all.

Sent by Michele | 10:29 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,

You have the not so fun job ahead of you. It will be freeing to get rid of all the medical stuff and as other posters have said, help others who can use those items. I can really imagine how they make you feel, so you go clean your buns off girl!

Sent by Cindee | 10:56 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Oh Laurie.

I have checked this blog a couple of times a week since I first heard about Leroy on NPR. I lost my father to cancer when I was 13. That was almost 18 years ago. I watched my mother be his wife, his nurse, his mother, his doctor, his priest, and his best friend for the 14 months he battled that cancer. She was his everything. And I know that you were Leroy's as well.

In the 18 years since we lost my Dad I have graduated high school, college, and grad school. I have been successful in my career. I have gotten married and had two children. And while I know my Dad wasn't "here" to see all of that - I know he really was. He never left my heart. I feel him everyday, even now, when I talk to my toddler and remember things my dad would say to me. My heart still hurts of course, for the father I lost and the husband my mother lost. But with time we both healed.

I wish you that healing. I also encourage you to FEEL whatever you need to feel...grieving is an intensely personal process. Reach out when you need to, be alone when you need to.

We are all here, thinking of you, praying for you, loving you and remembering Leroy. He will always be alive in this blog and this journey that you both had the courage to chronicle will serve as a source of support and peace for all of those families out there who are fighting their cancer.

Please take care of yourself...we all love you.

Sent by Charlie's daughter | 11:01 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie,

I've done that cleaning job. Please get help; don't go it alone. If nothing else, someone will be there when you find something and want to explain the story behind it to someone else.

Good luck.

Sent by Nancy | 11:31 PM ET | 08-20-2008

Laurie, I remember feeling desperate to get rid of the medical equipment, the scars. I also feel a need to echo the many poaters who noted that you and Leroy seem to have won at life and love, despite his death. I think about Joseph Campbell's heroe's journey, where the hero goes into the depths, embraces the dragon, and climbs out into the light to share the dragon's gift with the world. Leroy did that, and so are you.

Sent by Victoria Hendricks | 11:47 PM ET | 08-20-2008

those are not the only scars of cancer. but many of the others may not even be scabs, yet. i know i'm still bleeding.

i found that the hospice phase was punctuated by strange moments. i imagine that i'm not alone in that recollection. for me, the emptiness of the unused medical bits was one of those moments; their disappearance, another. couldn't have it both ways; didn't want it either way. like being two again or something.

let yourself be two again if you need to. grieving people get to do that. then you'll do what needs to be done. that will help, too, by making room for your grief and your amazing memories.

Sent by mary | 12:56 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,

I write this with tears in my eyes. I have followed your journey since the beginning. I have held onto every word. My husband's writing style was much like Leroys. After his diagnosis, I know he needed some way to work through the emotions, through the pain. He was not willing to "burden" me with it, nor was I willing to break down in front of him and add to his sorrow. We so loved each other. So, he wrote. A poet, English teacher, and writer, he put his sorrow,and life lessons to paper. I saw our journey in yours. I could watch Leroy get tired through his writing. It became more thoughtful, more sorrowful, shorter as time went on and the disease progressed. I was going through it again; but this time it was as an outsider. I could almost anticipate how long the entry was going to be, what he (or you) would write about. And I understand what you are going through. The depth of your grief is directly proportional to the quality of your relationship. No one can ever understand what agony I have been through becouse no one has loved and been loved as I have been. You are now experiencing the same thing. I weep with you. You have my understanding, my sympathy and I share your grief. Know that we are with you.

Sent by June | 12:59 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Hey Laurie ... we are all here for you!
When we are all get " up there", we will have a good laugh re-living the stories from Cochabamba to Iraqi Freedom! ( in broken German, Portuguese, Hebrew, Spanish, Arabic, etc... )
We love you, we will be lifting you up constantly!

Sent by Mario de Carvalho & Jane Robelot | 1:48 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Hi Laurie - I hope clearing out the scars was a good thing to do for you - it was for me, although I kept Ronnie's pillow, and the pillowcase, and will keep it always.Keeping you in my prayers at this time. Someone has a blog started after the loss of her husband called 'one breath at a time'...very good advice. Cope with the here and now and let tomorrow wait.

Laurie, when you feel you can...what happened? I so thought Leroy had more time. Love and prayrs.

Sent by Lisa Burt | 2:53 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie-
this blog (journey) you are doing is in so many ways as important as Leroys gift to all of us.You are our fellow traveler in the path we are all on as family in "cancer World". Teaching us, comforting us when we should be helping you-Thank you so much-I pray you can continue this for not only Leroy and yourself but for us all too. Much love and peace to you
robbie

Sent by Robbie Cripe | 4:07 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Very true Laurie, after the death of our loved one it is a whole new world and priorities are reconsidered, a process which is not without benefits.
Jon Levin, on the first anniversary of losing our 19 year old son, Miles, to Rhabdomyosarcoma.

Sent by Jon Levin | 9:17 AM ET | 08-21-2008

Dad used the walker, quite irreverantly, plowing it down the street on our short walks each day, bumping into the walls without apology (the cancer took away half his sight). So, afterwards, we used the walker as a sort of stage where we set rememberances --we smothered the walker, really, til you couldn't even see it. A wedding picture, some of his favorite hats, a pair of horseshoes,a coin collection and a big can of pennies, fishing poles --aah, the fishing memories -- looking through boxes and boxes of old photos of Dad's --there was a picture of EVERYONE we knew or didn't know with a trout, freshly caught. A family tradition we didn't know about til afterwards -- if you catch a fish, you take a picture with it! In the group pics, Dad was always grinning, and often had the biggest fish...
Somehow, covering the walker with the good memories, helped soften what he'd just been through, and brought us back to the real Dad.

Sent by Evie | 11:40 AM ET | 08-21-2008

I know exactly how you feel. Take care and remember the good and great times.

Sent by Scott S. | 5:12 PM ET | 08-21-2008

Dear Laurie,
My name is Latania Marr and I would like to compliment you on your courage to continue the blogs your husband began. My aunt has stage 4 cancer that originated in her breast some years back and that mestacisized (sp?) in her bones. She has put on such a fight. The cancer is now in her liver. Not only is she my aunt she is my Godmother. I am scared to have to see those scars you talk about. All I can say is that she is the most wonderful person in this world, she and my Uncle have always been very close to me. Cancer does not discriminate and by no means merciful. I just pray that my aunt not suffer like I saw my grandmother suffer. MAy God bless you on your journey through the grieving and through life...........Please keep my aunt in your prayers as I keep you and your family in mine

Sent by Latania | 11:21 PM ET | 08-22-2008

Laurie, I am always touched by the real life stories of those dealing with cancer.

This daily blog gives many people a chance to know that their thoughts and feelings are universal. Thank you for that.

I had Stage 4 cancer nearly ten years ago. I took a different road, treating myself with freshly grated habeneros peppers and freshly grated garlic, along with emulsified cod liver oil.

Looking back ten years, I can say that the few minutes it took each day to eat those hot, hot herbs paid off for me.

The best to you.

Kelley Eidem
Together we can cure cancer - one person at a time!

Sent by Kelley Eidem | 11:44 PM ET | 08-22-2008

Dear Laurie,
I have been a reader of Leroy's blog since Ted K's "Living with Cancer" aired.

I was diag. with stage 3 lung cancer Jan. 2007. When telling my longtime friend , Marilyn Stark about the prog., I came to find out the history of Lisa Stark and Leroy's friendship. Also Warren and Marilyn's Thangksgiving dinner @ your home.

I composed many messages/conversations for Leroy but could never quite send one off. I regret that but I would like to tell you his blog was of comfort traveling this road.

In addition, I say goodbye to my husband, Jim, of 53 yrs. a little each day. He has another dread disease, Altzheimers. Finally, now I have to place him where he will get the care I can no longer give him. It is comforting to know he will not have of the sadness of me leaving when the beast of cancer eats me up.

I am "holding"--managing the disease--the m.d.'s now have the analogy they give their pts. of--"managing like diabetes". I guess that's O.K. I am very thankful to date no mets or the excruciating pain many suffer.

Marilyn alerted me to the ABC airing of "person of the week" . That said alot and I felt like I knew that special person you love.

Could you thow up some of those Holloween pic. on the blog?

I do hope this message reaches you.

Fondly,

Pat Tobin

Sent by Pat Tobin | 2:33 PM ET | 08-24-2008