I say try developing a new routine. Nothing is ever the same after cancer even if you live through it. So if it must be different make it work the best way you can. Make a change for you. Do something in your daily routine that is totally special for you that you would have never dared to do before then dedicate that loving act to LeRoy! Maybe that will help the hole in your heart just a little.

Peace and love.

Sent by Lori | 9:40 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie -
You are so brave! I cannot imagine what you must be going through, I miss him also, I couldn't start my day until I had checked in with Leroy on the blog. Thank you so much for being here for all of his readers who feel so empty without him. I hope we are able to provide you just a little of the solace you are giving us each and every day. You are giving all of us a voice, we need you, please feel lifted up.

Sent by nancy | 9:41 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Hang in there, you still have all of us that love you.

Sent by joan beth smith | 9:43 AM ET | 09-09-2008

I'm currently in the process of losing my dad to cancer and am TERRIFIED of life after he passes. How does anyone survive this with sanity intact? Regardless, I think of you and Leroy often.
xoxo

Sent by Sarah | 9:47 AM ET | 09-09-2008

I imagine the loss of a partner like losing a limb. We have to learn a whole new way of living, learning new ways to do the things we used to do and letting go of things we can no longer do.

It sucks, I know. I'm sorry you have to go through this.

Sent by K. Ives, Duluth, MN | 9:50 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie,
You will never stop missing him, nor should you. I miss my dad every single day, and he has been gone almost 6 years. But, as each day ends and a new one begins, you will find it easier to focus on what you have around you, and not so much on the loss.
There is a terrific piece in the NY Times today by a nurse:
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/09/09/health/09case.html
It is not easy to read, but the last paragraph will resonate with those of us who have lost someone.
Take care, and lots of love.

Sent by Kathleen Schmidt, NJ | 9:53 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Oh dear Laurie... I feel for you. Close your eyes and visualize him, pray that he will visit you in your dreams. I don't know whether those make sense or not... but that's what I did when I lost my dad.
Rose,
Penang, Malaysia

Sent by Rose | 9:54 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Thinking of you, sending cyber hugs, and LIFTING!

Sent by Dannielle Higgins in Traverse City, MI | 9:57 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Nothingness Laurie, is what you are talking about. You have always been SOMETHING & SOMEBODY! You were not a nothingness when you met your Leroy years ago, or I am sure he would not have been interested in you or drawn to you. Knowing Leroy as much as we do, I would imagine that he spoke to you about your life after he left and what you should do? He was too intelligent and obviously too much in love with you to now care about what he was leaving you with.
I know that you get all kinds of advice and helpful words of comfort, so I will not add mine to the mix. We are not walking in your shoes, so who are we to try to comfort you? However, you are and never have been a NOTHING and your time with Leroy certainly instilled so many wonderful thoughts and ideas that YOU can pick up one, or a few, of the threads of your lives and carry them forward. WE need you and YOU can lean on us. Carry on~ Your life cannot end with Leroys. That would be "emotional Suicide"! He would not want that to happen - what a waste! Love to you.

Sent by J C R | 9:57 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Dear Laurie,
All you can do is take it one day at a time and put one foot in front of the other to keep going. You will always love him and miss him. It will eventually get easier but it will take time. Please remember to be kind to yourself and do something every day just for you.
Charlotte in Rural Ridge, PA

Sent by Charlotte Kewish | 9:59 AM ET | 09-09-2008

I know you are going through a hard time, my having loss two sons one at age 25 in 1977 car accident and a son 42 to lung cancer in 2001 but time heals the loss.

Sent by Delores | 10:06 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Dear Laurie,

As a life giver after that diagnosis, absolutely nothing will be same. So, what to do...keep plodding along because at some point it will get a bit easier. Keep remembering the great memories because they will help to sustain you. Look for outlets that are different. Hard call, really.

I had to notify a friend of my dad's of his passing. She it turns out is 2 days older than he was (he was 90) her closing comment after telling what a great friend he was for all those years was, "I guess my days are numbered." Tears flowed, memories returned of a conversation I had with dad in fall of last year. How I too want things to be different.

1-2-3 Lifting...and wiping tears.

Sent by Sue Chap | 10:06 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Oh, Laurie, I am so, so sorry. You are going to miss Leroy forever. Time is the only thing that will help and each one of us has their own time. I don't think anyone does survive with their sanity intact. I thought I was going absolutely crazy. But eventally time kicks in. If you haven't read Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking it might help a lttle. All the best to you. xoxo

Sent by Susan-Tampa | 10:06 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Lauie, I had to laugh when I read "well, actually I can imagine his thoughts about Sarah Palin..." But, I'm not laughing at the rest of your note today. I remember all too well how things are just not the same. It's been nearly 16 years for me. You just have to keep plugging away and day after day, it gets a tiny bit easier. Then it gets a little easier still. Eventually you find that you've learned to experience those seasons without as much hurt...and a lot more laughs about things like, "actually, I can imagine..." We're still here for you... Take good care and keep yourself surrounded by people who bring you the most comfort. And, if you want to be alone, wrap yourself in a blanket to bring you comfort. Know that in some way, Leroy's arms are wrapped around you. He's there in the only way he can be....and always will be.

Sent by Jan Richardson, Olympia, WA | 10:08 AM ET | 09-09-2008

You're so right, Laurie! And the "missing part" is actually worse now than it was a month ago when Dad died. It's bad for me, but for Mom, it's a thousand times worse--as she turns to where he used to sit to share a comment or a laugh--but he isn't there. She feels it in a thousand different ways every day--the "missing part."

I wish I could make it better...for her, for you, and--yes, for me too.

Sending you love today Laurie, Linda

Sent by Linda Lee | 10:10 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Nothing will ever be the same......

That is certainly true... however you will one day find peace and settle into a new normal routine

None of us will ever forget Leroy and certainly you will not either Laurie. I am sure it will never be "easy", but I am just as sure it will get "easier" to a point.

One day.. one hour... one minute at a time Laurie... take each step as YOU are ready.. there is no "expected time table"....................

Still lifting....................

Sent by Ron Bye (NH) | 10:10 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Dear Laurie,
I often wonder which is worse.........before or after? The thought of being without my husband is horrible, however, the life I am living now as I watch him suffer is even more horrible.............when does the sadness stop? Your statment is so very true..........life is never the same. Cancer SUCKS before and after.

I pray for you to start healing Laurie.........may God give you the courage and strength to get back to a normal routine.

As always, prayers to all.

Laurie Hirth.........your song was beautiful, thank you.

Sent by sasha | 10:10 AM ET | 09-09-2008

I just received your note from 9/8 in my mailbox this morning - about seasons not being the same - which is what I commented about in my note. I see now that somehow I am a day behind...

Sent by Jan Richardson, Olympia, WA | 10:11 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Dear Laurie,
We miss Leroy too.... and we know it doesn't compare to MISSING him.

You are in my heart today and so is he.... and I know you will both still be there tomorrow.

Lifting with love

Sent by eaf | 10:11 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Dearest Laurie, Leroy will always be a part of you - and sights and places and smells will bring him back so quickly. BUT, the reality, HE IS NOT THERE FOR YOU to laugh with and to cry with and to hold onto. Don't worry about the routine - you need to do what feels best for you. Take care and we are sending our love and lifting you!

Jan

Sent by Janice Goldberg White | 10:14 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie, You may or may not know about Katherine Kubler Ross and the five stages of grief. A few months after my dad died, I went to group grief counseling. The counseler mentioned that Ross's stages are not linear, nor are they a circle. You can think of them as a circle, but you may skip one and then veer off to another stage, but return once again to even another stage, such as anger. We all deal with this pain differently. My mother did not need counseling. For me it helped pull me out of my deep depression, although I continued to grieve for almost two years. And yet, finally I realized I was not longer obsessing so much on my loss. In the beginning, I would think, "I have to tell Dad that. He'd enjoy it," only to come up short in the realization that he was no longer there to share it with. In our society we seem to muddle along, trying to cope. Perhaps this blog is one of your ways of coping. We may be part of your grief counseling. My love and so much empathy is yours.

Sent by Susan in the beautiful mountains of Colorado | 10:15 AM ET | 09-09-2008

I thought of Leroy today and those words "you have cancer". Two students in the school I work at heard those words just this week. A 9th grader and a 12th grader.

Sent by Sue in Rochester, NY | 10:29 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Hi Laurie,
You ask how do you handle the missing part? For myself it was being very gentle with myself and giving myself small comforts a cup of tea, lighting candles, or reading poetry I read Mary Oliver's poetry. And I also went to grief counseling which was very helpful for me to have a place to talk about how much I missed my sister.

I don't know if you ever stop missing your loved one but in time it does get easier to let life back in

Be gentle with yourself

Karen

Sent by Karen | 10:43 AM ET | 09-09-2008

My routine now is nothing at all like it was before, I don't think, but like you, I can just barely remember any life before all of this. I've rearranged or gotten rid of so much that the house looks nothing like it did two years ago.

I haven't completely figured out this new life yet. Most days, I go home from work and sit in front of the computer until time for bed. I know I need to get out a few evenings, even if it's by myself. I do talk to a few friends and see them on some weekends.

It takes time, that much I know...and if you ever stopped missing him, that would be cause for concern.

Sent by Bruce | 10:44 AM ET | 09-09-2008

a NEW routine, Laurie, a new routine that keeps what you want to keep, and incorporates your new reality, all while loving and keeping Leroy in your heart. "Step by step, rung by rung"as John McCutcheon's wonderful song reminds... You got through some hellacious days with Leroy's cancer, Laurie; please trust that you are clearly made of fierce stuff that will also bring you through the grieving, the tectonic plate-shifting life change of Leroy's death, and all that lies ahead. Thank you for expressing your feelings and thoughts, and for sharing them. That is part of how you make it through. You are wise, and you are strong, and you are honest about what is going on. You WILL come through this. And our hearts are wrapped around you as you go.

Sent by Sarah | 10:50 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie - you will always MISS him. He will be in your heart forever though. I miss my husband every minute. I will not tell you that it gets easier as I have heard so many times. You will always miss him - it is only natural.

Sent by Deb from Michigan | 10:59 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Sarah:

I lost my beloved sister to cancer, and my father this spring to "natural causes." What worked for me was given me by my counselor: Don't try to avoid the grief, don't try to fend it off. You can even observe it, when you feel "insane" or sad or overwhelmed, just say "I am grieving."

Different things work for different people. I found that keeping busy interspersed with long solitary walks to let my feeling flow, worked for me.

My brother always says, "Go back to what works." As an athlete, for me that means hitting the gym til I'm dripping in sweat. For my older sister it meant a return to buddhism, my younger sister found a spot by the river to sit and grieve. My sister the nurse (yeah, there's a bunch of us) spent months second guessing the medical treatment my sister got, until finally, like a wind up toy, it just ran out and she let the tears flow. Now she has a bird that visits her yard daily at the same time that she calls "sister bird" thas she talks to as if it was my sister.

Grief is not a bad thing, life is light and dark. Walking through the grief finally brings us back to the light.

with loving thoughts,

Peggy C.

Sent by Peggy Carey | 11:04 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Dear Laurie,
After 3 years,I still leave work with the days happenings that I want to tell him about or get an opinion.
lifting you,
Carol

Sent by carol | 11:05 AM ET | 09-09-2008

LAURIE: Your life will never be the same and it can never go back to the same. I only hope you will continue the blog and express what you saw and what could have been better, if possible, and how you actually see cancer. Sunday, in church once again, they gave thanks to a person that was cancer free. I do not like the word. I never see cancer free, it may be that the person is well for the moment, and I hope it does not come back. But cancer free no such word. The other item that bugs me now, is the continued push for research for breast cancer. That is not the only cancer. Yes, funds for research is wonderful, but let it be for all cancer.
I only wish they would allow drugs that are still in research to be used on patients when doctors know there is nothing out there for their cure. Let's try it. Laurie, just tell your story, you have a great story, and remember life will never be the same just remember the great times and rejoice, cry if you want to and laugh if you want to, just tell it like it is.

Sent by mavis | 11:12 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Dear Laurie,
My thoughts are with you.
I still mis my mother so much after five years. The bigger the impression and influence that person left, the more loved and missed and remembered, the bigger the hole when that person is gone.
With much love,
M.A. Sullivan
Charlottesville, VA

Sent by M.A. Sullivan | 11:13 AM ET | 09-09-2008

My sister's husband died following a tragic long term illness...her days were filled with insurmountable feats...they were always consuming every minute of the day and night. Afterwards she was left in the wake of emptiness...nothing to fill the void both from the loss of her husband nor the time spend in caring for him...but she had that passion from within...the same passion that she used in caring for Stan.. and used this passion to do some of the things she had let go in her own personal life..to rekindle her spirit..some were personal ... yes...other deeds were focused outwardly...little by little she has built a life after Stan. I for one think he would be proud of her strength. Best always

Sent by Karen Mattiussi | 11:21 AM ET | 09-09-2008

I think that is the difficult part....learning to move past such a loss. I sometimes remember my life BC. That was 5 years ago. What I do realize is my life is so much fuller now because I have more wisdom.

I miss Leroy too. I was surprised to realize how much his messages meant to me and the void I feel now that he is gone. Realizing I never knew him personally. I can only imagine the void he left for those who had the priviledge to know him and for you Laurie who shared his personal world.

We are here supporting you in whatever fashion you need. It is okay to feel sad but I know Leroy would want you to try to smile. Feel is love surround you.

Sent by Alexis Redmond | 11:22 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Sometimes, life seems to be full of loss. I hope, in some small way, we can help to hold you with our love, thoughts, and prayers. Even when your grief feels unbearable and physically painful, I hope you can feel our warmth and love.

Sent by Tina from Alton, IL | 11:27 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Thank you, Laurie, for continuing this blog. My husband died just three days before Leroy, and your thoughts and experiences so closely mirror mine. Family and friends help fill the void, but I know life will never be the same.

Sent by Marge Hanes | 11:29 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie,

I don't know that you ever stop missing them. It's been 11 years since my dad died of cancer and I still miss my father. My mother still misses her husband tremendously.

But it's kind of like getting hit in the head by a baseball bat -- after awhile, the intense pain goes away and is reduced to a throb, which eventually settles into a headache, which eventually becomes a lump on your skull and, over time, becomes a scar.

Nothing can speed the process and no one will heal the same way. But you do find a way to heal, even if you keep missing that part of you that was lost.

Sent by Scott | 11:40 AM ET | 09-09-2008

When daddy died, mama and I met at his grave everyday after I got off work. We brought gardening tools, rocks, plants, a bird feeder and sunflower seeds and after a while, we had turned daddy's grave into a rock garden. I had learned earlier on from both mama and daddy that busy hands were useful in almost any situation - surprisingly making daddy's grave into a rock garden kept us busy for a good six months. Once the garden was complete, we continued to meet there three or four times a week and then once a week until we were standing at daddy's grave a year to the day after his death. We still go to daddy's grave but we finally removed the rock garden because it became physically impossible for us to keep it up - it's been 12 years this month since he died - but the bird feeder is still there and we visit but now our stories about daddy can take place anywhere not just at his grave. We still miss him, of course, but the impossible grief is no longer the burden that it once was.

Who knows how much time it takes to find the less painful place in our world to exist, Laurie. I can tell you that living your life the best you can will get you there.

With love and prayers.

Sent by Molly | 11:42 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Yes, it's like an amputation. There is a piece missing, an essential component whose presence or lack colors every movement, every thought, every action.

Life can be, will be *good* again, but it will never be the *same* again.

~Susan: 15 months later I still have that near-instinctual "I need to remember to tell Dan that" or especially when shopping "ooh, Dan would love that." And it still brings me up short for a moment. But now I can laugh at myself for the habit instead of feeling slapped upside the head with the ache.

All things come with time, all things pass with time.

Always lifting--1, 2, 3!

Sent by Nita | 11:43 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie, Sometimes, I can't remember BC. Then, at other times, AC floods into my mind. But with what I have there is only Cancer to deal with now. Time does move on they say, but it is much easier said, than done. When a life was built by two, it is difficult to live it without the other half. My wife is so scared, she makes herself ill. Wish she had your strength. Thoughts are with you. Stan

Sent by Stan Wozniak | 11:50 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie --

I have been reading the blog recently from the beginning since I came to it late. Leroy's voice still rings clear. What a roller coaster ride it has been for you and Leroy. Grieving, too, is another kind of profound journey. The ride twists and turns, goes up and down, with no clear destination right now. Take your own sweet time. You and Leroy are authentic. The blog is ultimately about life. Thanks for sharing so generously with your ever growing community of "Leroy and Laurie's Lifters." When I work on a cancer support hotline, I am enriched and informed by your insights and try to "pay it forward." I hope you know that the positive ripple effect for all of us is huge.

Sent by Leslie Bjorncrantz | 11:52 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie, Missing is a miserable emotion. A few weeks after my mother died, I remember thinking, "OK this has been long enough. I'm ready to see her again." I realized I was just understanding the concept of "never". I was never going to see or talk to her again. It's awful to think about. Of course, I am ignoring the religious possibilities but that is a whole other discussion.

My thoughts are with you Laurie. You won't get over it but in time, you'll get used to it.

Sent by Jeanne | 11:54 AM ET | 09-09-2008

Oh Laurie, the missing part is so hard. I cannot imagine losing my husband. I did lose my Dad, (gee that sounds odd-- like I lost him in the mall or something) but you expect to lose your parents. When I eulogized my dad I said "If you are lucky you will lose your parents, if you are very lucky you will lose a dad like mine." My parents were married just short of 50 years and the only regret my dad had was that he was leaving my mother behind. But 78 was a respectable life span. 52 is not fair. Not fair at all. I can only offer you this. I married a widower. His wife was only 45 and she left behind two teenage daughters. I love my husband enough to wish that she had never died. I love him enough to have given up our life together so that his daughters could have their mother help them on their wedding days instead of me. But it's not possible and life goes on. In spite of it love endures all of these heartaches. I wish you peace, peace, peace. Namaste.

Sent by Susan | 12:17 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Dear Laurie,

All the words and hugs and love in the world, all the poetry, all the music, all the books, all the foods, all the old familiar places, all the meaningful work ... The missing permeates everything and is always present, whether spoken or not; whether visible or not. Sometimes it seems unbearable, and "keening" is a response that becomes completely understandable.

These days/weeks/months/years following Leroy's passing are very, very difficult and heart-breaking, and I am so very, very sorry. I know it seems that this raw longing will never end. I wish you unexpected moments of peace, and an abiding sense of Leroy's presence, always with you.

With love,

Kim Forester

Sent by Kim Forester | 12:19 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Let the old life wait! No one can tell you how to go through the process. This is the time for you to grieve and mourn. The time will come, and I promise it WILL come, when you decide to move on. Don't allow any preconceived notion about a time frame get in the way. Let it happen.

Sent by Dave Jenkins | 12:34 PM ET | 09-09-2008

I Shall Miss Loving You - from a book by Peter McWilliams and Harold Bloomfield (How to Survive the Loss of a Love) and set to music by the late Kristopher Jon Anthony in his cycle When We No Longer Touch: Songs for Survival. If you ever want to hear the song cycle, buy a CD of Dallas' Turtle Creek Chorale - he was a member of that group when he wrote it shortly before he died and they premiered the work.

I shall miss loving you.
I shall miss the
Comfort
of your embrace.
I shall miss the
Loneliness
of waiting for your
calls that never came.
I shall miss the Joy
of our comings,
and Pain
of your goings.
and,
after a time,
I shall miss
missing
loving
you.

These words are both harsh and tender and they brought me to tears on more than one occasion. But, they are true, in a way. While they were not necessarily written for a death, but the loss of a love - more likely by breakup, I found deep meaning and comfort in them...and still do. As I've said before, when Don died, I worried that I'd never get over it...and then I worried that I WOULD. But you never really get over it, you just learn to live with it.

Sent by Jan Richardson, Olympia, WA | 12:37 PM ET | 09-09-2008

This may not be popular, but it's what I think the few times lately when I read this blog.
I did read Leroy's blog most days. It was Leroy's. It was about his thoughts. Seems that "My Cancer" has turned into something different now. It doesn't fit. Maybe it just needs a different name. Maybe it needs a different blog for cancer survivors or family members. Maybe it needs to end.

Sent by Doug | 12:37 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie, I don't mean to be harsh, but your old routines are now memories. And that blows. Big time.

But, you have to go on and forge ahead. I hate cliches, but one really applies here - when one door closes, another one opens. Now is a time to appreciate the old and familiar and discover what's new and edgy. It's all a part of the process, as stinky as that may be.

So, I wish you good times, new experiences, and loving memories in the days ahead. And, I wish you peace.

Sent by Joyce in FL | 12:38 PM ET | 09-09-2008

My heart hurts reading your words today. Some things in this life are so unfair and so agonizingly painful, and yet there is nothing we can do to change them. I couldn't fix my dad's mind when he got Alzheimer's, can't bring my mom back (she died 2 years ago, and I still miss her terribly). I can't reduce the suffering of my loved one who struggles with addiction and mental illness.None of us can bring Leroy back -- or fill the void left by that "missing part" for you. All we can do is offer each other love and support, and be willing to accept it. And take one step at a time, living in the moment as best we can, hoping that the passage of time may help. The Serenity Prayer gets a lot of use at around 3 a.m. in our house...Bless you, Laurie.

Sent by Doris | 12:40 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie, The loss never goes away, but the pain does. When you see something or hear something your first thought is -- oh, I have to remember to tell ......... but every day you go on, you get up, you smile and you go forward because that is what he would want you to do. It does get easier and don't be hard on yourself for the "dumb" things you do until it does get easier -- we have all experienced the "dumb" things. You are in my thoughts and prayers.

Sent by Kris | 12:43 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie,
I understand the "island" you find yourself on now. I lost my husband (55 yrs old) to cancer last July. We worked together, as attorneys, for eighteen years and now that he's gone, I, too am still confused about what my days should be like. SO, I find that I am on the receiving end of all of the heartfelt advice and ideas that I read n YOUR blog. Her's hoping that we find our way through this world without our men and that we thrive and can feel joy once again. Somehow. I find that it's the "little things" that count most. You know, the "little things" that I hardly noticed BC.
Peace to you. Always.
Robin in Chicago

Sent by Robin | 12:46 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Dear Laurie (and Sasha),

Being a little further on this journey - my husband died of lung cancer at 48 last November - I've found that I still MISS him a whole lot. I miss how he was before that terrible day when we got "the news", but not how he was with the cancer, not how he was when dying. However, we're (our daughters and me) not back to the old routine, we're trying to go forward with life in faltering steps - that old "one breath at a time". And mostly, we're managing, and even enjoying things again. It takes time, lots of it, I've found. I certainly was pretty dull, tired, miserable, cross and distracted for at least 6 months. But, just about now 9 months later, I'd say I'm doing ok. You will too, in a while.

Sent by Pipfitz | 12:46 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie,
I am not sure you ever get passed the missing of someone gone. I think you move to an new place, a place of adjustment where you can think of your loved one without balling your eyes out; eventually, you can think about missing them and perhaps a comment from no where enters your mind and that sounds just like someone my loved one would have said. You might chuckle to yourself and hope others don't think your nuts. I occassionally have imaginary conversations with my loved ones, those I knew so well, my mother, father and brother. For me chuckling to myself about something we would have shared, makes for just a moment, the pain subside, the missing is smaller, but you never stop missing. Lean into it and don't avoid your feelings. Time is truly your friend. Enjoy lifes precious momements today and surround yourself with your memories and those who love you.

Your sadness will lighten as you go.

Sent by Molly from Texas | 12:51 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Dear Laurie,
I too am having a difficult time with the void my husband can no longer fill. It's been three months now and one of the things that I feel is confused. Who am I without my counterpart? We were married for forty years and we met when we were teenagers. I keep looking for the missing piece of the puzzle though I know it will never be found. This loss has taken a chunk out of me. Thinking of you and wishing you well. I hope people's comments are helpful to you. They are so to me.

Sent by Elaine | 12:52 PM ET | 09-09-2008

After I lost my husband the "missing" sucked the air out of me, I could not even cry sometimes....just stare. Does it get better? Laurie, it gets "different" not "better"....it takes time that only you can give it. It's a path you walk alone in the sense that it's not something you can share on your level with anyone else. Having people say "Leroy is still with you" is just not good enough. BUT it does get to the point where you CAN live again....it's just always going to be different. 1-2-3...lifting....

Sent by Karen/Jax | 12:53 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie--
Thank you for not forgetting about us even with all you are dealing with. Thank you for sharing your courage and pain. You continue to strengthen and help.Thank you.

Sent by Roxane | 1:04 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Dear Laurie,

Not much to add, just thinking of you, feeling for you, lifting you up. It's not easy and never will be. Just be where you are now and try to accept it will change, but you can't make it different right now.

Sent by Kathleen | 1:04 PM ET | 09-09-2008

OK, as much as I wish it were different, the "missing part" is just going to horribly suck; there is no getting around it. ("Can't go under it, can't go around it...have to go through it.") The advice I give - and advice I took myself - was that when someone close to you dies, it is your "get out of jail free" card. I don't mean to imply that you were in jail with that person, certainly, but simply that during this time, you get to do whatever the hell you want to, in order to feel better. There is no routine, there is only you, doing what you want. That means that if you want to eat nothing but ice cream and go to one movie after another all day - great; blow off non-essential tasks to read (my favorite escape)- great; ask a trusted friend to sort paperwork and write out checks for said bills for you, while you bake - great. Really, life is living, and during this time while you are trying to figure out just how you are going to live without a person who gave such joy and meaning to your life, you get to do what you *want* for a while here, and the rest be damned. You will eventually get a new routine (you can't really have the old one without Leroy, right?) and time will pass, and joy will once again hit you and amaze you, and after a while, joy will even start to appear more than the longing that smacks us daily after death. But really...it just sucks, so do what brings you any smidgen of normalcy or happiness or joy right now, and no apologies when that electric bill is a few days late, or you just didn't see fit to mow the yard for a month. (BTW: I too have followed this blog from the beginning, cried several times a week after Leroy died, and have been praying hard for you all, and the cancer patients with whom I work, daily.) Much love- Sharon

Sent by Sharon | 1:04 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie,
My only advice is the one you've already heard frequently... give yourself time. I have found that the wonderful memories we have of those we've lost eventually crowd out the sad and painful thoughts - and one day you will find yourself thinking of Leroy and the joy will be predominant, not the sorrow. The sharpness of the pain fades, but the good memories do not. Many hugs,

Susan

Sent by slc | 1:11 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Dear Laurie- I so understand the missing part. When my fiance was alive it was him that I shared my thoughts and frustrations with at the end of the day. When he died it was so hard to come home from work and face being alone. I used to drive around for a couple of hours rather than come home. The only thing that put a stop to that was the rising cost of gas. Greg and I are both political animals and getting through this election without my sounding board has been daunting. A hundred times a day I think of something or see or hear something about the candidates (the Sarah Palin thing) and want to discuss it with him and he is not there.

I don't think we ever can go back to our "old" routine. I think eventually we make a new routine.

The missing part. I don't know how to handle that, it is something I deal with every day for the past nine months. Nothing makes it better. I want him back and it is not going to happen. All I can do is try to keep busy, work alot and get through each day as best I can. I have it on good authority that it will get better from people who have been through it. Right now we are coming up on the first anniversaary of his death and I am starting to feel the grief more deeply as the time of his last crisis approaches and his subsequent death. A year ago this week we were preparing for his daughter's wedding and it was shortly after that wonderful happy occasion that he took a turn for the worse and than eventually died in Nov. So now I am going through each day remembering what we were doing a year ago and feeling such acute pain. His number and picture are still in my cell phone address book. I am physically unable to take it out of my cell phone.

I don't know how to deal with the missing part except to just get through each day and stay as busy as possible. I think this blog is a good way for you to vent and cope. It helps me in a way that nothing else has just to hear the experiences of other people feeling such deep loss. At least I know the things I do out of grief are normal I am not crazy or at least not permanently crazy.

I wish I had a magic pill Laurie to give to you and everyone else who is touched by such huge loss but alas there is not one. Know that we understand, we feel the pain that you feel. We miss our loved ones also, we miss Leroy also and just pray that for you peace will come.

Kathy

Sent by Kathy Carpenter | 1:17 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie, Laurie, it is way too soon to think about anything except the next breath. At least that's the way it was for me. The foundation of my whole adult life came undone when Kerry died. What I've built since is good, and holds - but it's not a going back - but a very slow and painstaking going forward to something I didn't even imagine when he was alive. Life force does eventually come back and new directions open - but not now, not yet. Right now just breathing and eating and sleeping a little is enough. At least that was my truth. I'm still lifting here.

Sent by Victoria Hendricks | 1:18 PM ET | 09-09-2008

We miss Leroy too. We're still lifting, I hope it helps.

Sent by julie | 1:35 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Dear Laurie,

My heart aches for you as I remember loses in my family. The poet Mary Oliver has written a book of poetry titled "Thirst" about her life after her partner died. Below is one of the poems. Remember we are all LIFTING you in our hearts.
Linda Mc

"The Uses of Sorrow"

(In my sleep, I dreamed this poem)

Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.

--Mary Oliver from Thirst,
Poems by Mary Oliver
Beacon Press, 2006

Sent by Linda Mc | 1:39 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Even in the limited way we shared with him, we readers miss Leroy, too, Laurie. Thank you for allowing us to be with you through the blog.

I hope writing this blog does as much for you as reading your feelings about the man I came to know through his blog does for me.

Sent by Vicki Womack | 1:44 PM ET | 09-09-2008

I know you do miss him so much. I guess because he was a big strong formidable person, it just didn't seem real that he would pass one day; he was quite the comeback kid during the illness. Thanks for sharing your heart with us, I can't imagine life without you and Leroy, without the awareness and safety of this place, the love and expression. We continue to lift each other. love from sherri in texas

Sent by Sherri Eggleston | 1:44 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Dear Laurie,
I can only imagine how hard this is for you, day by day, sharing your story and dealing with such a tremendous loss that we can only try to understand. I, for one, just want you to know that I will continue to send you good thoughts and energy as you ride this emotional roller coaster.

Take good care of yourself!

Sent by betsey in albany ny | 2:28 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Oh Dear Laurie,

Please feel all our arms around you, holding you tightly. We shall never let go until you say that is what you wish.
My love,
Pat

Sent by Pat Doyle | 2:40 PM ET | 09-09-2008

There will come a time when you have to let the old routine go.
Find your new center.
Establish your new routine.
Your still here, as we are.
Lifting with all our heart and soul.

Sent by Brian "Brit" Goss from Long Island, NY | 2:43 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Susan - how true that this blog is a form of counseling - it's been a true support group for me, at least. Sasha and Laurie - we're all in the same place, at different times. Words can't express the agony of watching your loved one suffer, or watching them die. And as the numbness began to wear off, the reality to me is worse than the first couple of weeks. Laurie, I'm not saying this to make you feel worse than you do. I think the advice that people have given here is solid; to try in very small ways to deviate your routine, or just make a very small daily routine. I was always an avid reader; I could devour a book in a night. But I haven't read a book since March, when Joe was diagnosed. However, I'm journaling like crazy. In one of the grief counseling books that a friend and librarian gave to me, it says the energy flows from your heart to your hand, writing everything and anything you feel. My point being that this blog was, and is, a source of strength, not only for you, although you may not feel that you can even do it, but to all of us as well. Having never met you except on line, I must tell you that you are an amazing woman. You're already calling on a strength, even though you may not feel it. People tell me that, I don't believe them half the time, but the other half of the time I catch a glimmer of what they're trying to tell me. My words feel so inadequate for what I feel for you. Prayers, always, and peace to you all. Marsha

Sent by marsha bacenko | 2:54 PM ET | 09-09-2008

You're right, the missing part is the worst. No word describes the depth or vastness of that 'missing' feeling. It may be a small recurring sentiment in the grocery store, or swell to feel as huge as the Grand Canyon.

For me, the best way of coping, has been the hardest way - right THROUGH the grief, rather than around. Whenever I try to block, ignore or delay what I'm facing - it just comes back at a more inopportune time. I've also learned that my new job is taking care of my own health by creating routines that work for me, some new, some old.

You'll be amazed that you can do this, Laurie. We're here for you,

Sent by Karen - with you since Sept. 2006 | 3:04 PM ET | 09-09-2008

I can tell you from experience that the feelings become less raw over time but won't likely go away. I call it my "new normal", since normal left at that first day of diagnosis. Be good to yourself.

Sent by Michelle | 3:06 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Dear Laurie...

Life gets easier as we humans deal with trauma; it just seems to take so damn long to establish a new "normal".

Take the time you need and let all those wonderful memories ease the pain.

Peggy

Sent by Peggy | 3:22 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie,

Over the years, I've found everyday is a new day, allowing me to make of it what I will. It was a while before I wanted to stop looking at and feeling about what I had lost when my mom died. Grieving is a process and you cannot miss any of the steps or you are doomed to keep repeating the process until you do. So, relax. You are feeling fully what you need to. Your time limit is unique, so do not begin to judge your progress by that of others. Remember, there is nothing wrong with missing him. In many ways we all do.

On the outside looking in, you're doing well.

Sent by Teri Thomas | 3:27 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie,Of the many things that were said to me at my time of loss,the words that I heard clearly were,"The pain will get better." and it will.

Sent by Joan Flynn | 3:31 PM ET | 09-09-2008

I'm grateful for you & Leroy every single day. Your tears, your grief, your humor(!) Thanks for sharing them all. We all cry with you for the emptiness he's left. Thanks for the little Sarah Palin comment. :) He'd want you to still smile as often as you can.

Sent by Susan | 3:37 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Is MISS really the word, or ACHE. There is no denying it, or ignoring it, or trying to work through it....life is what it will be for each of us, who suffer a loss. You have been so kind, to keep sharing your thoughts with us.
Prayers,
Wanda Amorose

Sent by Wanda Amorose | 3:47 PM ET | 09-09-2008

It is VERY hard. Once Cancer comes into the picture, nothing is ever the same again. After my mother died, it was so hard to figure out how to live life again not only because I missed her so much it was physically painful, but also for 2 years our lives had been so consumed with cancer and treatments and scheduling and everything involving her medical needs and our need to make sure to squeeze every minute out of life since we knew she was dying. Once that all stops you realize that you don't really know what to do with yourself.

It takes at least a full cycle of birthdays, holidays, seasons, snows, flowers, anniversaries, etc. before there is a little peace.

The wounds are still fresh. Give it more time and don't try to change too much at once.

And please keep posting - you give a fantastic voice to the disease-less victims of cancer.

Sent by Jennie | 4:18 PM ET | 09-09-2008

In my exeprience of grief when someone dies, that has been really what it's all about -- missing them. I am coming up on the anniversary of my father's death and often it still hits me bhow much I miss him. I don't think I'll ever stop missing him either, though the amount of time that I am completely in that missing zone is less than it was.

I suppose in some ways it's good we miss them, it keeps them alive in our hearts.

Sent by N.R. | 4:22 PM ET | 09-09-2008

I am thinking of you, Laurie.
Dona, I am so glad that you made your trip. Am thinking of you as well.

Sent by Jen | 4:23 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie, Kathy, Karen, Graham, and so many others, we all are walking the same paths, some a few steps ahead, others a few steps behind. Thank God, we are all in this together.
Sasha and Sarah, my heart aches for you and so many others here...rest in the knowledge that Leroy cultivated this beautiful place where his garden continues to grow in love and beauty...
Love, hugs and blessing to all and continued prayers.
Eileen P., keeping you in my prayers too!

Sent by Laurie Hirth | 4:44 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Peggy C. Cool, cool that's really the way. You're the cats meow! Thanks!

Laurie-lots of good stuff here today -take heart--with love G. from S.H.

Sent by Graham G. Hawks | 4:59 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie, You will create with time, lots of time, a new routine. There is no going back. Not to say you won't someday enjoy some of your old pleasures but You are changed, your Life is changed, everything is different now.

You will go forward with all that you have gained and all that you have lost. You will create a new Life for yourself but it will take lots of TIME and lots of Tears.

Meanwhile, whatever healthy structures you can impose on yourself are good. Get up out of bed. Eat breakfast. Go for a walk, a swim, a bike ride, whatever. Work. Meet friends for lunch and/or dinner. Stay busy. Don't be alone too much.

Baby steps, Laurie, baby steps.

Sent by Marilyn | 5:02 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Everyone has responded so well, I can only add my thoughts for you and assurance that we are all still here, lifting, lifting, lifting.

Sent by Renay | 5:22 PM ET | 09-09-2008

I lost my husband to esophageal cancer on February 29th, a bit more than six months ago.

Most of the time I get through the days and the days' events by keeping him close to my heart. I still use the royal "we" to discuss plans with friends. At night I've moved to his side of the bed, reckoning that he'll have to wake me to get back in. As if...

I miss him the most not in the every day moments, when I have things pretty much covered, but in the other moments -- watching our daughter start second grade and not being able to turn around to kvell in the moment and afterwards, or being driven to tears and frustration by Citibank which insists on blocking and closing our joint account for inane and unfathomable reasons and not having him here to calm, comfort and console me.

The everyday missing is almost bearable now. The other stuff is still really hard. I loved being a "we" with him, am still flabbergasted that I'm a "widow" without him. I hope and pray that the rhetoric I used to spew to others about time providing solace actually comes true. I think it will. Maybe.

Good luck on your journey.

Sent by Robin Messing Bogdanoff | 5:37 PM ET | 09-09-2008

I guess after "caregiver", one becomes the "othe survivor."

Sent by Deb | 6:02 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie, miss him with all your heart. Have you thought of doing a Vision Board (google it)? It was very helpful to me. Now at my new job I find I miss the WARL dogs very much. My sister said it was too early to miss them! But I do. So next time I'm there I'll take some photos and make a vision wall in my cube.

Sent by Dianne (DC) | 6:37 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Dear Laurie, I miss him too. All last week I thought about Leroy. I miss "hearing" from him each weekday. This past Sunday my husband and I were in San Marino. Driving thru the community we commented on what a lovely place it was to grow up in. My husband couldn't recall exactly where Leroy's childhood home was. But, we managed to find a In-N-Out and had a double double in Leroy's honor. We will not forget him.

Sent by Penny Coeur d'Alene, Idaho | 6:45 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Meant to include this this morning--Laurie, you quoted Leroy saying

After that day, your life is never the same.

But follow that thought on through--he did go on to say

It's scary, it's sad. But it's still life, and it's a life worth living.

I had times when I didn't care if I lived or died, I hurt so much. I wanted our life back. I wonder today what it would be like for us if none of this happened...how different we might both have been. I'll never know.

I still don't believe that our story was supposed to end the way it did, with me alone at 42 for the first time in my life, and having no idea even how to balance a checkbook.

But Leroy's right. It is still a life worth living, even in our loss. You won't see it as it happens, but one day you'll look back and realize it's not better, just less painful. It comes in its own time and will catch you by surprise.

Sent by Bruce | 6:46 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Dear Laurie - I agree so much with what Victoria Hendricks said in her comment, that for now, just the next breath is all you need to think about - living moment to moment is best for now. Take such care of yourself, almost as if you are your own new born baby - be sure that you sleep whenever the urge strikes, to eat regularly, even if it is only a few bites, comfort yourself in soft clothes, go gently right now, that is all you need to do. Whatever small routines you can stick to will help as well.

As for when you think of Leroy, I read a segment in the 'Tibetan Book of Living and Dying' while my mom was dying of cancer, and they have this belief that for something like the first 30 or 40 days after someone passes, that they are still transitioning to the next level (bardo) - and that when you think of that person, to encourage them on that journey - that they may need direction or help. I am not a Buddhist, but right after my mom passed, and when I had such profound moments of sorrow, I would still take a moment to send her soul a little positive message like, 'mom, yes I am sad - but I want you to go on with your journey, do not hesitate or stop and worry about me - I will be fine and I still have my life to live here - please continue on your way to finding that perfect peace, that place of completeness and love.' It gave me a bit of peace and it seemed to transform some of my grief, to not make it just about my sorrow, or pining for the loss of her, instead it was telling her to keep flying - to be free.

Sent by Shannon | 7:19 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie,

The breath by breath, baby steps by baby steps that people are talking about are true. And, right now, it's all about you.

Let's face it, you voluntarily took a back seat in life to help Leroy the best that you could. That now leaves you lost. What the H_ll are you supposed to do now? You haven't had to think about you in a very long time. What I did after Pat died was feel very sorry for myself for quite a while. It was hard to get out of bed (thank God for the dogs!) and some days, I took care of the dogs and then went back to bed.

I couldn't sleep at night, but I couldn't get out of bed either. Looking back, I think that I was on that brink of insanity that Graham has so eloquently talked about. Take a look at what he said again--he really hit upon the idea of trying to 'start up', trying to decide to live again. I don't feel that I'm a weak person, in fact I'm quite strong, but Pat's death took me to the very edge; a place I never thought I'd be. Did I want to go on without Pat? In the end, I decided that it was not up to me and I was forced to come to terms with the way I was feeling. I know that my faith came into play then--it probably saved me. I know that Pat is around me, waiting with me--in that different energy level time that is so inconsequential. To Pat, and my parents, the rest of my life is nothing more than an afternoon to us, a day at the most. And so we will see each other soon--whatever that will look like. Pure energy? Maybe.

On the practical side, I found a way to fall asleep at night. It may sound crazy but it worked for me. I put one of our firmer pillows behind me, right about where Pat's back would be. At the moment when I was half asleep, half awake, I could really imagine (believe?) that I was back to back with Pat and I could finally fall asleep. Sounds crazy but give it a try.

Hugs and lifting prayers...

Sent by Kathy B. from Michigan | 7:42 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Dear Laurie,

I wonder if you're too different a person now, to ever go back to the old routine?

I also wonder if a new, albeit temporary routine might help you reconnect with life right now. Have you thought about volunteering for the Obama/Biden campaign? They need you, your smarts, your courage and your experience. And maybe it will take your mind off your grief, if only for a little bit. And I hope I haven't overstepped my bounds by suggesting this.

Still lifting!

Sent by Janice J. , Los Angeles | 7:47 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Graham from Sag Harbor

Thank you for the compliment. As I said yesterday, I am just recovering from a serious illness, my first other than cancer. I am feeling blue and a little worn out, so your compliment was a welcome uplift at the end of tough day.

Peggy C.

Sent by Peggy Carey | 8:09 PM ET | 09-09-2008

I created new routines, the old ones became irrelevant.

Sent by jenngie | 8:40 PM ET | 09-09-2008

I just want to say THANKS for continuing this. I thought the blog would end when Leroy died and I was very sad for many reasons...but the story lives on...what a gift!

Sent by judy | 9:21 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie,
I don't have any answers for you. It reminds me of a friend that had both legs amputated above the knees. No matter how many years went by, she still felt her toes itching. She knew they were gone, but there was something that just kept her from believing that. Maybe that pain you feel is like the false pain my friend felt. It kept reminding her of what she had lost so she could not forget until she was ready to let go.
Allan

Sent by Allan Stocker | 9:58 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Dear Laurie,

My mom died of lung cancer six years ago. I miss her tremendously, but even more when I remember the things we loved to do together. It gets better, but it still hurts.

Sent by wanj | 10:31 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Laurie, breath in, breath out. Gather your thoughts and strength, take a step forward. Repeat hundreds of times.

Hugs and lifting....

And confidential to Don - I think you are missing the mark. This is about Leroy. This is the reality of what happens when our treatments don't work anymore. It wasn't just patients reading Leroy's blog - it was their caregivers too. I want this to continue.

Maybe you too are grieving for Leroy and want to hear his words again. If only we could get him to blog from heaven?

Sent by Anita Apodaca | 10:50 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Dear Laurie,

Letting you know I am thinking of you. This is so terribly hard and it will continue to be ... and then over time it will become less hard. No one knows when the immense grief will begin to shift, but it will, I promise. At times like this I find particular comfort in the reality that we live just one day at a time. We are here and we will shine the light as you walk through the darkness.

Sent by Holly | 11:25 PM ET | 09-09-2008

Dear Laurie,
When my dad died I felt pain and sadness like never before. Then on day, I don't remember when I just started to feel better. I don't know how long you will feel like this, but one day, I promise you, you will feel better.

Take your time and let your heart heal.

Sending strength, peace and hope.
Karen W.

Sent by Karen W | 12:27 AM ET | 09-10-2008

Laurie and everyone:
I have no advice to offer. I'm only writing to say that I'm so sorry for your pain. You are warm and loving people who don't deserve the agony you bear.
"Jennie" said... "fantastic voice to the disease-less victims of cancer."
She's so right!
I send gentle hugs to each and every one of you.
Rhonda H

Sent by Rhonda Howard | 12:31 AM ET | 09-10-2008

Oh, dear Laurie,
Missing Leroy---yes, it's an ache, an amputation, a deep & intense longing, a form of pain I had never experienced before my husband's death (& I had been thru childbirth, painful injuries & illnesses.) It was as if every cell & molecule in my body was consumed by grief & loss and it hurt SO badly.

Please remember that you're in the very early stages of this grieving process and Leroy's death might not even seem real yet---intellectually, perhaps, but not in other ways. Indeed, per the quote that someone shared recently, "grief is the price we pay for loving."

But Laurie, can you ever have imagined your life without Leroy in it, even if someone had told you when you first met and fell in love with him that he would suffer through an awful illness and that he would die at a young age??

It's been over a decade since my husband's death and even though I still miss him every single day, I feel so grateful, so fortunate, so blessed that we met, fell in love and shared over 25 years together. And I'd do it all over again, even knowing now how absolutely gut-wrenching and heart breaking his death was.

I am deeply touched by the comments you have posted since Leroy's death and by the thoughtful and very helpful comments from others in this community who have also lost a special spouse or family member. The love, support, insight, wisdom, honesty and compassion shared here are extraordinary. I wish that this place of dialogue, understanding and candor would have been available to me after my husband died.

Btw, I am NOT offended by posts which make reference to personal views concerning politics or religion, even though I may disagree with some of them. However, I don't like any presumption that we all believe in the same God or that we subscribe to the same political party or philosophy. Whether we happen to be a Republican, an atheist, a liberal, a Christian, a Buddhist, a Nader supporter, a Jew, an independent, a Mormon, a Quaker, a non-voter, a McCain/Palin or a Obama/Biden supporter, it truly doesn't matter and we are united in our journey through cancer as well as loss, grief and healing. Cancer transcends politics, race, color and creed yet we need not be afraid of or upset with our differences. I know that Leroy had strong views about many issues and it's what made him who he was as a resspected journalist and as a special human being. So I humbly suggest that we try to become tolerant of our differences and focus on what unites us. I know Leroy would want that.

(((Hugs))) from Nancy in Waukesha WI

Sent by Nancy | 1:30 AM ET | 09-10-2008

You're in my thoughts and prayers. Hang on, moment by moment.

Sent by Gyla Fowler | 2:53 PM ET | 09-10-2008

Laurie,
Four years later I am remarried and I still MISS MY JIM! I am fortunate, I married a wonderful man who helps me through those days when all I can do is cry.When Jim asked me what my plans were, I told him I was going to sell the house and I would miss him for the rest of my life. Never were such words so full of truth. We learn to live with it,but never get over it. You are strong and time does fly even after cancer.

Sent by Helen Drab Stigant | 5:00 PM ET | 09-10-2008

Laurie,
My experience echoes Helen's. I lost my husband to cancer 5 1/2 years ago. It still hurts. My mother-in-law was also widowed at a young age. She told me once that losing your husband is like losing an arm. You CAN learn to go on without that arm, but you will never forget that it is missing. I haven't. When I visited his grave a month ago, I broke down. It still happens, but I am moving on. Reach out to those who loves you. Lean on those who can support you during this time. May God give you strength to move through this intensely painful phase.

Sent by Hadassah Siegfried | 9:40 PM ET | 09-10-2008

Laurie,
A friend sent me this email to your blog
because I just lost my husband, Greg, to lymphoma on June 20 of this year, so I know the pain you're feeling. You will be in my thoughts and prayers.

Sent by Debbie | 10:50 PM ET | 09-10-2008

The missing will take awhile. Just as you think you can't bear another moment, you will. And then when when you think it can't get worse... it'll get better.

Have you thought about joining a local support group? Sometimes it helps to talk to people face-to-face.

Good luck.

Sent by jen | 11:14 PM ET | 09-10-2008