Greatful

Honey,

Yesterday was a "Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day" to quote Judith Viorst's children's book of the same name. I really felt that there was no way I could or should go on without you in my life. Your loss is so immense to me. You are such an amazing man and partner. I couldn't see how (or why) I would ever find hope or joy again in my life. I was in tears 80% of yesterday and the weight of those feelings took me down a path that was suffocating.

I remember once when I was a pre-teen having a horrible argument with my mother all about where I could wash my hair. The septic system was in disrepair or the pipes were leaking or something but my adolescent brain could not, would not comprehend. I was terrible, I cried and I argued but my mother was firm and calm. She did not budge and in the end I banished myself or probably was banished to my room. There I cried until I could no longer breathe. That created an epiphany for me that I never have forgotten: crying that hard is no good - hurting only myself. Yesterday was like that. I was raging against Life and Death,  mine and yours, their immovability, much like my mother's, of that line. I raged that I wanted assurances that you would be mine again some day. I raged against what we cannot know about death. I exhausted myself in my rage, my one-sided battle like that of Orpheus' to regain you. 

This morning I am much calmer. Yes, I cried today as I have every day since I lost you but I feel like the ocean after the storm. There will be many more storms but yesterdays' has passed. And in it's passing, I realized how much the words "great" and "grateful" have in common. I am grateful for our great love. I put together a list of all the great things we were both thankful for during your epic journey alongside cancer. Here it is:

• more time with each other with our careers cleared away
• more frequent visits and deeper connections with your sons, Emily, and Satori, with Cathy and her family, with Mary and Steve, with my family, and of course the ongoing visits by our nieces Julia and Kate
• time with our close friends: Greg and Toni and Lisa and others
• new friendships with Kelly, Jaime, and all of your nurse ski buddies
• the entire oncology department "the nicest people I never wanted to meet"
• blissful times bike riding, skiing, and kayaking
• Vermont Adaptive
• raising another litter of puppies and traveling to Nova Scotia and meeting Melanie
• our holiday gatherings and having Peter here for Thanksgiving
• time on the back deck, the pond, and our owl
• traveling with the camper - despite Gettysburg - or perhaps because we overcame that great challenge through love,
• my brothers coming to the rescue
• building the harp
• TV nights: Monk and old time romantic movies
• always Tegan
• always the pups
• your Legacy project 
• the hospice folks.

I am sure there are many things I am forgetting. And there is an entirely different list that is only min—such as tiny paintings and how despite all the chaos around your passing, you were never touched by it, you were at peace answering my great prayer.

These "greatful" (as coined by Jon Funabiki) moments are giving me hope today. They are reminding me that I need to carry our gratitude forward and in doing so joy will, in the future, once again blossom.