10 months

It's been 10 months. Ten months since I lost my best friend, my soulmate, my wife, and, most importantly, the mother of my one of my daughters and my son. I have found myself reflecting back alot lately to the last few months of Melissa's life. It's rough to think about at times. I try and be the tough guy and not let it bother me, but it just makes things worse, honestly. There will be something that sparks a memory, good or bad, that makes me stop. And it's been happening more and more lately, as I approach that year mark.

And that honestly scares me. I keep thinking about how I will be when all those memories and emotions starting hitting me hard as I think about the time we were told there was nothing they could do for her. Hearing the words Hospice, Wills, and thinking about how in the world was I going to tell Logan that Mommy would be gone soon. I spent so much time thinking about how I was going to tell him. How do you tell a eight year old that Mommy was leaving, and never coming back because she was too sick. May 2011 will be always in my mind as the worst month of my life, bar none.

But not to be too depressing (too late, I know), I also remember the last time that she visited Step by Step, where we both worked. At the time, we, as the center, were facing major budget cuts from the state. I remember that it was a Wednesday, and she was at chemo, which turned out to be the last time she had chemo. I went and picked her up, and I just looked at her and said, "Let's go to the center". She looked at me like I was crazy, and said that she didn't look good, after just having chemo. I told her that no one would care, that they would just be happy to see her. She agreed, and we went there. Our Executive Director was having a meeting with our building about these issues we were facing. She mentioned that Melissa and I were there the last time we faced this large an issue, and asked Melissa to talk about it. From that point on, Melissa took over. She still had the passion for the kids, for the center, and it showed. It seemed that everyone was just so focused on her. Here she was, hooked up to her chemo pump, showing more fire and energy than her body should have allowed. She loved those kids. She cared about the families. She cared about her co-workers, even though she hadn't worked since the previous November.

I think back to that day and I smile. That epitomized who she was. What she was about. Yes, she was sick and weak, but she didn't let that stop her. I was always proud to call her my wife because of that. Her passion knew no end for those families and the kids.

That turned out to be the last time that many of our co-workers saw her. She was scheduled to have chemo two weeks later, and it was then we were told the grim news. Even facing that, Melissa and I wanted to make plans to go to Hershey, Pa with the kids, or Put In Bay and have some family time.

Her body had other ideas. I felt so damn helpless watching her fade away before my eyes. I felt so helpless. Each time a hospice nurse came in to check on her, I felt part of her slip away.

Then there was the Saturday before she passed. Many co-workers came over to help beautify our house by planing some flowers and trim things, and just generally help. It was then I realized just how many people actually cared, and how much help I had turned down. It was amazing how that happens. But as great as that day was, a much darker time was coming that same day.

A nurse came in to check on her, as they did every day. Melissa had done alot that day, trying to talk to people, and be part of things, as she liked to do. At one point she fell after coming in the house. She begged me not to let anyone know. i got her to the couch, and she stayed there until the nurse came. As the nurse was checking her, I went outside to see how things were going. I came back in, and the nurse wanted to talk to me. She said something about how she was doing, and said something about her being weak. I asked if there was a way she would get any of that back. What was said next, was like a punch in to stomach from Mike Tyson.

"No, in fact, she's only going to get worse from here. The yellow in her eyes means her liver has stopped working. I would say she has a month."

It was at that moment, that I knew it would be less than that. It took every single ounce of willpower to keep from crying and becoming a emotional mess. I still had a party for Holli to get ready for.

I somehow made it through the party without becoming an emotional wreck. When the last person left, and Holli went to bed, it all came out. Melissa had some moments of clarity that night, which we talked about what she wanted for me and the kids. I think we both knew it was near. I cried myself to sleep that night, laying next to her. I honestly felt bad about sleeping that night. I just wanted to spend time with her.

The next day was a blur. I remember her parents coming, and just the general sadness from everyone. I must have cried buckets that day and night.


Melissa,
Not a day goes by that I don't think about you. I look up to the heavens every day and feel your presence around me. I know that you wanted me to forge ahead with my life, and be as happy as I could be. I feel like that I have done that in some ways. but I also feel guilty sometimes, enjoying life without you. It just doesn't seem fair sometimes that it was you that had to go through that hell for two and a half years. It took away an angel from this world. It took away my best friend. It took away a mother to four beautiful kids.

I miss you so much. I can never express it enough, how much I love you. How much Logan loves you. I know you are smiling down on us. I Love You. Nothing on this earth will ever change that.