Bob's ashes were returned to me last Friday. I'm trying to reconcile that the wonderful, kind, loving man I spent almost 24 years with has been reduced to the contents of the beautiful urn on the fireplace mantle. It's difficult, in part because I still wake up in the night thinking I need to check on him, and several times a day, I think of things I want to tell him, only to realize, again, that he really is gone.

I finally worked up the courage to submit Bob's obituary to The Oregonian for publication this Sunday June 2. Somehow its publication will make everything real. I also got through Memorial Day, the first one to acknowledge that Bob now belongs to the ranks of those to be remembered because of his death caused by Agent Orange exposure. I'm aware that I'm about to experience one after another special days and holidays without him, starting with my birthday on June 5th.

I'm trying to be brave as I try to figure out what the rest of my life will look like. It's complicated, and difficult because of my disabilities and limitations. For now, I'm just too broken to address more than the most pressing concerns. I know I have to take time to grieve, but I haven't figured out what that looks like. For now, I'm just trying to remember to breathe.