It's been a month since Don passed away. Many people have texted me to ask how I'm doing. They want to know if I'm writing through the pain, putting to paper what we went through and saying the things I couldn't say before. I'm not...at least, not yet. Honestly, every time I open my computer to tap out my feelings, I can't stop crying. The tears aren't the kind that roll gently down your cheek.  They're the kind that bubble up in your throat leaving you unable to breathe. They make me vomit. And then the pictures show up in my head. Upsetting things I can't unsee. The rawness of Don's absence never leaves me. But, when I try to sit in it and relive it, it becomes unbearable. I'm just not capable of wading through that kind of grief now in the meaningful way it deserves to be swam in. Though, when I am stronger, I promise to honor every moment of his optimism, strength and fight with the most beautiful words I can find inside my shredded heart. 

The world has turned upside down in the past 30 days for all of us in many more ways than Don's death. It's easy to focus on what we're all losing financially, socially, physically, and emotionally. I feel like I've lost so much that I could let myself get buried in it next to him. But, I'm trying to focus on the gratitude that I will forever have - and that Don had - for the innumerable gifts that so many of you gave us during his illness. The good deeds and love that sprang from the horrible bad are replacing much of the hurt I'm feeling. I'm choosing to turn towards that beauty when I'm sad. 

When my friend Callie and my daughter Kayla organized a GoFundMe for us, we were fairly early in hospitalization hell. But, we were already struggling and fearful financially. I had taken a leave from work to be with Don as his specialists fought and puzzled over his diagnosis. He was slowly becoming paralyzed, and the doctors couldn't figure out why. There were daily $8 hospital parking fees. Cafeteria food three times a day. My gas consumption more than tripled, and with all of that driving came exorbitant daily toll road fees. I had a daily dog walker for Griffin. Modifications had to be made to the house and assistive devices needed to be purchased for the brief time he was home. I was having health issues as well. There were deductibles to meet and Cobra for me was eventually added to the mounting costs. We were quickly going broke. And robbing gas stations and barreling through parking deck gates weren't viable options. 

Being the recipient of a GoFundMe page was humiliating and humbling for us. I felt sick when I saw it appear on my Facebook feed, but the nausea was mixed with a copious amount of gratitude. Help was on the way. I was embarrassed, but I could feel my breath again. Until a friend texted me the morning it appeared on social media...

"A GoFundMe? REALLY?!!"  

She was horrified. Embarrassed by association, perhaps. And I got it. 

The not breathing feeling came back. My heart sank and shame poured over my face like hot lava as my hands started to tremble. I needed to throw up to get those words out of my head and heart. If a close friend was saying that directly to me, how many other people were thinking it behind our backs? I suddenly felt like I had a scarlet GoFundMe embroidered on my chest so all the world would know how needy and "begger-like" we were. I might as well have been standing at the bottom of an off-ramp on 440 with a cardboard sign and posting pictures on Facebook. 

A family member didn't understand why I needed to be at the hospital with Don so much. 

"Go live your life. It's not like you can change the outcome or cure his cancer," she said. 

No, sadly, I could not. But, the life I chose to live was WITH Don...caring for him...and loving him as long as I could. It may not have been a smart financial or career choice, but I believe that it was an honorable choice, a compassionate choice, my only choice. I didn't give it a second thought. I knew intuitively our time was limited. Maybe you did as well. And that's when you all swooped in with your selfless love. 

For those who understood, supported us, and made my decision possible, I thank you from the bottom of my soul. 

Your kindness evaporated the worry of paying bills, taking care of the mortgage, and getting to the hospital each day, staying most nights. 

Beyond the GoFundMe, we were gifted gas cards, grocery cards, and fast food cards. Cash was left - sometimes anonymously - to help with the toll road fees and miscellaneous expenses. Your grace covered my health insurance and pay when you didn't have to. You went beyond what anyone would have expected or dared ask for. 

You brought snacks, food, lunches and gift bags full of things to the hospital that only those who have been there would know to bring. You had walked that difficult walk and knew how to pay it forward in such beautiful ways. 

You sent notes, messages and funny gifts. You visited and left laughter and light behind. You made us feel less alone when we felt scared and isolated. You didn't stay away when things got hard. And they were hard a lot. 

You helped take care of my home when I wasn't able to be there, to snuggle and walk my dog when I couldn't. You left wine, meals and meaningful cards, candles and gifts. You checked on me thoughtfully and relentlessly. Sometimes you knocked on my door just to give me a hug. 

Most importantly, the GoFundMe and other graces gave us the gift of time, the present of presence. Don's cancer was beyond any suffering I had ever borne witness to and likely ever will. He lost function and ability on a daily basis. His diagnosis changed almost weekly. There were so many specialists and tests. He couldn't take it all in. I was the person who took it in for him and made sense of what I could and held him through what no doctor was able to. You gave us that. 

The degrading aspects surrounding Don's illness felt endless to him. There were a lot of mental, physical, and emotional adjustments that he had trouble relinquishing to the nurses. It was just too much with everything else he was losing. The nurses taught me how to do those things for him. Pride and humility were things that your money and gifts preserved for Don for a very long time. It gave us a level of intimacy we never thought we would have, but one neither of us would change. 

You allowed us to have no regrets. There was not one important moment that I missed. There were no routine routines I wasn't a part of. Though many of the memories are painful and much of what we went through together wasn't easy, Don was rarely alone. He didn't have to sit in his fear without someone who loved him by his side. It's a luxury that many people tragically can't afford and wish they could. It should be a human right. Your grace allowed me to bless Don in that way. 

Conversations weren't always what I hoped they would be, yet we talked about what Don wanted to, what he needed to express. He thought tomorrow would always come, and our words centered around a positive future. Don was able to plan with me and be eternally optimistic because I was there to listen. On the worst day of his life, he was able to marry me for better or for worse, in sickness and in health. If I hadn't been at the hospital at that moment, that day, it never would have happened. He beamed as he said his vows, despite knowing they would be short-lived. The peace we both felt was a true parting gift. Thank you. 

I didn't plan to mention people individually for fear of leaving any one group or person out. But, to the Cary Fire Department and the Town of Cary, I didn't know many of you when this struggle began. But, oh how I know and love you now. You welcomed me, literally embraced me, cried with me and gifted us so much of what I've written about. You were a true friend to Don and never forgot to care for me lovingly in the process. Your honor and respect for him at his visitation and funeral will be embedded as one of the most beautiful sites my eyes will ever see. He would have been honored and incredibly proud. 

I could go on forever, as everyone's generosity seemed to. It was and continues to be as endless as my love for Don. As the final Caring Bridge post, my appreciation is long overdue. Please know how your love carried us and continues to buoy me. Individual thank you notes will be on their way, but until then, a collective feeling of love goes out to each and every one of you for support. You didn't ask any questions, you didn't need any explanations for the help that was given. You just showed up and did for us. And showing up and doing was what was so desperately needed. I'm eternally grateful.