It is one week ago today that I buried my wife.  We did, actually, for in the Jewish tradition it is the community that buries its dead, one shovel of dirt at a time.  The sound of that first shovelful of dirt hitting the top of the coffin hits you like a hard slap in the face.  Shelley is dead and in that box, and this is the end of her except in memory.

So, too, does this Journal of our joint journey from diagnosis, through hope and determination, then to the final outcome for the vast vast majority of pancreatic cancer patients, come to its end.  It has been a long 14 months.

 I have been thanked for sharing so much of Shelley’s journey through these writings.  Thank you for that.  It was therapeutic for me to talk with you and, it seems, helpful to you to be kept informed.  Shelley knew what I was writing, it was her voice, too, and she wanted to share what was happening with you as well.  That’s the kind of person she was.

As I have gone around the house these past few days, sorting through her things, deciding which pieces of her life to keep and what pieces to discard (and in shock that I had to do so), I came across our wedding album complete with videos and pictures and our vows.  I was struck again at how full of life she was and how she lived life with gusto.  She inhaled everything life had to offer and exhaled it back out as a joy that affected everyone.  I have never met anyone like her.  I can’t possibly meet anyone like her, again.

It took a village to manage through her illness, and she had a New York City’s worth of friends who lent hands, and feet, and hearts whenever and wherever and how ever needed.  I am eternally in your debt.  It is a debt of life, where in life we see someone in need and we help them, without question, without hesitation, or thought of reward.  We plant those seeds of obligation and when our need arises, like Shelley’s illness, the community comes into being to satisfy the need.  It is humanity at its finest.

That is the lesson I take away from this, what Shelley has taught me.  Friends and family matter, and they are the only things that matter in this life.  Not money, not possessions, just good friends and family.  Cultivate them and honor them.  And thank them.

While we were dating, Shelley and I asked each other if it was possible for any relationship to be as perfect as ours seemed to be.  The penultimate line of my marriage vow to her was “we once asked if this could be perfect.  It is.”

And it was.

May God Bless you.  May Shelley’s memory be a Blessing.  May you live a good life and have an abundance of good friends to share it with.