Another May of Healing

I sit here in my garden watching it come into bloom. This is my first May since I've moved into this new home. This has allowed me to witness the starting point of the first poke of something green through the ground after a long winter's nap. It is now May. A month I always looked forward to because so many things are reborn. New life is all around us. The Memorial Day weekend kicks off the unofficial start of the summer season. I would be remiss to leave out my beautiful baby girl, Carly, who was born at the end of the month, 30 years ago this year.

However, for the last 8 years, May also brings back a sad and melancholy feeling to my heart. May of 2016 was by far the worst month of my life. My wife who was battling a rare blood cancer, myelofibrosis, after having a bone marrow transplant the previous July, was losing her fight.

I'll spare the details this go around as many of you have heard the gist of the story. I will say there is more to the story than I have revealed, but at this point I prefer to keep it private. Though I often think about writing a book, I just don't have it in me at this time, but might down the road.

When I think back to that May and the last 3-4 weeks of Nancy's life I still feel a flood of different emotions. Less and less it's about my loss, but more about hers. I get angry about her being taken too soon. She never got to see either of her children get married. Never to see her beautiful grandson, Enzo and hold him in her arms with her amazing maternal instinct. Never to celebrate another holiday or birthday with her family which she cherished. I still ask why.

As the world may look at me from the outside, they see I have clearly moved on. I met someone extraordinarily special and now share the rest of my life with her. However, this person still allows me moments to be sad. To grieve, or retell a story from that life. I don't think I would have married again if the person I was with didn't understand and allow me that. I also understand, not everyone can do this. Hence, what makes Edmi so special.

I do have a couple of nice memories from those last weeks, although they were still tinged with an irony of sadness.

Nancy's transplant did not go well from the get go. She ultimately suffered from something called graft verse host disease in response to the stem cell transplant. It basically means the transplant is actually attacking the recipient because it sees it as harmful. The whole ordeal is horrifically frustrating.

With that, Nancy was rarely at home and more often in the hospital, dealing with the issues of post transplant. Again, sparing details at this time, I want to reflect more on something she did while home at the end of April that year.

On the Sunday morning before my birthday, I awoke to a sweet smell of something baking. I came downstairs to the kitchen and found her pulling out a cake she was making for my birthday from the oven. Don't judge me, but I'm not a big cake eater. However, for whatever reason, I liked the Duncan Hines box cake with chocolate frosting and strawberry banana filling. Here she was, still trying to do something for my birthday. The thought makes me both smile and brings tears to my eyes.

The funny part of the story, is that in order to make that cake, you bake the two tiers separately and then place one on top of the other. Well somewhere in the baking process, one of the cake tiers came out lopsided. She tried every combination possible to make it look level, but it wasn't happening. For those who knew my wife, let's just say she had a salty tongue. One friend would often say "your wife speaks "french" so fluently." She made my so called off camera "f-bomb" sound like a children's story. As she continued to ice the cake the cursing got worse and worse and my laughter became louder and louder in response.

She stepped back from the cake and said "look at this fu*%ing cake, this is the ugliest thing I've ever seen." With that, I couldn't help but feel this was the most beautiful birthday cake I ever received. It was a moment of levity and love. Today it's a memory that still makes me laugh and smile. It was really the last quintessential Nance moment.

The second memory from that May that brings some happiness to me in the midst of the sadness was my daughter Carly's graduation from Monmouth University. Her graduation date oddly enough was Friday, May 13th. Earlier in the month Nancy took a turn for the worse and was back in the hospital. There was no chance she was going to see her daughter graduate in person. While I didn't want to really think about it, I was beginning to feel she wasn't going to make my son's wedding slated for later that December.

I would rack my brain trying to figure out how I could at least give her a little piece of these big events in her babies lives. First things first, was the graduation. I worked it out with the staff at the hospital to leave us a 20 minute private moment in the room. I needed to coordinate with my daughter to get from Monmouth county NJ to the eastside of Manhattan in a particular window of time. As it turned out, she had to wait to pick up her cap and gown late in the afternoon. This meant, she then had to hop in the car and take the long ride up during rush hour. I recorded the graduation song Pomp & Circumstance on my phone, rolled up a piece of paper and tied it to look like a diploma and had choreographed in my head how this was going to happen in front of Nancy, while in her hospital bed.

I was constantly in touch with Carly to see her progress on the road. Of course traffic was heavy and as she was getting closer things got more stressful. First it was, "Dad, I'm stuck in traffic and not moving!" That went to "Dad my gas tank is saying empty!!" To finally "Dad I'm going to pee in my pants and can't hold it in!!!!" Just a snippet of my life with Carly.

Anyway, she finally made it. I met her in the hospital lobby. She threw her cap and gown at me to hold and ran off to the bathroom. After we both took a deep breath I explained my plan to her. I was going to go back to the room and act like nothing was going on. Then hit the music and I would announce the graduate's name and she would enter the room in full cap and gown.

Believe it or not, it came off perfectly when I reflected back on it. At the moment of doing it I remember feeling a bit numb. I think that happened to protect me from emotionally losing it. It truly was the last moment I saw Nancy smile. When I got back to my apartment later that night, she had left a message on my phone. I keep it and cherish it to this day. It was a beautiful heartfelt thank you for what we had done. It was also a final reflection on us. She expressed her appreciation for everything over the years in an honest reflection on our relationship of 40+ years.

Five days later she lost the ability to speak. Eight days later she was gone. Below is the picture with Carly in the hospital and to the right is a picture just 5 years earlier at my son's graduation from Drexel University. I don't need to say anything else.

While I suppose writing this was therapeutic, I also hope that it puts in perspective for some of you how we handle the process of loss. Everyone is different. Every relationship is different. The commonality is understanding that life is precious. Say and do the things you want to with your loved ones, NOW!

In addition, it's OK to move on from the loss if you so choose, or to not. It's not OK or healthy to suffer the pain and sadness of these losses alone or perpetually. Time should afford you to heal in a way that the more positive memories rise to the surface and less of the negative ones. Let yourself feel and be in it. Resisting what you're feeling will only lead to other problems down the road. Seek professional help if you need it. I did, and it made a big difference in how I moved forward and approached my life without Nancy.

None of this is easy, but it is very possible.

So as the anniversary of my wife's passing approaches again, many feelings rush through me. I know what they are and I spend a little time with each of them. While it represented the end of a large part of my life, it also marked the beginning of a whole new version of me. May will always come with a tinge of sadness, but I always look to the memories of the graduation ceremony we put together and of course that ugly fu&%ing birthday cake.

You can move on without forgetting or disrespecting. Remember to listen to the quiet version of you inside. Don't worry about those outside of you making their useless judgements. That usually happens because they are not happy with themselves.

Each May I feel a little less of the sadness or anger, but it is still there. That's OK. Perhaps I should say thank you May for reminding me of what a great life I've had and enjoy every moment I have remaining.

I end this by leaving the lyrics from a Jason Mraz song called 3 Things that truly got me through some very difficult times.

Sunshine Always !!