I’m exhausted.

I’m physically exhausted. I left the house a little after six this morning to present at a journalism conference in Boston. I got home just in time to go out for a dinner meeting with the two people who are putting together a part of our on-site fundraising activities for Walking with Jane’s Relay for Life effort. Both the conference and the dinner meeting went well and were very productive. And the dinner meeting got me out socially into an environment that was different from many of the meetings I do. But it was a physically tiring day for all that the things that happened in it were positive.

And the physical taxation will continue through the end of next week and beyond as Relay gets closer and closer.

But I’m mentally exhausted as well. For the last several weeks, every day has involved a new set of mental puzzles that have needed to be resolved. We have two major Walking with Jane fundraisers between now and Relay. We have designed posters and tickets and worked through some of the logistical details of how to make those work. I’ve also begun the planning and thinking process for a number of events that will take place after Relay aimed at raising money for–and awareness of NET. And I’ve continued to evolve the reorganization of the house that is our home.

And I’m emotionally exhausted. Every fundraiser exacts an emotional toll because I am constantly aware of why I am doing them–and that I would not be doing them were Jane still here. Every move I make in reworking the house brings me into contact with things that remind me of Jane and her absence. Every meal I eat alone, every laundry I fold that includes only my clothes and not hers reinforces that.

I am tired in my body, in my mind, and in my soul.

But that exhaustion only solidifies my determination to find the answers to Jane’s cancer and all the other diseases that take people away long before they should be. I don’t want others to feel what I feel now. I don’t want others to look ahead and see this life that stretches on like the steppes of Russia in winter in the absence of the person they love.

I know we all die. I know I can’t change that. I know we all will suffer pain and loss. I know I can’t change that. But when death comes, I want it to be after a long and fruitful life–and I want the spouse left behind to know the time that remains will not be too long before they, too, find that final rest.

None of us knows the time we have. But I fully expect to live for many years yet. That time needs to be used wisely and well. So I will fight to find the answers to this disease in the only ways I know how. I will study and write and speak. I will put fire in the hearts of men and women and help fuel their quest for answers and cures. I will help to find the money they need to do those things with the gifts that I have.

And one day–perhaps before I die–perhaps not–Jane’s quest to defeat this disease will end in victory. And there will one less disease stealing people’s lives before they want to give them up.