As I promised, I took last week off from thinking about cancer, the Relay for Life, and Walking with Jane.

At least I tried to.

The world intervened a couple of times: a former student’s son was diagnosed, tested, and operated on for a slow-growing form of lymphoma. One of the members of our Relay planning committee had a heart issue. And when I went out to see a former student perform, conversation naturally touched on Walking with Jane.

But for the most part, it was a quiet week. I read a really fascinating book about the Chinese discovery of America, watched the first season of Mad Men, and season six of the new version of Doctor Who. I even went to a first-run film in an actual theater.

Still, Jane’s absence hung over the whole week. The first part of the week is lost in a fog of tears and exhaustion. When I sat on the deck, I missed her. When I came up from mowing the lawn, I missed her. When I came in from my walks, I missed her. We were supposed to be doing these things together. Retirement was supposed to be different from what it has turned into. For the last 24 months, I have fought this cancer, first with her–and since December 10, 2010–without her physically by my side.

I spent last week as a retired widower. It was, in many ways, good for me. There was nowhere I had to be, no meetings I had to attend, no people I had to put on a strong face for. I cried when I wanted to cry, got depressed when I wanted to

be depressed, and slept when I needed to sleep for as long as I wanted to sleep.

Something happened somewhere this week. I don’t know when. I don’t know why. I don’t know how. But–at least for a few moments–I came to terms with the loss I have suffered. There is, as I write this, a genuine peace I have not felt since before the H1N1 started the cascade that ended 14 months later in that hospital room at Brigham & Women’s Hospital in Boston with Jane’s death. I do not expect that peace to be permanent. I have learned enough about grief in the last 18 months and 21 days to know better. But the moments have left me feeling better than I have in months–maybe years. And that has re-energized me for the road ahead.

Today, Relay moves to the back burner. There are still tasks to be done there, but they will not require my full attention. Today, I shift focus from cancer in general to NET cancer and carcinoid syndrome in specific.

I am not who I was a year ago. I have learned a lot. I have experienced a lot.

This week, I have rested.

Now, we move forward.

(One quick note: while I have rested, the elves who work on this site have not. At the bottom of news posts we now have a place for you to comment. These will be monitored to keep the spam out. I know, on this subject at least, we can all be civil. 🙂 )