The widower’s silver anniversary

I am a widower.  One week from today Jane and I would have celebrated our 25th anniversary. Maybe we would have gone back to the Lakes Region of New Hampshire where we spent our honeymoon–gotten the same room in the same hotel and eaten dinner in the Wolfe Tavern again–sat on the balcony and looked out over the water again.

We only know that doing nothing does nothing…

Or maybe we would have stayed here and celebrated with friends and family at a favorite restaurant. Maybe we would have come back afterward and snuggled on the couch in this house we had lived in for nearly 20 years.

The widower’s empty days

These are the things I torture myself with above the other tortures I have endured these last 44 months and 16 days. I endured the retirement dinner without her and each of our three previous anniversaries. I’ve endured empty Christmases, empty New Years, empty Valentine’s Days, empty birthdays, empty Halloweens, and empty Thanksgivings.

I am a widower.

People have tried to fill some of those empty days. I’ve tried to let them. Only rarely has any of us succeeded.

The widower’s hope

This weekend I spent time with some former students who have become friends. I felt human again for the first time in four years. I wasn’t a caregiver or a cancer fighter or any of the things that have come to define me since Jane’s death. I was just me–and it felt good.

…I have endured these last 44 months and 16 days.

But that has slipped away the last two days. There are letters to write and mail, articles to read and think about, events to plan and help execute, patients and caregivers to console…

The widower’s new losses

These last ten months have been filled with new pain and new hurt. I lost one of my oldest friends to triple negative breast cancer this winter–and lost both my father and a niece barely two weeks ago.

I felt human again for the first time in four years.

I have yet to come to terms with being a widower. Now, I am an orphan, too.

The widower’s mission

I have reached an age where Death is a constant companion. I watch it cull my friends and loved ones and am powerless to stop it–or even slow it down.

Now, I am an orphan, too.

Part of me says there is no point to what I am doing here–that people are going to die of one thing or another, so why fight to take even one arrow from Death’s quiver. But I have seen this arrow at work–and there is nothing clean about this arrow. It is foul and disgusting and filled with multiple levels of pain.

The widower’s view

Small pox is dead. Polio–in the US–is the shadow of a memory few remember beyond being vaccinated against it. Those things are true because someone cared enough to make them true.

…Death is a constant companion.

In the grand scheme of things, I don’t raise much money here, I don’t reach more than a dozen people directly in a week–I don’t do much at all that has a huge impact. But I also know every dollar matters and every life is precious–too precious to condemn to a hopeless life and a meaningless death.

The widower’s way

Carcinoid/NETs won’t die because of Jane or me, but maybe we can help buy a new fact or two, maybe encourage a new researcher or two, maybe bring comfort and knowledge to a new patient or two. Doing just a little every day, over time, can create a lot of difference.

…every dollar matters and every life is precious…

So I write the letters, make the speeches, read the articles, help plan and run events. We don’t know which dollar raised is the important one, don’t know which researcher will uncover the important clue or make the important discovery. We only know that doing nothing does nothing to help end this cancer–or any other.