Tonight marks ten months since Kate’s death. I suppose there is nothing particularly magical about 10 months. In fact in so many ways there is nothing magical about the 18th. But it comes every month, and with it the sadness and tears. I sat in my office and cried for the first time in weeks. Not one or two tears, which I shed regularly. But real tears of sorrow. Tears that came freely and without Kleenex I was at a complete loss to try and clean myself up. But no one came to the door and I was alone and that was best. I was not surprised. I have been on the edge of tears for several days. So when they came today it was expected- indeed normal. Normal- sitting at one’s desk as tears stain your tie. Normal. I don’t really understand normal, at least not as I did in the past. Normal for me today is being a good manager. I manage schedules and make sure that Andrew and I are where we belong at any given point in time. I manage finances and make sure bills are paid (or mostly paid) and justify in my own mind why it is ok that others are put off. I manage a household staff to ensure that someone cleans something at least once a week. I manage laundry services and while our clothes tend to the wrinkled side, they don’t smell and are mostly stain free. I am a manager. Necessity has forced the tasks upon me and I get them handled. But at 10 months I find that being a manager is no longer enough. The needs are greater. The need for a leader is beginning to catch up in this world woefully lacking in leadership. There is no vision and the ship is adrift even if the deck is clean. The irony is that for several years I have complained that there wasn’t enough visionary leadership where I worked. But there were many competent managers. At some point, someone asked me to provide some of the vision and the leadership necessary to see us there. And I took on the task with hope if not real enthusiasm. But at home, where I provided vision and leadership for years, I can’t see tomorrow. It was a vision of life with Kate that prompted me to propose on December 31, 1982: a vision of a beautiful life, two kids, a professional career, and some of the accoutrements of success. The vision included the values that we wanted to stand for and instill in our children and support in others. The vision included a broad world view that helped us understand our place and to try and maintain perspective and balance. The vision included how I could support Kate as she grew into adulthood and the support I needed from her as I did the same. After all, we were just kids. Out of school and on our own perhaps, but still kids unaware of what life was really about. So over the course of almost 25 years after that proposal, we set out to fulfill the vision. And we did. We did not always invest the energy we thought we would in environmental issues or peace, but overall we met our goals. Then it all ended. Today there is no vision. Today there is only yesterday and today. Today there is only management without leadership. Today, when I catch a glimpse of tomorrow, when some vision creeps into my mind, I become so overwhelmed that I immediately shut it out. There is room for anxiety and fear- these I feel often. There have even been times when the fear has made me physically ill it has been so strong. Seeing things I want, imagining things I might have, visioning- these tasks are too stressful. Maybe I had it and don’t believe I can have it again. Maybe I know today too much about how much pain there is in the world. Maybe I don’t believe that I can make the decisions alone. It doesn’t really matter. Today there is no vision, there is only fear. A friend who lost her husband 6 months ago wrote to me yesterday and told me she had moved her wedding ring from her left to her right hand this week; a conscious decision to acknowledge that she was no longer married. I panicked. The anxiety overwhelmed me and then the tears came. Just contemplating removing my ring was too much. Twenty-four years and 5 days. I do believe that after all those years we had made it. We had found what we needed to be together forever. The only vision I have had since 1982 was a vision of us together. So today I need a new vision of the future. But every glimpse I get feels as overwhelming as the thought of taking off my ring. So for now, I will drift, trying to focus on today, focus on operational management, and put off the strategic plan until sometime in the future. Sometime when the future possibilities don’t scare me more than present realities.