So tonight, August 24, 2008 I am finally able to sit down alone and pen this entry that should have been completed on August 18. Over the past year I have worked hard to write these entries on the 18th. I have done this for me and for Kate. But this month, the 18th found me in Ottawa with the kids. It was a long day and each of us was stuck with our own thoughts and memories. The hotel room with Alison and Andrew at my side was not the time nor the place. But now, having returned home I have the time I need to really sit back and reflect, although I don’t want to. I don’t want to because it has been a hard year and I am not interested in reliving any of it. I relive it all too often in my mind, when I drive or before falling asleep, sometimes in meetings or when I am with others. But mostly when I am alone. Thoughts not only of Kate’s death, but of all the experiences since that trace back to that few seconds of time. Sometimes memories that are lucid and detailed, sometimes memories that are vague and blurred. But always memories that bring me to tears, raise my anxiety and make me question everything. And I don’t want to reflect because I have already made the decision that this will be the last of my monthly entries. The world has moved so far in the past year, the kids have grown and changed, and even my life has moved in unexpected directions. I don’t want to let go of Kate. I desperately want her to be a part of my life and I want to cling on to so many pieces of our life together. But daily I find myself letting go. Ending this writing is one more step in that process. I still wear my wedding band and I will continue to do that for the foreseeable future. I also wear Kate’s band on a chain around my neck- a behavior that I have found is very common among widows. I don’t know enough widowers to know if men do it as often. But I am communicating with a jeweler and she and I are discussing possible designs and options that will end in me removing both to see them transformed into something new. Something I will continue to wear but not on my left hand. I have not packed Kate’s belongings, but I have been shopping for the right antique trunk that will hold her wedding dress along with other special items. That will begin the process of emptying the closets and the dresser. I know that she will never be removed from this house, or any house that I live in, but her presence is slowly becoming less obvious, even if only to me as the brand of products that I purchase or the arrangement of kitchen utensils change. At the end of one year I think the most important thing to note is that we have all survived. Alison and Andrew and I have found that we can communicate and make decisions and plan and carry on. It is clear that there remains a hole when we are together; there are certain things that remain undone always. There is no one to plan so our time is more unstructured. Hotel rooms are booked at the last minute and the discounts are probably not as deep. More importantly though there is less laughter, one less voice to chime in merrily and make a joke or quip about what is going on around us. The real change though can only be seen by those that know us as a family. Because the real change is that there is no Maypole for everyone to gather around. We have become a band of revelers in a field, clearly part of a single group and glad to be so, but without our festive ribbons tying us to the central structure around which we all dance. Kate wasn’t the glue. Our love for one another was and remains the glue. But she was the keystone that held the arch in place. Very often people talk about how a traumatic experience changes someone. I’m a skeptic. But, I am also a person who knows a little about psychology and therapy and still doesn’t believe that therapy really works- not in the traditional medical model. I think people are pretty stable. We develop across the early years and then we spend the rest of our lives engaging in behaviors that largely reinforce our personality structure. Trauma doesn’t change that structure. I am who I was, and who I will remain. What has changed is the strength of the walls that are designed to present a social front. The façade is cracked in places and there are probably complete holes in other spots. So the social me may not appear as together or polished, but the man behind the curtain is still the same character that has been pulling the levers for years. Having said that, it is also true the façade is stronger today than it has been for months. I have more energy to patch and repair and engage in basic upkeep. And as a result, my needs overall continue to change. I have spent a lot of time in the past year talking to others who have lost a partner, trying to make sure I wasn’t crazy, trying to connect with someone when I felt so empty, trying to believe that I was not alone when the vastness and emptiness of my world felt so great. And I talked because I needed to tell my story as I tried to make sense of my life. But I don’t need to tell my story anymore. I don’t need the social connection the way I did. Today I have made and maintain social connections and so I have a sense that others understand and are there to support me. But also, none of it is really new anymore. I know the emotions. I know the thoughts. I know the roller coaster and the suddenness and the pain. I can navigate the world now because I know and understand. The pain is not gone, and the loneliness and the longing remain. But I understand it and how it fits into my life. I no longer need to explore other’s lives so that mine will feel normal or so that I can feel confident I will survive. I have survived. I continue to survive, and I will survive well into the future. Maybe right now, that is the secret for me. I have survived. Thank you God for helping me. Thank you friends and family. Thank you Denise and Lora and Denise and Laura and Margerita and Sue and Dessa. Thank you Lorraine and Kelly. And thank you Annette. Each of you has provided something to me in this journey. Increasingly I think it is now mine to do alone. Not life. More than ever I want to share my life with a broader range of people. But this journey of grief is now mine to continue on my own, so I won’t write monthly after today. I certainly invite everyone to come back and see if there are other updates, new photos or thoughts. And I really would love for everyone who visits, especially those who knew Kate to add their own thoughts. It means so much to me to read what others have to say. As for my needs now and into the future, please talk to me about Kate. If you knew her, tell me stories and let me know you miss her. If you didn’t, ask me questions and let me tell you stories. She is a part of my life. And I will continue to celebrate all she gave me as long as I live. Kate- I love you today as I have since we met on October 9, 1981. And I will continue to love you as long as I live- and beyond: Forever and ever and 2 weeks.