February 18, 2009- Tonight is 18 months since I lost my life. Eighteen months. Nothing is the same. At the same time so many things haven’t changed at all. As I sit and type it all rushes back. For the first six months I wrote every night in a journal. I filled several of them with my writing. For the second six months I typed every night. And for the entire year, on the 18th of each month I sat at the computer and I blogged; an open entry in my diary that was posted here for anyone to see. I stopped at one year. But tonight I am back. I decided to come back because I want to share something with all those folks online who are new to this hell. I’ve known for at least two months that tonight I would sit and make this entry. I haven’t known what I would write. Even as I sit here and type I don’t know what will come. But I know I had to write; someone has to tell those who have come after me. They need to know. I want to make this entry short, so that someone might read through the whole thing. But I want to say something that is very important to me. I’ll try and do both. I miss Kate every day. EVERY DAY. And as I type the tears come. I miss her so much. I still can’t believe that she is gone. I can’t believe it because I get up every morning and go to the same job. I drive the same car. I drop Andrew at the same bus stop. I come home and her clothes are in the closet, and her treasures are on the dresser. How can she be gone? She is on the dresser too: several pounds of ash in a small wooden box. Is that bizarre? Am I nuts? No. Those who need to understand get it. Those who don’t understand have never had to face this. It’s OK. I’m OK. That’s the take away message. I’m OK. My life is full of routine. Some of them not so different than the routines we had together. I get up at the same time, and Andrew and I still eat the same meals seated at the kitchen table. Only now I sit in Kate’s chair. No one else can have it. It’s too special. Am I nuts? No. Those who need to understand get it. Those who don’t understand have never had to face this. It’s OK. I’m OK. Alison is nearing graduation from college. She is a beautiful girl and still as bright and creative and dedicated as ever. Her mom is so proud. She will have an impact. She already has had an impact by dedicating so much of her time to helping dispel myths and prejudice about people with mental illness. The organization she started will touch more lives than she will ever know. Eighteen months and she is now an adult with adult dreams and ambitions and skills and drives. She will survive. She has survived. She is now helping others to survive. Andrew is nearing graduation from middle school. He is a bright and loving and concerned young man who has been touched by religion and works every day to improve the lives of those he touches through various social commitments. He is quiet in many settings, but his consistency and sense of right and justice drive him forward and those in the group around him can’t help but move with him. He is a powerful force who has no idea of his influence. Kate is so proud of who he is and how he handles struggles in his life. Eighteen months and he has moved from boyhood to young man. He will survive. He has survived. He helps others to survive. For a year or more I felt much older than my 48 years, but not so much today. I am eating healthier. I’ve lost weight. I’ve recommitted myself to daily exercise. I even had a physical. I opened my mind to the possibility of another. More recently I’ve opened my heart to someone much more real than just the idea. I still wear a wedding ring, and my special new found friend understands. The chain around my neck on which I wore Kate’s ring broke, so now I carry her ring in my pocket. ALWAYS. Am I nuts? No. Those who need to understand get it. Those who don’t understand have never had to face this. It’s OK. I’m OK. I live in two worlds. One is the world where I was married for 24 years. This is the world where I lost, the world where I hurt. This is the world where the bedroom looks like a woman lives with me. This is the world I cling to desperately. The other world is the one where I laugh. This is the world where I watch my children grow, and we travel and experience joy. This is the world where I love and feel loved. Eighteen months. My life is in the second world. That is where I spend 98% of my time. I do hurt. I do cry. But my life is good and I am pursuing goals and every day teaches me that life has not ended and I move closer to dreams we shared and new dreams that have come along. Eighteen months and Andrew and Alison continue to grow and impress me to no end. Are they really that tough? Are they so much more resilient? Maybe I just don’t see all of their struggles. They have their own dreams and work to move toward them every day. They are alive and flourishing. Eighteen months ago I couldn’t even consider the possibility that maybe someday I would be OK. So, today I’ve come back to post this note that is way too long because I wanted to let whoever finds it know that there is life. Each of us will survive. Each of us has survived. Each of us will help others survive.