February 18, 2008. Today marks 6 months that I have survived without Kate in my world. Six months that have crawled by in agonizing slowness as I pray and dream about some life off in the distance where everything will again make sense. Where I will wake in the morning and not first think of being alone, and second of having to get out of bed. It has been so long since I held her or told her how much I love her. I cannot believe that the children and I have been through a half a year of living in which she has not been there every second of every day. But she is here every second of every day. In our memories and sorrow there is never an activity, never a happiness shared, never a feeling of pleasure that is not dulled by the loss and the ache. It saddens me greatly that the world continues without Kate. Her office is now empty, others teach her classes, students and colleagues go days without a thought to her absence. My colleagues, Andrew’s and Alison’s teachers and friends for the most part never met Kate. They think of her only when they see us and in that they think not of Kate but of our loss and sadness. The world should not go on but it does and in so doing it slowly removes the traces of her life. For the last several weeks I have been so distracted by getting through the day that I have largely denied the ongoing depression that is such a piece of my life. Struggles at work and negotiations for a new job have kept me largely distracted and forced me to focus on handling today rather than handling my life. Knowing that the President is concerned I may be too depressed to handle the demands of a new job I have pushed myself to be more visible and social, even playing the class clown in meetings only to come home and cry alone at night seeking some balance and honesty in my emotions. Kate and I spent 310 months and 9 days together, 9444 days total. We were married for 288 months and 5 days or 8771 days. Somehow 6 months apart feels like years and all those days together are no where near enough. Life does continue on though, even if I fight it. The depression overwhelms me mostly on weekends now. Pushed into abeyance by my need to pretend I am ok while I am at work, it breaks out on weekends forcing me to acknowledge the loneliness. But I know that it will subside enough that I can pack it away come Monday and function enough to get through the day. In the meantime I spend long hours lost in fantasy about the future. I plan trips that will never be taken, consider goals that will never be committed to, and wonder where I will be in a year. I worry about how I will handle our wedding anniversary and the date of her death just days apart in August. I fret about how I will get through the summer months with Andrew gone and no reason to maintain the house. I wonder what tasks I have completely forgotten that will cause the world to come unglued. Will the car be repossessed? Will the electricity be turned off? Will the kids be left standing at an airport because I forgot they were coming or going? Don’t tell my boss, but I am no where near clear headed enough to organize a college of 35,000 students and 3000 employees so that our primary goal for the next 3 years can be met. Like Scarlett I intend to rely on the kindness of strangers. Maybe there was a reason Kate introduced me to her. The changes over the past month center around an acceptance of Kate’s death and an incorporation of my loneliness into life. It is becoming a part of who I am. I crave some interaction with others, but recognize that is not what is available. I think about a life where there are social commitments and friends. But I accept my current reality that friends are scarce and emotional connections are scarcer. I have learned (relearned?) that being around others doesn’t make one less lonely, and sometimes it just highlights the loneliness. I am a good client and force myself to social gatherings and smile and talk to strangers, but I go home feeling less hopeful that these social outings will offer any relief in the future. It is true that I have had days, even several in a row where I felt pretty good. And I believe that those periods are coming more often and lasting longer. But in those days when good comes to pass, the pain can return so sharply when there is no one to share the good with. When it is a good day I can believe in the future and hope that someday I really can rebuild. I believe that there will even be a day when I won’t feel guilty about having pleasure in my life and will allow myself to fully experience joy. I have had for the past five months, the experience of sharing this terrible journey with many others who also are on this trek. Through their support I am trying to believe in myself and my own goodness. I am amazed at the strength and endurance of the human spirit. Knowing that others are struggling reminds me daily that I am not alone and that others do and have survived and that I will also. I am reminded constantly of how blessed I am to have a house and a job and the strength and courage to face every day alone. I am reminded also of how blessed I am to have 2 such beautiful children who continue to give me strength and reason to fight. The support of these wonderful men and women who are battling their own demons has allowed me to understand my battles and given me hope that in the future I can connect with others and live again. My needs today largely remain as they have since this nightmare started. I need friends to contact me, to talk to me, to listen to me, and to accept me in whatever shape I am in. I need the world to remember my kids and offer them guidance and prayers as they work through their own grief. I need to share my memories of Kate and to listen to others talk about her. I need the world to understand that 185 days is barely a beginning.