Today was the Cancer Society's Relay for Life. Last year on this date, I walked the "survivor's lap" with Julie. It seems so long ago now. It was a bittersweet day. The "bitter" part is obvious; the "sweet" part was watching Holly lead two different teams—one from our church, and one from her school.

Holly, who got her dream car last month, got her dream job this month. Tonight, she worked her first full shift at Coldstone Ice Cream. When hiring staff, they don't do "interviews," they hold "auditions!" Well, they hired Holly on the spot. I went into the store tonight and played "average Joe Customer," letting people pass me in line until I was sure that Holly would wait on me. I can't tell you what fun it was to see her in her little uniform, with her hat and name badge, happily mixing various ice cream concoctions and punching purchases into the cash register.

Wendy and some friends took a road trip to Monterey this weekend. The original plan was to head for Mexico, but she changed the desination after I told her I'd rather she stay somewhere in the US. What an amazing and wonderful girl!

It was a great weekend for me to revel in how blessed I am to have such teriffic kids (who aren't really kids anymore)!

Wendy came home for the summer. It's great to have the girls around.

This past month has been quite refreshing. Emotionally, I'm doing remarkably well. My current life circumsances aren't what I would have chosen, but they are what they are. Since I can't do anything about that, I'm starting to focus my energy on what comes next. I actually feel some excitement (mixed with a lot of butterflies) about what it might be like to "reinvent myself." What do I want to do with the years God has given me? So, I'm going to take some time to do things with friends this summer (including trips to Idaho and, hopefully, Boston), I'm going on a short mission trip to Africa with both the girls in August (with a boatload of shots required between now and then), and I hope to build new relationships while taking better care of the ones I already have. Check on me from time to time and let mek now how I'm doing!

Okay, I'm not a frequent poster. But I'm still here.

Well, we're past the six-month mark. Generally, good things are happening. I find myself thinking more about the future than the past. I've had some good conversations with Wendy and Holly. Feelings are being discussed more openly. Our household routine is beginning to feel like a routine. Holly's new driver's license has relieved a lot of practical stress--there's not as much picking up/dropping off to do. Holly is much happier with her new-found freedom and, consequently, more agreeable around the house. (There are even days when you can see the floor in her room!)

Wendy came home for a few days during spring break. It was wonderful! Over the Easter weekend, it was so good to have both girls in the house. Real, live people--how refreshing!

Only a few weeks remain until Wendy moves home for the summer. There will be some adjustments to be made, but I can hardly wait.

I started an interesting project today.

Several years ago, I wrote and produced an audio documentary product designed to help people work their way through the grief process. (Ironic, huh?) For some time, I've wanted to update and expand that product. Along with my client, I started making plans to do that several months ago. As Julie's illness progressed, it began to dawn on my that I may wind up being an interviewee in my own project. I couldn't get my mind around that possibility, so the project was indefinitely shelved. (Thanks, Fred, for your patience!) Well, today I began doing the new interviews, meeting with people going through their own journies of grief.

To be honest, I was dreading hearing the painful stories and reliving my own. Well, it turned out to be very good for me. I got to meet some remarkable people with some very helpful insights. This new product, when it's done, will be a great help to many people... perhaps most of all, to me.

You're kidding. Has it really been more than a month since my last posting? Shame on me for staying away so long. The fact is, there really hasn't been much to report.

The counseling sessions were moderately helpful. There were no earth-shattering breakthroughs or surprising discoveries. It just helped to talk through some of the issues. Holly did accompany me to one session, although quite reluctantly. We still seem gifted when it comes to getting on each other's nerves, but we're working things through. She's just a few weeks away from getting her license. When that happens, there'll be less conflict over the need to take her here and there multiple times each day.

In the meantime, my new routine is becoming more and more familiar. I've turned into a regular Suzy Homemaker, keeping dishes washed, laundry done, carpets cleaned, etc. I'm still managing to put out a respectable amount of work each day. There's also an occasional outing (see the home page for an example). It doesn't feel like much of a life, but it's a life nonetheless.

I'm finding that I don't cry as often as I used to. In fact, I have gone as long as ten days without a sob session. I've been thinking that when that interval stretches to a month, I'll take it as a sign that I'm on my way out of this valley.

Today was my first counseling appointment.

If you live in the Rancho Cucamonga area and ever need to see a psychologist, I can't recommend anyone more highly than Dr. Laurie Rogers. She's a great Christian lady with great insight and compassion, and even better credentials. She listens well like any good therapist, but isn't afraid to say what she thinks. This seems to me like the whole point of seeing a professional counselor. After all, any idiot can sit there saying, "and how does that make you feel?" anytime there's a lull in the conversation.

Having said that, let me say something that you already knew. Counseling is not a shortcut out of grief. Darn it. Even though I knew that, I still secretly hoped that I would walk out of that office feeling better. Nope.

I will be going back (hopefully with Holly) to work through some of the feelings I've been dealing with lately. But, the fact of the matter is that there are no answers in psychology or anywhere else that will make this road any easier to walk. As I may have mentioned before, I hang around with a lot of professional communicators. These people make their living by distilling complex concepts into simple, compelling, effective speech. It has been interesting to watch them blither and stammer as they search for something meaningful to say to me. The fact is that, despite their expertise, there is nothing helpful to say. Their most precious gift to me is simply being there, keeping me company, listening, praying.

I'm still struggling with the resentment issues. If you have some extra prayer time on your hands, I'd appreciate you mentioning that to the Lord.

Work has kept me extremely busy over the past several weeks. Special video and audio projects, while great for business, have made it extra hard to stay on top of all the responsibilities of work and home.

Have you ever heard of people who have attempted to cope with grief by burying themselves in their work? Well, as anyone who has ever seen a horror movie can tell you, things you bury prematurely have a spooky way of coming back. And when they do, they are considerably uglier and tend to do more damage.

When I have a chance to step out of the office and look around, I quickly notice that the landscape hasn't changed. Julie is still gone, I am still alone, and my prospects for the future are no brighter. I may have delayed some pain, but I haven't avoided any.

And I've noticed a hot spot on another emotional fire line. I am growing even more impatient and intolerant than usual. Over the years, the gravitational pull of Julie's permanently positive outlook kept me from spinning too far out of orbit in these areas. But, as loneliness and overwork press in on me, I have developed these growing stress fractures in my attitude and they are taking their toll on me and the people around me -- especially Holly.

Both of my girls have been going through their own processes of grief and I have tried respect their privacy as I record my own thoughts and emotions here. But I have to share with you that I am incredibly proud of Holly. She has done a lot of growing up in the past few months, and is working hard to make the best of a disgustingly difficult situation. Sure, she's 15, which introduces a certain level of drama and conflict into any family situation. And there are still a number of areas in which she has some learning and growing to do. She needs to do her share around the house. She needs boundaries and accountability. In short, she needs to be parented. But I don't feel like I'm doing a very good job of balancing discipline and responsibility with the nurturing that she needs.

In the weeks remaining before she gets her driver's license, she has had more and more places to which she needs to be driven. Instead of cherishing the time we get to spend together (of which precious little remains before she, like her sister, is off to college), I resent the intrusion into my schedule or the fact that any activities I'd like to pursue (as if there were any) must be crammed into the niches remaining after hers. There's no way I can provide the same level of care that Julie so selflessly invested. But I must do more than I'm doing and do it with a more supportive attitude.

I've decided to go in for some counseling to help in this area. I'll let you know how it goes.

I made it my goal that the Christmas decorations would be taken down and put away before day's end. (In the past, they've been up as late as Valentine's Day or later!) I asked Holly to help me, which she promised to do as soon as she finished her homework assignment. Unfortunately, the project took the entire day and part of the next. Consequently I wound up doing the task alone.

I wouldn't have minded so much if it weren't for a surprising and utterly depressing discovery that I made: taking down Christmas decorations is a much more difficult emotional task than putting them up. Over the years, we have been setting aside ornaments for each of our girls to take with them when they move out and set up their own households. And Julie, bless her heart, had made little stickers for each and every decoration noting not only the owner, but the date and the occasion. I had to read each one in order to make sure they were put in the proper box.

Our entire life together is chronicled in that collection. Our courtship, our wedding, vacations we took, cats we have owned and loved, the birth of our girls and the milestones they have reached over the years, treasured memories with friends and family members... each one bearing Julie's self-adhesive imprint. I cried over nearly all of them.

What a metaphor—taking the best times of our life, all those memories... in a sense, Julie herself... and packing them away in a box.

Both of my girls had plans for New Year's Eve. It looked pretty likely that I'd be ringing in the new year at home—just me, the cat and Dick Clark. Fortunately, I got a call from some dear friends who invited me to join them for dinner and some games. We had a wonderful time talking and playing. And I still got to see Dick Clark! (Bless his heart; he's finally beginning to look his age.)

As I drove home, I was hit head-on by an emotional freight train. In one day, the holidays would be over. You see, there's something special about that time we call "the holidays" for grieving people. We're supposed to be especially miserable during that time. I know this because so many people had said to me, in one way or another, "things will start getting better after you make it through the holidays." I had been telling myself the same thing. Yet, all at once I realized that I have, indeed, made it through the holidays.

Now what?

Suddenly, there was no more excuse for what I was feeling. I'm not sad because of the holidays; I'm sad because I've lost my soulmate. I'm sad because I hate this new reality that I'm stuck with. I'm sad because this new year stretching out before me looks like a long, dark tunnel with no light at the end. I'm sad because, between now and the next new year, I just see myself getting older and more lonely.

The interesting thing is that I have enough background and experience to know exactly what advice to offer to someone in my position. Certainly, while grief is debilitating and intensely painful, it is a process that I will eventually get through. No, things will never be the same, but they can still be very good. On and on the ideas flow, each one a time-honored truth, biblically sound. But, as far as my emotions are concerned, it's all empty rhetoric that may apply to other people, but not to me. It feels like anything worthwhile in my life is now just like "the holidays"—only a memory.

Christmas was Julie's holiday. She began shopping in January and collected gifts, gadgets and trinkets throughout the year—each one chosen with thoughtfulness and (what else?) whimsy. When December 25 finally rolled around, she gleefully handed out the treasures that, until the night before, had been squirreled away under our bed. What could I possibly do to honor her tradition, let alone continue it?

Well, I hit the malls with a fervor. I did my best to fulfill as many of my girls' wishes as possible. I shopped for friends. I shopped for family members. With the help of a friend, I was able to stuff the girls' stockings with a few of the girlie-type gifts that Julie might've gotten them. I put up the tree and trimmed it with our collection of ornaments commemorating special occasions or given to us by friends. I filled the house with school art projects and crafts from Christmases past. I got through all this with a minimum of tears and (surprise, surprise) a pleasing sense of satisfaction.

When Christmas morning came, the girls and I got up, shared some orange juice and had our traditional Christmas morning devotions. As we have done for years, we read the Bible story of Jesus' birth and took turns discussing an aspect of the story that we found especially meaningful. Holly surprised me (and blessed me!) by asking if she could lead our time together. She had put a lot of thought into what she wanted to say and collected some excerpts from books she had been reading. Way to go, Holly!

We had a good time opening gifts... including the ones I had retrieved from Julie's stash under the bed. How special for Julie to be able to bless her girls one more time.

My sister and her son came by and, together, we drove to Wrightwood to spend the rest of the day with the extended family.

Later that night as I turned out the lights to go to sleep, it occurred to me that, as much as I had dreaded facing this milestone without Julie, it had been a pretty good day.

I've gotten to the point where I can function throughout most of a typical work day. Things have been pretty busy lately as I've been closing my office and setting up shop here at the house. The pace is tiring, but helps me stay numb for short periods.

People have asked me how I'm doing spiritually. Here's how I explain it: I have a wonderful view of the mountains from my living room window. If you walked due north over those mountains, you’d eventually get to the community of Wrightwood. I’ve been to Wrightwood many times; my sister-in-law lives there. No one could ever convince me that Wrightwood isn’t real. Even so, you can’t see it from my living room. That’s the story of my spiritual life right now. I know God’s promises are true. I know He has given me a hope and a future. But I can’t touch or feel them right now. I guess you could say that I’m living by faith, not by sight.

I have no doubt where Julie is. I know that she is at home with the Father enjoying the eternity spread out before her. Back here on earth, the picture isn’t as rosy. I desperately miss my best friend. I know in my head that I’ll eventually get better, that life won’t always seem as hollow as it does right now. People say the process takes about 12-18 months. From where I sit, it seems like 12-18 years won’t do the job. I’m doing the best I can to muddle through, taking it day by day.

I heard today about a friend in Colorado who lost his wife to liver cancer. She died in much the same way Julie did. He has four young children. My heart goes out to you, Rob. I know from experience that there are no words, but I know a little bit about the road you're now on. God help us.

I lost my mom to Multiple Sclerosis in 1991 and dad to heart disease in 2001. As hard as their deaths were, they seem trivial in comparison to losing Julie. Lately, I've noticed something interesting. I've really been missing mom and dad--more than ever before. Part of it is the fact that I've lost too many important people in the last few years. But, to be completely honest, it sure would feel good to have mommy or daddy take hold of me and tell me that everything's going to be okay.

Okay, so I haven't posted for a while. I've thought about sitting down at the computer to write an update countless times. But what could I say that's encouraging? I was always taught that if you couldn't say anything nice... well, you know.

Here's something they don't teach you in Grief 101. I expected the loss to be a deep, gaping wound that, once inflicted, would gradually heal. Wrong! Here I am nearly two months down the road, and I find myself feeling sadder and more lonely than before. Early on, I’d occasionally get choked up by sentimental thoughts. Lately, I have graduated to outright wailing. Just about anything can set me off. (I lost it one day when I stopped at the grocery store and saw that they had painted the words "Happy Holidays" across their window.) Sometimes, I don’t even need a trigger. I’ll often start crying as I drive down the road. What a sight I must be for other drivers! Of course, the holidays are providing a bittersweet dash of salt for my open emotional wounds. Friends are kind and caring, but I wonder how long they will endure before they begin seeing me as a two-legged vortex of pain and sadness.

Remember what I said in my last post about clients being served? Well, forget that. I resigned an advertising account today because if I hadn't, I probably would have been fired. Deadlines that had been postponed during Julie's final days were looming and I couldn’t force my brain to do the basic strategic planning and copywriting the client needed. My creative energies have hit an all-time low. For someone who makes his living writing and producing creative advertising and broadcast products, this is not what you would call a career-enhancing development. Everything is a blur. I can barely keep a thought in my head, let alone come up with a new one.

We're slowly making adjustments to our new reality. Meals are being cooked and eaten, laundry is getting washed, the house is in reasonably good shape. (That is due in part to the fact that I have been trying to keep myself busy with household chores and projects. At this point, working is much better than thinking.)

I am back at work full time now, or at least nearly full time. I'm not quite back to full capacity and my creative juices have slowed to a trickle. But projects are being completed, clients are being served and my partner Kevin has been able to shift out of "rescue Steve" mode.

Both of the girls are back in school doing an admirable job of making up the work they missed.

As you might have guessed, I'm getting a crash course in domestic engineering. I've gained a new appreciation for all that Julie did to keep our family going. I also now understand why Eddie's father had Mrs. Livingston and why Brian Keith had Mr. French. In fact, I can't remember any single father on TV who didn't have domestic help of some kind. Of course, they also had network budgets.

The hard part is dealing with the intense waves of sadness that wash over us frequently and without warning. A photograph, a song on the radio, a fragrance, a random thought... the triggers are everywhere. At first, I thought that staying busy would keep me insulated from some of these emotional onslaughts. What I discovered is that work, while providing a measure of temporary numbness, only delays the anguish. The tears keep coming. They come when I'm in the shower. They come when I'm driving. They come when I open the closet and see Julie's clothes.

I know this is all normal grief stuff. People have been very honest with me about what to anticipate over the next year or two. but I must say for the record that I am already very tired of feeling this way. Still, with the help of God and good friends, we're pressing on.

While I was still halfway between asleep and awake, I suddenly remembered that yesterday was real and not just a bad dream. It was a strange way to wake up, despite the fact that I slept soundly through the night. (Apparently, exhaustion can be an effective sedative!)

Some of Holly's friends dropped by early to bring her breakfast. A couple of neighbors came over to bring consolation and food (the fridge is stuffed again!). Then, around noon, Wendy came home. The girls and I went out for some lunch together. It was good to have some time for just the three of us.

Under the heading of "life goes on," we stopped on the way home and enrolled Holly in driving school, the last step before taking her to the DMV to get her learner's permit tomorrow. When we got home, the girls came into the house and laid down. Within minutes, both were asleep.

The rest of the day will be more on the quiet side. Tomorrow, back to school and work. We'll start preparing for the memorial service and get started with the rest of our lives.

I can't say enough about how much it has meant to have you standing with us in prayer and partnership through this entire experience. I want to do something appropriate to express my appreciation, but nothing seems big enough or grand enough to measure up to what I feel inside. More than anything else, I am humbled by the sweetness of spirit, depth of compassion and incredible level of sacrifice you have poured out as an offering to us. People with impossible schedules have given us time. Some who are barely scraping by have offered us money. Others whose pantries are nearly empty have brought food. You've shared your experiences, your insights, and (most of all) your love. I feel incredibly unworthy. Still, you have not only honored me, you have glorified God. This is the Body of Christ at its very, very best. To say "thank you" is grossly inadequate, so whatever phrase occurs to you that goes exceedingly, abundantly beyond it, that's what I send your way.

Several have told me that this diary has been a blessing and an encouragement to them. Given the number of hits we've been receiving, I suspect there are some families we don't know who may have stumbled across the site. Some may be facing cancer themselves. To you I say take courage. Julie found joy in the journey; you can do the same. Hopefully, your story will have a happier ending. Even if it doesn't, there's a future ahead, even if you can't see it. It all looks pretty dark to me right now, but I know there is light around the corner. To prove it, I'll try to keep this diary going by posting updates from time to time. Check back and see. I'll try to leave some markers on the path... some for you to follow and some to serve as warnings. For now, all I can tell you is that with God, nothing is impossible. —S