Have you ever stopped to think what you've done in a year's time? What have you accomplished in 12 months? Are you proud of what you've done? Is there something you wanted to do but didn't get the chance?
As we enter Friday the 21st, I'm left thinking about everything that's happened in the last year...leading up to next Friday - the one year anniversary I've been dreading. I feel like so much has happened in this last year, but on the other hand...I feel like it's only been a month. I've read that - for many widow(er)s - the first year after their spouses death is often a blur. They only do whats necessary to live daily life and get by.
Before Jason died, we had several conversations about what life would be like for me after he was gone. He was quite concerned (as was I for that matter), that I would lapse into a depression and forget to live. I had already given up so much to be with him and take care of him, something he scolded me for often. He was afraid that I would give up even more when he died.
When that day came, I stood at a crossroads. In one direction, there was sadness, and depression. I began to take a few steps down that road in the weeks after he died. But then, something changed in me. It was like a fog lifted...more like shifted ever so slightly. I was able to see a glimpse of what lie ahead, and I didn't like it. I didn't like it because I knew Jason was watching my every move, upset with me because I had promised I wouldn't go down that road. Things needed to change, and they did. I slowly worked my way back up to that crossroads and then made a turn went down the other road.
So, looking back... what have I done in the year since I lost the love of my life? I must say, as I take stock of the last year, I've actually surprised myself a bit. In June, just weeks after Jason died, I created Team Jason for the Light The Night Walk and over the next 4 months we raised $11,000 for lymphoma research. In September - four months after he died - I was nominated for an Emmy Award (my 6th nomination), and the next month, I won (my first win). I carried my Emmy at the Light The Night Walk which was held the very next night. I traveled to Boston, New York, and San Diego. I've held down my job and the job of 2 other people singlehandedly, and I've kicked some ass...if I do say so myself. I bought a boat (half of one, anyway...) and spent a good chunk of last summer on the water. I decorated my apartment. I started reading again...a lot. I started this blog. I met many amazing people, including two widows that have become very dear friends. I turned 30...and actually had fun at my party (though my mind did wander to Jason often).
I'm sure there's more that I'm not thinking of, but hey, looking at that list, I'd say it was a pretty banner year. Looking at it on "paper", I actually start smiling. I've really done a lot this year that I'm proud of, maybe even more than I've done in previous years. So why then, in this week before the devastating anniversary, am I wishing that I could give all of that happiness back for even just one more minute with Jason? I've said it before, and I'll say it again... it's just not fair.
Until next time --
Stuart
Friday, May 21, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Back On Six
Today was a very interesting, sad, and memorable day. A dear friend of mine - who has been battling breast cancer for more than two years - was hospitalized yesterday. Hearing that news so close to this upcoming monster of an anniversary was almost too much to bear.
I met Leah through work. We actually profiled her fight against breast cancer for a story. Jason and I laid together on his couch and watched the first report that aired. We both remarked at what an incredible woman she is, and how she was facing her fight with courage and determination. This was three months before Jason died. My colleagues and I continued to follow Leah and her treatments over the next few months, and decided to do a follow-up report on her in November (Click here to see the report).
Leah has become a friend, and I stay up to date on what's going on with her. Things have not been going well for her lately and she's been going through quite a few blood & platelet transfusions, and numerous rounds of chemo. That's why my heart leapt into my throat yesterday when I saw she posted on Facebook that she was back in the hospital. I knew I had to go see her the next day, so a co-worker who had helped produce Leah's stories and I made arrangements to pay her a visit.
I knew Leah was being treated at Baylor, so I knew that she would be hospitalized there. I also knew that there was a chance that she'd be housed on the very same floor where Jason had been cared for half a dozen times throughout his illness. What I didn't know is that walking back onto that floor would have such an impact on me. I had been back to the hospital several times since he died. I went to the outpatient cancer center to visit his chemo nurses, and even shot a few stories at the hospital itself. I enjoyed going back to visit the nurses, as they were like family to us. However, this was the first time that I'd be going back to the place where Jason spent so many nights.
Stepping off the elevator on the sixth floor, my heart began to beat faster. It was as if only a day had passed since I was there last. The place hadn't changed at all. Everything was as I remembered it. We walked through the door and past the nurses station on our way to Leah's room - 605. In the back of my mind, I wondered "Did Jason stay in this room?" My question was answered the second I walked in...he had. Leah is sleeping in the very same bed that Jason had been in some time ago. It was everything I had in me not to break down crying right then and there.
Seeing Leah was tough. She's visibly changed by what she's been going through, and her demeanor is different. Moments after we arrived, she began asking me questions about Jason's memorial service, planning, etc. She asked about the urn we selected for him, and expressed that she wanted to design her own urn. Normally, talking about this stuff wouldn't bother me - having been there before. But, sitting in that room, looking at her in that bed...it was an extremely difficult conversation. I left an hour later and spent the drive back to work crying my eyes out.
12 months ago on May 19th, we were dealing with getting Jason's affairs in order. We were preparing to meet with Hospice and get that started, and we were just a couple days away from welcoming his parents in for the long haul...a haul that only lasted 1 week. A week from Friday, it was all over. I'm having trouble wrapping my head around the fact that it's been a year. How can so much time have passed when it still hurts so much? How can so much time have passed when I can still recall every detail of those last few days?
It just doesn't seem real.
Until next time --
Stuart
I met Leah through work. We actually profiled her fight against breast cancer for a story. Jason and I laid together on his couch and watched the first report that aired. We both remarked at what an incredible woman she is, and how she was facing her fight with courage and determination. This was three months before Jason died. My colleagues and I continued to follow Leah and her treatments over the next few months, and decided to do a follow-up report on her in November (Click here to see the report).
Leah has become a friend, and I stay up to date on what's going on with her. Things have not been going well for her lately and she's been going through quite a few blood & platelet transfusions, and numerous rounds of chemo. That's why my heart leapt into my throat yesterday when I saw she posted on Facebook that she was back in the hospital. I knew I had to go see her the next day, so a co-worker who had helped produce Leah's stories and I made arrangements to pay her a visit.
I knew Leah was being treated at Baylor, so I knew that she would be hospitalized there. I also knew that there was a chance that she'd be housed on the very same floor where Jason had been cared for half a dozen times throughout his illness. What I didn't know is that walking back onto that floor would have such an impact on me. I had been back to the hospital several times since he died. I went to the outpatient cancer center to visit his chemo nurses, and even shot a few stories at the hospital itself. I enjoyed going back to visit the nurses, as they were like family to us. However, this was the first time that I'd be going back to the place where Jason spent so many nights.
Stepping off the elevator on the sixth floor, my heart began to beat faster. It was as if only a day had passed since I was there last. The place hadn't changed at all. Everything was as I remembered it. We walked through the door and past the nurses station on our way to Leah's room - 605. In the back of my mind, I wondered "Did Jason stay in this room?" My question was answered the second I walked in...he had. Leah is sleeping in the very same bed that Jason had been in some time ago. It was everything I had in me not to break down crying right then and there.
Seeing Leah was tough. She's visibly changed by what she's been going through, and her demeanor is different. Moments after we arrived, she began asking me questions about Jason's memorial service, planning, etc. She asked about the urn we selected for him, and expressed that she wanted to design her own urn. Normally, talking about this stuff wouldn't bother me - having been there before. But, sitting in that room, looking at her in that bed...it was an extremely difficult conversation. I left an hour later and spent the drive back to work crying my eyes out.
12 months ago on May 19th, we were dealing with getting Jason's affairs in order. We were preparing to meet with Hospice and get that started, and we were just a couple days away from welcoming his parents in for the long haul...a haul that only lasted 1 week. A week from Friday, it was all over. I'm having trouble wrapping my head around the fact that it's been a year. How can so much time have passed when it still hurts so much? How can so much time have passed when I can still recall every detail of those last few days?
It just doesn't seem real.
Until next time --
Stuart
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Letters To God
Tonight - as if I didn't need another reason to cry - I went to see the movie "Letters To God" with my friend Casey. I knew the premise of the movie before going in tonight... hell, even the preview made me cry. Casey and several others even wondered if it was a good idea for me to be watching this movie this week. What can I say? I'm an emotional cutter, and I knew it would give me a release I needed. And boy did it.
Overall, it was a good movie. The acting left a lot to be desired, but above all of that, the story - the script was amazing. It was extremely touching, and very real. Despite the fact that I'm a non-practicing Jew, even I was able to take-away some of the God-bearing message this movie carried. It was heavy on the Jesus side at times, but apart from that, it's religious message has the ability to metaphorically reach across the pews to other faiths.
If you haven't heard about the film, in a nutshell - it's about a little boy who is battling an aggressive form of brain cancer. There are several sub-plots involving his mother, brother, and mail carrier who all get wrapped up in Tyler's (the boy with cancer) letters to God. Those letters transform everyone who reads them and spreads through the entire community. It really is very touching. More than touching, though. It's inspiring. It's inspired me to want to write my own letter to God, and even if you haven't seen it - whether you have a relationship with God or not - I hope it might inspire you to write one of your own.
Dear God:
I've tried to understand why you've done what you've done in my life the last two years. You've certainly thrown a lot of things in my direction... most of which I think I've handled fairly well. I understand that everything happens for a reason, and it's that reason I'm trying to figure out.
For instance, what reason would you have for bringing a wonderful man into my life - give him an incurable disease, and then take him out of my life just as quickly as he entered? For months I've pondered this. I've spent countless hours thinking about it. Obviously there was something you wanted me to gain, to learn from this entire situation. Maybe it was to be more humble. Maybe it was to be more appreciative of life itself. Maybe it was to ignite my passion for charity. Maybe it was to teach me what true love feels like, and what true pain and loss feels like.
If those are the lesson you expected me to learn, then I can honestly say "Mission Accomplished, Sir!" I am without a doubt more humble in my life since Jason died, and because of that, I am much more appreciative of the life I have been given by you. My time in the cancer trenches with Jason has most definitely ignited a passion for charity that will continue the rest of my life, so check on that one. And because of the amazing man you put in my path, I've definitely learned what true love feels like. And because you took the amazing man with whom I fell in love away from me, I've felt true pain and loss. But, something tells me there's still more I need to learn from this entire thing. What that is, I don't know.
It is my hope, God, that you'll soon make that clear. It is my hope that I will be able to learn everything I need from this situation and move on because frankly, I can't hold on to this much longer. God, you gave me so much in my 29 years of life on this Earth, and in just two short years, you've also taken away so much. I've never been angry with you, though. I may have questioned why, but I have never once been angry or turned my back on you. Instead, all I've asked of you, time and time again, is that you open my eyes and allow me to see what I'm supposed to see, learn what I'm supposed to learn, and accept what I need to accept and move forward on whatever new path you set before me.
God, I know you and I don't talk as often as we should...and that's most definitely my fault. I suppose I should be better about that. But, as I suspect, you already know what's in my heart, in my soul. I only wish now that you will guide me as I continue on my path to healing, and that you will continue to guide me in my life as I move into the next phase of my life.
Before I go, I'd like to take a moment to thank you. Thank you, God, for putting your faith and trust in me to handle what you've put in front of me. Thank you for bringing that wonderful man into my life - however short our time was. As cliche as it is, it's entirely true. I would rather have two years of love and happiness with Jason than a lifetime without. So, thank you again for that. Thank you, also, for the amazing support system you've given me - my incredible friends who have stood by my side through thick and thin. Thank you for my family who actually loves me for who I really am. Thank you for blessing me with an exceptional career that's given me so many unbelievable opportunities of which some people only dream. And finally, but above all else, thank you for blessing me with 30 amazing years of life (and hopefully many more to follow). I only hope I'm doing enough with it to make you proud.
Goodnight God.
Until next time--
Stuart
Overall, it was a good movie. The acting left a lot to be desired, but above all of that, the story - the script was amazing. It was extremely touching, and very real. Despite the fact that I'm a non-practicing Jew, even I was able to take-away some of the God-bearing message this movie carried. It was heavy on the Jesus side at times, but apart from that, it's religious message has the ability to metaphorically reach across the pews to other faiths.
If you haven't heard about the film, in a nutshell - it's about a little boy who is battling an aggressive form of brain cancer. There are several sub-plots involving his mother, brother, and mail carrier who all get wrapped up in Tyler's (the boy with cancer) letters to God. Those letters transform everyone who reads them and spreads through the entire community. It really is very touching. More than touching, though. It's inspiring. It's inspired me to want to write my own letter to God, and even if you haven't seen it - whether you have a relationship with God or not - I hope it might inspire you to write one of your own.
Dear God:
I've tried to understand why you've done what you've done in my life the last two years. You've certainly thrown a lot of things in my direction... most of which I think I've handled fairly well. I understand that everything happens for a reason, and it's that reason I'm trying to figure out.
For instance, what reason would you have for bringing a wonderful man into my life - give him an incurable disease, and then take him out of my life just as quickly as he entered? For months I've pondered this. I've spent countless hours thinking about it. Obviously there was something you wanted me to gain, to learn from this entire situation. Maybe it was to be more humble. Maybe it was to be more appreciative of life itself. Maybe it was to ignite my passion for charity. Maybe it was to teach me what true love feels like, and what true pain and loss feels like.
If those are the lesson you expected me to learn, then I can honestly say "Mission Accomplished, Sir!" I am without a doubt more humble in my life since Jason died, and because of that, I am much more appreciative of the life I have been given by you. My time in the cancer trenches with Jason has most definitely ignited a passion for charity that will continue the rest of my life, so check on that one. And because of the amazing man you put in my path, I've definitely learned what true love feels like. And because you took the amazing man with whom I fell in love away from me, I've felt true pain and loss. But, something tells me there's still more I need to learn from this entire thing. What that is, I don't know.
It is my hope, God, that you'll soon make that clear. It is my hope that I will be able to learn everything I need from this situation and move on because frankly, I can't hold on to this much longer. God, you gave me so much in my 29 years of life on this Earth, and in just two short years, you've also taken away so much. I've never been angry with you, though. I may have questioned why, but I have never once been angry or turned my back on you. Instead, all I've asked of you, time and time again, is that you open my eyes and allow me to see what I'm supposed to see, learn what I'm supposed to learn, and accept what I need to accept and move forward on whatever new path you set before me.
God, I know you and I don't talk as often as we should...and that's most definitely my fault. I suppose I should be better about that. But, as I suspect, you already know what's in my heart, in my soul. I only wish now that you will guide me as I continue on my path to healing, and that you will continue to guide me in my life as I move into the next phase of my life.
Before I go, I'd like to take a moment to thank you. Thank you, God, for putting your faith and trust in me to handle what you've put in front of me. Thank you for bringing that wonderful man into my life - however short our time was. As cliche as it is, it's entirely true. I would rather have two years of love and happiness with Jason than a lifetime without. So, thank you again for that. Thank you, also, for the amazing support system you've given me - my incredible friends who have stood by my side through thick and thin. Thank you for my family who actually loves me for who I really am. Thank you for blessing me with an exceptional career that's given me so many unbelievable opportunities of which some people only dream. And finally, but above all else, thank you for blessing me with 30 amazing years of life (and hopefully many more to follow). I only hope I'm doing enough with it to make you proud.
Goodnight God.
Until next time--
Stuart
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Do You Really Know?
I had an interesting conversation with some friends over dinner the other night. Actually, I've had this conversation a few times since Jason died. It's an important conversation, and one I've never written about. So let's talk.
When Jason died, there were a lot of things that had to be done in a very short amount of time. Most importantly, the planning of the memorial service in Dallas. There really wasn't much of a plan, per se...that is until I was standing there with a microphone in my hand welcoming everyone on that beautiful Saturday. What transpired over the next nearly two hours was incredible, though. I joked afterwards that I couldn't have produced it better had I tried.
The thing that was so great about the service was that there was someone there representing every aspect of Jason's life. His parents were there to represent his childhood. His college friends were there. His first work buddies were there. His gay friends were there. His Lone Star Ride family was there. His work family was there. His best friends were there. Hell...even some people from the oncology team who treated him showed up. There was about 150-200 people there in all. It truly was a mind-blowing sight.
What happened next was even more incredible, though. One by one, people got up and spoke about what an amazing person Jason was. They spoke about how he touched their lives - even in the slightest way - and how he meant so much to them. There were some he hadn't spoken to in months, even years... but it didn't matter. The impact was there. His parents and I talked after the service and joked that we learned things about him there that we had never known... and maybe for the first time, his parents learned what a truly amazing person their son was.
But, what killed me about that beautiful sight - all those wonderful things people said about him... what hurt the most was that he wasn't there to hear it himself. Oh, I'm sure you're thinking "he was there" and "he heard it all". But, don't you think it would've meant more, had more impact had he heard it for himself when he was alive? It got me thinking... as a society, why are we so afraid to tell those around us how we feel about them? Why do we hide our feelings? Why do we hide our praise for others? Why do we keep our pride from our friends, family, and other loved ones?
Do you know what people really think about you? Do you know what kind of impact you've had on someone else's life? Have you been told lately how much you mean to someone - your partner/spouse or otherwise? If you can't answer yes to all of these questions, then there is something wrong. How do we fix that? I don't know, but maybe it starts with us. Maybe it starts with us taking charge of our feelings and becoming more open to divulging how we feel. We should all live like we're speaking at a funeral - as odd as that sounds. But it's true. Live and speak freely to people as if you were speaking at their funeral. Tell them how you really feel about them and stop hiding behind your heart. Let them know before it's too late. Let them know so they have the pleasure of hearing it, taking it in, and letting it fill them with the kind of warmth that only comes from that kind of love.
Right here, right now - I pledge to tell everyone in my life - anyone who has had an impact on me - exactly how I feel about them. Will you join me and take the same pledge?
Until next time --
Stuart
When Jason died, there were a lot of things that had to be done in a very short amount of time. Most importantly, the planning of the memorial service in Dallas. There really wasn't much of a plan, per se...that is until I was standing there with a microphone in my hand welcoming everyone on that beautiful Saturday. What transpired over the next nearly two hours was incredible, though. I joked afterwards that I couldn't have produced it better had I tried.
The thing that was so great about the service was that there was someone there representing every aspect of Jason's life. His parents were there to represent his childhood. His college friends were there. His first work buddies were there. His gay friends were there. His Lone Star Ride family was there. His work family was there. His best friends were there. Hell...even some people from the oncology team who treated him showed up. There was about 150-200 people there in all. It truly was a mind-blowing sight.
What happened next was even more incredible, though. One by one, people got up and spoke about what an amazing person Jason was. They spoke about how he touched their lives - even in the slightest way - and how he meant so much to them. There were some he hadn't spoken to in months, even years... but it didn't matter. The impact was there. His parents and I talked after the service and joked that we learned things about him there that we had never known... and maybe for the first time, his parents learned what a truly amazing person their son was.
But, what killed me about that beautiful sight - all those wonderful things people said about him... what hurt the most was that he wasn't there to hear it himself. Oh, I'm sure you're thinking "he was there" and "he heard it all". But, don't you think it would've meant more, had more impact had he heard it for himself when he was alive? It got me thinking... as a society, why are we so afraid to tell those around us how we feel about them? Why do we hide our feelings? Why do we hide our praise for others? Why do we keep our pride from our friends, family, and other loved ones?
Do you know what people really think about you? Do you know what kind of impact you've had on someone else's life? Have you been told lately how much you mean to someone - your partner/spouse or otherwise? If you can't answer yes to all of these questions, then there is something wrong. How do we fix that? I don't know, but maybe it starts with us. Maybe it starts with us taking charge of our feelings and becoming more open to divulging how we feel. We should all live like we're speaking at a funeral - as odd as that sounds. But it's true. Live and speak freely to people as if you were speaking at their funeral. Tell them how you really feel about them and stop hiding behind your heart. Let them know before it's too late. Let them know so they have the pleasure of hearing it, taking it in, and letting it fill them with the kind of warmth that only comes from that kind of love.
Right here, right now - I pledge to tell everyone in my life - anyone who has had an impact on me - exactly how I feel about them. Will you join me and take the same pledge?
Until next time --
Stuart
Monday, May 3, 2010
5 Days Left
There are just five days left of my 20s. There are just 5 days left of the 29th year of my life. And what a year it has been.
This time last year, I had been through the ringer. Jason had been through the ringer. Together, we were exhausted, crushed, beaten, and tired of fighting. The only thing we had was each other, our love, and the knowledge that someday - unfortunately very soon...days, weeks even - it would all be over. Most of you have never known what this feels like, and I pray you never will. This time last year - when I should have been preparing to celebrate my last year in my 20s, I was dealing with a will, an advanced directive, power of attorney questions, estate issues, and above all that - trying to keep Jason as comfortable as possible while his cancer continued to grow inside him.
The day before my birthday, Jason was in an extreme amount of pain. We had gone to bed the evening of the 6th, and he was unsettled. He was hurting, and the pain only continued to grow throughout the night. He took pills, I put Fentanyl patches all over his body, but nothing helped. By 5am, neither of us had slept a wink, and it had become clear that his pain was not going to subside. I made a call to the on-call doctor, and then off we went to the hospital. He was admitted to the oncology ICU, and they immediately started IV pain medications. A few hours later, he was drugged, I was tired...and off I went to work.
I came back immediately after work, obviously, and stayed until I couldn't stay anymore. The next day was Friday...my birthday, and we spent it in that Oncology ICU room hoping that he'd be released the next day. He was feeling much better, and was so concerned that I was spending my birthday in a hospital...nevermind the fact that it didn't matter where I was...I just wanted to be with him. Earlier that day, he apparently had begged his doctor and nurses to make sure he was released either that night or first thing Saturday morning. I didn't know he had done that, nor did I know what he had planned on Saturday and why it was so important for him to get out of the hospital in time. He did, and I'm so glad because that Saturday has become one of the best memories I have of him.
In the face of dying - literally being stalked by death, Jason put aside his pain... he put aside whatever fear he had, and he focused on me. He treated me to one of the most amazing birthdays. He had arranged for a gigantic suite at the brand new Omni Hotel in Fort Worth, along with a day at the spa which included champagne, chocolate-covered strawberries, and a couples massage that we both so desperately needed. For just a few hours, we were both able to forget that cancer was ruining our lives. For just a few hours, we were allowed to be just us, just together, just alone with each other...without cancer. It was the best birthday, and it will forever be the most special time I spent with Jason.
So, this week as my 30th birthday approaches, I will be thinking a lot about those days last year, but I will try my best not to dwell on them. I know I need to focus on looking forward to celebrating a new decade in my life, and take comfort in knowing that Jason will be there...celebrating right alongside me. I know I'll feel him, I know he'll be there...but it's just not the same. It's just not fair! It's not fair that the love of my life was able to surprise me with an amazing 29th birthday, and then not be here to do the same for my 30th. It's not fair that on Saturday morning, the very morning I turn 30, I won't be waking up to see his face lying next to me, but instead I'll be thinking about what could have been, what should have been.
Here's to 30.
Until next time...
Stuart
This time last year, I had been through the ringer. Jason had been through the ringer. Together, we were exhausted, crushed, beaten, and tired of fighting. The only thing we had was each other, our love, and the knowledge that someday - unfortunately very soon...days, weeks even - it would all be over. Most of you have never known what this feels like, and I pray you never will. This time last year - when I should have been preparing to celebrate my last year in my 20s, I was dealing with a will, an advanced directive, power of attorney questions, estate issues, and above all that - trying to keep Jason as comfortable as possible while his cancer continued to grow inside him.
The day before my birthday, Jason was in an extreme amount of pain. We had gone to bed the evening of the 6th, and he was unsettled. He was hurting, and the pain only continued to grow throughout the night. He took pills, I put Fentanyl patches all over his body, but nothing helped. By 5am, neither of us had slept a wink, and it had become clear that his pain was not going to subside. I made a call to the on-call doctor, and then off we went to the hospital. He was admitted to the oncology ICU, and they immediately started IV pain medications. A few hours later, he was drugged, I was tired...and off I went to work.
I came back immediately after work, obviously, and stayed until I couldn't stay anymore. The next day was Friday...my birthday, and we spent it in that Oncology ICU room hoping that he'd be released the next day. He was feeling much better, and was so concerned that I was spending my birthday in a hospital...nevermind the fact that it didn't matter where I was...I just wanted to be with him. Earlier that day, he apparently had begged his doctor and nurses to make sure he was released either that night or first thing Saturday morning. I didn't know he had done that, nor did I know what he had planned on Saturday and why it was so important for him to get out of the hospital in time. He did, and I'm so glad because that Saturday has become one of the best memories I have of him.
In the face of dying - literally being stalked by death, Jason put aside his pain... he put aside whatever fear he had, and he focused on me. He treated me to one of the most amazing birthdays. He had arranged for a gigantic suite at the brand new Omni Hotel in Fort Worth, along with a day at the spa which included champagne, chocolate-covered strawberries, and a couples massage that we both so desperately needed. For just a few hours, we were both able to forget that cancer was ruining our lives. For just a few hours, we were allowed to be just us, just together, just alone with each other...without cancer. It was the best birthday, and it will forever be the most special time I spent with Jason.
So, this week as my 30th birthday approaches, I will be thinking a lot about those days last year, but I will try my best not to dwell on them. I know I need to focus on looking forward to celebrating a new decade in my life, and take comfort in knowing that Jason will be there...celebrating right alongside me. I know I'll feel him, I know he'll be there...but it's just not the same. It's just not fair! It's not fair that the love of my life was able to surprise me with an amazing 29th birthday, and then not be here to do the same for my 30th. It's not fair that on Saturday morning, the very morning I turn 30, I won't be waking up to see his face lying next to me, but instead I'll be thinking about what could have been, what should have been.
Here's to 30.
Until next time...
Stuart
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Another Month Passes
In just under one hour, it will be April 28th...marking 11 months since Jason was stolen from us by cancer. It's hard to think that in just four more short weeks, we'll be marking the one-year anniversary at his graveside in the Boston area. My how time flies.
It's been a busy month since my last entry. I've worked a lot, I've gone out a lot... I've had fun a lot, and I've cried a lot. It's been a pretty typical month, actually. Hence why I haven't written much. I suppose there was one big thing that happened. On April 10th, I hosted a fundraiser, art show, & auction to raise money for Team Jason 2010. We raised nearly $6,000 bring our year-to-date total to just under $8,000. 31% of our goal raised...69% left to go!
Time is starting to run together now. I only know it's been 11 months because I know that next month marks 12. But it's all starting to blur...which I guess is a good thing. The more it blurs, the less I notice the date...the less I hurt. This month, I didn't realize the 28th was approaching tomorrow until just a few hours ago. I almost got away with treating the 28th just like any other day without Jason.
Instead, I'll be waking up early tomorrow to meet my friend Casey at Founders Plaza at DFW Airport - one of Jason's favorite places to go. I've purchased a beautiful bouquet of flowers and a wonderful card (that's eerily exactly what I've been thinking) that I'll leave there at the Plaza. I wrote a nice note inside the card, and will leave that with the flowers. I hope someone finds it, reads it...and learns a little bit about love and how death & loss will never tear it apart.
Until next time --
Stuart
It's been a busy month since my last entry. I've worked a lot, I've gone out a lot... I've had fun a lot, and I've cried a lot. It's been a pretty typical month, actually. Hence why I haven't written much. I suppose there was one big thing that happened. On April 10th, I hosted a fundraiser, art show, & auction to raise money for Team Jason 2010. We raised nearly $6,000 bring our year-to-date total to just under $8,000. 31% of our goal raised...69% left to go!
Time is starting to run together now. I only know it's been 11 months because I know that next month marks 12. But it's all starting to blur...which I guess is a good thing. The more it blurs, the less I notice the date...the less I hurt. This month, I didn't realize the 28th was approaching tomorrow until just a few hours ago. I almost got away with treating the 28th just like any other day without Jason.
Instead, I'll be waking up early tomorrow to meet my friend Casey at Founders Plaza at DFW Airport - one of Jason's favorite places to go. I've purchased a beautiful bouquet of flowers and a wonderful card (that's eerily exactly what I've been thinking) that I'll leave there at the Plaza. I wrote a nice note inside the card, and will leave that with the flowers. I hope someone finds it, reads it...and learns a little bit about love and how death & loss will never tear it apart.
Until next time --
Stuart
Monday, March 29, 2010
10 Months
It's been more than a month since my last entry. I haven't blogged much because frankly, there hasn't been much to talk about...which is a good thing, I think. I began feeling like by constantly writing on here, I was somehow holding onto the past. I decided I would give it a rest until I had something to say. So, I guess that's now.
Today marks the 10 month anniversary of Jason's death. I promised myself several months ago that I would try to let the 28ths pass without much notice, but 3 months after that promise was made, I can say that I haven't done a very good job. This one especially. I don't know what it is about this one more than the others, but damn it this one hurts... a lot.
For the last few days, I've been in San Diego, California vacationing with some very dear friends. Booking the trip and getting here, I never even gave it a second thought that I'd be here on the 28th. It wasn't until I saw the date this morning that it hit me. Seeing that date is like a knife being jabbed into my heart...no matter what month it is. The 28th will forever be the day Jason died.
I've been in a funk all day which angered me since I'm here on vacation. I tried my best all day not to drag my friends down with me... I hope I succeeded. I waited until I was in the shower before I broke down. I had a good cry while I let the water wash over me. It felt good to cry. I haven't done that in a couple weeks. But, after I got out of the shower, I tried so hard not to cry the rest of the day...though I tell you, I was on the verge of tears most of the day. There were things I'd see walking down the street that would remind me of Jason - a french bulldog (the dog we were planning to get), a piece of art I knew he'd like, a frog (read previous post about seeing the medium)... the list goes on and on.
I've had such a GREAT trip with my friends, and I'm so upset that on our last day here I felt like I was walking underneath a rain cloud for most of the day. I'm so tired of this effecting my life, and at this point, I'm longing to hit that year mark so that I can never say "This is the first....". Once we hit May 28th...there will be no more firsts. As much as it hurts me to know that more time is passing without the man I love still so much to this day, I want time to pass quickly so that I can move on with my life.
Until next time --
Stuart
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