At 62…It’s been a year

One year ago today, I lost the love of my life. He had no plans to leave when he did. His exit was a huge surprise to both of us.

I will forever remember the day he was diagnosed with esophageal cancer. He was 61 years old – his birthday. We sat on the back porch, wrapped in each other, tears on both our faces. He just kept saying that he didn’t understand God’s plan. How he had almost lost his life to heart failure brought on by pneumonia the year before – and how he had survived, and how much he was cherishing each day. How he had been so unhappy for so many years – and had finally found love and happiness beyond anything he’d ever known. How we had made so many plans, dreamed so many dreams, and had years ahead of us to live them – and now what? Why had this happened after all the hell he had overcome? What was ahead of us and how would we cope?

The way Mike fought cancer is a lot like I’ve fought this past year. There was a lot of pushback and even more grief. There was determination to beat it and to live the best life possible. There were days when he didn’t feel he could go on. There was so much pain to overcome. And in the end, there was a large measure of peace in the future. I feel like I’ve moved through each of those stages once again this past year.

I’ve felt far less sorry for myself than I have for Michael. I’m still alive. There’s such a vast wrongness to losing such a vital, good man, someone who had such talent and such zest for life. I’d never concretely contemplated mortality, even after losing Jim and Al. I lived it with Mike, daily. He shared so much of the processing of it with me. I walked that path with him every single day, both cherishing and fighting for life. And in the end, our miracle drug went drastically wrong, and the 18+ months we knew the drug would give us – until the next miracle drug came along – were yanked away with breathtaking swiftness.

My just-starting-four years with Mike were some of the happiest – and the shortest – of my life. I sparkled. I laughed. I went way out of my comfort zone and loved the woman Mike drew out of me. And I loved that man. We were each other’s perfect match. And I did not think I would survive when he died. There were many nights that survival was questionable.

But I am here. I honor his memory every single day. Those memories give me laughter, learning, a nudge when I need it. And I feel him pushing me to keep going, to overcome my limitations, to continue to live my best life.

I’ll never be the same person I would have been had Mike lived. But I’m not the same person I was before Mike loved me, either. I’m a hybrid of those two women, and I am continuing to grow and to learn.

We are here on earth such a short time. Each day we spend without learning, without appreciating God’s world, without laughter, is a day that’s wasted. Michael Powell lived his life full-out. He loved to learn. He was so very funny. He took chances. He always told me that he woke up every single day determined to do something to make the world a better place.

And those are the ways I will continue to live in honor of my husband. I will miss him every day until I see him again. And until then, I promised Mike I would live life for both of us.

One year has passed. We made it through all the firsts, Michael.

And I’m still standing – and looking forward to all the seconds and thirds and fourths – at 62.