Four months into this dark journey on which I have embarked has revealed — I believe — a difficult truth about where I am likely going to end up.
My bride passed away on Feb. 3 after a brief, but savage bout with glioblastoma, an aggressive brain cancer. I have chronicled already much of what I have been feeling since Kathy Anne’s passing.
We were together for 52 years, 51 of those years as husband and wife. Yes, it’s been tough. It will continue to be a difficult trek for well past the foreseeable future.
The difficult truth?
It is that “good” as I once defined term is likely an unattainable goal for me. Friends and family ask me constantly, “How are you doing?” I cannot say “good,” because that term meant something vastly different from what I am experiencing today. I don’t intend to redefine the term; I prefer to remember what “good” used to mean for my bride and me.
I shrug and say “better.” I am better than I was yesterday — most of the time. Thus, the term “better” remains the description du jour for me as I continue on the path that will lead me eventually to the end of my own time on Earth.
For those who might wonder, though, about my emotional state, please know that I intend to stay as positive as possible. I am able to laugh loudly. My emotions run the full gambit.
I just have learned to understand something about mourning the loss of a beloved life partner, someone with whom I did everything. It is that I will never stop missing Kathy Anne. That I will have to wipe tears from my eyes at seemingly little or no provocation.
I will, though, function as a normal adult human being.
“Good” is beyond my reach. I will strive to get “better” each day … and that is a worthy goal to attain.