Napping Nico

Now that I know how to post pictures (if only I knew how to get them OFF my camera, we'd really be in business), here is Misa's brother, Nico, doing what he does best, napping. Nico often sleeps on Lou's pillow next to me. They know. Animals know, don't they?

Miss Misa

Our little Miss Misa was voted the "Cutest Kitten" in the Chicago Tribune's Petpalooza Photo Contest. This is the winning pic. We had all our friends vote for Misa, but I think others must have found her as adorable as we do because over 30,000 votes were cast in total for the five categories of pictures/pets. That's alot of pet crazy people or people who have too much time on their hands. Misa won a $100 gift certificate to the pet store we buy her expensive food from. Now she is insufferable. Meanwhile, her brother, Nico, is feeling a bit left out. I couldn't find an adorable picture of him at the time. These kitties entered our lives a few weeks after Lou left our lives. Not quite the same, but they do love to cuddle and they have filled our lives with much joy. God really knew what He was doing when he made kitties.

Out Of The Closet

When you live in Chicago, you do not tend to make picnic plans for Memorial Day. It is usually cold and / or rainy. Nine times out of ten. That is why I usually plan to clean my closet on Memorial Day, because, when you live in Chicago, this is about the time you can kind of, maybe think about putting away the winter clothes for the summer, save a sweater or two you might need for a night the wind is blowing in at Wrigley Field. So, today finds me cleaning my closet as is my Memorial Day tradition, except it has not really been done for a few years. I have EVERY season of clothes jammed in that space, not to mention items that no longer fit, and things that were out of style three years ago when I last seriously attacked the closet. It never got done while Lou was sick. Alot of things didn't get done while Lou was sick. The important things , for the most part, got done. Like spending time together. Listening to music. Eating gelato. Watching Law and Order and Frasier re-runs. Doctor appointments, monthly MRIs, prescriptions, and all that. Everything else....slid by the wayside. Closets in particular. I'm trying to be ruthless this time around. But it's hard. I keep hearing Lou's voice, saying things like : " I always liked you in that " (no matter how out of style it may be, if he liked it, he liked it), or " that's a great color for you " (he was better at that then I am), or "gee, you look pretty in that". And then, there are all the lovely things he bought me over the years. I have not been able to bring myself to part with any of them, even though some no longer fit, and many of them truly are out of style. This one he gave me for Christmas, that one for my birthday. This is the one I wore on Mother's Day, this one to a black tie affair. This one we slow danced in. This one I wore for dinners with his clients. Sigh. It's hard to be ruthless about memories. The good ones. The dress I wore to his memorial...shoved back deep into the corner. Maybe I'll even get rid of it. But some of the others...they hang there, reminding me of that life that seems so long ago now. I haven't even TOUCHED Lou's closet yet. I wonder when I will. I wonder when I will feel strong enough to do that. There's a comfort in having his closet full, full of his clothes that still smell like his cologne. I can't get rid of these things of mine, how will I get rid of HIS?? My breaktime is almost over. The closet calls. Ruthless, I must be ruthless. They are things, afterall, just things. Things that once were bright . Things that were bought with love. Things that made Lou smile . Things that made me feel special. Things that painted a memory. Nothing lasts forever. Nothing.

Our Front Porch

Those of you who have been with me for the last two summers know all about our "front porch". We don't HAVE a front porch. We live in a very tall building with NO porches! Our "front porch" is actually a plaza type area below street level that looks up at the sky and buildings, and the church across the street, with shops and small tables and other sitting areas, and a water fountain/wall. It's really a very pleasant place to sit. You do not get the street sounds because of the fountain. It can be sunny or shady, with a nice breeze. People of all kinds come and go. You can sit and eat from one of the restaurants, just have coffee, or just sit. We've lived in this building a very long time. The front porch was not always there, but it's been there for quite awhile. For all the time it has been there, Lou and I did not spend all that much time on it. That's because we were always busy. By the time we got home on weeknights, had dinner, did the dishes, homework, kids stuff, phone calls, etc, it would be too late. On the weekends, we were usually out doing other things. And, honestly, if you don't use it, you can easily forget it is there. The first summer of the brain tumor, that would be summer of 05, we spent ALOT of time on the front porch, together. There's a small italian deli there that has excellent gelato. I gained alot of weight that summer with all the gelato we ate! We often went down in the evening. Lou just loved it. He would marvel at what a great spot it was. He loved the people watching, he loved the breeze, he loved the evening time, the gelato, and he just loved the spot, in general, looking up at the surrounding buildings. He would say what a great place it was to live. And, every time we were there, EVERY TIME, he would say "this is so nice. We should do this more often". And, I would always nod and say, "you're right, we SHOULD do this more often", even if we had just been there the night before. We spent alot of that summer on the front porch. We took candles down one night, and champagne, with dear friends. It was sad when it started to get cool, and fall came. We sat there until it was truly too chilly. Then came summer 06. I don't need to spend alot of time talking about that. By the time it came around, Lou was not able to walk much on his own, if at all. He was using a walker inside, and not very well at that. To get him down to the porch, I had to use the wheel chair. It wasn't easy. I always THOUGHT it sounded like a great idea, in reality, it was pretty difficult to navigate. We probably made it down to the porch twice. I didn't take him once we got to the point that he really couldn't handle the gelato all that well. After that, we stayed in almost all the time. It was too hard to get him out, and he really didn't want to go out anymore. We managed to get him out, with lots of help, for the last time, two weeks before he died, for the cigar night. The porch was a memory for me, and lost, totally, for him. A great , bittersweet memory for me. Last night was a porch night. It was a lovely summer evening. I had dinner out with two young ladies , my good friend's twenty something year old daughter whom I love like my own. As I approached our building on the way home, I decided to walk down to the porch. I went into the itallian deli for a gelato. I sat at a table taking it all in. It wasn't the same of course. Not at all. It was lonely, and empty. I didn't stay. As I left, Lou's voice played over and over in my mind, "we should do this more often". The thing about the brain tumor is that it brought us so much closer together. We spent so much time together because of it. We didnt' have to worry about getting home from work earlier to go to the porch. We DID "do this more often". I'm so glad we did. I am so grateful for each and every minute we had on that porch. And I really, really miss it.

On My Own

Somewhere inbetween my last post and now, I realized that I'm on my own here. What I mean is, it is really up to me to make this work. I can only rely on friends and family so much. At some point, I have to be brave and carry on, on my own. I won't ALWAYS have a friend to have dinner or coffee with, I just might have to be on my own. I won't ALWAYS have someone to go to a movie with, or see a concert with. My sons WILL leave, are in the process of leaving. My mom is NOT moving here, she is moving near my brother. My niece and God daughter and her darling baby are moving from here in July. Yep, I'm on my own. Can't rely on everyone else for my own good time. This is quite a revelation to me. It hit me last friday night. I had an early dinner out with friends, and was home around 8pmish. USUALLY, on a friday night, I can't handle being alone at home (teenage sons are never around on the weekends). It's been a really hard thing for me. That friday, I put a movie in the minute I got home. That took two hours. By then, I did my usual late night stuff and turned in. IT WAS NOT ALL THAT AWFUL. I realized, then, that this is my responsibility. Waiting around for company and phone calls is not going to help me get through this. Learning how to handle alone time, no, how to ENJOY alone time, is going to help me get through this. I'm not such bad company, really. Oh, I play the music too loud and snack too much, but really, I can manage. BIG revelation. Meanwhile, today I am sorting through pictures. So much for being brave, for managing my alone time...it's not working for me today. Not at all. To be expected. I can do it as long as I don't look back I guess. I wonder how you do that, how you move forward, without looking back. Guess I'm not ready. But at least I know I CAN make it through a friday night. That's progress.

An Affair To Remember

It's on tv tonight. It's on two times. My all time fave movie..."An Affair To Remember", Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr. I'm such a sucker for it. So romantic. So sappy. Soooooo wonderful. I like "Sleepless In Seattle" and "Love Affair" with Warren Beatty and Annette Bening too, the remakes or take offs. But the original is, by far, the best. I don't dare watch it, alone, without Lou. No, that would do me in. I had an affair to remember once...it lasted 25 years. It was grand, it truly was. Can't do the movie, not tonight, maybe not ever again. The real thing was better anyway.

Mom

Lou's mom was a dear, dear woman. She was first generation Greek, her parents were from Sparta. She was strong, like you would expect a Spartan to be, but gentle, loving, and caring. Her family was her life. She met Lou's father in a somewhat "arranged" manner, and it worked. Interestingly, he was sixteen years older than her, born in Greece (but that is another story entirely). When they married, she was uprooted from Chicago to the tiny town downstate of Pekin Illinois. She knew no one. Her life was not easy, though of course, she would never admit that. Raised four children while Lou's dad worked very very hard. All went to college, on academic scholarships, Lou's dad only finished second grade, and his mom did not finish high school if I remember correctly. She was also, beautiful. Lou adored and honored her. He called her every sunday night, no matter where he was in the world. He showered her with gifts of all manner. Lovely clothes, jewelry, trips, television sets. Nothing was too good for his mom, as he called her. He always felt it was unfortunate that she could not continue her schooling, that she could not have worked outside the home in some manner. Lou was always so supportive of women working outside the home. Lou's father died many years ago, leaving his mom alone in Pekin, the kids grown. She was stubborn, and would not leave. We tried to get her to move up to Chicago, she wouldn't do it. As the years went on, she began to be forgetful. Living alone can do that to you. At first it was manageable, with lots of note taking and reminder phone calls and visits. Fortunately, Lou's brother lived nearby. It progressed. She would forget to eat and wasn't taking care of herself. A serious bout of dehydration and a fall landed her in the hospital, and from there, into a "home". This happened while we were away on vacation. I won't get into it here, but it was devastating to all of us, but especially to Lou. In the "home" environment, she very quickly slipped into a state of confusion, never to return. It was heartbreaking to see her. Gut wrenching. She died after living there for a few years. It was not as it should have been. It could have been better for her, her last days could have been better. Had we been in town, maybe the outcome would have been different, who knows. Once she was in the "home", she could not be moved. It was done, it was over. Lou never quite recovered from that pain, it haunted him. And then, the brain tumor came. And all that it brought with it. Lou could not remember that his mom was gone. Daily, he would ask, "how's Mom?". Sometimes several times in the same half hour. Before we fully understood the magnitude of destruction the tumor had created, we would answer truthfully, thinking that with repetition, it would stick. We would tell him that mom had passed on. This truth brought shock, tears, and disbelief. He would ask "when did it happen", "how did it happen", "did she suffer", "was I there", etc etc etc. You would think that it had been understood and digested, only to have the question raised again twenty minutes later. This went on for months. We got smart and told Lou that his mom was fine, and that she was down in Pekin. It was much much better to handle it that way. It seemed to satisfy him. He never, ever stopped asking about her. He held her so close, so deeply in his heart and soul. Near the end, he saw her. He told me she was in the room. I know she was. She was waiting for him. It was a comfort to me, to know that he would be reunited with her. That there would no longer be the unending questions, the pain and confusion. I'm thinking about that today. I'm thinking about Lou's deep love for his mother. I'm thinking about the fact that they are together, celebrating this Mother's Day, together at last. No need for material gifts. Eternal love. It's more than enough. Happy Mother's Day.

Tulip Time

It's tulip time in Chicago! This means thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands of tulips grace our city walks, parks and the planters in the middle of the streets, like up and down Michigan Avenue in particular. It's spectacular! They just magically seem to "appear" in late April. I suppose some sort of tulip elf plants them in the dark of night. Actually, I saw a city worker planting some one morning last week. I thanked him for the great job he was doing. I hope he didn't think I was being sarcastic because I was NOT. Thank heavens for those city workers who take care of our parks and greenery. Back to the tulips. They really hit me as I left the office late last week. I don't think I had truly noticed, or appreciated them before then. As I walked home, down the avenue, they blanketed the walks and streets. Gorgeous colors. Everywhere. They are so cheerful looking. Happy. Of course, I felt sad. Lou just loved everything about Michigan Avenue, as we would walk arm and arm. I felt overwhelmingly sad. And alone. But that was last week. Today, I felt different. Saw the Cubs play and win this weekend. I hit balls at the driving range yesterday. I'm getting thru the foot high stack of paperwork that never seems to end. I can either look at the tulips and be sad that Lou isn't here, or I can look at them and be happy for their beauty. Today, I tried the latter. It worked. For today anyway.

Why I Need Caffeine

For the first several months of the brain tumor journey, Lou would wake up not knowing what had happened. I always stayed in bed until he woke up because the awakening was always awful. He would wake up, and ask what time it was. That would lead to , "Why am I not at the office". The brilliant people from rehab (sorry, they really ARE brilliant, but they do not know WHAT to do with brain tumor patients) told me to explain to him that the reason he was not at work was because he was not well. Because he was not well, with a brain tumor. How's that for a great way to start the day? That inevitably lead to tears, anxiety, questions and more questions, more tears and anxiety. The routine repeated itself daily, for months. It could take two hours to get out of bed. I didn't follow their advice for long, but no matter what I tried, it didn't work. There was a book I was supposed to take Lou through each day, at breakfast. The book had things in it, like the day, date, our names, where we lived, what we were going to do that day, and what Lou was being treated for (at the time, we were going to daily radiation, so that is what the agenda for those days said). It was almost like a book kids make in kindergarden. The thinking was that this was supposed to prompt some memories, and, with repetition, things would get better. Can you imagine looking at this, with your brilliant husband, a national collegiate debate champion, at the breakfast table? Going through these basic topics, only to have them forgotten a few minutes later? I gave up on that, too. Eventually, we got to a place where Lou could get up and make it through breakfast without all this. At some point, he didn't ask why he was home anymore. At some point, he didn't ask why he was taking so many pills and seeing so many doctors. I'm not sure it was because he comprehended, or accepted it. I think it was the meds that finally kicked in and took away some of the anxiety. It doesn't matter, now. What matters now, is that I think about this, alot. As I go through my days, I think about his days. I think about what it must have been like for him. Sometimes, I wake up, and see all the pictures of him, and us, in our room, and I almost forget that it happened. Almost. When you are in that groggy , not quite awake state. That's when I think about what it must have been like for him. I think about those mornings, how he would wake up, and not understand. I can't imagine it. I can't imagine starting the day like that. It's not such a great way for me to start my day either. That's why I have to have four shots of espresso. To make that memory, of Lou, with no memory, go away. So much for my positive posts. Maybe tomorrow. I've really been missing him.

A Positive Post

I promised myself yesterday that I would post a positive note one of these days. Yes, I struggle daily with the after effects of dealing with our brain tumor journey. Correct, it does not leave me. And of course, Lou is always, always on my mind. Always. BUT, life is not all that bad. I don't want to give anyone the impression that I am totally falling apart. Not true. I'm coping, as they say. Some days are better than others. Some days are basically ok for the most part. No day is ever TOTALLY ok, but, that's ok. That's as it should be, that's as it will be. Life was never totally ok before all this either, right? But THOSE issues seem so so small now......anyway, the positive post! Here ya go: TOP TEN REASONS TO BE HAPPY TODAY (note, I do NOT know how to make this into an easy to read honest to goodness LIST, so sorry ). I type it like a list and it comes out all strung together. l. My little gurrrlll kitty was sooooo mushy to me last night. She is ALWAYS a bit standoffish. EVERYTHING has to be on HER terms (imagine that!). She NEVER jumps in your lap. Well, she did last night, TWICE actually. Bliss! 2. Hugs from my sons. They are the best (the hugs AND the sons!) 3. I got some messy paperwork done yesterday after much bureacracy. HATE THAT, but LOVE that it's DONE! 4. Driving my new car with the music cranked up and the sun roof open 5. My newest baby great niece who fell asleep in my arms on Sunday. 6. My nieces, all of them. The great nieces and their moms. They are like daughters (and ok, I guess grand daughters too), to me. 7. Trader Joe's flowers. One can actually afford to buy flowers weekly there! Thank you, Joe. 8. TWO HOURS of Grey's Anatomy tonight! 9. Female doctors. YOUNG female doctors (no, this has nothing to do with #8). I have two great female doctors who have children and therfore work three long days vs. five. I think this is wonderful. I must be getting old, but I can remember when all doctors were MEN. How on EARTH could a FEMALE handle being a DOCTOR ? I'm certainly glad we have figured THAT one out, and I LOVE that they seem to manage it ALL. Of COURSE they do. They are women after all. 10. Comments on my blog from people like EMILY. Wow, Emily, I don't know who you are, I would have loved to have met you on the walk. I am so sorry about your dear sister. I will keep her in my prayers. Thank you for reading. The sun is out. Gotta rally.

Walked The Walk

We did the Walk on Saturday. It was an unbelievably gorgeous day here. Bright blue sky, sunshine, no humidity, perfect temperature. I have no idea how many people were there, but the event raised over $400,000, which was their goal, and $100,000 more than last year. Last year, they had 2,000 participants, so I am sure there were more this year. We had 17 walkers with us. Family mostly, dear friends, and folks from the office. We sort of ambled as we had two wagons with us, little ones! Our team has raised over $3,000. I'm happy about that, but NEXT YEAR...LOOK OUT! I was really touched several times during the walk. It was emotional for me. The brain tumor bond is very very strong. I feel connected to anyone dealing with this awful disease. And, my heart just breaks for them, knowing the road they tread. There was a young woman pushing a guy, about 20 something, in a wheelchair. The sign she wore on the back of her tshirt said she was walking for her brother, Lou. Of course, that caught my attention. Lou was in the wheelchair she was pushing. His shirt said "I am walking for myself". The image of Lou in a wheelchair appeared. Sometimes I can't even believe that WAS Lou. Not our Lou. I'm praying for that Lou in the wheelchair. I don't think he was doing all that well. My heart is still heavy thinking about him, his sister, the love they share, the fight they face. Another young guy in a wheel chair with a large scar on his skull. Surgery scar. So many people walking in memory of someone. Pictures on their shirts and signs. And then I connected with someone from Florida, who I've chatted with in the online brain tumor support group. We had planned to find each other. She lost her mom about the time we lost Lou. Her team raised $10,000, WOW!! It was special meeting her. As I said, the brain tumor bond is tight. Very. That's just the way it is, for alot of us anyway. It doesn't leave you. It forever changes you. So, I'm glad we did the walk. I'm glad we did it for all the people suffering with this beast, and all the ones to come. And, I'm glad we did it to honor Lou, and the valiant battle he fought, a battle he never really comprehended. I guess it was better that way. For him. Not for us.