Lessons from Lou

This blog is about my journey through the brain tumor world with my dear husband, Lou. While not a journey I would wish on even my worst enemy, it is a journey that has enlightened and awakened me to what lies within us, and around us, each and every moment of each and every day. There are lessons here....lessons in this journey.....lessons from Lou....that I would like to share with you.

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Location: Chicago, Illinois

Picture of Lou (sick) and I at a party, circa 2005, long ago and faraway. I'm now a middle aged widow, trying to get my life back together. Mother of two young adult sons, living with two adult cats.

Saturday, October 25, 2008

Closing A Door

This week has been spent packing up the office. We will be moving to new space tomorrow. It's been an emotional time for me. Lou's office was in this space for seven years. For Lou, it was really only three before he got sick for the next two years, and then, not with us for the last two. This was never really Lou's office. His place was in the landmark Wrigley building, just a few doors from this office. He was there for 18 years and then they wouldn't renew his lease and he had to move. THAT was difficult. Lou never liked change, and he loved that building. That building was Lou. This building was not. Nonetheless, the office space itself had the feeling of Lou, and of course, we tried to maintain much of the feel of his original office space in the Wrigley. This office has the memory of when Lou got sick. Of the times I brought him in, and we pretended all was well. When we arranged to have certain clients call to talk to him on the phone so he thought he was back in action. From that standpoint, it is good to leave. I hate thinking about those times, about him, like that. Nonetheless, it is hard to leave. It is hard to close the door. Another part of Lou is disappearing. That is the problem. I hate that. I hate it so much. I've cried so much this week and I can't quite figure it out. I was not prepared for this response. I don't really like that office all that much, the space was never quite right for our group. But it's still hard to leave. I had to go through some of his things. They were put away long ago when it became obvious he would not be back. The notes that were on his desk. His pens and old pipes, artifacts. Pictures. Golf trophies. Notes and more notes. Lou was his own blackberry I always like to say. That tiny writing of his. His and my mom's phone numbers, both on a tiny piece of paper, in his blotter. A very old picture of me looking very very young. So many pictures. Good times. Love. Family. Lou. It seems, at times, it really does get harder as time goes on. The finality of it doesn't really settle in until time has past. When you begin to close doors, you realize that part of your life really is over. Closing a door is a hard thing to do.

4 Comments:

Blogger The Kitchen said...

Cathy - Big hug - We think of you often - hang in there - XOXOX,
t and e

10:42 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Cathy,

I have been re-reading this many times... I was captivated - I could not move on to other things that I had to do. I could see myself standing there going through the same thoughts as you were having. I have some things which just scream out connections with my irreplaceable wife. No way can I change them or get rid of them... It would question her judgment, disregard her trust in me or cut her (memory) out of my life. I am quite happy driving her car but if anything were to happen to it, or it comes to the end of its useful life...

My wife loved the autumn (fall) because it meant coming home to a bright blazing coal fire at her mother's place. The lack of such a fire in later years did nothing to dampen her love of autumn. She loved the autumn colours in the trees and the golden light of the late afternoon on the trees. But to me it really meant cold dark dreary journeys home after work. Now autumn reminds me that my love is no longer here to enjoy this time of year.

Dewdrop

12:01 PM  
Blogger Sue said...

Oh Cathy,
Sorry so sorry. Lives are so deeply entwined somtimes we don't realize it until it grabes us. Tears are good, tears are theraputic. A great big hug to you and many good thoughts for you.

12:29 PM  
Anonymous Dale Barnes said...

Cathy, I just came across your blog a few days ago. It has been educational for me. My wife has been fighting cancer for over 5 1/2years, and I fear the end of the fight is soon to come. Reading about your fight, Lou's fight, and how you have handled it has been a big help. Thanks. DB

9:00 AM  

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