148 Days: A Journey of Love and Loss

Contents

Author’s Note

Acknowledgments

Preface

Epilogue

About the Author

Also by Leslie J. McCarthy

365 Days of Nutrition and Health for the Family (yearly calendar)

365 días de nutrición y salud para la familia (calendario)

For Tim ~

I will love you always.

Timothy P. McCarthy

December 23rd, 1953 ~ July 26th, 2006

"What we have once enjoyed we can never lose.

All that we love deeply becomes a part of us."

–Helen Keller

Author’s Note

With few exceptions—such as the omission of names and some very personal or inconsequential details and minor grammatical tweakings—the emails and diary pages that compile our story were written at the time and date noted. My apologies for the inconsistent and incorrect grammar and all the dots and dashes … it is not Morse code … just how I write! These notes are (pretty much) unaltered, raw, and from the heart—written during our most difficult time.

Acknowledgments

Special thanks to Sam and Ted for supporting me in sharing this intimate story. It was such a sad time in all of our lives—you have come through the awfulness so beautifully. Always know that Dad loved you deeply and was so proud of you both. I love each of you, completely and with everything that I am, and I will continue to do so forever and always. You both were so much fun as kids and are now such wonderful adults … thank you for making my experience as a mom so spectacular; you bring me so much joy!

Sue ~ my middle of the night listener … thank you for always being there for me with wisdom and a shoulder. I appreciate your love and friendship more than you will ever know.

Katie ~ so much mush your way! Our late night conversations kept me going. I adore you and thank you for your love and friendship and for being my dolphin rock.

Hoho, Suzzette, Pat ~ what would I have done without each of you by my side along this journey? You kept me sane! You were always there with laughter or a hug, words of support or chicken salad! You always knew what was needed. Thank you for loving me/us.

Peter ~ thank you for being such a good friend to Tim/us. He so enjoyed your companionship and conversation and your shared love of life.

Walt ~ thank you for being Tim’s life-long buddy. I hope you know how much he loved you. You were always there for him. My heart will be forever grateful for your love and friendship to him/to us.

Thank you to my dear editors who I was honored to share the rawest of details with. Your eagle-eyes and keen insights were so helpful and your acceptance of my writings made this so much easier to share with others.

And to everyone else out there who was with us on this journey—thank you for your love and support and for holding us so closely. You made the unbearable almost bearable. We are so blessed to have you in our lives … you have incredible hearts.

Preface

Dear Reader …

I have been on the fence regarding a preface to this book … because I have often questioned, Does anyone ever read the preface? I, usually, do not. I am not a preface reader. I read the dedication and skim the next few pages and go right to the first chapter—ready to dive right in.

But, here I am … hoping that you are reading this and that you continue on.

For a long time now my friends have been telling me I need to write this story … share with others what I shared with them. And, for the longest time, I could not. But they persisted and the seed they planted finally took root and, for that, I thank them.

So, here I am … sharing with you tidbits of my life, memories of my love … freeing what has been inside me. I couldn’t have done it any sooner as it was all too fresh, too painful. Early on I felt broken and empty—my heart was shattered and emotions were too enmeshed with just breathing. Time passed and I slowly started to heal—slowly. VERY slowly … and I was afraid I would split open my wounded heart by recounting our lives and reliving all those memories. I wouldn’t even entertain the thought of putting this together as I had just begun to breathe again. But now, somehow, I am ready.

I know it won’t be easy or without moments of heartache … but I think that is how life is. I have been told that deep grief is like having arthritis: you don’t ever get OVER it … you just learn how to live with it. Some days the pain is worse as there are flare ups and some days it’s not so bad … no matter what—you just keep moving and go forward. And so, I am doing just that.

As much as I love the flow of words, my brain runs away with numbers and I am continually counting … hence, the title of this compilation. Tim and I were together just shy of 10,000 days and as rough as some of them were, I can honestly say I wouldn’t trade any of them in—except one— the day he died.

But I can’t change that. It was our life. This was what was to be when we promised to each other on that rainy May afternoon so long ago—to love always whether it was good or bad, full of joy or sorrow, in sickness or health, through laughter or pain. And if given the chance … even with knowing my heart would ultimately be broken and that he would be gone from me far too early … I’d do it all again.

So, I begin … on the edge … atop a peak … looking down into the precipice that was our lives … sharing with you those last 148 days. I am writing this on the eve of beginning … before I have anything for this book put together ~ other than the deep, gut-wrenching knowledge that I have to get these words out for all of us … for you … for me … for Tim.

I am on the verge of sharing our lives … hoping, that in the chance you or someone you love has their life upside down, my words will somehow provide light in the darkness by giving you a glimpse into another’s heart by way of my memories of moments of joy and heartache, sorrow and humor on a journey that no one wants to be on.

I am still healing and I am still heartsick over my loss … over our loss as a family … over the loss that our children befell … over the loss that our friends and family feel … and over the loss for so many who don’t even know they are missing him. Tim was worth knowing … and missing. He was a really good guy.

So, here we are and this compilation of emails and diary notes has come full circle. And though I am on the edge, atop that peak, I am no longer afraid to share with you what was.

And so, dear reader, here starts our journey …

Time flies,

Suns rise and shadows fall.

Let time go by.

Love is forever—over all.

–Inscription found on an English sundial

–Author Unknown

I loved his butt. Literally and figuratively.

We met when he was 25 and I had, four days earlier, turned 22. He was Tim … the man with the 32 inch waistline for most of our years together … the man who put James Bond in a tuxedo to shame … the man who filled out a suit perfectly … the man who could take my breath away in a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt … the man who befriended anyone … the man with the heart of gold, sparkling eyes, dazzling smile and the gorgeous, thick head of hair. And oh, that butt …

Within two weeks of meeting him I knew (even though I was coming off an on again/off again eight year relationship) from the depths of my heart that I was truly, madly, deeply in love with him and that he was THE ONE. I knew, positively, that I would spend the rest of my life with him.

I was wrong.

I shake my head at my naiveté. I laugh at how I once thought we had it all—thinking that things were pretty much perfect and that we had everything so under control and all planned out.

We became mature adults together. We had a son and a daughter. We lost a baby in between. We bought homes and filled them with love. We shared our lives. We shared our dreams. We had plans for when the kids went off to college. We had ideas for retirement. We knew what kind of grandparents we would someday become. We were clueless.

And yes, at times, I thought we had it all. We didn’t. And I thought our lives were idyllic. Great, yes, but we (and things) were not perfect. We fought, we argued, we contemplated getting out at least a couple of (dozen) times through the years … and at times we disliked each other (sometimes immensely!). But, at the end of the day, we always realized our love was true and strong and meant to be and for 27 years we continued loving deeply and completely and had it pretty darn good.

At his memorial gathering we had a guest book available for anyone wanting to share a story about Tim. During the afternoon the book got misplaced, but we did have one entry … and oddly, and rather appropriately, it was about his butt.

It was a friend of ours who wrote of a holiday party we’d had several years earlier and it was one of those stories that you are so glad someone shared.

For years we had semi-formal holiday gatherings in our home … crystal and candlelight, piano music and firelight, the kids dressed up and helping, toasts and the clinking of glassware, people coming and going and spilling out into the icy nights, and always laughter. They were magical evenings. The women arrived in velvets, taffetas and satins, long and short cocktail dresses, evening gowns and sometimes a fur. The good jewelry was worn … along with high heels, lace and hosiery. Men wore suits, ties and tuxes. Tim always wore a tux. He had two tuxes … why on Earth would one man have two tuxes when he only wore one once a year … but he did. And, if I were more English than I am, I could say he looked smashing or dashing or bloody good—for he did.

The story goes as such: Tim was chatting, host-like, making the rounds of the guests when he stopped at a group of women talking and laughing. One of the women dropped something and Tim, being ever the gentleman, bent over to pick it up. At that moment all eyes, from the group of women, were on HIM (or at least a certain part of him) and one of the women let out a little sigh … sending all the other women into fits of laughter. Tim had a great physique and the women in that little group, that night, had a good look and a good laugh.

They loved his butt, too. Literally and figuratively.

"A heart is not judged by how much you love;

but by how much you are loved by others."

–L. Frank Baum

(The Wonderful Wizard of Oz)

Wednesday, March 1, 2006 is the day when our lives all changed.

It will forever be etched in my brain that at 4pm Tim was told he had Stage IV lung cancer and that he would not survive.

I knew that when a doctor called a consult meeting it was pretty much not a good thing … so, I went to the doctor’s office with Tim. But I never expected the news to be so devastating.

Thinking back, even now, I am numb and I can barely breathe. If I allow my mind to actually think of that day and what the doctor told us … the scene in that tiny examining room plays in my head … all in slow motion … and I can taste the bitterness coming up … again.

We were in such pain we couldn’t even look at each other.

I remember thinking … What do we do? Where do we go? Who do we see? And, HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?

And more than anything else … How are we ever going to break the news to the kids?

Horrifically, that day was the beginning of the rest of his life.

It was Day 1.

Friday, March 3, 2006–11:30 p.m.

Day 3—Journal entry

It has been a lifetime since we met in that doctor’s office. I am amazed at how one’s life can change, how one’s perspective can change … so instantly.

Honestly, I am in a fog. I don’t remember what we’ve done the past two days … who we’ve told … who we’ve talked to … who we’ve seen. The girls came over and we stood there—the three of us crying. They hugged me so tightly we could all barely breathe … the three of us standing there clinging to each other. We are all shell-shocked and beyond disbelief.

I sit here and wonder how on Earth this all could be about TIM? Mr. Health. He eats well. He exercises. He is fit and trim. Yes, he smoked from time to time … as a teen … for a few months in the 80’s when pipe smoking was in and over the years I knew about the occasional cigar with the guys or a bummed cigarette. I knew about those times and he knew I hated it and when I found out (and I always found out) I’d be upset with him. And, over the years how many times did I say to him, I’m going to be so mad at you when you die of lung cancer and leave me a young widow.

I am haunted by those words. Haunted by what is … and I can’t change anything. All I want to know is … HOW CAN THIS BE?

The doctor says we will probably never know WHY he developed lung cancer; non-smokers get lung cancer, too, but smoking could be a factor as could a weakness or predisposition in his makeup, environmental issues of where the family farm was located, the products he worked with (fertilizers, inks) or the waters he swam in as a kid. I guess it doesn’t really matter. It’s all too sickening to dwell on. It is what it is.

We have made a zillion calls; have received advice from friends as to where to go and what doctors to contact. Unfortunately, some gave us names from experience and my heart breaks for them because at the time they were going through things … I just had NO idea the depth of everything they were dealing with. I want to write them all notes and say how sorry I am for being so unplugged from their reality. I imagine I will get around to it one of these days … when I can breathe.

Will I ever be able to breathe again?

We’ve met with doctors and one wants us to wait and go through a chemo training day. Um, sorry … we don’t have the TIME! Who the hells needs training?! Stick a needle in him, fill him with poison, kill off the damn cancer! So, we are going with the specialist at the med center. I didn’t like him but he’s supposed to be the best. And if there is any time you want the best … it is NOW.

We told the kids … the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I talked with Ted on the phone. Sam in-person. No one is ever ready for that conversation. I could barely get the words out to either.

It was horrible.

It IS horrible.

I hate this.

Tuesday, March 7, 2006–6:13 a.m.

Day 7—Email to S. (best friend from home/high school days)

My dearest friend