Thursday, December 24, 2015

Remembering Kyle

Today marks the one year anniversary of Kyle's final breath.

I've made it a year without him.  It doesn't seem 
possible or even probable, yet here I stand a testament
to "making it."

Whatever that really means...

It's not really the kind of anniversary I ever imagined
I would be having in my life.  It's kind of a crummy 
anniversary to have to "celebrate". (Have? Remember? I 
don't even have a good word for this...and PLEASE
do not say "angelversary" to me, not even once....)

I remember sharing quiet, intimate moments with family, 
friends and loved ones during his last 6 days of his life
in the hospital last year.  

Time moved slowly around us. 

Time is a funny thing.

We all gathered around him in love, for what would be 
his eventual last days of time in the here and now.

There was so very much love and tenderness and sweetness
in those moments.  As crazy as it sounds I will treasure
those memories forever, they were truly beautiful in
so many ways. 


Life without Kyle is achingly familiar, yet hauntingly

My pain and loss are so all encompassing and huge that 
I expect everyone who loved him, like I loved him, 
to feel it like I feel it.  The depth of pain and loss.

And not everyone does.

I've learned we all do this so differently.

For many others, life moved on quickly without Kyle.

It wasn't that they didn't love him, or miss him, it was
that the heartache wasn't as all consuming.

As it was with me.

Yet there I was frozen in time, all the while having
time continue onward (how was that possible?) 
carrying me forward with it, caught somewhere between 
reality and fiction.

I remember sitting in the hospital on Kyle's last day,
family was coming and going as Christmas Eve Day slowly wound
down.  The frenzied rush and frantic race to get everything
done was put on the back burner for me and mine and 
in the hush of the hospital room, Christmas seemed some
far off distant ghost of a memory.  Something that was
happening for everyone else in an alternate universe, 
just not the one I was living in at the present time.

It feels much the same this year to me.

We lived from breath to breath and quietly spoke around him.

Watching his chest move up and down in the darkened room.

People moved in and out to touch him quietly, they kissed his
face, held his hand and whispered that they loved him.

I sat, barely moving from his bed, holding his hand in mine.




His time here was coming swiftly to an end and no one could
stop it, try as we might.  

Or as much as we wished it were not true.

It was happening right before our very eyes.

His body, and everything that made it alive, and Kyle, 
was failing.

We would occasionally place our hand on his chest to 
feel the beating of his heart, which was still going strong.

Of course it was, it was his heart.

When his last breaths came, I knew what it meant.

And then he was gone from us.

Ripped from our lives, it seemed so cruel.

My children like to remind me that we still have 
the love he left us, the things he taught us 
and the memories we shared with him--yet it's not
the same as having HIM.

Having him HERE, in the moments that are yet to come.

That has been the hardest part for me, missing his
physical presence in all of our lives.

And selfishly, especially mine.

This isn't how it was supposed to be in every
scenario I had ever imagined for my life.

None of them included a husband dying from cancer
at age 46.

But that's how it went, life had other plans then
the ones in my mind.

And so it was.


Some of the great lessons I have learned in the past
year I would not have learned with him here, yet I 
would gladly trade them ALL, just to have him here again.


I have learned that indeed life does go on.

All of it.

The good, the bad and the ugly.

Then some more good mixed in too.

Yay for the good!

I have learned that human beings are so so so so so
amazingly resilient when we CHOSE to be.

We can do hard things.  (Dammit it's true)

But just because we can do them, doesn't mean that
it's easy. It's not easy by any stretch of the imagination.

I've learned we take SO much for granted, especially
relationships.  That is a dumb thing to do, trust me
on this one.

If you have good friends?  (Who can also be family)
Love them, make time for them, cherish them.

They are GIFTS to you.  Do NOT let them go, tell them
you love them, and be there when they need you.

I have learned that being a single mom is 
exhausting and overwhelming and you NEVER get a break.

You are "on call" ALL the time.  Your partner in crime
is you and yourself and when you're tired or sick or lonely or
sad--it's STILL you who has to go to work and cook
and clean and shop and go to school and do homework and
take care of kids and do everything that two people 
used to do.

It's Hard. Hard. Hard.

Did I mention it's hard? 

I've learned that I have AMAZING friends who have 
been there for me. 

They may be few in numbers, but gosh darn it, I would
not trade them for the world.  

I have learned that I have some great family members
who have also stepped up in a big way. I am grateful
for extra mommy's for my kids and love and support
that has carried my four through this past year.

I have learned that I have PHENOMENAL children.

That is not to say that it hasn't been a rocky road,
a very rocky one, at times, but I cannot look at 
each of them, Josh, Grace, Eliza and Olivia, with 
ANYTHING but pride at the way they've come through
this year.

They have stepped up to the plate in BIG and amazing
ways to support me and each other.  They have grown
and hugged and wept and hurt and loved and lived...

...and continued on when they haven't wanted to at times.

I have the utmost respect and love for my four and 
am PROUD to call them my own.  They are especially unique
and not cookie cutter and in loosing a dad this has become
more apparent.  They are deep thinkers, all of them, and
each is older then their given years on earth.

Yet, I am glad for their unique perspectives and 
different outlooks on life, it has led to many 
lovely conversations between us and deeper trust
and intimacy and a bond that I believe is very special.

They have huge wings they are waiting to spread and 
big ideas that will take them far.

They will also fall and get hurt and that's okay too.

We sometimes forget that's what life is about, it's
about the journey and learning.  It's not about being perfect.

In many ways they are more prepared for the realities 
that life will throw their way, because as we've 
learned, life doesn't always go as we like to imagine it will.

I have learned that life is also still sweet and tender
and lovely and beautiful.  And that there are still 
MANY good things to cherish.  That is also a gift.

I have learned that love is still the most important
thing we have.  It can change a heart, a human and indeed
the world.  

Love. Simply love.

I have learned that I still have a whole lot
of learning to do.


So today on the one year anniversary of Kyle's death, 
which will forever be on Christmas Eve, hold your loved
one close, don't sweat the small stuff (so much 
wasted energy), make good choices, chose life, love
with your FULL hearts and find joy in the little things.

Like pink sunrises over the mountains and fall breezes
blowing leaves and laughter with the ones you love.
Tell a joke, see a movie, make time for each other.
Live in the moment, the here and now.  Quit waiting 
for tomorrow, you never know what it will bring.

That's what we get, we get now, none of the other stuff 
really matters anyway.

We are still here, life continues onward.  Some days
it is joyous and beautiful and some days are still hard.
The thing is "this" never goes away.  We are changed
people forever because of what came into our lives
and then what was taken from our lives.  Time helps heal
our hearts, but there will always be a piece, the piece
we called Kyle, that is not there.  The hole will
wax and wane, depending on so many factors and the pain
will certainly diminish--that we can count on.

But the fact of the matter is that a husband, father, 
brother, son, nephew, grandson, friend and co-worker is
still gone from our lives.

And we miss him.

That's what I've got for today~
Which was awfully long winded.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays from our house to yours~

Much love,

The Nielsons 

 (and goodness I miss this mug so so so very much!)

Monday, November 30, 2015

Coming Full Circle

It's been a while I think. Since I've written.

And writing used to be helpful to clear my mind and soul.
But somewhere in all of this I lost my words and my 
ability to write for a while.

We, the remaining Nielsons, have passed through a painful
and lovely summer all wrapped up in the same fabric of life.

We traveled back to Oceanside with Kyle's family for 
a healing and hard trip to the beach.  

The waves were peaceful, as usual--but the hole of Kyle's
absence ached inside each of us as it rolled in and out
with each wave.  Our souls longed for his presence
and we sat reflectively on the beach aching for a glimpse
of our Superman somewhere on the horizon.

I took my oldest daughter to Portland, Oregon and Cannon
Beach and fell in love with the Pacific Northwest.

That trip was also peaceful and yet the deep ache remained
inside my soul...ever present in the background tapping
at my subconscious mind.

I miss you.  I miss you.  I miss you.
Tap. Tap. Tap.

School started and the familiar routine of life had a way
of helping to pass the long days and weeks, until they
became months again and here we are on the thresh hold 
of December...

...we've almost circled through the entire first year
without Kyle.

A friend asked me recently, "Do you ever look in the 
mirror and say to yourself, 'How am I still here?' ".

To which I replied, "Every single day, my friend.  
Every single day."

It is an amazing testament to me of the resilience of 
the human soul.

We CAN go on. 

We can CHOSE to go on.

As hellish and hard as some days are, I have made
that choice.  To go on.

For Kyle, at first.

For my kids, always.

And slowly I am doing it for myself.

The holidays are unbelievably hard.

I cried my way through my first Thanksgiving 
without Kyle.  My heart felt heavy and the sadness
just kept rolling over me in waves.

Wave after wave.

I miss you.  I miss you.  I miss you.

I know that as we go through what were the last
few weeks of his life last year, my mind will reflect
on so many memories.

Holy, sacred memories of love and living and dying.
Friendship and family and sacrifice.

And also painful, excruciating memories of aching and 
sadness and sickness and decline, and well, dying.

I am only going to do what I can this year.

That won't be very much.

I long to hide away inside my house and sadness
and cry and cry.  It hurts to be around "happy" and 
"holidays" and "family".

If you don't understand, I am glad.

In honor of Kyle I wanted to DO something, he would've
chosen action.  So I started a "blanket" drive.

You see the Huntsman Cancer Institute where he lived 
the last two years of his life was in need.

They take donated blankets and give them out to
cancer patients who need them during chemotherapy.

I hoped for 50.

So far we have now exceeded 100, perhaps we will 
reach 200 blankets.

Thank you so much to all who have helped with
the blankets for Huntsman.  

It would make Kyle happy to see how this blossomed.

It makes me happy during the holidays to see 
good cheer being spread.

I already don't have enough room in my car to 
take them all up, and for that I have never been happier.

And so, we slowly gather the pieces of our hearts,
and our life, together.

Some days have been marvelous blessings.
We have smiled and laughed and found new joy.

Some days have been hard, harder than I could
have ever imagined...and boy oh boy did I imagine.

I guess for BOTH kinds of days I would say I am
grateful.  They are teachers to my soul, these days.

I am a new and changed person, never to be
who I was before this all happened.

My heart has expanded, it is bigger.
For that I am glad.  I will always cherish
and remember the lesson of love Kyle taught me
in his living and dying.

I am grateful for my children who have been 
amazing beyond words in so many ways.

I am so glad for family and friends who have
stuck by my side during the darkest days -- without
them (you) I would not have survived the depth of this pain.

And so here we are, standing on the brink
of coming full circle.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring?

And that's what I've got for today.

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Stuck & Learning

We passed some pretty Big Milestones last month.

Father's Day and the 6 month mark since Kyle died.

They were pretty hard if I do say so myself and
lots of tears were shed and lots of tissues were used.

But here we are, still moving forward.
And believe me when I say that some days 
that is SHOCKING to me.

We are rounding the corner into the 2nd half 
of the first year without him.  

Sometimes I wonder why we put so much emphasis on time, 
and dates, and days, as a way of measuring how far 
we've come, and our grief.

But we do.

I suppose it's natural to keep track of time
in tick marks, showing us how many baby steps
we've taken forward in our journey.

I have watched some of my CC wives move forward
with dating and new love and even marriage, yet
I feel "stuck" here missing my husband.

I am happy for them, but not yet ready to take
those steps myself.

Even as I LONG for the companionship I once had,
I am not ready to welcome it into my life. 
(Is it even a choice?  I don't know)

For I may be alone for the rest of my life-
Certainly I cannot predict the future.

I'm stuck, but not in a bad way I don't think.

Stuck, as in "I'm healing and learning who I am" kind of way.

Listen, I was Kyle's wife for 24 years, and I've been
the mother of my children for 21.  It's been a LONG time
since I concentrated on finding out who *I* am.

Me, Dorien.

You would think at 39 (ahem-who am I kidding?
I'm way past 39!)  I would already know who that was.  

But lets be honest. 

I don't.

Should I?  

I don't even know anymore.

I like to push back at the notion that we as human being
are ONLY complete and happy when we are with someone else, 
and I like to think that it's important to be whole 
and complete with OURSELVES first before we offer what 
we have to anyone else.

Shouldn't we be able to be happy alone too?

With our own selves and our own company and our own friends?

Don't get me wrong, I LOVED being married.  It was both
good and hard.  There was nothing better than having a 
built in best friend at all times, even during the days
that we did not like each other very much.

I miss that part of my life tremendously.
Wholly. With great aching and longing.

Kyle and I often spoke of what would happen if one or the
other died young, before it became a fact that indeed one
of us would.

We BOTH supported the idea of finding a new friend
to continue our lives with.  The thought of raising 4
kids alone, and being alone...was well, lonely.

Laying in bed at night alone, solving problems
alone, making decisions alone?  

ALL lonely.

And as much as my heart longs for human connection, 
I find that I must heal myself first.  I must give myself
sufficient time to grieve and heal. I must become confident
in who I am, me.

Not me, the wife of Kyle.

Not me, the mother of 4 children.

Just me.


And I am finding that is more complicated than I once 
thought.  It will require patience and lots of 
working through the pain and sadness in my heart.

Trying to discover exactly what it is I am meant
to do and who it is that I am meant to be.

And so my family and myself continue forward.

EACH of us trying to rediscover who we are now
that the center of our universe has gone away and left
us to continue on our own.

We are, all 5 of us, digging deep and finding a new
center, and claiming who we are as we travel this
mortal life onward.

So while we may be stuck, missing and longing and
loving that human we called our husband and father--we 
are also learning and growing and stretching ourselves.

It's a process.

And that's what I've got for today.

Thursday, May 28, 2015

Dorien: Unplugged

Last Friday marked 5 months since Kyle died.

People like to say "passed on" or "moved on", it doesn't sound
as harsh or final as dead, or died----but the fact of the matter
is that he is dead.  He died.  And he is no longer here with us.
So I like to say he died.
Well, because he did.

And then it was Memorial Day on Monday.

And the entire day I worked in the yard and did homework and worked in the yard
some more.

My mind conveniently ignored the fact that this was the day I should go by
and visit Kyle's grave site.  It was a conscious choice on my part.

I was practicing avoidance.

Ironically it was ME who insisted on having a site, somewhere to go
and visit for me and the kids, when HE would've preferred
the whole ashes to ashes and wolves in the mountains thing.

And yet, I cannot bring myself to go there.
To where he was laid to rest.

Not yet.

The wound is so raw still.
And this place, the hole in the ground, makes it so real.

My sweet sister in law posted the above picture on her Instagram and Facebook
page late in the day.

It was innocuous enough.

Just a picture of some grass, a rock cairn and some flowers.

Yet it wasn't quite so innocent to me.

And the visceral reaction that tore through my heart and soul
reminded me I have a long way to go on my journey to healing.

It ripped through me and shocked me at how deeply and
profoundly it grabbed me and would not let me go.

Just the sight of that, the rock cairn, the flowers and the grass,
marking where he had been laid to rest, ripped open my scab again
and my heart and soul poured out of body in the form of tears.

Heart rending, soul wrenching, body shaking sobs.

Hard as I might try---there was no escaping the moment.

The "moment" lasted two hours and I lay in bed and wept and wept
for Kyle and his absence from our lives and all that he was missing
and all that he was yet to miss.

Grace, she graduates from High School next Friday
and Josh, he graduates from the University of Utah in 8 more weeks.

Their daddy would be so proud, as am I.

But his absence is looming, this huge shadow of what should have
been witnessed by him and it aches to the depths of my soul in these moments.

So many hours and days and weeks that he won't be here.

Months upon months that add up to years and years of living without him.

So many ups and downs that we must do on our own.

Without Him.

And so many days I wonder if I can....go forward, move ahead, keep going.

There are years and years of space and time to fill and they seem daunting to me.

I gather my children and am reminded of Kyle in the things they do and say.

It's not quite enough to fill what he left behind, but they help remind me of
all that was good in the world, in him.  And I chuckle to see "him" in so
many of the things they do and I sigh and think to myself, "there you are Kyle,
there you are."

And that's what I've got for today.

Sunday, May 3, 2015

The Hole He Left .....

When Kyle died at 3:30 on Christmas Eve last year,
there was a lot of hustle and bustle that followed.

Doctors and nurses and family and friends who all
came to say goodbye and confirm death and help us
get his body ready for the mortuary.

There were tears and hugs and a quiet stillness 
in the air.

After the last stragglers left and I stood, almost
alone, in the hospital room we had called home
for 6 days, I looked out the west facing window.

It was Christmas Eve, the sky was already dark
and ironically all the traffic lights were flashing
red and green.

Christmas colors.

My mind, body, spirit and soul were deeply fatigued
with all they had been through, not only in the past
6 days, but the past 21 months.

I was weary.  A weariness I had never felt before 
in my life.

As I looked out the window, I happened upon my 
tired reflection looking back at me and I thought 
to myself,  "I have just watched my husband DIE.
Die. I can do anything after this."

Little did I know what "anything" would entail for 
the coming 4 months.

As I have struggled to literally just survive, wave after
wave of (expected and unexpected) hard things have hit my
children and family.

Many days bringing me to tears, on top of tears, for 
my already grieving heart and soul.

Remember that I am in "survival mode" at best on many
days.  I am doing the bare minimum JUST to get by.

My heart, mind, soul, body, spirit ACHES for Kyle
on all of those days.

If you haven't walked here---then please don't judge me.

I am doing the very best that I can.

And while I realize that "MY" best is not "someone
else's best"--please always kindly remember it is mine.

With that said, we just passed 4 months.

Can you believe it?  It's only been four months.

Four months and 1000 years all wrapped up together
in the time warp that grief is.

And for the record I am NO WHERE near done missing
Kyle and grieving this loss.

In fact, in some ways I believe it gets harder.

People are tired of hearing me say I miss him and how
hard it is now.  Most people are tired of checking in.

Life has moved on for many, and with it I have had to as well.
There have been birthdays and proms and soon there
will be graduations.  So many firsts without Him.
The empty chair at the table, the empty side of the bed.
The reminders everywhere of the spaces he filled in 
our lives.  In our hearts.

Yet, one has to remember (maybe I need the reminder
most of all) that a piece of me died on 
that Wednesday afternoon in December. 
The piece that belonged to Kyle.  

The part that died has left a huge hole inside of me.  
It is waiting to heal, it is working through the
process and taking baby steps forward.

It is there though and it thrums with every beat of my
very broken heart.  I feel it tenderly sitting there 
inside of me, the freshly ripped open piece of flesh
that is tied both literally to my heart and soul.

It's raw and painful still.

It's trying to just squeak by each day as it 
carries me with it.

Sometimes thoughts or people or memories scratch
and rub at the already raw wound and make it bleed 

And it hurts.

Our family is doing what we know.

We are rising again each day and trying to claw
and laugh and cry our way through all the challenges
we have faced and are facing.

It's a process though, on top of trying to heal the hole
that Kyle left.

But we ARE trying.

And that's what I've got for today.

Friday, March 27, 2015

Post Script: Empty Spaces

I'm a liar.

A big fat liar!

But I have some more words that had to come out!

The day after I posted my last blog post, one of our
cancer friends, a local "superhero" Dov, passed away
from cancer.

The lives Dov touched in his 7 1/2 year battle (against
every odd conceivable) with terminal colon are 

He was a a light on dark days, humor in sad moments
and he gave selflessly of himself from start to finish in 
his battle.

Making people smile and laugh and feel comfortable
in one of life's hardest circumstance.  He had a gift
which he freely shared with all those around him.

When I read the news on Facebook, my heart broke
open a little all over again--tears came and I 
could only think of those he had left behind.

I now knew the journey they must take and it
tore at my heart.

A wife and children and relatives and friends who

Just like Kyle left all those people who 
adored HIM,  Dov was now leaving people who's world
would change in a heartbeat.

Life without....them.

Later that night Olivia and I were laying in bed
and she was telling me about atoms and what she 
had learned in school that day.

She said, "Mom did you know an atom is 99% empty
space?  And that empty space can bend and move
and push things apart...."

When she said that it struck me forcefully that
Kyle, and Dov, and so many others have left this
huge empty space in our hearts and lives.

We are all learning to adjust and learning how
to live with the empty spaces they once filled.

It's a process.

We have to bend and reshape our lives to fit
into new configurations, shapes that are new to 
us, and ways of living that feel foreign and strange.

That same day at work an old co-worker messaged
me and said something about how NOT ONLY am I
grieving the death of my spouse, but I am also
learning to live a WHOLE NEW LIFE as a single 
working mom.

I am trying to fill a whole bunch of empty spaces
in my life with all the roles Kyle once filled.

Only now I'm doing it myself.

Those are some HUGE changes.

She got it, nailed it.

As I read post after post about Dov and his goodness
something broke apart inside of me--in a good way--
and I thought to myself...

There is no way I cannot honor Kyle and Dov, these
people that gave everything to us in the form of
humor and love and goodness, and give up.

I cannot NOT live for the rest of my life.

I MUST live and find joy and happiness for THEM.

For all they gave and sacrificed as they traveled their
journeys from birth to death--filling SO MANY 
empty spaces every single day for all of us.

I choose to find that hope and happiness and joy
in my life.

I choose to get up even when the days are hard.

I choose to love and accept and give and learn and grow.

I choose to try and try again and again and again.

I choose to honor these people who were heroes to me.

A husband I loved, and a friend who loved everyone
he met.

One of Dov's favorite saying was to "Carpe Diem" 
....although he said it much more colorfully and 
I second his choice of words.  (but will spare you them here)
(to give you a hint, he mostly wore F Cancer shirts to 

Friends, let us choose to live, and choose to love!

That's what I've got for today in honor of Dov.

Dov speaking at Kyle's fundraiser last year!
You can see Kyle's green Cancer Kicks (shoes) in the lower left corner!

Kyle and Dov dressed up this Thanksgiving passing out treats
to the patients and staff at the Huntsman Cancer Institute.  This
was literally 4 weeks before Kyle died and was STILL helping 
other people.  If you only knew what was going on this picture
under his costume.  These men were good good good souls.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

An Ending of Sorts,,,

Today is the 3 month mark since Kyle died.

It's crazy to me the way time has warped in and out 
of itself.  

Bending and folding and moving forward, carrying us 
with it every single day.

For this entire journey I've used this blog
as a platform for my feelings, Kyle's story,
and a journal of sorts.

It has been cathartic and therapeutic.

I have touched people and offended people 
all in the same post.

(That takes great talent I'll have you know!)

In the past few days I have felt like his journey,
while it will continue to unfold forever in a million
different ways in the ripples and imprints his children 
will have on the world, is done.

The story of the evil cancer, and all that came 
to pass because of it, has finished.

The story now unfolds in a new way for all of us.

It is about new challenges and fresh starts
and beginning again in so many different ways.

In many ways big parts of my "old life", the life
before cancer, are gone--forever now.

It makes me sad and crushes my heart some days.
It makes me curious to see what the future holds
on other days.

We are all changed people because of this journey
we took, through no choice of our own.

Mostly, and in the biggest way, I feel like myself
and my children are the most changed.  

I cannot speak for any extended family, nor will
I.  It is not my place to say for them how they
have or have not been changed, although I would 
imagine many of them feel the same.

Or maybe not?
I do not know.

I have spoken often lately with my CC wives, 
who are all now widows.  
This cancer has stolen so many young lives,
so many young fathers, and left us widows and 

Orphans in a way.  Left alone to flounder
at sea until we find new footings to stand on.
Fresh courage to move ahead and patience with
ourselves to move through the process, which
is long and arduous. 

So many of us have said that the people around us do
not know how to deal with cancer and death and we
have been left by the wayside in many ways.

Lives carry on.

Including our lives.

Yet, it will be with new friends and new relationships
and new jobs and new lives--literally.

For there is no going back to what we once had.

There are only memories and ghosts of memories.

I told my friend today that it's been 3 of the 
longest months of my life and yet in those 
3 (also very short) months I cannot remember
what Kyle's laugh sounds like anymore.

I have tried and tried and I cannot find it anywhere 
in my memory.

Maybe it will return, but for now it's gone.

And as I move forward there are so many things I am
afraid of forgetting.  So to remember I talk about him.

Please always let me talk about him.

No matter where my path leads, Kyle will always be
a part of my life and my heart and my children and 
what we are made of.  The very DNA of our family.

And so today, I am bidding this blog a fond farewell.

It is quite literally a part of my soul.
The very most vulnerable part.

It is my heart ripped open and bleeding on page 
after page of my life.

It is the expression of my love for the dearest man
in my life.

It is the bitter heartache and tears of a bullet
train of death speeding toward me for 2 straight years.

It is honest and raw and the only way I knew how to 
do this.

Forgive me for not knowing any other way.

I will probably find some obscure place to keep 
typing where no one can see anymore.

I am not sure my heart can be this brittle and broken,
and find a way to heal, unless I can let out my truth.

All of my truth--and not everyone needs to, or wants
to hear that truth.

Because while there is plenty of good, there is also
still great great deep and abiding sadness my soul
must work through to heal.

And so I bid adieu to these pages that have so kindly
hosted my words.

And I bid goodbye to all those who have read and 
commented for both good and bad.  I am so grateful
for friendships forged and people "met" and
news and information that could be shared because
of what I wrote.

I may update every now and again and we pass through
some milestone that deserves to be honored, but until
then this is an ending of sorts.

As I begin this journey of the "other side".

The side without Kyle.  And cancer.
And cholangio-freakin-carcinoma.

A journey of healing and trying to find light
and life and laughter and joy again in my life
without him.

A journey in his honor.

Because we promised we would ...

find joy
and happiness
and live the life he could not finish living.

And that's what I've got for today.

Kyle last spring in the red rocks of
Southern Utah (MOAB/ARCHES National Park).
This was the dearest place to his hearts.

And Kyle loved Edward Abbey, so I will 
leave you all with this quote:

"May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome
and dangerous, leading to the most amazing views."

Go seize the day people and find some amazing views
in your life to honor this wonderful soul!