Only . . .

Today, as if completely logical, I picked up the phone, dialed Mike’s cell phone number, and left him a long voicemail. I asked him if he was feeling better, gave him a quick update on things, and told him how much I missed him. When I hung up the phone, I felt lifted.

It has been one month since Mike joined the angels. Yet, I continue to look for him everywhere and talk to him daily. No, I am not in denial, and as far as I can tell, my sanity is still intact. For the past nine years, in some form or another, my life has been for Mike, about Mike, and with Mike. That he is no longer physically here does not mean that I don’t feel him around me. Mike is here; he never really left. I sense his presence in every room. He shines through every memory, every joke, every conversation, and every thought. I feel him each and every second. From this, I derive immeasurable comfort.

While I can easily go on and on about how much I miss Mike, how I am coping, and what I have done to fill my time over the last month, this blog isn’t about me. It never was. I created this blog to share our story, not mine. So instead of rambling about myself, I will share another example of Mike’s amazing spirit: A few days ago, I found (not that it was really ever lost, but forgotten in the chaos of our life) a special notebook that Mike had made for my birthday this past April. In it, Mike wrote: “because of you Lizzy, this year has been the best year of my life. Even with everything going on, I would not change my life for anything.” I sat there and read and reread the words he wrote in disbelief. Only Mike could be so positive. Only Mike would call a year filled with cancer (in his brain, no less), surgeries, chemo, brain radiation, hospital visits, medications, and pain the “best” year of his life. Only Mike would find true happiness where most people would only find despair. Only Mike would be so kind and so loving to give me that much credit. Only Mike.

May I one day be half as hopeful, half as positive and half as strong as Mike always was. May I one day learn to focus on the joys of life, on the good. May I one day look at life with half the optimism Mike always did. Really, may we all.