Living for Liz

The past few days have been much easier for me, even though Liz is still declining. I was at dinner last night with one of my best friends from high school, and she asked me, "How have you come to terms with this?" I thought about it for a moment, and then found my answer.

I haven't. I'm nowhere close to coming to terms with any of this. Yet something has changed, something that has enabled me to be cheerful and not to constantly break down and weep. I don't know quite how to describe it.

Every day seems busier, more full of things to do. Every day, I write a letter to Liz, telling her all the details from the day before. Last night, as I tried to answer my friend's question, I realized that now, no matter what I am doing, part of my brain is taking down details to put into the next letter. It's as though I'm writing into a diary, but the diary is named Liz. She can't go out to the movies, or to baseball games, or walk in the rain. But I can. And I can tell her all about it, in as much detail as possible.

She is never far from my thoughts. The sorrow, the fear, the confusion, the anger- they are not gone. They have simply been pushed aside, left on a backburner for the time being. When I first had to cancel my most recent trip to Pittsburgh, I asked, "How can I go to work, or go out with my friends, knowing what she is going through?" Now I seem to have found my way. I keep going, because the more I do, the more I have to share with Liz.