I have now officially become one of those annoying coffee shop geeks. I type this via wi-fi at Prince Street Cafe in downtown Lancster while drinking one of my favorite cups of joe and waiting for food to arrive. I am not sure if this is a proud, welcome to the new millenium, moment, or an “I’ve become one of those” moments. I hope its the first.

I am hoping this will be the start of the novel. I find inspiration in places other than my home, as I think is evidence from my past blogging. Of course, now, with Kev being gone, my life is much less busy and chaotic. I would give anything to care for him 24/7 if that meant he was still here. I would have taken care of him for a lifetime, but I also know that would not have been fair to his quality of life. For whatever reason, this is my journey.

I am finding it difficult to accept that he is not here physically. It almost feels like he’s on an extended vacation and I just can’t talk to him. Sometimes it hits me that he is definitely not on this earth, but other times it’s just as if I can’t see or talk to him. It is frustrating. I just don’t understand, and I tthat I ever will. I believe that’s the hardest part of grief, the lack of understanding. I am so grateful to have a faith in God that acknowledges Kevin is in a better place and that one day I can join him. For others, this knowledge is not so, and it must be even more lonely for them. I trust in God’s plan, in his ultimate grace and mercy that shows me amazing things will come out of this. But it is still beyond my understanding as to why we were chosen for this horrific task.

This disease is unbelievable. It is so misunderstood, it is so unknown, it is so underfunded for research. For the few thousands that are affected by this cancer each year, it is such a lonely road. There is no direct cause, little understanding, minimal treatment, no pre-diagnostic markers. For so many, as in Kevin’s case, by the time it is found, it is beyond what little treatment options there are. I am grateful that our doctor took a risk, and gave him treatment to give us 4 months together. Many others don’t get that time. God granted us those 4 months to impact many, and to give us a deeper appreciation of a love most never find.

I cannot imagine of the life Kev is living in heaven, nor the fun he is enjoying with his father. It must be so amazing. However amazing, at times I wish he were here on this much less perfect planet, with me. Building out life together, being healthy, being in love for years and years. I just do not understand why that was taken from me.

I feel so misundertood. I feel disconnected from the world. My grief, most times, is indescribable, nothing anyone else can comprehend. We walk a similar journey with others who are grieving, but each of our grief is still so unique. While most 24 year olds are beginning careers, dating, finding love, going out with friends to parties, and living “the life, I am a 24 year old woman who gave up her job, found the love of her life, witnessed a debilitating disease destroy the only man who made her whole, and watched as he passed just over 3 and a half years after they met. I have had a lifetime in just a few short years, and I don’t want it. I want Kev and OUR life, not this memory of this disease and his death.

Grief is such a bitter tool that eats at us. Before Kev, I had never lost anyone really close to me. I hate that my first loss has to be my greatest loss. No one should have to lose a child, or a husband, so young. Life was meant to be long and full of zest, not short and at times full of angst.

I am still amazed at the emotions this road is bringing to me. Everday I get these beautiful cards and beautiful gifts from so many people, many of whom I never had the opportunity to meet. I am going to visit friends who have stood by me through this terrible journey, and I have the opportunity to speak to thousands through this great technology.

And despite all this that I am so grateful to have, I feel lonely and broken.

Despite all the support, this is a journey only I can walk and feel. I can be held up at times by those who love me, and broken apart by the grief that eats at my soul. I embrace those surrounding me, yet cry my heart out when I feel my total loss.

There is only hope in a faith that I barely understand. There is only mercy in a God a cry out to every day. There is only grace in the family that has brought me through this storm. There is only support from my true friends who stand with me when the winds try to sweep me away.

There is hope. There is life. Right now..it’s just a lonely, deceiving road. I thank you for riding along with me, for supporting me and lifting me up. God is going to bring not only me, but you, through this. I trust in Him for that mercy and grace. I pray for it daily, for God to just bring me through this storm. He will. I trust…but I still hurt.