We first learned Mike had cancer four years ago this month. Of all the cancers, he said his was the one he most feared. Esophageal cancer is treatable, but rarely curable.

Last fall, after two subsequent diagnoses, several hospitalizations and countless outpatient visits for hydration, he accepted hospice care. 

I’ve said before that hospice nurses are angels. I was reminded of that when I pulled that note from the Good Stuff jar. He wanted to die at home. His nurse suggested he would be more comfortable at Bowers.

They helped him more than I could have. And I’m grateful.

I really miss sharing news with Mike. I’ve thought so many times – especially recently – how much he would have wanted to know … well. 

If you know, you know. Winky face.

I woke up yesterday to the news that WVU’s Coach Huggins resigned. He’s had a tough year. He’s made some not-great news. Maybe this recent incident will be his wake-up call. 

I really don’t have anyone else to talk to about it, now that Mike’s gone.

I watched a TED talk recently about addiction, which concluded that the opposite of addiction is connection. 

I agree. I think Mike would, too.

That hat.

He wore it everywhere. 

Mike graduated from the University of Virginia, but he didn’t really embrace being a Wahoo. UVA wasn’t his first choice. He endured it. He was, at heart, a Mountaineer, opting to go to West Virginia University for medical school.

In August, 2017, we watched, shocked, as men carrying torches marched across the lawn – Jefferson’s lawn, sacred ground – chanting “Unite the right!”

That was the night Mike became a UVA alum. We went to Charlottesville shortly after the demonstration. We donated to the Brody Jewish Center. And we went to Mincer’s.

To buy that hat.

When you start going through personal items and Things That Must Be Kept, you’re bound to find a mystery or two. I mean, that’s a major plot point for many a novel, right?

My Mike mystery is an indecipherable code. Only two short paragraphs in one of only two of his notebook journals I’ve found.

I haven’t spent a lot of time trying to figure it out. I’ve spent more time wondering why he felt the need to write in code. Where did it come from? Did he make it up? 

And if so – how freaking smart was he, anyway?

Mike’s faith was never in question, although his presence in church was hit or miss for much of his adult life. In March, 2011, he found a lump in his throat. His ENT specialist suggested he put his affairs in order.

He stopped smoking, updated his will, arranged for a biopsy. And he started attending Ascension Episcopal Church regularly.

The tumor was benign, and was successfully removed. A miracle, he said. He didn’t start smoking again, and he didn’t stop showing up at Ascension, until chemotherapy treatment compromised his immunity. 

I took his place, and was confirmed a year ago. 

In the more-than 25 years Mike and I lived together, his accountant prepared and filed our taxes. Prior to that, I filed my own the old-fashioned way – picked up a form at the post office, gathered documents, completed the form, and mailed it.

He had always hired an accountant.

To be fair, his financial life was much more complicated than mine. And he hated filling out forms.

I pulled the pictured slip of paper from our “Good Things” jar this morning. Last year he finally agreed our tax life was simple enough to let me do them. TurboTax for the win!

I’m so grateful for our friends.

Mike was, too. 

Two of those friends have died since Mike did. I’m a little jealous they all get to hang out, while the rest of us muddle along without them. I mean, I’m happy they’re not suffering. But still …

I didn’t take pictures of everyone who came to see us those last few weeks. I wish I had, but as the saying goes, “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”

I’ve thanked you all before, and I know I’d leave someone out if I started naming names. You know who you are. Namaste.