Written April 4, 2011 As many of you know by now, Rob passed away at 12:30 a.m. on Saturday, March 26 (2011). I have been at home thinking of how hard he fought cancer, and how we did not talk at length about death. All of our energy has been toward beating this. We arrived at Arlington Memorial Hospital at 2:00 a.m. on March 17 because Rob was getting too sick. His parents came straight from New Mexico. At the time, we assumed it was because of all the fluid in his abdomen, but we later found out that it was all his enlarged liver. The chemo stopped working, and the CT scan showed tumors “too numerous to count”. The kidneys shut down, so he had dialysis daily. He began speaking less and it was harder for him to roll over in bed, let alone sit up. He drank so much water. The nurses provided me a bed so I could sleep more comfortably while spending the night. I would look at the new date written on the white board, and wonder which of those dates would be burned in my memory as the day I lost Rob. Every morning, I bathed Rob. He was embarrassed for the nurses to do it. I remember how Rob used to exercise and somehow maintained the same weight as the day we got married. Lately, when he felt ashamed of his body and asked me to turn away, my response was, “What if I was the one in this bed? Would you still think I was pretty?” He could not refuse anymore. At the hospital, I cherished every bath, every teeth brushing, every brushing of his hair, every lotion application. On the Friday before, he stopped eating. I kept telling him not to give up. I remember yelling at him actually. We had more family come, and we heard the terrible news together. There was nothing else we can do. I texted and emailed to let everyone know. Many came that Friday night. I held his right hand for hours, his mother, Pam, held his left hand, and his big brother, Jeff, gently scratched his head and whispered in his ear. His last words were, “I love you.” I remember looking at Pam grieving, trying to make sense of this. His father, Bob, held her. We all felt him slowly slipping away. His hands began to shake. His breathing lessened. He finally gave his last breath. Through tears, Pam and I looked at each other. I kept saying, “I’m sorry.” Sometime later, a man in a pristine white coat came in and placed his stethoscope on Rob’s chest. After exactly a minute, he rose back up and said, “I’m very sorry for your loss.” At that time, the world stopped. Disbelief. He was only 41 years old. My family cleaned out Room 3201 of all personal belongings. My sister, Joy, took me home. Rob’s parents had already left. When I got home, my sweet Kitty Kitty was so happy to see me. She must have rubbed on Joy and me all night. I slept for four hours, but I don’t think his parents got a wink. My sisters were in funeral research mode. I asked my mom to call Emily Moss, who has been in Arlington for over 50 years. She recommended Arlington Funeral Home. It is a beautiful place, located right next to the Cowboys Stadium. Rob would have liked that. Just 12 hours after Rob passed away, I am being asked a million questions, one of them being if I would like to be buried beside him, or on top. By this time, my hands were on my head as I stared at the funeral director in disbelief. As I sat speechless, my sweet mother-in-law lovingly told me that I am young and that I might remarry. I needed to keep that in mind for the burial plots. By this time, my mouth is hanging open, and my sister spoke on my behalf saying, “Top and Bottom. Next question.” Dynise was so smart to have us go to the funeral home 3 hours before visitation. The shock of seeing him look so good in that navy suit with the flag draped over his casket…..it was as if he was never sick. The slideshow of pictures throughout the years was wonderful. I decided that Boots needed to be with him. (She passed in July and we had her cremated.) The thought of her laying on his chest forever is perfect. We also put in a Jango Fett action figure. The graveside service was beautiful. Two sailors folded, then handed me a flag while thanking me for Rob’s service to this country. This meant the world to his father. Then my friend, Ruben, sang the Josh Groban song, “To Where You Are.” My brother-in law, Barry, gave a beautiful eulogy, speaking of Rob being a lover and not a fighter, though he was in the navy. Rob did love many people, but after thinking about this, he fought like a warrior against this horrible disease. Barry spoke of when we first met, and how I was his Princess Leia. I have had family with me throughout the last 2 weeks, but the afternoon after the burial, I asked everyone to go. I needed that alone time to grieve. I have now been home for a week, and I now feel the gravity. I sometimes go and sit by his grave and talk to him. I miss seeing his smile. I miss him saying funny, sometimes unintentional jokes. I miss scratching his head before going to bed. I miss him neatening-straightening. I miss helping him bathe and putting gel in his hair. I just miss him. Sometimes these thoughts come up: You are not supposed to die at age 41. You are not supposed to marry the love of your life, then ten years later, say good-bye. Why does cancer have to exist? Parents should not have to stand at their child’s casket, feeling that the order of things is way off, begging to be taken instead. Then I think of how we have been able to function for this long. God. For the past week, I was waiting for some sort of explosion from within. It never came. Crying from memories, but not an explosion. For the past two years, it was God preparing me for this. It was God telling me to constantly say, “I love you”, and showing affection every chance I got. It was God that told me to not go to work because Rob was worried about chemo. It was God waking me up in the middle of the night because Rob needed water. It was God that gave me the strength to stare into Rob’s eyes when he took his last breath. Thank you for all the cards, gifts, food, flowers, attending visitation and the service, and for asking me daily, “What can I do?” I will pray about that. Somehow, God will tell me.