Something has been missing in Gil since the Valium sent him down. I feel annihilated along with him.

January 16
No time to write for more than two weeks. Each time we think things can't get worse, they do. Gil's physical problems continue to multiply. And as he gets sicker, he slips further away.

I spend a fair amount of time wishing things were different. Mornings mostly. Mona stirs at 5 or 6 for milk and usually can be put back to sleep for an hour or two. Then I'll come back to bed, lie stiff as a board attempting relaxation while my mind spins out the lengthening list of undone tasks. Or I will slip up beside Gil in something that passes for snuggling, though as the months have worn on and his pain and other symptoms increase, I've sidled up ever more gingerly, wary, watching that I don't disturb his fitful sleep, at the same time desperate, willing him into our day with me, willing him and me back in time.

Editor's Note: In the last week of January, tests showed Gil's cancer was not responding to treatment. Together, he and Lisa made the decision to terminate therapy and call in hospice. Gil died peacefully at home in Washington on January 29.

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