Last night I had a major anxiety attack around midnight. Deep breaths did not calm, sitting in a yoga position trying to find my center did nothing, my skin felt crawling, my heart raced, my mind was jumbled. I have not felt that intense of anxiety since Kevin’s first surgery when we did not know if we could come out alive. What was the cause?

As I blogged recently, I am a height of “closure” in my grieving life. Most paperwork has been changed properly to reflect his death, his headstone is now placed marking his permanence of death, an event was held in his memory to raise money for the cancer that took him, and this week I head to his hometown for the first time since his memorial. You could say I am slightly stressed.

Letting go of him, of the things that placed him on this earth, is entirely different than the emotional closure. I believe I will never fully be closed emotionally, nor would I want to be, of what we had on this earth, and of his loss. The mortal things, though, that held his memory here, that in a sense kept him alive on earth despite his death, are mostly gone. I rarely receive mail in his name, except for the last few medical statements that have gone unprocessed or dealt with. I have procrastinated to the point of no end in switching his car registration to my brother in law which I am currently playing phone tag with Penndot to do so (ugh!), his memory now lives on physically in a head stone, and a Team Sarcoma named after his battle with angiosarcoma. But he has left so much more in our hearts.

Seeing the physical parts being eliminated from this world is extremely difficult. It places him solely in my mind, my heart, my memory. Very rarely does his full name, or the presence of him being on this earth, pass across me. It is definitely disheartening. His 36 years on this earth and few physical reminders of his presence. Will it be that way for all of us?

While I am happy to be seeking closure in that regard, to make my life easier, to make my future more fruitful, it is difficult letting those things release. This trip to Winnipeg, starting tomorrow, will be extremely emotional, and will either stir some more heartache, or give me some release, but most definitely a bit of both.

When I come back, how will I be changed? Will I feel that release that I seek, will I let go a bit more to move forward? Will I be less angry at those who could not handle his death? Will I be able to cherish the memories without the physical reminders? I hope so.

Still highly anxious today, preparing for the trip not only with errands that need to be run, but with the mindset I need to get through this trip and actually enjoy myself.

I am sure some of you who are new to the world of Sarcoma Cancer are wondering where we came up with the phrase “keepin’ it Kevin”, besides the obvious thing: Kevin was, well, Kevin! Unfortunately for those who never had the opportunity to meet Kevin, you were not able to experience his zest for life. I have never met a man who was so driven to conquer something. Not just with Sarcoma Cancer, but with his entire life.

When Kevin met me, he was determined to be with me. I was very resistant to the idea of a 2500 mile long distant relationship with a man 12 years older. I knew it would be difficult, and it was to say the least. But he charmed me, and won me-not with anything overtly grand, but with a genuine soul, a warm heart, and an incredible love.

When we were married, he was always driven to work hard, to begin an entirely new career. He had spent the past 10 years working as a UPS driver in Canada, and instead of starting his career over here in the States, he opted for a new challenge. We sent his resume to dozens of heating and air conditioning companies hoping someone would give him the time of day and agree to apprentice train him to become a certified HVAC technician. Rohrer’s One Hour Heating & Air Conditioning took that very chance, and although there were some bumps along the way, they kept him on, sent him to training in Arkansas, had him apprentice with the other guys, and he fit right in with a great company. In the end, they came through in amazing ways to help us through the cancer ordeal.

Kevin was a workout-aholic. He would spend hours at the gym, and despite the fact that I was completely opposite in that regard, he encouraged and pushed me to get in shape. He trained me on all the weight machines and the proper ways to lift and before we knew it, I was pushing more weight than most of the women in the gym, and we were a great workout team. He was dedicated to taking care of his body, to staying fit and active.

He grew up fishing with his grandfather in the abundant lakes around Winnipeg, Manitoba. It was a great memory for him. When we met, he became fascinated with the East Coast waters. His first trip to meet me, we went fossil finding at the renowned Calvert Cliffs in Maryland to find fossils-he was intense about this search. From that, he developed a deep love of the Atlantic Ocean, and before I knew it, he was passionately reading and researching online about surf fishing off the coast. I introduced him to my favorite beach, Assateague Island, Maryland which he loved as much as I, but for the fish. He spent time investigating proper techniques and practicing them. Sometimes he would spend 2 hours setting up the nearly perfect line, rig and hook, and by the fall of that first year, he had hooked himself a 4′ bull shark off the coast.

He was diagnosed-he had quickly gone downhill in a matter of weeks, came off the ventilator in record time from how his counts looked. Our oncologist sat and told us of the news of his possibly permanent esophagectomy (removal of his esophagus), of the type of cancer and treatment that lie ahead-of the realities. Kevin optimistically looked at the disease, and we agreed to REFUSE to acknowledge or view statistics. Every time coming off of another ventilator round, or another day surgery, yet another failure with his feeding tube, the numerous trips to the ER in the middle of the night with complications, he continued forward. He was determined. It was not until the night before he passed that he realized the battle could not be won, but he had won it in spirit and heart.

He Kept it Kevin no matter what. He approached cancer like he approached every single thing in life-with an amazing vigor, an action plan, an undeniable determination that could not be met. It was because of his belief that he would beat this disease that kept me going. His faith in himself, in God, in the doctors, the treatment, and mostly in Me, kept us trekking through the constant struggles we dealt with on a minute by minute basis. He kept me strong, and it is because of that, that I want to work on keepin’ it Kevin.

So I attack this benefit, the Keepin’ it Kevin Team Sarcoma Bike/Walk/Run being held this Saturday at 10 am, with that vigor. I will annoy you with my tweets, my posts, my constant attention to the event, because that is what Kevin would do. I want us to Keep it Kevin in everything we do-to attack life with a driving force that we capture those dreams, that we strive for success in all that we do, that we succeed even when it doesn’t seem like a success. Success does not always come in the form we expect, but if we keep it Kevin, it will be a success.

Closure is not a word that gets used often in grief. This week I go to give the final “OK” on Kevin’s tombstone-the marker noting his final resting place. Yes, it has taken me over 1.5 years to take care of this, but honestly, before that, I just could not think about that. Having him in that ground is one thing, having him marked with a death date stamp is another.

This week is also Team Sarcoma-raising money on behalf of the disease that killed him. This is something I had discussed doing with Kevin when he was initially diagnosed, and here I am, planned with my first event, and already it is a success. I cannot wait to see the treasures that Saturday will bring, but I also know it will be a great time of deep emotion as I meet other sarcoma survivors, those who were left behind, and hang out with all those who have greatly supported me in this journey.

While not all his medical items are closed out yet, or are a few things “finalized”, for the most part, the Kevin chapter of my life is closed on a logistical basis. I have moved forward and done most of the things that one does after a death. The emotional part of closure, however, will never come. The understanding will never be fulfilled. This will always be an open wound, sometimes scabbed, blistered, nearly healed, other times oozing, infected, aggravating.

In grief, you never fully “heal” or find absolute “closure”. Your life continues forward, you learn to integrate grief with your daily life, you find happiness in between the moments of pain and reflection, and you move forward in the best way you possibly can, always feeling tugs from the past. Sometimes those tugs guiltily pull at your everyday life, where you feel like you’re cheating, like you have done your past wrong, wondering if the past taught you anything about your future.

In just 10 days I will traveling north to Canada, my first visit to Kevin’s home city since his Memorial in November 2008. The chance to meet with some of his friends whom I no longer have contact with, the chance to hopefully seek closure in those relationships-to find some resolve in being left as his widow. It’s not that I haven’t felt support-my friends and family have been amazing, Kevin family has been amazing, some of his friends have been superb; but some just could not handle it, and that I do understand. It hurts, and it’s hard, but I understand when the pain is too great to address. But in that, it left me feeling alone, abandoned by the people who knew him best. I hope this trip will give me some closure on those feelings, whether they are valid or not.

With my friends and family I can reminisce about Kevin on the past few years that I knew him, but with his dearest friends, ones who had known him most of their lives, there were no memories to share. The phone calls were not there to remember “when” or to hear about how awesome of a guy he was. Do they still reminisce amongst each other, or do they move forward in denial that he’s really gone? I wish I had the opportunity to hear those memories, to share mine with them, to embrace each other in the memory of a great man.

This entire month is one big closure feast. Anniversaries of tragedies past, moving forward and the things that acknowledge that fact, and closure on relationships that fell away. So much to process, yet no time to do so. I imagine on the 26+ hour drive to Winnipeg, there will be much time for reflection before the many tears I am sure to shed while I am there.

I’m glad he’s “home”, I’m glad he’s not in pain anymore. I do not regret my past, nor will I try to with my future. I am doing what I think and hope is best to move forward from something that was and continues to be the most difficult event of my life. I would love to be released from it all, but as I said before, one never gets full closure with grief.

I do not want this to happen again. I do not want to hear another story about a young couple dealing with a completely unexpected, and devastating cancer. I do not want to hear there are few options in treatment because there’s just “not enough research” or it’s “too rare”. I do not want someone else to have to fight like Kevin had to fight, and I do not want there to be another family left behind watching their loved one pass from a disease that kills many.

So that’s why I’m doing THIS.

I am so hopeful-we have about 40 “registered” attendees so far, and I imagine many more will just show up the day of the event. I have 75 t-shirts and 100 bracelets for those who come, and although I think it will stink those that don’t get there in time to get a T or bracelet, how awesome would it be to exceed that amount?

Now that I know that SOMEONE out there, some group in the medical world, has deemed Angiosarcoma worthwhile of warranting a $50,000 grant request, it just validates what I want to see in the outcome of the Team Sarcoma events. Not only would I LOVE to have that research grant APPROVED, but also be able to say “hey, my Team helped to fund that.” It would be so awesome.

I know the annulment of cancer is just a complete vague and ridiculous thought, but it’s a nice one nonetheless. I think of all those whose lives have been ridiculously affected by cancer, and I break. One man was just buried today after his ruthless battle with cancer, another friend battles on with the chemo in a race to beat the evil disease. More have passed, more will have to battle in the future, possibly you, possibly I.

I have a hope, a dream, to provide a voice to those who have gone from this world because of this terrible cancer, especially Sarcoma. I want to speak out for those who have been left behind, and for those in the future, that they may have more hope than we did. Not just hope, but options. Options are key.

Help join me, please.

It’s been months since I have made mention of my former Quad J Cancer Squad, but today there is a very sad, but important update.

Unfortunately, now two of the J’s have passed from this world. We lost Jennifer to Angiosarcoma last year, which was such a sad loss for me, as her and I connected on a deep level through our personal experiences with Angiosarcoma.

Today the world loses Jerry, to esophagael cancer. I met Jerry’s family at a local church, and our families prayed for one another as both Kevin & Jerry faced very similar surgeries and situations dealing with esophagael located cancers. He has battled long and hard, with many ups and downs, and today, he rests, and his family does as well, but it is such a weary, lonesome rest.

I am happy to say the other two J’s are doing well-Julie is in remission and doing great-she is such an amazing spirit. I do not have the official update on Jason, but I know he is around and from what I understand, well.

With Jerry’s loss, I know that another widow has entered the world. I know that children have lost their father. I know a community has lost a great man, an amazing musician, and a kind soul.

While I never got to know Jerry well, I walked with their family and journeyed with them and their story as they have faced this battle of cancer, and it is never easy. I will walk with them now. Sending love and hugs.

July is insane. I look ahead, and go, wait, is it August? In 2 days I’ll be enjoying a hopefully quiet camping beach vacation outside of Assateague with my parents and siblings. In 11 days, I’ll be leading the first EVER central Pennsylvania Team Sarcoma event (http://www.facebook.com/TeamSarcomaPA), and in 17 days I’ll be leaving on a 10 day trip with my parents to drive to Winnipeg to visit family. Then July is done. Yep, that’s it.

I started off this summer clearing my plate so that I could literally do what I wanted, when I wanted, and that has not really happened. A bit yes, but mostly I have just been insanely planned, which is so typical of me. I love to plan, but I do not always love to follow through completely. The planning part of me definitely thrives more than the follow through. It’s why I’m one of annoying dreamers who doesn’t achieve even 10% of what I want, or do I?

July takes me back to a lot of things-this time two years ago we (Kevin & I) were returning early from our trip to Winnipeg when he became increasingly ill. I don’t want to keep going back, but that is what brought me here-to traveling to the beach without my spouse, to organizing a Team Sarcoma Event in honor of his passing, to visiting my in-laws in Winnipeg alone, for the first time since his memorial.

Death has brought me to a lot of places, most of which I have not enjoyed, but it has also brought me into a lot of lives that I deeply cherish. These connections, this community, while it has kept me insanely busy, it has also helped me blossom into someone I am proud to be-someone who DOES follow through and hopefully inspires others to do the same.

I think all our life events shape us, and death has certainly done that for me, but so has love. The love I experienced prior to his passing taught me a lot about selflessness, and the ability for love to overshadow many inconveniences in life.

What is shaping you?

I wear a badge of honor that says, “Widow”. It was stamped on me over a year and a half ago, and I wear it with pride. It is a part of my life, a part of who I am on this day, something I have earned with all of its heartache.

But my badge of honor needs to get put on the shelf sometimes. I like being defined as human, as woman, as writer, blogger, musician, heartfelt chica with a past-not necessarily as ‘widow’. It’s a badge I have earned no doubt, but not one that defines myself.

I like the fact that I’m putting it away-that I have found myself in my own skin, not just wearing the veil of widowhood. I have found dreams again, things I love to do that are specifically me, and people who appreciate me as Brenda, not as widow.

I like that I’m hanging up that part of my life-that I’m learning to not use it as an excuse, but instead, to use it as a tool that has helped me learn so much about life and relationships. I wonder what my next brownie badge will be?

My life contains a lot of “re”. Life is constantly cycling, going from one event to another, but often landing me back at some point near the beginning. A growing process where I start over, but with a different purpose, drive, and ultimately more knowledge.

This past week has contained much of those feelings, and lots of cycling. Re-evaluating dreams and my purposes for working towards them, adjusting my life to fit others while moving forward with my own, pursuing dreams to reach goals that are within my immediate reach and finding a drive I felt I had lost.

My life is heading into a refreshing light-there are so many amazing things, and people, and community, that surround me that I am trying to take advantage of all the passionate resources I have surrounding me. Yet, still, within that knowledge of what I have available to me, I still feel those fears, that disappointment of the past, the remembering a tougher time.

This time two years ago Kevin & I were on the phone constantly trying to find resources for the cause of his swallowing issues, and heading into the downward spiral of his illness. This time of year, as many other dates such as our anniversary, his birthday, the death anniversary, all cause me to pause and reflect. Some slow down my emotional process, and this time of year, that is what happens. My emotions are partially consumed by remembering a past that was painful, and it becomes hard to deal with my daily duties and decisions. Overwhelmed is what I become, and in a very unhealthy manner.

Today I am cycling back to eating healthier again, back to exercise, to feeling confident in my job and abilities, driving me to a passionate push for the upcoming Team Sarcoma Event and its’ success, and a life ahead about which I CAN dream. I am allowed to dream.

Sometimes, however, I still cycle back in that, and the fear of dreaming chokes me-takes away any zest for what I want to accomplish because the last time I dreamed like crazy, I lost it all. It takes a lot of guts, a lot of gumption, and basically, a ballsy spirit to get back on that horse and dream again, knowing that quite possibly life can and will be pulled out from under me. Yet, I will still have to treck on, to move forward, to not continue to be stopped by the tough events of life, because, well, that’s life.

Here I am, cycling back from the beginning, but with a better bike, stronger muscles, and a bit too much protection. I need to let go a bit, time to take off the brakes, and glide down that hill.