  This is my first blog entry. Very exciting. Dreaming is my key to survival these last 8 months, but this morning I came up empty.
I've been dreaming that my husband (passed away September 15, 2003; a month to the date before he turned 50) is alive with us still. Our 7-year-old daughter is certain Adrian's spirit is here, thankfully. At various times I feel his presence but others I come up empty and sad and mad that he's gone. Every long day without him, I work hard to connect with his spirit and the good memories. I can only hope I see the signs he sends me that his spirit is here, because the hole he's left is huge.
So how did he die? Condensing that to one paragraph sucks, because it is such a heart-wrenching story of love, courage and strength. This year I would like to get moving on the book. Adrian was a 5-year NHL cancer (non-Hodgkin's lymphoma) survivor; we all were, as the whole family went through the battle together.
He had a rough battle, on life support and almost died, but he fought back, learned to walk and live again. We had 5 really good years, I'm incredibly grateful for those. But due to happy neglect we missed recent signs of cancer (a rare T-cell lymphoma) because he was waiting for a 2nd kidney transplant (his first, 12 years prior had been a combined kidney pancreas due to Juvenile diabetes). Thankfully Adrian went quickly on this final hospital visit. His body had fought so hard, and far longer than most, before it gave out.
He had gained all of my respect and love during our short 16 years together. Now I still feel grateful for what we had, the subtle love everywhere. Our 7-year-old daughter is our miracle, both through conception and as a living memory of Adrian. Much more to say, I rarely write short, this will be a first. More later? Thanks for listening. 
