Cancer Changes Everything

This  blog post, like "Married Without a Spouse," is a different type of entry. This blog post was prompted by me breaking down so hard on Sunday that it brought me to my knees in tears. This post is prompted by my hatred of cancer. To put it mildly, cancer sucks. Cancer is one of the most awful, dreadful, confusing, heart wrenching diseases and on July 1, 2014 cancer changed our lives forever.

I have been doing well. In fact I was doing really well. I still miss Seth, that goes without saying, but I have been living my life fully and honoring him all the while. I started exercising semi-regularly and it is such a stress relief for me. I went on a vacation, although I did not take one single picture. This was the first time taking a vacation without Seth. This year I didn't think my time spent at the Cape was worth chronicling. Without Seth, it simply was not the same. I've been to Pittsburgh again and I created a team and designed shirts (with help from family) for a sarcoma run/walk. Team #SethStrong had at least 40 participants! I was doing really well.

My parents came to visit me this past weekend. It was great having them here to visit, but deep down inside of me I felt a void. Seth should have been here. My parents came for a specific reason, they planned to go with me to purchase furniture in PA. Seth and I picked out this furniture shortly after we got married. We went to buy it last October until Seth received bad news and then we canceled the order. Seth thought we shouldn't spend the money. He would say to me, "you will need this." It was heartbreaking that he needed to worry about that. He was always so selfless too, worrying more about me than himself, even in the face of cancer.

The last three nights that Seth and I were in our house together, before he was admitted to the hospital for the very last time, we slept in the basement. Seth slept on the couch and I slept on the chair. He was too tired to walk up the stairs and in too much pain. One afternoon he hallucinated that there were people in the basement with us. He asked, "what are those men doing over there?" He immediately came to, but it worried me none the less. When I addressed this he vehemently refused for me to call the doctor. He did not want to go to the hospital. Imagine the conflict this created for us. We got into our very last fight that day. I was so angry at Seth. He didn't understand that I was scared to be alone with him. I was afraid if something happened that I would no longer have the emotional capacity to hold it together. It had been a long 19 months and I was terrified. But how could I argue with him? He had so little control over what was happening to his body. We both struggled with this conflict. On one hand we both knew he should go to the hospital. On the other hand it was a one time incident and he had a doctor appointment two days later and would talk with the doctor on the phone the very next day. Reluctantly I did not argue anymore. I knew Seth needed to have some control and Seth knew I was not really angry with him. He knew that I was scared. We were both scared. 

Since I have returned home I hate going into my basement. Seth was such a creature of routine. We spent every single Friday we possibly could catching up on DVR, watching movies, and eating pizza downstairs in our basement. We rarely went out on a Friday night and we preferred staying in together over making plans with our friends. We loved relaxing with each other on Friday nights, it was our thing. Since returning home I rarely get to relax. I make plans constantly because it is a coping mechanism of mine to stay busy, but it is exhausting. I want to stop being so busy, but at the same time I thrive on it to keep me distracted from being in the house without Seth. 

A home is supposed to be a retreat. I am incredibly lucky to own a house and to be able to keep it even with the loss of one income. And although I am grateful for this, I also hate it at the same time. As I have said before our house no longer feels like a home. When I go into my basement I can picture Seth laying down on the couch in pain and discomfort. I can hear his voice and the fear when we were arguing about what to do when there were "men in our basement." When I go into the basement it brings me to tears that the very last memory of that space is of Seth suffering and not of us doing our regular Friday night routine. It breaks my heart that we argued down there during those last few days in our home together. I absolutely hate the basement. What was once a retreat for us to relax with each other and catch up on our favorite TV shows, is now a space that I find incredibly lonely and sad.

I bought a new couch for the basement. I thought it would help me if I made a change. I got the house painted. The painter completed all of the remaining rooms that Seth and I never got to because he became sick. When my parents came we went to PA and I purchased the hutch and the matching buffet cabinet that Seth and I picked out to go with our dining table. Seth and I picked out all of the furniture and the paint colors too. We were slowly getting to the painting room by room and we had finally saved enough to buy the basement couch when he got sick and he did not want to spend the money. Last Halloween, even after Seth got sick the second time, he was doing incredibly well. He defied the odds when he responded to chemotherapy like he did. We felt like we could be positive. We felt that it was very possible that he would have a future and that he would beat the cancer. We went to Lancaster, PA together to purchase that furniture for our dining space. We started doing all of the things that we had planned to do in our house when we first bought it but had put off because of saving for our wedding and then because of cancer. Cancer changed everything but we thought we were finally taking back control. We were wrong.

The complicated thing about losing your spouse is that in one instance you believe what you are doing to cope is good for you and yet immediately thereafter you feel you have made a huge mistake. I was so excited about the new couch when I bought it, but this was a great source of anxiety for me leading up to the delivery. All of a sudden it broke my heart to get rid the old furniture and to replace it with something new. The bad memories of Seth and I in the basement were still memories of Seth none the less. In my mind I was erasing all of the good by making these changes. I originally bought the basement furniture for my first apartment. Seth helped me to pick it out and I can picture him in the store sitting on the over-sized chair with his legs on the ottoman. He said to me, "this will be my chair." I always gave him a hard time about this because as it turned out he always wanted to be the one to get the couch and I had to sit on the chair. He didn't care though, he just smiled when I brought it up. All of a sudden getting rid of the furniture meant getting rid of all of those memories. 

It has been some time since the new couch arrived and I have moved on. I am no longer feeling guilty for replacing the furniture and I realize that these changes I am making do not replace Seth or erase my memories of our time together. Naturally I have not yet found a person that wants to buy my old furniture so now I have enough seating in my basement for 20 people and it is just me, the dog, and the cat. Seth would just go nuts if he saw the basement in its current state, it actually makes me laugh. As for the dining furniture, I am excited for that! I wish that Seth was here to see it in our house, because I know he would love it. The furniture that Seth and I picked out together is absolutely beautiful. But it is the memory of that October day that Seth and I originally went to purchase the furniture that makes me look forward to getting it. It was the very last time we took that drive to PA together. We got iced coffee and took off on the road for a ride. I loved our car rides together. It was like our life just slowed down and all we had on our minds was enjoying our time with each other. That day, after we confirmed all of the furniture purchases, we spent the afternoon in Lancaster going into shops. On the way home we stopped at Primanti's for dinner. For those that do not know, it is a Pittsburgh favorite and finally they had built a restaurant somewhat near us. Seth was so excited to go to a hometown favorite, we both were. That memory brings smiles to my face.  I loved that day. I wish Seth could have been with my parents and I last weekend too. He would have had fun. 

After my parents pulled out of my neighborhood last weekend, I broke down. I was taken aback because I have not cried uncontrollably in a long time. I miss Seth terribly, but I have been living on auto-pilot and there is no time for crying. When your spouse dies, whether you are 31 or 91, life still goes on. People constantly tell me that they are amazed by my strength and how I carry on. But the reality is, life does not care. The bills need to be paid and the dog needs to be fed because the world does not stop for a grieving widow. In fact much of the world forgets that I am a grieving widow. Not to mention, there is no other healthy option for me. Cancer changed everything. Life without Seth is not what I had dreamed of for myself. But a life spent grieving is not what Seth wants for me either. I remind myself of that every single day when I make a choice to get up and live life fully. By making this choice I know I am honoring Seth, although it frequently makes me feel guilty for enjoying moments without him. Is the theme starting to become clear? This roller coaster of emotions is exhausting.  

Although I am incredibly strong, what people don't see is that I do have my moments. The poor saps who do receive my rambling text messages in those moments must think I am going crazy.  But the truth is these "moments" have been infrequent. I work my ass off every single day to make Seth proud and I know I have been doing a good job. It takes so much energy to do well. It would be easier to sleep all day, gorge on ice cream, and to feel pity for myself. I even think I would have less guilt if I lived like that. Then Seth would really know how much I miss him, right? When I broke down after my parents left it was both dreadful and surprisingly good. Every now and then you need a good cry to remind you that doing well does not mean you have forgotten those who have passed. On the flip side, after having a few days of struggling you start to feel like a failure and you begin to wonder if you will ever rally again. The grief from this past Sunday spread into Monday and then into Tuesday. This grief got me thinking...Cancer changed my life. 

A few weeks ago I turned 32. This was also the 2nd anniversary of the day that Seth was diagnosed with cancer while we were on vacation. What most people do not know is that Seth and I had planned to stop taking measures to prevent from having a child when we returned from our vacation that year. We had planned to start trying for a family. It was only days after Seth was diagnosed that we learned we would not have biological children of our own. We grieved this loss, but we grew from it too. Our goals changed from having our own biological children to Seth surviving cancer. We became grateful for what we did have because cancer taught us that life is precious. Shortly after Seth went into remission we started actively exploring adoption. We quickly learned that no agency would work with us unless we had a doctors note saying that Seth would have an "average" life expectancy. His doctor could not write that note. Yet again, cancer changed everything and we stopped looking into adoption. We were reminded that we should be lucky for what we already had and that having each other was enough. When Seth died, cancer changed that too.  

When I broke down after my parents visited it was because this time they were not leaving Seth and I. This time, they were leaving me here all by myself. This was the first time my parents came and left and I was all alone. I realized, this is my life now. Cancer changed my dreams. Cancer took Seth's life. And although I remain grateful for all that I have learned of myself and of life, I was heartbroken. I am exhausted from these constant changes in my mood and from working so hard to live this new life. I am angry that the plans I thought I had for my life, which included Seth, are no more. I know my life will move forward and I know that is what Seth would want. I know that the possibilities are limitless and I cannot predict what will come for me. I assume my life will end up well but I cannot imagine this without Seth in it. I had plans for my life. Seth had plans for his life. Cancer changed our plans. Cancer changed everything. I hate cancer. For a few days I could only stop crying to go to work.

On Tuesday night I went to yoga. I needed that. Not only were the preceding days emotionally draining, I was also experiencing significant pain from arthritis. Yoga provided physical and emotional relief. Yesterday I went to a financial planner. This is the greatest relief I have felt in almost six months since Seth passed away. I have been worried about money and I have been living like I still have two incomes. I knew at some point this needed to stop, but emotionally I was not ready. If I wanted to book a million flights this summer to go to Atlanta, Nashville, or Boston, or Portland, or Seattle, then I was going to without regard for reality. Emotionally, I knew I needed these vacations. I do not regret this and I still plan to go to California next summer. However, I have also been feeling incredible angst knowing full well that at some point I needed to be responsible. When I left the meeting with the financial planner I felt as though a weight was lifted off my shoulders. Finally, I was taking a step in the right direction. I was making a plan and even if it meant hard work and picking up extra shifts I knew I would be okay. 

Cancer took away Seth's life, cancer is still fighting with too many other people that I cannot even count, and cancer changed my life. I hate cancer. But as the financial planner and I discussed my goals I realized I could still have a future. There is still a life for me and I am so incredibly lucky for that. My life will not be measured by my furniture choices, it will not be measured by the changes I have made in my house or the number of times I cry or do not cry over Seth. My life will be better because of Seth. My life will not be what I had envisioned when I married Seth. Cancer took our life from each other. I will always remember Seth, but cancer changed everything and my life will go on. Yesterday I felt really good about this, what a relief.

On the contrary, today was difficult. This was so disheartening because I really felt I turned a corner yesterday. When I was driving to work and as I felt defeated this morning I was reminded of a meditation session I went to at a Buddhist Center following Seths death. There was something in the lesson that day which really resonated with me. We learned to be patient with ourselves. We learned we are hardest on ourselves but we need not to judge ourselves. Tonight I decided to write. I decided I will be patient with myself. I will not pass judgment on how I am doing coping. I know that I will have my bad days for months, maybe even years to come. But I know I am capable of good days too. Cancer changed my life but I have the opportunity to change it as well. I will be patient with myself and only God knows what the future holds. Cancer changed everything and it took Seth, but it cannot shatter my hope. Tonight I will go to bed peacefully remembering Seth and tomorrow I will wake up with hope for a better day.

Love,
Meredith

"Don't give up. Don't ever give up." ~ Jimmy V.

"You beat cancer by how you live, why you live, and the manner in which you live." ~ Stuart Scott


Seth Jacob Budai Caring Bridge Page

"SethStrong" in Vietnam ~ Photo courtesy of Sarah Greenemeier

"SethStrong" in Vietnam ~ Photo courtesy of Sarah Greenemeier

I did take one picture Cape Cod after all. This is a picture of our wedding day in the ice cream shop where we took photos. Our photographer Neal Ernstrom sent this to the ice cream shop and I found it up there this summer!

Team "SethStrong" at Pittsburgh Cure Sarcoma 5k

 

Team "SethStrong" goes to the Pittsburgh Pirates Game!

"SethStrong" in Pittsburgh at a Pirates game.

"BudaiStrong" in Spain at the foot of a cross ~ Photo courtesy of Paige Bourne

"BudaiStrong" in Spain at the foot of a cross ~ Photo courtesy of Paige Bourne

"SethStrong in Toronto, Canada at a Bluejays game ~ Photo courtesy of Kaitlin and Barrett

"SethStrong" in Toronto, Canada at a Bluejays game ~ Photo courtesy of Kaitlin and Barrett

Are There Birthdays In Heaven?

Dear Seth,

I have not written to you in a while. Honestly, I had a very difficult time coping for five weeks after I last wrote. It rained here a lot. I was tired and I could not bring myself to blog until this week. I have a lot of excuses. I need to stop making excuses. I have a lot of questions. I need to stop thinking questions in my head that cannot be answered. It is a waste of energy, I know that. But I do want to know, are there birthdays in heaven?

I went to Atlanta to visit Matt, Mandy and the kids eight weeks ago. Did you know they had their little boy? They named him Latham Seth, after you. He is adorable and you would just love him! It was so much fun to see them and to play with the kids. They offered to bring me to the places that you and I visited in 2008. I declined the offer though, it made me too sad.

I remember when you visited me in Atlanta when I was there for a clinical rotation in PT school. It was so much fun! That weekend was when I fell in love with you. That was the weekend that I knew I wanted to be married to you for the rest of my life. We did get married. I just never imagined that it would only be for the rest of your life, cut way too short.

Stone Mountain ~ 2008

 Atlanta Aquarium ~ 2008

Atlanta ~ 2016

(#SethStrong bracelet that Matt made when you got sick)

I had a lot of fun that weekend in Atlanta, and then I went home. This marked the beginning of three very difficult weeks for me. When I walked into our empty, quiet, house I burst into tears. I cried as hard as I did just before your funeral when they closed your coffin and I saw you in the flesh for the very last time. It was awful. The house was so silent. Did you know that silence is excruciatingly loud? It screams in your face that your life is forever different. Silence reminds you that the place you once felt so at home will never be the same. I miss the sound of your breathing. I miss the sound of you walking around in our house, letting me know that you were here. I miss the sound of your laugh or your voice when we talked every night while we ate dinner together. I miss the sound of us laying next to each other in bed even when we weren't saying anything at all. The silence is painfully loud.

Being a widow is one of the most draining hands that I have been dealt in my short life. People describe grief as a roller coaster. There are highs and there are lows. I do everything I can to remain distracted, to convince myself that I am happy. I invest my all into work, I make plans with friends for dinner, I exercise when I have time. And the truth is, I do have fun. Sometimes I have a lot of fun. But never the less, there is always a sense of sadness and pain lingering in my mind because I miss you so terribly much.

I've been to Pittsburgh again. There was a bowling fundraiser hosted by the Seemans. It was a lot of fun. Some of the proceeds went to the Susan G. Komen Foundation, in honor of their beloved grandfather. The rest of the funds went to your scholarship. It was very generous of them.  

Raffle Item Josh Won at the Bowling Fundraiser ~ 2016

I visited you every day that I was in Pittsburgh. When I was a kid I was afraid of cemeteries. Now I find peace at cemeteries. That is not normal for a 31 year old. Nothing is normal though. Nothing is what I had planned for myself at this juncture in my life. But that is the big lesson right? You cannot plan life, you just need to live it as though every day is your last. That much I know is true.

Jackson visiting his dad ~ 2016

Recently I went to a fundraiser hosted by one of my patients. The event raised money for a piece of equipment that has the potential to help a lot of people with spinal cord injury. At this event they showed a video about what this equipment means to the patients. In the video the patients shared stories of who they were before they sustained a spinal cord injury and how that all changed the instant that their independence was stripped from them. With the blink of an eye, life as they knew it would never be the same. My patient said something that really resonated with me. When speaking to the audience about his experience he said, "I've really had a good time." He followed this by laughing. Obviously he did not mean that he enjoyed sustaining a spinal cord injury. However, despite the terrible tragedy that he experienced, he managed to find good out of it. He has met people that he otherwise would not have met if not for his spinal cord injury. He has seen the goodness of people through their kindness as they reach out to his family to offer assistance. He has learned when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade. These patients are grateful for their experiences, despite how horrific and life changing they were. Their experiences shaped them into the persons they are today. Without these life lessons they may not be the strong, confident, courageous men and women that they all truly are.

I have been thinking a lot about what my patient said. I will never find good from your death. I would rather give up all of the lessons that I have learned in order to have you back. But that will never happen and I just need to accept that. With that understanding I am left with two options. I can completely shut down (and I certainly do not judge other widows and widowers who go this route, I am not even sure it is a choice we have control over). Or I can wake up every morning and push forward trying to make the most of my day and life as it is. With the help of therapy, medication (on and off as you know I was never the most compliant patient), family, friends, co-workers, and my patients, I am working hard to make the most of my life. I am working hard to fulfill my promise to you that I would take care of myself. It is not easy, but I am working hard to accept the hand that I have been dealt whether I like it or not. Although we can agree that what happened to you is not fair for you or the people you left behind. I understand what my patient meant when he gave his speech. I cannot change my circumstances. Everyone has circumstances. But I can be grateful for all that I have gained as a result of my circumstances. If not for cancer we would be living happily with the children we had hoped to have together. If not for cancer I would still have my best friend by my side as I sleep at night. If not for cancer I would not be writing this blog. On the other hand, if not for cancer I would have never learned of courage as you exemplified every single day. If not for cancer you and I may not have had the strength in love and devotion to each other that so few people have in such a profound way as you and I did. If not for cancer I may have never learned to relax and appreciate life as much as you always did. If not for cancer...I understand what my patient meant. I may not like it, but there is no escaping it. I should be grateful for all that I have learned and the support system that I have. If not for cancer I may have never known how truly lucky I am. 

Your birthday has passed. Leading up to your birthday I was very anxious. The day before you passed you told me you would not live to see your 32nd birthday. I told you that was ridiculous. Of course you would live. You weren't that sick after all, right? To be honest, I was terrified that you were right, but I did not want you to know that. To be honest, even though we shared that fear, I did not expect your life to be taken the very next day. Although it had been 20 months, it still seemed too quick. It still seemed too unreal. That couldn't happen to my husband. I couldn't really become a widow, could I? You wouldn't really die before your 32nd birthday, would you? To be honest, I feared that you would.

For your birthday my friends decided that I should get away. With family and friends by my side we went to Nashville, TN. The main point of the weekend was to distract me from real life by spending time with those closest to me in a city that I love. The other point of the weekend was to celebrate you. Ten of my family and friends traveled from far and wide to honor you and celebrate our life together. We are so lucky for the people in our lives. I had so much fun in Nashville, especially when remembering the time you and I went there with Ginnie and Paul. I love you for loving our time together in Nashville. 

Jack's BBQ ~ 2011

Opryland Hotel ~ 2011

Girls "Birthday" Trip ~ 2016

#SethStrong Bracelet Nashville ~ 2016

On your actual Birthday I kept myself very busy. It was the only way I knew to get through one of the "firsts" that I had to experience without you. To be honest, I hate birthdays. My grandmother passed away on my birthday. Your grandmother's funeral was on your birthday. You were diagnosed with cancer on my birthday. Birthdays are overrated. None the less I made a decision that I would celebrate you as best as I could. The day started when I brought breakfast to your school and reviewed scholarship applications with the designated board. Following that I went to work and for lunch I ordered pizza for the department. That day, I wanted to show my appreciation to our co-workers for their love and care while you were sick and since you passed away. For dinner, your parents and I met Josh, Gina and Giuliana at Liberatores. Being at liberatores was strange and emotional for me. The very last time you and I went to dinner together was the Saturday night before you died. That night, we also went to Liberatores and sat at the table right behind where we were seated for your birthday dinner. I could "see" you sitting in your wheelchair at the table while we caught up with Matt and Mandy. I cannot believe that only five nights before you died we were out at dinner with friends. How could things change so fast? Did I do something wrong? We sang happy birthday to you and had ice cream cake for dessert, the very same cake that you had growing up. 

The most special part of your birthday celebration happened after dinner that night and again while I was in Cape Cod over memorial day weekend. On both occasions, with both sides of the family, we had a balloon release. It was Josh's idea to send balloons into the sky in order to honor you and celebrate your life. I loved the idea! I couldn't believe how emotional it was for me. I suppose it was the first moment I realized how real this was. I realized that you would never be 32. I will turn 32 in July. I will keep getting older and you will always stay 31. It doesn't seem fair. For the first time I realized that our nieces and nephews would keep getting older until eventually they are "older" than their Uncle Seth. I realized my responsibility in making sure that the kids remember and honor their Uncle Seth every year on your birthday. Realizing this was heartbreaking, but releasing the balloons was heartwarming. On your birthday, in Maryland and in Cape Cod, we had the first annual balloon release to celebrate you. We will do this every single May 24th. If nothing else the kids will remember hearing stories about their courageous and strong Uncle Seth. I hope this ceremony will become something they look forward to. They will celebrate Uncle Seth's balloon release and therefore they will always remember their uncle Seth. Therefore we will always celebrate your birthday. I hope that you celebrate too and watch the amazing view as the balloons soar into the sky. I hope that there are birthdays in heaven. 

I am tired now, so I will stop writing. But I want you to know that I love you so much. I want you to know that I hope you had a wonderful birthday in heaven. I want you to know that I will never stop celebrating you. I want you to know, I had a rough few weeks after I last wrote. But tonight, well tonight I am doing better. I am still heartbroken, but I am also in love. I am in love with your memory and right now I will use that to keep pushing forward. Right now I will go to bed and dream of you and your birthday in heaven. Right now I love you. Happy birthday.

Love,

Meredith

XOXOXOXO 

"Don't give up. Don't ever give up." ~ Jimmy V.

"You beat cancer by how you live, why you live, and the manner in which you live." ~ Stuart Scott

Seth Jacob Budai Caring Bridge Page

#SethSrong In Florida ~ 2016
(Photo from Matt and Mandy on your Birthday)

Married Without A Spouse

Okay, this blog will be a little different than other posts I have done. This is for Seth, but this is for everyone who is a widow, anyone that is interested in reading my writing, and this is for me. I have been alone for five nights now, without the help of my family or friends, and this is what I have learned... 

1. I have no idea how to relax! For 20 months I had one purpose, besides work and getting up in the morning, my purpose was to be supportive to Seth. That support came in all forms. When he was doing incredibly well, it was simply taking advantage of that time by creating wonderful experiences and memories with each other. When he started using a wheelchair, it was helping him to get into and out of the house, helping him to bathe and to get dressed, and helping him to get to and from work. For the last few weeks of his life it was helping him to do all of that plus managing his medications and so much more that I am sure he would rather I not share. For 20 months I always had something to do with or for Seth. Even when he did not require much physical assistance, I spent my hours praying for his health and worrying about his health. Now, two and a half months after he passed away, I finally have the opportunity to relax and I cannot for the life of me figure out how one does that. I couldn't wait for this day, when I would not be overwhelmed with my long to do list (which is still incredibly long by the way), and yet I am at a loss. How could this be? I must have relaxed in my life, even in the last 20 months. The difference, I learned, is that before I had Seth. Seth could calm me down and could make the most quiet, relaxing, non-significant moments seem so enjoyable. Without Seth, I have absolutely no idea how one relaxes. 

2. I have no idea who I am! For the last six years of my adult life I have lived with Seth and we were married for over two and a half of those years. If I was not at work, I was with Seth. This is not to say I never did anything without him, I most certainly did. Sometimes I would go out with my friends for dinner and drinks or I would go biking after work. He didn't come with me when I would get pedicures, and I got those a lot. But, if I was not doing one of those things, I was with Seth. We did everything together. We took drives with the dog. We loved going for coffee and out to breakfast together. We loved watching DVR and eating pizza on a Friday night.  We watched all of the same shows and rarely watched TV without each other, except maybe when he watched ESPN. When we took the dog on a walk, we did it together. Did I mention we did everything together? No wonder I don't know how to relax. I don't have any idea what I like to do for fun. I will never forget what I liked to do with Seth for fun. But I have never really thought about what I like to do by myself. I have never been alone as an adult. Without Seth, I have no idea who adult Meredith is. I think I need a hobby. I think? Maybe? How do I even know? This is something I never thought I would experience. I am 31 years old and yet so confused.  At a time when most people are finally figuring their lives out, I haven't got a clue.

3. I am still married! I call myself a widow, but I do not really identify with being one. When I think of a widow I think of elderly people. I think of people that truly got to share their life with their loved one. I think of people that had far more than three married years (or less). When I think of widows, I think of people that had children with their spouse, built a family with their loved one, and built a life with their soul mate. Seth and I were 31 when he died. We did not get the chance to start a family. We did not get the chance to own our single family home that we talked about. We did not get the chance to take our children on vacations. We did not get to travel the world together. We did not get to grow old together. I am not like those people, so I cannot be a widow. But what am I? I absolutely do not consider myself single. To be single would imply that I am "on the market." I am most certainly not on the market. I am still very much in love with Seth. Sometimes I am still in such disbelief that I truly think he will just walk through the door and give me a hug and kiss. He is still very much my husband and I am very much his wife. I know that he will not walk through the door, I get it. But that does not mean that I am ready to "move on," whatever that means. People actually ask me about dating. People say things like, "you are young so you still have so much more time." Do you really think I am sitting around worrying about if I will be single for the rest of my life? Who knows where life will take me, I don't even want to think about that. But as far as I am concerned, I am married to Seth. I am married, but I don't have a spouse.

I am surprised in myself because I am doing okay(ish) being alone at the house. I miss Seth and I cry. But I also find myself laughing when I think of our memories or funny things that he used to say. I even find myself mad at Seth because I am pretty sure he is in some way responsible for the broken storm door, the broken kitchen cabinet, and the plumbing leak at the kitchen sink. It is like he is testing me, just to be sure I can figure things out. Well Seth, I am figuring it out so please stop making everything in the house break! I cannot handle any additional stress at this time. Missing you is exhausting enough, and I miss you a lot! 

I have been alone at home for five nights and I have learned three things. I need to learn how to relax, I need to figure out my identity, and I am still very much married to Seth. As time goes on, I get the impression I will be learning a lot more. I expect that Seth will still teach me lessons, more in the future than ever before. The day Seth died was the very worst day of my life and I have experienced a roller coaster of emotions ever since. But there is one thing I know for sure. My wedding anniversary is June 29th and I will always celebrate my marriage to Seth. I will always be married to Seth, I just don't have a spouse.

65 Days A Widow

Dear Seth,

To be honest, I am not sure where to begin. I have started this entry and re-started this entry a million times. Since I last wrote, things have been very difficult for me. And yet, at the same time, there have also been many good moments. I regularly experience multiple emotions all at once and it is exhausting. It has been a long 65 days. 

I have returned to work. I am happy to be back. When I last wrote, I was struggling with tremendous guilt for experiencing happiness. I am proud to tell you that I am still very happy to be back at work. I am thrilled to tell you that I am no longer feeling guilty about it. The fact of the matter is, work is a guaranteed reprieve from the sadness that haunts me the rest of the day. Since you have died, work is the only part of my life that has not changed. Everything else is different now.

I applied for a new position at work - the senior (supervisor) position. I struggled with the decision to apply, as I felt the timing was not right given the circumstances. However; I really wanted the position. The second Tuesday that I was back at work I had my interview. I thought it was okay, was slightly unsure, but I did my best. Immediately following the interview I pulled out my phone to call you and tell you how it went. As quickly as I pulled out my phone to call you, I remembered that you were no longer there to call. This happens to me a lot and it is heartbreaking. 

When I found out that I was the one to get the job I wanted to tell you right away. Instead, I messaged our families. I had to share the news with everyone that is important to you and I. In some weird way it made me think I was telling you too. If I could have told you, I would have thanked you. I would have thanked you for the confidence that you instilled in me which pushed me to pursue this, despite my current circumstances. I would have thanked you for the strength you taught me about while I watched you fight for your life without trepidation. I would have thanked you for your support. I am desperately holding on to the idea that you are still supporting me from heaven. Without your support, I will have nothing. 

I moved back into our house. I have been there for three weeks. I wish there was a manual to explain the feelings associated with losing your husband. I wish there was a guide to help you cope with returning to a home that no longer feels like a home because the family that once lived there no longer exists. There should be something to prepare you for such profound loss. There should be something to prepare you for returning home and returning to your routine, only to have the most integral part of your life no longer be a part of your life. But that manual does not exist. Instead you are left feeling completely alone, hopeless, and tired. I read this blog, written by another widow named Katie Wallace, and she described the loss so well. What she wrote is heartbreaking and sadly so accurate. She said...

"You wake alone in the bed you shared with your love. You cannot reach over to hold them, kiss them good morning or watch them while they are sleeping. They are no longer there and never will be again. Death is permanent. No more good morning smiles, touches or gestures of any kind. You wake up alone when you previously woke everyday with the love of your life."

It seems that I should have been prepared for this. You and I feared that this may happen. We discussed what I would do if you passed away. We talked about my future and what it would look like if you were not in it. And yet, when you passed, it was a complete shock to my core. Why didn't I expect this? I knew you were very sick. How couldn't I have expected this? I suppose I just always thought that we would have more time together. Why couldn't we have more time together? "I didn't know that day would be our last. I didn't know I would have to say goodbye so fast." Those are lines from a song I have listened to over and over again for the last 65 days. Jenn Bostic describes being "Jealous of the Angels." I AM jealous of the angels around the throne tonight.

Jealous Of The Angels - Jenn Bostic

These 65 days have been very hard. Returning home without you  is one of the saddest things I have ever had to do. I have reached out to different support groups, but I have yet to find one of interest. Most of them are for middle aged adults. Although I imagine their loss is also intense, I find myself jealous of them for having so much more time with their loved ones. I find myself sad that for 61% of the time that you and I were married  you were sick. We were denied a long marriage and you were denied your health for the majority of it. It seems so unfair. I am working with my counselor to deal with this.

Someone asked me recently if I was angry. They suggested I would have every reason to be mad. Although I am sad and I am confused, I am not mad. One of the greatest things that you gave me was my faith. When we discussed hospice care you admitted to me that you questioned God sometimes. You did not understand why this was happening to you. I confidently answered that there had to be a reason. There had to be some greater purpose. I still believe that. It is all I have to hold on to. I think you knew that too.

Although it has been a long, exhausting, and sad 65 days. There have been so many good moments too. I have been given 65 days to tell stories about the man that I loved so much. I have been given opportunities to meet new people that I would have never otherwise met. I have been blessed to have constant reminders that our family, friends, and colleagues are the most incredible people. I have been reminded 65 times a day for 65 days that you were loved by so many people. I have had 65 days to think about how I can honor you and continue to navigate this journey of life with you by my side. I know you are with me and with all of the people whose lives you have touched.

The last 65 days I have been busy experiencing my new life. I am incredibly happy to say that the last 65 days have been busy for you too! People have been so impacted by your life that they bring you with them on their journeys also.



#SethStrong in Las Vegas

(Photo courtesy of Scott Meyer)



Multiple people have asked me if they can participate in "Journeys With Seth." I hope that they do. I hope that they carry with them a piece of you every where that they go. This is how you will be honored. This is how your legacy will live on forever! This is why I am not mad. The sadness will never go away. But, neither will my pride for you and the happiness that you gave me. Those emotions did not die with you, they will live on forever because of you. I cannot be mad because I was given the gift of time with you and that will never be forgotten. You will never be forgotten.

The greatest things that have happened over these 65 days is that two people in the state of California now have eye sight because of your tissue donation and a scholarship was established in your honor at Winters Mill High School. As of this week, the Seth Jacob Budai Memorial Scholarship became official. The purpose of this scholarship is to honor your life by providing two scholarships for WMHS graduating seniors who have shown academic achievement and will be pursuing degrees in the health sciences or education at an accredited college or university. You will always be a falcon. You will never stop influencing students.You will never stop making me proud of you. You will never stop making me proud to be your wife.

I love you so much. I miss you. I hate being home without you. I am sad. But I am also happy to be at work. I am grateful for our families and friends. I am excited that our friends are taking you on their journeys. And, I am confident that your legacy will never die. It has been a long 65 days. It will continue to be a long and difficult journey. But I will do my best to continue taking you with me and honoring you in all I do. I will always love you.

Love,
Meredith

"Don't give up. Don't ever give up." ~ Jimmy V.

Seth Jacob Budai Caring Bridge Page

Seth Jacob Budai Memorial Scholarship (Criteria and Application)

Picture of "Mr. Budai"

(Picture courtesy of Seth Jacob Budai Memorial Scholarship flyer)

A Widows Guilt

Dear Seth,

Since I last wrote to you a lot has changed for me. Mainly, that I have returned to Baltimore and gone back to work. The truth is, if it was practical, I could stay in Pittsburgh and visit your grave for hours at a time, every day, for the rest of my life. I am sad that I am no longer in Pittsburgh to visit you. I am sad that if I am "lucky" enough to live a long, healthy, life, that it means I will not be able to see you again for many, many, years. People continuously talk about how young you were. I hate to admit this because it is selfish, but I find myself more concerned with my age. I am concerned that I will not be able to see you for 50-60 years because I am so young. I feel guilty admitting that this is a worry of mine. I should be so lucky that I am healthy. You would have given anything for a life much longer than you lived. And here I am wishing mine away so that I can see you again. In reality, I don't mean this. In reality, I just wish this did not happen and that I did not have to think things like that in my mind. I am still going to my counselor. I think I will talk with her about this when I see her this week. 

I have been experiencing a lot of guilt since I got back from Pittsburgh. I am following different pages on Facebook and many of the widows and widowers describe the same feelings. At least I am not alone, I guess. I feel like I am not that anxious, but I probably am, just about different things than I used to be anxious about I suppose. I spend a lot of time thinking about what other people think of my grieving process. Our family and friends tell me not to care what other people think. I can hear you saying to me, "it is okay to not be okay." Heidi told me that you always told her to "be you." You always told me not to be consumed with other peoples opinions. I suppose I should just care about being me and not what other people think. In so many areas of my life this is not a problem for me anymore. But with losing you, it is different. 

Before you passed away, you and I discussed what I would do if you died. You told me you were not scared of dying, but you were worried about me (and our families). How would I handle myself? How would I handle being alone? When you asked me these questions I felt uneasy when I was answering you. I did not want you to worry so I told you I would be okay. I told you I would figure things out. And I knew that the truth was, with time I probably would. On the flip side, when we discussed this and I gave those answers, I worried that you would think that I did not love you. I worried that you would think that I would "move on" and forget you since I would apparently be able to "figure things out." Fortunately, I was able to talk about these concerns with you. How lucky we were to be able to have these discussions with each other. They were not easy conversations. I cannot imagine what it was like for you to talk about your own death. I am so proud of us for being brave enough to do so, especially you. You were not scared. You were simply amazing. 

Since you have died, I continue to experience the same uncertain feelings. I went back to work yesterday. Over the weekend I was very concerned about this. The truth is, I was really looking forward to going back. I was grateful to have the time off and I think I needed it. But over the weekend I could not wait until Monday as I knew I was returning to work for the first time since December 23rd. I was looking forward to the distraction. I was looking forward to working with patients. I was looking forward to seeing my coworkers. When you were sick, the only time I could completely turn my brain off of my worries was while I was at work. I had patients to treat and they relied on me for their safety and their well being. I love what I do and I care very much about the patients that I work with. When I was with them, they had my undivided attention and for those brief moments I did not have to worry about my sick husband. You and I discussed this because you felt the same way about your job. You loved it very much and it gave you a sense of purpose. It gave you freedom from all of the worries you had about life and death. I was happy that you had that freedom at work and you were happy that I did too. This weekend was very difficult for me though. I was so looking forward to returning to my job, but I was consumed with what this would mean to other people. I was concerned with what this would mean to you. I was concerned that I was betraying my late husband.

Would my happiness about work mean that you would think that I did not love you? Did this mean that my coworkers, my family, and my friends would think that I was "over you" after only six weeks? Would they judge me for this perception that they had? Would you be mad at me for "moving on" so quickly? The rational side of me understood that you would never think that, because it simply is not the case. The anxious side of me could not stop thinking about it for days. I love my job and I knew a distraction would be good. I also understood that I could not live off of visiting your grave every day. So why would you be mad at me for being fulfilled at work? Why would you be mad at me for making money to pay the bills? What does experiencing happiness at my job have to do with my love and grieving for you? Nothing! Yet I lay awake at night feeling guilty about things like that. 

I finally convinced myself, with the help of our family and friends, that you do not want me to waste my life. You told me that. You told me you wanted me to be happy and I promised you that I would be. But I still could not get over what other people would think. If my coworkers saw me laughing or smiling at work, would they think that I was done grieving? Would they judge me for not loving and honoring my husband? Would my friends think that I ever really loved you in the first place? Believe it or not, I actually asked Josh L. if he knew that I love you. Obviously, he said yes. Of course he said yes. I even asked him how he knew. He said, "you were inconsolable when they closed the casket. That might be one of the most heartbreaking things I've ever heard." You know what got me about that conversation? That I even had to ask him something like that. But, as I said, I was afraid going back to work would mean that I didn't love you in your eyes, and in the eyes of others. I needed proof that this was not the case. He actually said, "of course you love Seth. Being at work has nothing to do with that." He told me you would be happy that I went back to work. He told me that you would be happy that I applied for a new position (I will fill you in on that another day). When I asked why you would be happy his response was, "Um. Meredith had the drive to apply for a new position. Meredith is going to Nashville! (also another day and another conversation). Or,  Meredith is up at 2:00 am crying. Which do you think Seth would like?" Obviously I knew the answer. 

I have been back at work for two days now and I could not be happier. I also know that my fears about my coworkers were wrong. And quite frankly, I am so happy about being back, that even if people judged me I would not care. The chaplain told me not to worry about what other people think. He said, "your grief is your process." Josh L. told me that my happiness at work has nothing to do with my love for you. They were both right. Gina told me that my coworkers would be happy that I was back. She said that they would be more concerned if I did not come back. She was also right. Of course my sister, our brothers, and our parents said the same thing. They were all right. These have been the best two days since you left me. I have experienced the best crying since you died while driving to and from work the last two mornings. They were tears of sadness because I miss you. But they were also tears of joy for realizing that I could be happy at work and that you would want that for me. For the first time, other than at the cemetery, I opened up to you out loud and talked to you in the car. I cried tears of joy because I believe that you really could hear me and that you really were listening to me. I know now that work, love, and grief, have nothing to do with each other. I know now that it does not matter what other people think. Although, it does matter to me what you think. But I know now that you are happy, just like Josh L. (and many others) said you would be. There is no need to feel guilty for "living" at work. There is no shame in having a purpose. I will continue to happily experience "freedom" at work.

Unfortunately, the guilty feelings do not stop with work. The list goes on and I will address those concerns another day. I can only take on one journey at a time. Yesterday I started my journey back to work. Next week I will start my journey back to our house, to our home. Only one journey at a time. 

I love you Seth. I miss you so much. But I want to thank you for being the husband that you were. I want to thank you for having the courage to talk to me about love, death, and dying. I want to thank you for telling me that you wanted me to be happy. I want to thank you for teaching me about faith. On my journey to work I found my faith again. I finally started believing that you were with me and that you were listening to me. Thank you for being a part of all of my journeys. And, as I said to you so often, "thank you for being my favorite." 

Love,
Meredith

"Don't give up. Don't ever give up."

Seth Jacob Budai Caring Bridge Page

Here are pictures from my 2008 graduation from PT school with my doctorate. You were so proud of me and have always supported me in my career. Why wouldn't you be happy that I returned to work?

Here are the links to articles and documents that I have read about Guilt. At least I am not alone?

Survivors Guilt - A Blog

Widowhood: The Psychological Traps

This Is My Fight Song...

Dear Seth,

This Thursday is five weeks since you passed away. What a whirlwind it has been and I cannot believe that much time has gone by. I miss you so much that it hurts. 

After your funeral in Pittsburgh I went back to Maryland for two weeks. I stayed with your brother, Gina, and Giuliana. They went back to work and I was left to spend the days alone. Some days I did okay, and other days I had a lot of trouble and would call your brother or Josh L. crying. I wasn't sleeping at night, so I would watch TV or play on my phone until my eyes physically could not stay open any longer. Dinner time was good though. Dinner time meant that Josh, Gina, and Giuls would be home and I could talk with Giuls about her Uncle Seth. I looked forward to those few hours every day. They were peaceful hours. 

Since your funeral we also had a beautiful memorial service for you at your high school. You would have been so proud of your students, the faculty at Winters Mill High School, and our family. They did an amazing job honoring you. Your principle gave the nicest speech about you. I learned so much about "Mr. Budai, the school counselor." During the memorial the choir at your school, the students, myself, and all of your nieces and nephews got onto the stage to sing "Fight Song" by Rachel Platten. I believe that this song symbolizes your spirit and your courage while you fought your fight. It was so powerful to see everyone on the stage, especially all of the kids. You really made an impact on them Seth. You really made an impact on me. I have listened to that song over and over since your memorial service. At the memorial service the chaplain, whom our family met at the hospital the day you passed away, told a story about your fight. He paralleled it to the story of Jacob's ladder. He made sense of your fight the night before you passed away. I needed him to make sense of your struggle, because it was one of the most difficult things I have ever witnessed in my life. It was not supposed to be that way. You showed God that you still had a lot of fight left in you. And boy did you fight. You made an explosion for 20 months. I was so proud of you for that. I hope you heard me in the ambulance when I told you that. I hope you heard me remind you that you did beat cancer. I kept reminding you of the Stewart Scott quote that you lived by, "You beat cancer by how you live, why you live, and the manner in which you live." You still have a lot of fight left in you Seth. Your legacy will live on and in your honor I will fight to beat Ewings Sarcoma. I hope you heard me in the ambulance.

"Fight Song" By Rachel Platten

We had people over our house following the memorial service. Our closest friends and family and those who traveled to Maryland. Nothing big, but it was nice none the less. It was my third time at the house since you passed away. My counselor thought it would be good for me to be there, surrounded by our family and friends. I could not bring myself to sleep there that night. I have not been back since.

On Monday, March 1, 2016 I started my first journey since you passed away. I needed to get away from Maryland so I decided to go "home." That morning I got in the car and I started driving to Connecticut. Before pulling out onto the road I found a compartment in our car that I had long since forgotten about. Inside it I found a binder filled with CDs that you made, likely between the years 2000 and 2006, right before we started dating. I remembered seeing it in the past, in your old cars, but I never gave it much thought. The CDs have your writing on them. It made me happy to see your hand writing. I decided I would listen to your mixes while I drove to New England. Each time one CD ended I replaced it with another. Between CDs the radio was full of static. I never changed the station after leaving Baltimore. 

I made it to Connecticut and spent the evening there. When I got to my parents house, I was very anxious to go inside since neither of them were home and I would be alone. I don't exactly know why I was nervous, it is not like you grew up with me in that house. But, for some reason, it made me sad that you were not there with me. Naturally when I got inside the house music was on. My mother always leaves the radio playing softly in the kitchen. The song that I heard was "Fight Song." I knew you were with me and it put me at peace. I went to dinner that night with my parents. I only stayed for one night. Jackson slept in the same bed that you last used when we were there for my grandma's funeral. 

The next morning I left for Cape Cod. I had mixed emotions about being there. It would be the first night since you passed away that I would be alone. I was terrified and anxious, but I was also looking forward to the peace and quiet so that I could be surrounded by my thoughts. While driving I thought long and hard about this blog. How would I do it? Would people read it? What should I call it? After deciding what I would do for the blog, I contemplated what to name it. Some thoughts were, "#SethStrong" and "Seth's Journeys." I kept coming back to "Journeys With Seth," but I was unsure. At that very moment the CD in the car finished playing. I took the CD out to replace it with the next one. For the first time there was no static on the radio. Rachel Platten's "Fight Song" was on. I chose "Journeys With Seth." 

While driving to Cape Cod I turned the GPS on, even though I can drive there in my sleep. I turned it on because I like to watch the ETA change as I make better time. Before I knew it I followed the GPS and I accidentally got off the highway at a different exit than I would ordinarily take. The GPS took me right by St. Pius, the church where we got married. I do not think that is a coincidence. 

I went to my grandmother's house first, like we always did. I realized when I got there that it was the first time I was at her house since she passed away last September. I walked around and talked to her. I told her that I loved her and I asked her to introduce you to my Papa in Heaven. I hope that she has. Jackson and I walked to the beach. It was a beautiful and sunny day and I was so excited to be there. I cannot explain the peace that it gave me by being there. I knew that you were there with me. You loved Cape Cod so much. 

 

It was so calm and it was a perfect day to talk to you and remember our times together at Cape Cod. We had some incredible journeys there with our family and friends. Here are a few pictures from our past.

 Martha's Vineyard ~ 2011

Summer 2015 

 Summer 2015

 Labor Day Weekend ~ 2008

 Labor Day Weekend ~ 2009

 Chatham ~ 2013

Royal Palace ~ 2013

Marylou's Coffee ~ 2015

You would have loved being at the beach with me the other day. I brought the dog with me (even though I know it is off limits). He had so much fun. Just like his dad, he was in his glory. We went for a long walk and we took the time to take in the views and experience the calmness. I decided I would take pictures with your #SethStrong bracelet. That bracelet symbolizes your strength and your fight. You and your bracelet will travel with me everywhere I go. Here are some of the pictures of our Journey last week. 

Marylou's Coffee  ~ 2016

Jackson ~ 2016

Jackson ~ 2016

#SethStrong

#SethStrong

#SethStrong

Notice that your bracelet is supported by a stone that I found while walking on the beach. My co-worker is taking a pilgrimage to a city called Santiago De Compostela. It is where the remains of St. James are buried. She explained to me that one of the most meaningful places along the route is a tall iron cross called Cruz De Ferro. Pilgrims carry a small rock with them along the route and leave it at the foot of the cross as a symbol of leaving behind their burdens and sins. She asked me if she could carry a stone there in your honor. The stone that wears your bracelet in this picture will be traveling to Spain. Pretty cool, right?

All of a sudden, while walking along the beaches and taking pictures, Jackson stopped in his tracks. I found myself staring in the face of a seal! In 31 years I have never before seen a seal on Longell Road Beach. My mom and uncle were amazed by this! They have been going to that beach since they were children and they have never seen one there either. You and I used to go see them in Chatham at the piers, but never in my wildest imagination did I expect to see one staring at Jackson and I on my grandma's beach. It was incredible! I was able to get quite close before it swam into the ocean. Jackson was not a fan, but everyone I have told keeps telling me that it was you or my grandma coming to me to say hi. I wish you would have been with me, you would have loved it!

Seal ~ 2016

When I went to the Cape I had hoped to use the time to reflect on our life together and to start this blog. As it turned out, my parents do not have internet or TV at their house during the off-season. It does not make sense for them to pay for it when they are not there. This is reasonable, but none of us thought of this before I left for the Cape. After a beautiful day at the beach and some clam chowder at our favorite place I went to my parent's house. I was so proud of myself for having the courage to be there all alone until I realized there was no TV or internet. I was not going to be able to work on my blog. The sun went down and it was lonely. All to quickly I learned that I am not ready to be alone yet. I cried for a long time. 

All things considered, I thought I was doing pretty well. I am figuring out our bills. I am spending time with our family and our friends. I am going to counseling. I am planning to go back to work next week. I am actively seeking groups for young widows. (Incidentally, there are none!) And then I find myself hysterically crying while I was all alone. The quietness of my parents house was excruciating. Being in Cape Cod, without you, was suddenly awful. After breakfast with my Aunt the next morning, I left Cape Cod.

I headed to my sister's house in Burlington, MA. I stayed there for a few days and then I went to my brother's house in New Hampshire. After leaving there I drove to Pittsburgh to stay with your parents. I am in Pittsburgh now. On my way through Connecticut, when heading to Pittsburgh, I stopped at Shady Glenn to meet my parents for lunch. It is still as good as ever. I remember the last time that you and I went to Shady Glenn. It was really nice to spend time with my family. I miss them a lot. I relaxed and I enjoyed being surrounded by everyone, especially the kids. We told stories of Uncle Seth and I told them how proud you were of all of them. Sarah told me, "Uncle Seth is just invisible now. But he is always with us and is watching us. I bet he is happy in Heaven." I hope that you are happy in Heaven Seth.

Sarah and Jackson ~ 2016

I am doing better now that I am in Pittsburgh. The temperature is pleasant and I can walk to the cemetery with Jackson to visit you. It has been beautiful out. I bought a notebook and on the cover it says, "happy thoughts." I am writing down fond memories that I have with/of you so that I never forget our life together. It makes me happy to do this. I am calm when I am at the cemetery. Sometimes I cry and sometimes I laugh when thinking of some of our funnier times together. My tears are sad, but they are also happy. I love my memories of us and writing them down is as therapeutic to me as it was to share stories of you at the funeral and the memorial service. I just love remembering you. I just love you.

You and Jackson ~ 2016

Today I will get together with friends from college. Katie and I are going to lunch and a movie. She has been such a wonderful friend, I am glad that I have her. Thursday night I am getting together with all of the women in your family (Jaseks and Kostelniks). I thought it would be fun to have a ladies night with your family. Fourteen of us will be going to the Waterfront for Sushi and I will be getting some wine too, I need it! I will visit you again today with my notebook in hand. 

I love you Seth and I hope you are resting peacefully. I will keep writing to you to update you on our adventures. I will bring you with me where ever I go. I am not sure what our next adventure will be, but I do know that I am going to start working again next week. I will start out just a few days a week, but I will get to five days soon. I have not been there since before Christmas when you were admitted to the hospital. I think it will be good to be back. My experience being alone in Cape Cod showed me that I benefit tremendously from distraction. Luckily we have the greatest family and friends and I have a lot of wonderful distractions in my life. 

I wish not to be in this situation. I wish you were still here and that I could talk to you and hug you and kiss you. But I am thankful for the time that we did have and for our marriage. I am thankful for our family and our friends and the support that I have been getting. I am doing my best to be strong for you Setherina, like I promised you I would be. I will update you again soon, but until then, please keep looking down on me. Until then, please keep being happy in Heaven. 

Love Always,
Meredith

"Don't give up. Don't ever give up."

Seth Jacob Budai Caring Bridge Page

This is my fight song
Take back my life song
Prove I'm alright song
My power's turned on
Starting right now I'll be strong (I'll be strong)
I'll play my fight song
And I don't really care if nobody else believes
'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me

Know I've still got a lot of fight left in me