The funeral

 I've always liked funerals. It doesn't matter who it is or how good or bad they have been, the funeral is full of all the good about that person. They usually don't mention the misdeeds or flaws of character, just the good and that person is celebrated

Yesterday I went to my friend Heather's funeral. The one I mentioned in my last post.  I had worried about going, thinking that it would be too hard with the sting of my diagnosis still fresh. I decided, however, that I could compartmentalize and go for Heather.
It was beautiful, but the moment I saw her two little girls walk in I just started to cry. I thought of my own sweet daughters walking with their amazing dad following my casket and it was hard. I managed to pull myself together and just listen to stories about Heather.

I may have written this before, but at this point in my journey, I'm not scared of death. I've read a lot and studied a lot and feel like I will be so okay when I die. I know I will be happy and safe. That's how I feel now, but ask me again when the time comes and I'll probably be full of fear. Anyway, right now I feel okay about how it will be for me when I die, but I worry about my family.

I don't want Kevin to have to go through losing a spouse and trying to take care of our children on his own. I've tried to talk to him about remarrying, but he won't talk about it.  Regardless if he does or not, it doesn't make things any less painful. For him to be alone, for my daughters to have to endure losing their mother at such tender ages. I hate that thought and I pray everyday that I will be allowed to stay here long enough to raise them and if possible, see them marry.  I want to grow old with Kevin. He is my favorite person, my everything and I want to grow old with him. I don't want him to grow old alone or with someone else.

I don't know how long I have, I don't know when it will be that there are no new treatments to try, but I hope that day is far far away.