Chapter 4 - Like Becomes Love

I had a boyfriend. Only my second – and the first who never expected more than I was ready to give. Our years long friendship had paved the way for a relationship built on acceptance, understanding and trust. We had (almost) no secret pasts to hide from each other, and we shared the same interests, values and goals. It just felt so easy. From May to July, we were inseparable. His parents were thrilled he had a “normal” girlfriend, and my family immediately welcomed George. We talked – and talked – about life, our hopes and dreams. I met his circle of friends and he met mine. We saw very little of each other on campus, but spent every free moment together. And not once did that nice boy, George, ever ask for more than a hug and kiss at the end of the evening. 

Early George and Paula

July, 1971  While George worked full time all summer at Firestone, I headed north with my parents, to their soon-to-be retirement home in a quaint little hamlet in Northern California. I was their uh-oh, third child – an unplanned “gift” they had not expected in their mid-forties. My college graduation coincided with their retirement schedule, and this trip would be my last family vacation with them. It would also be the first time in months I would not see George on a daily basis.

After work cat nap in his Firestone uniform

Life at my parent’s “home in the forest” was serene. The house needed some TLC, so trips included their fair share of DIY time. On this trip, Mom and I painted the decades old cabinetry, using a popular technique of the 70’s – antiquing. Dad and my nephew, who accompanied us, combined fishing trips with firewood gathering. We spent evenings stargazing – viewing the Milky Way – clearly visible with skies absent of big city light pollution. 

My parents little retirement fixer-upper 1969

A few years and a lot of TLC later

A crew of young logging workers were renting one of the houses in town, and the presence of a 20 year old, single female caught their interest. My nephew (six years my junior) and I had been invited to a barbecue at their place, and I assumed it would be a fun afternoon with the only other people under 60, in the town with a population of around 60. I was so naïve. 

I soon learned how easily I could be caught in an unwelcome situation - and I remember the fear as I hastily left, nephew in tow. Shaken, I returned to my parents’ house and was relieved we would be heading home the next morning. When none of us could sleep we opted to start our ten hour trek before dawn, and arrived home on a Sunday afternoon. I thought of my boyfriend at home. His tenderness and restraint. His decency and respect, as our friendship was slowly blossoming.

For the first time ever I realized how much I missed George. How much he meant to me. I had never missed anyone in my life like this. I could hardly wait to get home and tell him - he was the one! I was in love with my best friend! And I hoped he felt the same about me.

The Homecoming

“I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of the life to start as soon as possible.” When Harry Met Sally

That road trip home felt like an eternity. I passed the time imagining the scene in TV ads, showing two lovers running from opposite ends in a field of flowers - in slow motion - and into each other’s loving embrace. That would be us in just a few hours. He would be as thrilled as I was to be home, I was sure of it.

I ran that visual through my head for hours, and called his home as soon as I could. But he wasn’t there. I finally tracked him down, thanks to his pal Barry. George was at a GTO Club car wash, at a gas station in North Hollywood. Not the flower field of my dreams, but it would have to do. I hopped into my not-so-special Buick Special and made my way to the gas station, wearing one of his favorite dresses – a home sewn white mini shift with matching shorts. I was ready to wrap my arms around George and proclaim my love.

When I finally spotted him at the club car wash, he was happy to see me - I think. “Hi!” he said, bucket in hand, ready to soap up the next vehicle before him. “Need your car washed?” Not quite the response I was hoping for, but I wasn’t deterred. I always admired George’s dedication to whatever task was at hand. He was in full-on fundraising mode, offering car washes to anyone who drove by and making sure the club members were properly cleaning cars and drying them to spotless perfection – a skill he learned working at a bona fide car wash (for fifty cents an hour and tips) in his pre-Firestone days.  

Clean GTO's - and cheap gas. $.32/gallon!

I watched him, chatted when he was within earshot, and decided this would not be our “moment”. We kissed as I left for home, and he promised to pick me up later that evening for a homecoming night out. I would have to wait a while longer…

I always heard George’s arrival before his knock at my door – the four-barrel carburetor and 360 horsepower of his GTO announced his presence before he reached my house. As promised, he picked me up and we headed to the Santa Monica Pier for a beautiful July summer’s night out. I held his hand tighter, and leaned my head into his arm as often as I could. We were both happy to be back together, and I wanted the night to last forever. But I couldn’t find the moment to say the L word – yet. That would have to wait until we parked in front of my house.

As my parents watched TV inside, George and I took advantage of his GTO’s front bench seat. I snuggled close and, as we “made out” (another term from the 60’s), I looked into his soft blue eyes and told him I loved him. His eyes and touch confirmed he felt the same. 

I’ll leave the rest to your imagination, but must share one more reason I knew I was with the right man. George did not make the first move. In the parlance of that ubiquitous baseball metaphor, George never stole a “base” without my permission. That night, I gave him permission - to advance a base.

My love. My life. My Kahuna. My George.

I Miss Hugs the Most

I still count the weeks. Ten to be exact. I still walk to the far side of the bed. My side. I still use My bathroom sink. His coffee mugs sit unused. My shopping cart is half full. Half of me is missing. I’ve reached the point of accepting the reality thrust upon me so unexpectedly. Now I’m trying to focus on living this new version of myself. The widow. The party of one.

I’m six days away from what would have been our 44^th anniversary. Instead it’s another gut wrenching post-Kahuna milestone to conquer. Daughter and Niece will join me for a Girls Night - a dinner dance at a favorite winery. Everybody is trying so hard to insulate me from the pain. It’s their pain too. So we shall eat, drink and dance. But I miss him…

I miss his hugs. He gave the best hugs. Quick goodbye hugs as he left for work. Celebratory hugs of happiness. Passionate hugs of lovers. Casual come-from-behind hugs in the kitchen as I made dinner. Long, arms-encircling-me, “I’m here to make sure nothing bad happens to you,” embraces. He was nine inches taller, allowing my head to rest in the middle of his chest, his heart softly beating a calm, reassuring rhythm. We hugged often, in private and public. I never wanted them to end.

Safe in his arms- and taller with heels!

In my post-Kahuna life, hugs are frequent - delivered on an almost daily basis from my extraordinary village. (Hug) “I wish I could do more,” is a sentiment shared often. (Hug) “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” (Hug) “You are so strong, I don’t know what I would do if this happened to me.” (Hug) “You’ll get through this.”  I welcome each and every comforting embrace, and feel immensely fortunate to have the support of my wonderful “framily”. But no one can replace Kahuna hugs. I miss his hugs.

I miss our dancing. As baby boomers, our choreography was influenced by our parents and older siblings. Glenn Miller’s Big Band meets American Bandstand. If a song had a beat and you could swing dance to it, we were out there. My hand in his, my other arm on his shoulder, we would set out on a swing dance-fest, complete with our signature spins and turns. It wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but it was our “routine” – and we got lost in each other in those precious moments.

I have danced twice since That Day. The songs that beckoned me to grab Daughter, then Niece, to the dance floor were from the George and Paula playlist. I felt compelled to channel my inner Kahuna, and led my new dance partners in a few familiar swing spins. I’m sure they felt slightly awkward as I took their hands and proceeded to “step, step, rock step, turn and spin” them to the music. We smiled, then I cried – another ugly cry – missing my life/dance partner in that moment. I miss dancing.

I miss…our conversations – both spoken and silent. Our ESP-like intuition of each other’s thoughts at any given moment. His room filling presence. His “sweet-talk” to Charlie the Golden, complete with Charlie’s replies. His sensitivity (“Quick, change the channel!”) to commercials featuring abandoned or abused animals. His misspellings in crosswords I’d have to fix. His ADD-induced messiness. I miss everything.

But I miss his hugs the most.

Kahuna Signs

Today marks the one week anniversary of the day I was not prepared for. That Day. Last words. Last hug. Last day of my Kahuna filled life. I still sleep on “my side” of the bed, and find myself referring to future plans as, “We want to…” It was the George and Paula Show for so long, and separating myself from that beautiful companionship is going to take time. Writing is helping me heal, and I thank those reading this for indulging my oversharing.

When does it feel real? I know he’s gone. There will be no return to his side of the bed. No more stories my Kahuna famously told – and retold - with such enthusiasm. For now I feel as if I’m going through the motions of daily life, and not truly feeling his absence. Tears flow freely - and often - as if I'm part of a sappy Hallmark movie. Yet this isn't fiction and my reality hasn't quite gotten the memo.

I’ve got a village doing everything possible to help make the transition more bearable. And I have learned just how much George was directing key players from the sidelines these past four months, assuring his inevitable departure (CANCER SUCKS) would be as painless as possible for me, his LPM, Lovely Paula Marie.

This week with the help of our best friend, we sat at George’s desk preparing his case files for colleagues who have so openly and willingly stepped up to keep his clients represented. Making calls. Breaking the news to those who felt so secure in his capable professional hands. Discussing his clients with his sister/brotherhood of attorney friends, and crying at some point in every conversation. His absence from all of our lives is very real, yet I can’t say the reality – the finality – has sunk in. Is that a sign that he’s still “with” me?

Signs Oh how I want to know that, absent of his cancer ravaged body, my Kahuna is watching over me. Over us. For those who process the afterlife differently, I honor and accept your version. For me, I have taken great comfort when my dearly departed have “visited” me in dreams, appeared in nature, or somehow let me know they are with me. My sister is with me with every monarch butterfly. Another beautiful soul drops by as a dove occasionally. George seems to be dropping by too, visiting family and friends, and likely leaving hints that they are all now responsible for the care and feeding of his LPM…

The Wake Up Call  George’s heart stopped less than a minute after Son arrived in the ICU, completing our family circle who lovingly and tearfully surrounded him. Our extended family had all gone to bed praying for George, and expecting an update in the morning. That update would shatter everyone’s hopes. As word spread to our closest family and the Pilgrimage to Paula began, so did the tales of the signs. Niece, suddenly awakened from a sound sleep at the exact time her favorite uncle was in that tearful hug with Son – the moment I believe George waited for - before letting go of his failing body. Uncle George stopped by to see his beautiful “little girl” and let her know he would always be a second father as well as a dear friend. In the days after, others shared stories of unusual awakenings that coincided with my Kahuna’s first, then second heart stopping moments. Signs.

The Whale  The morning after his passing, Daughter and Son-in-law drove to the Pacific Coast Highway for some coffee, tears and reflection. You may know the spot – famous in many SoCal car commercials for its rugged cliffs and landmark rock protuberance. The Kahuna and I spent our fair share of moments in that exact spot, taking in the endless view and salt spray of crashing waves. Suddenly Daughter noticed, not far offshore, the distinct undulation of a whale as it slowly traveled along the coastline. In all of her visits to that spot she had never spotted a whale. Neither had I. She immediately texted me. A few days later, Niece checked in while on her long planned birthday trip along California’s Central Coast and shared her first-ever sighting of…you guessed it…a whale! My Big Kahuna Whale was with them. Signs.

Man’s Best Friend George is a pushover for the Golden Retrievers who have been the third Musketeer in the George and Paula Show. Charlie has assumed that role since we rescued him in 2015, and was probably the dog most bonded to his dad. After George’s diagnosis, Charlie stayed closer to his master – alongside his chair or curled up in George’s office while he met with clients. Charlie prefers sleeping downstairs in his “spot”, and rarely sauntered up the stairs – unless he sensed George was putting on his walking shoes for their daily stroll - and bounded up for confirmation. They were inseparable. Yet dogs live in the moment, so George’s absence doesn’t play out with human emotion. Charlie’s still waiting for Dad to come through the door, yet is his happy-go-lucky Golden self in the meantime. But he’s here for me. Nuzzled into my lap when I had my first meltdown. And this morning – only my second overnight alone since That Day – I found Charlie at the foot of George’s side of the bed. As I lay in bed on my self-proclaimed day of solitude, he has stayed upstairs with me. George’s best friend is now my Hairy Kahuna, making sure I am safe. A sign.

The Rings  George had two wedding rings. The band I placed on his finger in 1974, and a second, slightly more blingy ring – my gift to him for our 40th anniversary, and a mate to the ring he gave me. His wedding band was all but fused to his ring finger, thanks to the extra pounds 44 years of marriage had bestowed on him. I did not expect it to leave his finger That Day, but his kind and compassionate ICU nurse had other plans. Using ultrasound lubricant gel, she oh-so-gently massaged his finger to work the ring from his lifeless hand and tenderly handed it to me. It was the last gift from George to me, and both rings now hang from a chain around my neck. They rest close to my heart – in my cleavage – my Kahuna is loving this placement!

Sweet grandbaby Kelly, at nine months, will sadly have no memories of her grandpa, other than the stories and photos we will share to keep him in her heart forever. One of George’s only regrets when he became sick was not having more time with his three grandchildren. He had hoped for fishing trips, more Disneyland adventures, and more time to create memories. Shortly after That Day, Daughter’s family decided to take their planned overnight trek to the happiest place on earth, and I opted to join them. It was our happy place too, and a good diversion for the day. I made it my role to stroll Kelly while Max, Daughter and SIL enjoyed the rides. She was my perfect companion – she let me cry as I recalled the memories with George here, and she didn’t question if I was “alright”. We took Kelly on one infant-friendly attraction – a little train ride. As I sat alongside Kelly in her daddy’s lap, she reached for the rings and held them the entire time. Holding Grandpa’s hand on her first ever ride at his favorite place to be a kid at heart. She has continued to clutch the rings at every opportunity since then. Grandpa is keeping close. A sign.

In Dreams  I have heard from friends and family that George has “visited” them. A presence. A feeling. A dream. I experienced those encounters when my mother and sister died, and had a beautiful moment with one of our Goldens – Bear – after we lost him suddenly. George’s dad came to him shortly after his death, and he found great comfort and wonder in the experience. I wanted more time with my Kahuna and was slightly envious hearing he had popped in on others and not me – yet!

I had my moment – the first of many I hope – two nights ago. We didn’t talk, but we hugged. I could feel him. There was less girth to wrap my arms around, which I attributed to the massive tumor being gone. He hugged back. We kissed. It was still wonderful. I awakened suddenly and he was gone. I willed myself back to sleep in hopes he would still be there. He wasn’t. I’m hoping he will return for a conversation one day. I have more to tell him. I want him to know I’m sorry for those last excruciating hours.

On this self-imposed day alone, I am going to look at photos, listen to music, hug Charlie and take a long walk. I’ll be looking for signs. I know my Kahuna is sending them.

Kahuna Gone

I survived Day 2 of my Kahuna-less life. My loved ones are ferociously protective of me and have taken George’s place in making sure I am safe. He has to be so grateful to them for assuming that role. So am I. And yet my heart aches that his place had to be taken.

Family and friends filled the house as we shared tears and laughter (and by evening, wine) remembering George! In the morning we visited the mortuary to handle final arrangements, and made stops to visit and leave flowers for my sister Janet and George’s mom Bette. The night ended in true Cass de Hultman fashion, with a few of us sitting around the fire pit telling more stories about a man who had such an impact on so many people. In bed, I clutched his pillow again and held the one piece of clothing that still carries the scent of my beautiful man. This big bed feels so empty. My Kahuna was a key player in all but the first 17 years of my life. How I will carry-on without him is the question I can’t yet answer.

“Hey, Paula! Your husband just died. What are you going to do next?” I’m going to Disneyland! Yes. It’s true. Alison and her family had made the plans several weeks ago before our world took this sad and unexpected turn. Thankfully, they made the decision not to cancel their trip. As we talked yesterday about the days ahead I thought to myself, “I should go too.” It was a place where George and I happily became kids again. Being with the grands would be a beautiful diversion from reality for a day. I could be the saddest person on earth at the happiest place on earth! So this afternoon after we visit a few places in mind for George’s memorial, I’m taking my seat between sweet Max and Kelly to lose myself in Disney imagined make believe - definitely a George-approved diversion.

The extraordinary outpouring of tributes and shared memories have been so appreciated. PLEASE KEEP THEM COMING! They bring back a flood of beautiful memories and provide tremendous comfort. I am saving each and every post, message and comment, and plan on creating a collection of George Moments in which to immerse myself whenever I need to feel his presence.

I am deeply grateful and profoundly overwhelmed by the love and kindness you have shown me along this journey. The flowers, cards, gifts, food, messages, visits and hugs - both virtual and physical - have helped me cope with the grief that consumes me. It’s impossible to express the depth of my appreciation. I am...speechless. ❤️

Cancer, One. Chemo, Zero.

We’ve surpassed the two month mark since Hubby received The News. I shared our reaction in an earlier post. We have now settled into the new normal of appointments, dates with chemo infusion; the sad, occasional sequestration from snotty nosed grandkids; incessant hand sanitizing to ward off the winter cold/flu season; and good week/bad week scheduling of formerly routine activities.

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Last week was a reminder of the insidiousness and cruel uncertainty of a cancer battle. The call we had been anticipating from Hubby’s oncologist came late in the afternoon. After four rounds of chemo infusion, he dropped the bombshell. Hubby’s CT scan had delivered the heartbreaking news that his tumor had not responded to treatment. Talk about a punch to the gut. We had lived in our hope bubble, yet cancer was winning. NOOOOO!! This wasn’t going to be the tear-less day I had promised myself. Instead we shared a long, muted hug. Called the kids. Felt the weight of failure at killing the beast. Paula-anna reminded Hubby there were still options. A different chemo regimen. Possible clinical trials. “They didn’t tell us there’s nothing more they can do.” I tried to find a ray of positivity, but we felt the heaviness of the news – a cruel blow that left us numb once again.

The next morning brought with it grey skies and the first measureable rain in a long dry SoCal winter. As much as staying in bed on a cold cloudy day might have seemed appropriate, Hubby was up and out of the house by six, headed to court and a client whose case trumped his personal battle. I was up too, making calls to MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, where Hubby’s doctor hoped he might qualify for a clinical trial for his rare cancer. All the wheels were turning and by afternoon we thought we had a plan. Houston, we have a problem – and hope you have a solution. But wait, there’s more…

USC Norris Cancer Center

Twenty four hours after the bad news had dropped, an unexpected email arrived from Hubby’s oncologist. This time it took us to the top of Mount Hope! There were two new clinical trials for specific treatment of the rare genetic mutation that had likely triggered Hubby’s cancer. And both were just 50 miles away, at USC Norris Cancer Center in Los Angeles, where we had already met with their gastrointestinal oncology team. To quote Hubby’s UCLA oncologist, “This is great news!!!” Hope was alive. Spirits soared. Was this the miracle we had been praying for? We enjoyed a weekend in hope-topia, and awaited our Monday morning appointment at USC.

Today was that day. Hubby’s USC doctor methodically articulated the three options before us. The safest was a second, standard course of chemo that has been successful (for some) in stabilizing his form of cancer, inhibiting its growth. One of the clinical trials he was “invited” to would be a blind study, meaning he would possibly receive a placebo instead of actual treatment. Last was a dosing study of an untested drug, to see how much he could tolerate before side effects became too severe. We were handed two packets of detailed descriptions of both trials and the required consent forms. Our heads were spinning! Finally, we asked the doctor, “If he was your family member, what choice would you want him to make?” Without hesitation, she said the standard chemo course would be her recommendation – for now. So that was it. Hubby’s USC and UCLA doctors are in agreement (cross-town college rivalry aside!) and chemo will resume – with new drugs – tomorrow morning. Fight On! Eight Clap! Clinical trials are still an option if this regimen doesn’t produce results.

As we waited for the car, I hugged Hubby and tried to read his thoughts hidden behind the faraway gaze. “I love you,” I said for the millionth time in two months. His eyes welled up and voice cracked as he echoed his love back to me. “The hardest part about all this”, he said, “is knowing what I am putting you and the kids through.” We held our embrace, oblivious to everyone, digging deep to keep hope alive, and finding strength in our unwavering commitment to each other.  

Hubby and I with Charlie our goofy Golden, choosing HOPE!

Hubby took a fall in Round One, but he’s back on his feet. The battle continues, and my cancer warrior is armed and ready. He is still #kahunastrong.  

I Choose Hope

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It hasn’t happened often, but when it rears its ugly head, it's suffocating. Physically painful. Mentally draining. Paula’s Pity Parties. Those moments when, without warning, all the darkest thoughts – the ‘Why Hubby?” despair - overshadows every waking moment. I find myself going through motions, consumed with a crushing sadness. Moved to tears by a song on my playlist from happier days. Trying to disrupt the dark mood with deep breaths and audible, head shaking sighs.

In the month since Hubby’s terrifying - and dramatic – adverse reaction to chemo, and the subject of my last post I have canceled (almost) all appointments with Pitiful Paula, focusing instead on playdates with Hope and Happiness. It hasn’t always been easy…

March of the Missing Penguin Pin: Previous blogs tell the entire story of this priceless piece of jewelry. The Pin was presented to me by P3 when Hubby was first diagnosed. Since then it has accompanied me to most social functions, and an occasional Target run! When it’s not in its place of honor on my sweater or jacket, it gets tucked into a small box on my bathroom counter.

Yesterday, in a hurry to get out the door to attend a luncheon with my Penguin pals, I opened the box to grab The Pin. It wasn’t there. “I must have left it on my denim jacket” I thought, hurrying to the closet to retrieve it from its perch. No Pin. My heart raced for a few seconds – and I was late for a very important luncheon. I forced myself not to panic, and headed out the door – Pinless. As I drove, I mentally retraced my steps, and remembered one place I hadn’t checked. For a moment I considered a detour to snatch The Pin before meeting the ‘Guins. But time - and California driving laws forbidding U-turns on Highway 101 - dissuaded me. I arrived, unadorned, to welcome hugs from my penguin “huddle”!

I was all smiles as we enjoyed each other’s company over bloody Mary’s and chardonnay, but my worry over The Pin was unshakable. I couldn’t imagine telling my friends I was responsible for losing the most treasured, shared ebony/mother of pearl symbol of our almost 40 years of friendship. I let Pitiful Paula get in my head – she expressed the worst of all possible thoughts. Was The Pin's disappearance an omen for another, more devastating loss? More deep breaths and another audible, head shaking sigh. C’mon Hope. I need you more than ever!

For the next several hours I hunted. Searched every article of clothing, Dug through cupboards, cars and crevices. Calls were made to the restaurant I last remember wearing it. Tears flowed as I confided to Daughter, and later to P3, my negligence in not having replaced The Pin for safe keeping. Hubby did his best to comfort me. Daughter reminded me it’s “just a thing”. The memories are forever, and a new penguin pin could carry on the tradition. P3 philosophically suggested the finder must have needed it more than I. In our hour long phone call, I used the time to re-search my closet and drawers while conversation turned to the more typical subjects – P3’s new home décor, and assorted gal talk. Worry had temporarily been sidelined when, with the sweep of some summer tops hung above a closet shelf, the unmistakable shape appeared. THE PIN! “I FOUND IT!” I screamed into the phone as I clutched it and ran downstairs to Hubby’s open arms. P3 cried happy tears on the other end of our call. My worry and doomsday assumptions had done nothing but muzzle my daily dose of hope and happiness. The happy ending was validation that hope reigns.

I spy with my little eye....

 I Can’t Believe This Happened: I am thrilled to report Hubby’s dialysis is history and the catheter has been surgically removed, leaving just one implant – the infusion port – taking up valuable real estate on his chest. He is showering again, sans the plastic wrapped and waterproof-taped protuberance. And no more kitchen sink shampoo dates with me!

Cath-free Hubby and I headed to Chemo Round 3 this week with the usual trepidation and unavoidable worry about a possible rerun of the post-chemo crisis that had landed him in the hospital four weeks earlier. Doctor A. met with us before the infusion and found Hubby in a sad and somber mood. Moments before, as he awaited the pre-chemo ritual of vitals and bloodwork, Hubby was lost in a pensive moment, his usual humor overtaken with damp eyes and a faraway stare. As I took his hand, he said, “I can’t believe this happened to me. Six months ago I was healthy…(sigh) …oh well.” It was Hubby’s first Pity Party and it broke my heart. When his nurse asked him why he was sad, he replied “I’m not sad. I’m mad.” He had every right to be angry, and I made the decision to forego my usual “Paula-anna” put-on-a-happy-face pep talk. I allowed him to process his mood without intervention. Hand holding was all I could provide as I wiped away my own tears.

Hopeful Hubby

When Dr. A met with us moments later, he reported the pre-chemo bloodwork showed improved liver and kidney function. Every indication pointed to smooth sailing with the dreaded 48 hour infusion pump Hubby would take home, and he insisted I call any hour of the day or night if said “ship” headed off course. My questions about future treatment options were answered with assurances that he would be aggressive in seeking alternatives (hello, clinical trials), if and when current chemo was deemed ineffective. His voice was filled with hope for Hubby. We all knew the harsh reality, but Doctor A. focused on what could be done. Hubby’s demeanor immediately changed. His shoulders carried less weight in those moments, and we shared a hug absent of worry, living in the present with positive thoughts for the future. Score one for hope!

My week of replacing worry with hope taught me valuable lessons for navigating Hubby’s cancer journey. It’s still a work in progress, and I know future bouts of negativity are inevitable. In a perfectly timed prologue to my “I Choose Hope” project, a gloriously happy floral bouquet was delivered – the third of its kind in consecutive weeks – from my pre-retirement work family, accompanied with an inspirational quote.

“Worry does not empty tomorrow of sorrow.

It empties today of its strength.”

I can’t deny worry is present every day. How could it not be? But I’m determined to keep it from consuming me. Hubby is living each day, staying in the moment. His birthday tomorrow will be emotional for everyone. Amid the birthday cheer, I choose to mute the unspeakable thoughts - as I expect will be the case with everyone sharing his special day. I am determined to set my autopilot on Hope and Happiness each and every day - staying #KahunaStrong. Wish me luck!

I'm Sorry

December 22. The date is burned into my memory. We had been bracing for answers to why Hubby’s health had taken such a sudden and catastrophic turn. The explanation for the sudden onset of acute renal failure didn’t fit neatly into any categories. Initial results indicated cancer, but more pathology was required before the specifics could be confirmed. We would have to await results. The wait was agonizing.

Two weeks later we held our collective breath as we sat, for the first time in either of our lives, in an oncologist’s waiting room. A muted big screen monitor screened footage of snow falling among the golden, shimmering aspen leaves in a serene idyllic mountain setting. A stunning arrangement of pine boughs and poinsettia acknowledged the jolly holiday season. A tabletop held neatly displayed brochures on a variety of relevant topics. Cancer support groups. Caregiver resources. A newsletter offered the BOLD Headline: California End of Life Option Act: Hoping for the Best, Planning for the Worst, and Knowing You Options. We weren’t in Kansas anymore.

Everyone was so positive!! The door to the inner sanctum opened frequently, as cancer patients and caregivers made their way to what, I was to discover later, was the multi-chair chemo center. Smiles abounded. Staff members welcomed patients back, engaging in congenial small talk. A jovial woman navigated her walker to a waiting room chair, smiling broadly under her crocheted cap to cover her hairlessness. “You still have your hair!” she commented to someone she apparently knew from previous chemo sessions. “So far!” he replied, smiling broadly. How could people here be so upbeat? This was an oncologist’s office. Cancer, the most evil, unfair and terrifying demon brought people here, yet they were exchanging smiles, pleasantries and holiday cheer. Christmas was just three days away, and the spirit of positivity abounded in a CANCER office.

Hubby and I were the exception to the light hearted mood. We were moments from the news we had been awaiting. My head was filled with hope - and fear. The “many voices of me” played an endless loop of happy endings, along with terrifying “life without Hubby” nightmares. We thought we were ready to find out….

No one can prepare for the news we received. Hubby’s doctor was gentle but direct. He told us how sorry he was that he didn’t have better news. Outlined detailed treatment options for the rare cancer threatening to steal my lifelong partner from me. Offered details about oncology specialists we should contact for second (and third, and fourth) opinions, and gave us his personal email for questions that may arise over the long holiday weekend. I had stopped trying to take notes, and secretly had my phone voice recorder capturing his words in order to play it back when my heart wasn’t pounding louder than his voice.

Through it all, Hubby listened intently, expressionless. No questions. No overt reaction. He may as well have been listening to a judge pronouncing a verdict after one of his court appearances. His only words to the doctor were, “Man, I’d hate to have your job.” That was it. A few closing comments followed, and the doctor gave Hubby an “I’m sorry” handshake and pat on the back as he exited the room.

We hadn’t uttered a word to each other. An examination table separated our two chairs, making even hand holding impossible as Hubby received the prognosis and time line. We had controlled our emotions in those agonizing minutes. Once the doctor left the room, we stood up, walked to each other and shared an embrace unlike any I could remember. I didn’t know what to say. But he did. Two words defined the man who has put others before himself his entire life. “I’m sorry.” As he received his “sentence”, my protector felt the rush of guilt for spoiling my happily ever after. We hugged as I melted into his still strong embrace. We wallowed in that tragic moment for a mere few seconds, then shook it off and put on our game face. There was no time to waste. Cancer wasn’t taking a break inside my Big Kahuna, and we couldn’t either.

We were unusually quiet as we headed home into the last light of what was a gorgeous SoCal winter sunset. As he drove, Hubby’s first comment was, “You’re going to be fine, I’ve got everything in place for you…” I stopped him mid-sentence. I was not ready. At the same time, I understood my man. Always putting others first. ALWAYS putting my needs first. He was about to begin the toughest battle of his life, yet his first thoughts centered on my future.

We made the decision to invite our son, daughter and their families to come to the house that evening, so we could tell them the news. Christmas was around the corner and our preschool and infant grandchildren were giddy with excitement. The juxtaposition of Hubby’s bombshell and Santa’s pending arrival had to be carefully played. Daughter held her 5 month old daughter, son attended to his 2 year old, happily eating blueberries, and son-in-law kept almost 4 year old son distracted…as their father found the words none of them wanted to hear. Like the doctor, he was brief and direct – and immediately assured them that he was ready to fight the good fight. Everyone guarded their emotions from the littles in the room, who were too young to feel the punch to the gut that followed the announcement. But their faces spoke volumes. Quiet tears mixed with bouncing baby girl and her sweet smile. Blank stares into the unknowns of their father’s future, against the playful banter of cousins happily engaged with treasures in Gigi and Grandpa’s toy closet. As unfortunate as the timing of the news, the joy of children at Christmas would prove to be a much needed diversion...

Christmas Eve was spent quietly, a seismic shift from the typical Hultman Christmas Eve Spectacular of the previous 38 years. Daughter hosted a Christmas Eve Pajama Party for our immediate family – the same party of 8 with whom we shared The News two nights earlier. Hubby continued his traditional reading of The Night Before Christmas to the less-than-attentive toddlers! Son, Daughter and I, on the other hand, didn’t want to miss a word. The significance of this Christmas Eve custom had a new poignancy. I recorded all of it – squirmy, chatty grandkids and all. I pray we will repeat the tradition next year and beyond.

Our quiet, mutually agreed upon giftless Christmas morning started with a kiss. We headed back to Daughter’s home, greeted by oldest Grandson’s announcement that Santa had indeed come, and the inquiry to both Grandpa and me, “Did Santa bring you coal or presents?” I assured him we were on the Nice List which brought him great relief! Daughter, our designated Santa delivered joyfully wrapped presents to their intended recipients.

One – then two – and three packages made their way to me, with the telltale handwriting and tags. “To the Lovely Paula Marie, from The Big Kahuna. To Mrs. H. from Mr. H. To Mom from Charlie (our goofy Golden)”. I could not hold back my tears. We vowed not to exchange presents, yet Hubby had broken the rules. “I’m sorry,” he said. I immediately understood the reason why he had ignored our no gifts pledge. We didn’t have to say it but it was never far from our minds – what will next Christmas hold in store?

In those first few days after the diagnosis, we rode an emotional roller coaster of fear and uncertainty, wistful hope and forced positivity. In the weeks since, we are finding our footing. Hubby feels well enough to continue working, with a few tweaks to his calendar. His kidneys are healing and dialysis may soon be discontinued permanently. His sense of humor is intact - his biggest compliment coming from the staff of his nephrologist's office, "Mr. Hultman, you are my favorite patient!" There have been some terrifying moments too, to be shared in a future post, along with immeasurable gratitude to family and friends for their seemingly limitless support. I don’t think Hubby comprehended how his lifetime of generosity and selflessness touched others. He has been moved to tears more than once – not by the fight he faces – but by the avalanche of kindness, compassion, prayers and support from so many. After one particular act of thoughtfulness, he commented, “People are being so nice,” as his eyes welled up and voice cracked. Wiping away the tears, embarrassed by his tearful moment, he said, “I’m sorry.” Honey, you have nothing to apologize for. You are still the strongest person I know. I promise to stay #kahunastrong

Sorry, honey. It's not a Hallmark

July 6, 1974 - in all of its '70's splendor!

July 6 marks a very special date in our family history. On this date 37 years ago, Hubby and I vowed to love and to cherish each other in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live. We left for our honeymoon that evening after a wonderful reception - the first night spent at a hotel airport - and headed to Hawaii the next day. My big, strong, and self-assured Hubby lived with his parents up until the day we wed, and had to call his mother from the hotel that first night to ask where his wallet was - my man’s mom had packed his suitcase for his first ever plane trip with his first ever wife! We returned two weeks later, discovered what it was like to live together, and have been cherishing each other ever since.

37 years equals 37 anniversaries - skillfully marketed with increasingly expensive symbolic gifts - paper, wood, crystal, silver - and eventually the Golden 50 and Diamond 60th. Hubby has typically ignored such “foolish” traditions, and often chose to mark many July 6th’s with diamonds, rubies and emeralds, oh my! We frequently relived our honeymoon with trips to Hawaii, and recounted our years together while strolling our favorite beaches and toasting life together at our favorite barefoot bar. Such wonderful memories, celebrating our good fortune of finding “the one” all those years ago.

How are we celebrating the Big 3-7? The best way we know how - by being together. After so many memorable anniversary gifts and excursions, we still find pure joy in simply spending time in each other’s company - no gifts required, no trip necessary. Every day is a celebration of our wedding day.

There has been one constant in our 37 years - the Anniversary Card. You know the ones on the top rows in the card stores, with embossed flowers or silouhettes of adoring couples strolling hand-in-hand along the beach at sunset. A college graduate who is probably grateful to have put his English major to practical use, fills the pages with words intended to express the card giver’s everlasting love - and amazement - that the couple has managed to survive all of marriage’s ups and downs, and each other!

Personally, I am not a fan of mushy card sentiments and often opt for the alternate humorous variety. Hubby, on the other hand, is the card master. His gift is not in finding the perfect card – it is what he puts inside.  He fills the entire inner leaf with his personal reflections - words that no Hallmark writer could touch! I love Hubby’s cards, and have a hope chest filled with 36 anniversary messages, carefully written, and representative of our extraordinary marriage. They mean as much to me as the diamonds, rubies and emeralds.

Honey, I am sorry to say that I didn’t get you a card this year. However, I have a good excuse - I was writing my blog! Instead of standing a piece of folded cardstock on the mantle this year, I am sharng my love for you with you and all of my “followers”. Paula is shouting from the rooftop, “I Love My Hubby!” And I did the math....here’s to our 37th. I have loved every 1.17 billion seconds of it! Now, on to 38!

July 6, 1974 - July 6, 2011

13,514 Days

324,336 Hours

19,460,160 Minutes

1,167,609,600 Seconds

Happy Anniversary to the man who still makes every day a gift.

I love you more than words can say.

3-Word Wisdom 30 - Enjoy each decade

I made it! I am 60 today– and guess what? It didn’t hurt a bit. I allowed myself to fret over this birthday – 60 happens, folks – and putting my feelings into words helped me to better understand myself. I am powerless over the number, yet I am in control of the contents of my life. I am determined to make my 60’s the best they can be.

How am I celebrating the actual date of my birth? I’m going to Disneyland!  Hubby and I had our second official date there back in 1971, and we still feel like kids in love at the happiest place on earth. For those who think it is utter foolishness for a pair of 60 year olds to traipse – sans children - around a theme park, let me offer my “Disneyland Metaphor for Life”. Strap on your mouse ears and let’s take a decade-by-decade tour of the magic kingdom…

Fantasyland is our magical childhood, where we “believe” with innocent, wide-eyed wonderment. We are dragon slayers and princesses (Hubby may argue that I still am!), and imagine flying like Peter Pan - protected from the scariest of villains by our corps of valiant heroes - and we find pure glee in the spin of a teacup!

Tomorrowland represents our turbulent teens when we look forward to our birthdays  - not for the year they represent - but for their marker toward what lies ahead...our adulthood and freedom! We are thrill seekers and dreamers – in a constant state of flux, like the dips and curves of Space Mountain. We drive the Autopia cars and imagine ourselves behind the wheel of our first set of wheels. During these years we question if tomorrow will ever come.

Welcome to Adventureland and our twenties. The world is our playground. We are choosing our own adventure – making our own decisions - beginning to take college and work seriously and realizing that the years of contemplating, “What will I be when I grow up?”, now requires a decision! Lifelong friendships and relationships are made, and we entertain thoughts of starting our own families. Our Jungle Cruise twenties offer lots of humor, a few waterfalls, and a wild night – or two! 

Our 30’s mark our visit to Frontierland – and for many, the new frontier of raising children. Parenthood is life's most important career. I am astonished that, as much as we prepare for every other aspect of adulthood, we enter our child-rearing days with very little knowledge on the subject. Kids don’t come with an instruction book – simply pre-charged batteries that never run out of energy. We are Davey Crockett charting a completely new territory, and our musket and ‘coon skin caps have been traded in for binkies and baby strollers.

We spend our 40’s in New Orleans Square. The kids have taken over our home, and the pantry has been pillaged -we are living with the Pirates of the Caribbean! We have morphed into our parents, and the kids are sure that we have no clue what it is like to be a teenager! We now worry about their curfews, and are careful not to let them know what we did in our youth because, God forbid, they may figure out that we are indeed human. We may need a drink now and then to survive their tests of independence – drink up me hearties, yo ho!

It’s time to enjoy our satisfied 50’s on good old Main Street – the kids are grown, our nest is empty and we find ourselves waxing nostalgic. We are once again in the favor of our children who actually ask for our advice! Life is filled with great memories of days gone by. Thankfully our minds mask all of the child-rearing drama beneath a lovely veil – even the trying moments are magically transformed into treasured memories.

Where will our 60's take us? I am looking forward to finding out! Hubby and I will ring in our next decade by reconnecting with our inner children – recalling visits with our nieces, nephews, and our children. Like Peter Pan, there is a part of us that never wants to grow up. We will immerse ourselves in unadulterated fun – and return tomorrow to reality and all that truly matters – with our unwavering commitment to making the world a better place. 

My final 3-word wisdom: Enjoy every decade. Life is a wonderful adventure - an "E-Ticket" ride filled with thrilling - and unexpected - twists and turns. Allow yourself to experience all that life has to offer.

Thank you all for taking this ride with me. Your comments, feedback and well-wishes have made my journey to 60 a treasured gift, and I am forever grateful for having you in my life. I survived "The 60's" of my youth - here's to living my 60's of super adulthood!

With sincere gratitude,

Paula

3-Word Wisdom 29: Seek your wisdom

With just two posts left to complete my “30 posts in 30 days toward 60” challenge, I am sad to be saying goodbye to my daily writing engagements with my laptop. When I began my “blog therapy” in January, I had no idea where it would take me - I was behind the wheel with no GPS directing me. I allowed myself to think (a lot!) about my life. In reading my posts I have confirmed what, in my heart, I already knew:

• I cherish my family and friends
• I need to love myself for who I am
• Each experience of my life – even the difficult ones - has contributed to the person I am
• I am happiest when giving back 

Writing has always helped me deal with my innermost feelings, and sharing my thoughts and experience with others helped me wrap my head around my birthday milestone and all of the anxiety that I had allowed myself to feel. My 3-Word Wisdom project was my way of pushing myself to look inwardly on a daily basis, and as it wraps up I feel a wonderful sense of accomplishment. I have tackled some very personal subject matter and shared a few never-before-told stories, and it has been liberating to “write out loud”.  My wisdom is just that – mine. Sharing it with you has been my personal journey of discovery. This has been Paula – unplugged!

Today’s 3-word wisdom. Seek your wisdom. Each of us has a lifetime of experiences – good, bad, and sometimes painful. Take time to reflect on your life and ask yourself how your journey has been shaped by the choices you have made and the people you have encountered. Let your self-discovery provide enlightenment into the person you are, and be honest with yourself – are you the person you want to be? By getting in touch with your personal wisdom, you will have an inner compass to help you through life’s best – and worst - moments. Here’s to your best life. I already have mine!

Here's to 60, and what life has in store!

3-Word Wisdom: Savor life's surprises

I am still in shock. Daughter, Son, Family and Friends were gathering at our house yesterday while we spent a carefully plotted diversionary trip to the wine country. As we made our way home and turned the corner onto our street, the sight was surreal - it took my breath away. There, lining each side of our very long driveway were over one hundred people to welcome us. SURPRISE!! Hubby and I arrived home from our fabulous wine tasting day to a surprise 60^th birthday party. A band played the Beatles Birthday Song – our family’s traditional birthday anthem. Caterers were cooking and a bartender was pouring drinks. Banquet tables, chairs, balloons, banners, and canopy shelters– a last minute necessity due to some uncooperative weather - filled the back yard. The home we had left in the morning had been transformed into a magnificent party venue, thanks to our wonderful children and the family and friends they enlisted to help.

Everyone asked, “Were you surprised?” Completely. Utterly. Totally. I did not want a party when Daughter asked about having some people over next weekend. We had plans for a future night out with the kids and that sounded perfect. Besides, I felt that people were really over my Big Day after so much self-indulgent blogging. Little did I know what had been in the works for months!

I was stunned, as was Hubby, who was also kept completely in the dark. This was OUR 60^th birthday party. We laughed and cried, hugged and danced - and apparently our neighbors called to police - at 8:00 pm - because we were making too much noise! It took 60 years to have someone call the cops on me – I am officially rowdy! 

I am still trying to wrap my head around the entire night, letting it all sink in. Photos were being taken and I am looking forward to reliving the night - it was all quite a blur! I want to say something profound to describe the sheer joy and gratitude I feel for the people who have filled my heart with love, but it will take some time to find the words. Thank you is not enough, but for now, it’s all I've got! This is Paula – Speechless.

Today’s 3-word Wisdom - Savor life’s surprises. We spend the majority of our life carefully planning and executing our days. If you are the recipient of an unexpected kindness – no matter how large or small – enjoy the surprise. And remember to say thank you – even when you are left speechless.




Friend & family gauntlet awaits our arrival

If only you could see our faces from inside the car!

Daughter looks relieved to have pulled of such a surprise!