Heaven At My House

Last Memorial Day. 

This long weekend is like no other I can remember. I thought I could handle it. Wrong! Perhaps it’s the timing – so close to the last goodbye. Or the memories of last year’s Memorial Day BBQ Pizza Party with the Kahuna, in his Dodgers apron, skillfully manning his apple wood-stoked pizza oven. Sounds of friends and family filling the house and backyard. Music. So. Much. Joy. And the expectation that so any more Memorial Days were in our future. I still can’t wrap my head around the “lasts” we assumed would have “mores.”

Instead of backyard bashes, I am planning a “Party” for 200+. George never wanted a funeral, and I honored his wish. The most important – and painful event I never imagined. Today as I put the tribute video in the can, I once again felt the tug of contrary emotions that inhabit my surreal existence. Loving the process of choosing photos and carefully editing them to seamlessly blend with a meaningful soundtrack. Completely caught up in the project, then feeling suddenly gobsmacked with the reality that it’s my final goodbye to my first and only love. Somehow the act of creating the video brought me closer to George, and when I faced the notion that Saturday will mark the final farewell to him, I melted into a fresh puddle of tearful sadness and remorse. Grief. The unwelcome "gift" that keeps on giving - and I never know when my broken heart is going to trigger the river that regularly spills down my cheeks. I still struggle with the thought of what Paula 2.0 will look and feel like.

Family and friends are traveling from points across the country for “The Party." I'm planning a family mini-reunion here next Friday - a pre-celebration with family stories that may not be fit for the more public ones we will share Saturday. The only thing missing will be the Kahuna and his famous baby back ribs. His two, built-in Weber Kettles sit unused, a reminder of all of the gatherings George loved hosting. That and the mountain of charcoal in the garage…

Mt. Kingsford

Memorial Day Weekend had special significance to BBQ Master George. Besides flying the flag and remembering all those who bravely served our country, it was CHARCOAL DAY! My hubby stockpiled the stuff, as if there might one day be a shortage of his BBQ heat-source of choice. I am not kidding! He eagerly awaited the towering briquette display – and deep discount - at Home Depot, and with Charlie in tow, bought as many bags as the store limit allowed. He left me with a full supply stacked neatly in the garage - another reminder of his absence from my life. So far I haven't cried over stacked charcoal, and actually smile at the memory of those Home Depot missions - and the look on people's faces as they watched the spectacle!

There were also “grand” moments this week that provided much needed respite from my grief-fest. Four year old Max gets the award this past week for the most memorable. His pre-school program will be the stuff of embarrassing stories when he’s older. In the middle of the song fest, nature called! Proud Gigi was enjoying the performance of wiggly-squiggly three and four year olds when Max stopped singing and began performing the undeniable pee-pee dance! I grabbed my phone/camera to record the moment forever, as Max announced to the audience he had to go to the bathroom and bolted offstage! Daughter was quick to meet him, and after the necessary pause that refreshed, he returned – and proceeded to belt out the loudest chorus of “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands,” drowning out the 30 or so others with his exuberance. George would have roared! It was wonderful.

Gigi and Grand Max

Max is also the only grand old enough to verbalize his grief with questions about his grandpa’s death - which came just weeks after he had to hear this friends had lost their mommy, also to cancer. It’s a daily part of Max’s dialogue, and the family is navigating the conversations with care. “Answer his questions, and don’t explain more than he asks,” is the advice from the pediatrician. Daughter and SIL have done an extraordinary job in helping him process a subject that we adults struggle with. I get questions from him too, and we have had some beautiful, if short, conversations. He routinely asks, “Do you miss Grandpa?” to which I always answer the obvious – “Yes, I do.”

Last week, Max had a more profound question that still rings in my ears. ”Do you wish Heaven was at your house?” Wow! That was IT. What a concept. I haven’t stopped thinking about it. Where is heaven? What is the afterlife? There have been too may Kahuna signs to deny he is making the rounds, When I was sobbing the other night, Charlie snuggled up close, his eyes looking deep into my soul. “George, it that you?” I asked? Was he visiting me with Charlie as the earthly vessel? Maybe Heaven IS at my house – and in my car, and on the charcoal mountain in the garage!

I spent this Memorial Day Sunday alone, listening to a playlist of carefully selected Kahuna tunes, getting Casa de Hultman ready for the arrival of out-of-town family and friends. I yearned for celebrations of the past – with George happily carrying a new bag of charcoal on his shoulder, preparing the applewood chips for the smokey wonderfulness of his tri-tip and baby back ribs. His joy in welcoming anyone and everyone to his backyard paradise. His heaven.

Kahuna Heaven - his BBQ's

Friday’s gathering will likely have as many tears as beers. No BBQ – our dear friends are providing dinner and desserts. George’s “Mount Kingsford” remains safe in the garage warehouse. But the Kahuna will be here with us – by the fire
pit, behind the bar, at the table – as we share stories and remember the fun he brought to life. Max will be here too, remembering Grandpa and reminding us that Heaven is wherever we keep the Kahuna’s memory alive.

A Day in the "After" Life

Four weeks. 28 days. I consider each day a success when I climb into bed and can congratulate myself for getting through the past 24 hours. An “X” crossed off on the post Kahuna calendar.

While my heart has yet to heal, the realities of life won’t wait patiently for the pain to subside. Bills must be paid. Phone calls returned to clients who haven’t heard The News about the man they trusted with their legal matters. A day in the “After” life has taken a turn toward everyday routine, with the ever present and heavy weight of my Kahuna’s absence. It’s a strange juxtaposition of the ordinary “then” and the half-empty “now.”

The Clients: For as many active clients who received The News, at least as many have not. Past clients with new issues who innocently pick up the phone and leave a friendly message for the man they came to know as a trusted friend and advice giver. I brace myself before returning every call, knowing what’s about to take place…

 “Hello, this is Paula Hultman, calling on behalf of my husband George Hultman. I’m sorry to tell you that George passed away suddenly on April 19...” The surprise and shock on the other end of the line leads to momentary awkward silence, and attempts at responding to what they’ve just heard. If I haven’t already started crying, now is the time my replies are sabotaged by the always-just-below-the-surface emotions that mute my voice. In every call, I hear from clients how much George had meant to them. He was clearly more than a lawyer – he changed lives with his compassion and legal knowledge.

The Bills: Calls to financial institutions and credit card companies are equally challenging. George’s business affairs were something he “protected” me from. He was a master at manipulating the ebbs and flows of a sole practitioner’s cash flow! On more than one occasion he told me it would drive me crazy knowing how his system worked. Now I know what he was talking about! These calls go something like this, after the ever present and annoying automated phone tree tango and eventual scripted greeting by the human who was randomly selected to take my call...

Me: “Hello I’m calling about account xxxx.”

She/he: “And who am I speaking with?”

Me: “This is Paula. Hultman”

She/he: “I’m sorry I can’t talk to you about this account, I need to speak with George.”

Me: “George died suddenly and I’m calling about his account.” (at which point the lump in my throat makes its presence known)

(Dead silence as the unsuspecting customer service agent scrambles to pull up the correct condolences script.) “One moment please while I transfer you to the right department.”

At some point in the ensuing conversation my voice cracks and the words no longer come out in any recognizable form, thus adding to the awkwardness of the situation.

I’ve done this enough now in the past few weeks to start noting which companies have done a better job of training their staff for these calls! By the end of each conversation I am drained and weirdly amused by what had just transpired!

The Cards: My day continues with an abundance of wonderful cards and messages that arrive on a daily basis – along with those pesky bills. The personal notes in the cards have brought me tremendous comfort and heartfelt tears. I have developed a strategy of collecting the cards for a couple of days and finding a time to sit down and read each card and marvel at how wonderful My Kahuna was to more than just me.

The Walk: Oh Charlie, how his goofy Golden presence has helped these past 28 days. At some point we go on his walk- which is more of a sniff and saunter that a calorie burner! It’s a nice diversion and a great chance to get some fresh air for both of us. He’s become quite the couch potato. Well actually he always was a low energy boy and still sleeps in his bed in George’s office when I am working in there. I miss George on these walks. It was something we did together for so long. Occasionally I run into a neighbor who wants to make sure I’m doing all right, and once in a while I meet somebody who hadn’t heard The News. I consider it a good walk if I get home without having had to use any of the Kleenex I carry in my pocket.

The Meals: I haven’t mastered the art of cooking for one yet. In reality I haven’t really tried. “Eat healthy,” the doctor admonished me. I consider it healthy if I can get in one protein shake a day! Otherwise I’m surviving on lunch date leftovers and a stockpile of frozen soups. I resorted to using the dishwasher as a drying rack for the few dishes that collect each day!

The Silence: I had naïvely thought once we returned from our family trip to Maui, I would somehow be better adjusted at home. Not! After the three ring circus that is a trip with three grandchildren (ages 9 months to four years) and four adults, returning to the silence of this empty house is deafening! George loved TV. Old TV! He knew every station that played TV series from the past, and spent a good deal of his last few months revisiting his childhood favorites. There were days I wished he would just turn the damn thing off! Careful what you wish for! I see his empty chair and long for another episode of Cheers or Superman, yet I sit in silence not really interested in any TV and unable to focus on a book. I’ve been working on the eulogy for George’s upcoming services as well as a video slide presentation. It seems I just wallow in the grief right now - even when I don’t think I’m wallowing!

The Nights: I’m writing this tonight in bed. This is when I miss George the most. A king size bed without my king-size Kahuna feels very empty. I feel vulnerable and so very alone in the still darkness. I still sleep on “my side” (too bad I can’t wash one half the sheets!) and caught myself tonight arranging the extra pillows in a way that mimicked his back next to me. Eyes closed, I massaged them gently, imagining his broad shoulders. protecting me from things that go bump int he night. I fall asleep hoping he will visit me again.

The Grief: A dear friend gave me a wonderful book, Option B written by Sheryl Sandberg, who lost her husband suddenly, and recounts the PTSD-like grieving process along with insight on how to survive it.  I read the introduction and had a good cry, then set it down. I’ll pick it up again – soon I hope – but for now there is an odd and unexplainable need to FEEL my sadness, and in my case, to overshare my journey in this painful “after” life.

During my pity parties I remind myself that I’m not the only one who has lost their love. I’ve seen other people survive it. I just never realized how deeply they must have been grieving when I assumed they were “better” and seemed to be carrying on with life. I know at some point I’m going to be better at coping with my new normal. Now I also know it’s possible to conceal heartbreak from the world while feeling totally empty inside.  I’m a very public griever and you are all my grief support group! Thank you for listening. I feel better. Good night!! 

A Hui Hou. - Until We Meet Again

May 9. Three weeks since I said goodbye. Aloha, my Big Kahuna. A hui hou. Until we meet again....

Today was spiritual. A part of George is now resting offshore West Maui, near Black Rock. We were together to send him off. The grands and I threw leis and we all shed tears as we said goodbye...

It started as a routine whale watch adventure. Yesterday was supposed to be The Day - on a sunset sail - but gale force winds and nasty weather forced the cancellation of all trips, with no availability for future sails until after we depart on Friday. I was heartbroken and just a bit desperate. Scott was prepared to go dockside and pay a captain of any sea worthy vessel to take us out before Friday.

Today’s weather was perfect. Calm seas and gentle winds. We had a whale watch tour scheduled for today and Alison decided to ask if they would allow us the opportunity to release our Kahuna on today’s trip. They said YES! It was a #kahunasign of what was to come...

About 20 minutes into the trip, the crew of the Pacific Whale Foundation gathered the rest of the passengers near the front of the beautiful catamaran as another crew member led us to the stern. The captain slowed the boat at Black Rock - the spot I had requested - a very spiritual spot in Hawaiian culture and one of our favorite viewpoints from our place here.

We held each other, said some goodbyes, and I released George to this beautiful spot. Max and Ryder tossed their leis after I sent mine to join George. We held each other even tighter as we watched them float on the gentle wake of the boat and waved goodbye.

As we watched the trail of ashes floating on the water, a huge pod of spinner dolphins appeared! Even the crew was caught off guard at the location and timing. They stayed and played for at least 30 minutes as we all marveled at their beauty and playfulness. Among them was a newborn calf - the smallest any of the marine biologist crew had ever seen. New life! Just as another life had been laid to rest.




Steven on the crew told me Hawaiian legend has guardian spirits who appear after the death of a loved one - an Aumakua. I think that was my #kahunasign that he is where he wanted to be. Aloha my love. Aloha a hui hou.

The New Normal - We Became Me

Two weeks. Two excruciating, tear filled, memory laden weeks. Saying goodbye to “we” and accepting the reality of “me”. The new normal certainly isn’t normal - yet!

I haven’t mastered the art of holding it together on a phone call. Be it a call letting creditors know George is gone, or a friend checking in to make sure I’m alright, at some point in every conversation emotions rise to the surface, my voice cracks and the words stop flowing. It has made for some interesting reactions on the business end of these calls! Young customer service representatives in the awkward position of having to find the right words for what they thought was a routine call. In typical Paula fashion I find the need to apologize for my emotions and make them less uncomfortable.

Lately the void my Kahuna left has been filled with the unavoidable tasks of moving forward with the business of living – and dying. The unexpected timing of his departure left certain things undone. Things George wanted to have wrapped up in the short time he knew he had left. I’m channeling my inner Kahuna every day as I sit at his desk and ask myself, “What would George do?” The answer is always simple. Make the call. Find a solution. Get it done! I think he’s proud of me when I’m in the zone and checking off the to-do list as I continue to wrap up his practice and take ownership of the business of our life. Chalk one up for the Lovely Paula Marie!

Now for the emotional gut-punch! The kids, grandkids and I depart for Maui in a couple of days on the trip that George was so determined to make. He wanted to watch his grandkids play in his paradise. To witness their excitement at seeing their first whale, dolphin or sea turtle.

I spy a sea turtle!

He wanted to play golf with Son and Son-in-law. Enjoy one last farewell visit to our home away from home, surrounded by his children and their children. I know we made the right decision to make the trip without him, and Son, Daughter and I are bracing for the tsunami of emotions the week will bring.

I am planning on sticking to our regular routine/rituals. The long morning walk. Lazily floating among the gentle waves at the “our” beach. Sunsets enjoyed from the sand as the soothing sound of waves lap the shore. A sunset sail. A trip to our favorite bar to say hello to the friends we’ve made over the years.

Hula Grill Bar- where everyone knows our name.

Last October. The Old Normal

I knoGeorge will be with me. With us. And I expect the tears will be a little saltier and a lot more frequent at our little piece of heaven without my best friend. The new normal.

Every day for the past two weeks has been a contradiction – a parallel existence of sorts. On one hand is the sameness of life after the Kahuna. Same house, same routine tasks, and same wonderful family and friends we hold so dear. Charlie still awaits his morning walk, and the same bills await payment on schedule. Life goes on, yet I cannot escape the almost unbearable emptiness of George's absence. His empty chair. His coffee mug. The closet full of suits, ties and monogrammed dress shirts juxtaposed to the Tommy Bahama wardrobe in any variety of prints and colors that I won’t be packing for Maui. I’m not ready to erase my man from my life, so the new normal will have to allow space for his “stuff” – at least for now.

Friends have shared beautiful poems, thoughtful quotes, and their personal experiences with grief – the kind of things I have offered others when I thought I understood. Reading them now, I feel the words so much more deeply. It got personal two weeks ago. Grief has a grip on me and I realize the new normal won’t erase it from my life. Instead I feel each day, each tear, each George-less experience will somehow wrap itself around my grieving heart. An ace bandage to insulate the sadness and help me cope with whatever the new normal brings.

Sunset smooches

Goodnight my sweet Kahuna.

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.

Alone

Day 3 of #kahunagone is almost in the books. I’m cozied up with Daughter, Son-in-law and the kids in the hotel across the street from Disneyland. Tomorrow I will suspend reality and enjoy the sweet smell of innocence and joy with my grands. I’m glad today is over...

I was alone for the first time today. ALONE. Daughter had spent the night as my protector and designated shoulder to cry on. We shared stories of her dad/my Kahuna. Laughed. Cried. Planned for the new normal. Hugged and went to bed.

I had assured everyone who had been super-glued to my side since Thursday I was fine. And I thought I was - until Daughter left this morning. Within minutes I felt the emptiness of a house absent of my lifelong roommate.

“Just keep swimming,” I thought. I swam - into a riptide of reminders. His keys in their familiar spot. His clothes in the laundry basket. His name on a get well card received too late.

Then it hit. My mind flashed to the ICU and the terror in his eyes after being intubated. It is burned in my memory and it haunts me. I thought he would get better. I said yes to the procedure yet it didn’t matter. I felt such guilt, and for the first time in this terrible journey I wailed with unbridled grief. I was alone and I let go. Screamed into his sweatshirt I wore to keep him close. Shook uncontrollably and told George how sorry I was to have put him through such a horrific procedure. I asked him to send me a sign to say he forgave me.

My meltdown confused Charlie, and he did what Goldens do - sidled up to my limp body, nuzzled his way into my arms and buried his head in my lap. I took his big blond head into my hands and found comfort in his soft furry love. I was physically drained and emotionally spent, and realized the new normal would not always be pretty.

Another first? A trip to Trader Joe’s - to shop for one. An encounter with a sweet friend who had not heard The News. Finding the right words to answer the question,”How’s George doing?” Crying in the produce aisle and comforting him upon hearing my reply.

At one point in the day, my bed sounded like the perfect spot to wallow in self pity. Forget Disneyland. Postpone the visit to check out a venue large enough to accommodate George’s “Party”. But I persisted! Channeled my inner Kahuna - and a dear friend Bridget - and pulled on my big girl pants. Showered and dressed and packed my bag for my day in Fantasyland. Mission accomplished!

There will continue to be more of these moments that give me pause, and I suspect each one will help cover the open wound on my heart. For now I consider making it through today a win.

Tonight, as the muffled booms of Disneyland’s fireworks fill the night air, I am wishing upon a star, asking for my for Big Kahuna’s forgiveness and looking for signs that he is alright. Perhaps tonight’s sunset was an answer!

Sweet granddaughter held his rings on her first ever Disneyland ride. A sign.

Goodnight Moon. Goodnight my love. 💙

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. ❤️