Did you feel your stomach tighten? Did that overwhelming emotion of dread creep back into your head? I felt it when I read Sasha's comment. Any of us who have walked in those shoes feel her helplessness.

Sometimes, Death knocks on the door and then steps back. But while it lingers, it causes such anguish in the heart. There were hours when I looked at Leroy and wondered, did I do enough? Did I push him too much? Should I keep trying
now, or is it better for him to slip away under a blanket of morphine, free from the pain?

All the fighting, the treatments, the surgeries, the scans. The cancer had worn down that mighty strength. And that's when the cracks in my armor started to show, too.

Sasha, you are exhausted and you're hurt. You put everything you had into this fight, too, and this nasty disease will still take John's life. How can that be?

For as long as I thought I could do it alone, there finally came a time when I realized I needed some help. Feeling your words, you are there, now. This community is always here to give you support from a distance. If we could spare you this pain, we would. But you need someone to help pull back those covers. John still needs you. It's a very hard time.

Hospice, family, friends. You can't do it alone.

But you can do it.

-- Laurie

After almost 25 years together, there were times when one of us would be thinking something and the other one would say it. We could finish each other's sentences. So now it's especially nice when something triggers a flashback.

I've always loved orchids. When we lived in Miami, we had many varieties scattered around the house. Leroy would bring them home as gifts and they flourished.

Foolishly, I thought I had the touch to keep them blooming and beautiful. It wasn't me at all. It was hot and humid in Miami. The perfect environment to grow orchids.

So when we moved north to Maryland, it became apparent, quickly, that my orchids would suffer, curl up, and end up in the mulch pile. But Leroy would bring me another one, encouraging me to try again and hope for better results.

Gradually, I found a formula that worked. This is orchid spiking time, when the plants stretch out their new stems and begin to wake-up. The first of many of those Leroy plants has buds, and this morning, a new flower is beginning to open.

His words of encouragement paid off. And I have a wonderful reminder that keeps me connected.

-- Laurie

Among other things, I've decided to paint a few rooms. It's such a labor-intensive chore. Before the painter strokes the walls, I'm clearing the way by carefully removing all the pieces of our two lives that have gathered on shelves over the years.

Every picture has a story. Almost every item comes from somewhere that was a story on Nightline or, in my case, NBC News. A good producer always makes time for good shopping.

So there I was, remembering trips to the Middle East, past Olympics, even old hurricanes. And then it came time to unplug the neons. Two neon lights I had made for Leroy the year we remodeled this house. One said "calm" and the other said "flexible."

He kept reminding me to "stay calm and flexible" during the construction. Not so easy to do. We were promised we'd be moved in by Thanksgiving. That year we ate pumpkin pie sitting on a blanket on a cold cement slab with no windows or doors. Not my idea of being moved-in. You get the picture. Leroy unwrapped those neons that Christmas morning and I can still hear him laughing.

"Calm" and "flexible." Good advice then. Good advice now.

-- Laurie

To those of you who look to 2009 and see a continued struggle, resolve to keep fighting. Tomorrow is not only a new year, but it's a new day. A day when all you've put into living with cancer could pay off. A new drug, a new treatment ... it's got to happen. This could be the year. Fight on. Hold on. Please.

Life-givers, beware. You've had a long, hard year. I wish I could tell you there will be room for a nap in the new year. But not in cancer world. There will be new tears, a few new wrinkles, and definitely a few new gray hairs. But you've also learned a lot. Take this knowledge and use it. Stay involved in the fight. Be the voice of your loved ones. Watch over them and challenge those doctors.

And what about the rest of us who are still standing after seeing the worst of what cancer can do? We've lost huge pieces of our hearts. What does the new year hold for us? Maybe we carefully begin to remove some of that armor. See what's happening in the rest of the world -- outside cancer world. We lived there once. If I remember correctly, it had a lot to offer.

Happy New Year, everyone. Here's to a better year ahead.

There's no blog tomorrow because of the holiday. We'll be back on Friday.

-- Laurie

That nasty staph infection that almost killed Leroy overshadowed his cancer for a while. In fact, we were just getting back to the beast a year ago this week. Those Hopkins commutes resumed with some regularity. I swear I was starting to recognize some of the big rig trucks and their drivers on I-95. The new scans showed new spread, but also some signs of tumors shrinking.

There was still plenty of hope in our hearts and plans to be made. It was always "a life worth living." Leroy was looking forward to this year's holiday season, when he would be walking better, feeling stronger, and able to tackle the malls. He was thinking we would, once again, be sitting at a table at our favorite restaurant for New Year's Eve.

But the year would reveal itself with a different plan in mind.

Cancer may have taken Leroy from me, but I will not allow it to take away his spirit. On New Year's Eve, I will raise a glass to the Big Guy. At the canal, sitting on a tree stump among the oaks.

Table for one. I'll have the champagne, please.

-- Laurie

For those of us who were experiencing a "first" without their loved one, it wasn't easy, was it?

We all got the advice. Start new traditions. Make new memories. Surround yourself with family and friends. Well, at least I tried some of that advice. And it worked when I was in the moment.

But I still felt that other half of me missing when the house emptied out and the rooms went silent again. And I still cried.

So I decided to take some of my own advice. Remember holidays of the past. The healthy years, when cancer didn't get in the way.

For me, that worked better. I saw a strong Leroy. In-charge and in-command of the season... Celebrating with friends. Laughing out loud and living life. Oh, did he live life, especially around holidays.

I guess we all have to do what works best for us. This is such an individual journey. I figure I'm half-way through now. New Year's eve is just around the corner.

Any and all suggestions are welcomed. But rewinding back over the years might work best for me again.

And I know, no matter what, I'm still going to cry.

-- Laurie

And so it was, when I drove into the driveway last night to find one of our beautiful oak trees leaning. The stump seized from the ground and close to a hundred feet of oak, hanging over the garage.

The only thing that stopped it was a sister oak that had caught it in the Y of two strong branches. There was nothing to do except hope. Hope that the healthy tree was strong enough to shoulder the sick tree until morning, when the experts would come to take it down.

Leroy and I chose this neighborhood because of its trees. Sturdy oaks, poplars, cherry trees surround this house. They have given us shade during the hot, humid summers. Beauty in the fall and even in the winter, when they stand like sticks against the harsh elements, they are symbols of life against all odds.

They are just like us. They get sick, too. On the outside, this tree looked fine, but
at its roots a disease was killing it from the inside. When the tree people sawed through its trunk, the sap, its life's blood, poured out. The face of the trunk exposed showed the spots of decay.

I'm sure tree doctors, don't call it tree cancer. There's probably a very fancy name for what was killing this oak. But that's what it looked like to me. And I know cancer when I see it.

-- Laurie

Running to the mall for one last gift. And then there's what I call "combat" shopping at the grocery store. Leroy would get tagged for that task. I'd be in the kitchen. I'd forget something as basic as whipping cream for the pies. He'd always say, "OK, this is it... the last trip to the store."

I couldn't blame him, it really was an awful errand. We were lucky enough to gather close friends around the dinner table... Christmas Eve and Christmas night. Gifts were opened on Christmas morning. Wonderful memories of the two of us sitting on the floor at the foot of the tree. A big fire in the fireplace and Christmas carols filled the house.

"Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas." How many times have I sung along to that holiday standard, never really listening to the words? Until this year.

"Through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow."

It's a different Christmas. The fates were not kind. There'll still be a lot of last minute things to do today. But it's just not as much fun without Leroy.

And one thing's for sure, if I've forgotten something this year, tough. I'm not going to the grocery store.

Wishing you all a wonderful holiday. Enjoy your family and friends. There won't be a blog tomorrow because of the holiday. We'll be back on Friday.

-- Laurie

Following her breast cancer diagnosis, they were by her side during treatment time. They are with her now at Christmastime, as she celebrates her latest clean mammogram. Tamoxifen is a constant in her life, too.

But it's those angels who give my friend and colleague, Anne Thompson, the energy to keep the traditions alive this holiday season.

-- Laurie

One of my favorite holiday traditions is decorating the Christmas tree. I take all day. I curse the lights, fuss over the garland, and spend hours unwrapping each ornament and reliving the memories they represent. There's a Santa climbing the Eiffel Tower from a trip with my godson Liam. The ornaments he gave me representing what he says are my three favorite food groups: cheese, chocolate and wine. There are shells and starfish from Cape Cod, replicas of Fenway Park and Notre Dame's golden dome, hand blown glass bells and icicles from Germany, kangaroos and koala bears in Santa caps from a recent trip to Australia. It is a wonderful melange of the gorgeous and kitschy.

But there was no ornament representing cancer. At least, I didn't think so until I unwrapped an angel.

All the angels on my tree represent the human ones who've helped me on this journey, none more so than my family.

I am the oldest of four. My two brothers Bill and Jim and my sister Mary are my best friends. Who else would shave their head when I went bald? Bill did. Divvy up all my worldly possessions in 5 minutes and then dissolve in laughter? Mary did. Spoil me rotten, doing everything from accompanying me to nuclear medicine waiting room that we dubbed "the fourth ring of hell" to covering my hairless scalp after surgery? Jim did. Our mother Betty, decided she would be the best mother in the world to get me through treatment. Of course, that didn't stop her from leaving the chemo room as I slept through a Taxol drip and checking out a sale at Bloomingdale's! We love to tease her about that.

I also have a guardian angel here on earth, my cousin Danny. He was and is my inspiration to conquer this disease. Danny was diagnosed with cancer of the esophagus that metasticized to his liver in May 2004. The doctors said there wasn't much they could do for him. They prescribed a chemo regimen. Danny did the chemo and made it to Christmas. He then got into a clinical trial and made it to Christmas 2005, 2006, 2007 and now 2008. He endured 80 treatments. I just had 8. He is my hero. When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, Danny guided me every step of the way, helping me deal with the physical changes and the emotional weight of cancer.... and most of all, making me laugh.

When we were little, my siblings and I would spend hours just staring at Danny waiting for him to make a funny face. Now we wait to see him walk through the door of my mother's house on Christmas Eve. Seeing Danny is always the best present of all.

Happy holidays! May you be surrounded by love, happiness and good health in the New Year.

-- Anne

I hope this finds you busy and doing well. I can't imagine how these tough economic times have affected you. I hope your place hasn't been hit by layoffs, because if we can't write to you and hope for results, then we're in a world of hurt.

Actually, that's why I'm writing. It's not just me, but this community I belong to ... we are in a world of hurt.

Sasha needs something to ease her pain. Laurie Hirth could use some back-up to get her through the lonely times without Neil. Phillip is new to our group, so he'll need the complete package of support and, while you're at it, see what you can do to help him out with his hair.

I'm afraid my request is just too tall an order to fill. We're a needy group, Santa. But I hear that's your specialty.

I know you're on deadline, so I'll close with wishes for a good holiday.

Travel safely.

-- Laurie

In other words, we're in the window. All of these holidays, in some way, celebrate hope. Light over darkness.

Let's grab this time and make the most of it. Bury the beast. Grab the energy in the air. Try to forget the abnormal that comes with cancer and just do normal.

This community works hard all year long, "lifting" long-time members and those just starting their journey. This is the perfect time to remember we are also part of the bigger community.

So, if you're out among the last-minute shoppers this weekend, dashing off to catch a plane for a holiday trip, or holding the hand of a loved one who can only watch the holidays from a bedside window, remember the season ... this window is open for all of us.

-- Laurie

I remember when he came home from the Gulf War in the early 90's. We were living in Miami then. The holidays had come and gone, but not in our house.

I picked him up at the airport, tired, war weary. But when he walked through our door at home, there was a palm tree decorated in lights and ornaments. The stocking his grandmother had made for him when he was a little boy hung on the door knob, filled with chocolate. Turkey and stuffing and pecan pie. That was dinner that night.

Christmas came a little late that year. But it was Christmas just the same.

I'm glad I have those memories now.

-- Laurie Singer

For those of you who don't read the comments on the blog, Phillip posted yesterday to say that the Beast has found him. His words brought back all those old feelings.

Then I read the rest of the group's messages to him. Phillip, listen to these folks. They are the best in Cancer World.

I can give you this advice. Go back to the beginning of the blog, from Leroy's first words, and read on. You will feel his courage, his will to push on, and on some days, his fear. It is a guide, a map, to living with cancer.

Your case will be unique. Each one is. The Beast likes to throw change-ups
just to keep it interesting, but you are up to the fight.

Challenge your doctors. Don't nod in agreement. Ask questions. Get answers and then ask, "What else have you got?"

The medical battle comes down to good care, great docs, cancer know-it-alls.
The support comes from family, friends, and this cancer community that can lift you when you're down, celebrate with you when the news is good, and embrace you when you just don't think you can take another step.

I'm sorry you're here. We don't like to welcome new members. And don't apologize for being scared. It comes with the territory. But you're here now; your cancer has found a home on the "My Cancer" blog.

-- Laurie

But cancer takes the bright colors of the holidays and shades them in gray. Nothing sparkles. Nothing twinkles. Cancer dims the lights.

It's been four months since Leroy's been gone. I asked all of you in August, to please, stick around. Keep lifting, because I needed your strength.

I think we all need each other's help this time of year. It doesn't matter if you're a life-giver, bracing for a treatment, in remission, or regrouping after a loss.

We need to lift each other and find the season's meaning. Our lights are still on, we're just in need of a little power boost.

Who was the marketing guru who made us all feel like we can't do this time of year without mega-buying and mega-decorating? There was a time when the holidays were more about gatherings with friends and family.

This past weekend, I was lucky enough to be included at two holiday parties filled with faces of old friends from the Leroy and Laurie time. So many of his pals from his years at ABC News. The Nightline gang gathered around, and it felt, for a moment, like old times.

I mean, I caught myself searching the room for Leroy. Wondering what group he was talking to while I was visiting across the room. Leroy always had trouble hearing at these parties, because at 6 foot 5, he was above the chit-chat. So he would lean in, trying to pick up bits of the conversation.

Then I'd hear that laugh ... a personal GPS to his location.

It wasn't easy for me to go to these parties. Walking in without him was just plain hard. But I'm glad I went. The season has more meaning for me now.

It really is all about the friends and family. And sometimes they are one and the same.