It's been just a little over five months now since I lost my husband to pancreatic cancer. In some ways, it feels so much longer. It feels like an endless stretch of days without his input or guidance, his problem-solving skills, his companionship. I miss his laugh. His hugs. I miss watching television together, camping trips, and family vacations. I miss our talks about work, the kids, the grandbaby, and life in general. I miss him. I miss our life together. Strangely, I cry less now. But it takes longer to fall asleep. There's a part of me that feels bad that I don't cry as often or as easily as I first did. My tears seem to be held in reserve, appearing only when I stop to think about how much he is missing. The main triggers are our boys and grandson. When I stop and think about how much Ken would have loved being able to be here and take part in their lives, my control lapses. It always makes me recall those heartwrenching conversations we ...