the xanax diary

love, loss, healing and humor (in no particular order)

Archive for the category “Friends”

15 Mar 2013
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The Funny Lattice of Five


Our final day of class.

From our final day of class.

It’s difficult to believe that sixteen years ago today, with a stomach full of butterflies I reported to 1616 N. Wells with my bestie Kathy for our first class at the venerable Second City’s improv comedy program. Aside from attempting to learn the “rules of improv,” the longest lasting gift it gave me was a new dimension of my friendship with Kathy, as well as shiny new, yet-slightly-wrong-in-the-rightest-way friendship with Alan, Retta and Tina. The A-List.

I’ve written about them before, but like any deep love affair, I can’t help but celebrate this anniversary by waxing philosophic about not only our enduring friendship, but the extraordinary experience it was to get to know them on stage and off. We learned to love to play together on stage in locales from diners to living rooms to funerals to dead hooker alley. Off stage, we congregated across the street at the preferred watering hole and spent on average of three times as much time together there as we did on stage–and our class was three hours long.

These four hold a special place for me as we came together at a time our lives when meeting new friends isn’t very likely. And the freedom of improv certainly made being anything but ourselves incredibly difficult. That in itself might be the nugget of why we all came together. Peeling off any layers of pretense on stage somehow sped up the process of our “friendship dating.” We took countless risks and innumerable leaps of faith together on a weekly basis. Trusting them came easily. And loving them, even easier.

From a photo shoot shortly after we "graduated."

From a photo shoot shortly after we “graduated.”

Together we’ve celebrated weddings, births of children, birthdays, anniversaries, and all life’s bountiful moments, as well as supported each other through life’s crueler improv scenes–and not just the horrifying ones we perpetrated on stage. Along with many other loving friends, these four helped me stand, speak, function–and even laugh on occasion–during Ken’s illness. It’s not that they are more special than any of the other wonderful friends in my life, but I guess it was that we met on the same hallowed stage that played host to likes of Mike Myers, Jane Lynch, Steve Carrell, Amy Poehler, Tina Fey, Mike Nichols and Elaine May (among many others) that certainly added a unique texture to our relationship.

Of course, we graduated and like any group of school friends, we continued on in our lives–as we should. But when the five us get together, it feels like it did all those (very few) years ago. Finding time to get together isn’t easy and doesn’t happy consistently, but it happens when it can. And we sit around and talk about the same stories of the “glory days.”

And it’s magic. Every time.

Happy anniversary, my friends. I love all of you, and am in awe of each of you.

From my 40th birthday.

From my 40th birthday.

[Blogger's note: at sixteen years ago, please know that each of us left the DMV with our shiny new licenses and drove to our first class.]

Posted in Friends, Memories, Second City and tagged , , ,
25 Feb 2013
2 Comments

A Little Portlandia Weirdness Comes to the Windy City


Our reflection in Cloud Gate (the Bean) in Millennium Park.

Our reflection in Cloud Gate (the Bean) in Millennium Park.

My friend Mindy came to town from Portland for a visit this past week. Though we talk and text regularly, I hadn’t seen her since she came to town to support me and attend Ken’s soiree in June of 2011. We met in 2003 when I got a job at a chamber of commerce where she was already working. It was a friendship that was so easy to slip into–like a comfortable pair of slippers. She’s fits into the category of women who are intelligent, kind and caring. And she holds a place in my esteem next to a select few.

Because of the two-hour time difference, Mindy was often my go-to resource during Ken’s illness–and after. When he was sleeping and I was struggling, texts would sometimes lead to conversations where she patiently listened as I rambled or blubbered, releasing my deepest fears of what I felt the future so grimly held for me. It was occasions like this where friendships, usually created under “normal” circumstances are somehow tempered to be even stronger after enduring one of life’s cruelest jokes.

One of the hallmarks of our friendship is Mindy’s ability to read me and situations, and how they affect me. Throughout our friendship in moments of stress she found ways to simply situations and make things easier for me, somehow relieving the pressure. Her ability to distill situations in a way I find elusive has never ceased to be a great source of comfort for me. On the more light-hearted side, another hallmark is our addiction to arguing and proving each other wrong in any given argument which inevitably ends in uproarious laughter.

Then there is the “language.”

Hamming it up.

Hamming it up.

What we couldn’t possibly have foreseen was somewhere along the way, a frenetic speech pattern developed between us that neither of us were completely aware of–including particular manic hand gestures and squinted faced expressions. From my point of view, I was just mimicking the way she talked. It wasn’t until our husbands pointed out that after spending time with each other–or even talking on the phone–we had an accent–of sorts–that they found altogether annoying. It at my 40th birthday party in 2008–where Mindy herself was the first of many surprises Ken had in store for me–that it was revealed to her by Ken that I didn’t normally talk “that way.” Both of us were in utter shock that the other didn’t normally speak the way we do when we’re together. Once we had a chance to talk about it, we both swore (and still do) we learned our “speak” from the other. All these years while I thought I was mimicking her, she thought she was mimicking me.

On her previous visits we haven’t done much Chicago stuff. So on this one, I planned to get her out and about to show her the city I love so much–without feeling too rushed about it. One afternoon was lunch, some meandering around the shops of Lincoln Square followed by a movie. Another day I wanted to show her one of Ken’s favorite destinations–and one he first introduced me to–Garfield Park Conservatory. As he taught me, it’s especially fun to go there with the ground is covered with snow, to venture into the steamy palm room or arid desert room. It’s like a micro-vacation, and it was fun to share with her.

@ the Garfield Park Conservatory

@ the Garfield Park Conservatory

A few years ago, she coordinated a visit to coincide for the AIDS Walk I had assembled a team for. We had a gorgeous walk along the downtown lake front, but didn’t take the time to see anything else. So this trip we headed back downtown to visit “The Bean” in Millennium Park. I think I’d only seen “Cloud Gate” from a distance. After taking our photo in the reflection, we walked under it. It was my first time, and was surprised by the funhouse-mirrorishness of its underbelly. It made Mindy dizzy, so we had to move on–not before I laughed my ass off at her. I know. I know. I’m a good friend.

On her last evening we talked about our weird speech pattern and gesticulations, and what an observer might think if they saw our heated, rapid-fire exchange, pointing and gesturing followed by unmistakable laughter. While they might be confused by what we were saying, our affection and connection would be unmistakable.

Thanks for coming to visit, Min!

Posted in Friends, Gratitude, Love and tagged
22 Nov 2012

Thankful.


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[Her majesty is in the hizzy!]

When I took Kallie for a walk last evening, the streets of the neighborhood seemed electrified–abuzz with pre-Thanksgiving activity before the city lies down to be still while we celebrate the holiday. People talking and laughing as they pulled luggage on wheels, probably heading out of town for the long weekend. The weather is unseasonably warm, no one bundled up, but rather wearing light coats or sweaters. Oddly three helicopters hovered to the Southeast. As we walked and the sounds of the blades echoed off the brick buildings I thought about living in LA, and the holidays Ken and I celebrated there with family and friends. It brought smile to my mug.

Our walks can provide such zen-ness for me, as my mind drifts from the real to the surreal. I’m thankful to Kallie for that–that our lives intersected. She is something I’m thankful for daily–hourly, depending on how cute she’s being. When she snuggles in bed with me at night–before she leaps off because she’s too hot–I often whisper to her, “You saved me, Kallie.” It sounds more dramatic than intended, but in many respects it’s true. She fanned the flames of the nurturer, the caregiver who had grown weary and jaded. She reminded me what unconditional love feels like–to both to give it and receive it. Watching her play fills my heart with the furriest kind of joy.

On our walks today the city felt deserted. Parking spaces abounded along the street , awaiting the return of cars returning many pounds heavier than they left. Moments seemed slower than usual, and filled with gratitude and happiness. It can’t go without saying that I’m thankful that I fell in love with an amazing man who taught me so much about life and love, and who faced both with bravery, grace and gratitude. Though I’ll always hate that he had to leave me, he’ll never leave my heart–something I’m most thankful for.

Along with the families (birth and chosen) I belonged to when I met Ken, I’m thankful for my connection to my in-law family, who have been dealt more than its share of heartache over the last couple of years. Standing strong and together, we’ve weathered some very difficult storms. I’ll be spending Christmas with them, and am so looking forward to it.

Lastly, I’m ever thankful that the here and the now–as well as the future–hold great interest for me. I’m excited to see what comes next.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.

Posted in "New" Normal, Family, Feelings, Friends, Grief, Holiday, Ken, Life, Love, Memories and tagged , , , , , , | Leave a Comment
18 Nov 2012
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Grown Up Stuff


Working on one’s will is a kind of drudgery that I know is important, but nonetheless depressing. I’ve been putting it off for a while–since Ken died when everything changed, literally and figuratively. But as I plan a trip for the holidays and as a responsible pet parent, I know how important it is to have my ducks in a row. I know how important it was that Ken and I both handled our estate planning before his surgery in 2010; what a sick feeling it gave me in my gut while we did it and how I had to keep smiling and just push through; and ultimately how it made things easier–administratively, that is–after he died.

I remember after I returned to work last year I was notified by the Benefits Team to update my beneficiary information. Ken had, of course, been my beneficiary. Deleting his name was unsettling and gut wrenching. But I had to remind myself I wasn’t deleting him from my life or memory. It was nonetheless a harsh reminder he was gone.

When I went for my annual physical recently, they always have you check over your information and ask you to initial it if it’s correct. Mine was. I handed the clipboard back, then she asked me about my emergency contact–that I didn’t have one listed. Ken was a patient of the same doctor, so I assume he was no longer in the system, so to speak. It caught me off guard. It always does. “Do you have anyone you’d like us to contact in an emergency.” My brain froze up. It usually does. “No, I don’t,” is usually what I want to say. Not because I don’t have people in my life who care about me, but because I was used to being a part of a pair where legal matters like this were automatically answered. I didn’t have to think about it. It felt weird to be my age and give my parents names, but I did–begrudgingly.

Likewise, when I enrolled my Chow Chow, Kallie, in daycare I was asked for an emergency contact–aside from myself. “I don’t have one.” At first I don’t think she believed me. “Certainly you must have SOMEONE?” I heard her think. “Just me,” I said. Her “okay” probably sounded more accusatory to me than it really was. It never ceases to sting. Sometimes I want to blurt it out. “I used to have someone! I used to have an emergency contact! I wasn’t always this person. I used to be two people. Does “used to” count?”

Such is the business of being a grown up.

Posted in "New" Normal, Feelings, Friends, Grief and tagged , , ,
21 Sep 2012
8 Comments

What His Birthday Inspires


I knew it was looming ahead, but never took the time to confirm until I returned to work recently and began regularly looking at a calendar again to realize Ken’s birthday was fast approaching. Very fast.

Today is Ken’s birthday. I have to say I really like typing that in the present tense (is–not was, were, did, used to be) because it still is the date on which he was born. A date that feels more appropriate to mark–rather than the day he died. Or at least feels more worthy of celebrating. It would have been his 47th.

Yesterday had some sucky moments for me, dreading what today might hold. But I’ve learned some lessons during the past year and just rolled with it. And like a dream sequence, I woke up today…feeling happy. It’s the day Ken was born. What could be more worthy? I have to be grateful for this day. It began a life that became intertwined with mine and brought me indescribable happiness–and, in fact, still does. No matter what has happened, his influence changed my life–and still continues to help shape it in more ways than I can possibly realize. Even more, meeting and loving him brought so many wonderful people into my orbit.

I over planned for today. But autumn seems to have settled in Chicago, so today’s weather threw off some of the plans I had. But what I wanted to do most was go visit the nurses and staff at the Creticos Cancer Center where he received both unparalleled TLC and a faithful fan club for whom to perform his antics while receiving treatment. His last visit there was a few weeks before he died, and I’ve been twice to deliver baked goodies since then. The oncology nurses there are heroines. They perform magic every single day, and I was in awe of them from the moment I first encountered them. Every time we were there for treatment, they were lighthearted, positive and loving. Once Ken was resigned to the fact he had to go there for treatment, he embraced it, made the most of it, and always looked forward to seeing the staff–and vice versa. It was one of the many gifts he possessed.

I’d anticipated that today would be tinged with sadness. But it just…wasn’t. I woke up happy, knowing what an important day it was. And during my travels I even tried to be sad–out of some kind of respect–for what has been lost, but I couldn’t. So I let it go. My mood was fortified by seeing all the loving posts on Ken’s Facebook wall; loved ones paying homage to him and sending messages of love, gratitude and humor. It was an incredible affirmation of what he was–and what he continues to be–for those of us who loved him.

I’m a little surprised–but not completely–that today wasn’t a mess for me. It heartens me and convinces me that I am moving in the right direction. And that’s a huge relief. It’s easy to get lost on the journey of loss and grief. Your compass spins like a top. It can be difficult to find the “markers” to tell you you’re on the right path. Today was chock full of them.

On Ken’s last birthday in 2010–his 45th–I worked months ahead to ask friends and loved ones to help me compile the “ken-do dictionary”: words and phrases that described Ken’s indomitable spirit, humor and grace. I–well, anyone, actually–could only hope to be thought of with these sentiments. Click the photo below to see the entire volume.

Today was the kind of day he would have loved: full of expression, love and surprises.

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Posted in "New" Normal, Family, Feelings, Friends, Grief, Ken, Life, Love, Moving Forward and tagged , , , , , ,
07 Aug 2012
8 Comments

The Day They All Knew My Name


With only a couple of months until high school graduation to go, I was content to quietly slip out the doors of my sleepy, small town high school and into my future at college. But one chilly spring morning in 1986, everyone knew my name as it was screeched out over the school’s PA system. “RON STEMPKOWSKI REPORT TO THE OFFICE!!! RON STEMPKOWSKI REPORT TO THE OFFICE!!!” I can still hear it like it was yesterday. Wid-eyed and surprised, I couldn’t imagine why a notorious “good boy” would be called to the office so vehemently.

Turns out, my powder blue AMC Pacer was on fire–ablaze in the school parking lot. Anyone in a classroom on the front side of the building (both floors) could see it. I imagine you could see it from space. When the vice-principal told me “Your car is on fire!” he said it like I was supposed to know what to do next. I think I said something like “Okay” then asked to use the phone. As I dialed my mom’s work number, I could see the smoke billowing from the hood of my car as fire trucks arrived (a TWO alarm fire.) I calmly told her my car was on fire, but once that was out of the way I got to the real reason why I was calling. “Can you come pick me up?” I couldn’t spend an entire day at school in the wake of such a ridiculous and public spectacle. Life in high school was hard enough as it was. I don’t recall my mom laughing at my request, but she might as well have. With my dad out of town, I was stuck in school for the day–horrified and now carless. The thought of spending the entire day at school being gawked and sniggered at was repulsive enough. But to endure a bus ride home pushed me to the brink.

I don’t remember much detail of the day progressed, but I do remember being relieved at how kind people were being. No on really made fun of me or the event. I got a lot of “what happened?” and “glad you weren’t in it when it happened” and a couple “do you think it sabotage?” Yikes. Sabotage?

As I trudged out to the buses after the final bell of the day, holding my head low I anticipated the longest ride into town imaginable. But then, Jennifer Bower, one of the most popular and nicest girls in my class stopped me on the way to the parking lot and asked me if I’d like a ride home. I think I hugged her. I’ll never forget her act of kindness, saving me from humiliation–real or imagined–and getting me home where I could regroup and try to forget about the entire event.

Then, my senior year book came out with this photo:

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It was official. My last high school humiliation was memorialized, never to let me forget that humbling day. So, maybe it was Freudian that I lost my year book somewhere over the years. (Special thanks to my high school pal–and Prom date–Jody for digging hers out and scanning this pic!)

It has turns out that one of my worst high school experiences is one of my favorite high school memories. Seriously, who else can say they’ve had this experience? Even if they had it, who else would admit to it?

Posted in Friends, Humor, Memories, Writing and tagged , , , ,
27 Jul 2012
2 Comments

A Bundle of Joy


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(Me and the Peanut on Tuesday)

This week I made a date to head to the <insert gasp here> suburbs to visit my friend Anna and her husband for a very special reason: to meet their one-month old daughter Amelia Violet. It was special for me for a couple of reasons. First, Anna was a close friend of Ken’s. They meet several years ago when they worked together. Anna left shortly after but they remained in close contact. Once we knew Ken’s prognosis in the hospital in March of 2011, Anna was a frequent visitor at both the hospital and at home during hospice. Secondly, Ken had been a big cheerleader for Anna in her quest to be a mommy. So, sitting with her and holding her beautiful daughter felt important and as weighty as it did light and easy.

Ken always looked forward to seeing Anna. Laughter brimmed from the front room when they were visiting, always bright, shiny and bursting with love for him. She was one of those of people who I felt completely comfortable leaving him with, knowing she would tend to any of his needs, or come get me if he needed me.

She spoke at his soiree, and has been available to me for comfort and love in the wake of his death. Completely hung over from a long night, I met her for breakfast one morning in January after I guessed she was pregnant during a text conversation. And I sat across from her, watching her beam at the life growing inside her, knowing a long held dream was in the process of being accomplished.

It was on her last visit with Ken–May 15, 2011–that ties this story together, tugs at my heartstrings and reminds me of the specialness that defined Ken. I know it was May 15 because it was the last date we had a photo taken together (below). It was a cold, blustery, miserable day. And little did Anna–or I–know that when she arrived to spend time with him, it wasn’t going to be in the warmth and comfort of our apartment. Ken had an adventure planned for them…that surprised both of us.

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(Me (l) and Ken (r) on May 15, 2011. He was delighted to get out that day, and took great pleasure in surprising me with a gift.)

He wanted to go up to a little gift shop in Lincoln Square to buy a candle for our friend and hospice grief counselor Claire before she moved to California later that same month. (He surprised me with one as well which explains the bow in my hair.) I remember hearing him outlining his plans for Anna: pushing him in is wheelchair the mile or so to and from the gift shop on bumpy, crack-laden sidewalks that caused him to wince in pain thanks to the tumor on his glute. I stepped in and offered to go, as I had the most experience in maneuvering the wheelchair, but I wasn’t invited. It was his loving way of giving me “alone time,” something we always afforded each other in the decade we were together. It was a sweet gesture, but I remember wincing, myself–for Anna.

But she was up for it and approached it with a “bring it on!” attitude. I’m sure she didn’t really want to brave such horrible weather, worrying about his comfort with every crag in the sidewalk, but it’s what he wanted and she would do anything for him. I was concerned, but at the time, I learned to just “let go.” I had too much on my plate to worry about potential “what if’s.” It’s what he wanted, and that’s what would happen. I trusted Anna implicitly to do it, and if by any chance she couldn’t, I also trusted her to call me so I could come to them and assist. A few hours later, they returned from their trip, which was a success on all fronts.

The next time I saw Anna was a few days after Ken died. She came over and we went to lunch. We both recalled that last visit she had with Ken. It was then that she revealed to me the pep talk Ken had given her that blustery day regarding her pursuit of motherhood. And on that trip as she pushed him up Lincoln Avenue, they talked as friends do, and she recounted to me the encouragement he gave her, facing everything he was facing. I don’t remember him telling me about it, but as she did, I just thought, “that is so Ken.” He took such great pleasure in supporting his friends. What was important to them was important to him, and he would do whatever he could to help them reach their goals. I know this first hand.

So, last Tuesday when I sat there holding Amelia, I was holding her, loving her, and in awe of her for me–and for Ken. It was pure joy. It was actually impossible to feel anything else. It certainly had the potential for the bittersweet flavor I’m so used to–and somewhat tired of–but there was none to be had.

No bitter. Just sweet.

Posted in "New" Normal, Feelings, Firsts, Friends, Grief, Life, Memories, Moving Forward and tagged , , , , , , ,
28 Jun 2012
2 Comments

What a Difference a Year Makes


The way time has passed over the last year has never ceased to astound me. As I sit in the front yard playing with Kallie or watching her do her own Chow thing, it’s hard to not look around my quiet little street–sporadically interrupted by the Brown Line growling through the tree tops–feeling content and wonder “hasn’t my life always been like this?” I suppose that’s a good sign; that I’m happy in the moment as I take care of my pooch and take advantage of her many puppy naps to write–and try to tend the garden and the apartment.

Ken’s soirée was a year ago today. It doesn’t seem possible. It feels like so much longer ago than that; like my daily life as I cared for him was years ago. It’s a double-edged sword as that part of my life slips further and further into the past, offering up bittersweet perspective. I’m grateful that the first memories that come to mind about him are not when he was sick at home in hospice, but before that–when cancer was mercifully in his past and inevitably in his future, but not in our present.

That beautiful day when so many came together to love and honor him never fails to make me smile. I would never have imagined that a memorial soiree (as he wanted it called) would bring me ceaseless happiness when called to mind. Like a good improv class, everyone came “ready to play.” You couldn’t know Ken and not celebrate his life, gracious spirit and loving soul. I’ll forever remember what a perfect day it was in every possible way.

The picture below was taken that day–and I love it. Ken told me he wanted his brother Craig and sister-in-law Katie and me–just the three of us–to steal away from the soiree and have a martini together–as the four of us did so often when we were together–and toast to him. It was a difficult request to hear at the time. It was during his decline, I believe. At the time he made it, I couldn’t conceive of a world without him. I’d put together the framework of his soiree–which he signed off on–but thinking about the minutia of toasting to him in a future where he wasn’t alive was beyond me. But steal away and solemnly toast him we did. And, like the soiree itself, it was perfect. And he would have loved it, as we clinked glasses on the very stage where he’d been lovingly and hilariously memorialized by so many loving friends and family members.

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As for my time off, it has been amazing. I was afraid one of the impacts of getting K would be less time to write. Though that might be the case in the short term, I think I’ve become even more disciplined as I take advantage of naps or kennel time to work. It has, however, impacted my ability to get out and enjoy my favorite city, but that is only temporary–and well worth the sacrifice. With only my agenda to focus on, it’s been easier than not (most of the time) to be patient and remain journey-oriented while trying to curb K’ gnawing on everything in her path–including (and most preferred) my fingers.

Sleeping too much is never a possibility as I’m down late and up early to manage Kallie’s pea-sized bladder needs. Even as I stumble to the Keurig after 5 hours of sleep to take her outside, I’m able to understand how lucky I am. Lucky to have loved and been loved by someone as amazing as Ken; to have navigated through the year following his death relatively well; to work for a company and with people who have been so kind to me and so effortlessly agreed to me three-month leave of absence; and to feel like the best for me is most likely yet to come.

In spite of Ken’s death and the changes in the last year, the world keeps turning. Likewise, my world is changing…unavoidably. It’s the way it’s supposed to be, I know. It’s strange and a little disorienting at times, but it feels more right than not, and it feels like it’s leading somewhere. No clue where. But I’m getting excited and confident that it will be something truly special. And who could mind a journey when you’re accompanied by this:

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Posted in "New" Normal, Feelings, Friends, Gratitude, Grief, Ken, Leave of Absence, Life, Love, Memories, Moving Forward and tagged , , , , , , , ,
21 Jun 2012
2 Comments

Birthday Bling


One of the activities I had planned for my birthday last Friday was a visit to the salon for a mani/pedi. I’ve only had a handful of them in my life and all but one of those were with Ken we lived in LA. He loved to rock some nail polish and–man, how he rocked it. Ken had a big “rock star” vibe that was so easy for him to tap into. His personal style was unique, inventive and fearless. By our first anniversary a little of that had rubbed off on me so I boldly painted my nails to wear on our planned night out to celebrate one year together. It felt decadent and freeing. And he loved it.

Toward the end of his life Ken was all about the nail bling. He received innumerable, loving manicures and pedicures from family and friends. When I took him out in his wheel chair through the neighborhood, many times we ended up at the CVS picking out some new colors or decals to try. He made getting a manicure somehow manly–and something that wasn’t a gender bending issue. I loved that: his freedom of thought and how he always challenged convention. And he was so handsome and kind and charming, he never faced any opposition.

For his soiree last year, I invited anyone who wanted to bling out their nails as a fun tribute to him. My sister-in-law Katie and my close pal Mindy and I headed to a salon and got the full monty for the occasion:

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So after I took myself to brunch for my birthday this year I walked up the street to a salon I’ve seen a billion times but had never gone to. But it was convenient and got some decent Yelp reviews. After enjoying the pedicure and foot massage, I seated myself at the manicure station and pulled out the nail polish and clear coat (I soaked up a lot of manicure knowledge from Ken and his eager manicurists). The woman–50ish Russian–looked confused. “I want to use this color,” I said, holding up the bottle of Revlon “Ocean.” I had to repeat myself three times before she looked at me incredulously, eyes bulging “You want color on your nails?” It annoyed me asked me that. Clearly, that is what I wanted and was perfectly willing to pay for.

“I could go somewhere else. And tip someone else.” I wasn’t going to be shamed about something so ridiculous on my birthday. It’s her job to paint nails, not evaluate reasons for doing so.

She dutifully pressed on and did a great job. “Oh my God,” she whispered gravely as she applied the first brush strokes of the blue/green metallic polish. Along the way she kept probing me. “You go to some kind of party?” she asked.

“Sure,” I replied. I mean, really?

After that, she managed to somehow infer I was going to a costume party and asked me what outfit I was going to wear. “Acid washed jeans and a Members Only jacket,” I offered. She nodded knowingly–like this ensemble really seemed to pull it all together for her.

Ken would have enjoyed the exchange, and I have no doubt he would have improvised a much more elaborate story for her to think about, but I was pretty proud of myself by the time I left.

For my final birthday gift I went to the beach with my buddy Beth and her little boy Ian. While they played in the water, I soaked up the sun, people watched, and snapped this pic of my “beach blanket blingo.”

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Now when I look at my fingers as I type on my Mac–or play with Kallie–they make me really happy, and I think of Ken.

They remind me of his whimsy–and of mine.

Posted in "New" Normal, Family, Feelings, Friends, Life and tagged , , , , , , , ,
15 Jun 2012
5 Comments

Whispers of Birthdays Past


Within my families June is a busy birthday month. Yet I constantly forget it also contains mine until someone reminds me. Not as surprising, the same thing happened last year–as my birthday will forever occur exactly two weeks after Ken died. I had hoped it would be different this year–and I suppose it is. I’m not dreading it, I’m just indifferent to it. Last year, collecting the mail around this time was–for me–an exercise in terror. Birthday cards mixed in with sympathy cards–both well-meaning and kind–inextricably linked my birthday to Ken’s death. Will it always be like this?

Truth be told, before I met Ken I don’t remember caring that much about my birthday. And conversely, each of the ten Junes I spent with him, he made it special. But that’s just how it works in couples, right? You want to make a big deal out of their birthday and they want to do the same in kind. Ken delighted in giving and surprising–both on the small and large scale. On my birthday he took great pleasure in watching me be surprised, or happy or drunk (all of which may have happened on more than one occasion per year.) And in turn, I enjoyed watching how excited he was as he perpetrated crime after loving crime.

In 2008, he pulled out all the stops for my 40th birthday. I knew we were having a party, but there were plenty of surprises in store. In addition to several surprise friends from out-of-town, he’d tasked the guests with writing a scene about how each of them met me–and they acted it out on a beautiful, cloudless day in our back yard. “The Ronnie-ology” he called it, as he presented me with a book of the scripts. One of our friends recorded all the performances which I recently watched when I ran across it as I was organizing DVDs in the TV stand. Hilarious. A day that only conjures images of laughter, smiles and goodness.

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(Me on left, cracking up while watching “The Ronnie-ology” and Ken, right, expertly and lovingly directing the show.)

Another birthday, he took me to the Lincoln Park Conservatory, and as we walked around, admiring the flora, we ran across a couple friends who were each “planted” along side all the greenery, holding Latin-inspired names for themselves (which escape me.) Another crazy surprise. I’m not sure if he was particularly good at it, or if I am just particularly dull when it comes to subterfuge.

My so-called “Jesus” Birthday (my 33rd) was the first I celebrated with Ken. We’d only been dating three months, but we knew we were a part of something special. He took it upon himself to organize a party of my besties at my apartment. My “friend” Tina, made this cake, comparing/contrasting me to Jesus:

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(Jesus has the cross, I have the martini. This still makes me laugh. I love that my friends are such bitches.)

The last birthday I have any recollection of celebrating with Ken was 2009, as we drove to Iowa with our pal Bruce to apply for a marriage license–which at the time had only recently been legalized there. Make no mistake, we always felt married and no piece of paper from anyone could ever make it more “valid,” but we decided it was the right thing to do in order to send a message. It was a political statement that resulted in two fun road trips to Iowa with friends. Oddly, given the time of year and the same summer weather as then, it feels like it can’t possibly have been three years ago–and that everything that has happened has actually happened.

We’ll see. Just writing this post got some good birthday mojo flowing for me. And no one is happier to report that than I am. Even though I’ve already experienced one birthday without him, that it’s so close to the anniversary of death still tinges it with a little bit of a sting.

I’m still working out how I’ll spend my day, but I know that Ken will–as always–be close to my heart, and that I’m supported by innumerable well wishers as I turn 33…for the 11th time.

Shut it.

Posted in "New" Normal, Feelings, Firsts, Friends, Gratitude, Grief, Humor, Leave of Absence, Life, Love, Memories, Moving Forward, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,

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