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14 Feb 2013

No St. Valentine’s Day Masochist

My treasure chest.

When I was in Jewel the other day at the self-check out, I noticed bouquets of roses in different hues of reds and pinks nearby. Within arms reach. My first immediate thought was to buy one. My hand ever-so-slightly was reaching toward the bin. Then somehow–finally–my brain caught up to what my hand was doing and “righted” the situation, correcting my hand’s trajectory back to my bag of goods.

It was surprising to me more than anything else. And it felt sort of…comforting.That I would see Valentine flowers and immediately think to bring them home for Ken. That good habits are no more easy to break than bad ones. Like there was somehow some sort of universal equilibrium that I didn’t spend too much time thinking about.

I haven’t dreaded Valentine’s Day this year. It hasn’t been on my radar much, but when I do realize it, it seems irrelevant more than anything else. Like it might for any single person, I suppose. Perhaps with one very important difference. If I never have a valentine again for the rest of my life, I’m good. Without trying to sound too condescending to those who may not have had one, I hope everyone at some point is lucky enough to have had one as kind, loving, handsome and creative as the one I had–and still have in some ways.

I received a Valentine in the mail yesterday from my friend Kathy. I think she’s been sending them to since we met in the early 90s (in day care). The next day one followed lovingly from Mama Jo, my mother-in-law. Last year it sort of pissed me off to get Valentines in the mail. Obviously (to me, anyway), there was only one I wanted and it wouldn’t be coming. And though well-intentioned, each Valentine scratched at a scabby wound, reminding me what I didn’t have. Not so this year. I was better prepared for this year’s holiday of lovers. Like all the major events since Ken died, I’ve cycled through the annual ones once already. So this isn’t my first day at the V-Day rodeo.

In noticing my own indifference to the holiday, it feels like I’ve taken some big boy steps further along this very poorly lit path of grief. I don’t know if I will ever not be at least a little angry that he’s gone, but I imagine time will continue to work her magic as I’m reminded more and more of what a wonderful relationship I had with Ken rather than the lack of it now.

The biggest action I took in preparing for today was collecting all the love notes and cards Ken and I exchanged over the years and putting them in a beautiful box. To have them all in one place at my fingertips to be reminded of him and his creative, loving heart hurts less than I feared it might. But sometimes you do things because they’re the right thing to do, not because you want to do them. Like cleaning the bathroom. And after you’ve done them, you reap the reward of satisfaction of having done it.

My treasure chest is so full of love I’m surprised it shuts at all.

Posted in Grief, Holiday, Ken, Life, Love and tagged Valentine's Day

10 Jan 2013

A Delicious Discovery

I’ve had a box of Ken’s personal papers under my desk for months–since moving them there over the summer to remind myself to deal with them. Nothing drastic. But to go through it to at least understand what it contained. I’d only managed a short look the last time–sometime in 2011 when I wasn’t ready for it. So back on the shelf it went. I had a burst of organization this week–and a desire to get rid of anything that is emotionally inert and serves no other purpose.

I spied the plastic box under my desk, and made a note to pull it out as soon as I finished moving some books. I wondered if it was a good idea. Sometimes “good ideas” like this can result in a nostalgic path to Sad Town. Population: me. But I didn’t want to give it any imagined power over me and waded ahead, fully prepared to pull the plug should I feel any of the well-known signs of ooginess creeping up on me.

But I was curious. And in working on the book I’m writing about Ken and me, I was interested to see if I’d find anything he’d written that might be something I could use to that end. And immediately, I hit pay dirt. Ken was a prolific writer. Thoughts. Poems. Stories. I’d found some other writings on a shelf in his office last year, and stumbled upon some more here and there. So, finding more excited me!

I didn’t take the time to read anything too closely, I just wanted to get a feel of what was in it, and perhaps begin to categorize it. I am a nostalgic fool, and can be so easily be derailed by mementos and the like. And I found plenty in the box. Cards and notes I’d written him and some photos of us, friends and Quantum–and Peyote, the dog he had and loved before he had Q.

Seeing and touching all of these pieces of his life wasn’t sad for me today. I think I had a smile on my face the entire time. (I probably wouldn’t have proceeded if that hadn’t been the case.)

One of the last things I pulled out of the box was a book of some kind. Upon closer inspection, it was a small date book with shiny pages and an old Hollywood movie theme. I’d never seen it before–that I could recall. I flipped around the spiral binding to find the cover, but there wasn’t one to be found. And the year didn’t appear anywhere I could see.

For all I knew this could have been from any of years prior to my meeting him in 2001, but I had a funny feeling it wasn’t. I flipped to March 23 and there in the scribbles in the tiny rectangle under the date I could make out my name. It was indeed for 2001 and he used it as an abbreviated diary. I skimmed around and read his notes, what he did, who he talked to (usually me.) It was like poking my head through a kind of time portal and seeing the beginning of our relationship from his point of view.

It was so fun to find a piece of his world from the time just before he met me and during the rest of that exciting year when we were freshly in love and learning about each other. Seeing his notations from our dates and time spent together is a kind of reassurance I never needed, but find nonetheless comforting now.

I’m so proud of what we built together, and I’ll never tire of being reminded of it.

Posted in "New" Normal, Feelings, Life, Love | Leave a Comment

02 Dec 2012

The Year of Living Dangerously (in Uptown)

Mentioning Uptown in my previous post made me think of this.

Since getting Kallie in a new day care situation closer to home I’ve been able to return to my normal route of taking Lake Shore Drive to get to work. (It’s fun to say to co-workers and superiors, “I took LSD this morning.”) As I was driving toward the lake the other morning I took Wilson Ave. When I passed Malden Street I smiled, adjusting the visor against the rising sun, and thought about the long, miserable year I spent in a studio apartment there back in the 90s–and the extraordinary thing I saw happen there.

It was my fifth year living in Chicago. I’d spent the majority of that time living in Lakeview but when my roommate Mark and I decided to get our own places I knew my budget wouldn’t afford me to live there. So I had to look elsewhere. Never one to stray too far from “knowns” and comfort zones I wasn’t too sure what was even around Lakeview. Pricey Lincoln Park was directly south, so I looked north. I found the place on Malden pretty quickly in a neighborhood called Uptown. The building was pretty crappy, but the apartment itself wasn’t bad–a two room studio with an eat-in kitchen, pretty big main room and a big dressing room connecting it to the bathroom. What I liked most is that it was still in walking distance to familiar surroundings (bars and clubs.)

The building manager’s name was Monika with a “k”. Middle aged and German, she was pleasant enough to fool me into not judging the building by its looks, but rather implied there was a hidden charm where none truly existed. But at $360 a month I didn’t have the luxury of arguing with the economics of the situation. Time was running out and it would have to do. I could always get out of it if it was too bad, couldn’t I?

My bestie and her tween kids helped move me in from the lovely vintage apartment to this dreary studio in an iffy neighborhood. In retrospect, I was clearly kidding myself. How would I survive a year in such a desolate place? Kathy kindly assured me the year would speed by before I knew it. I had to fool myself and agree. There was no other choice.

Coming home from work meant climbing the once beautiful staircase and breathing in the odd scent of aqua net, cigarette smoke and body soil to unlock the one unimpressive lock on my door. The halls of the building were haunted by an older woman wearing a house coat who delivered our mail by sliding it under the door. (What a fool I was to assume there were mailboxes around somewhere.) It was an odd system, and it was when I moved there that I only intermittently received my bible…er…TV Guide. I think our mail matron helped herself to my subscription. I often considered turning her into the US Post Master General, but that seemed like it would involve far more work than satisfaction.

There was an elderly couple who lived directly across the hall. They were probably the only people I saw–or heard–on a regular basis in the building, except for mail lady. He seemed to be somewhat of an alcoholic who yelled–and worse–at all hours of the day and night. She was stone faced and wordless when I saw her, a cigarette always dangling from the corner of her mouth. Always.

The neighborhood itself was completely sketch thanks to a well-known methadone clinic over on Broadway. Jittery derelicts drifted around the neighborhood like plastic shopping bags in the wind. I allowed very few friends to visit me there and when my folks dropped me off after holidays I never let them come up. Seeing it in person would be worse than anything they could have imagined. Plus, it would make it real for them–and for me. Not seeing it meant they could thing, “it can’t be that bad.”

My apartment looked down onto what could have been a lovely courtyard, created by closing down the through streets. Sometimes on late nights I’d hear chatter or a commotion and look down to see an African American cross dressing hooker trying to get some “work”. Sometimes she just talked out loud to herself. She was obviously a drug user or a methadone “patient”. On other nights I’d see an older woman–what looked like a grandmother who had her grandson living with her–drunk and stumbling around, also talking to herself. I’d seen them coming and going from my building.

When I saw these two would-be hallucinations meeting in said courtyard, I witnessed a battle so severe I swallowed my gum. The grandma was drunk and looking for a fight. And the hooker was tripping on something and wanted no part of granny, but when she was pushed too far–literally–the two got into a tussle, skirmishing back and forth–as her grandson watched, by the way, holding her purse. It was so ludicrous I was riveted. It was like watching dogs attacking, fighting, then moving back into their respective corners to recoup before lunging again. They were both speaking and yelling incoherently. Maybe they’d missed their appointments at the methadone clinic that day. But it was epic, and is ever etched in my memory in the year I ~~served~~ spent living in Uptown. It was a “perfect storm,” of sorts. And it never happened again. (Sometimes I wonder if it happened at all.)

The year turned out be somewhat of a character builder for me. It was humbling to get off on the piss-ridden L stop and walk down Wilson Avenue, trying to look disinterested and unaffected by the impressive host of crazies that surrounded me. In spite of the skirmishes, missing mail, random noises at all hours of the day and night, as it turned out Kathy was right. That year flew by and before I knew it I was packing up and leaving dangling-cigarette-lady for a much nicer place back in Lakeview.

I took a walk by the building recently–my first time since August of 1997. The whole area looks and feels the same. It was a gray day when I stopped by, which was appropriate. It felt like a gray year when I lived there. Aside from some gentrification creeping up around the area, the building, the court yard–much of it–looked the same.

It was a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want t live there…again.

The scene of the age-defying, gender-bending match of the century!

Posted in Essay, Humor, Life and tagged Crappy Apartments, Loving Chicago, Memories | Leave a Comment

22 Nov 2012

Thankful.

[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 Family, Feelings, Gratitude, Grief, Holiday, New Normal, Pets | Leave a Comment

06 Nov 2012

Treading in Memories

It’s been a busy week. Ken has been on my mind a lot.

Last weekend my brother-in-law Craig (Ken’s brother) and nephew were in town for a hockey tournament. My nephew Nate is one of the sweetest kids I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing (and loving). And he is a badass goalie on the ice. I eagerly trekked to and from the dreaded suburbs for his games to watch him play, and cheer him on with his dad. I couldn’t help but think of Ken and how proud he’d be of Nate and how much he’d enjoy spending time with both of them. And admittedly, when I actually stopped to think about it (which I don’t do often) it feels strange to spend time with his family on my own without the possibility of him joining us at some point. Regardless, I enjoyed my time with them and was happy I got see them on multiple occasions and, of course, support Nate!

[My brother-in-law Craig and I, rink-side]

[A skilled goalie and a proud uncle.]

[A future goalie and a whipped uncle in 2006.]

After two plus weeks of “heat,” it was finally time to take Kallie in for her “lady surgery.” We’d tried it a few weeks ago, but she had a fever at the time, so it was put off. Her cycle began exactly on her sixth month birthday which put off the surgery even further and immediately required her to wear diapers day after day. I have to say she wore them like a champ.

So, on Monday morning I dropped Kallie off at my beloved vet office for her surgery on my way to work. As soon as I left the building I quelled a griefburst with some quick intellectualizing and a previously ingested xanax. As I sat in the car I understood I wasn’t upset for Kallie. Of course I was concerned about her but had full confidence in my vet to perform this routine surgery that will leave her as able as it found her. It was more like an echo–an emotional stain–from all the times Ken was wheeled away for testing or radiation or surgery. Some very loud music and traffic on Lake Shore Drive easily distracted me and sucked me into the rest of my day. I picked her up later in the day, thrilled–though not completely surprised–she was acting pretty much the same way she was when I dropped her off.

As I’ve mentioned before my vet was the same vet who Ken took our Chow Quantum to. Dr. Marks is effervescent and kind of glamorous. She remembered me immediately and was thrilled to see I’d gotten another Chow–and one that she deemed after her first exam as “perfect.” She reminded me that Ken had given her a photo of Quantum (who was a favorite patient of hers) that she still has. She told me all the compliments Kallie received all day before and after her surgery. Not just how beautiful she is, but how easy to work with she is and how gentle she is. For me, our interactions are never just the two of us (and Kallie, of course). Ken is always in the little examination room he and I were in together so many times. It proved challenging and emotional the first few times, but has gotten easier as I attempt to step out of the past and into the present of a single pet parent.

[Kallie, fashionable in diapers.]

[Photo of Quantum I snapped in 2004 in Malibu. Ken loved it, and it still hangs in my kitchen.]

And tonight as I sit at home in front of the television, anticipating the outcome of our presidential election, my mind drifts back to four years ago when Ken and I were watching 2008′s historic election night when our hometown favorite became the first African American president in history. The electricity in the city was palpable. We were entering a new era and we were in the epicenter of it. Martinis were poured and we celebrated the entire experience.

It’s definitely a quieter election night in my house tonight, though no less historic. Another new era continues to reveal itself.

[Ken making pancakes with Nate and his brother Jack in 2003.]

Posted in "New" Normal, Family, Feelings, Grief, Ken, Life, Love, Memories and tagged Family, Feelings, Love, Memories, New Normal, Pets | Leave a Comment

18 Oct 2012

3 Comments

Gypsy 2: Electronic Boogaloo

[Ken named our 2002 Prius "Gypsy" because of the female GPS voice that guided us from location to location.]

Yesterday did’t turn out at all as I expected it to. Funny how some days are just like that. The things I woke up concerned about didn’t end up being anything I needed to be worried about. Nothing life changing, mind you. Just surprises.

I took Kallie for a long walk early this morning. It would be the last one we’d be able to take for a while as she was scheduled for her “lady” surgery later in the day, but would spend the entire day at the vet. It’s the last right of passage for her as a puppy–and the last big planed expense of puppy-dome. She had to fast since 8 p.m. last night so I was already feeling guilty. I dropped her off without incident, though as soon as I left I was a little verklempt. But that all changed when I got into the car and was greeted by more blinking lights than witnessed by the crew of Apollo 13. I’d seen these same lights before back in April. It was a costly expense I was willing to pay because I wasn’t ready for more change–particularly involving the car that Ken and I bought together.

As I drove my sputtering, decade-old car home, I could barely get it to 20 mph when flooring it. I put the hazards on and kept pulling over to let other cars pass. I came to a stop at a red light at the intersection of Clark Street and Irving Park Boulevard–blocks from my home. The light turned green. I pressed the accelerator. Nothing happened. Correction, horn honking happened–from behind me. I jumped out, swearing like a convict singing a happy tune, and tried to push it through the unending, diagonal intersection. But it was too late. The light had turned. So, there I waited, ears growing hotter by the second as I prepared to push my dead weight car through the intersection, followed by I-don’t-know-how-many cars. I didn’t have the courage to look behind me.

Just as the light turned, a gentleman coming toward me on the crosswalk waved and motioned. He was going to help me. Seriously, someone coming forward to help during a moment of primal, basic thoughts “must move car” changed my outlook and lightened my mood a little. He helped me push it through the intersection (crossing back to the side he’d already come from once), and I pulled Gypsy over to the curb, jumped in, and pondered. Only blocks from home, I considered my options, trying not to be upset or annoyed. (In my mind, the way Ken would have helped me handle it, lovingly coaching me to remain in the moment.) I resigned myself to call AAA, and remain seated in the car until it came. Then, I tried the ignition. It started. Car on. Check. Pushing on accelerator. Car moving. Check. So, for about six blocks, pedal to the metal at not even 20 miles per hour, windows rolled up, I was repeatedly screamed “GET OUTA MY WAY, YOU BASTAGES!” as I urgently–yet slowly–inched my way home.

After having her towed in and enduring what turned out to be a really chatty ride with the tow driver, I sighed heavily as the repair tech went through the short, but detailed list of what needed to be repaired. I stopped listening at some point, until he got to the total. Though not hefty, it was another fairly large expense. And more than that, my confidence in the car was waning. As a hybrid the engine often shuts off when at a stop, but at the intersection mentioned above, I didn’t realize it had not just stopped, but rather died. So, I decided should I find something that I was satisfied with, I’d get a new car.

Unlike my experience in April, this felt correct. It was time for some change. Fun change. Non-earth shattering or life threatening change. So, I put my sales associate through her paces. I’d been interested in a RAV4, Toyota’s small SUV, but I was surprised how little leg room it offered for moi. So, it was back to the Prius. I wasn’t interested in any other model.

A few hours and piles of paperwork later, I was all set. It had felt very grown up to make this decision and test drive and look around at different cars. It brought to mind the day Ken and I bought Gypsy in LA. It felt a little more serious then though. Maybe it’s a matter of perspective. I know serious. This was important, but I’d dealt with more serious matters.

There is some comfort in knowing the direction of my life without Ken is still one he would like and feel comfortable in. I share the company of a Chow he would adore, and together we ride in a car he would love, and in no small way had a hand in helping me choose. A year ago, or six months ago, losing Gypsy wouldn’t have been an option. As vestiges–trappings, never the feelings or memories–of my old life fall away, I find that it’s okay. Necessary, even. I think now more than ever in the past, I expect things to be different and to find change where I’m not even looking for it.

My sales associate was very compassionate when it came time to saying goodbye to Gypsy. I wasn’t sad though. It was time. And it felt like it. I didn’t take the time then to think of all the adventures had in that car (front seat and back) and all the places it took us. I had to get going. While waiting for final prep of the new car, the vet called to tell me Kallie’s surgery would have to be postponed because she was running a low fever. It made sense because her nose had been running since Friday. Initially it was phone diagnosed as allergies, but she had a cold. And she’d been fasting since 8 p.m. the night before. So I needed to scoop her up, get her home and feed her some food and some lovin’.

I pulled out the “Automotive” file folder which is packed full of ten years of receipts, maintenance reports and even the original key tags. Flipping through it is like reading a version of a diary of my life with Ken. Unlike the car, the folder might have to go back into the file cabinet…for now. As I drove home and engaged the GPS, I was relieved to hear a familiar voice telling me where to go. Gypsy lives on–probably via some Toyota version of the Cylon Resurrection Ship, I would imagine. (Ken would enjoy the BSG reference.) The new car, Gypsy 2, styles with the sun visor extender Ken fashioned and SpongeBog floor mats. A new beginning with some old friends along for the ride.

I snapped a photo of Gypsy before I left the dealership, smiled, and drove away completely and blissfully ensnarled in my present.

Posted in "New" Normal, Feelings, Firsts, Ken, Life, Moving Forward and tagged Decisions, Feelings, Firsts, Moving Forward, New Normal, Pets

16 Oct 2012

2 Comments

Driving Miss Kallie

Kallie and I took a road trip this weekend. As mentioned in a previous blog, I love the colors, smells and sights of autumn. A drive out of the city offered some beautiful vistas of oranges, reds and coppers–along with cursing at truck driver’s and the Department of Transportation while sneaking glances at what Special K was up to in the back seat. I always look forward to returning to my childhood home and seeing my parents. It’s like heading toward a gilded fortress that is–somehow, for me–suspended in time; a home base where I’m never “it.”

As we made our way southeastward to Indiana, I was struck by the difference between driving down to visit my family this time as opposed to times before. Though I took K there in August while on LOA to meet and greet, she was a teething, biting puppy who stressed me out as a guest in someone else’s pristine home. This time I was taking a noticeably bigger, calmer version, and I was back into the rhythm being of full-time employment at work. It feels so right that I have Kallie, and on the drive I was so content knowing that I had someone to take care of, play with, and worry about, and (unfortunately) chide upon occasion. It felt really good and right for us to be together, heading to my folks’ house.

Somehow going home lends itself to a sort of magnifying glass, but one that filters out anything unimportant and focuses only on the good stuff. As usual, my parents were waiting with welcoming arms–for Kallie. I’m not sure exactly how long it took before they tore themselves away from her to notice my presence, but as a proud pet parent I could hardly blame them.

[She felt quite at home on my dad's lap.]

[And was an "eager" helper in the kitchen with Mom.]

My aunt, sister and niece came over to hang out Saturday afternoon. It was light and fun and uncomplicated–like usual. It’s like unplugging from my every day life and leaving all thoughts and stresses behind. For so long these visits have been redemptive, and I’m so grateful for them.

[Some beautiful fall colors visible from the back yard.]

This morning was relaxed. Kallie and I played in the back yard for a while before we headed home–I’m not sure she wanted to leave.

The next day, I received an email from my mother after she noticed one of the edible chew toys I gave K to gnaw on had left a dark orange-ish stain on her brown carpeting.

Subject: Edit Please

Hope you can help me out by editing this for me. Let me know if there are any corrections/changes. I know it’s kind of vague…

GREAT OPPORTUNITY!
(Opening very recent!)

Qualifications:

Must be male
44 years old
Must own Chow puppy
Must be smart enough to not buy colored dog treats

Love,
Mom

Posted in Feelings, Humor, Life, Moving Forward and tagged Feelings, Going Home, Pets

04 Oct 2012

2 Comments

A Singular Sensation

It was a beautiful day yesterday. It was gray and cloudy and drizzled the better part of the day. But it was mid-sixties. I was up early and took Kallie for a walk before the at-home work day began. I love when it’s damp or wet outside and her Chow-fro is revealed.

While on our walk in the early morning, with dawn just breaking the stillness in the neighborhood was undeniably solemn for me. Looking around as a few early birds hurried in the dim morning light to their cars or to the “L” as we moseyed down the sidewalk, Kallie sniffing around or doing some business. These types of ordinary moments fill me with such gratitude. After my experiences with loving and losing Ken over the past few years, I can’t help but consider in one of the buildings that Kallie and I pass there is probably someone dealing with a serious health issue, and (I hope) he or she has a spouse who is dealing with it along side of him/her. I know waking up to to a beautiful day isn’t as lovely for everyone.

These are thoughts that cross my mind early in the morning as I walk with my companion through my neighborhood.

As the day progressed Kallie let me know that she had some extra energy to burn, so I decided to splurge on a hump day visit to the dog park we usually visit on the weekend. There is something so easy about social interaction–that I have readily shunned for over a year–with dogs that makes it easy, fun and enjoyable in a way that would never work if you took the canine’s out of the equation. The focus is on them and their well being. How they interact is such a great metaphor for how humans should be. Dogs seem to get over things quickly and hold no grudges. Play is the only item on the agenda. Watching them is relaxing, and almost meditative. I think I’m a dog park addict.

We met a Great Dane on this day. He was the size of a small horse, and dwarfed all his comrades.

On my first weeknight visit, I started talking to another guy who had a Welch Terrier names Ruffles. (Another thing about the dog park is I can usually remember the dog’s names, but have a more difficult time with the human ones.) Somehow during the conversation he asked me if I was married. And I had a bit of a short circuit. The answer is clearly “no”. Moreover, the answer for a complete stranger should be easily, “no.” But I had an overwhelming and unstoppable urge to explain that I was a widower. I couldn’t not acknowledge that I’d been in a relationship–as it had been an exceptional one. Even as I spoke the words, I wondered if it was really necessary–in this circumstance. He was very kind and expressed his sympathies, then our conversation moved on. But I still kicked my ridiculous self for a while after.

Thankfully, it’s easy to get distracted by dog cuteness.

Posted in "New" Normal, Grief, Life, Love and tagged Gratitude, Grief, Pets

30 Sep 2012

2 Comments

My Favorite Season

I love autumn. It’s my favorite season–in spite of what it is the harbinger of here in the Midwest. It’s the crisp earthy smell in the air, the vibrant colors of the changing leaves, and the sound of them crunching beneath shoes (or paws). It’s the time when you begin to layer, and pull out the sweaters that have lain unused since you put them away when spring warmed up.

Since returning to work, I’ve struggled with blog topics. Having a schedule and a sense of purpose as my days in the office fill up with work projects and my time at home revolves around a certain furry ninja as we take long walks through the neighborhood and weekend visits to the dog park. I guess the best way to describe what I’ve been feeling is content. I appreciate the mundane in a way I wasn’t capable of before.

As the photos show, it’s truly the beginning of fall and this weekend demonstrated it in stunning visuals and brisk temperatures. As I ran errands I found myself on Bowmanville Road. It’s a road that runs on the south end of Rose Hill Cemetery (home to some pretty famous Chicagoans and second only in that regard to nearby Graceland.) Like so many places in Chicago, I discovered Bowmanville Road with Ken. It was near his apartment when we met. It’s an unremarkable street in most respects. But there is a beautiful community garden that runs along side it. And though there are many community gardens that grace many streets around the city, this is the one we drove down so many times on the way to his place–and it was the first time I’d been on the street in years. I drove slowly and admired the garden and the neighbors who were out working in it. It was nice, but also strange. To be on that favorite road for the first time without Ken and rather than a cinnamon Chow in the back seat, a small black one sat.

Sometimes I see these snapshots of my life and still find them surreal. But they don’t sting me with guilt or overwhelming sadness anymore–or at least not right now.

And with tremendous gratitude, I’ll take it!

Posted in "New" Normal, Feelings, Firsts, Grief, Ken, Life, Love, Memories and tagged Feelings, Firsts, Grief, Life, Love, Memories, New Normal

21 Sep 2012

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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.

Posted in "New" Normal, Family, Feelings, Friends, Grief, Ken, Life, Love, Moving Forward and tagged Birthday, Feelings, Friends, Life, Love, Memories, New Normal

the xanax diary

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What His Birthday Inspires

by Ron Stempkowski

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