Archive for the category “Love”

26 Mar 2013

Honoring a Hero of My Heart

I still check Ken’s email. I’m not sure why. I just like knowing it’s still there and active. And it’s still something I monitor on his behalf should anything of substance ever arrive. It’s one of the more mundane ways I honor him.

I’ve long ago archived all the emails that he sent and received personally–or ones I sent on his behalf. Now I just check the inbox from time to time and delete the spam or long-ago-subscribed-to newsletters. One day last week I clicked on the lone message in the inbox and tapped the delete key. But just as it vanished I saw a few words of the subject: DEADLINE EXTENDED.

Curious, I clicked into the trash and read the entire subject line: “DEADLINE EXTENDED: Nominate your nurse & win a trip!” I read further and was intrigued to learn it was an essay contest to nominate an oncology nurse you feel went above and beyond in caring for you or a loved one. It clicked so easily for me to write about Blanca, “Kenny’s girlfriend,” and main nursing squeeze during his chemotherapy treatments at the Creticos Cancer Center.

With only seven days to write a 700-1,000 word essay, I set to work on this labor of love. But time was of the essence for such a daunting task. So last Sunday I dropped Kallie off at daycare so I could write at my favorite coffee shop. Writing about this time in my life is still very emotional for me, so I figured working in a public forum would force me to hold it together and power through. And it did! For the most part. After multiple read-throughs and edits, I submitted it on Sunday evening, with a few days to spare before the deadline.

I decided to stop by the cancer center yesterday to tell her I’d nominated her for the Extraordinary Healer Award, to give her a printed out copy of the essay and tell her why I nominated her. For Ken, really. (One of the less mundane ways I honor him.) And for me and our family. Our gratitude to her and the nursing staff is boundless. She and I actually had time to sit down for a few minutes so I could tell her about the nomination, and why I nominated her, and–again–how grateful I am for the love and care she showered upon Ken during his treatments.

I have no illusions of winning the competition. I know there are many worthy nurses and more agile writers than I to tell their stories. I’m certain my piece is tinged with more sentimentality that I would have liked. But it’s the only way I can see that time in my life from where I am now.

The real “win” for me is just having someone like Blanca to write about and be grateful for.

With Beautiful Blanca when I stopped by to give her my essay.

Here is the essay I submitted.

Kenny’s Girlfriend

By Ron Stempkowski (March 24, 2013)

Nurses are heroes. There is no doubt in my mind. Nurses who devote themselves to caring for people battling cancer are a special breed of hero; an elite force who lovingly carry out their duties regardless of how the mission might end with each patient. Their dedication is as unyielding as it is impressive.

Blanca Vargas, RN, BSN, OCN, is a first-class example of this type of hero. Her presence at the Creticos Cancer Center transformed the Infusion Room from a cold, sterile facility into a room filled with caring and laughter–and even a touch of cozy.

For my husband Kenny Anderson, Blanca was the face of his infusion treatments at Creticos. Her reassuring smile. Her cooing voice. Her gentle yet capable touch. He never looked forward to the treatment, but always looked forward to seeing “his” Blanca. Her warmth drew us both in and earned her a place on the highest shelf in our esteem.

I accompanied him to most all of his treatments during the year he underwent them. I can still remember meeting Blanca for the first time as she prepared Kenny for his first chemotherapy session. So sweet and jovial as she donned the required and intimidating hazmat garb, she made the whole daunting process seem a little more routine, easing two very unnerved gentlemen’s minds. It was late winter, and she talked about the promise of spring. It so perfectly demonstrated her optimistic point of view.

Ever the performer, having a loyal audience participant helped Kenny pass the time while receiving treatment. Blanca engaged him in conversation, listened intently as he shared stories, and shared stories of her own. It wasn’t long before Kenny and Blanca became the best of “dancing” partners as they played off each other effortlessly, usually resulting in uproarious laughter from their adoring audience–of which I was lucky enough to a part.

Their mutual crush soon became so obvious to me I began referring to Blanca as Kenny’s “girlfriend.” And not long after, she and the entire staff were in it. Their affinity for each other was palpable–and so delightfully palatable. No matter how poorly he was feeling as I drove him to treatment, watching his demeanor transform and lighten when he saw Blanca was a delicious treat I always loved to witness; and one that was so good for him.

With Kenny (and all her patients, no doubt) Blanca understood the subtle yet powerful importance of touch. I can still see the Zen smile that would brighten his face when she would touch his arm or gently rub his back, murmuring sweet words of encouragement to him.

As Kenny’s husband and partner, I watched helplessly as either cancer or chemotherapy drugs devastated his body. I was his constant albeit stressed-out 24/7 caregiver, and taking him to Creticos for treatment was a respite for me, knowing Blanca would tend to his every need and indulgence–even if I was sitting right next to him. She understood not only what Ken was going through, but what I was going through as well. I could breathe a little easier while we were there.

As Kenny’s condition deteriorated, he remained steadfast in his optimism–as did Blanca. I so appreciated having another pylon to stand strong with me in support of Kenny. We knew we were going to lose him, but focusing on it would have been paralyzing to him, me, and our family. She was such a great help to me in that regard. Knowing she’d cared for so many patients who had ultimately died and yet remaining so hopeful and positive and light shored up my courage to do the same.

When he was hospitalized across the street from Creticos, Blanca and the other nurses came to visit him. Though his terminal diagnosis was difficult for both he and I to grasp, Blanca’s demeanor didn’t change. She was the same, unwavering fan of Kenny that she’d always been. It’s that kind of loving consistency that I found nothing short of remarkable.

Though Blanca is deservedly the topic of this essay, I’d be remiss in not pointing out that she is but one star among a constellation of other professionals who together spun a lattice of care around my Kenny as he valiantly battled cancer.

Since Kenny died I still visit my heroes at Creticos at least twice a year, taking them the same home-baked goods I brought when Kenny was undergoing treatment. As soon as anyone on the nursing staff sees me, their face brightens and they squeal, “Blanca will be so happy to see you!” before going off to find her for me.

Though the first couple of times were bittersweet–the wounds from losing Kenny were fresh–Blanca is the kind of person you just can’t help hugging. Now it’s like going to see an old friend. And that’s exactly what she is.

Except my friend is a hero.

Posted in Caregiving, Essay, Gratitude, Grief, Love, Memories and tagged Feelings, Gratitude, Grief

24 Mar 2013

6 Comments

Remembering the Beginning

One of my favorite photos of us.

I woke up yesterday morning to what was the twelfth anniversary of when I met Ken–when my life changed direction in the subtlest yet most dramatic of ways. I knew it was coming but as it got closer, it slipped my mind. For someone who is date-obsessed, I’m not sure how that happens. Or maybe I am. As I lay there, ensnarled in my flannel sheets and the quilt Ken’s grandmother made for him for his high school graduation, I let all the memories this date invokes wash over me. It was an important way for me to start the day.

Thoughts of the night we met at a bar just a few blocks from where I live flooded my brain as I blissfully relived those first exciting moments of our meeting–and so any others that followed. It’s so easy to get lost in thoughts of Ken–the purr of his voice or the sparkle of his smile–both of which enraptured me on this night a dozen years back.

As I lay there thinking about him, I wondered if it would always be the case. Would March 23 always be an important date for me? Would time’s relentless push forward wear away the connection I feel–the one I want to feel–with this date? It saddened me to think there might come a day when my memories of meeting Ken on March 23 won’t come to mind on this anniversary. Ever the guy who worries about things ridiculously far in advance, I stopped myself. “One March 23rd at a time,” I could hear him saying.

Ken was on my mind all day. If Kallie was around, I regaled her with a story or two about “Papa Kenny” as we carried on with our day. As usual, she was a great source of joy for me as we played on our walks and inside the apartment. I bought a bunch of fun snacks and watched TV that evening. And my night ended with a fluffy black ninja sprawled over my lap and snoring like I was a piece of furniture.

It was a scene Ken would have appreciated–which makes me love it even more.

Posted in Firsts, Gratitude, Grief, Love, Memories and tagged Feelings, Firsts, Gratitude, Grief, Memories

25 Feb 2013

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A Little Portlandia Weirdness Comes to the Windy City

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.

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

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 friendship

14 Feb 2013

5 Comments

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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A Delicious Discovery

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A Singular Sensation

My Favorite Season

What His Birthday Inspires

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