The world is grayer. The stars have lost their sparkle. Sharp edges have dulled. And my heart has another fissure, bleeding more love and all things good with the death of my sister-in-law and friend, Katie, last week—someone so loved I can't fully come to grips with a world where she doesn't physically exist. It doesn't seem possible to silence such a powerful force of nature. She possessed the kind of light I don't think I'll ever stop looking for. Hiking to the summit of P

Ken was part of a wonderful family. When I entered said family in the early 2000s, Ken’s gram, Anne, reigned over it. Her home in Michigan City, Indiana, was the hub of family gatherings every holiday. The first time I met her was the summer of 2002 at her 80th birthday party. I remember how loving and kind she was to me the moment we met. She hugged me tightly and from that moment on treated me like family. When I got the call today that she’d passed away last night—at 97—I

Super Woman Shelli with her awesome husband Dick, flanked by #StempkowskiStrong members Mom and me. When I walked into the Oncology Department of the hospital with my mom, we were greeted by a masked figure in a cape. It was my sister, Shelli. Or Super Woman as we’ve taken to calling her. I bought her the mask and cape for Christmas. She embodies everything a super hero is on the inside. I figured it was important that it showed on the outside as well. Sibs. There are fewer

I read a book called "Warrior Queens" in college, and attended an event hosted by the author, Lady Antonia Fraser , who discussed the topics of her book: women who defied history (and odds) to challenge the status quo of the hand they'd been dealt. Boadicea of the Celts, Elizabeth I of England, Isabella of Spain, all woman who led their people against the threat of foes, foreign or domestic. (All Loud Girls , in my opinion.) Were Lady Fraser to add an addendum to her book, i

There is no doubt how much I love living in Chicago; how much I love my home and my neighborhood. But when I have a little time off, there is something I love about going to my hometown to see my folks. I never viewed my tiny farming hometown as quaint until long after I left it for the bright lights of the big city. But it is. Growing up there in the 70s and 80s had its share of challenges for a non-sports-minded, tv-obsessed introvert, but what I think about the most is

My parents bought a Baptist Church when I was one to rehab it into our family home in the early 1970s. Growing up--upon hearing we lived in a former church--people always remarked about how blessed it must have been. How filled with angels it was. Kind of. Not. It didn't feel like anything more than my home. Aside from the three little hellions who's resided there (my sisters and I), we had another tenant: the Ghost of Remington House. I don’t remember when we first began r

Back in the days of only three broadcast networks, no one was in as big a rush as they are today. Commercials seemed epically long and some of them were like mini serials. Remember the Taster's Choice saga with Anthony Head? Clearly, coffee was as valuable as crude oil, inundating us with each's own message: Drink me. But the coffee commercial I was obsessed with this time of year was the Folger's ad where Peter comes home fresh from college in his letter jacket and surpris

One day in sixth grade, my classmate Dusty asked, "Ronnie, do you know what the strongest geometric shape is?" Though out of the blue, he seemed pretty confident about this topic--and the answer. I had no idea what he was talking about. I hated geometry and preferred spending time in my head thinking about important topics like recent storylines on "Battlestar Galactica" or “Charlie’s Angels." But he was my friend, so I indulged him. "No," I replied. "A triangle," he said

Writing my previous blog and looking at the photos I inserted into the post reminded me of our first year in LA. And of the first home Ken and I ever shared together. We didn't live together in Chicago for the year-and-a-half before we moved West (thinking of now makes me wonder how I could stand not waking up next to him every day), but it's something we were both looking forward to. Having access by default to each was a concept we both were very interested in. No more bri

It's difficult to believe it's been three years since I’ve been to Southern California--specifically for Christmas. Even more difficult to believe: that it was a trip made without Ken and that it’s my second Christmas without him. In so many ways it felt so normal and so "usual" for me. And for that I'm incredibly grateful. But when I reflect on that very topic of things being "okay" for me, I credit Ken's bravery and generous spirit, as well as a lot of hard work on my end,

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

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

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 wort

It's been on my mind all month. The events that occurred a year ago as they're galvanized in my mind. And I can't help but "cut" a little bit and read my diary from those days a year ago. On this date last year my sister-in-law Katie arrived as Ken and I were sitting in the back yard on a somewhat blustery May morning. She brought with her an amazing gift for Ken. PadLo, Ken's constant stuffed companion and sometimes alter ego, had been tattooed on her shoulder blade. I didn'

I never expected my next trip back to California to be tinged with sadness--well, other than sadness in visiting my in-law family and revisiting memories of Ken and the life we once shared when we lived there--not to be with the family and support each other through the loss of Ken's older brother who died suddenly not yet a week ago. It was sudden and somewhat unexpected, and a blow to a family still mourning the loss of Ken last June. I've done my best to support them all

I haven't had a chance to sit down and blog this past week, though--as always--I have continued making notes on things that strike my fancy, and that I think would make for a good blog. Until I have time to sit down and write something more substantial (the wheels are already turning), I wanted to share this photo. I was on my way out the other day and happened to check to the mail as passed. I pulled out an official-looking envelope that was addressed to Ken, and looked like

I grew up in the church--or rather I grew up in a church. No, my parents weren't a pair evangelical ministers--they were a pair of…other "colorful" nicknames throughout the years. I grew up in a church because my dad stumbled upon one for sale in rural town he'd driven through on his travels working for the state of Indiana. Unlike a normal person who would have just started a secret second family in this ideal isolated hamlet, he actually relocated my mom, two sisters and m

Today had been marked on my calendar for weeks. "Holiday Baking." It's tradition I'd grow up with and then that Ken and I shared during our life together. But this year, I decided not to make any of our classic treats. It needed to be a whole new menu to expedient with. I'd also decided a while ago that the benefactors of my holiday treats would be the wonderful staff at the Creticos Cancer Center, where Ken was so lovingly tended to. I'd learned from my Zen cooking master ho

This week marks the one-year anniversary of the my first blog . During the intervening year--as I promised myself--I've written at least one blog per week. It's an accomplishment that fills my writer's heart with more than a little pride. When I began blogging in December, 2010 I told myself it was mainly to gain some exposure on the blogosphere and to begin building a public voice as a writer. But early on I knew I was fooling myself. Ken's illness and subsequent death has b

(PadLo is ready to hit it!) I've only had a handful of dreams about Ken since he died--and against all my hopes, they didn't start until the last couple of months. I suspect my subconscious knew I wasn't ready. My remembrances of the few dreams have been non-specific. Sometimes when I crawl into my flannel sheets at night I whisper to the empty spot on his side of the bed "I hope I dream of you tonight." This was the case the other night. Right before bed I'd been thinking ab