I've felt the pull of this day for a couple of weeks. Uneasiness and my  social impotence returned, leaving me tired and usually in the desire of no one's company. For someone as far down the path of grief as I consider myself, I'm more than a little surprised when I find an impending Ken-related milestone still throws a wrench into the works. He would have turned fifty years old today. Fifty. Odd. Fifty seems so young to this forty-seven year old--let alone forty-five whic

I didn't dread today. And that didn't surprise me. It didn't take me by surprise. And that didn't surprise me either. I feel something very special. Ethereal. When I look at the date March 23. No matter what font it might be written in, it explodes In my mind's eye with color, depth, texture, and enormity in every direction.  It was Ken's and my second and most meaningful encounter . After March 23, 2001 we were never apart again. Well, until he died on June 1, 2011, but I'v

The Northeast has been brutalized by snow since the start of winter. Last weekend, it was our turn in the Midwest. It snowed here in Chicago, leaving us with an average of about 20 inches of wet, drifting snow. To be honest, I was kind of looking forward to it…since it was really our first of the season. And because my Chow Kallie loves to play in the snow. As we walked Sunday night, surrounded in all directions by white, I got lost…in another blizzard ; one I wrote about fo

Dear Universe, It's been a while since my last letter . I was thinking about you the other day; trying to understand the mixed-bag-that-is-you as I sometimes attempt to do. You're so unpredictable and formidable, and sometimes so cruel. Being kind-of-a-bitch is your thing. I get it, though I must admit I struggle with accepting you as you are. I want to change you. I would bet most people you know want to change you. Take a hint? In fact, you're becoming quite the cliché.  

I published my  previous post  without thinking that I still wanted to write about 2014. But I'm a sucker for the statistical fireworks show Wordpress.com puts on for me. So, we're a few days into 2015. I rang in the new year in bed. Not because of any tragic reason—though I am a those who subscribe to leaving amateur night to amateurs. To be honest, I was kind of sad to see 2014 go. It was a good year; one fraught with exciting firsts for me. Becoming a homeowner was the b

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end" are lyrics to a song I always found profoundly deep (and from which I took the name of this blog). There was a time when I had the blind luxury of pondering its meaning as I sang along in the car, but discovering I was living it during Ken's illness and death was a true FML moment. For a while I found the song--and these lyrics--taunting, reminding me of something so painful and obvious. Now, I just find them indiffe

As I wrote last week , bad stuff happens. But just a couple of days later I was reminded of something quite the opposite. I received an email about an essay I'd written for the "Extraordinary Healer" Award competition for CURE Today Magazine. I knew I hadn't won, but was happy to present the subject of the essay, Blanca--Ken's most beloved oncology nurse during chemotherapy--with the essay to give her an inkling of what she meant to him and what she still means to me, our fa

It feels like I'm standing on the edge of a great precipice. And I've stood here before. As I mentioned in a previous blog , my pup Kallie Kismet is scheduled for knee surgery tomorrow. (Coincidentally, date happens to fall on what would have been Ken's and my fourth wedding anniversary--in Iowa). She'll be in the hospital overnight, and when she comes home the following day will need a lot of TLC as she heals and regains strength in her legs over what I'm told is an eight-w

Yesterday I turned 45. It's my third birthday since Ken died, and it's also a date that will forever fall two weeks after the profound date of his death. The dates have been so emotionally intertwined, it had been difficult to get excited about my birthday. I figured it may never happen. But this year I felt differently about it. For the first time in a long time I got really excited about my birthday weekend, and the plans I'd made. I wanted to celebrate. And it felt really,

June 1 will always be a mixed bag for me. Like a bully looming at the edge of the playground of my month, I know I have to take the path that leads in his direction and somehow face him. May was draining for me in that respect, full of dread for a date that forever changed me: ending one life I loved and shoved me down the craggy path of another. "Be kind to yourself" was some advice my friend Claire gave to me in the month's after Ken's death. And I never forgot those word

After one week on match.com I received an email that piqued (not "peeked" as another subscriber wrote) my interests because it was funny, razor-sharp and quick. Many emails, a phone conversation, and many more texts later found me on my first "first date" since 2001. Over the past few months--since the holidays, I suppose--I've been considering what should come next in my personal life. With a rich and supportive circle of friends--most of whom are coupled--I found myself as

Sometimes I'm overpowered by the need to organize. I think part of it stems from a need for control that I didn't have over Ken's health or of the apartment during his illness. It was tantamount that things be accessible to him--aesthetics and organization be damned. Of course, that was okay. I wanted him to be as comfortable as possible. But once they removed his hospital bed on June 2, 2011, I've been moving things around and trying to organize and streamline. This need for

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 spi

I was lying in bed the other night writing, Kallie stretched out beside me, her raspy, rhythmic snore keeping time with her belly as it raised and lowered. I stopped what I was doing and looked at over her, my hand resting on her side. And I thought, "this is my life." It sounded odd as I contemplated the words. It was almost a question. "This is my life?" Sometimes it's easy to forget all that has transpired over the last couple of years that changed my life so drastically f

I saw eggnog at the grocery store the other day. It made me think fondly (as always) of Ken. He was the first person I ever knew who actually bought it and drank it every year. He mostly used it to sweeten his coffee during Christmastime. Throughout the holiday season, if I saw it at the store, I'd gleefully buy a bottle and bring it home to his grateful smile and eager hands. I bought a bottle last year, but never opened it. I'm not a huge fan, but it was a tradition I'm not

Fact: It's impossible to be in a bad mood while decorating a sparkly, pink Christmas tree. It feels like this tree has been a part of our Christmases forever. But it only became a part of the holiday tradition in 2009. And it was sort of borne out of the beginning of a very challenging part of our lives. Two days before Thanksgiving that year we'd received definite news that Ken's cancer had returned. He'd been having pains in leg since late summer. He even told me months

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

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

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

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 passa