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 lo

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. I

The decent shape I'd worked into beginning in 2010 carried me through the stress and duress of Ken's illness--all the way up until my LOA last summer when my eating (and drinking) habits took a nose dive. Since I lack the self-discipline to manage this situation on my own, I decided to rejoin the personal training gym I'd belonged to before. I avoided this solution for a long time. I'm guessing because it was hard. And I'm lazy. But also maybe a little fearful of returning to

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

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

I'm a creature of habit. I take great comfort in the rituals and traditions of everyday life. There are certain routes I like to take--usually out-of-the-way and less traveled. I like to do certain things in a certain order. I usually walk Kallie on the same exact walk and mutter very bad things when someone and their dog cause us to change course. (My Chow hasn't learned what "aloof" is yet despite of my best attempts to show her.) It's almost Rainman-esque. But I gotta be m

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 took Kallie for a longer-than-usual walk last night thanks to the unseasonably Spring-like weather. A few blocks north of our usual route landed us in Ravenswood. I lived there the last few years in Chicago before moving to Los Angeles with Ken. We walked past my old apartment. It's where I lived when I fell in love. My whole experience living in Ravenswood was somewhat magical. I loved living there as I love this part of the city. My old apartment stands next to Ravenswoo

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

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,

Two years ago today in the wake of my first (and so for only)  NaNoWriMo I sat down at my beloved Mac and began blogging--hoping to share stories and observations--anything other than what Ken and I were facing when his cancer had returned for the second time within a year. Writing had always been my "go to" therapy option, but I could never have imagined that a blog was going to allow me to share pretty much every aspect of my journey with him...and without him. And I've tr

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

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

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

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

The last couple of weeks I've done everything but write. As the time winds quickly down on my leave from work, I've been frenzied with organizing and prepping for me to re-enter the work-a-day world, as well as prepping for what it will mean for Kallie. What has my leave meant for me? Remember how summer's as a child between grades were long, rolling, and agenda-less? And how it seemed to clean the slate from the prior year? And by the end of summer you looked forward to ret

Changing things around the apartment is a tricky business for me. Leaving things as they were when Ken was alive offers some kind of security--or maybe a kind of certainty that he was here--especially if it was something he'd placed himself. So, finding myself sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor at 11 pm on Tuesday night, going through all the lower kitchen cabinets was a surprise. But it was one of the several household projects I swore to get done before I return to