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

With only a couple of months until high school graduation to go, I was content to quietly slip out the doors of my sleepy, small town high school and into my future at college. But one chilly spring morning in 1986, everyone knew my name as it was screeched out over the school's PA system. "RON STEMPKOWSKI REPORT TO THE OFFICE!!! RON STEMPKOWSKI REPORT TO THE OFFICE!!!" I can still hear it like it was yesterday. Wid-eyed and surprised, I couldn't imagine why a notorious "good

Since writing about our last adventure together , I've thought a lot about all the ones Ken and I shared that came before. Particularly, I was reminded of the bold decision we made in packing up our lives and driving cross-country to relocate from Chicago to LA in the fall of 2002. When I met him in early 2001 Ken had been planning to move to LA to be closer to his brother, sister-in-law and nephews--and, of course, to pursue his acting career. His plans went off the rails a

A creature of nostalgia, I can't help but call out today as another special anniversary in my mind and my heart. As mentioned in an earlier blog, last May the instant Ken saw Katie's PadLo tattoo on her shoulder, he said, "I want one" with an impassioned tone. It was part demand, part plea, and completely undeniable. Though most of his pain was being well controlled by methadone and a host of other assisting drugs, I was terrified for him to go through any more physical trau

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'

(An early title card from "Our Lives" when I first joined the cast.) There are many odd things about being "single" (that still feels weird to say or type) and living alone. Earlier today, I walked over to Subway to get a sammie for lunch and as I walked back I caught a glimpse of myself in a window I was passing, and I did double take. My lips were moving. I was talking. Aloud. And no one was with me. I don't even remember what I was saying. It's like my brain and my mouth

(A rare paparazzi shot, catching vintage badasses Denise and Ron (circa 1990) arriving "on the scene.") I read a blurb recently about a study conducted on a group of "truly happy" people to find what--if anything--they had in common. The study found that those surveyed only shared one trait: the strength of their social relationships. I'm not exactly sure how "truly happy" is measured and what metrics would actually reveal that, but I found it fascinating nonetheless. And i

I returned from my week-long trip to California late on Friday night, exhausted but satisfied that I'd done my best on my visit to support my family, and managed to also make time to spend with friends. Being there stirred up a lot of memories of Ken, of living there with him, and of our last visit there together in 2009. But I did my best to remain in the moment and to try to look forward--for myself and for a family mourning the loss of another family member. I slept late

(Four of THE most amazing friends you could ask for--like it or not. L-R, Kathy, Me, Tina, Alan, Retta - August, 2011) March 15, 1997 is a day that lives in infamy--at least for five people. It was the day me and my irritable bowls walked up the stairs in terror to the hallowed halls of Chicago's famed Second City at 1616 N. Wells Street for my first day of improv class. Kathy and I had been friends five-or-so years and had talked about going to Second City for the previous

I got an email from my girl Kathy the other day. Just a short note while she was at work to tell me she loved me (as I'm so fortunate to hear regularly). She signed it about loving me truly, madly and deeply. A memory conjured for me. When Ken and I first started dating, I was over at his place for a movie night. We got serious--but silly--very quickly. We spent much of our time at is place because of his beautiful Chow Chow Quantum. After spending only moments with her on m

I couldn't believe when I looked at the calendar this week and realized I'd completely missed the anniversary of Ken's hemipelvectomy surgery. And more than that, I can't believe it was two years ago--and somehow--and not just last year. It seems I've lost a year somewhere along the way. I remember we didn't commemorate it last year either. It slipped past us silently--like a ninja. That surgery was our greatest hope--to rid him of the cancer that had returned--and our greate

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

Like any story worth investing in--the kind that can sweep you up into its enthralling grip--turning the page is the only way to find out where the story leads, taking with you the sum of the story thus far. My life is that story. Ken isn't a footnote in my story, he's the theme. That won't change. And as difficult and heartbreaking it is to face a new year without him, part of me--maybe a selfish part--can say with relief "this isn't a year where Ken is sick" and at the very

It's hard to remember a time I didn't live in Chicago. The city feels as much like a treasured friend as the corporeal ones I've made since moving here twenty years ago. It offers a comfort and a feeling of "home" like no other place I've lived. I consider it a city that hasn't gotten so big for its britches. It's colorful, accessible and livable. When I was growing up in rural Indiana I always anticipated living in Chicago. And though I made one or two trips here up through

It's impossible to no think of Ken…period. But as his September 21 birthday approaches, he's on my mind more and more. It's not all sad, in fact, thinking about this weekend one year ago brings nothing but a smile to my face. I'd arranged for a couple of surprises. We were both working full days at home at the time because he was receiving daily radiation treatments. As 5 pm loomed closer, I became more and more excited. After work, we always headed out to the backyard for co

It's not often I'm able to get together with four of my closest friends--at the same time. The last time all five us were together was at my birthday a couple of years ago, where Ken orchestrated two of them who came the furthest (St. Louis and Los Angeles) as surprises. Alan, Kathy, Retta, Tina and I comprised "the A-List"--what we named ourselves when we met while studying at Second City--and they have been constants in my life ever since. We share the "wrongest" pleasure i

I have always loved the idea of sitting at a coffee shop and clicking away on the keys of my Mac to some stunningly witty piece I was working on, but in truth sitting alone has never held much fascination for me. Alone at home is one thing. Alone in public has always been quite another. Same with restaurants and movies. I've still yet to see a movie alone, but is still something I hope to accomplish. The lure of writing outside the house is just that--to get away from the sa

Last year after Ken had surgery and was recovering from 12 weeks of chemo, we were optimistic about the future. So much so, I decided to write a book, documenting everything he and I had gone through. As a chronic journaler who keeps a detailed calendar and diary, I had plenty to draw upon. I began pounding away at the keyboard in the evenings--sometimes in my office if he was sleeping--and sometimes sitting on the couch with him in the living room as we watched TV and talked

Like most small town kids, I had a 25" console television in my bedroom when I was growing up. I was a shy, introvert who spent hours alone, entertaining myself. But no matter what I was doing, the boob tube was on, beckoning me into one zany adventure after another. I made many friends in the land of make believe. At the top of my list are two people: Steve Austin and Jaime Sommers. Jaime (yes, that's how she spelled it) was one of my closest childhood friends. Steve Austin