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

There seems to be a point in the day by which everything is measured. Sometimes it's anticipation of a stressful meeting at work or excited anticipation of a special event. But those are the exceptions. A creature of habit--desired habit, needed habit--there is a baseline in my day which is essential, it seems, to maintain order, balance, sanity. It's the point in the day when I know I can relax, kick off my shoes (emotionally speaking), let my hair down (figuratively, of cou

There is a trap I fall into every so often when I'm working in the office. (It never happens when I'm working from home.) An electronic pack rat, I've kept most of my Outlook email since 2006. I know. I know. That's a lot of email. But things are cyclical at work and I sometimes need to refer to something old to create something new. And I'm lazy--trying to decide what might or might be useful in the future. Just keep all of it! It's during these moments when I need skip bac

Two years ago, I was saddened--bothered, even--when I found an old camping percolator and cups while trying to do some organizing in the old apartment. It had been a punch-in-gut reminder that I'd never camp with Ken  again. I'd never be able to enjoy the thing he introduced me to again with him--or without him, for that matter. The memories and the loss tugged at an already fractured heart, so. I tucked that percolator away near the rest of the camping supplies and didn't t

June 1 is crisp. Somehow compact and rigid. It sits right at the promise of summer. It can barely contain its toothy smile in light of all the bounty it will bear. Almost smug. But it can't help it. It's just being June 1. As it should. Apparently, I'd met June 1 before. But it was in passing. Carelessly. Without any kind of acknowledgment. I can remember running into it once in a while. But we had no connection. No relationship. Since Ken died in 2011, June 1 has taunted m

I planted my garden last weekend. Really, more potted than planted. Gone are the days of the sprawling garden in the backyard yard of the apartment on Cuyler Avenue, and figuring out what to plant and what would require the least amount of attention and considering what Ken might have appreciated. My new "garden" is a 6 foot by 6 foot patio, surrounded by a manicured garden maintained by my condo building's landscapers. Of all the items on my checklist for buying a place, a

A gigantic part of Ken's identity was his left leg...er...lack of one. After having it amputated below the knee when he was a teen was life-defining--and I've written before--it sent him down the path of becoming the most inspirational people I've ever known--let alone loved. "Feet" played a big part in his life, and in turn, mine. His one-man show  about his journey with cancer was called "My Foot Left"...as is his website that I haven't touched. He had a Grey's Anatomy ta

It made me more than a little sad yesterday when I looked at the calendar--as I do every day--and realized it was the anniversary of when I met Ken, intertwining our lives. Thirteen years ago. A lifetime ago. I feel an emotional distance from this milestone date that filled me with glee when he was here and echoed inside my empty heart after he was gone. Like some kind of safety gate has come down, keeping me from getting too close to it. A means of protection time has gran

I'm moving. Aside from the Christmas cheer in the air there is also one of excitement. For change. And an equal measure of dread for the same. The normal dread of change. As well as the other kind: the kind that finds me packing up and purging things from my life with Ken in the apartment where we lived together the longest. Saying goodbye to the place where we said goodbye. Not an easy task. I remind myself of lots of things. Constantly. This isn't--in fact--the place whe

After Ken died, I didn't dream about him for months--though I desperately wanted to. Then when I finally started having dreams starring him in those early months, I woke up feeling like I lost him all over again. They wrecked me. And it took some doing and time to right myself. Of course, it makes sense to me now. My subconscious was smart enough to withhold him from my dreams for several months, and only allowing it when it knew I was somehow "ready." I dreamt of him the o

Examining my life--observing it--and writing about it have been a staple for me since starting this blog in 2010. I think it's what writers do. We tell stories--whether fiction or our own. For so long it's been second--almost, first nature--to document my journey. Oddly, it was Ken's illness and death that acted as a lens of sorts, focusing my writing. It's a gift that is so very "him." As a writer, I'm certain I spend too much time in my head (and at my computer)--as was po

Change can be difficult for most everyone. I don't love it. Ken was adept at handling change, and instrumental in my process of dealing with it. I've learned to manage it on my own--out of necessity--though old habits of inflexibility appear from time to time. Thinking of how he would handle any given situation is equal parts helpful and frustrating--because I have never possessed the kind of patience he had, and I so miss his myriad talents for caressing my soul. The annual

I had the coolest dream last night. I was part of an elite espionage team on some kind of dangerous mission to stop some bad guy from doing something...well...bad. Unfortunately, our team of assassins wasn't getting along and during the mission we broke up, each of us going our own way and trying to get out of wherever we were without getting killed. It was one of those rare dreams that is so unusual and different and fun, you can't help but remember it--even be excited about

Ken loved candles. Once he found the battery operated flickering candles at Costco, our apartment was soon filled with them. They had timers in them, so they "lit" each evening at roughly the same time. When we'd be sitting in the front room watching TV and one would begin the slow chain reaction of lighting up, the first one of us to notice would say "magic time." And we'd wait and watch the rest of them begin to glow. We couldn't help but be filled with a little bit of wond

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

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