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

I'm settling back into my work schedule pretty well. When I returned to the office, last week I was greeted with a lot of smiles, warmth, and a butt load of jealous co-workers. In as much as I enjoyed every single minute of my leave of absence, the minute I pulled into the parking structure on that first morning, it sort of felt like I'd never left. Comforting and dismaying at once. That first morning was a bit of a scramble, as it was the first time of dropping Kallie of at

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

At a month away, June 1 is a daunting and solemn date for me and for anyone who loved Ken. It's the date he left us after such a valiant and graceful fight. Maybe someday it will be easier to "celebrate' it, as time performs her magic, and softens the jagged edges and fades the vivid pain of the last year or so. As for this June 1--I've taken matters into my own hands (probably with a little help) to find a very special way to commemorate the date. I'm taking a break from wor

When I got home from work on Monday I was tired from a busy day and a fun weekend. So I dozed on the couch after dinner while watching TV. It was one of those twilight sleeps where I where I felt sort of awake--but couldn't stop it if I tried. Ken came and sat down on the couch sort of in front of me, propping himself up on his arm as leaned in toward me, looking at me with a knowing smile. I reached over and rubbed up and down his arm, my hand finally resting upon his enormo

(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

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 can't believe the mild winter and seemingly early spring we've experienced in Chicago this year. Up until this winter, we've had increasing amounts of snow, culminating in last winter's February 1 blizzard. I was talking to a friend at work recently about this amazing weather. I brought up the power of "the promise of spring." The anticipation and excitement of warmth and sun. Rebirth, really. There's a walk I like to take when the weather is decent. It's not even mid-Marc

In case you missed this news article carried by all the outlets: A new disease has been identified by a researcher in Chicago. "Social Impotence Disorder" (SID) is characterized by the inability to "get it up" for social interactions of any kind. It often occurs after the death of a loved one, and is accompanied by grief and general disinterest in in-person social activity. It should not be confused with intentional or willful apathy. It stems from the inability to connect

(My parents living room looks like a Christmas card, right?) I woke up early this morning--and breathed a sigh of relief. The emotional gauntlet of my first Christmas without Ken was over! I never imagined having to experience one without him after we met in 2001, and after he died in June I dreaded December and all the holidays that surrounded it. An internal clock counted down the days with deafening silence as the year drew to a close. But it was okay. Christmas wasn't jus

As much as my brain is so wanting to get into the Christmas spirit and feel all the wonder the season implies, my heart…just isn't. I have been working my ass off to continue with traditions that Ken and I shared. Every day together was special, but the holidays were even more so. Sharing them with him, and relying on his inexhaustible optimism leaves me feeling a bit…lost…again. I knew Christmas would present its challenges, but though I thought the "what if" in me had calcu

I received an email last week from Kathy Buckley . She is a stand-up comedienne and motivational speaker, and she was someone Ken loved very much. They met in 2004 when we lived in Los Angeles at a Disability Showcase for CBS, and in my recollection it was love at first sight. I remember him telling me about their first meeting and her brazenly honest approach to life. She was somewhat of a mirror to Ken--neither of them looking at their disabilities as inabilities. Anyway, h

Last week I decided to bake some cupcakes and take them to the staff at Creticos Cancer Center, where Ken received his treatments and we were constantly as dazzled by the tenderness and humor we found there as they were by Ken's positive attitude and undeterred sprit. I hadn't seen any of them since I was there with Ken and his folks for a social visit in April. I'd been there to see my therapist once since he died, but wasn't up for a round robin of visiting everyone. I'd pl