Remembering the Beginning

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. It was an important way for me to start the day. Thoughts of the night we met at a bar just a few blocks from where I live flooded my brain as I blissfully relived those first exciting moments of our meeting--and so any others that followed. It's so easy to get lost in thoughts of Ken--the purr of his voice or the sparkle of his smile--both of which enraptured me on this night a dozen years back. As I lay there thinking about him, I wondered if it would always be the case. Would March 23 always be an important date for me? Would time's relentless push forward wear away the connection I feel--the one I want to feel--with this date? It saddened me to think there might come a day when my memories of meeting Ken on March 23 won't come to mind on this anniversary. Ever the guy who worries about things ridiculously far in advance, I stopped myself. "One March 23rd at a time," I could hear him saying. Ken was on my mind all day. If Kallie was around, I regaled her with a story or two about "Papa Kenny" as we carried on with our day. As usual, she was a great source of joy for me as we played on our walks and inside the apartment. I bought a bunch of fun snacks and watched TV that evening. And my night ended with a fluffy black ninja sprawled over my lap and snoring like I was a piece of furniture. It was a scene Ken would have appreciated--which makes me love it even more.