More than three years have passed since Ken died. I can finally say that I do feel better and that my life is somewhat less defined solely by what I have lost. For the first time in a long time, I have moments of complete happiness. Losing Ken has changed my perception of life forever. I now truly understand that even those things that feel "forever" like home and family and good friends and good health are actually temporary gifts that only provide us with an illusion of safety and security. I won't knock the illusion, but I don't believe in it anymore. Instead, I believe that it's incredibly important to know what you want and reach for it. And when you get it, love it now, because whatever "it" is, "it" will be fleeting. I've also learned not to be as afraid of losing anything. If I could lose Ken, and still come out OK, I can take anything. I'd rather not have had the lesson, I'd rather be afraid, but it is quite a gift that I accept anyway.

I wish that Ken could still be here because I know the world would be better with him in it than with him gone. When I think of my sister and brother and their families, all the Jacobsons, and all the great friends I have who have helped me through, I am incredibly grateful for their continued presence in my life. That won't be forever either.

I have learned so much from going through illness with Ken, and from the intense suffering caused by his death. But I know that ultimately I learned the most by being so close to him, by being in his orbit, for 15 years. I wish I could have been all that I am now with Ken. I wish he could have seen how I've grown to understand that almost nothing is worth worrying about, and that life is meant to be appreciated in every moment. I understand more now. I am more compassionate. I am less hard on myself and others. I worry about very little anymore. And damn it, now that the kids are older, I have had more time to take care of myself and I've become fit in a way that Ken never got to see. I know he would have appreciated it though! But I do wish I could have given him this better self that I have developed, ironically, through the suffering caused by his death.

There is never a day that goes by when I don't think about Ken, or at least try to think a little like Ken. He was the most evolved person I've ever had the privilege to love. Sometimes I used to think he was too perfect. And sometimes that pissed me off.

The worst consequence of his dying is that he left Natalie and Alec without his guidance for the rest of (most of) their lives..and worse yet, they are stuck just one parent...with me.

But lucky for me, in his perfection, when he left me behind, he truly left me nothing but good. Ken was a gift, he possessed incredible gifts of compassion and understanding. And I intend to pass that gift around. I won't do it as well, but I'll keep trying for as long as I'm lucky to live.

Grief Meet Hope

Grief and hope try to be friends, but it isn't easy. Grief pulls back, gets scared, loses its mind in the past. Hope moves forward quickly, not even imagining all the trouble that might lie in wait up ahead. Hope is full of energy. Hope wants to branch out, try something new, get out and get going.

Grief takes a big long nap and is grateful for the quiet. Grief needs to lose weight and feels too heavy to get up and start all over again. Grief holds on tight to what is known. Grief demands an accounting of all that's been lost for fear that it will disappear altogether.

Hope says, "Fine, let it all come along for the ride. There's plenty of room. All are welcome here."

Grief wants very badly to believe that Hope can be trusted. Can they really co-exist? If they get together, will they be betraying anyone else?

Hope sings, voices echoing into the future, moving with confidence into unknown territory. Grief mutters in the background. Grief is simply exhausted and needs something to lean on.

"Lean on me", says Hope. I will always be outside your door and if you let me I will help you. It's what I'm here to do.

Grief rests her head on the pillow and pulls the covers up under her chin. She closes her eyes, invigorated by the darkness. She could stay here forever imagining how it used to be, how it could have been, how everything is alien now.

Hope sits on the screened front porch basking in the filtered warm sun, holding a cup of tea. Grief lumbers in, squints uncomfortably in the light. but takes a seat anyway.

"This feels like a good beginning for us," says Grief.

"No hurry," says Hope. "We can get up whenever you're ready to go."

Another Father's Day Goes By

I'd say this Father's Day felt a lot better than the last two we spent without Ken. I didn't feel the need to engineer the perfect day designed to both honor Ken and minimize our own awkward or despairing feelings. I didn't do anything to distract us from the subject at hand: father's day without a father. I let the day be.

We went to the pool with friends. Invited Ken's parents over for a really nice dinner. And we decided we would try to behave as Ken almost always did...by being calm and understanding at all times. I'm not sure we succeeded in that, but what was I thinking? Ken's understanding, calm nature was to my mind what set him apart. He was dazzlingly calm. Blow me away calm. Impossibly calm. How could anyone replicate that? But somehow we were happy today. Progress has been made.

Two and a half years after Ken's death, I still live with his loss every day. It continues to define me. And it continues to shape me and change me into someone new, someone I wasn't before he left. I don't know myself as well anymore. So I've learned by living it that a loss this big somehow rearranges your whole sense of self and of the world. What I feel most often now is how everything is different, different than it was before. And I am different too. Atomically blown apart and rearranged and still settling.

I now know that Ken is gone. I believe it. And it's taken me this long.

Natalie said a few days ago: "I can't believe it's only been 2 and a half years. It feels like forever." And Alec said today, "I can't imagine what it would be like to have two parents."

Funny enough, I can take these sad statements and see them as positive. The kids are adjusting. They are resettling too.

We've survived another Father's Day.

We've survived. Period.

Poems of Partial Understanding

I STILL (love you)

CAN'T (don't want to)

BELIEVE (the truth)

YOU ARE (still here)

GONE. (forever)



************************************


DEATH (sucks)

ISN'T (fair)

ONLY (lonely)

AN ENDING. (finito!)

IT'S (metamorphic)

THE BEGINNING (not again!!)

OF

SOMETHING (what?)

COMPLETELY (lacking)

DIFFERENT (not at all the same)

What I Am

I am alone.
I am afraid to be alone.
I am OK alone.
I am one.
I am lonely.
I am incomplete.
I am without.
I am.
I am at wits end.
I am just at the beginning.
I am optimistic.
I am pessimistic.
I am lonely.
I am alone.
I am not alone.
I am.
I am lucky.
I am unlucky.
I am fortunate.
I am unfortunate.
I am nervous.
I am stable.
I am healthy.
I am in waiting.
I am alive.
I am friendly.
I am funny.
I am social.
I am a mother.
I am a daughter-in-law.
I am a sister.
I am a friend.
I am an aunt.
I am 46 years old.
I am a widow.
I am a writer.
I am relaxed.
I am responsible.
I am not working.
I am fit.
I am strong.
I am looking.
I am a woman.
I am missing you still.
I am here.
I am a human being.
I am one who has lost.
I am sad.
I am happy, but not as happy as I once was.
I am still grieving.
I am always going to miss you.
I am never going to be the same.
I am a different person now.
I am sorry you had to go so soon.
I am still here.
I am trying to be content.

Visit from a Bird or Bat (and a bear), and....

At 5AM this morning, a fetish fell off my windowsill, awakening me from my sleep. A Zuni carved fetish, that is. The Zuni of the southwest carve animals out of stone, bone, antler and such. Each animal is said to have different powers...Ken and I started collecting these fetishes in the early 90s while visiting Santa Fe and Taos one February before we had children. Over the years, we'd give them to each other for gifts. Let's say it was one of those sweet things between couples, less sugary than giving each other stuffed animals but not as formal as a monogrammed bathrobe.

What was perplexing was that there was no way one of these fetishes could just fall off the windowsill all by itself. They are stable where they rest.

So I got out of bed to find that the fetish that had fallen off the windowsill was a white bear. We have three of them. And what do you suppose are the mystical powers possessed by the white bear? Healing, powerful healing. I had once sent a white bear to my friend Pam, who during the same time Ken was going through treatment for Hodgkins Disease, was fighting her own battle against leukemia. Before Pam died she passed her white bear on to Ken.

Since Pam's bear hadn't possessed enough power to keep her alive, I got Ken another whiter bear. Like many fetishes it carried a little bundle on its back wrapped with string. The bundles add even more power. Ken would carry the bear around in his pocket, take it to work, for his chemo treatments, etc. It got so worn from being carried around that the string became frayed and undone. It went through a lot trying to keep Ken healthy but it just wasn't strong enough, so I bought Ken a third white bear...white as snow, smooth as ice. The last bear. This is the bear that fell off the windowsill last night. (OK, so obviously these bears are impostors since two great people died while the bears sat back and did nothing, however, the story continues....)

I couldn't understand how this bear had fallen off the windowsill. As I lay on my bed pondering this I heard a sound of movement throughout the upstairs of our house...something moving through my room, Natalie's room, and Alec's room, around and around. A bird! Or was it a bat? I'm still not quite sure what it was but it was flying around our upstairs going from one room to another.

Normally, any living intruder in our home would be handled by the man of the house, but since that wasn't possible at 5 am this morning, or at any morning in the last many months, it was up to me and my pounding heart. So I waited until the birdy flew into Alec's room, closed the two doors to his room, trapped the bird in there, took a screen off a window, lay down on his bed, and waited for the bird/bat to fly out. I did it!

Afterwards, I felt kind of proud of myself. Kind of strong and capable. A real match for the winged one.

I felt just a little, just a little tiny bit of healing had taken place. With my two little children fast asleep, with no one to help me, I ushered a living creature out of our upstairs with minimal fuss. And I must admit I wonder...what was that flying through each of our rooms last night? A bird? A bat? Or some other flying wonder that came by to check on us?

My only regret? I wish I had at least said "hello." Just in case, you know?

Update on Life and Grief

1. Last year I couldn't even plant a vegetable garden. This year I planted tons of stuff, but I haven't tended it so crabgrass is taking over. I'd say this indicates progress. Perhaps next year, I will feel lively enough to weed.

2. The second year is harder. General life viewpoint: Uh-oh, now what. This IS my life. Return to therapy.

3. Women have saved me. If it weren't for all the fabulous women in my life, I'd be buried under the crabgrass in the untended vegetable garden. Thank you wonderful friends and family.

4. I can mow my own lawn, but still not comfortable with changing the gas container on the grill...also haven't cleaned the grill. Perhaps grilling will go the way of the fully tended garden.

5. We are all making it, but life without Ken is not as good. Not as good. Not as good. Losing your husband is bad. Recommendation: avoid losing fabulous spouse.

6. Everyday I try to think about the good in my life, but I just can't help noticing that big old hole in the center. I will borrow a line or two that Alec (8) wrote in a poem this year: Black is a hole that only ends in darkness. Then again, he also wrote in the same poem: Water is a growing goodness that sees through anything.

Cheers.

Happy Birthday Natalie!!!!!

Natalie turned 11 yesterday. The day before her birthday we arrived home to find a shopping bag with an incredible gift inside. There was a letter enclosed from a woman we have never met, but hope to sometime soon. "Kathie" knew Ken from SSA, the School of Social Work at the University of Chicago. Like so many others, she was moved by the fact that the day of Ken's death last year coincided with Natalie's 10th birthday.

In her letter, she tells us that around that time last year she was about to begin a new quilt so she decided she would give it to Natalie on her next birthday. Her husband would tease her about finishing it...and they began to refer to it as the "Ken and Natalie Quilt". Every time she chose a new piece of fabric, or added a piece, or tore a piece out, she'd think of Ken and Natalie.

Natalie loves the quilt that covers her entire bed and lights up her room.

"It make me feel really good that someone that I don't even know was thinking about me and Dad. It makes me feel really good when I'm lying in bed under it!"

When I told my friend Cindy the story she said that "it's stories like that that make me feel there's hope for humanity."

THANK YOU KATHIE! You brought a huge sunny patch to a day that's filled with both light and shadow. We are incredibly moved and incredibly grateful.

Swimming for Ken on January 14

This Sunday January 14 is both the anniversary of Ken's death and Natalie's 11th birthday. Natalie's birthday party will be in the late afternoon and we're looking forward to it. Tonight I asked the kids what we should do to honor Ken on that day as well.

We talked about a few ideas and settled on going to Lifetime Fitness that morning where the three of us will share a lap lane in the lap pool and swim laps for Ken. Ken was such a joyful, strong, capable swimmer. So we'll relax, get our bodies moving together, and remember Ken for his good health, athleticism and strength...three qualities he maintained until almost the end of his life. We'll pick up where he left off.

It is painful to remember what was happening a year ago. One year ago today, we flew Ken home to Evanston. The realization had arrived that only through a medical miracle would Ken survive. The fact is that he spent the last six months of his life in a hospital room mostly unable to use his body for much at all, but he did it with immense grace and with great hope that he could overcome the struggle.

I remember the last swims he took in Houston before he entered the hospital. He was still free, and cancer-free as well. His body hadn't yet turned on him as it did after the stem cell transplant. He had a beautiful way of moving through the water.
So, if you can get to a pool on January 14, swim a few laps for Ken and remember how he moved through his life with little resistance, going with the flow, strong and capable, and always available for some excellent instruction if you needed help with your own stroke.

We Miss You Ken

You are always with us.

Ken's Park Memorial

Guess what? It's not too late to send in a contribution for the memorial for Ken that will be created this spring in McCullough Park right next to our house.

Here's what to do:

Please make checks out to: "Evanston Parks Foundation."

Please send the checks to: Steve Wernikoff, 2650 Eastwood Ave., Evanston, IL 60201.
Thank you very much to each and every one of you for helping to make this memorial happen!

Thanks also to everyone who particpated in Ken's cyber birthday party.

Up next: Christmas without Ken....My anniversary without Ken....and the anniversary of Ken's death on January 14, also Natalie's 11th birthday. But, of course, it's great to be alive!

No Gifts (at least not ones you can touch) Required

So how shall we celebrate Ken's birthday, coming up on December 14?

For starters, for anyone who still tunes in to my much neglected blog, how about if your gift to Ken this year is to remember him and post your remembrance here for others to share.

Don't be shy! Let's get it going.

Let's bring Ken to cyber-life on December 14 with a big birthday party right here!!!

But, you know that Ken would want you to be moderate, so please, no excessive drinking before you write in.

My so-called perfect life

One of my standard endearments to Ken had always been "you are my perfect husband." Awww. Ain't that sweet? But it's true. In Ken I truly found everything I had been searching for in a partner. Did he have flaws and did our marriage have it's challenges? Well, I guess, but not many. Although I must admit that sometimes I would level this complaint at Ken: YOU THINK YOU'RE PERFECT. But then again, most often so did I.

But then he got sick. And then he died. NOT PERFECT. NOT ANYWERE CLOSE TO PERFECT. THE OPPOSITE OF PERFECT. In fact, it's downright shitty. I got royally screwed. My life as I knew it is OVER. I am living what is the stuff of nightmares for many of you. I found just what I was looking for...I did such a good job finding my perfect husband and the perfect father for my children, then POOF. Gone. Different life.

This time last year, Ken was engaged in a splendid fight for his life. He fought so hard and with such spirit that though it was perfectly awful, he helped us believe that it wasn't. That it was OK. That he could endure. That all the suffering was worth it. He was still there for us, leading the way through the minefield of horrors, and so many of us followed along by his side.

So now we edge into some difficult territory...his and Paul's birthday next month...and then the anniversary of his death/Natalie's birthday the following month. He's missed alot of living and being Ken, he would have really enjoyed being here for all of it for he was truly a contented person.

I think that despite his death, despite living the reality of one of the worst things that could ever happen to me, I may have integrated some of his contentment into my being. I find that I am happy to just try to live a very simple life, to keep my stresses low and my own health a priority, to not expect too much from myself, to enjoy the company of wonderful friends during the day, and then to be fully there for Natalie and Alec when they come home from school. To be grateful for them. To laugh with them. To be content with our little family of three.

Something about our loss makes our little family ever more precious to me and it brings out more that is good in me. I wouldn't call anything about me or my life perfect, but I do try to see more that is perfect, just as it should be, in my children, in my friends and in my life.

Of course, there are those moments when all that is really lousy about my situation comes to haunt me. Usually this is in those early hours of the morning, before the alarm clock rings. Then everything feels so absolutely terrifying that I fear for my future and my children's future.

When the terror strikes, I summon Ken who truly never seemed to me to fear anything. He gives me strength still. I still follow his lead. His presence in my life is nothing that I can call perfect anymore. But I will take what I can and call it good, because what remains is all I have.

My own words fail.

But here are some song lyrics that ring true with me these days....these days that feel like the first inkling of submitting to my real life...this new life....I'd say the shock is gone, the loose ends are being tied up, the memories being shared, catalogued, nailed into the wall. I can no longer deny my exhaustion or the slight taste of bitterness brought on by the once privileged life gone awry coupled with the huge responsibility of moving on anyway with grace. For someone whose life has always gone along pretty darn well I shake my own hand and say welcome to the human race. This is your introduction to grown up pain. For now I'll let myself be without goals, I'll let myself float along...........looking for fun where I can find it...it's been a long time since fun's been a priority. I tell myself that the fact that Natalie and Alec are happy and well despite their huge loss is enough of an accomplishment for now and I'll remember how Ken could always without fail take all my self-doubt, package it up, and throw it over his shoulder with a soothing smile.

Anyway...some lyrics that ring true with me these days
from Shawn Colvin's new album: These Four Walls

Fill Me up

Fill me up fill me up
I'm a long way from home
And I don't have a lot to say
Fill me up fill me up
Cause you're all that I've got
And I traveled a long long way

Cheer me up cheer me up
Cause I'm all alone
And I'm taking it day by day
Cheer me up cheer me up
Cause you're all that I've got
And I traveled a long long way


And from John Mayer's new album Continuum:

The Heart of Life

Pain throws your heart to the ground
Love turns the whole thing around
No it won't all go the way it should
But I know the heart of life is good.

Remember Ferdinand?

Last August Ken wrote the story of Ferdinand the Cancer Patient in which he described his experiences as a two time stem cell transplant patient. He wrote this, in part, because he was so aghast at the lack of concern for the emotional health of a person going through such grueling treatment.

The other message in "Ferdinand" tells of Ken's great appreciation for the life he had right here in Evanston, and of how much appreciated the community that surrounded us and the simple but profound pleasure to be found in the park right next door to our house, the same park where we'll soon be creating a memorial in his honor.

So, one year later, remember Ferdinand:

*****************************************************************************************************************************

The Story of Ferdinand, the Cancer Patient… not a children’s story

(A fictional tale, whose characters are amalgams drawn from 3 different treatment centers.) Inspiration comes from personal experience, and images of Ferdinand the Bull,by by Munro Leaf, and illustrated by Robert Lawson. Imagine sketches of grand characters parading in and out with fancy costumes, pomp, and ceremony.

This is the story of Ferdinand, who tried to mind his own business and smell the flowers. Ferdinand liked to sit in the park, on a bench or under a tree, and experience it all. He smelled the flowers. He watched and enjoyed the people. Everything was well in the park.

One day, Ferdinand did not feel so good. He didn’t have the usual kick in his step. His doctor said it was probably nothing but he should check it out. Ferdinand’s wife was worried, but not too much. She reminded Ferdinand that without a wife to worry, something might be missed. Ferdinand did his best to continue to enjoy the park, and to do the things that he had always done. The first tests showed probably nothing. The second tests were probably nothing. The third tests were more painful, and probably nothing. But days later, there was definitively bad news. Ferdinand had cancer. His life was going to change. But then he would get better, and get back to the park and the flowers.

Ferdinand was brought to a busy place to wait and wait. He waited in rooms with comfy furniture. There were old magazines there. There was a television that had a channel with only pictures of flowers. He was told to sit. Usually, his wife could sit next to him so that they could talk, laugh, and worry together. He was told the wait wouldn’t be long. They were even given discounted passes for car parking. It felt like a good deal. But the waiting was unending. It was more certain than anything. Ferdinand gazed at the tropical fish tanks, and dreamed of the park. He thought about his special little family. He thought about the work that he loved. He thought of the things he loved to do. He thought of his friends. He had a lot of time to sit and think.

Soon, Ferdinand came to recognize the patterns and the people who came to help him. Sometimes, they helped him and let him go back home to his park. Sometimes they kept him at their special place for many weeks, helping him with special treatments. Ferdinand wished he could return to his park. But he knew the people wanted to help him, so he tried as hard as he could. Some days, all Ferdinand wanted was to talk a little with somebody, and to be recognized as one, who was there every day doing his best in his own way. He wanted the people to know that he had a life out there in the park. But the helpers kept coming in, different ones different days and nights. They kept saying Ferdinand looked good. But they didn’t realize that Ferdinand had a lot to say and think about. Ferdinand’s park was too far away, so he had to remember it all by himself.

The helping people came alone or in groups. They had special clothes with matching outfits, gloves, and jackets. They wanted to help Ferdinand by talking, cleaning, poking, and listening to his breathing. They even woke him up in the night to show how much they cared. Just when Ferdinand was imagining how nice it would be to be smelling the flowers in his park, the nice people said that smelling flowers would make Ferdinand sick, so he could not have flowers anywhere nearby. Ferdinand was sad, but he knew that the people were trying to help him. Hopefully, someone would come to visit and tell him about the real flowers and the park. Ferdinand’s own new stories were not very much worth telling.

Ferdinand learned about all of the helping people.

The nurses came. They were young and old; big and small. They did everything. They wrote their names on the bulletin board. They told Ferdinand to rinse his mouth so that he would not get mouth sores. They were in charge of the poles holding bags of poison medicine. The poles beeped and chirped all day and night. At first, Ferdinand thought that he was hearing birds and children in the park. He pushed the nurses’ call button, and then the nurses would come in to adjust the beeps. Sometimes the nurses had good advice for Ferdinand, like how not to throw up his food. They collected and measured every bit of his pee and poop to show how much they cared for him, even more than most dog-owners did for their pets back in Ferdinand’s park. Some even shared their dreams for their own lives. Sometimes the nurses distinguished themselves in their knowledge or their compassion. Some nurses could barely figure out what Ferdinand needed or wanted. They might come to the door and giggle or frown. But Ferdinand learned to tell them what they needed to know about him. Not about his park, but about his pee, poop, pills, and poison bags on the IV pole.

Then came the PT’s, who wanted to go for a walk. They sometimes had ropes and belts strapped to Ferdinand, in case he was so weak that he would stumble. They only knew him as a weak fellow, and they had entire sheets of printed exercises. That was all they needed to know.

Then came the OT’s, with giant rubber bands. And they wanted Ferdinand to pull the rubber bands in his free time. They had big ideas for Ferdinand’s daily goals. It made them feel better.

A minister came now and then to say that god was there if Ferdinand needed him.

Every 4 hours, Ferdinand welcomed the most consistent of all the helpers, the people who take vital signs. They checked pulse oxygen, pulse rate, blood pressure and body temperature. They came every day and every night.

For special fun, there were women, who drew blood from Ferdinand’s body. Certain days they drew from his central line. Other days they stuck his veins directly. Sometimes, there were special blood draws for research blood. These helpers always came at 4:00 in the morning.

Respiratory Therapists came with breathing treatments to inhale. They listened to Ferdinand’s breath and cough. They came 4 times each day, even at 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning.

A social worker came to visit sometimes. He could talk about anything. Ferdinand would talk a little, but there was so much to say that he didn’t say very much. Ferdinand couldn’t just jump in like that.

There were lots of cleaners, who usually spoke Spanish. They made sure the bathroom was tidy and would change the towels. They would mind their own business.

Ferdinand never forgot the food service workers, even though he couldn’t taste or enjoy what they brought him. They offered him a sense of control because he could make choices. Too bad none of it tasted good.

And where would Ferdinand be without all of the people doing special tests on him? They took him to lie down on machines of all types. They ensured that no part of Ferdinand would be a mystery. They knew about all that might be wrong with Ferdinand. They needed to be careful because they knew so much. Ferdinand valued what they did, but often he was left to worry.

And now suddenly the trumpets are blaring!!! The staff are hustling and excited. The Doctors are coming on their rounds! Ferdinand is told not to do anything. The Doctors are Coming! The doctors might be in any minute. They might come in two hours. But we will all wait for them because they will talk to Ferdinand! Finally, the door opens and it is the doctor. With him is a fellow… and a pharmacologist… and a special nurse… But these people are not allowed to talk. The doctor listens with his stethoscope. He asks a question or even two. He says he will come again tomorrow. Ferdinand knows a way to ask him questions so that he will stay a minute or two longer. He likes the information that he imagines he will receive. Ferdinand appreciates the doctor because he seems to understand, even though he does not really say much. Before he knows it, Ferdinand is alone again. The trumpets sound for the next cancer patient down the hall.

Almost all of the helpers ask Ferdinand, “Is there anything I can get you?” If Ferdinand thought about it, there would be lots of things. But he can’t really think about that now because they can’t give what he really wants.

Ferdinand soon will go back to his park. Some people say that he will be better for his experience. They like to say that he will see more or know more than he did before. Ferdinand has changed, it is true. He can’t ride his bike as far. He can’t play as long or with such abandon. He can’t hear as well or see as well. He can cry a little easier now, perhaps. Ferdinand did not need the cancer to appreciate life or people or time. He was happy already. But now he will be appreciative and loving again. And he will love his park like he did before. Hopefully for a long, long time.

So Happy About the String Ball!!!!

My kids school opening has been delayed until September 11 due to unfinished renovations. I know that there have been worse things that have happened on September 11, but this sure feels like a big crisis to me. And I know several other mothers who went to bed with a giant headache the day we found out that freedom would not come a' callin on September 5 as planned.

I admit it. I am done. I don't want to go to another...museum, park, restaurant, store. I don't want to draw, bake Sculpey clay, dance to music, go for a walk or bike ride or train trip. I don't want to say for the ten hundredth millionth time: NO, you cannot...watch TV, use the computer, play your game cube, man handle your sister, dramatically shriek as though the world is coming to an end, pour raw sugar down your throat...

I don't want anymore quality time. IT'S BEEN THREE MONTHS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Isn't that long enough for anyone to completely put aside her own needs. Not that I remember what my own needs are.

This morning I sat on Alec's bed untangling and rolling up a big tangled ball of thick white string while he quizzed me about amazing facts from the Guinness Book of World Records 2007. I'd say this went on for a good hour. Like the kids, it's time for the string to move on to something more productive than what Alec has it doing: looping all around the upstairs like a big dirty mop. This was probably my biggest material accomplishment today: detangling string.

While sitting on the toilet, I also took some time to read and think about the poem "Solitude" by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, which includes the famous line:

"Laugh and the world laughs with you,
Weep, and you weep alone..."

And though I'm sure I'm infringing on copyright laws by writing it here she goes on to say:

"Rejoice, and men will seek you,
Grieve, and they turn and go:
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe..."

One more particularly stinging line includes this happy thought:

"Be glad, and your friends are many:
Be sad, and you lose them all,...."

So what's a sad, grieving girl to do?

Fortunately, there were actually two balls of string to untangle, so I've got that to look forward to tomorrow.

After the house is repainted: THEN WHAT?

It's been a while since I've written anything. I don't want to write about the fact that I am finally starting to feel my loss, to miss Ken, to get it, to touch the edges of the big iceberg that's floated into the middle of our lives. I'm supposed to be the one who is handling everything SO WELL, who LOOKS GREAT, who IS REALLY MANAGING EVERYTHING WITH GRACE. And when exactly am I supposed to write, to think, to have a moment when the kids are out of school and I am the constant cook, entertainer, reader, planner, driver, supervisor, shopper, gardener, straigten-upper? And oh yeah I'd better make time to exercise. After all, I'm a middle-aged single woman...don't want to let my grief propel me into a long slide into bagdom.

See why I don't write anymore? Who wants to hear a bunch of complaining? Not me. Does anyone really want to think about dying when you're 52, being widowed at 44, being rendered fatherless at 6 and 10 years of age? The illusion of safety that an intact family provides is marvelous, a wonder, a treasure. I have no desire to strip that from anyone. Revel in it.

What we did this summer was: take two lovely trips while spreading Ken's ashes along the way. So, when people ask how are trips were...which story do they want to hear? Is it the beautiful beaches, the cool dark Canadian water, the fun touristy shopping OR the crushing reality of watching the remains of the one you love being set to rest in the gentle Laurentian woods and on the edge of the sea? Do you want to hear about our stay in a beautiful house a stone's throw from the ocean OR do you want to know about how Natalie wanted to pick up Ken's ashes after they fell upon the sand. Or how Alec doesn't like thinking about his dad dying and how he says he already adjusted to our new family of three.

What I did this summer must be a classic activity of the newly-minted widow (at least the type that doesn't have to hit the streets immediately looking for a job): I repainted the first floor of the house! Uncovered a wall of exposed brick! Rearranged furniture!

So....now what?

Honor Ken Who Loved to Sit and Chat

Dear Friends of Ken:

The "planning" stage is over, and we are now operating on full cylinders for the "Ken Park Memorial."

Jill has met with designers from the Evanston Park District, and a basic plan is forming. The working plan is for the installation of high quality benches, trees/garden and a chess table to be placed in the southeast area of McCollough Park. The location is within 50 feet from Jill/Alec/Natalie's house. The memorial will be a beautiful place for people to sit and talk and enjoy a full view of the park activities.

We have received approximately $5,000 in pledges to make this memorial happen! We are now collecting the funds.

We have arranged to have the money held in a segregated account of the Evanston Parks Foundation, a non-profit 501(c)(3) foundation. Donations are tax-deductible, and you will receive documentation of your donation for tax purposes.

Please make checks out to: "Evanston Parks Foundation."

Please send the checks to: Steve Wernikoff, 2650 Eastwood Ave., Evanston, IL 60201. Please send your checks to me by August 31, 2006, so that we can keep the project moving.

Thank you very much to each and every one of you for helping to make this memorial happen! And, of course, please send this message to anyone that you think may want to help contribute!Best regards,Steve Wernikoff 2650 Eastwood AvenueEvanston, IL 60201

Live in the present? How about the future?

Summer is an interesting time for the moms I know. The working ones juggle work, nanny and camp schedules. The "non-working" ones drive around alot, manage social schedules, keep the meals and fun happening all day long. Schedules change. Camps begin, end, begin again. Vacations happen. Friends leave town. Come back. Leave again.

For me, the new widow, the routine of my past life, the one where I had a husband and an intact family, has been totally shattered. Now, overlay the unscheduled summer, and I am a woman uncomfortable in the present moment. All my routines lost. Everything familiar in flux.

We go on vacation, but when we return we have to confront all over again the truth of what has happened to us. Oh, right, he's still not here. He did die. I am a single mother. Natalie and Alec are fatherless children. I can't figure out why my computer keeps going black. Who wants to live in the present moment when this is what you must confront.

Six months after Ken's death feels harder to me than his entire illness...even than his death and the immediate aftermath. I was so filled with purpose then. I knew what had to be done. And Ken was still the center of my life.

Right here in the present...I am a single mother. No. I don't want to be this.
I am a widow. No. I don't want to be this.
Natalie and Alec have lost the best father a child could have. No.
I have lost my husband that was really my hero in so many ways. No.
The illusion of security is shattered for us. No.

Sometimes when Natalie wants to be doing something different than whatever activity we're doing at the moment, I borrow a line from Ram Dass. I say, "Natalie, BE HERE NOW." Nice advice, but I don't want to follow it. I want to be somewhere else. But here I am.

It's my party and I can cry if I want to...

But fortunately, I may not have to cry this year thanks to Paula Hoerner and Cindy Johnson who are throwing me a girls only birthday party later this week. I'm not much of a "have a big party on my behalf" kind of gal...if Ken were alive, we'd get a sitter, I'd peruse Chicago Mag and then I'd pick a good restaurant and off we'd go. But you know the story: as it happens, Ken's not alive, and 5 months later upon me is the day that marks my very own entrance into the world of the living.

What better way to celebrate than with my friends. Without them, I'd really have reason to cry. Also, if you read the medical lit, there are just horrible statistics about spousal health after one spouse dies. My chance of getting sick has just sky-rocketed...but those social supports just might be the best preventive medicine money can't buy.

If you ever think there's nothing you can do when a friend has something horrible happen to them...or something bad...or even something just sort of lousy...here's what I've learned about the myriad ways people can help one another. While some are small and some are bigger gestures, what I've learned is that it doesn't really matter.

DON'T KNOW HOW TO HELP A FRIEND IN NEED? HERE ARE SOME SUGGESTIONS FROM MY OWN RATHER AMAZING EXPERIENCE WITH THE GREAT PEOPLE AROUND ME.

(by presenting this list I do not claim to be the world's greatest giver, but I have learned a lot from so many...most right here in Evanston IL, but some from all over the place):

1. Call
2. Call again (Don't know what to say? Try: what's going on with you?" or "I've been thinking about you.")
3. Keep calling (even if he/she doesn't call back)
4. Write a note
5. Write again
6. Keep writing
7. Send a package with goofy items
8. Send a gift certificate for: food, massage, movies, spa pampering
9. Bring chocolates
10.Offer to take a child out to do something (actually, insisting is even better)
11. Offer to grocery shop (once again, insist)
12. Go for a walk together
13. MAKE THE TIME TO DO SOMETHING
14. Throw a party
15. Invite your friend over
16. Invite your friend to dinner
17. Bring over a home-cooked meal
18. Organize home cooked meals
19. Take your friend out shopping for something fun
20. Go to the movies together
21. Invite a few neighbors to hang out together
22. Get a pedicure together
23. Find out what your friends favorite dessert/treat is then bring it by once in a while
24. Walk their dog
25. Insist on babysitting
26. Work out together
27. Give homemade cookies
28. Help organize something: garage, office, garden
29. Offer advice if you absolutely think it's required.



Here's what else I've learned after going through Ken's illness and then his untimely death...

To me now, I can't think of anything more important than the little and big things we do for one another. It's hard to feel like you can do right by everybody, but in doing right by somebody, you can make a huge difference.