The way time has passed over the last year has never ceased to astound me. As I sit in the front yard playing with Kallie or watching her do her own Chow thing, it’s hard to not look around my quiet little street–sporadically interrupted by the Brown Line growling through the tree tops–feeling content and wonder “hasn’t my life always been like this?” I suppose that’s a good sign; that I’m happy in the moment as I take care of my pooch and take advantage of her many puppy naps to write–and try to tend the garden and the apartment.

Ken’s soirée was a year ago today. It doesn’t seem possible. It feels like so much longer ago than that; like my daily life as I cared for him was years ago. It’s a double-edged sword as that part of my life slips further and further into the past, offering up bittersweet perspective. I’m grateful that the first memories that come to mind about him are not when he was sick at home in hospice, but before that–when cancer was mercifully in his past and inevitably in his future, but not in our present.

That beautiful day when so many came together to love and honor him never fails to make me smile. I would never have imagined that a memorial soiree (as he wanted it called) would bring me ceaseless happiness when called to mind. Like a good improv class, everyone came “ready to play.” You couldn’t know Ken and not celebrate his life, gracious spirit and loving soul. I’ll forever remember what a perfect day it was in every possible way.

The picture below was taken that day–and I love it. Ken told me he wanted his brother Craig and sister-in-law Katie and me–just the three of us–to steal away from the soiree and have a martini together–as the four of us did so often when we were together–and toast to him. It was a difficult request to hear at the time. It was during his decline, I believe. At the time he made it, I couldn’t conceive of a world without him. I’d put together the framework of his soiree–which he signed off on–but thinking about the minutia of toasting to him in a future where he wasn’t alive was beyond me. But steal away and solemnly toast him we did. And, like the soiree itself, it was perfect. And he would have loved it, as we clinked glasses on the very stage where he’d been lovingly and hilariously memorialized by so many loving friends and family members.

As for my time off, it has been amazing. I was afraid one of the impacts of getting K would be less time to write. Though that might be the case in the short term, I think I’ve become even more disciplined as I take advantage of naps or kennel time to work. It has, however, impacted my ability to get out and enjoy my favorite city, but that is only temporary–and well worth the sacrifice. With only my agenda to focus on, it’s been easier than not (most of the time) to be patient and remain journey-oriented while trying to curb K’ gnawing on everything in her path–including (and most preferred) my fingers.

Sleeping too much is never a possibility as I’m down late and up early to manage Kallie’s pea-sized bladder needs. Even as I stumble to the Keurig after 5 hours of sleep to take her outside, I’m able to understand how lucky I am. Lucky to have loved and been loved by someone as amazing as Ken; to have navigated through the year following his death relatively well; to work for a company and with people who have been so kind to me and so effortlessly agreed to me three-month leave of absence; and to feel like the best for me is most likely yet to come.

In spite of Ken’s death and the changes in the last year, the world keeps turning. Likewise, my world is changing…unavoidably. It’s the way it’s supposed to be, I know. It’s strange and a little disorienting at times, but it feels more right than not, and it feels like it’s leading somewhere. No clue where. But I’m getting excited and confident that it will be something truly special. And who could mind a journey when you’re accompanied by this: