June 1 used to feel like a prison of the worst kind. The kind I was forced to visit annually. And be held there for 24 hours, reliving the events of 2011 when Ken died. Dread for the following year began on June 2.
It hasn’t felt that way in what seems like a long time, but this date always brings him to mind. Not necessarily in the sad way—it’s bigger than any singular emotion. Bigger than all of them, actually. But, today I thought about him. Our life together. How he so gracefully led us through uncharted territory. How I dug deep to discover a part of me I’d hoped existed to love and support him until he drew his last breath. How loving him and losing him has changed me and how I view myself, everyone, the world. For the better.
It’s odd to think I wouldn’t be the exact person I am today had he not had cancer. Had he not died. Had we never met. So much of who I am emerged when I fell in love with him—in the way it does in a nurturing relationship. And so much of me was forged in the pressure cooker of the journey we took together as we learned about his cancer and its progression. It’s a part of my self-identity in the same way Ken’s amputation was a part of his. For better or worse, I like that we have that in common
As I drove this morning, I paid close attention to the clock in the car. I always do on the morning of June 1. I hate that I don’t know the exact time he died. I remember thinking that when the chaplain asked me, arriving sometime after. Clearly, I was overloaded, but I know it was between 9:15-9:20. Shortly after his brother Craig arrived to say good bye. Such a loving tribute to their bond that he somehow waited. It may sound strange, but it’s something I love so much about that day. That an act of love can supersede death’s intention. That his ever eroding will could stave off death. That in a way, he was able to die on his own terms, once one final piece fell into place. It still fills me with wonder about all things life and death.
Last year’s June 1 set the tone for what I like to do to pay my respects to this date. It perfectly quenched the thirst for how I wanted to mark it—the day Ken was freed from his failing body and the day the world as I knew it, ended. I was in Costa Rica exploring the most remote and primitive part of the country in the canals of the Tortuguero region. It was a day filled with wonder, surrounded by lush untamed wilderness. Today, I spent the morning at Starved Rock, hiking and taking pictures of the beauty that surrounded me—just like I did last year in Costa Rica. Though today wasn’t nearly as exotic, both were the kinds of adventures Ken would have loved.
And I look forward to many more.