When I woke up on launch day on Monday, I thought of the 13-year-old version of me jumping up and down and screaming with excitement because his book had been published. His thoughts and words have been perfect bound or electronically transmitted to share with anyone! This introverted kid holed up in his room with a piece of plywood as his lap desk so he could scrawl on college ruled notebooks, telling stories and imagining all kinds of things. He was quiet, kind, and shy, but in his mind he created all kinds of worlds and scenarios. And his greatest dream to publish them.
He didn’t know he was gay, but he was in love with the idea of falling in love. And he’d be stunned to know my book is about the falling in love then losing it…in a way. But as the current version of that 13 yo, I’m so grateful for the injection of Ken’s whimsy and love into my life. And, as you’ll read in my book, I’ve found ways to keep him with me. Always. Just like that 13-year-old who still has a place in my life.
I didn’t have a lavish launch event for my book, The Luck We Carry. It was more than the day my book launches, it was the 25th anniversary of when I met Ken. Attention must be paid. I gathered a few friends in person—and even more virtually who I could feel supporting me—and we met up in the old neighborhood where Ken and I lived to walk around, tell stories, and take a beat to enjoy this accomplishment. Something in me needed my book to see some of these important locations, and I wanted to share it with my friends.
Kathy was my first friend in Chicago. We met at work then our lives slowly blended and included her three amazing kids. Dan, the youngest of the three and a talented photographer, joined us on launch day to take photos to commemorate the day. (Her other two kids, Mike and Nikki, played roles in the day from afar.) Pam, another long-term friendship that resulted from working together, completed our little foursome.
We met at a Starbucks in the heart of North Center/Ravenswood where we would be spending our time. Sitting at a table with the tree of them, talking, laughing, and sharing stories about Ken was the perfect way to kick off this incredible first that I’m so proud of.
Once we downed our coffee, we bundled up and walked up two blocks to the apartment I lived in when I met Ken. It felt like my first grown up space and there were so many things I loved about living there—meeting Ken was at the top of the list. I’d forgotten the building was called Lincolnwood, but as I stood there I remembered walking around the neighborhood looking for FOR RENT signs and calling the number listed. I hosted “Saturday Morning Services” for my fellow Second City alums where we planned to write and inspire each other, but mostly, we talked, laughed, ate pizza, and had cocktails. 🤷🏼♂️
Next on the travel agenda was walking down several blocks to the apartment Ken and I lived in when we moved back to Chicago. It was a big apartment—or long, actually. But we loved it as our home for many years. Five for Ken. Almost eight for me. More solemnly, It’s also the place where Ken died. In our home, surrounded by people who loved him. It’s a bipolar memory of witnessing his death, but also being grateful for it. For him. And for me. When I stood in front of the building where our garden apartment was nestled, I had only good memories—even the ones when Ken was in hospice. We weren’t waiting for death to take him. We were living, loving, and laughing until the time came, pushing our love to the limit, leaving nothing behind or unsaid. It’s one of the things I’m most proud of. I was present in my shoes and in my head for every minute I had with him.
We walked two blocks to the condo building where I moved after I left the apartment. My friend (and forever neighbor) Megan still lives there and accommodated us with entrance so we could get some shots on the roof deck, which hold a breathtaking view of downtown Chicago.
Then, the last stop before lunch was at the bar where I met Ken. It had been sold, so it wasn’t quite the same. Heck, it wasn’t even open, so we just got some photos in front. But I looked inside and spied the corner where Ken and I sat and talked that first night. That memory is very close. Always.
After lunch, my incredible crew hugged goodbye then we all went our separate ways. Pam had ridden with me because she lives close to me in the burbs. We decided to end this escapade the way Ken and I would have: with martinis. It was a perfect day filled with excitement, humor, and love. I’m very grateful for all of them.
Now, for your earworm of the day. Here’s a video I made of the launch day with the soundtrack from Ken at the end. He made up songs all the time. And on the day he made up this one, we were on the way home from radiation treatment. We always stopped at 7-11 for a Slurpee–half cherry, half Coke, which he would tell me which order he wanted them in. When I came back to the car, he’d recorded this song on the phone. If i t doesn’t you smile, then you must be AI. 😂