Today marks 3 years since Ken died. It’s hard to believe in some ways. Time is like a stretchy rubber band: sometimes it feels like it just happened but then with all the changes in adolescence and the things the kids and I’ve done since, it feels like so long ago.
However, it is different this year, as I mentioned to my therapist, and we talked a lot about how it feels like there is just ‘more space’.
While I didn’t know what to expect, I couldn’t imagine a loosened grip from the memories of those final weeks with Ken. That first year after, in 2022, it was still so visceral and vivid when I thought about May. I could map back to exactly what I was doing in 2021 on any specific day in that month. It was all of us in that pressure cooker attempting to hold on to time with brave-faced urgency in an undercurrent of anticipatory grief.
Since then and in the spirit of what Ken embodied, the kids & I have continued to live, grow, try things and heal. So now in 2024, that heavy May is in some ways mercifully more difficult to access with sharp focus. (And honestly, those aren’t the memories I want to keep sharp anyway.) Those exact daily memories now start to recede like waves–but the feeling of them will always linger. I’ve noticed in my widow community and in other bereaved groups there is mention of this memory fading. There’s also talk in those groups of a fear that it could fade the positive memories too. I know that is a real concern especially when it begins to take more effort to conjure a memory from one’s own mind. But anyone who knows me knows there is so much photographic, video and written content of Ken that continues to exist and I embrace the responsibility of maintaining it.
At the dinner table the other night when discussing this day and what we might do to observe it, Calvin questioned why we chose this day as opposed to other ones with happier and more vital experiences with him. Good point, I said. So going forward now that the kids are older, I think both of them have ways they honor their dad that are meaningful to them which don’t have to be pinned to his ‘death-iversary’ or any other specific day for that matter. For instance, just last weekend, Sidney made chocolate chip cookies, the Toll House kind–Ken’s favorite, and used Ken’s method of hand mixing the ingredients (with clean, bare hands). Somehow cookies made that way always tasted better than the usual way and Sidney’s were indeed excellent.
And so I’ve encouraged the kids to find their own ways and times to think about and honor Ken instead of insisting it be specific to something like today or what I think is appropriate. Grief and remembrance is very personal and as I have experienced, it evolves. 
Kali that’s just beautiful we hope all of you are doing well
Lovely Kali, you’ve worked so hard to help yourself and the kids heal while never losing sight of the memories of Ken.xo
I’ll forever cherish the batch of cookies that Ken “overnighted” us after a Skype when you were making them. We’ve since associated chocolate chip cookies with Ken – and it’s a very fond memory. The boys and I were so impressed with Ken’s witt and how delicious the cookies still were! I told them he was the most clever and interesting man I had ever had the pleasure of knowing! I can never fully express my gratitude for the way you always uphold and celebrate his life and legacy. He was so lucky to have you by his side and Sid and Calvin are so lucky to have an amazing woman guide them in mourning, remembrance and healing. You so eloquently handle every aspect of the situation. I wish you lived closer. It would be so empowering to pick your brain! I know being strong is exhausting, but know you truly have been an inspiration for me in my darkest moments. I wish I had realized some aspects of dealing with and healing from trauma in a more timely manner when it wasn’t “too late”. I watch and idolize your unparalleled wisdom regarding grief. You’ve been a role model for me in so many ways. I am eternally grateful for your love, support and candidness. Sending so much love from Maryland! I miss you Favorite Uncle 🫶🏻
Beautifully written. Appreciate you sharing ❤️
Excellent thoughts on your part, as always, and I’ve concluded that there’s no “right,” or “proper” way—or time—to remember a loved one. In my case, I don’t “observe” a loved one’s passing, per se, but I have noted the day(s) and I do spend time in thought and recollection. That one day solidifies in my mind how special and amazing he/she was to me . . . sort of like a personal Memorial Day. I don’t do anything differently (if I could make cookies, I would); I just think for a while and remember things I’m grateful for, and I feel better about it. Every member of my family’s generation before me is now gone, as well as many friends (Ken is one) who left us way too soon. I’m glad you posted this message now, as I was thinking about Ken and you anyway. Ken and I met in CA in the 1990s, and I was one whom he called to get an opinion about whether or not he should move to Seattle. That’s when our friendship started, and there are so many things I will always remember. Always, always. This day especially, but other days too. ~ Best wishes.
Kali, I agree with Christina that this is beautifully written. I believe Calvin has hit on a remarkable truth about individually internalizing and celebrating his memory. Lots of love to you.
Beautifully written