I lost control of the message, if I ever had control. Ken and I created a list of people I needed to notify personally. Unfortunately, while I was making those calls and writing those texts, Ken’s loving friends and family were also making calls and writing texts and posts. As such, many of you already know — and for that I’m grateful — but for those of you hurt by a bumpy roll-out of the news, I am so sorry. It’s hard to get bad news and even harder to get it by a side channel.
For those of you who aren’t directly in the path of this kind of news — you suspect but haven’t heard yet — Ken is gone. He died peacefully late Monday evening with me and our three kids at his side. We held his hands and talked to him, telling him how much we loved him, that we’d be okay, that he would be with us forever, as he took his last breath.
He wasn’t able to speak toward the end. His systems started to crash during the night Friday and Saturday morning his voice was no more than a whisper. By mid-morning, he was answering questions with an eyebrow wiggle and a twinkle in his eye, so much himself that it made us cry and long for him to be okay. At one point, he started to get restless and I asked him if there were too many people in the room. He tried to say something but I couldn’t understand him so I leaned down to put my ear right to his lips. And in a whisper that was barely more than a breath of air, he said his last words to me: “Good all here.”
We decided, after he died, that he had waited for the end of the weekend, for everyone to leave so that he could have just us circled around him. It’s the kind of thing he would do, to bring everyone close but then give us our time with him too. There is very little to be thankful for right now but we are thankful for the gift of family all weekend and the gift of privacy at the end. Again, I mention no names but we are also thankful after he passed for the person who arrived 15 minutes later to help us with the final tasks: cleaning up the room, making an unexpected journey, hugging and comforting each other, silently being there.
Yes, we’re okay, if okay means grieving. Yes, we’ll be okay, if okay means that our lives are irretrievably changed and that we will learn how to be four instead of five. We know that death is part of life and that our sorrow will last the rest of our lives, though it will change as we change. Today, we have nothing but disturbed dreams of loss and lost hope. Those will pass but for now we need time to grieve. We are deeply private people and your gift to us is that space and time to consider, to cry, to remember.
Ken was also deeply private and outlined his wishes clearly to me which I appreciate fully since this is a time when resilience is low and feelings are easily hurt. Here’s what he requested: No funeral and no viewing of his worn-out body. Instead, he requested that we have a get-together, as I’ve mentioned previously, a celebration of his life.
We’re still in the planning phase. I need to validate the proposed date with some folks. We’re trying to have it before Easter because his youngest son turns 11 the weekend after Easter. I’d rather not connect his dad’s death to our son’s birthday any more than it already is.
Everyone who knew him is welcome to join us at this celebration. I’ll provide the details once they are final. For those of you who cannot attend, please feel free to send me notes and memories. We’ll have something set up to allow them to be shared.
I won’t tell you to “hold your loved ones close” or anything like that. It’s meaningful to some to say that but it’s very difficult to do. Instead, I would suggest to you that you celebrate every day the lovely mundanity of life.
Much love …
I knew Ken through our live journal blogs (not this one– this one helped me process infertility while I was going through it, but no one really knows about this one) for about ten years now. The first post of his that I read was right after the birth of your youngest son. I was contemplating a PhD in rhetoric, and he helped me make the decision not to follow that path. At the time that we connected, I was depressed, uncertain about the future and having difficulty in the relationship I was in at the time, and Ken, somehow over time, convinced me that I was going to be okay because eventually he was okay. The man I was dating was a would-be poet who didn’t love me, which hurt quite a bit. After he broke up with me, Ken made fun of his poetry, and I know it sounds…well I don’t know how it sounds, but honestly, it was the greatest gift. I got to hang out with Ken when he traveled through the northwest a few years ago. We went out to dinner so that he could get a look at the man I was interested in (who is now my husband), and Ken’s seal of approval was important to me. Ken was important to me, and I am so sorry that he is gone. Thank you for writing here. I’ve never met you, but I feel like I know you, and I’m sorry it’s a one-way relationship. Thank you for being such an incredible spouse and mother and strong, funny, lovely woman. I wish I had better words; I’m fumbling around here trying to express to you that my heart aches for you and your family, and I’m so grateful for you, that you were there for Ken for the best years of his life and that you saw him through to the end of it.
-Kate
LikeLike
Its been a strange experience to witness a loved one dying from so far. Knowing every time opening this blog would reveal that it all has endend. And now it has. I feel very sad. Ken was, though very much away in actual distance (an ocean away), a true pal since we became online friends in 1998. When Ubu, who was my best friend in real life, but a mutual in the online world, was dying in 2010 Ken was really involved and admired the brave way Ubu died. I gather they were much alike. I regret never to have pushed the idea to do a Skype conversation. I would surely have been awkward. But nonetheless. I wish you all the strength you will need in the forthcoming time. And Ken will be remembered fondly.
LikeLike
Even though we never met face to face, I spoke to him at least once or twice on the phone, and for the last twenty-odd years, considered him a very good friend. It’s sad that I never got to share a box of Pittsburgh donuts with him, but I am all the more grateful for having Ken in my life.
LikeLike
I was lucky enough to meet Ken once (and take him out to lunch) when he was on a trip here to San Diego. Though the family was with him, they were off seeing some attraction or other so I only got to meet Ken. I too knew him mostly online, for many years. Though in one sense I knew him very little, in another sense I knew him very well: A generous man. A loving man. A thinking man. A caring man. A great man, truly. Though our relationship was somewhat slight, all of these qualities of his still showed through. He was loved by many, including many of us who knew him (mostly) only as Leopard, or Lep. My sincere and deep condolences to all that he has left behind.
Good-bye Ken. We hardly knew ye’ . . . but knew enough to recognize a true friend.
LikeLike
In your grief: Peace that passes understanding; In the numbness: memories that live on forever; In the emptiness: Love, which conquers all. I am so sorry Deb. I will pray for comfort . It’s what I know to do. . .
LikeLike
Deb – I did not know Ken, but have great memories of you at work. At this very tough time for you and your family, please know there are many folks praying for you and your family. The memories you have of Ken will not go away and his legacy lives on through you and your children. Bless you all.
LikeLike
Gordon and I heard about this very sad news online, which is how we came to know Ken in the first place; Gordon, about 20 years ago now, and me, ten or so years later. For a long time I thought of him as Gordon’s friend but I gradually came to realize that we had become friends in our own right, too, which was a happy realization for me because Ken was definitely special – then, as now, and as always.
We were delighted when Ken came out to spend some time with us in 2007 during Gordon’s first visit to the US! Meeting in person just confirmed what we already knew about Ken, which was that he was gracious, brilliant, funny, and curious about everything. When he, you and the kids, and Mary, all came to the Philly area in 2008 for our wedding, it made the day that much more special. The guests were almost all my friends and family, but Ken and Mary were Gordon’s friends from way back, online, so it was extra-special that you all came, giving Gordon some friends there who were in attendance as much for him (if not more), than for me.
One of the nicest things that can happen with online friendships is to meet and discover that the person you are so friendly with online is just the same in person. That’s how it was with Ken. There was an ease of friendship between us, without strangeness or awkwardness, and we’ll always remember the time we spent together.
Ken’s generosity of spirit in friendship, advice, and shared humor (which sometimes slanted off into the truly, wonderfully bizarre) will stay with us, always. Gordon and I both read his blog (in LJ) for as long as he was able to write in it, and we were glad to have contact with him there as long as we did. I’ve kept up with your blog here, too – from a caregiver’s perspective, much of what you have written resonates with me deeply. I’ve read some of your last few entries to Gordon and we agreed that, reading you, it is so very clear why you and Ken made such a great team. When we met all of you in 2008 it was obvious that you were a great family, and while I know that all families have their bumps and issues throughout the years, it sounds like you are all holding together, solid. Our hearts are with you, not just now but in the coming months and years, too.
LikeLiked by 1 person