Sunday, May 18 marks 9 months since Kate’s passing. It seems such a significant amount of time, 9 months. The length of time it takes for a baby to be born. The length of the school year. Time enough to harvest 2 crops from the field. Time enough for a life to change forever. Yet it is not enough time to clean out the closets, or enough time to empty a dresser. Nine months is not enough time to stop the nightmares. Nine months is not enough time to even allow us all to understand the changes in our lives. Nine months. An eternity. I can remember driving from Lafayette to Cleveland to get married. I can remember singing to the oldies on the radio. I can remember cutting Bob & Joanne’s lawn on Thursday before we went out to a bar with John and Helen and Marcie. I can remember drinking too much on Friday and waking up late on Saturday, August 13, 1983, convinced it was a perfect day. But I can’t remember what we ate for dinner on August 16, 2007. I don’t even know if we ate at home or at a restaurant. I remember the song I dedicated to Kate on my radio show the night we met (October 9, 1981), but I don’t remember if we exchanged anniversary gifts on August 13, 2007. I can’t remember her voice, or her touch, or the smell of the baby powder that floated in the bathroom air after every shower. I can’t remember feeling safe and whole. After nine months Alison has finished another year of college and is off on internship as she looks to her senior year and beyond. After nine months Andrew is ready to begin National Youth Leadership Training and to start conditioning for a scouting high adventure, activities reserved for young men. The 12-year old boy Kate knew would not have been allowed. After nine months I have a new job with more responsibility and have become firmly ensconced in the black side of academia- administration. After nine months I can’t paint the kitchen because the anxiety of choosing a color is too overwhelming, so the wallpaper stays and the floor continues to deteriorate. After nine months I continue to sleep on her side of the bed because I can’t bear the idea of reaching over and finding it empty. After nine months the light on the front porch remains on twenty four hours a day so she can see to come in to the house. And the closet light stays on in the bedroom so I can see her when she comes in the room. After nine months the irrational thoughts are as strong as they were after 1 month. Some are stronger. I am bone weary. I understand the phrase now. A six-hour work day wears me out and an 8 hour day leaves me emotionally as well as physically exhausted. Everything is accomplished only when a deadline comes crashing down and there is no choice but to forget everything and focus on a single task. That is what I do best- block out everything and focus on a single task. The theme of this month, probably more than any month since #2 has been disconnection. A demanding work schedule where I am on stage in front of an audience often requires good acting skills. So with an exaggerated smile and jazz hands that would fit in “A Chorus Line” I get on stage and smile and work the audience. Then I come home and ignore the emotions- disconnected. Few tears, little sadness- just disconnect. Get through the day. Handle the mechanics. Focus on the operations. Get the immediate job done to avert a crisis. Ignore everything else. Its amazing how much in life can be ignored. Not forever, but for a long time. Maybe years. I’ll know in 3 or 5 or 10 exactly how many years. Today I just know that almost everything can be ignored. The reality is that not every day is terrible. There is brightness that shines through the clouds. There are days when friends call or I go out in public and spend a few minutes focused on one task- one person- and there can be real joy and gladness. Alison and I ate at The Grasshopper in Boston, a restaurant that may replace the Chicago Diner as my favorite vegetarian restaurant (I am still not convinced they did not put pork in my dinner). Andrew and I discovered Wild Buffalo Wings (well, he discovered- I’ve known). With the help and support of others I’ve found Andiamo, Tremonte and Teebone-Z. Those days provide hope and fuel dreams that someday life will be better. Maybe not safe. Certainly not what it was; but better. Those days and those people remind me that I care deeply about others and I want to care deeply about others. The risk of hurting… no, the reality of being hurt is part of life. The hurt is the contrast that allows us to understand real joy. I want simple things- to sail a boat on a hot day, to hold hands with someone and walk through a park, to see my kids laugh spontaneously and with real abandon. I want more complex things like understanding how their loss has led to strength in both Alison and Andrew. I want to love again and be loved and know the connection that comes from giving oneself over to emotion. I want Kate back, and my life, and my children’s mother. But given that life ends, I want the world to remember Kate, to remember how she touched so many lives. I want family, friends, colleagues and students to think about the impact she had on them. And I want Kate to know that I will love her forever and ever- and 2 weeks.