Category: Life After Keith

I took my niece, Bekah, to New York City Saturday.  We walked through Time Square on our way to Radio City Music Hall.  The city buzzed with all the sights and sounds I’ve come to love about New York.  Bekah and I held hands as we hustled through the crowds so we wouldn’t lose each other.  The naked cowboy was playing his guitar. Elmo and Oscar ran away from Sesame Street to work over the tourists with photo ops.  A drum line played away in full uniform.  I could tell Bekah was a little relieved when we moved past the chaos and as we rounded a corner, I saw The Church of Saint Mary the Virgin.  On the drive up, Bekah mentioned that she wanted to visit a church while we were in the city, so I pointed it out to her.  It wasn’t until we stepped inside that Bekah told me why she wanted to visit a church – so she could light a candle for her Uncle Keith.

In the quiet dark of the Episcopal church, my Catholic niece touched the match to a candle away from all the others already burning.  “For Uncle Keith” she whispered to me.  It was so fitting that she set him apart – in life, he was a stand out in the crowd.  We walked out and that dreaded burning sensation started in my eyes so I put on my sunglasses despite the clouds. Bekah filled me in on how she had already lighted 5 candles for her grandparents and her great grandparents in New York, but never had a chance to light one for him.  I was beyond the burning sensation, but the beauty of sunglasses is being able to smile without any one seeing what your eyes are really saying.

Keith was always a little harsh about death.  Phrases such as “What can you do? It happens to everyone.”  and “So, their gone. Move on” and “Get over it” and “You can’t stop it” would crop up whenever someone we knew passed away.  I don’t think he really believed what he was saying.  I’m sure he said those things to buffer the emotional impact.  In his last few months with us, I know he fought for his life and yet readily stated that he wasn’t afraid to die.  When we were in the cancer center at the University of Maryland Medical Center, he kept telling the doctor that.  “I’m not afraid to die, Doc, but I have everything to live for.  A beautiful wife and children I’m so proud of.  I’m going to fight this.”

Even Keith would have lost his harsh words in that church.  He wouldn’t have been able to conjure up a “shit happens” while his Zen step-son got his Led Zepplin tattoo to honor him.  Keith would have been rendered silent at the sight of his son’s tribute tattoo which reads “Have Faith in Me”.  He wouldn’t have even been able to muster a “bite me” as Kitson read the Episcopal prayer while we delivered him to his first stop on his bucket list.  His Methodist raised wife never would have gotten a “Cherish, what is this nonsense” as she asked for the Rabbi on his last days.  Because he knew that regardless of our deities, our houses of worship, the beliefs we carry – we are all still part of the human spirit.  We send out our prayers in our own way in honor of that spirit, the same spirit that helped Keith fight to the end.  I am witness to all of this and rejoice in the knowledge that a few steps away from the glorious noise and bustle of New York City, a candle burns for Uncle Keith.

What is it about the simple little cherry?  I’m a fruit lover but there’s nothing quite like the cherry.  Remember those cans of fruit cocktail with loads of bright yellow and orange fruit and 1.2 cherries?  I always wished for more of them and would fight to get to them.  Maybe that’s how the phrase “cherry picking” got started.

The rain was threatening but hadn’t started yet as I drove home tonight, so I indulged in opening the car’s sunroof and windows.  I could smell the electric air and as I rounded a turn, the glorious vision of a roadside produce stand came into sight.  A giant sandwich board announced that they had bing cherries.  I stopped and grabbed the biggest bag I could find, and started munching on them before I even put the wallet away, leaving pits and stems in my wake.

My love affair with this little red treat started a long time ago.  My grandparents had a cherry tree in the back yard.  It was here I learned my first lesson in cherry consumption.  Never eat the ones on the ground.  They’re buggy and rotten and this royal taster tried her best to find a few good ones but quickly learned that to get to the prime ones, you have to climb the tree.  Even then, this particular variety of cherries were never meant to be eaten in anything other than a pie.  It didn’t stop me though – I’d nibble away on the tart fruit making lemonade faces with each bite.

I also discovered the cherry tree in my babysitter’s yard.  Her daughter and I would spend endless hours sitting in the tree, eating away until our fingers and faces were stained red.  On one sunny summer day, we sat in our usual perches, indulging ourselves when she suddenly let out a shriek.  I looked over to see her entire face and arms covered in milky lavender bird poop.  The only thing left untouched were her big brown wide eyes staring out from under the mess.  At first there was silent shock followed by me pointing out that we should climb down and clean her up.  She managed to get to the ground without spreading it to much further but as I followed her to the house, I started giggling at the sight of her walking along, arms outstretched, covered in purple poop.  As soon as she heard the giggles, she turned around and glared at me, prompting me to hold my breath until she turned away.  I’d start up again, she’d glare, I’d suck in air, she’d turn away, I’d giggle, she’d glare, and this is how we traveled all the way to the back door.  Her mother took one look at her and started laughing which took my giggles to a higher decibel.  As her mom washed off the mess, she continued laughing and I continued giggling until our poor flyby bird-bomb victim hollered “It’s not FUNNY!”  We both busted out laughing.  I don’t remember her ever climbing the tree again.

My great grandmother had a few cherry trees.  Occasionally, she would have me and my cousins climb as high as we dared to tie pie pans to the branches.  This Appalachian trick would prevent any bird-bombs and save the fruit for our young appetites.  The sun would reflect off the pans, blinding the birds just enough to distract them from finding a safe simple landing in the trees.  Of course, we consumed more cherries than any bird as we climbed up and even more cherries on the climb down, justifying our snacking as a way to keep up our strength during such physically demanding work.

As a teenager, I discovered the more sensual aspects of the cherry.  You knew a guy really liked you if he hand fed you his cherry from the top of his sundae.  He knew you were into him too if you took it very very slowly while making eye contact, maintaining a small smile on your lips, freshly glossed in cherry flavored lip smacks.  I wonder if they still make that stuff.  It never stayed on any one’s lips that long because it was so sugary sweet, we’d lick it off as soon as we applied it.  Regardless of gender or lip gloss preferences, you were one serious hottie if you could tie a knot in a cherry stem using only your mouth.

Now that I’m all grown up, I frequently settle in front of the TV set with a great big bowl of cherries.  Actually, make that two bowls – one for the cherries and one for the pits and stems. It was on one of these cherry munching movie watching nights that I discovered my little dog Grommit loved the pits.  I was sitting on the floor, totally engrossed in the Nicole Kidman movie “The Others” popping cherry after cherry in my mouth and tossing the refuge in the bowl.  Grommit would come over and nose around in the dish, rattling the stems and pits against each other, then wander off, then come back and nose again.  At the end of the evening, I picked up the bowl and realized that there were only stems left behind.  She had been eating the pits the whole time.  After feeling all those little pit lumps in her belly, I thought for sure I would have a dead dog on my hands but my little junk yard dog never once showed any signs of ill effect.  I should have known better – this was the same dog who ate every piece of Zach’s Halloween candy one year – wrappers, taffy, chocolate, jawbreakers – everything in the bag – and never once showed signs of digestive distress.

Flash forward to tonight – driving down the road, windows opened, wind whipping around the car, the smell of rain heavy in the air, bag of cherries at my side, my mind a blissful blank for a change.  Then it struck me.  Maybe life really is a bowl of cherries.  We’ve all gotten caught up in our bucket lists.  I’m more guilty of this than anyone.  After losing Keith, I think about our bucket list way too often.  I forget to focus on the simple joy of eating cherries in the rain.  Maybe we need to add climbing trees, laughing at what isn’t funny, tying pie tins to branches, marveling at our pets, and licking gloss off our lips to the list.  Since I have a bag full of stems, I bet I could practice that hottie stem knot trick – now that’s bucket list worthy.  The pits can wait for another day.

We can plan all we want for the big party but eventually, it will just have to unfold as it was destined to do.  When signing up for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society’s Team in Training, I plotted to use my birthday as a fundraising event.  Easier said than done for me.  As the date rapidly approached, I found myself missing my fundraising partner in crime – Keith – who could talk the birds out of the sky and sell ice cubes to Eskimos.  Everything seems to be falling into place but scattered alone the path to the big day I have been visited by specters of fundraisers passed.

Keith was fundraising chairman of Easton High School’s S. O. S. (Support our Sports – I think – it might have been Save our Sports).  He’d go around to all the local vendors and get them to sign up for discount offers for the cash cards S. O. S. would sell.  He took a business sized card with 9 discount offers and turned it into a 2 sided 18 discount card.  Once we had everyone lined up and their graphics, I’d set to the task of laying out each offer on the card.  It was a tricky task to cram all 18 on the card and still make it readable.  Today, my Mother went at the task of decorating all the prizes and I could hear the old familiar sound of the scissors running down the curling ribbon.  What I saw in my mind was Keith and I leaning over that same kitchen table, assembly line producing hundreds of little cash cards with 18 little logos.  He’d feed the laminating machine and I’d send them through the paper cutter.  We got frightfully good at cranking them out.

When I sat on the Band Booster Board, Keith was always there to volunteer for the spaghetti dinner, serve up refreshments at concert intermissions, and he made sure each band member’s bag was safely loaded on the bus before we headed down the road on our band trip.  I was in charge of designing the programs for the concerts, and he’d dutifully jump in to assemble them with the rest of the band parents.  It became it’s own party at every dress rehearsal.  All of us sitting on the floor, folding and stapling.  I was notorious for always wanting to add a hand crafted touch – white glitter on snowflakes, paper flowers on the spring program – Keith and the band parents always indulged me.  It brought out the finger painting kid in us all.

When our friend Alex was diagnosed with cancer, Keith would bring Pepsi to him in the hospital and constantly checked in on him to see how he was doing.  He decided to raise money to cover the medical bills and we marched down to Talbot Bank and opened a checking account.  My parents made several contributions just like they have generously contributed to my Team in Training efforts.  In just 4 short months, Keith managed to bank over $2,700.00 for Alex.  He spread the word to the community and checks rolled in.  Then mutual friends hosted a barbeque through the Lion’s club.  As usual, Keith was out there under the tent, tending the grill.

I lack his silver tongue.  I don’t have his gift for rallying the troops.  I can’t hustle like he did.  I am the organizer, the decorator, the planner.  It isn’t easy raising money in memory of the King of Fundraising.  The fit is all wrong for me and it’s compounded with constant reminders of how good he was at it.  What I can do is throw a really good party and dance in celebration of all the memories I carry with me of the man that shared my past 10 birthdays with me.  Never mind that it took him 6 of those 10 birthdays to remember the date.  I don’t think he would forget this one, falling on Friday the 13th – a lucky day for me.

On July 4, 2010, Keith, Brandon and I found ourselves on the deck of the Intrepid in New York City watching the fireworks.  It was stunning and as the city skyline lite up and the music blared, I was enthralled with the reflection of them in the shiny glass facades of the buildings behind us.  It was no easy feat to get Keith to go.  The two of us had very different ideas about adventures such as this one.  I am the impulsive one.  All someone has to do is say “road trip” and I’d be the first one with keys in hand and the GPS fired up, asking “where to?”  It was my idea to see fireworks in New York.  As I was sitting in our office, I turned to Keith and announced that we should see them.  Keith morphed into Jeff Dunham’s Walter right before my eyes, as he often did when my impetuous nature displayed itself.  It prompted him to run down the list of requirements I would have to meet before he would agree to go.  It went something like this:

“I won’t stand in line, we aren’t going to spend a fortune, I better be able to sit, I’m not going to lug a cooler and chairs through the city, there is no way I’m going to fight crowds, if we don’t have a good view then I’m leaving, We better have reservations because I’m not interested in heading into the city at the crack of dawn just to stake out a spot, . . . .” and my personal favorite that he often quoted when discussing any hot outside activities “I’m not going to go somewhere and sit around while my balls are dripping in sweat”.  He’d pull that one out whenever I invited him along on camping trips.  I’d always pack up Zach and Brandon and we’d leave him at home.

My work was cut out for me and when I found the Intrepid for just a few bucks each, with reserved seating and private entrance, I was able to convince him to do it.  The entire event from boarding the Intrepid to the last boom of the firework show met all his requirements, except for maybe the sweaty ball part – but he didn’t care.  When it was over, he was like a little kid – all wound up and excited.  He had video taped the whole show and over the next few weeks, would play back the video to everyone he knew while providing constant commentary about the weather, the fireworks, the Intrepid, and that he couldn’t believe that he had grown up right next to New York and had waited so long to do this.  We were a good match in that respect.  I’d throw out some hair brained idea, Keith would give me a laundry list of requirements that I needed to meet if I wanted him to attend, and then just like that – we’d have a plan of action laid out that would feed my need to explore and keep us safe and comfortable.

Keith loved fireworks.  He never went a year without catching the display.  I’d want to stay home and he’d look so hurt that I didn’t want to join in.  I’d eventually buckle under the puppy dog look and go.  I was always glad I did.  Not because of the show, but because it was such a joy watching him.  He really was a wide eyed kid every 4th of July, as if he had never seen fireworks before in his life.  This 4th of July, I couldn’t bring myself to watch them. I brought the dogs inside because they don’t fare well with explosives and the three of us sat around in the dark.  I could make out the big booms in the distance.  I’m sure Keith was there and I hope he can forgive me for sitting this one out.  I just know that in all the whistles, booms and bangs, I would have been too keenly aware of the silence he left behind.

June 2, 1967 – My ex, Jimmy, was born

June 3, 2002 – Two years after our separation, I was having a pity party for myself the day after Jimmy’s birthday.  I decided to do something about it and went on my Yahoo Personals profile and reviewed potential candidates for a date.  I ran across this ad:

Best Kept Secret on the Shore
Age: 45 – Capricorn
Gender: Man seeking a Woman
Location: Easton, MD
Looking for . . . : Commited – Just Dating – Friends – Pen Pals – Intimate/Physical
Marital Status: Divorced
Ethnicity: Caucasian (white)
Body Type: 6′ 0″, average body
Education: High School Grad
Employment: Works at home, no answer on income
Profession: Executive/Management
Religion: Other, rarely attends services
Political Views: Middle of the road
Smoking: Smokes occasionally
Drinking: Drinks occasionally
Kids: Yes – at home full-time, doesn’t want more
Interests: Community Service – Dining – Family – Movies – Music – Outdoor Activities – Travel
More about Me:
Hello and thank you for reading my add.  I am a divorced dad raising my two wonderful (most of the time) children.  People say I am handsome, funny and caring person.  The majority of my time revolves around the children and their activities.  Anyone in a similar situation understands what I mean.  I have turned a corner in my life and wish to meet someone in a similar situation for a long term relationship.  I have allot to offer that special person and hope they feel the same way in time.  Well send me a message, I will respond to everyone.  Until then, take care!  (Note to my readers – This was harder to type than I thought – I wanted to fix the spelling and grammar.)

Hummmmm, I thought.  “I will respond to everyone” he says?  Lets just see if he’s telling the truth.  So on Monday, June 3 at 5:26 pm, I emailed him.  He replied.  We chatted on the phone.  Ok – he chatted on the phone and I would occasionally chat back.  Days rolled into months into years.  We, I mean he, chatted away the time.  At a couple of parties with friends, they threatened to take me down for the count if I didn’t get off the phone with him soon.  On one particular occasion at Danny and Lauree’s house, they got so fed up with the phone glued to my ear, Lauree got her cell phone speaker out.  After planting my phone in the speaker and setting Keith on the table, he joined the party, chatting away with not only me, but everyone that came and went.  We were like giddy school kids. We fell in love.  When I traveled to Pigeon Forge in 2007 with my best friend from high school, Karen, and Kitson (remember Kitson – my best friend from college?), they both threatened to toss my phone out the window of the van if I spent more than 5 minutes chatting with him.  I was a good girl but I actually found myself going through Keith chat withdrawal.

I usually text Jimmy on the 2nd to wish him a happy birthday.  Preoccupied with thoughts of this imminent milestone, I missed the 2nd and ended up sending belated birthday wishes today – of all days – but without his birthday rolling around 10 years ago, would I have had my pity party?  Would I have sent that fateful email?  So maybe it was fitting that I would have texted him a day late.

In the absence of Keith’s chatter, I do find myself moving to fill the void – travel, walking, busy work.  Despite my struggle to fill the silence and my moments of missing Keith, I’ve never stopped feeling the love.  It is a love that will last beyond his lifetime or my lifetime.  With every word I write, it fixes what we shared in the archives of cyberspace.  Our children can tell their children about a love that was stronger than cancer, brave in the face of death, and capable of outlasting the life of a cell phone battery.  Today, I celebrate that lifetime of love that started 10 years ago.

I travel a lot these days. To the home office in Vineland, NJ. To wedding shoots from the metropolitan areas of Maryland to the shores of Delaware. As I move around these three states, I carry Keith’s voice with me. From early on in our relationship, he’d track my progress as I traveled around. He’d monitor traffic and weather on the computer and call with notifications.  He’d have me describe the landmarks, which mile marker I was passing, point out where to look for cops, and always asked me to call him when I arrived. If I was traveling late at night, he’d ask me to text him.  “I’ll be asleep when I get it but at least I know you’re safe” he’d always say.

When I started working at Earthtec Solutions, I was given an IPhone. Anyone familiar with this little gadget, knows about the “Find My IPhone” feature. I shared with Keith how to bring it up on the computer, and one evening we tested it’s accuracy as I drove up Route 13. He called and then tell me where the computer pin pointed my path and I’d let him know how close it was. It was pretty darn close. We did this from where I turned off of Route 1 all the way up to the New Castle airport. My techie man was beside himself as he watched my little green dot moving along the road.  Before we hung up, he reminded me to send him a text upon my arrival.

Several years ago, he and his friend Billy Scaletta had a business installing satelite systems as Tech Pros.  They’d make their way up to New Jersey and New York, and go to work over the evening hours installing the systems at local grocery stores.  He’d call me as I was going to bed to tell me they had gotten there then call me as I woke up to let me know they were going to bed and the job was done.  It was a little over a year ago that Keith started working for Earthtec Solutions as well and traveled quite a bit himself.  We tried to do the same tracking game with his droid but it didn’t work as seamlessly as the IPhone, so he’d take pictures of his drive as he went along.  Of course, he’d call me as he traveled and when he got to his destination, even if it was late.  He knew I’d be up any way, being the night owl that I was.

I always had a different philosophy on texting upon arrival.  I was from the school of “no news is good news” and this would baffle him to no end.  My son, Zach, would go out for the night and Keith would constantly ask me if I’d heard from him.  “No, I haven’t, which means there’s nothing bad happening.” I’d say.  Poor Keith struggled with the concept and over the years, managed to convert me to his way of thinking.  I believe that Zach has converted to it as well.  These days, I ask for the text and Zach sends it.

Even if I hadn’t been converted, sometime in the spring of 2011, there was a crystal clear moment that would have.  Shortly after starting the new job and at the point that we both realized that something was very wrong with Keith’s health, he planned on heading to Vineland for work around 5:30 AM.  He was in the bathroom at some crazy hour of the night when I heard the thud.  When I got in there, he was passed out on the floor.  I was convinced that he had hit his head on the vanity and panicked when I saw him there, not moving.  But then he spoke to me as if this was nothing unusual.  The stoic in him told me not to worry, he had just gotten light headed and was resting on the floor.  I panicked even more at the calmness in his voice combined with the fact that he still wasn’t moving at all.  I sat with him for a while until he felt able to get up.  I didn’t sleep much after that.  5:00 AM rolled around and he crawled out of bed, determine to drive up.  Keith said he didn’t want to let anyone down.  They were counting on him.  I told him to call me as soon as he got up there.  Those were the longest 2 1/2 hours.  It was my Dad who called and both he and my coworker, Frank, were alarmed by Keith’s appearance.  Despite all of this, Keith still went out and did the install.  All of us were wanting a text upon arrival that day.

In November, I drove back from the cruise and with each state line I crossed, I called Keith.  He managed to make it to South Carolina with me.  After that, Agent Jay would answer his phone.  As I drove down route 50 on my final leg, I almost called as I went past the cell phone tower that marked the turn-off to Billy’s house.  Whenever Keith gave directions, he’d reference cell towers as landmarks.  All those years in the paging industry created that phenomenon and we’d all tease him about using them as a point of reference.

In the 15 hour drive from Cousin Patti’s in Merritt Island to our home in Easton, I was pulled to him along the ribbon of I95.  I wanted to touch him, hold him, see him again.  I missed the days of him in front of his computer, monitoring travel conditions, watching my green dot move across the digital landscape.  I missed the calls I would get as he would see how close the dot was to my actual location.  Most of all, I missed hearing his voice as he chatted away the miles – always calling during a great song playing on the radio, irritating me and exciting me at the same time.

In the days and months that followed in his absence, I found myself untethered from the safety of my text upon arrival.  My parents stepped up for a while.  I eventually found a surrogate textee in the most unlikely person – my mortgage loan officer, Gary.  He invited me out for a motorcycle ride with his friend, Bill, on an unusually warm day in March.  After dropping me off at my car, he asked me to text him when I got home.  “I won’t see it till the morning because I’ll be asleep, but at least I’ll know you got home safe” he said.  It was as if I was hearing Keith all over again.  Since then, he asks for a text upon arrival whenever he knows I’m traveling.  I often imagine the text reaching out to Keith as it zips along its cell phone path.

Monday evening I made my weekly commute up to Vineland.  I had just gotten on Route 1 in Delaware when Brandon called.  He shared his day with me and filled me in on all he did in Ocean City and now he was on his way home.  We hung up and then he thought of something else he wanted to talk to me about, so he called back.  We chatted some more and then he said “text me when you get in so I know your safe”.  I told him I would and as I hung up the phone, I merged onto Route 13.  The same Route 13 where Keith first watched my little green dot.  It was another moment of feeling him with me, a part of me, one with me.  Today I drove back to Easton.  I could almost see the dot on Route 13, see Keith pointing to the cell tower that marked the turn-off to Billy’s house, hear his traffic and weather reports.  Tonight, I am sending my text upon arrival to all of you – I’m home, safe and sound – and somewhere out there, Keith is watching my little green dot.

My trip to Arkansas was sprinkled with reminders of how much of a mother’s spirit Keith had. Kitson and I spent the morning before going to Crater of Diamonds park quoting Keith as if he were sending us off in our travels “you two are going to call me as soon as you get there” he asked and then “Check the tires. You have a tire gauge, right? . . . Full tank of gas?. . . Sunscreen, don’t forget sunscreen. . . You have water? Yes Keith.

We got there and dutifully watched the diamond finding how-to video, then rented our sifter for $7.50. We lasted all of a half hour in the hot humid Arkansas sun. Kitson poked away with her $1.75 trowel. I moved a few handfuls of dirt around the sifter. We found a few rocks and then turned to each other and announced that it was time to leave. Kitson recited an episcopal prayer, we each put our handful of dirt on him in the Jewish tradition, and we gathered up our things and walked out. Two women bent on their next mission – sundress shopping in Hot Springs. The Keith quotes rolled off our tongues again “You drove all the way down here to dig for a half hour? You didn’t even find enough loot to cover the rental fee on your sifter. Come back and I’ll show you how to do it right.”.

He would have shown us how to do it right. He would have spent the months leading up to the trip researching how to find diamonds on the Internet. Keith would have built contraptions and gadgets and widgets that would advance the goal of uncovering the mother load of carbon gold. He would have investigated which of his tools would travel safely and meet TSA regulations and which ones would have to be mailed. What he got was two silly middle aged women taking a joy ride and poking around in the dirt. At the moment of leaving him there, I felt a stillness. I was standing in a latitude and longitude that had been written out on someone else’s bucket list. How does a person honor that? I bet the next person that digs there will find a big diamond but I also know Keith – they will have to work to get it.

My, how I digress. I need to speak to the mother Keith was. He always cooked up big meals that could feed an army even if we just had one dinner guest. We’d tease him and tell him he was a Jewish mother trapped in a man’s body. He was the only male soccer mom for his daughter Christie’s team. He’d roll up to the field in the cobra, top down, and a giant cooler in the back crammed with juice boxes, water, fruit, and gorp (A. K. A. trail mix). Keith worked from home as much as possible to be there for his children. He would fuss over scrapes, bumps, bruises, coughs, sniffles, and tears. Not only with his own children but with my son, Zach. He loved them with every inch of his soul and spirit. He was proof that what makes a human being a mother transcends pregnancy and gender. Happy mother’s day, Mr. Mom.

My life was profoundly changed when Keith came into it.  His energy was infectious.  His enthusiasm contagious.  Over the years, he wore off on me.  I too could no longer just sit and wait for life to happen.  Any thing I dreamed of doing, Keith would make happen.  I may have lost him but I have found that he still is more than capable of making whatever I dream of doing happen, even now – four months into living my life without him.

Yesterday, I made my way to my first wedding shoot as a widow.  As I cruised down route 50, a call came in.  A potential bride had just been referred from Captain Iris of the Selina II.  By the time I hung up the phone, we agreed to have me cover her wedding aboard the ship.  Ten minutes later, I took another call.  This one was from a woman who found herself with an old photo in a state of deterioration that led to it tearing in half.  I set an appointment with her to do the restoration work.  I have felt Keith with me all along – my spirit protector.  Those two calls are just one of many moments that convince me of his presence. Despite missing him and despite struggling through the ups and downs of a life lived without him, I can not ignore the fact that at every turn and with every step, good fortune seems to follow me and so many others that Keith loved.  Brandon got into his top pick for college.  The stent was removed and the bile duct stayed open at my father’s last procedure.  The EBay business flourishes under Agent Jay’s management.  In just a few short months, my parents will be able to live together under the same roof again. My son Zach’s eczema has ebbed more than it ever has in years.

It lends itself to a strange melancholy joy, if there is such a thing.  I spent Easter with family.  Driving over to their house, I thought about the first time I invited Keith over to Easter dinner.  “Would you like to come over for Easter?  We’re having a honey glazed ham.” I said to him, to which he dead-pan asked me “What’s a Jewish dilemma?”  I just looked at him and shrugged my shoulders because I had no clue.  With that trademark mischievous glint in his eyes and gotcha-smirk on his face, he says “free ham”.  I had to chuckle to myself as I loaded up on the family feast this Easter – not a ham in sight.

As she said grace, Aunt Bettse mentioned our lose along side our joy of two beautiful baby boys.  I was smiling and feeling the tears at the same time.  Back in December, I spent the afternoon with one of those babies to take his pictures.  Keith was in the hospital then and was sad at the fact that he couldn’t come with me.  “I wish I could go Cherish.  I can always make the babies smile” he said as I left his room.  There was so much truth in that – he always was magic around our little people.

Our new babies were the hit of the party.  They were pampered and passed around and dolted on and I marveled at how happy they both were.  Keith – my spirit protector – you still make the babies smile.  You are with all of us.  Even in your absence, you continue to profoundly change my life.  I love you for that.