49

June 21st was hard enough. No, not that it marked another quarter year, the solstice and such, though I'm always mindful of that. It was Marie's High School graduation; the day dad had prayed he'd live to see (he would have been just shy of 88). The day that we certainly believed Ken would share with us. How proud they would have been to know that she's off to Notre Dame on a scholarship. Their lives were certainly a great part in her achieving what she has to date.

Today was my 49th birthday, though, and I could not help being consumed with thoughts of Ken. It was on his 49th birthday, here at home, that Ken, a month after surgery, and not long before chemo and radiation therapy began, that he prayed that he would see another birthday. Prayer seems to work when things go your way. If it doesn't, it's the will of God, or your lack of His grace. I have a big problem with that facile form of self-rationalizing faith. This does not, however, imply I don't believe.


PS The photos of Ken of his last birthday party are at 49 years plus 2 days.

Depression Redux

There was plenty of nature and nurture to cause little surprise when Ken's depression hit with full fury at the very end of his college years. His relationship to Vera is an amazing story in its own right. Since her contacting me, we have exchanged a number of e-mails that have, if not rewritten Ken's story, have certainly clarified and solidified memories, impressions, and thoughts about Ken's past.

As I wrote to Vera: Now, I have no doubt that, though there was certainly a biochemical element in his struggle to be happy, his inability to maintain his relationship with you and loss of hope for the future was arguably far more important than I ever realized.

The reason was the Cold War, not Ken's love of life, or Vera...more later.