Tag Archives: Kathy Anne

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Special pup, indeed

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On this first full day in more than nine years without Toby the Puppy in our lives, I am left to ponder just why his passing has hit me so damn hard.

I figured it out this morning as I rolled out of the rack after a mostly sleepless night.

Toby the Puppy simply bowled us over almost the moment he entered our life in Amarillo in September 2014. It took literally no time for us to fall in love with him … and him with us.

His impact on our family was immediate and everlasting. We learned a lot of things about Toby right from the get-go.

  • He loved riding in motor vehicles. All we had to do was mention to him, even as a puppy of just a few months old, “Do you want to go for a ride?” He was good to go. Right then! Right now!
  • Toby’s big-dog bark was music to our ears. He used it sparingly. He was not a yipper-yapper. He would bark selectively, such as when someone would approach the front door. He knew that if both Mommy and Daddy were home, that the person who was knocking at the door might not be welcome. If it was our sons, he learned quickly to recognize them. Oh, and Emma? Well, that’s another matter. He loved our granddaughter wholeheartedly … and she loved him back.
  • Toby was five months old when he joined us. He had precisely two potty mistakes in our house. We never had to swat him. We simply told him, “No, Puppy. You can’t do that in the house.” I’m telling ya, he understood what we said. He didn’t do it ever again.
  • We showered him with expressions of love several times every day. And he knew what the words “I love you” meant. How do I know that? I just did, OK?
  • Toby loved to travel with Kathy Anne and me. We must have driven more than 15,000 miles with him in our truck as we hauled our RV across the nation. He saw the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone National Park, the Pacific and Atlantic oceans, the Gulf of Mexico, the Great Lakes; we toured through the western half of Canada … all with Toby the Puppy. He could sit quietly and ride with the best of ’em.

After I lost my bride to cancer earlier this year, Toby the Puppy stepped it up some more by being by my side constantly. He grieved right along with the rest of us. However, he continued to make us smile every day.

He was a constant source of joy for all who met him, knew him and, of course, loved him.

I will miss my one-of-a-kind pal.

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Heart breaks yet again

The year that is one month away from passing into history will be known in my house as the Year of the Broken Heart.

2023 has been without question the worst year of my life. Today it got even worse. I said goodbye this morning to Toby the Puppy. He had been battling cancer for the past few months. What started as a urinary tract infection this past July turned into cancer of the prostate gland, the bladder, and one of his kidneys.

I took him this morning for his second scheduled chemotherapy treatment and at 9:30 his doctor called to inform me that Toby’s “quality of life” has been compromised beyond recovery. He suffered pain in his left front leg, apparently from a nerve condition. He had suffered severe weight loss. His appetite had all but vanished. All the pain pills and medicine to stimulate his appetite weren’t working.

The doctor gave me all the options that lay before me. I collected myself and told her it was “time to let him go.” I called my sons, who rushed over right away to be with me. We all went back to the clinic and said our goodbyes to the best companion a grieving “daddy” could ever want. Indeed, my year began with the loss of my dear bride, Kathy Anne, to glioblastoma, a savage and aggressive form of brain cancer.

Now this.

Toby joined our family on Labor Day Weekend, 2014. It was love at first sight — for us and for him. We all fell in love with each other on the spot. Kathy Anne decided that we officially would call him “Puppy,” although he did answer to Toby, which was the name given to him by his previous family.

He went everywhere with us in our RVs. To both coasts and the Great Lakes, through the western half of Canada. To dozens of Texas state parks. Toby was a road warrior. He was smart. Toby would react excitedly to hearing Emma’s name, even though our granddaughter was not necessarily present when we mentioned her to him.

Toby had a bark that belied his small size. He sounded much larger than he was … and that made it all the more special when he did bark, because he did so only for a reason, such as when strangers would come to our door.

I sought to chronicle Toby’s life on this blog with the series I called “Puppy Tales.” A theme throughout the series was his ability to bring smiles to our faces. Indeed, he made us laugh every … single … day.

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I am not laughing today. I am saddened beyond all measure. I will miss Toby the Puppy for longer than I can imagine at this moment.

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Full of gratitude …

My heart is brimming this morning … with gratitude, thanks and love.

You know already about the very difficult my family and I have endured. Feb. 3, 2023 arrived with my bride, Kathy Anne, desperately ill with glioblastoma — that rare form of brain cancer. It ended later that day with her passing away.

My journey since that horrible time has taken me to both coasts of this great land. It has exposed me, moreover, to love from family, friends and even on occasion from people I do not know but who somehow have learned of my heartache and extended a “sorry for your loss” greeting.

My life, though, has gone on. Kathy Anne reminded me years ago that “life is for the living” and she insisted I find happiness quickly were she to leave this world before I did. I am glad to report that I am a happy man this morning as I prepare to start my day and enjoy a holiday meal with my sons, my daughter-in-law and my precious granddaughter.

It’s been at times a difficult journey. I expect to shed a tear or two today as soon as it dawns on me that the woman who made me whole for nearly 52 years is not at our dinner table. My sadness will pass.

I will smile when I recall the happiness and all the thrilling moments we shared. I also will smile when I realize that I am filled with gratitude for the love we have received as my family and I have traveled this journey together.

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Celebrating an amazing life

HOUSTON — I have returned to a city near where I got my introduction to Texas nearly 40 years ago.

You see, Houston lies only about 80 miles west of Beaumont, where I started working as an editorial writer for the Beaumont Enterprise. One of my colleagues at the newspaper was a woman whose life I have returned to celebrate.

Her name was Carol. She lived large. She lived as if there was no tomorrow. She was a dynamo and a writer without equal among those I have met in my many years as a print journalist. She passed away a few weeks ago after suffering a debilitating stroke that rendered her helpless. Her husband, Pat, cared lovingly for her. Then she died.

I came to celebrate her life and the amazing journey she took along the way. In truth, though, I also came to see friends I made when I ventured to Beaumont after spending virtually my entire life in Oregon. I came at the behest of the Enterprise editor, who thought I would be a good fit working in what he called at the time “a great news town.” He was right.

The last time I saw Carol probably was in the late 1980s when she left Beaumont and gravitated to Houston to work for the much larger Houston Chronicle. She was full of life and — if you’ll pardon the expression — also full of piss and vinegar. That’s how she rolled.

Her celebration will occur tomorrow afternoon at a Cajun joint in Houston called the Big Easy Social and Pleasure Club. If you knew Carol and Pat, it is precisely the kind of place where she would want her friends to remember her.

I expect to see many friends I made when I arrived in the spring of 1984. And many of those friends I grew to love as family. I came here ahead of my wife and still-young sons. Kathy Anne stayed behind to sell our house in suburban Portland. She moved with the boys to Beaumont in August 1984, just in time for them to start school.

Kathy Anne learned right away about the friendships I made in her absence. She fell in love with many of them as well. And they did with her.

What I had told her was how many of these young people went out of their way to include me in their after-hours social gatherings. They included my bride in their frivolity once she and our sons settled into our new digs in Beaumont.

So … there you have it. I look forward to seeing dear friends, and celebrating the life of a force of nature.

It ought to be a hell of a party. Carol would have it no other way.

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Blog keeps me active

The most prideful thing about writing this blog rests in a single statistic: the consecutive days I post something that is distributed into cyberspace … and beyond.

As this item is posted, it will mark the 783rd consecutive day in which I have had something to say about anything in this good ol’ world of ours.

The blog, though, has another benefit that I cannot measure with mere statistics.

It keeps my brain functioning. That’s an important matter to consider, given that my dear mother passed away at the age of 61 from complications related to Alzheimer’s disease. I have read that there is a certain hereditary aspect to this killer disease, so the longer I can keep my brain active, functioning and alert to the news of the day the better, I figure, are my chances of hanging on for a good while longer.

I soon will turn 74, which means I will have outlived my parents by a good bit; Dad died in a boat wreck at the age of 59.

My consecutive-day streak never has been in danger. I can find something to write about any day of the week. The only change one can see in this blog is the number of entries I have been posting each day in recent months. They have dwindled partly because I have had a bit of trouble focusing on the day’s news in the wake of the passing of the first true love of my life, my dear bride Kathy Anne.

Glioblastoma — an aggressive form of brain cancer — struck my bride with sudden savagery in late 2022. She received her diagnosis on Dec. 26, 2022, and was gone the evening of Feb. 3, 2023. The resulting journey I have undertaken since that terrible moment has restricted my blog activity.

The blog, though, in many ways has been a life-saver for me. It has enabled me to share portions of my journey with you. The love and support I have received along the way have sustained me.

And it has enabled me to keep my streak alive!

The streak will continue for as long as I am able to string sentences together. As will my journey.

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Despair arrived … then vanished

Almost from the moment I began to shake myself loose from the intense pain I felt on the worst day of my life, I knew days like today would knock me back on my heels.

My worst day occurred on Feb. 3, when my beloved bride Kathy Anne was taken from us by an aggressive form of brain cancer. My journey since then has experienced its ups and downs; the good news is that the down periods are far less frequent these days as the light along my emotional trail gets brighter.

Then days like today arrive. This is Kathy Anne’s 72nd birthday. It’s the first such birthday without her. Those of you who have lost loved ones — and that includes just about every human being who’s ever lived — understand the difficulty of these “firsts.”

My sons and I went to the cemetery to pay our respects to her and to tell her we are doing OK. We miss her terribly. However, it is important for me to stipulate that Kathy Anne was a pragmatic woman. She dealt with reality often stoically. She wasn’t one to wallow in her own sorrow and didn’t like it when others did so.

She all but ordered me many years ago to get on with my life if she were to depart this good Earth before me. Like most husbands who enjoy successful marriages, I am doing what I was told to do. I have re-entered the world of social interaction. Therefore, I have reason to hope for many more brighter days and far fewer darker ones.

I believe today was about as dark as it is likely to get for me moving forward. My sons, my daughter-in-law and my granddaughter are suffering through their own pain as well. The good news is that we all know we are there for each other.

So … my journey continues. The pain that returned when I awoke this morning was expected. I was ready for it. I got through it.

What’s more, I am quite certain tomorrow will arrive with the sun shining brightly. I will enjoy the day. Kathy Anne would insist on it.

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Trek finds new traction

My bride once asked me — while we attended the 10-year reunion of my Portland, Ore., high school class — why I wasn’t reuniting with the female classmates gathered at a city park where we all met.

My answer to Kathy Anne: I was “painfully shy” as a teenager. I was uncomfortable talking to girls, I told her. Less than four years after graduating from high school, the sensational young woman whom I would marry broke me of my shyness … if you know what I mean.

I recently declared my intention to return to the world “social interaction” since losing my dear bride to cancer this past February. I am a lot more socially skilled than I was a teenager. I like talking to “girls” these days and if you’ll pardon my candor, I am pretty good at it.

I still get a bit jittery at the prospect of asking someone on a date. I still don’t always say the correct thing at precisely the correct moment.

I also realize something else. I am nearly 74 years of age. Thus, time is not my ally. I figure that if I am going to find someone with whom I want to spend copious amounts of time in my final years on Earth, I had better get busy.

Thus, my journey through the post-mortem grief of losing the love of my life is getting brighter seemingly each day. It isn’t quite so dark these days along the path I have been walking since I bid farewell to my beloved Kathy Anne.

My destination still is to be determined. As I shake off the shyness that inhibited me as a youth, I know I’ll find that place sooner rather than later.

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Is this ‘premature’? Umm, no

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A statement from a woman whose acquaintance I made recently kind of caught me off guard … until I took a moment to process it.

She wondered if I was being “premature” in my effort to restart my life after losing my bride, Kathy Anne, to cancer in February. “It hasn’t even been a year,” she said, alluding to those upcoming “firsts” one endures after losing a loved one. You know, first birthday, first Christmas, first New Year’s Eve, first wedding anniversary one should commemorate with the loved one by your side.

I answered her forthrightly. “I believe I am ready” to proceed with my life, I said. Why? Because Kathy Anne would have it no other way. She made her point to me abundantly clear once or twice when we both were in the peak of health. “I want you to find happiness,” she instructed me in a stern voice, in the event she preceded me to her Great Reward.

My marriage succeeded over the course of 51 years largely because I followed the rule most husbands must follow: I did what my wife told me to do.

Do not ever misconstrue this carved-in-stone fact, which is that no woman ever can replace the love of my life. If I am able to find a new partner, she will understand that fact. My sons, my daughter-in-law, my granddaughter all know that about me. They know that Kathy Anne always will be first in my heart.

The task for me emotionally always will be to deal with the pain that is certain to flare on occasion. It will happen without warning. Indeed, I am functioning quite well while performing this or that task.

There can be no doubt that Feb. 3, 2023 was the worst day of my life and the lives of my family members. It happened near the beginning of what has turned out to be the crappiest year of my life.

However, I do possess an eternal wellspring of optimism. The future, as they say, is for the living. I intend to live my life on my own terms, albeit while following the instruction of my darling Kathy Anne.

Happiness is out there for me. I intend to find it.

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Dating apps: cesspool

The world is full of heartwarming stories about people who meet via dating apps, they develop relationships and then live happily ever after.

I have told you about my return to the world of social interaction since I lost my dear bride to cancer at the start of this year. Kathy Anne insisted I find happiness, but she made her feelings known long before the advent of the Internet, let alone these dating apps that have grown so popular.

What she couldn’t possibly know is that many of them have become cesspools, breeding grounds for individuals looking for victims on which to prey. How do I know that? I was targeted by one of those predators. My sons were able to sleuth around and discovered her bag of tricks; I confronted her … and poof! — she was gone.

This is my way of saying that I am likely to continue a more traditional path on my journey back to social interaction. It’s a much safer bet to just go out and, um …. meet people! I have joined a church in McKinney. I am meeting plenty of folks through my daily travels along my still-boring life.

I think Kathy Anne most surely would approve of my decision. She didn’t trust the Internet more than most reasonable human beings. Indeed, she was implicitly skeptical of strangers until they could prove to her that they were the real deal. Me? I tend to see the best in people until they demonstrate their evil intent.

I have learned a lot about dating apps, however.  I have learned to steer away from those who present pictures of people who are far from the age of the person who posts them. I also have detected certain language constraints from those wishing to “chat away from here.”

Most importantly, there’s a certain sameness — “How’s your day going?” — to the way many of these so-called women introduce themselves. I say “so-called” because I do fear the prospect that they could be some toothless biker chick or worse … some hairy-backed knuckle dragger.

This single life is a new thing for me. I am learning my way. The good news? I have some great family help who has my back.

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Fall/winter ‘flora’ returns!

My memory at times fails me, particularly when I try to recall events in my life … such as when I began growing a fall/winter beard.

I started it again this year a few days before the start of autumn. The autumnal equinox came and went a few days ago and my beard already was in full — or nearly full — swing.

It will remain on my puss until the first day of spring, sometime in March.

I’ve been known to cheat on growing the thing and then shaving it off. My dear wife disliked it when I was late starting in the fall, and  she damn sure really didn’t like it when I shaved it off before the vernal equinox.

But she got over it and liked me just the same — with or without the facial flora. At least that’s what she told me.

It gets saltier each year I grow it, meaning it contains far more “salt’ than “pepper” these days.

The mustache? I started that thing when I was still in the Army. I believe it began sprouting in July 1970. I kept it for 10 years before I shaved it off in a fit of stupidity. I recall coming out of the bathroom sans ‘stashe. My sons took a look at me and started laughing. They never had seen Dad without facial hair. They kept laughing until two or three days later I decided “it’s coming back.”

Fifty-three years later, it’s still there, now accompanied by the beard that makes me proud.

As a former colleague and friend of mine, the late Claude Duncan, once told me: “You may have your share of shortcomings, but growing hair isn’t one of them.”