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February 1, 2021

  February 1, 2021   Today is the third birthday I am celebrating without you.  The first, February 1, 2019, is a blur.  It was nine days after you died and admittedly I was most likely still in shock.  That being said, I remember it as a good day.  I went out once, to get my take-out Sushi dinner.  The first time in about five years you didn’t get it for me.  That was a little tough.  After I ate I was visited by Tanja and Jessica who brought for me a bottle of good scotch and a birthday cake.  I still feel the warmth in my heart now that I felt then for these two friends.  Just by showing up that night I felt like I was never going to have to worry about being alone on my birthday.  All three of my kids were there and they all had friends with them.  Everybody gathered in our living room and lit the candles on the cake and serenaded me with “Happy Birthday”.     I’m not lying when I say it was the first time I’d had that sung to me in probably fifteen years.  We just didn’t do that i
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Two Years

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  Two Years Two years.  Believe it or not, I have no problem believing that you are gone.  Not too much trouble with the fact that my bed is still empty or when I hear a sound in the kitchen, and it isn’t you making a vodka cranberry, but rather the dog.  No big deal. And when you come to mind, a song, a movie or just because, I am more inclined these days to think of happy times and smile.  But seriously, two fucking years?   When I try to wrap my tiny brain around the fact that it’s been two years I can only think of one reason.  And that is that I still love you as much as I did the day we were married.  As much as the days that each of our children were born.  As much as the day that you died.  And all of the days in between.     It is not a love I take lightly, as I may have from time to time before you left us. (Actually, I know I did, I’m sorry).  Honestly, loving ones wife after she dies is not anything I gave any thought to before it happened. Why would I? But here we are.  An
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Everybody’s Baby 01/03/2021

  Everybody’s Baby   April 25, 2020.  We were ten weeks into Covid-19.  On that day there were 972,379 cases in the United States and 55,371 deaths. Ten weeks into what has turned into a forty six week nightmare that shows no sign of ending.  Over that entire period of time, and especially now with the New Year, Americans have been desperately seeking a respite from the depression that has seemingly descended into every corner of our lives.  Desperately seeking anything that would give us the appearance of a return to normalcy.  The fight is real and while it is certainly different from family to family, and person to person, it is there for all of us.  And it really, really sucks.   But something else happened on April 25, 2020.  An event that, for those of us who are lucky enough to know of it, has given us all a reason to be filled with a strong sense of hope.  See, it was on that day that Aaron Joseph Kurjiaka was born.     Virtually every day since then he has graced our presence
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My Message 01/31/2020

  A Message   For me, there is no calendar anymore.  I don’t need to know what the date is, or even the day to be honest.  Holidays? Sure, I need to know when the banks are closed and when I’m not getting any mail.  But someone will remind me of those days I’m sure.  Birthdays and anniversaries? They’ll still pop up in my calendar app so exactly when they are doesn’t really matter.  No.  For me, the best course is to stop keeping track of time and just to let it flow.   Therefore, tonight is not really New Year’s Eve.  Tomorrow is not New Year’s Day.  Just two more days for me to keep on living. And no resolutions for me.  They aren’t necessary for me to be happy with who I am or the life I live.  No more hoping or wishing.  Just living and doing.    The credit for this goes, first and foremost, to my wife Victoria.  I have not shied away from expressing the impact her death has had on my outlook on life.  The majority of you know what that now is, but if you don’t, here it is in a nut
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This Is Memory

She was the fifth, and last, Grandchild of Dave and Rose Schmidt. I was the first and a boy, something Dave and Rose, having two daughters, had never experienced. I was the first Bris and the first Bar Mitzvah. I was, for the lack of a better term, the male heir. I was the one who taught them to duck when changing diapers. I was special, not because of who I was, but because of an accident of birth. I was simply first. Then came Deena, a couple of years later, the first Granddaughter. She was Allan and Sheila’s first child and to be honest, my memories of her first few years are nonexistent. Probably I was too young. What I know, I know from pictures. The two of us in a crib together or in the bathtub together. Us dressing up in winter clothes in the middle of summer just for the hell of it. She was my first cousin, literally, and that is a bond we have always had and always will. Next came my sister, Andrea. I remember the day she was born. I was nearly five yea
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I Learned To Curse From Al Pacino

A few days ago my thirteen year old son asked if he could take one of our laptops up to his room. My immediate thought was no, simply because it is a rule in our house that no internet accessing laptop goes behind the closed door of one of our children’s rooms. I don’t think I need to explain why, I’m sure many of you have the same rule. The reasons are obvious, especially when one’s children are fifteen, thirteen and ten. We wouldn’t want them having secret chats with strangers or even secret chats with their friends, among other things. That was always the fear with my daughter, who is the fifteen years old. But with my sons, it is different. And at the risk of sounding blatantly sexist, I add another reason for the rule: Porn. When I was a kid it was simple, you either found your father’s stash of Playboy Magazines or you didn’t. Now my father had no stash. For those of you that know me well you know that my apple fell miles from the tree. But my best friend, well, his fat
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