A very hard year.

My wonderful aunt Colleen passed away last Sunday. We spent this weekend in Burns for her memorial service. This is just too raw right now, so I will find a way to write about it another time.

Today I want to write about Kjersten.

About 14 years ago, right after I got out of the Air Force in late 1993, I spent a lot of time with one of my best friends, Collier. He and I had been best friends, and briefly were engaged, during and after high school. He’d joined and left the Army, I spent 6 years in the Air Force, and when we were both out and back in Portland, we naturally gravitated to each other. He is still one of the kindest, most caring men I have ever known.

In the summer of 1994, he attended several weddings of friends of his. At one of them, he met Kjersten. From the moment he laid eyes on her, he knew, just knew she was destined to be his wife. At the beginning, this was difficult, since at the time she was living in Florida, playing viola with a variety of symphonies. He started trying to convince her to come to Portland, but in all honesty, I knew how seriously in love with her he was when he admitted that it didn’t matter if she came back or not. If she didn’t, he said, he’d move to Florida.

She came back to the Northwest, which in the end wasn’t that hard of a decision for her, since she grew up in Woodinville. She missed the climate, she had always loved Portland, many of her friends from childhood had settled here, and of course, there was Collier.

Their relationship started to blossom, and I met and was dazzled by this remarkable young woman. Collier had found the one. She was charming, witty, lovely, and so talented. I was working at PSU at the time, and had season tickets to the Opera. She was playing for them, so at each intermission I would go down to the pit to say hi, and often made plans to meet her after the performance for a late dessert. She was so easy to spend time with, with her disarming smile and insights into so many things. It could have been awkward; given our previous dating relationship and engagement, but it never was. Kjersten simply accepted me as Collier’s dear friend, and she became mine.

I was the first person Collier told he planned to ask her to marry him. I gave him advice on the kind of ring she’d like. I reassured him that she’d say yes. He was so nervous; I don’t think he really realized how perfect they were for each other – he just thought she was the perfect one.

During their engagement, Collier finally gained custody of his son from a previous relationship, Chris. She was a wonderful mother from the word go. She had patience and love, and so much respect for Chris. I remember listening to her talk to him once at a barbecue at my parents’ house. Hearing her discuss things with him with intelligence and love, encouraging him to think about his actions, influenced me and helped me realize the way I wanted to parent my own kids.

When they got married in June of 1997, I was honored to act as the “Best Man” for Collier. I remember standing beside him, holding Chris’s hand, as she began to walk down the aisle, and I trembled as much as Collier and Chris did at her radiant beauty. That was an amazing day. Seeing them become man and wife, participating in that transformation, moved me more than I can say. Of course I cried as I gave the toast after her father. I remember little about the speech itself, other than describing my joy at seeing this wonderful, incredible woman marry my best friend. Collier still has it on videotape, and threatens me with showing it from time to time. I made everyone cry, but God, I was so happy for them.

Kjersten was a thoughtful and giving friend. She comforted me when my first marriage crumbled, cried for me, held my hand. When I moved back to Portland after the divorce, I suffered from excruciating menstrual cramps; she took me to her acupuncturist to help me through the pain, and because I was unemployed at the time she even paid for it herself. I once said that I’d like to start playing the violin again (I played for a few years when I was very young); the next thing I know, she’d found an old violin for me, bought me new strings, and offered me lessons. She bought me a cookbook every year for Christmas. She was loyal and fun-loving, kind and patient and everything you could ever ask for in a friend.

She fought like a lion to adopt Chris as her own; on that joyous day, they threw an enormous party. There were so many people who loved them there to show their support and happiness. She loved to garden. Once when she had come to my parents’ house to help me weed their garden, she laughed at my “slash and burn” approach to plants that I didn’t immediately recognize. “Let them grow,” she said. “They might be beautiful, you never know.” I still use that advice in my own garden, and many wonderful blooms have resulted from it. She could not abide spicy food. I once decided to try to introduce her to Indian food, and spent an entire weekend cooking everything in the house. It was all too spicy; all she could eat was the rice and the yogurt raita; but she smiled at everyone else’s obvious enjoyment. When she was at home she went barefoot, and always walked on her tiptoes. She loved to experiment with paint – once she painted her studio an amazing shade of neon green; she said it always felt several degrees warmer it that room, and her students loved its quirkiness. She always had a can of Coke open, and drank from pink straws. She loved M&Ms. She loved books; she was the only person I ever knew who had the renewal line at the Portland Public Library system on speed dial. I have thousands of memories, thousands of stories that illustrate her charm and grace, her talent and selflessness.

God, I miss her. It has been seven and a half months, and I want to call her every day.

On February 11 of this year, Kjersten’s life was ended, cut off too soon. A drunk driver’s selfish stupidity took away a beautiful, loving, talented wife, mother and friend. She had so much love in her: love for music, her viola, her friends, gardening, books, travel, but above all so much love for Collier and Chris. The world is a less romantic, less beautiful place for her loss. The stars are somehow dimmer. There is a hole that cannot be filled.

Late at night, when the world is quiet and I am rocking Lily back to sleep, I weep for my darling friend. I miss her. I miss her so, so much.

Kjersten’s Memorial
News Story
A Tribute to Kjersten and Angela

So much has changed that sometimes I don't know whose life I'm living. There is, of course, a new and wonderful addition to our life, Lily Mae Van. She is indescribably beautiful, she rules the universe as we know it, and we're all completely ga-ga for her.

I'm not working, and I haven't since October 2006, which is a LOOOOOOOONG time. I'm happy at home with Lily and the kids, but I'm starting to feel the itch to get back in the kitchen, professionally. I'm worried that since I've taken so much time off it will be hard to get in the door anywhere. Peter's job has him on the road again, which is hard, too. I miss him so much when he's gone. We're like the poster people for co-dependency. When he isn't on the road, he works from home, so I'm spoiled. I get to see him all day. When he's gone, he's sooo gone. With the boys back in school during the day, I get lonely. I need to get out more, see more people, but I like my cocoon, honestly. I'm doing a lot of thinking about how long I want to wait before I start trying to find a job, but the anxiety over ever getting hired keeps me from even applying, half the time. I need to just get over it and get my resume out there, and keep getting it out there, until I find something. I guess I have a lot more worries on this topic that I'm not admitting to.

Lots of things are wonderful, though. Peter and I and the kids are just happy, generally. We're busy, of course, between football, soccer, art, music, and Lily, but it's a good thing. Kate and Aimee are both in Portland now, so I get to see them fairly regularly - they're just as busy as we are - so we try to work visits in when and as we can. We've made some great friends in Oregon City, as well.

I'm glad I'm doing this again. It feels good.