Memories of the day until...

Shortly after I spoke about Karen and James at the Havdalah service during the Israel ride, one of the other participants approached me to offer his condolences. He also asked me how often I think about Karen. It was, truth be told, an odd question to hear. Rather than say anything about the question, I simply replied: "When I wake up in the morning, Karen is the first thing to cross my mind. Later, when I am laying in bed waiting for sleep to come, she is the last thought that I have. Between those two moments, however, she is in my constant and continued thoughts, as is James." It is not about how often I think about her and him, but how often I don't.

Lately, I (and perhaps others) have noticed that my posts have had a bleakness to them and maybe the impression has been given that the thoughts I have of Karen are in some way sad ones and that in turn it may be these sad thoughts that contribute to my feeling. Quite the contrary. My thoughts tend to be of the wonderful things during our all to brief time together. I don't talk necessarily about specifics because some are private, personal treasures I keep for myself while many others are of such seemingly ordinary and nondescript moments in time that to share them would be trite but for the circumstances as they are now. These moments, which I think about constantly, are things like driving to Long Island, New Jersey, or the Adirondacks with Karen in the passenger seat, shoes off and feet on the dash board; walking to PS 321 in the morning; watching her prepare to break in pool and then the graceful follow-through where she extends the cue upward part ballerina, part hustler; or the calm expression on her face and glowing skin after finishing a Yoga class. These are just a small glimpse of the hundreds, if not thousands, of beautiful memories that fill my mind between my waking thought of her and moment before I drift off to sleep.

In the last couple of days, however, I have been thinking a lot about the day she died. Unlike how I've previously been thinking about that day, these thoughts have been about everything we did before that horrible moment. All the fun and love we shared in those final hours. Of course there was no way to know (at least not cognitively) these would be our last moments together, but even without the events later in the day they are some of the happiest I can recall.

As I written about before, the day started with brunch at my mother's apartment. As we were getting ready to go downstairs (my mother lives in the same apartment building as we did) I noticed Karen was putting on a dress and her high boots and mentioned to her that it was just a casual brunch with my family and that after we were just going to run some errands. Her response was classic Karen. She didn't care how the other mothers and expectant mothers in Park Slope dressed on a Sunday, she was going to dress in style. Her style. With that we were off to brunch.

Brunch was really special. At the time, my brother and his family was living with my mother while their new house was being renovated. Because of this, Karen and I saw them and my mom quite often. But on this particular day my father and step-mother had come from the upper west side for brunch. I don't know what the occasion was, or if there even was one, but when we walked in my entire family was there. Karen and I easily slid into the conversation and commotion that, pleasantly, marks meals and gatherings in my family. It was a traditional New York Jewish brunch with bagels, lox, herring, etc. Karen and I spent at least an hour or two basking and enjoying the time. Eventually, however, we announced we were going to leave to take a walk and run some errands.

I can remember nearly ever step and word of conversation we had. From our apartment we walked down Carroll Street and turned right on Seventh Avenue. At Union Street we made a left so that we could pass by the Park Slope Yoga studio and pick up a schedule of classes. Our thought was to run our errand and be back in time for a class before going out for my birthday dinner with my family.

When we got to Sixth Avenue we turned right. We walked and talked, passing PS 282 where I accompanied Karen last year to watch a coral concert being performed by several of her students. Then we stood at the intersection of Sixth Avenue and St. Marks Place looking at the building on the corner. The second floor of which had at some point been converted into a commercial space that stood vacant. We debated first what kind of business we, if we could, would open in the space and then whether the window were true bay windows or some other architectural style. Our conclusion was that no, the windows weren't bay windows and a funky coffee shop would be a fitting business (this despite a cafe of sorts being on the first floor).

Our destination was Pintchik Hardware store on Bergen Street and Flatbush Avenue where we were going to look at window treatments and paint colors for the renovation of Karen's apartment at 75 Henry Street. It had been our intention to sell it and find a two bedroom apartment in Park Slope, but the market being what it was (and is) decided it would be more prudent to renovate it and live there for a couple years until the market rebounded.

Pintchik was crowded, as you would expect on a weekend. We spent a little time looking at paint but then while I was ordering some samples for my brother, Karen went to the window treatment section. She returned a few minutes later to tell me there wasn't much of a selection and she found only one that she liked. She wouldn't tell me which one it was, but rather asked which one I liked. I wandered through looking at each one, settling on a Roman-esque cotton blind. It was the same one that she picked. That was how we were together. Without even trying, we almost always picked the same things. It wasn't that we selected thinking what the other one would like or want, but rather it just happened organically. The things I liked were the things she liked and vice-a-versa. This would happen at restaurants, stores, and many other times when there were choices to be made; it was quite uncanny.

Done with that errand, we walked down Bergen Street toward Fifth Avenue. Some how fittingly, next door to Babeland (an adult store) is Bump, a materinity clothing boutique. As most people who knew Karen know, she wasn't one to take herself shopping so as we passed the store I suggested we stop in and see if there was anything she liked. She had only moments earlier mentioned how much she preferred wearing dresses now that her belly had gotten so big with James. As first when we went inside she took a cursory turn through the racks, chatting away to me the whole time, and said she found nothing. However, on a second, slower sweep of the store she started finding things, and things, and more things. Next thing I knew, I was sitting in the designated dude-chair while Karen tried on dress after dress, all the while having the saleswoman/owner of the store find different sizes and styles. She was in rare form, truly enjoying shopping and getting a kick out of each new dress she put in the we'll-take-it pile. All in all we bought six dresses that day.

Dresses in hand, we wandered along Fifth Avenue. As I mentioned, we had dinner plans for the evening but we were both feeling a bit hungry so when when we walked by Bogota Bistro we decided to go in for a bite. We'd looked at the menu several times before but always chose to go someplace else, each time saying that next time we would try it. Well this was next time.

We ordered a couple light dishes to share: a pair of empanadas and bowl of tortilla soup. Both were amazing. The empanadas were served with a creamy garlic sauce and spicy pico de gallo, which we both ate with impunity. I had a Colombian beer, Karen water only. Toward the end of the meal I took a picture with my iPhone of the beer and sent it to a friend who moved from Colombia to Queens when he was young. In my message I made a comment about sitting and enjoying such amazing Colombian cuisine and beer without ever leaving Brooklyn.

I was all smiles. Karen was absolutely glowing. We sat making small talk, staring at each other, stealing a kiss or two across the table and holding hands.

The bill came and everything changed.

Regardless of everything tragic and painful that happened from that point forward, all the memories and emotions leading up to that moment continues to fill my heart with absolute joy and unparalleled love.