Prospect Park bench and angels again?

Today I got an email from the Prospect Park Alliance to let me know that the plaque on the bench adopted in memory of Karen and James had been installed. I still want and plan to have of a small-ish ceremony to commemorate it, but with the last minute word it would be hard, if not impossible, to arrange for it to happen before I left for Israel on Monday. But I wanted to see it, so tonight I went with my mother for a first visit.

For those of you in New York, you know what a beautiful day it was and the park was very crowded with people enjoy the perfect spring weather. It was the right kind of day to see it. There was a vibrancy and energy in the park and I'm glad I went. I had wanted to take a picture of the entire bench showing where it is located, but there was someone sitting at the other end of it and I didn't think it proper to impose on him to be in the picture or ask him to move. Here, however, is a close up snap shot of the plaque itself:



I will take another picture when I go back tomorrow or Sunday, but as you can see the plaque is very nice and I think it is a touching tribute to them both. In addition, the view from sitting on the bench is quintessential Prospect Park, made even more perfect by the blossoms on the trees:



My mom and I sat for a little while talking. It was a peaceful way to end a long week and to think about the upcoming trip to Israel. On the Long Meadow in front of us were all sorts of people out enjoying the weather, the road was busy with bikers and runners, and the paths crowded with dog walkers and pedestrians. Which is why what happened when we left was so shocking to both of us.

There is path from where the bench is to the Garfield Place entrance that we were following. It is a "herd" path, but well worn by people getting to and from the Long Meadow. As we were walking I looked down and noticed a folded up bill, almost like a piece of origami. I bent down in mid-sentence and picked it up. How could the same thing happen again? I've been walking in Prospect Park more times than I can count since Karen's death and the time I "found" the $120 (read my earlier post, "Angels in the Architecture," if you don't know what I'm talking about here) but in all those other visits and walks throughout the park I haven't found even a single coin. Now, this day, when the plaque was installed and what would have been our eight month wedding anniversary, there is money once again in my path in Prospect Park. Not to mention that countless other people must have walked right past it, but I for some reason spotted it.

My mom and I, just as I was with Jon and Sharon on the other day, looked at each other in momentary stunned silence. Karen letting me know she is keeping an eye on me? How could we not think that. Was I once again looking for "angels in the architecture"? Perhaps. But when I unfolded and looked at the bill closer my mind was all but made up. The serial number is 11000163. An 11 separated from a 16 by three zeros. 11/16, November 16, the date Karen died. I am the one writing this and even I don't believe it myself. Between this and the others things that happened what else is one to believe? This is now WAY beyond coincidences. There is no mistaking that she is with me and letting me know she is looking out for me. I feel it on a day-by-day basis, but things like this just confirm it.

* * *

For anyone in Brooklyn, or planning on being, the bench is located along the path that circles the Long Meadow near the Garfield Place entrance. To find it, enter through the Garfield Place entrance, cross the road and follow the "herd path" to toward the Long Meadow. There will be three benches just to your right on the paved path, it is the leftmost one if you're looking at them from the path. I don't know how to mark the benches, but here is a map of its location (the three benches are actually visible as little rectangles seeming to protrude to the left of the path):


View Larger Map

Please let me know if you want further detail on how to locate the bench. I hope you you do visit it will provide some measure of comfort and I will also be posting details on whatever ceremony ends up being planned for it when I'm back in May.

HAZON Bike Ride

I leave for Israel in less than a week and the bike ride begins in two weeks. Mentally I am prepared and looking forward to the trip, but physically I wish I had done a little more training. I suppose I am hoping that optimism will supplement whatever deficiencies I have in my physical preparation. We shall see.

I wanted to thank everyone who contributed and helped me exceed my fundraising goal. It was actually quite remarkable how quickly I met the required minimum and how donations continued to register even after that benchmark was reached and long after my single fundraising email was sent. I remain in awe not only from the response of my family and friends, but of the number of donations from friends of friends, many of whom I've never met, and even strangers or people I've only had brief interaction with until now. You have humbled and honored me.

Many people have been asking me about the ride itself so I thought I would pass along the information and details I've recently gotten from the organizers.

First of all, the ride will be from Tel Aviv to Eilat with a total riding distance of about 320 miles over four days. The course departs from Tel Aviv along the coast, then heads inland through Rishon LeTsiyon and Kiryat Malaki before arriving back on the coast at Ashkelon for our first night. The second day we travel along the edge of Gaza until about 10 miles from the Egypt boarder before heading south-east to our second night stop at Mashabim. From Mashabim is it almost due south to Mitzpe Ramon, then to Ketura, before the final day into Eilat. You can see a complete map of the route by clicking here.

Unfortunately, the ride is not all downhill as I was led to beleive. In fact there are a couple significant climbs and even a couple whose grades are in the 4-6% range, as you can see on this elevation profile:



As challenging as hills are, they have never really concerned me too much. I would much prefer a day of hill climbing to riding into a head wind any time, since you get the pay off a downhill after the climb and there seems to be a bunch of nice ones including the final ride into Eilat.

So once again, thank you all for your donations and support in making it possible to go on the trip. To reiterate what I said in my fundraising email, my time in Israel back in 1994 proved amazingly beneficial at a time of decision and self doubt in my young life. I fervently believe that the person I am and the person Karen fell in love with was formed in large part by the seeds sowed there. This has been a devastating past five months, with the last couple weeks being especially so. The chance to engage in the contemplative and self-healing activity of bike riding in a place of such history and emotional significance, I hope, will provide some much needed restorative energy.

Lastly, while I've already exceeded my fundraising goal I welcome anyone who still wishes to make a donation to do so by following this link.

Thank you all once again.

My Passover plagues

I don't think I appreciated how difficult Passover was going to be. Karen and I never celebrated the holiday together and she never joined me at the Seder table. Last year she traveled to Turkey on a trip we booked just as we started to date, so while I missed her being there in 2008 I understood. After all, we both had lives before we re-met one another and there was no reason for her to change her plans just as there was no reason for me to change my Thanksgiving plans of 2007 that had me flying from The Hague to Los Angeles to spend the holiday with friends there.

Anyway, so as this year's Passover began to creep closer I really didn't think much of it. I thought it would be sad not to have her at the table, just as it has been sad all these Shabbats since she died. How wrong could I have been.

These past days have been some of the hardest for me. I am constantly feeling like I am on the edge of breaking down. The reality that I was forgetting was not that my sadness would come from the memory of Karen not being there, but from the prospective loss of her and James from this Passover and all those future ones.

Passover is a family holiday. It is not celebrated in the temple but rather in some one's home surround by loved ones. Many of fondest and most vibrant memories of childhood come from the Seders I attended. The past few week or two I've been feeling anxious and a little different, but I kept attributing it to my having to get re-acclimated to work and as well as preparing for my trip to Israel. It wasn't until the day of the first Seder that the weight of what was happening began to hit me.

I came home from work intending to change out of my work clothes quickly before heading over to my brother's. As soon as I closed the door to my apartment everything changed. I literally felt the walls close in on me. I stood in the kitchen, staring at the pictures of Karen and me that cover the refrigerator, and began to shake. I realized that this Seder was supposed to be the first on with MY family. It was supposed not only to be the first one where Karen would sit next to me, but also the first one where James would be. It shook me. Devastated me. Where had everything gone? What had happened to the life I thought I had. The life I was supposed to be enjoying.

My knees gave way and I'm not too proud to say that I spent several minutes on the cold tile floor of my kitchen. It couldn't be like this, I thought. The world bears no resemblance to what it did before. I've heard people say this is so unfair, if not the most unfair thing that could happen. Fair. That is a word no longer in my vocabulary. Just and unjust each have also faded from my sense of reality. Replaced by nothing. A void yet, if ever, to be filled.

I slowly regained my legs and stood. It seems I am constantly dipping into the well of strength that supported me when I came back to our apartment for the first time, when I stood up at her funeral, when I added my two shovel fulls of earth to the grave (one for her and one for James), when I said Kaddish the first time, the second time, the third time, the sixty-seven some odd time and counting, when I went back to work, when I.....but how much more is there in that well? I felt I might have reached the bottom. Slowly I dressed. I knew I needed to do it, that for Karen, for James, and for me, I had to go to the Seder.

With me I carried a Kiddish cup my father and step-mother gave to Karen and me the week before she died when we were in the Adirondacks. It is a beautiful glass blown piece of art they brought back from a recent trip to Venice. Along with Elijah's cup and Miriam's cup, on the Seder table was that cup to remember Karen and James. Two seats empty this year, and for years immemorial, at my Seder table.

As the Seder started, led by my brother, the emotions hit me like a tidal wave. When we prepared to drink the first cup the tears began to roll down my face. My brother, who has and remains a rock for me despite what I know is his own overwhelming pain and suffering from the loss of Karen and James, said a few, short beautiful words to remind us all that even in the midst of the joy of Passover the sadness of live and death are never far. It is, indeed, one of the things Jews consistently remind themselves, but this wasn't the sadness of a long ago tragedy like the destruction of the Temple or the Shoah, but something that touched everyone around the table, and beyond, profoundly and intimately.

Somehow I made it through that moment, although it might have been the first time I could have dipped my karpas in the salt water of actual tears. There are so many more dates approaching that I have no idea how I will be able to handle them. Mother's day. Father's day. Holiday's. Birthday's. Anniversaries. Etc. I now look at the calendar like a checker board, each day marked with its own impending grief. But I will face them. One at a time. I am without my family, the family I was to be building with Karen, and that is a hole in my heart and life that can never be filled and can only be watered with more tears.

As always, my loved ones and friends are with me. So while I don't know how much more I have in that well of strength that I keep dipping into, what I do know is that if there is anything that will help replenish what I draw out it is the strength and support from all of you.

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BTW - If not evident by the tone and flow, I wrote this post a bit more by stream of consciousness and let myself get caught up in the emotion of the moment.

The things I should be doing

I shouldn't be doing what I'm doing. This isn't what was supposed to happen.

I should be waking up for midnight feedings. I should be perfecting my diaper changing skills. I should be cooking for Karen and her cooking for me. I should be hugging her. I should be kissing her. I should be making memories with her. I should be watching James grow. I should be growing old with her. I should have a family and we should be living in Brooklyn together.

I shouldn't be thinking about estate issues. I shouldn't be picking out a grave marker. I shouldn't be sleeping alone. I shouldn't be wondering what James would have grown up to have been. I shouldn't have the terrible memories and images from the worst day of my life flashing in my mind constantly as they do now.

I should be happy, but can't imagine that now.

What's been giong on...

A short note/post to let everyone what has been going on with me lately.

For those who don't know, I started back at work this month. The firm and everyone in my office have been amazingly supportive throughout and continues to be so. The decision to return was the right one for a variety of reasons. First was that it provides structure to my days, which had become increasingly void of any purpose. I had taken to waking up later and later, followed by an ongoing effort to find things to do during the day. Not to put too find a point on it, but it was becoming a bit depressing - an emotion and feeling I need no increase of in my life. With work, I now have something to get up and get going for in the morning.

Also, being back in the office, amongst my colleagues, is a first step toward recreating a life for myself. As I've said to several people, the person writing this blog and going through this world is not the same as the one who sat down at Cafe Bogota on November 16, 2008 for a quick lunch. That person no longer exists, just as the life he knew doesn't either. Now my journey is to discover and establish a new me. To pick up the shattered pieces of what was and the shards of what was to be, and find a way to create a mosaic of new life incorporating those memories and hopes. To be sure, it is a long path and one without a finite end, but it is necessary for me to be embarking on it and is what Karen would want me to be doing. Returning to work is a small step on that course; incrementally changing my own self-perception and self-identification, which has been centered only on the magnitude of my losses, to something else.

That isn't to say that going back to work has been easy or smooth. On the contrary, it has been a very strange experience fraught with its own grief pitfalls, starting from the first day. I returned to my office and found it nearly exactly as I left it on November 13. Notes scribbled on Post-Its, and documents stacked in various piles on my desk evidenced the almost unspectacular routine that had been the week. I still wait for Karen to call and have to keep from picking up the phone and dialing her number throughout the day; it was a rare day when we didn't talk at least once during our time apart. The dour mood that I feel at home and on the street has followed me to the office.

On a positive side, I am pleased to report that enough money has been raised for the bench in memory of Karen and James, and I have also exceeded the fund raising requirement for the Hazon bike ride.

The plaque for the bench has been ordered and will be installed as soon as the Prospect Park Alliance is able to do so. As I've mentioned to several people by email already, I hope that it will be installed before I leave for Israel but am not certain that will happen. Whether before I leave or after, I plan to have an informal gathering at the bench once the plaque is in place and will post details of that. I will also post a photo and information on the exact location and directions to the bench.

As for the Hazon ride, despite the cold weather I have tried to get out on my bike when I can. On Saturday I was able to get in about 15 miles and felt very good after - i.e., I could have kept going longer. This is a good thing, since after seeing the ride profile, including altitudes and climb/descent grades, I realized that optimism would likely not outweigh some in-saddle time prior to getting to Tel Aviv.

Lastly, I have begun the search for someone to adopt two of Karen's four cats. I am keeping Tony and Grayola, but am trying to find a good home for Chewie and Mocha. They are brothers, about 12 or 13 years old, and were rescued by Karen many years ago. I have been in touch with City Critters, but if anyone knows someone who would be interested in adopting them please let me know.

As always, thank you all for your continued comments and notes of support. I read each and every one, but am not so good at responding or thanking you individually. Please don't let that stop you from writing, it helps more than I can express.

Lost Kiss

I've never really been "into" poetry and certainly wouldn't consider myself a poet, but this popped into my head and I couldn't stop thinking about it until I wrote it down. Your indulgence if it is sophomoric or banal:


I think about our first kiss
And remember it like yesterday
I struggle to remember our last kiss
Obscured by the routine of a once normal life
Just another of the countless times our lips met
Lost but so much more now

Such a short time between the two
Filled yet infinitely more unrealized
Many streets shared with her
A complicated path journeyed
To arrive here today
Without her

Thank You

I want to thank everyone who contributed to the bench in memory of Karen and James. Thanks to so many generous donations, the required amount has been reached and the Prospect Park Alliance is preparing to install the plaque. I am hopeful that it will be done before I leave for Israel and will post a note when it is place.

In keeping with this post's title, I also want to thank everyone who contributed in support of my bike ride in Israel. Today I passed the necessary minimum to allow me to ride. Now all I need to do is get myself, and my legs, prepared to pedal my bike from Tel Aviv to Eilat. I am not sure what my Internet connection will be while I'm riding, but will take loads of pictures and if not able to update daily will continue writing in my journal and post my Thinkerings when the ride is done.

The overwhelming support I've received for both these things, as well as the numerous contributions to Foundation Rwanda and gifts of food, etc., during Shiva, is humbling. People's inevitable first question when they see me is "how are you doing." Without the continued support of my family and friends, both emotionally and more tangibly, I don't think I could answer as I have been. Indeed, without it I fear I would be incapable of even formulating an answer. So in addition to my sincere gratitude for the donations you have all made, let me express my extreme and heartfelt thank you for every kind note, email, text message, prayer, or just thought to yourself that you've sent me. I awake in the morning and am able to go back into the world each day because of it.

Thank you.

Our first "I love you"

Our time in St. Martin was fantastic. It was the best vacation I've ever had not only because the beaches were beautiful, the weather amazing, the food tasty, and my companion perfect, but because of what happened on February 19, 2008.



It was three days into our vacation. The day before we rented a jeep and drove around the island exploring little out of the way places. Not that it was a strenuous day by any stretch of the imagination, but we nonetheless decided to spend the next day lounging on the beach in true island fashion. We found a pair of beach chairs and settled in for a day of soaking up the sun, drinking cocktails, and enjoying each others company - something of which we couldn't get enough.

Up until this point we had expressed our feelings for each other in many ways but neither of us using a certain three word expression. We spoke in euphemisms about how we felt toward each other, dancing around those key words. Perhaps there was the sense that to do so would break some spell under which we had been enjoying up until then or maybe the time just hadn't been right.

Whatever hesitation there was melted away that day under the St. Martin sun. It wasn't as if it was something I planned, or even thought about, but at that moment I opened my mouth and the words “I love you” flowed out with such ease that it seemed they had been waiting for this moment since September 27, or even since June 1989. Even before the words had completely left my lips Karen was saying them right back to me. As she did, her eyes gained a new sparkle and slightly tearful glaze. She looked more beautiful at that moment than I'd ever seen her. We kissed and hugged unlike we had in the months prior; there was a new passion and energy flowing between us. It was one of those transformational moments I thought only existed in works of fiction.


However, we were also a little concerned. We were worried that we might find ourselves overusing the phrase, saying “I love you” to the point it became rote, diminishing its importance and underlying feeling it represents. In fact we spoke about not wanting to just say “I love you” as a matter of course as we had seen happen in other relationships. We even made a tacit agreement not to say it too often, an agreement that lasted slightly longer than the frozen strawberry daiquiri Karen was sipping at the time made it.

It was, on the contrary, as if the floodgates had been opened. We found ourselves positively gushing it to each other. So much so that the following day, while having a drink at a beach side bar on Anguilla, the bartender asked if we were newlyweds, commenting that she'd only seen people gush and fawn over each other the way we were when they're on their honeymoon. Who could have imagined that the utterance of three words could have such a magical affect. Whatever the reason, we spent the rest of the vacation in a world populated by just the two of us, unaware and unconcerned about whatever happened around us.

The days that followed were unlike any I'd ever experienced until then. We never left each others presence. From waking in the morning to lying down to sleep in the night, we spent nearly every minute together. Unable to keep our hands off each other, we similarly couldn't keep from telling each other how we felt, saying over and over again "I love you" just as we had agreed not to do.

Days and months later we kept up the barrage of “I love you.” Despite this, there was nothing diluted from the words even after the dozens, if not hundreds, of times we said it to each other. It was natural. It felt right. It was what we were feeling and not merely words spoken. In short, it was not overused and meant as much to me when she said it on November 16 as it did when she said it on February 19. Today I keep a Post-It in my wallet that Karen left in my office that reads simply: “Never forget how much I love love love you :)” That little 3M plastic flag means more to me than anything else I keep in my wallet and reminds me each and every day of the unconditional love she and I shared.

One year ago

This was taken exactly one year ago today, February 17, 2008. It was the morning after we arrived in St. Martin for a week vacation. We had been bumped from our flight and arrived at night, several hours later than we expected. When we woke up we had no idea what time it was because there was no clock in our room, our cell phones were out of range, and neither of us wore a watch. It was a great way to start a vacation. So we woke with the sun rise.

After a breakfast of croissant and lattes, we went for a walk on the beach. The sky was amazing and we were nearly the only ones on Orient Beach, which we discovered later was a very popular, and at times busy, stretch of sand. When we noticed one of the many beach-side bars starting to open we decided to have a drink.....how could we have known it was only 8:30 AM!

It was the start of my greatest vacation......

James Alex Fried

Yesterday, February 13, 2009, was Karen's due date, although she was convinced that James would arrive early just as she and her brother had. It was a date we had been eagerly expecting since we found out she was pregnant and one that I was dreading since November 16. Just this week I looked on a calendar we have in the kitchen and noticed she had written "James Here!!" on the date, and indeed a reminder - as if I would have needed one - rang on my iPhone yesterday morning. Now those whimsical notations of events yet experienced are a sad and haunting reminder of what will never be.

Many people sent me messages of support, which helped me through the day. Because I couldn't contemplate what to do during the day I did has helped in the weeks since Karen's death, I walked. In fact I walked a lot! I went from my apartment in Park Slope all the way out to Coney Island and back. The way out I walked along the tree-lined boulevard of Ocean Parkway. On the Boardwalk at Surf Avenue I sat and took in the view. While the weather was sunny and unseasonably warm, the beach was barren save for a flock of seagulls hunkered down against the persistent on-shore breeze. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and through the clear winter air I could see Breezy Point in the far distance and Rockaway Point closer, an line of cargo ships passing between the two as they entered and left New York Harbor. I walked back through Brighton Beach, feeling with each step that I had left New York completely and transported to Odessa, and along Coney Island Avenue all the way back home.

In all I walked about 16 miles (according to Google Maps) over the course of about 5 hours. The whole time my mind thinking about what the day meant. Nothing was resolved or reconciled, but I made it through the day, which was what I needed to do.

There are many more dates in my future whose arrivals I am anticipating with anguish. However, just as I made it through yesterday and I made it to Coney Island and back one step at a time, I will take each new day the same way and get through them. What other choice do I have?