Renee on the streets of San Francisco

Missing Renee a lot today. Here she is looking like a very smart and sophisticated modern woman.

Ten years on . . .

Ten years ago, I lost my wife, Renee. She died giving life to our son, Henry. Her loss tore a large ragged hole in me. Over the years, the hole has healed somewhat. I seem to have come to terms with the tragedy of losing her. I wouldn't call it acceptance, more like a truce with the universe. I will never forgive it for taking someone so pure and good from me.

When it happened, a small army of women, led by Renee’s mom and my own mother, picked me up and cared for me until I could return to the world of the living. Over the years, family and friends, both old and new, were there for Henry and me. I had two more kids, twin power-cuddlers, and I eventually fell into the arms of another amazing woman, my wife, Gina. It has been a long time since Renee died, and a lot of life has happened.

As this anniversary approached, I wanted to write something to recognize the day and honor Renee’s memory. But, every time I sat down to write, the pain would come back. Each time I got close to really remembering what she was like, I would have to stop and cry for a while. I must have written 10 or 15 pages, but I failed to capture why Renee was so special. I have concluded that my writing can never do her justice.

If you never knew her, then I guess the closest thing I can show you is her son. Henry has grown to be very much like his mother. While he definitely looks like her, it’s his personality that is most like Renee. For instance, he is a ten year old boy who would rather draw googly eyes on an orange than play war. His constant compassion for others has made him a real friend to each of his classmates. His goofy and uninhibited sense of humor seems to always trump his initial shyness. His greatest joy is making someone smile. Renee is in him and I always smile when I catch a glimpse of her.

I keep trying, but I simply cannot convey the magnitude of what was lost when I lost Renee. So, instead of writing another page that I cry over and then quickly delete, I will simply say that I miss her. I miss her dearly.

Random Thoughts at 8 years

 I am remarried now. Henry has two younger sisters. We are as close to a "traditional" American family as we are ever going to get. With us, all the time, is Renee. Her memory gives us strength and comforts us when we need it.

 Occasionally, Henry will say something like, "My mom would have loved that." He is basing this on what I have told him, but it is usually accurate. While it pains me that he will never have his own memories, I take comfort in the fact that he has her genes. Someday, he will feel something or do something and it will match up perfectly with what he has been told about her. He will realize then that he knows a lot about his mom and always has. It will bring him a little closer to her.

 When Renee passed away, one of the ugliest, most painful truths I had to accept was that my memories of her would fade. Our brains are not perfect recording devices. I have pictures, some video, some stories, but I don't have the more rich parts of "her". Her personality, her laugh, her glances, are all lost to time.

 So, what I like to do, is try to imagine what Renee would do or say if she were still here, in our lives. For instance, the other day, we discovered an egg hidden in the playroom. Someone had sandwiched it between two pillows, but that had not protected it from some rough play and it had broken. We asked the kids who brought the egg into the playroom, but they all claimed innocence. It was a few minutes later, when Henry finally broke. "I confess! I did it!" he sobbed as he ran up to his room. I followed and asked him why he did it. "I was lonely one day and I just wanted to have a pet chicken."

 In my head, I can see Renee finding the egg, rolling her eyes, and chuckling to herself at the silliness. She would probably tell Henry how eggs don't work like that, but she would also wonder at how his mind works. She would smile her smile, give him a hug, and vow never to let Henry get that lonely.

 I miss her and I mourn for the life she would have had. She was a beautiful anomaly.

Missing you today.

Missing her . . .

A Walk in the Park

It's Renee's birthday again and I thought I would post this video once more. It is one of my favorites. It's Renee's last walk around Washington Park. I know it's sad, but it really captures one of her best qualities: her easy appreciation of the simpler pleasures in life.

Henry and I talked this morning about his mom's gentle nature and how much she did for everyone around her. He said, "Like Jesus?" :)

I miss her dearly.

Happy Birthday, Renee

Here we are at cousin Kelsey's wedding in September 2004. Renee was 5 months pregnant, but that didn't stop her from dancing all night. Also, this photo is proof she loved me despite my poor taste in eyeware.

From Amy

Remembering Renee on what would have been her 39th birthday. Happy Birthday, my dear cousin and friend. I love you and miss you!

This picture was taken on the Friday after Thanksgiving in 1998 at Tower Hill, Lake Michigan

Augie, Jade, Renee, Jill, and the back of Andrew's head. We had a little mini-reunion of my high school friends at Andrew's parents' house. It was great. Renee and Jade were both pregnant. Augie reverted to his high school silliness.