Ken and I had an odd relationship. He was the oldest best-friend, and I was the newest girl-friend. We had little in common. Except that we both loved my future husband to distraction. We each appreciated that the other could be trusted to act in his best interest. Period. That made us close, in a weird kinda way. That, and a fascination for bad movies.

Today I was ambushed while cleaning. First, there was the Christmas card from Ken's mother (which is proof there's a God because he's softened my heart enough that I allow her to live, and I don't say that lightly. There were days I could have choked the life from her with my bare hands and smiled as I watched the last breath drain from her body). Second, there was an article in the newspaper about Colin Farrell (the Irish actor). He was on the cover of the Parade section in the Sunday paper in October. I remember at the time stashing the article away on my desk, trying not to give it another thought. But there it was today, the picture. Ken looked just like him. Or, rather, he looks just like Ken. If I threw a handful of candid snapshots of the two on a table, you wouldn't be able to sort them out. Its a bit unnerving.

Maybe its the guilt that gets me this time of year. I'm failing one of his dieing requests, that I continue to get my husband the annual StarTrek ornament from Hallmark. Every year, Ken got him one. Never guessing that he liked them because they came from Ken versus some deep-seated need to have little space-ships on the tree. We have an entire branch of the tree dedicated to them. My husband asked me not to add to them, and so I don't. And Ken would understand, but still ... I look at them every year.

You know, Ken had a wicked sense of humor. The first year we were dating, they gave a Christmas party. (Ken and my husband were also roommates). I was there early helping them set-up, so he asked me to help him out by wrapping his Christmas gifts while he ran a last minute errand. When I had all the gifts wrapped, I noted that there was one gift that he hadn't specified who to make the tag out to. Later in the evening I found out he had, no kidding, asked me to wrap my own gift! (And I loved it, a stuffed silly green snake with a hysterical expression)

We got along great for years until he tried to kill me by forcing my car into on-coming traffic. That was about two months before they discovered the brain tumor. By that time it was as big as a grapefruit, which certainly explained his erratic behavior. I remember so much of that time in bizarre detail, while I'm relatively sure my husband remembers little or nothing of it. (We have different ways of coping. My brain seizes upon each detail searching for meaning, his brain simply says "no, I will not process this data". For example, I remember my nurses' eye-color and he doesn't remember which hospital I was in.) I'll skip the details. The part where his passive mother who couldn't be bothered to give him even a week of her time away from her "new" family actually gave legal "custody" to my husband (a virtual stranger to her) a few days after the accident when it became obvious that Ken would be incompetent for awhile. The part where he lived with us after the first surgery. The part where he married an exchange student (who was nice enough in her own way). The part where ...

This time of year especially, I remember what bothered him most. All he wanted was someone to love him. He wanted family that loved him, desperately. He wanted what we have. What we take for granted so often. He loved the holidays, I think because he got to show his friends that he loved them. Because they were the only ones that loved him. He had to know his biological family didn't love him, except as a way to gain sympathy for themselves. That was the worst. Ken knew his mother didn't love him. She didn't hate him, she was just completely indifferent to his existance. He was nothing to her. And now she gets to presume upon our love for him to gain some weird access to our sympathy? How twisted is that !?!

The good part is that Ken also knew that my husband loved him. In an odd way, Ken's illness gave him proof that he was loved. My husband never let him down. At each and every turn, my husband made sure Ken wasn't alone. Its not easy watching someone die (usually), but my husband didn't turn away or distance himself. He didn't smother Ken either, letting him lead as normal a life as possible. Preserving an illusion that Ken was his equal, giving him dignity where there was none.

I miss him. There's no one to watch the crazy Christmas specials with me. Ken would have loved them. Especially the one where Captain Kirk frees Santa from the evil computer.