How can I encapsulate all that we were to each other over the past sixteen years? The answer is simple: I can't. But I can say that Denise's presence (and thank God or the Universe or whatever, or her, I guess, that it was a continued presence) has been nothing short of a blessing.
There was no real reason to broadcast the way our relationship has evolved these many years, especially in more recent ones. But we spoke on a basically weekly basis the entire time I've been here in Latvia, we lived only a five minute walk from each other in Queens and spoke and saw each other all the time. We taught at the same schools and worked together in the same organizations and sounded our private thoughts and fears and concerns off each other for years. And we reached a really good, unique place together, where we both had moved forward and both stood in deep support and understanding of each other. I will never in my life again have another relationship remotely like this one.
Anyway, to continue the processor metaphor, let me stop blathering and share some special memories that came up last night in sort of Random Access Memory, but in quasi-chronological order:
1. Seeing this interesting girl on my first day at the U of MN, with her cut up shorts and tattered plaid shirt, her Doc Martens and spiky dyed hair.
2. Challenging her to a bladder-off at the Terminal Bar and losing. The idea was to drink beer and to see who could hold off for longer with a trip to the toilet.
3. Constantly losing to her at pool.
4. Watching her skate her forms in deep concentration.
5. Driving home alone after one of countless amazing dinners at the Broadhurst's when Aaron Copland's Quiet City came on the radio as the Minneapolis skyline rose up before me. It was one of the most peaceful, happy moments in my life.
5. Going to the Chicago Opera together to see my teacher's premiere and going to the hoity-toity after party at some mansion, complete with big game heads mounted on the walls. We secretly spoke in British accents with each other and tilted our pinkies up as we sipped our drinks.
There was no real reason to broadcast the way our relationship has evolved these many years, especially in more recent ones. But we spoke on a basically weekly basis the entire time I've been here in Latvia, we lived only a five minute walk from each other in Queens and spoke and saw each other all the time. We taught at the same schools and worked together in the same organizations and sounded our private thoughts and fears and concerns off each other for years. And we reached a really good, unique place together, where we both had moved forward and both stood in deep support and understanding of each other. I will never in my life again have another relationship remotely like this one.
Anyway, to continue the processor metaphor, let me stop blathering and share some special memories that came up last night in sort of Random Access Memory, but in quasi-chronological order:
1. Seeing this interesting girl on my first day at the U of MN, with her cut up shorts and tattered plaid shirt, her Doc Martens and spiky dyed hair.
2. Challenging her to a bladder-off at the Terminal Bar and losing. The idea was to drink beer and to see who could hold off for longer with a trip to the toilet.
3. Constantly losing to her at pool.
4. Watching her skate her forms in deep concentration.
5. Driving home alone after one of countless amazing dinners at the Broadhurst's when Aaron Copland's Quiet City came on the radio as the Minneapolis skyline rose up before me. It was one of the most peaceful, happy moments in my life.
5. Going to the Chicago Opera together to see my teacher's premiere and going to the hoity-toity after party at some mansion, complete with big game heads mounted on the walls. We secretly spoke in British accents with each other and tilted our pinkies up as we sipped our drinks.
6. The day we got married. When Denise walked into the church, she literally took my breath away so hard that my Dad steadied me.
7. Quiet nights on the couch watching Star Trek (Next Generation, of course) or the Simpsons. Denise later told me that this was one of her favorite memories, too.
8. She would always take cat naps on the subway on my shoulder as I read on our way home.
9. When I mentioned in passing that my mom had always woke me up with a cup of hot coffee before she left for work, because Denise was always an early bird and I am not (how on earth she got up so early all those weekend shifts at McDonald's I'll never know), she started to do that for me.
10. Music. This was always one of the most special parts of our relationship that never stopped. But here I'm thinking about something specific. As we worked through our divorce, part of us were also working out our feelings and communicating with each other in subtler ways: often by the texts we chose to set. There are certain pieces of Denise's I can not listen to without crying, from guilt, from sadness, from her show of inner-strength.
Maybe 10 is enough for now. But to go back to the general for a moment... I have long been impressed by Denise's quiet ability to gathering around her and keep around her some of the most amazing people, so many that also feel this loss so deeply. Connee and Laura and Heather and Kirsten, the Greenlees' and the Isaak's, her oldest and dearest friends; all her U of MN classmates; the friends and colleagues she made after making New York her home.
Forgive me if I'm being verbose. I know that the Memorial is happening today and being so far away, surrounded by people who didn't know her makes it difficult. I want to be with you all and to laugh and to cry and to tell you all how much she loved you, because it's important to remember. How you also shaped her and helped her. Thankfully, I was just in New York for six weeks in late-April through early-June. I'd stayed with Denise and her mom several times during that period. She drove me to the airport for my trip back to Latvia. We didn't say I love you to each other often, but we said it then.
And Leni, John and Nina, I can't voice my sympathy enough; I guess no one can. But please know that I join the many people in offering you my heartfelt condolences and that I promise to keep you in my thoughts, to keep Denise in my thoughts, and to do everything I can to keep Denise's music alive.
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