There's always this year

When I was a small child, probably five or six years old, I wrote and illustrated a book called "The cleveland browns Story book." I have no actual memory of writing this story, but I still have the book, and have enjoyed looking at it several times over the years. The full text of the story follows:

Once there was a man. His name was Berny kosar. He was a qurterback for the Browns.

His passes didn't score a point.

The other Team fumbled his team scored and kicked the extra point.

The kikoff went in to the other teams endzone. Hi's Team maid a safty. it was 9 to 0 at the end of the half.

Hi's team scored a 100 yard t.d.!

15-0 and there was no more scores. It was a shut out!

Cleveland was in the play offs.

They won the division title!

and maid it to the super bowl!

I have only vague memories of watching the original (before the move to Baltimore following the 1995 season) Browns. I do not remember seeing The Drive or The Fumble. I grew up in Columbus, Ohio, but based on my writing this book, I was clearly a Cleveland sports fan from a young age (not surprising, as Columbus natives tend to go for either Cleveland or Cincinnati pro sports teams, and my mom was from Northeast Ohio). A couple of things jump out at me from my story. One, I didn't seem to have a high opinion of Bernie Kosar's quarterbacking skills. ("His passes didn't score a point.") I'm not sure why this was. When I wrote the book, the Browns were coming off of several consecutive playoff appearances, with Kosar generally playing well although not putting up gaudy statistics. And two, I seemed to know that it would be very exciting for the Browns to make the Super Bowl. Notice that the book abruptly ends before we get to find out whether the Browns actually win the Super Bowl.

My favorite pro sports team in the 1990s was the Cleveland Indians, who made the playoffs every year from 1995 to 1999. I definitely remember watching both the 1995 and 1997 World Series, both losses for the Tribe. My first real taste of what it was like to be a Cleveland sports fan was the heartbreaking Game 7 collapse in the '97 series vs. the Marlins.

The Cleveland Cavaliers were my favorite pro basketball team by default due to their representing Cleveland, but I have no actual memories of watching them as a child; their games were rarely available for me to watch. Most of my NBA memories from that era are of watching and rooting against the Michael Jordan-led Bulls. My younger brother and I hated the Bulls and even came up with what we thought were hilarious nicknames for many of their players - Michael Jordan was "Psycho Boredom," Scottie Pippen "Snotty Pickens," Toni Kukoc "Toni Cockroach," Luc Longley "Puke Longley." Every year we hoped to see the Bulls fall in the NBA Finals and every year we were disappointed. But looking back, those are some good memories to have.

I have now lived in Cleveland for almost fifteen years since starting college in 2001, and I truly consider it my home. I feel a much stronger connection to Cleveland than I ever did to Columbus. This was not really the case during my undergrad years, but once I started dating Cara in 2006 and we began to explore the city together, and especially after she moved here in 2008, I really fell in love with Cleveland, and so did she.

It was during our first year of dating that the Cavs reached the NBA Finals for the first time, in 2007. Before then, to be honest, I was a pretty casual fan of the NBA and probably paid less attention to it than any of the other big four major league sports. I do vaguely recall seeing this Sports Illustrated cover in 2002:

I wondered how it was possible that a high school junior could be receiving so much hype. (The fact that he has turned out to be even better than he was hyped up to be is truly remarkable.) I was happy, I'm sure, when the Cavs got to draft LeBron the following year, but it's not something I really remember; as I said, I was a pretty casual fan.

2007 is my first strong memory of watching the Cavs. They were playing their heated rival the Detroit Pistons in the Eastern Conference Finals. After Game 5, the sporting world was abuzz at LeBron's spectacular performance in which he scored the Cavs' last 25 points in a thrilling double overtime victory. Game 6 was in Cleveland on June 2, and on the same day the Indians had a home game against the Detroit Tigers. Cara and I attended that Indians game, a 9-5 loss for the home team. After the game ended, the Cavs game was still going on. A huge crowd gathered on the plaza outside Quicken Loans Arena to watch, on a huge screen, the game occurring inside that arena. That game was "the Boobie Gibson game" - Cavs rookie Daniel "Boobie" Gibson played the game of his life, going off for 31 points including 5/5 on three point attempts to lead the Cavs to their first conference championship. Cara and I joined the crowd in exulting at the Cavs' victory. It was a thrilling moment.

Not long after the game ended, a fight broke out in the crowd not far from where we were standing. It wasn't anything too serious and ended quickly, but as soon as the fighting began I instinctively hugged Cara close to me and turned to shield her, putting myself in between her and the violence. She later said that it made her feel very safe when I did that.

As a not very knowledgeable NBA fan, I thought anything could happen in a seven game series and that LeBron might be able to lead the Cavs to victory over the San Antonio Spurs. As it turned out, the Cavs were horribly outmatched and lost in a sweep. That was okay, though. LeBron was still quite young and just on the verge of becoming the game's top player. I, and probably many other people, thought it was just a matter of time until he would succeed in "getting one for the Land" (not that we would have used that phrase back then).

The 2007 Indians, by the way, provided my second real moment of Cleveland sports heartbreak, blowing a 3-1 lead against the Red Sox in the ALCS. Now a true Clevelander, I felt this loss much more deeply than the '97 World Series loss. Cara and I were both very into the Indians that year. I remember going to a Nada Surf concert in Columbus and buying a double set of earbuds so we could both listen to game 3 of the ALCS on a single portable radio while we waited in line outside the venue, and also watching the game on the TV at the bar in between acts. I also remember watching another game in that series at Cara's parents' house.

It was in September 2008 that Cara moved to Cleveland, and in the season that began the following month the Cavs took the NBA by storm, rolling to a 66-16 regular season record. Was this finally Cleveland's year? I had so much confidence in LeBron. I thought he could lead the Cavs past any obstacle. Yet in the Eastern Conference Finals, the Cavs lost the first game to the Orlando Magic, and then blew a 23 point lead in game 2 and looked ready to fall into a two game hole as the Magic took a two point lead with one second left.

Then LeBron did this:

Cara and I were watching the game at La Dolce Vita in Little Italy. It was just down the street from where she lived (at the time, we still lived separately, but I'd be moving in with her in less than two weeks) and she often hung out at the bar there on nights that we weren't doing something together. It's funny to think about, now. Hanging out at bars just wasn't something I really did back then.

I still remember the feeling of disgust at the Cavs blowing the game turning suddenly to exhilaration at LeBron's amazing game winner. It's one of those sports moments I'll always remember.

Alas, the Cavs went on to lose the series four game to two. I curse the names of Hedo Turkoglu, Rashard Lewis, and Mickaël Piétrus to this day for their ridiculous ability to hit backbreaking shots in that series. (Although less so now, I suppose!)

The following year brings another memory of a 60+ win Cavs team putting up a disappointing playoff performance. This time they didn't even make the conference finals, falling to the Celtics in round two. My most prominent memory from that series is actually of a game I didn't watch - during Game 5, Cara and I were at the Beachland Ballroom seeing Local Natives perform. My brother was texting Cara updates about the game. "I don't know what's going on," he said (or something to that effect), as the Cavs were demolished 120-88 and LeBron had one of the worst games of his life, shooting just 3-14 from the field.

So the first LeBron Cavs era is something that carries a close connection in my mind to the early years of my relationship with Cara.

The Cavs lost that series to Boston in six games, with LeBron infamously removing his Cleveland jersey as he left the court after the closeout game.

Then, of course, came The Decision.

I remember well all the speculation and rumors about LeBron's free agency. Of course, I was worried that he might leave. But when it was announced that he would make his decision known in a live TV special, I started to feel fairly confident. Surely, I thought, he wouldn't hold a live TV special just to crush the hopes of his hometown team's fans!

I remember sitting there in the small living room of our Little Italy apartment, watching the TV with Cara, full of nervousness but cautious optimism.

When LeBron said that he was taking his talents to South Beach, I was stunned. And then deeply saddened. Somehow I had built an emotional connection to LeBron and the Cavs unlike any I'd had with any other sports team. In a way, I suppose, the seeds of that connection were sown when Cara and I stood together in a huge crowd of people, watching the Cavs win the 2007 ECF. And for LeBron to leave, at the time, was devastating.

The following year brought LeBron's first Finals trip with his new team, and it also brought my and Cara's wedding. As the series between Miami and Dallas progressed, I noticed that game 6 was scheduled to be held on June 12, the same day as our wedding. And I began to worry that our wedding day might be marred by it also being the same day that LeBron won his first title, but not for Cleveland. I'm not joking when I say that. It was something that I felt genuine concern over. I was very relieved when the Mavericks took a 3-2 series lead, ensuring that my worst fears would not come true.

On our wedding night, I did not try to convince Cara to let me watch the entire game (I wouldn't have wanted to, really), but I did want to see the end of the game, and I talked her into having the TV in our hotel room on for the fourth quarter. As this was going on, we sat side by side in bed, each on our laptops, simultaneously updating our relationship statuses on Facebook to Married. I was overjoyed when the Mavericks finished off LeBron's Heat to take the championship. It was a perfect cherry on the top to the day that I still consider the best of my entire life.

The next three years saw three more Finals appearances for the Heat. Each time, I reflexively rooted against them, but I found that my feelings toward LeBron were gradually changing. By 2013 I don't think I even disliked him anymore. I couldn't help but admire and be awed by his tremendous basketball skills, and I also admired the fact that he continued to make great philanthropic efforts in his hometown of Akron. Although I cheered for the Heat's opponents in each of their four consecutive Finals appearances, looking back, I feel that things actually went perfectly with the Heat losing the first, then winning two, then losing again. If the Heat had won the title in LeBron's very first season after leaving the Cavs, it would have been simply too painful to watch. But LeBron needed to win titles in Miami, so that he could learn how to lead a team to greatness, and so that he could gain a reputation as a winner that would make talented players want to join his teams in a way that was not the case during his first go around in Cleveland. So it turned out to be a great thing for Cleveland that LeBron won those two titles in Miami. And yet it was also great that the San Antonio Spurs dismantled the Heat in 2014, because I very much doubt LeBron would have left Miami coming off of a threepeat with a chance to make it four in a row.

It's funny how now when I watch old highlights of amazing plays LeBron made wearing a Heat jersey, I find myself cheering him on, when I certainly would not have done so when those plays originally happened.

The summer of 2014 brought another much hyped LeBron free agency. Again there were rumors, this time that he would return to Cleveland, but I couldn't bring myself to believe them. I guess my years as a Cleveland sports fan had gotten to me, and I just never expected anything good would happen.

In 2014 Cara, of course, was going through various different treatments for her cancer. It was a difficult time, although one that we made the most of, enjoying many great experiences together.

Still, it was rare for me to experience moments of pure, unadulterated joy.

One such moment came on July 11 (it's easy for me to remember the date because it's my sister's birthday). I was at work, on my computer, when I saw the announcement. Could this really be true? I wondered. I clicked on the link. And saw... this was really Sports Illustrated's official website that I was on... and that was really a picture of LeBron James and the headline "I'm Coming Home." My jaw dropped. A Cleveland sports story with a shocking twist in a good way? Even seeing it, it was hard to believe at first. But it was true. I quickly shared the article to Facebook, my only comment on the post being "omg." Shortly after, I made another post:

By the way, anyone who is still upset at LeBron over The Decision really needs to get over it. Yes, the way it went down was handled poorly, but he did have every right to leave, and seriously, that was four years ago. If anything, the fact that LeBron was able to forgive that idiot Dan Gilbert is pretty commendable, and shows a lot more maturity than anyone still holding a grudge against LeBron!

I eagerly anticipated the beginning of the new NBA season. When LeBron's first game back with the Cavs finally rolled around, I decided I wanted to watch it with a crowd, so Cara and I headed out to a nearby Buffalo Wild Wings. The place was absolutely packed, and we returned home before ending up at the New Heights Grill, a local establishment just around the corner from the house we had moved into the second floor of a few months prior. It was my first visit to the New Heights Grill; little did I know how much time I, but not Cara, would spend there in the future.

We were able to secure a table, and we sat to watch the game along with all the other eager patrons. Cheers rang out as LeBron got an and-one on an early fast break. But after that, the Cavs just didn't look very good. It was surreal to watch. They ended up losing to a New York Knicks team that would go 17-65 on the year.

The Cavs, as it turned out, wouldn't look very good for the entire first half of the season, but in the second half, they really turned things around. I remember thinking that it would be really nice if the Cavs could win the title that year, so that Cara would get to see it, because I wasn't sure she'd still be around a year later. That doesn't mean I expected her to die within a year, but I was distinctly aware of the possibility. What I didn't expect at all, though, not until the very last week of her life, was that Cara wouldn't even be around to see that year's NBA Finals.

One of the very last things I did with her was watch game three of the Cavs' first round playoff series against the Boston Celtics. Well, watch the second half of the game, that is; during the first half her mother and I were picking up Papa John's pizza, which was what Cara wanted for dinner. I sat in a chair next to her hospital bed as we ate. At that point I was sadly aware that she didn't have much time left, but it was still something I was thinking about in terms of days or weeks. Not hours. Cara wasn't really paying a lot of attention to the game, to be honest, but at that point she was still herself. Still lucid. Still the same wonderful Cara I had spent all those years with, only now having to come to grips with her pending mortality.

The Cavs won the game to take a 3-0 lead in the series. It was not too long after the game ended that Cara's condition began to stunningly and rapidly deteriorate. There was a second NBA playoffs game on TV that night, the Golden State Warriors against the New Orleans Pelicans. As Cara worsened, more and more of my attention was on her. I would still occasionally glance up at the TV from her bedside, and I remember looking up to see Steph Curry nail a dramatic three pointer to cap a remarkable comeback for Golden State from a 20 point deficit and send the game into overtime, where the Warriors were victorious. That happened around midnight. At 4:15, Cara was gone.

And so I've realized that I will always carry a mental association between the NBA playoffs and Cara's death. It's really not a bad thing, though. Watching the playoffs, often with friends, provided a fun distraction from the deep sorrow I was feeling in those early weeks after her death. I even got to go, with my brother, to see in person the Cavs winning the Eastern Conference championship. As they were awarded the trophy to thunderous applause, I felt very excited, but also very sad that Cara wasn't there to see it. She wasn't really much of a sports fan, but she loved Cleveland and was always happy to see our teams do well. In the fall of 2014 she even became legitimately enthusiastic about the Browns for once, as they got off to a 6-3 start and briefly held first place in their division. We all know how that turned out.

In the very next game after Cara's passing, the Cavs finished off the Celtics but lost Kevin Love to a season-ending injury. In the first game of the Finals against Golden State, the Cavs lost the game and lost Kyrie Irving to a season-ending injury in overtime after barely missing a shot that would have won the game in regulation. That was Cleveland sports for you! Heroic efforts by LeBron James and Matthew Dellavedova helped the Cavs win the next two games. What a great story it would be, I thought, if LeBron could carry his team to the long hoped for title after losing the next two best players on his team to injury. Alas, the Cavs and their depleted roster became too worn down and the Warriors took the series in six games, adding another entry to the long catalog of heartbreak for Cleveland sports fans.

The next season brought fresh hope. But as the season progressed, and the Warriors went on an ultimately successful quest for the greatest regular season record in NBA history while the Cavs looked underwhelming in comparison, I began to wonder whether LeBron could succeed in bringing a title to Northeast Ohio - now, or ever. As the playoffs started, though, the Cavs took their play to a whole new level. Cautious optimism emerged. The Finals rematch between the Cavs and Warriors was one of the most hyped ever - the 73-9 Warriors led by the league's first ever unanimous MVP in Steph Curry trying to finish off the greatest season in league history against one of the greatest players ever trying to end Cleveland's decades long title drought.

The Warriors took game one. Then, in game two, the Warriors not only won, but they utterly dominated the Cavs 110-77, and at that point I had honestly pretty much given up on the Cavs winning the series. I just hoped they wouldn't be swept. But in game three, the first home game, the Cavs won in just as dominating a fashion as they had lost the previous game. Perhaps there was still reason to hope.

In game four, the Cavs led at halftime but then sputtered out in the second half and fell into a 3-1 hole in the series. Now they would have to do what seemed like the impossible - winning three games in a row, with two of the games in one of the toughest road environments out there. Sigh, Cleveland sports... I and many other people undoubtedly thought.

A faint glimmer of hope appeared when it was announced that Golden State's star forward Draymond Green would be suspended for game five. Some Warriors fans will no doubt go to their graves contending this was evidence that the series was rigged, but Green's repeated shots to other players' groins over the course of the playoffs easily justified the suspension. The only curious part was that he hadn't been suspended during the Warriors' previous series. The Cavs responded, with both Kyrie and LeBron putting up masterful 41 point efforts in a Cleveland win. And now my cautious optimism returned. Game six was a home game, where the Cavs had been outstanding all playoffs besides the second half of game four, and if the Cavs won game six? Who would bet against LeBron James in a game seven?

The New Heights Grill that I mentioned earlier had become my go-to spot for watching Cavs games that season, especially in the playoffs, sometimes alone but usually with a friend or two. For game six, the New Heights Grill was the most crowded I'd ever seen it. And the crowd was jubilant throughout as the Cavs delivered play after highlight reel quality play and knotted up the series to force a single, winner-take-all final game.

I quickly realized that this was a potential once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and that I had to be in downtown Cleveland to watch game seven. Official watch parties, both inside and outside Quicken Loans Arena, sold out almost instantaneously, frustrating me and countless other fans. The next best option was to simply go downtown and find a restaurant or bar in which I could watch.

And so my friend Fiona and I took a bus downtown that Sunday afternoon, arriving several hours before game time, and already downtown was like I'd never seen it before. Throngs of people decked out in Cavs gear roamed the sidewalks wherever I looked. Popular establishments for watching sports were already packed, some with long lines stretching out the doors. We decided to inquire about the wait at Barrio, a popular taco joint not far from the arena. At 5:25 we were told there was a three hour wait, which would result in us being seated after the game had already started. We weren't even optimistic at that, figuring most people, once they had tables, would simply stay there. Still, we put in a name just in case, and then wandered around the downtown area for a while, scoping out other possibilities, and marveling at the crowds. One thing we both realized was that we had to get some food into ourselves at some point, so after a while we headed east on Euclid Avenue, away from the crowds, and eventually grabbed a bite at a Jimmy John's on Cleveland State's campus. Then we headed back into the heart of downtown to look for a bar where we could stand.

At 6:50, as we were walking through Playhouse Square, Fiona's phone rang. "We'll be there really, really soon," I heard her say. We had a table at Barrio! We walked as quickly as we could (for Fiona, with much shorter legs, it was more of an alternating walk and jog) and navigated our way through swarms of other Cavs fans to make it to Barrio in a little over five minutes. And there we were taken to our table. It was on the far side of the room from the projector screens that would be showing the game, but we had an unobstructed view, we were in a place packed full of other excited fans, and the location downtown was right near the center of where all the celebration would be going down if our desired outcome came to be.

I instantly regretted having eaten at Jimmy John's, because Barrio has much better food, but that was okay. I did eventually order one taco to enjoy along with a couple of margaritas. And then we settled in to watch one of the biggest games in NBA history.

I've never been so tense watching a sporting event. At times I was shaking with excitement. The game was a thriller from the start, with numerous lead changes, neither team ever taking a double digit lead. The enthusiasm of the restaurant patrons was incredible. Chants of "Let's go Cavs!" and "Defense! Defense!" repeatedly filled the establishment. I'm pretty sure it was a more into it crowd than any I've seen at games I attended in person! Cheers and applause filled the room with each made field goal by the Cavs.

None, of course, more so than Kyrie's clutch triple with less than a minute left that broke a long scoring drought by both teams and gave the Cavs a three point lead. At that point it was pandemonium. Could this really be happening? I'm sure we were all thinking. We were so close now to that long awaited title, but this was Cleveland, there was still plenty of time for something to go wrong. With ten seconds left, LeBron rose up for a thunderous, game-clinching dunk - was fouled hard and barely missed his shot - and fell to the ground writhing in pain, clutching the wrist on his shooting hand.

The inside of Barrio became quieter than it had been in a long time.

Nightmare scenarios spun through my mind. The injured LeBron would miss both free throws - or even worse, be unable to finish the game and the substitute free throw shooter would miss both. The Warriors would hit a three to force overtime. The Warriors would win in overtime. It would be a classic Cleveland sports ending.

LeBron shook off his injury and stepped to the line. His first free throw was up - and no good. Tension mounted. LeBron sent up his second attempt - it hit the rim - and it rattled home!

Jubilant cheers once more filled Barrio, only to increase many fold in intensity soon after as time ran out on the Warriors. Strangers exchanged high fives and hugs. It was like being in a dream. It was hard to believe it was real. Gradually, it began to sink in. The fifty-two year drought was really over. And what a way for it to end! The Cavs going up against the team with the best regular season record in history. Falling into a 3-1 hole from which no previous team had ever come back in the Finals. And led by LeBron James, the "kid from Akron" returning to Northeast Ohio with a promise to bring his hometown fans the title they'd craved for so long. Going up against the player in Steph Curry who was causing many people to question, for the first time in years, LeBron's status as the game's top player. LeBron clearly took this personally and it was amazing to watch him crush Curry's spirit by repeatedly swatting the smaller player's layup attempts over the course of the series. It's only fitting that the championship that finally came to Cleveland came in such a dramatic fashion. It's truly one of the great stories in all of sports history.

Shortly after time expired, we headed out into the streets, and instantly my decision to watch the game downtown was validated. A growing crowd of people joined together in raucous celebration the likes of which the city had never before seen. There was no wanton destruction of property (none that I witnessed, and very little overall). No setting things on fire. Just a whole bunch of people overjoyed at finally getting to experience something they'd long wondered if they'd ever get to experience, and sharing that joy with each other. We stayed there for a while, taking it all in, basking in the moment. People yelled, chanted, high fived, embraced, laughed in disbelief. It occurred to me that what we were experiencing - a city winning a major sports championship after having endured that long of a drought - was something that no one else had ever experienced. And what an experience it was!

Eventually we decided to make our way from Prospect back over to Euclid Avenue via East 4th Street. This was clearly not the fastest way to go, but speed wasn't our goal. Revelers were packed into East 4th like sardines. Progress was very, very slow. At times it was like navigating an obstacle course as we climbed over railings of restaurant patios and once even over stacks of chairs. Numerous high fives were exchanged. I've never before seen such a dense concentration of unmitigated human joy. Finally we made it out to the other end of the block. "That was an adventure," I remarked. We quickly reached the bus stop at which we'd disembarked hours earlier, but it was immediately apparent that the crowds of people in the streets were preventing buses from running downtown. So once more we began to walk east on Euclid.

We passed more and more excited Clevelanders in the streets and sidewalks. And soon a curious sight became apparent - a line of traffic backed up with cars driving into downtown. Apparently when the game ended numerous people decided they wanted to be where the most excitement was, and some just hopped into their cars and started driving. Celebratory honks from car horns frequently sounded, with passersby on foot whooping in response. Some passengers in cars held their hands out the windows, and we ran over to give more high fives. As we walked, I pulled out my phone to check the time. At the appropriate minute, I commented, "It's midnight, so it's my birthday now." Best birthday ever? Yeah, I'd say so.

Around Cleveland State's campus we reached a spot where we were able to catch an eastbound bus, which we rode to where Fiona had parked her car that afternoon. I do wonder just how long it ended up taking for people who parked in garages in the heart of downtown to get out of there. Most of them probably didn't mind.

Once we returned to our neighborhood, I decided it would be fitting for me to go over to the New Heights Grill and have a celebratory drink. When I went up to the bar, one of the employees, recognizing me because I'd watched all but one of the previous games in the series there, greeted me with a high five and then asked where I'd been. "I was downtown," I replied. "It was amazing."

Wednesday brought the parade that Clevelanders had been dreaming of for years. It was the biggest party the city has ever seen and it was a wonderful experience, but to me, being downtown in the epicenter of all the excitement during the immediate aftermath of the victory was even better. The fact that I was able to live that moment is something I'll cherish for the rest of my life. One thing I will say about the parade and subsequent rally - LeBron's speech was truly great. He credited all his teammates and said very real and meaningful things about each and every one of them. LeBron is not only an amazing basketball player, but also a great leader and a great public speaker. The man could probably be president one day if he wanted to (I doubt he does). Additionally, as LeBron is just one and a half years my junior, I've very much enjoyed watching him grow and mature into the man he is today at the same time as I myself have gone through a great deal of growth and maturation over those years.

For the last week the whole city has had a different vibe to it. It's a really cool thing, something that is probably hard to understand if you haven't experienced it yourself. And most people will never experience something like this. There's something I realized. I'm a Cleveland sports fan because I love sports and I love the city that I've called home for almost fifteen years now. But also, being a Cleveland sports fan has fit really well with my identity as a person. Because in Cleveland sports, we've always expected bad things to happen. And in my own life, I've also come to expect bad things to happen. If you know me and especially if you've read my blog over the past half year, you can understand why I'd say that. It's an interesting coincidence that the first week of this past NBA season was the same week when I spiraled into a state of depression triggered by an awful recurrence of an old chronic pain issue. And the beginning of the playoffs coincided with me finally feeling like I was truly coming out of that depression, with the Cavs' run to the title coming alongside me feeling better and better. Throughout all that time, basketball, both watching and playing the sport, has been very important to me. And now that the Cavs have won that championship, and we finally have a Cleveland sports story with a happy ending, I'm thinking - maybe I don't have to expect bad things to happen? Or maybe that would be naive. I don't know. But it's a nice thought to have, and one I intend to keep with me for now.

Death Cab For Cutie at Nautica

After having listened to indie rock band Death Cab For Cutie for eleven years, I finally saw them live for the first time on Tuesday night at Nautica, the riverfront music venue in the Flats.

Although I never considered them one of my most favorite bands, I listened to a whole lot of Death Cab from 2005-2008, most especially in 2005 and 2006. In subsequent years, I've listened to them much less. I didn't stop liking them, but my interest waned. (In fact, from when I started using the website last.fm to track my music listening in August 2005 through the end of 2006, the only bands I listened to more than Death Cab were Ozma, the Decemberists, and Nada Surf. From 2007 to the present, in contrast, Death Cab are in 44th place.) And so there were a couple of times when Death Cab came to Cleveland and I didn't go because I felt like I wasn't into them quite enough to justify the cost of the show. Now that I'm no longer a poor graduate student, I decided I might as well go. (There was actually one time in the summer of 2006 when I was planning to see Death Cab and had purchased a ticket, but ended up not going because I broke my arm the day before the show. That was, of course, the same injury that occurred just days before the first trip I took with Cara.)

In 2015, after I hadn't given a whole lot of consideration to the band in a while, two things happened that closely tied their music to Cara and to her death. The first was that Death Cab released a new album, Kintsugi, and after the album was released, Cara asked me if I'd listened to it. She said that she had and it sounded good. The album was released on March 31, so this was very near the end of Cara's life. As it turned out, sadly, I did not get around to listening to the album myself until after Cara died. And I do like it a lot. Although I wouldn't put it up with my favorite Death Cab albums, I thought it was a significant step up from the album that came before it.

By the way, kintsugi is a Japanese term meaning "to repair with gold," referring to the art of repairing broken pottery with golden lacquer. According to Wikipedia, "As a philosophy it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise." Fitting, no? In an odd coincidence, three different bands I like, Death Cab, the Rural Alberta Advantage, and Hey Rosetta! released albums with artwork and/or titles related to this golden repair between September 2014 and March 2015. I in fact attended a Hey Rosetta! show less than two weeks before Cara's death.

Hey Rosetta! album cover showing an example of kintsugi

The other event was that, as I was picking out music to play at the funeral home by looking through Cara's Spotify playlists, I came across a song she liked that I felt was a great encapsulation of her spirit: "Stay Young, Go Dancing." And so I chose this song to be played at the conclusion of the funeral ceremony.

Moving forward in time, now, to this past Tuesday. Going to a place, for the first time since Cara's death, that I had previously gone to with her always evokes feelings in me. This happened at both Nano Brew, the bicycling themed Ohio City bar where I had dinner (they have fantastic burgers), and at the music venue itself. Cara and I only went to one show together at Nautica, a very memorable Decemberists show the month after we got married, so I definitely thought of that show.

Unfortunately, my relative lack of experience with Nautica led me to make a very poor decision in purchasing tickets. Although the show was not sold out, when I went to purchase my ticket on the day of the show, I decided to also check StubHub, and I found some tickets that appeared to be better than any available from the venue and with no markup from face value: in the first row of seats. First row is good, right? (I did know that first row did not mean right by the stage, but rather the first row of seats after a standing pit.)

What I failed to consider was the layout of the venue. There is the stage, then the pit for standing room general admission, then a wide walkway, then a grandstand. The first row of seats in the grandstand is at ground level, at the same level as the standing pit, and directly behind the walkway through which people are frequently walking during shows. Therefore, the first row of seats is actually the very worst place to sit in the entire venue, because the view of the stage is partially obstructed by people standing, and people walking in front of you provide further annoyance.

The first band to perform was Pure Bathing Culture, who played a short but enjoyable set. This was actually the fourth time I'd seen the band in just nine months, which I'm pretty sure is the first time that's ever happened for me with a non-local band. I find this funny as, although I like the band, they are nowhere near being one of my favorites, so it's worth explaining how this happened. The first time I saw Pure Bathing Culture, they were on tour with another Portland, Oregon-based band I like, Wild Ones, and played a show at the Beachland Tavern last September that some of my friends also attended. The following week, I was in Washington, DC for a conference and as it happened I had a free night on which the same bands were playing a club in DC. I thought it would be fun and funny to go see them again, so I did. That show was especially notable because of the conversation I had with Wild Ones' lead singer Danielle at the merch table. I fondly remember the look of dawning recognition and excitement on her face after I said hi and she realized I was one of the people who had talked to her in Cleveland. The first time I saw Wild Ones, in March 2014, they were opening for one of my very favorite bands, Typhoon (also from Portland), and I had a very nice conversation with Danielle about Typhoon, Cara, and what Typhoon's music means to me. I was pleased to hear her say that she thinks Typhoon's lead singer Kyle Morton is one of the very best people she knows.

So anyway, to finish explaining how I ended up seeing Pure Bathing Culture four times. After the first two last fall, they then happened to be opening at two different shows I've seen this year: Lucius (an absolutely amazing show) and now Death Cab.

The second act Tuesday night was CHVRCHES (pronounced "churches"). I have their first album and I like it, and I was looking forward to seeing them, but unfortunately I found much of their live set to be bordering on obnoxiously loud (perhaps the thumping bass brought up unpleasant associations with noise problems I've had with my upstairs neighbor), and my annoyance with the seating situation was increasing. I could have stood up to get a better view, but no one around me was standing, and I didn't want to bother the people behind me. I did vow to myself that I would stand for Death Cab no matter what. But toward the end of CHVRCHES' set, I was wondering whether I'd made a mistake in going to the show. The fact that it came on the heels of the transcendent Florence + the Machine show I attended days earlier, I suppose, was also not in this show's favor.

Something great happened in the break between the second and third bands. I was walking back from a concession stand when I heard someone call my name. I turned to see one of my old college cross country teammates, Irene. We talked for a while, sharing memories of running and various concerts, including a Decemberists show in 2006 that we had both attended without being aware of each other's attendance. That show, at the Agora, was on November 9, just five days after Cara and I started dating. I called Cara during that show so she could hear the song "Red Right Ankle."

After I explained my unfortunate seating situation, Irene told me that she and her friend had seats much higher up in the grandstand and there was an empty seat next to them that I could use. So I joined them, and my new seat, in row S, was vastly preferable to my original seat in row A. Who would have guessed?

Death Cab quickly put to rest any doubts I still had about whether it had been a good idea to attend the show. As they played the opening chords of the song "Crooked Teeth" from their 2005 album Plans, I instantly remembered how much I had loved that song ten years ago. And it turns out I still love it today. I was surprised by how powerful the feelings of nostalgia were that were evoked by the songs the band played from Plans and the album that preceded it, Transatlanticism. Feelings of nostalgia for that period of time in 2005 and 2006 when I started grad school, lived by myself for the first time, got into indie music and going to concerts, and met and became best friends with Cara. I think the fact that I hadn't listened to those albums that much in the years since made the nostalgic feelings even stronger, because that music is even more tied to that time in my life than music by bands such as Ozma and Okkervil River that I listened to a lot back then but then continued to listen to a lot. I was very glad that Death Cab played several songs from each of those two albums, including closing their encore with a sprawling and intense rendition of the title track from Transatlanticism.

Before the concert, I thought about how I might react if Death Cab played "Stay Young, Go Dancing," the song from Cara's funeral. I guessed they probably wouldn't play it, though, and I was right, they didn't. What I didn't think about (because I hadn't listened to the song in years) was how I would react if they played "I Will Follow You Into the Dark," (like "Crooked Teeth," a track from Plans). It's a beautiful acoustic number. Opening lines: "Love of mine, someday you will die, but I'll be close behind, I'll follow you into the dark."

Yeah, I was in tears throughout the song, and also kind of just sitting there dazed. But as I've written before, I think it's healthy to experience those feelings, and music often helps me do that.

Cara and I talked about music a lot in our online chats as we were getting to know each other, and Death Cab For Cutie were one of the bands we talked about. So it shouldn't have been surprising that finally seeing them live would bring about a lot of feelings in me. I'm very glad I went.

My favorite place and the two loves of my life

I've written before about my love for Roxboro Ravine, the section of Doan Brook in Shaker Heights in between North Park Boulevard and Fairhill Road. It's a really wonderful place, and a sort of hidden gem that doesn't attract nearly as much traffic as most parks in the area, which I think is due in large part to the fact that most people don't know about it. Cara once told me, while we were on a walk there, that it was a "special" place. Later on that same walk, I asked her to marry me, so I obviously agree with that assessment. About a year ago, after visiting the ravine for the first time after her death, I mentioned on Facebook that I had realized it was my favorite place in the world. I still feel that way.

I've been going to the ravine a lot recently. I think visiting there has become a sort of spiritual thing to me. For one thing, I love nature, and being able to enjoy the seclusion and all the beautiful trees and rocks and rushing water in a spot that is right in the middle of a residential neighborhood near where I live and where I work (I've recently taken to stopping there on my drive home from work) is wonderful. But beyond that, Roxboro Ravine is so tied to some of the most important experiences of my life.

I suppose that started in the summer of 2006. It was in the ravine that I broke my arm, just days before Cara and I (still "just friends" at the time) took our first trip together, to Washington, D.C. to see the band Ozma perform. As a result of my injury, Cara had to do all the driving and she also helped me with simple tasks such as opening a bottle of water. As the celebrant at her funeral so eloquently put it, "Their first meaningful time together was Cara as caregiver; Jeff as the patient."

Walking the trails of the ravine now brings about many emotions in me. Certainly feelings of happiness, peace, and contentment, but also feelings of loss. I'm reminded of how much I miss both of the two major loves of my life. You see, although Cara is the only person I've ever been in a relationship with, she was not the first love of my life. The first love of my life was distance running. It was easily my greatest passion throughout both high school and college; I pursued achievements in cross country and track with much greater vigor than any of my academic pursuits. After my collegiate running career was over and I found myself doing almost all my running on my own, the ravine became my favorite place for a run. The combination of beautiful scenery and rugged, challenging trails is something I've rarely found elsewhere, and located within easy running distance of where I lived, it was perfect. Now, as I walk those same trails, as much as I enjoy the experience, I wish so much that I could once more feel the wind in my hair and see the foliage rushing by as I barrel down those trails at a fast running pace.

The last time I went running for real was last summer, almost a year ago. I had not run for several months because of an issue with my left hip. I decided to try going for a run in the ravine for old times' sake. I loved it, but my hip did start to hurt again afterwards. Despite this, I proceeded to run the 5k at Breathe Deep Cleveland, Cara's lung cancer charity event, later that week. In fitting tribute to her, I was the first finisher. Unfortunately, my hip started to hurt a lot more, and continued to bother me greatly for over two months. (Cara experienced a lot of pain in her left hip due to a bone metastasis, so perhaps this was also fitting?) Every time since that I even begin to try running for distance, I feel that same pain coming on, so I stop.

By the way, I sometimes see or hear people who can and do run talk about how they don't enjoy running. I have to say this tends to grate on me, because there's little I enjoy more than going for a really good run, but I'm unable to do that.

There are times when I feel like I miss running even more than I miss Cara. Not all or even most of the time, but there are times.

There are also times when I miss Cara more than I could possibly miss anything else.

Actually, recently I've been missing Cara more than I had in quite some time. I see this as a good thing. Why is that? The reason is that the chronic pain and depression that I was suffering from throughout the winter have significantly improved. This has had the effect of allowing me to feel all sorts of emotions, normal emotions, that were sometimes difficult for me to feel. Happiness, but also sorrow. But not the crushing despair that I felt at many points during those very difficult months.

Honestly, although Cara's death was a horrible thing, I really feel that for much of the first six months following her death, I felt more alive than I ever had before. I was instilled with a sense of urgency to take nothing for granted and live life to the fullest. I had many moments of deep sorrow, but I also had so many wonderful, life-affirming experiences, spending time with friends and family, as well as the fantastic trip I took to Colorado where I saw the band Belle and Sebastian perform at Red Rocks and also went on an amazing hike in the Rockies. Then, just after the half-year mark had passed, I was suddenly stricken with horrific, near-constant pain. And for most of the ensuing five months, not only did I no longer feel more alive than ever, I felt less alive than ever before. It was like I wasn't really living, only surviving. So now that there has been a real, tangible improvement in how I'm feeling, the contrast with how I was feeling a few months ago is amazing. Don't get me wrong, I'm not completely better. I'm still struggling with pain, but not nearly as bad as it was. At times I've momentarily gotten giddy just because I once again feel like a mostly normal person and can reliably enjoy the things I normally enjoy doing. I'm once more starting to feel a desire to (to quote a pair of socks that Cara sometimes wore to her treatments) "carpe the fuck out of this diem."

And perhaps that's part of the reason why I've been spending so much time out in nature, particularly at the ravine.

It was from 2007 to 2009 when the ravine really became a big part of my life. That was the first time that I was battling the pain issue I've been dealing with recently, as well as the depression that accompanied it in periods of time when the pain was particularly bad. Running those trails was my escape from it all. So I guess it makes a lot of sense that I'm drawn to the same place now.

Between the broken arm and the numerous walks we went on there, including the most important one that culminated in our engagement, the ravine was already tied to Cara for me in many ways. It was much more tied, though, to the first love of my life, running. Recently, however, I've (without really planning it) found a new way to connect the ravine much more deeply to my second and greatest love, Cara.

Since last fall, there were several times when I felt like I was getting better, only to go back to feeling worse again. The last time this happened was in early March. I was prescribed a low dose of the antidepressant Zoloft. The doctor told me it wasn't something that took effect immediately, but rather would take up to six weeks before I would really notice the benefits. So I wasn't expecting to feel better right away. But what actually happened, initially, was the opposite - the difficulty sleeping I had been having temporarily become much worse, and this resulted in my pain becoming much worse. I had a very bad two weeks.

The third week was when things started to turn around. During that week, I went to a Cavs game with one of my best friends and had a great time, I went to an amazing concert by Lucius at the Beachland Ballroom, and my parents visited me and enjoyed a dinner I prepared, one of my favorite meals that Cara used to make for me (sweet potato gnocchi from Ohio City Pasta with chicken and a cinnamon nutmeg cream sauce). So it was a good week, all in all, although I still had a long ways to go until I would be feeling nearly back to normal. I worried, as always, that the improvement would be temporary, but that time it turned out to be not another false start, but rather the beginning of a real trend.

Going back to that terrible two weeks now. On one weekend day during that time, a dreary, rainy day (matching my mood) I decided to just head out on a long walk. I thought it might make me feel better. And it probably was better than just staying in, but I was still feeling quite down the whole time. I walked from my house to the ravine. I headed down those familiar trails. And then I decided to explore a side trail that was not part of my regular running routes because it dead ends. This trail leads to the waterfall in the ravine. And there, on the north side of the brook, I discovered a neat little place - a ledge next to the waterfall that was covered by a rock overhang. I climbed up to the ledge (it almost seems like it was made for me, because I think a short person would have a much harder time climbing up there) and sat there for a while, staring out at the water that fell from the sky and the water that rushed over the falls. I was feeling very dejected. Wondering if my life would ever get better.

Some weeks later I returned to the same spot and marveled at how much better I was feeling compared to the last time I had been there. And then a thought occurred to me - it would be a nice place to sit and read a book.

During a phone conversation with Cara's mother some time around the anniversary of Cara's death, she brought up the tattoo Cara had on her back between the shoulders and asked me if I knew the significance of that tattoo. The tattoo, I told her, was a symbol from the Thomas Pynchon novel The Crying of Lot 49.

It was the first tattoo Cara had gotten. I remember her showing me her new tattoo during the summer of 2006 when we went to a movie together in Columbus. Cara was a big Thomas Pynchon fan, and obviously The Crying of Lot 49 was a book that had on impact on her. She gave me her copy of the book, oh those many years ago, and I also read and enjoyed it. During that conversation with her mother, I realized that I should read the book again.

I remembered my thought that the ledge by the waterfall would be a good place to sit and read, so one day I headed over there with The Crying of Lot 49 in one of Cara's messenger bags. I began reading the book, and memories rushed back from the first time I had read it. And I was right - that spot was a great place to read a book. It's sort of a hidden sanctuary. So then I decided I'd read the whole book there. It's not a long book (152 pages), so over the course of a few visits to the ravine I did just that.

There were several times as I read that I became very emotional, partly because of the content of the book but more because of the connection with Cara and the early days of our relationship.

There's one passage I particularly like, in which the main character remembers looking at a certain painting:

Oedipa, perverse, had stood in front of the painting and cried. No one had noticed; she wore dark green bubble shades. For a moment she'd wondered if the seal around her sockets were tight enough to allow the tears simply to go on and fill up the entire lens space and never dry. She could carry the sadness of the moment with her that way forever, see the world refracted through those tears, those specific tears, as if indices as yet unfound varied in important ways from cry to cry.

I certainly enjoyed the book the first time I read it, but I'm pretty sure I appreciated it a lot more this time, largely due to the life experience I have now and didn't have back then. And so I found myself wanting to talk about the book with Cara. We talked about it some back then, but in retrospect, I think it was at a fairly superficial level. There's so much more to discuss. But she's not here to have those discussions. And I want to ask her, what was it, exactly, that made you want to get that tattoo? (I may have asked her back then. I'm not sure.)

So that spot in the ravine became, in a way, not just my spot, but my and Cara's spot. (Thus joining the spot, near the other end of the ravine, where we got engaged.)

I had never read any other Thomas Pynchon, but I decided that I should. It's a way for me to deepen my connection with Cara in her absence. She also had in her collection the much longer novel Gravity's Rainbow, which I plan to tackle but have not yet begun, and the short story collection Slow Learner. Cara received Slow Learner from my sister for Christmas in 2008. (I had remembered that she had gotten it for Christmas, but not the year. I determined the year by searching my chat history for the book's title, which brought up a message from Cara on 12/29/08: "Mitters says Slow Learner is a good book." 2008, incidentally, was the one Christmas after Cara had moved to Cleveland but before we lived together. It's funny the way time goes by, because before doing that search I would have pegged the year Cara got that book as much more recent, perhaps 2012.)

And so I've been reading Slow Learner at the same spot in the ravine. It's a collection of Pynchon's very early work, and it certainly doesn't affect me the way Crying of Lot 49 does, but it's been an enjoyable experience. I've especially liked coming across things in the book that Cara underlined. She underlined the last sentence of the book's second story: "Whitecaps danced across her eyes; sea creatures, he knew, would be cruising about in the submarine green of her heart." I guess she  really liked that description. Again I wish I could ask her about it. In one of the other stories, she underlined a single word: "laudanum." Seeing this, I immediately tried to think of why she'd have underlined that one word. And then I thought, it sounds so familiar - like I've heard it in a song - a song by an artist Cara and I liked. But which artist, and which song? Andrew Bird, perhaps? After a little searching I was able to determine that it was actually a Decemberists song, "The Legionnaire's Lament." (In a nice bit of happenstance, I'm listening to that song right now - I intentionally listened to the Castaways and Cutouts album while writing this entry but the fact that I'm on that specific song at the same time I'm writing about it was unplanned.)

I have no doubt that Cara outlined the word "laudanum" because she recognized it from those Decemberists lyrics, but did she remember specifically where she had heard it? Or did she underline the word because she wasn't sure where she'd heard it and wanted to figure it out? And if the latter, did she ever figure it out? I'll never know.

Cara was a really amazing person. I knew her better than I've ever known anyone else, but as time goes by I realize there are many things about her that even I didn't know, and I wish I could have more time to talk to her about life, the universe, and everything, but I can't. And so there's a lot of sadness. But there's also a lot of joy that she brought and continues to bring into my life. Cara Sadness, and Cara Joy.

My life really has been a lot better recently than it had been in a long time. Last weekend I went to Columbus for the first time since Christmas. I was trying to remember when was the last time I went five whole months without going on any out-of-town overnight trips, and I couldn't think of anything. The fact that I went that long without taking any trips was definitely the result of the pain and depression I was experiencing. I had a really good time in Columbus. I spent some quality time with my family and also had fun hanging out with a couple of good friends from high school, and even had a chance encounter with a classmate I'm pretty sure I hadn't seen since high school ended, with whom I shared a very nice albeit brief conversation. I also went to another place where I used to love running, Battelle Darby Creek Metro Park, and enjoyed a long walk. I ran there many times at high school cross country practice, and also over the summer while I was in college. It's a great place. There are some very large hills, of which I have both fond and painful memories of running. I hadn't been there in many years, but all the trails were as familiar as if I'd traversed them just weeks ago. And again, I found myself wishing I could run those trails.

I remember that I once told Cara, some time in the year 2013 but before we knew she had cancer, that I didn't think I could ever be truly satisfied with my life if I wasn't able to run, because running was my greatest passion. The last few years have given me some new perspective on life, for sure. I no longer feel that way. I miss running a lot, and still hope I'll be able to take it up again some day, although I'm quite confident I'll never be able to do nearly the volume of running that I once did. I miss Cara a lot too, and I know that she's never coming back, but I also know that her spirit will always be with me.

Yet now I know something that I didn't know a few years ago. Even having lost both of the two greatest loves of my life, I can continue to have a very fulfilling life, because the world is full of amazing things to do, places to go, and people to meet.

I wrote most of this post Friday night and yesterday afternoon. As it turned out, yesterday was an amazing day, so I think an addition is in order! I went to see Florence + the Machine at the Blossom Music Center. Blossom is in the Cuyahoga Valley National Park, so I decided it would be a good opportunity for another hike in the afternoon before I headed over to the venue. I enjoyed a great hike on the Lake and Salt Run trails beginning from Kendall Hills, another place with strong ties for me to both running and Cara. In April 2009, I ran a 25k trail race there. It was the first and only trail race I've run, and it was a great experience, with fantastic scenery as well as much more challenging terrain and elevation changes than any other race I've run. During the race, Cara told me that she got into a conversation with another woman who was also there to spectate. That woman was there to watch her son, and she told Cara about how her son was quite good at running. And he did do pretty well, finishing second place - about nine minutes behind me.

I guess one of the reasons I miss running so much is knowing how good I was at it, and also knowing that I never came close to unlocking my full potential.

Kendall Hills is also a place that Cara and I enjoyed visiting in the winter to go sledding. We had so much fun there. I walked by the spot where this picture of her was taken and couldn't help but think of it:

I also remembered the last time that Cara and I visited Kendall Hills, in July 2013. We went there to go on a little hike in preparation for our upcoming annual trip to the Adirondacks. I remember how much Cara was struggling on the uphills. Walking very slowly because she would become very short of breath if she went much faster. It seemed so wrong, because the whole time I had known her, she had gradually but steadily improved her physical fitness. Now she was having a hard time doing something that would have been easier a year before. She attributed the difficulty to the "asthma" she had been diagnosed with two months prior. It was very frustrating for her. It really seems, looking back, like we should have realized something more serious was going on. But who would ever suspect a 34-year-old never-smoker would have lung cancer?

All those memories were with me as I walked the trails, and I certainly felt sad at moments, but I very much enjoyed the walk. It's a great thing to have a national park so close to home. A notable aspect of this particular hike was the presence of a multitude of cicadas, having recently emerged after 17 years. The sound that filled the forest was incredible!

Next up was the concert. Florence + the Machine are one of my favorite musical acts, and I had never before seen them live (a few years ago I balked at the price of going to a show, and later came to regret not going). Despite this, I had been uncertain until quite recently about whether I was going to go. Why? Because I knew going to the show would be a significant commitment of both money and time (in particular, leaving the venue is a nightmare - once I got back to my car it took nearly an hour until I exited the parking lot). And I was afraid that I might be in a lot of pain and not have a very good time. It was only in the last few weeks that I became confident this wouldn't happen.

So I decided to splurge and get a GA pit ticket. It was the most expensive concert ticket I've ever purchased with my own money (only surpassed by the Springsteen show earlier this year that my dad paid for), but I figured why not? You only live once. I can only imagine how Cara would have reacted to seeing the price of that ticket. But it was worth every penny. I was perhaps ten feet away from the stage, and it was an utterly magical experience. Florence Welch brings so much energy and sheer joy to her performance, and that voice! Wow! Listening to her albums (over and over) did not prepare me for experiencing the same music in a live setting.

Before playing the title track "How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful" from her latest album, Florence asked the audience for one song to put away all of our phones. She said recently as she had been traveling to all sorts of interesting places, she realized she was spending too much time looking down at the phone in her hands. She also said that she had written the song while falling in love, and then when she started to look up and around her, she started to fall in love with everyone, and with all the beauty that exists in the world. You know what? At that moment I could really relate to what she was saying.

I could also relate to these lyrics in that song: "Maybe I'll see you in another life, if this one wasn't enough."

There was, near me in the audience, an annoying guy who kept yelling "No Light" over and over between songs. Because you know, if yelling it twenty times isn't enough, surely the twenty-first time will be the one that will convince Florence and her band to change their (already predetermined) setlist. At one point he even yelled "No Light" during a song - a quiet moment in an absolutely stunning rendition of "Cosmic Love," my favorite song from Florence's first album. At this, I turned toward him (I don't think I even made a conscious decision to do this, it just kind of happened) and exasperatedly told him to shut the fuck up. I can also only imagine how Cara would have reacted. She told me several times that it would really weird her out to hear me swear because she never had. Inwardly, I laughed, thinking about this.

It was such a great concert. I had so much fun. This is something that has happened a few times at concerts recently - Magic Man and Tokyo Police Club being the other notable examples - me just really having fun in a way I hadn't been able to do since last fall. The show last night was the best of all. I guess after Cara and running, I do have a third major love of my life, and it's music. And that one hasn't been taken from me.

As I drove home (finally having made my escape from the parking lot), it really hit me: I have my life back.

I'm always afraid that something bad will happen. I'll have another bad pain flareup. Or something else totally unanticipated. I can't help but be this way, considering everything I've been through. But for now, things are good.

Let me close this by saying that if you are depressed, for whatever reason, do not be afraid to seek out help. Of course, the sad truth is that depression itself can make it much harder to try to find the help you need. But it's worth the effort. Between physical therapy, medication, counseling, increased exercise, and several other factors, I do not know the size of the contribution of each to why I'm now in less pain and no longer feel depressed, but I do know it's a wonderful thing. And I hope that anyone else going through a similar experience can also get that assistance to find their way out.

Dear Cara

I saw Andrew Bird perform last night. It was a really great show, and I really wish you could have been there. Even though it was at the House of Blues. I just know how appalled you would have been that Andrew Bird played a show at the House of Blues. I got reserved balcony seats for the show, and can you believe it, my seat had a partially obstructed view of the stage. I could see a little more than half of the stage, and I could see Andrew Bird for the entire show, so that wasn't too bad, but there were other seats next to mine with even more obstructed views. Seriously, why would someone design a music venue that has reserved balcony seating with obstructed views of the stage? Sigh, just another reason to think that place is a terrible venue... I know, you never even went to a show there, just because of the reputation. I think you would have made an exception for Andrew Bird, though.

Venue aside, it really was a fantastic show. It had been four years since we last saw him, and he's the same great performer and quirky personality he always has been. The best part was the encore, with him and his band gathered around a single microphone performing some acoustic songs, "old-timey" as Andrew Bird called it when they did the same thing at that show in Columbus four years ago.

I remember how much you loved that. That was a really amazing experience we had together. We were so close to the stage!

Leia went to the show with me last night and we had a great time together. I actually asked Troy first, partly because the show was exactly a year after that Sufjan Stevens show last year that you gave Troy your ticket to because you weren't feeling well. We had no idea then how little time you had left. Troy couldn't go last night, and Leia was a great second choice. It's funny to think, when we saw Andrew Bird together at Playhouse Square seven years ago (a show you wrote a nice review of), Leia was also sitting next to me, but we didn't know each other yet. I recognized her from being in Afternoon Naps, though. And she told me yesterday that she had also recognized me then, from being in the audience at Afternoon Naps shows! It was the following month that you and I were the queen and king at the Beachland Prom. I don't think Leia ever told us this while you were still alive, but she was the one who got people to vote for us. And that was still before we were actually friends with her! She could just tell we were a really awesome couple and deserved to be the Prom King and Queen. Isn't that great?

Maybe even more than going to the show, I wish you could hear Andrew Bird's new album. I really love it; I think it's one of his best albums. I think you'd love it too, and I really wish I could hear your reaction to it. I didn't know this before I got the album, but Andrew Bird's wife had thyroid cancer (she's better now) and that experience had a big influence on the album. I think that's part of why it's so great. There's one song, "Puma," that's directly about the experience of her going through treatment. I'm really moved by the song, and I really love the lyrics:

Don't try to tell her she's less feline than human
For it gives rise to the rumor
She's a girl and not a puma

And that light that shines is not a pearl
It's just a tumor

When she was radioactive for seven days
How I wanted to be holding her anyway
But the doctors they told me to stay away
Due to flying neutrinos and
Gamma rays

I came across a great interview with Andrew Bird and he talks about this song in the interview:

At one point, my wife said to me when she was going to get this test, she said “I’m afraid they’re going to tell me I’m a girl and not a Puma.” I thought that was such a remarkable thing to say. It’s a bit hard to explain why she would say that, but I can say that she has kind of a feline disposition (laughs). I decided I wanted to write a song that celebrates how she dealt with all of this adversity.

There's another really great song on the album, "Left-Handed Kisses," that is a duet with Andrew Bird and Fiona Apple. I think you'd love the song. Fiona Apple always makes me think of when we listened to one of her albums at the cabin in Holmes County. It's funny how sometimes certain pieces of music can be so tied to specific memories. At the concert, Andrew Bird went ahead and performed the song despite having no female vocalist with him, and he sang both parts of the duet himself. It was great.

Another part of the album that made me think of you is in the song "Valleys of the Young," these lyrics:

Now you're going on 64, driving down 65
To the hospital to see if your adult son will survive or not
After taking those pills in the parking lot
You know the one behind the Marriott

I remember how annoyed you were when an Andrew Bird song showed up in a Marriott commercial. I wonder if it was an intentional, sort of sly self-referential thing for him to put that in the lyrics. I was listening to the album at work, doing some cell culture stuff, when I realized the connection and I just started cracking up, thinking about how you might react to it.

There's been some other music recently I'd also like to share with you. I'm really enjoying the new Nada Surf album as well. And earlier this year, Lucius put out a fantastic new album and I saw them play a really stunning show at the Beachland. I remember how much you were looking forward to seeing them open for the Decemberists in California last year. It's too bad you never got to see them live.

I was originally planning to take your mom to the Andrew Bird show, because she's talked about listening to his music and how it makes her think of you and me, but she ended up deciding she wasn't up for making the trip, which was too bad. It's been a really hard time for her, losing you and then losing Gram just a few months later. I know you'd be very glad to hear, though, that she and I are still great friends. Actually, our relationship became stronger after we lost you. We have some great conversations on the phone, and I usually visit her when I'm in Columbus. I had a really nice Christmas dinner with her and Trent.

Mitters and Eponine are still doing well, although they do still get in fights sometimes (of course). Mitters is starting to show more signs of her age. She still sometimes likes to jump up on the bathroom sink and ask for water from the faucet, but I've noticed it's becoming harder for her to make the jump. Sometimes she fails the jump, which is adorable but also kind of sad. Overall, the old lady seems to be in pretty good health, though. And she really loves me and hangs out with me a lot, although one thing that's interesting is ever since you've been gone, she stopped coming to bed at night (Eponine still sleeps with me). It's hard to believe Eponine is older now than Mitters was when I met you!

It's been a hard year for me too. I've had a lot of great support from my friends, and I owe you a lot for all the great friends I have. Both because a lot of them I met through you, and also that your influence on me really helped me become a lot better at making new friends. I was doing well for a while, but then last fall I had a recurrence of some really bad chronic pain and became quite depressed. Then there were a few times when I felt like I was getting better, but then got worse again, and felt like I was sliding back toward that deep depression. I remember once, when I was going through another period of really bad chronic pain and feeling pretty down about my life, you told me that maybe I should "talk to someone," as in, seek out psychiatric help. I said that the only thing that would make me feel better was if the pain got better (which thankfully it eventually did), so I didn't see the point. I should have listened to you, though. Recently I have been much more proactive in seeking out help in multiple ways, physical and mental. After being officially diagnosed with depressive disorder (which obviously, I already was depressed, but hadn't been diagnosed before), I have been taking Zoloft for about six weeks now, and I feel like that, along with several other things, is starting to really help. My pain has also been less bad recently, but additionally, I feel like even though the Zoloft does not directly target the pain, it modulates the effect the pain has on my mood. And there is a feedback cycle where I feel stress and anxiety about the pain, and those make the pain worse, and also make it harder for me to sleep, and lack of sleep also makes the pain worse. And I feel like I am starting to really break that cycle. In the last few weeks, there have been some times when I've felt really happy. Not just kind of happy, but genuinely very happy. Which is a wonderful thing to feel, because the last time I felt that way was back in October before this pain episode started.

I kind of worry that by writing down and sharing the fact that I feel like I'm really getting better, I will jinx myself and get worse again. But I know that's irrational.

You were so graceful and brave in the way you dealt with the horrible adversity that you faced. I remember you telling me that you couldn't have done it without me. I feel the same way now. Even though you aren't physically here, you'll always be with me, and always be a source of strength. Our time together was too short, and I'll always miss you, but I'll always be grateful that we got to be such a big part of each other's lives.

Love,

Jeff

P.S. Today is a really beautiful day, and I went on a great bike ride!

3/16/06

Today, March 16, 2016, marks the tenth anniversary of the day that Cara and I first met in person. March 16 wasn't an anniversary we celebrated, not like November 4 (our dating anniversary) or June 12 (our wedding anniversary). I had to look up the exact date to verify it. I think if she were still around we'd have done something to mark the occasion this time, perhaps gone to Steak 'n Shake (read on to learn why), but alas, she's not. Despite March 16 not being a date we took much notice of over the years, I think an argument could be made that March 16, 2006 was the most important day of our lives. Because I think that once we had met each other in person, it was all but inevitable that we would eventually fall in love and get married.

Before I recount the story of that day, some backstory is in order.

Early in the year 2006, I think that Cara and I were both people who were looking for something, but neither of us was aware of it at the time. No, neither of us even knew that we were looking for something, much less that what we were looking for, we would find in each other.

She had recently separated and was still working on divorce proceedings after a short marriage that she considered a mistake. In fact, as she later told me, she had settled and decided to get married – at the age of 25 – because she feared she was getting too old! She was also unemployed and looking for a job while earning a little money on the side by making soap. She was always a very creative and artistic type, and it's unfortunate that it's so hard to earn a living doing that sort of thing. As she confided in me years later, Cara was not a very happy person in the time just before we met.

I did not consider myself an unhappy person, but my life was definitely missing something. I was a first year graduate student, and that winter I was closing out my collegiate running career by using a final season of eligibility in indoor track. Outside of the track team, I was a rather antisocial person – I had some friends, but rarely spent time hanging out with people. There was no one in my life who I considered a really close friend.

Cara and I both spent most of our free time on the Internet, and it was there that the initial sparks of our relationship were lit. We both really enjoyed playing a game called Psychobabble. This game was based on magnetic fridge poetry. In each round, the players in a room of up to 12 people would each arrange tiles from a random set of perhaps 60-70 words in order to form sentences. The sentences would then be displayed in a list, with no names attached, and each player would vote on his or her favorite sentence. After the voting, the names of who made each sentence were revealed, and points were awarded based on the number of votes received. The game emphasized verbal skills, quick thinking, and wit, and Cara and I were both excellent at it. Popular sentences in the group we played with were often quite crude or dark – some of it I find embarrassing in retrospect, but hey, I was young. Still, I continue to find something funny about taking a set of innocuous words and creating something really twisted from it.

From the room-wide chats that went on during the games, we realized that there was an unusual concentration of regulars within our group who lived in Central Ohio. (I already lived in Cleveland, but still regularly visited Columbus to see my family, while five others, including Cara, lived in the Columbus area.) Some time early in 2006, an idea was hatched to have a real life meetup of the Central Ohio Psychobabblers. I don't remember whose idea it originally was, but I do know that Cara and I together spearheaded the planning. In chats on AOL Instant Messenger (AIM), she and I discussed inviting all the Central Ohioans to a get together.

Back then, whenever I had a chat of any significant length on AIM, I saved a chat log. I think I started doing this because I had previously, in high school, mostly used another messaging client, ICQ, and it saved chat logs automatically. I found that I sometimes enjoyed reading old conversations I had had, so I decided to start saving the logs on AIM, which didn't do it automatically. And now I'm very glad I did, and that I held on to all my files over the years, because it's very interesting for me to be able to look back at the earliest interactions between Cara and myself.

My AIM screen name was jeff3263827. During the very oldest chat I have saved, I asked Cara if she knew what the number represented. She did not. “3263827 is the number of the garbage masher that Han Luke Leia and Chewie were in in Star Wars: A New Hope,” I explained. “How's that for an obscure geeky reference?” So obviously, at this point, Cara knew that my name was Jeff, because it was right there in my screen name. I did not yet know what her name was, and the way she told me was unconventional – and cute, I might add now. She had just switched to a new AIM screen name, Amnesiac Army, and as she explained:

Amnesiac Army: my new aim name is an anagram
Amnesiac Army: it's an anagram of "My name is (my name)"
jeff3263827: i see
Amnesiac Army: i like anagrams.

(This meant that, after taking out the letters from "Amnesiac Army" that would create the words “my name is,” her name consisted of a C, an R, and two As – hence, Cara, because no other name would work.)

Our earliest conversations were largely focused on two topics – Psychobabble, and music. I introduced Cara to the band Ozma, a “geek rock” group with a similar sound, especially early in their career, to Weezer. They had recently become my favorite band, and Cara quickly became quite fond of them as well. Later that year, Ozma would became very significant to our growing friendship when, in August, we traveled to Washington, DC together to see them perform.

In the first months of 2006, we chatted only occasionally. The big breakthrough came when we organized our in person meeting. We invited all of the Central Ohioans in our Babble group to go bowling in the middle week of March, which was picked because it was my spring break so I would be home in Columbus. (Actually, at the start of that week I went to Los Angeles – by myself – to see Ozma play their reunion show in Hollywood – so I was pretty excited to get to tell Cara about the experience in person!)

One funny thing I remember is that, before the bowling meetup, I asked Cara how her name was pronounced – did the first syllable sound like “care,” or like “car”? It's the first one, but for some reason, some people who knew Cara for years never did figure that out.

And so it was on the evening of Thursday, March 16, 2006 at the entrance to the Palace bowling alley in Columbus, Ohio that I first met Cara.

Only one other member of our Psychobabble group actually showed up - Jon, although at the time we didn't really think of each other as Jon, Cara, and Jeff. We thought of each other by our Babble screen names - I was Vogon (short for Vogon Poet, a Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy reference), Jon was goku (short for slickgokubaby), and Cara? I thought of her as Commie, which was short for Communista.

I remember once that my mom saw the Communista screen name on Cara's Flickr account and asked me, "Is… this person a communist?" Like me, Cara was quite liberal on the American political spectrum, but she was not a communist - as she explained to me once in a chat, she "originally got it because of a class [she] was taking in college, also [she] wanted to impress a guy."

Jon and I were the first two to arrive, and we stood there making some uncomfortable attempts at small talk until Cara showed up to complete the trio. Once all three of us were there, we went inside to enjoy some bowling. We were an awkward little group, but we had a good time. We bowled a total of four games, as I recall. Jon won twice; Cara and I once each. We also enjoyed some Galaga in the bowling alley's arcade. The funniest memory from that night came courtesy of the middle-aged Slayer fan named Chuck bowling in the lane next to ours. "Hey," he said, approaching us, "Skinny" (looking at me), "The Nerd" (looking at Jon), "and…" (here he seemed to briefly stumble over what to call Cara) "You." He went on to tell us that we needed to learn the "etiquette of bowling." Apparently one of us had made a faux pas by bowling at the same time as Chuck instead of waiting our turn, and he was upset about this.

Jon and I were both a little scared, I think, but Cara had no trouble settling the issue politely with Chuck. Later, in the parking lot, our group was approached by a drunken man - I don't remember what about - and again, Cara stepped in to handle the conversation like a pro. Both of us shy, nerdy guys were undoubtedly impressed by this short woman's ability to stand up to and converse with anyone.

After bowling, the three of us went to Steak 'n Shake to hang out and talk. Steak 'n Shake would later became a tradition for Cara and me - whenever we drove to New York (usually to the Adirondack Mountains for family vacation), we would stop for dinner at the location in Erie, Pennsylvania. That night, we spent hours just talking and getting to know each other. Cara carried the bulk of the conversation (no surprise there), but she got me talking quite a bit as well. Jon said much less and probably felt left out. Cara and I, on the other hand, were becoming fast friends. She said later that she thought we "could have talked all night." I was very aware then that I was too shy of a person, but there were indications from the start that Cara was bringing me out of my shell.

It was well after midnight when we went home, Cara to her apartment and me to my parents' house. Even though it was the first time we'd met in person, and our relationship at that point was strictly platonic, the lives of Cara and me were already set on a course to becoming intertwined.

Will You Marry Me?

Today is Valentine's Day - the first, of course, since Cara's passing. There are several dates each year that I know will always make me especially miss her, for instance, her birthday, our wedding anniversary, and the anniversary of our first date. Valentine's Day wouldn't rank especially high on the list because it wasn't something we generally made that big a deal of. It did make me think of a nice story, though. Probably our most extravagant Valentine's Day outing was in 2010. It was actually on the evening of the 13th (a Saturday, just like this year) that we went out to eat at our favorite restaurant, L'Albatros, a fabulous French restaurant in University Circle. We took advantage of a gift card we had received for Christmas and enjoyed one of the best meals we'd ever eaten. Cara wrote a review of the outing on her Girl About Cleveland blog and I encourage you to look at it. Her writing is wonderfully evocative.

In preparing for the date, Cara really went all out, not only putting on a nice dress but also going to La Barberia in our Little Italy neighborhood earlier that day to get her hair and makeup professionally done.

Hair and makeup pictured, but that's not the dress, in case you wondered. :-p

I don't remember whether it was that night or on one of the following days, but Cara admitted to me that the reason she did this was she wanted to look especially nice because she was expecting I would propose to her.

We had already had discussions about getting engaged, so this wasn't coming up out of the blue. I never had any intention of a Valentine's proposal, though. As I told her, I thought it would be far too cliched. We ended up getting engaged about three weeks later in a really wonderful way. I've told that story before, but I also want to add some of the backstory that I haven't shared previously.

In December 2009, our first holiday season living together, we got an Advent calendar and took turns putting little objects (often candy, but some other things too) behind the doors for the other to open. At this point in time, we were already fully intending to get married and had discussed this openly with each other. I had shown Cara a few rings I was thinking of so that I could get her opinions, and based on her feedback had narrowed it down to two choices. (Partly because I was living on a grad student stipend and partly, again, not wanting to be cliched, I didn't want to get a traditional diamond ring and Cara was fully on board with that. I ended up choosing a ruby with four tiny diamonds around it and she absolutely loved the ring.) So anyway, I was thinking of putting the engagement ring behind the final door of the Advent calendar. (Yeah, yeah, that would have been pretty cliched!)

I procrastinated, and it turned out the particular ring I most wanted to get was not in stock, and I could not get it in time for Christmas, so I scratched that plan. Over the next couple of months, I think Cara was starting to wonder, "What's taking him so long?" We had been a couple for more than three years, had lived together for more than half a year, were obviously madly in love with each other, and had talked about engagement rings. What was I waiting for? Well, a confession. I didn't tell Cara this, but there was an unfortunate factor discouraging me from going ahead and proposing. (She was aware of what I was dealing with, but not of how it influenced my thinking in regards to getting engaged.) In October I had run the Towpath Marathon, the only marathon I ever ran and a great success as I finished second in a time of 2:44:38. It was an amazing experience, but unfortunately, in the course of training for the marathon, I developed really bad tendinitis in both my ankles. I ran through it, expecting that it would go away if I just took some time off from running after the marathon. This did not happen. If anything, at first it seemed to get even worse. I was in a lot of pain and feeling very frustrated and this was having a definite impact on my emotional state. And I wasn't really keen on getting engaged during what was not a particularly happy point in my life.

Things started to improve, a little (although six years later that ankle tendinitis has still not completely gone away). More importantly, my emotional state started to stabilize. I decided I shouldn't let this get in the way of Cara and I moving forward with our lives together.

After almost ordering a ring before Christmas but ending up not doing so, by Valentine's Day I still had not ordered the ring. But I guess that wonderful date night triggered something in me, because it was at lunch time on Monday the 15th that I placed the order (isn't it great having a searchable archive of all your emails from over the years?). Due to an unexpected delay with the shipping, I got the ring about two weeks later. Then it was a matter of finding the perfect time to propose.

It's appropriate that Lent has just started, because that also ties in to this story. Starting in 2009, Cara's first full year living in Cleveland, and continuing all the way through last year, during each Lenten season we picked one Friday and went to the fish fry at Sts. Constantine & Helen Greek Orthodox Cathedral on Mayfield Road in Cleveland Heights. We weren't churchgoers; it was just a really fun thing to do. We loved having little traditions like that to share. In 2010, we went to the fish fry on March 5, just days after I received the ring. Cara must have suspected something was up. There's no way she could have actually known that I had just gotten her engagement ring, because I had had it shipped to my work and it had never been somewhere she would have seen. However, as we stood in line to get our food, she not so subtly patted me down as if she was trying to see if there was anything hidden in my coat pockets. Of course, she acted all innocent when I asked what she was doing. I did not, in fact, have the ring with me at the fish fry. As usual, we had a great time together.

The next day, Saturday, we went for a walk at the Cleveland Metroparks Euclid Creek Reservation. Despite being March, there had recently been a large snowstorm, and the ground was blanketed with snow. That weekend saw the coming of a thaw. As we walked on the path alongside Euclid Creek, I recall watching in wonder as a tremendous flow of large ice chunks rushed downstream, carried by the heavily flowing water.

On that day, for the first time during an outing with Cara, I was carrying the ring with me.

We walked for some time. We always loved going for walks together, ever since even before we started dating. Now, I'll let you in on a very silly inside joke we had. As I recall, it started on a trip we took to Hamilton, Ontario to see a concert. We camped at a park on Lake Ontario and, while there, went to check out the beach. In the sand, Cara spelled out the words I LOVE YOU. I smiled as I watched. However, she was not done writing. Who knows what put this idea into her mind, but she added two more words, to complete the phrase I LOVE YOU BOBA FETT. (Boba Fett is the name of a Star Wars character. Cara, unlike me, wasn't even really a Star Wars fan. Ah, the mysteries of the human mind...) We both thought this was hilarious, and from that day on, we would occasionally write I LOVE YOU BOBA FETT in random places. And one such place was there in the snow along the trail at Euclid Creek Reservation.

It was around then that I considered popping the question. It just didn't feel right to me, though, because it was a very gray day. So I decided to wait, for which I'm glad.

The next day was Sunday, March 7. In the morning, we went to a spin class together at Urban Active in Beachwood, as we often did that winter. In the afternoon, Cara was going to see the recently released movie Alice in Wonderland with a friend (I had no interest in seeing the movie.) It was a beautiful day, and I asked Cara if, before she went to the movie, she'd like to go for a walk with me in "the ravine" - Roxboro Ravine, a section of Doan Brook in between North Park Boulevard and Fairhill Road. (Later that year I wrote a whole blog post about my love for Roxboro Ravine.)

Unlike the previous cloudy day, the sun shone brightly on that Sunday, illuminating the snow that still covered most of the ground. The whole landscape sparkled. With mild temperatures, it was a great day for a walk. As we descended on the trail into the ravine, a place we had walked several times in the past, Cara remarked to me that the ravine was "special" to her. Secretly, it thrilled me when she said this. I, of course, agreed with her.

After walking for some time, we reached the spot pictured here:

I took this picture then. I was carrying the ring box, by the way, in my camera bag.

Since Cara was going to the movie with her friend, I said that we should probably head back to the car. She began to do so. Then I added, "But first, there's one more thing." She turned back around to see me down on one knee, holding out the ring. "Will you marry me?"

In her excitement, Cara fell on her backside in the snow. It was truly a perfect moment! She said yes, of course.

So then we did return to the car, and Cara did go to the movie, while I went on a bike ride. That night, Cara, her friend, and I went to the Happy Dog on the West Side for a little celebratory dinner to cap off a wonderful day.

And a little addendum about that engagement ring. Last fall when I was looking at pictures from the Cleveland Museum of Art's annual chalk festival, I was surprised when I looked very closely at this picture from the 2009 chalk festival and saw that Cara was wearing, on her left hand ring finger, what appeared to be her engagement ring (it's hard to see without looking at the original full size image).

I was very confused for a moment, because this picture was taken some six months before we got engaged. Then I remembered the other ring I had gotten Cara. It was a garnet ring. She had been telling me that it would be nice if I got her some jewelry, and as I recall, I bought it for her at a shop in Lake Placid, New York that we were at together during family vacation. It was nothing fancy, but she really liked that ring. The engagement ring was similar in appearance (although obviously much nicer) and she told me that this similarity was one of the reasons she loved her engagement ring so much. I don't know where that garnet ring is now. Perhaps I'll come across it someday. The engagement ring remains with Cara.

This is, by a wide margin, the least likely thing that has ever happened

I've always gotten a kick out of coincidences. That's probably human nature. One fun little example: Cara was born at 6:20 am and for part of her childhood she lived on a street called East Jeffrey Place. She would, of course, grow up to marry a man named Jeffrey - whose birthday was 6/20.

There are a number of really remarkable coincidences regarding Cara that I have in my memories, and I thought it would be worthwhile to compile them in one post. So, here goes.

First of all, there are two incidents I remember in which Cara seemed to have some sort of unconscious ability to predict the future. I'll tell the second one first, because the other is more interesting. Cara and I were going out to dinner at the since-closed Mexican restaurant Mi Pueblo near Case campus. It was one of our favorite spots; when we started dating I lived just around the corner and we enjoyed many meals together there. Anyway, on that particular night, as we walked from our car to the restaurant we heard a band playing in the nearby Euclid Tavern. "Is that 'Rockin' in the Free World'?" Cara asked, referring to a Neil Young song. I listened for a couple of seconds and answered that no, it wasn't. We entered Mi Pueblo, sat down, had a nice dinner together, and by the time we got up to leave had no doubt forgotten all about the band in the Tavern. But as we headed out into the night, I was startled to hear a familiar tune emanating from inside the old music venue's walls.

"Keep on rockin' in the free world..."

We could only look at each other and laugh in amazement.

The first incident of Cara's psychic abilities was far more shocking.

Early in the morning on June 14, 2009, we were driving out to Burton, Ohio for the annual Sunday in June bike tour, Cara's first ever bike tour in Northeast Ohio and my first ever bike tour period. I have absolutely no idea what caused Cara to say this, but she remarked, "Wouldn't it be funny if I got 666 for my bib number?" (A bib number, for those who don't know, is the identifying number worn during a race or other such event.)

So we got to Burton, parked our car, got our gear together, rode our bikes over to the starting point, went to the signup table, filled out the registration forms and paid the fees, and then, sure enough...

I mean, it was probably the strangest thing I had ever seen in person to that point in my life. Think about it. If Cara had been asked in advance to predict her bib number, she'd have had less than a 1% chance of predicting correctly. But what possessed her to even make such a prediction? Why would she do that? We were both just totally stunned that her bib number was, indeed, 666. Making this even more funny was that the Sunday in June tour goes through the Amish country of Geauga County, and according to Cara, some children she rode past reacted by saying things like, "Get away, Satan!" (They may have been joking. I'm not sure.)

So those are the two stories of Cara's psychic powers. There are also several remarkably odd incidents that occurred related to Cara's cancer and her death, which I'll recount next.

The first was one that I had no idea the strangeness of until some time after it happened. Nearly two months before Cara was diagnosed, my mom (who, it should be noted, has generally never asked me about going to concerts with her) asked me if Cara and I might like to go to a concert with her in Columbus. The odd part? The concert was on September 22, Cara's birthday, and the band was Typhoon - that is, the band whose powerful music would become my own personal soundtrack to my and Cara's lives after Cara was diagnosed. (We did not go to that concert, but I did see Typhoon on September 21 in Cleveland.) When my mom sent that innocent email query I had no idea that one day I would look back on it and marvel. As I wrote in the post linked above, "What was it that made her ask this, just this one time, about this one specific band, for a show on Cara's birthday?"

Next, there is another music-related coincidence. On rare occasions I will hear a song on the radio (something I generally only listen to while in the car) that I'm just so taken by that I immediately have to go look up the song and the artist and not only that, I soon find myself going ahead and buying the album. I love it when this happens. It's a fun way of discovering music. One such incident happened early in 2015, less than two months before Cara died. As I recall, I had just dropped her off at work when a song on WJCU (John Carroll University's radio station) really caught my attention. The song was "Here's Where The Story Ends" by English alternative rock band The Sundays.

It was released in 1990 and according to Wikipedia topped the U.S. Modern Rock Charts for a single week, so it was something of a hit, but The Sundays aren't exactly a household name and I doubt most people would remember the song. I can't remember ever being aware of it before that day I heard it on the radio. I heard it on the radio a few more times in the ensuing weeks and, as I mentioned, I also bought the album on which it appears, Reading, Writing and Arithmetic. It's a solid indie pop album, but "Here's Where The Story Ends" is definitely the best song. And it really is a wonderful song.

Flash forward to April 28, the day of the calling hours for Cara at the funeral home. As I drove to the funeral home that morning, a familiar song came on the radio. I kind of chuckled to myself. It seemed fitting, given the song's title and lyrics. Already that was a pretty wild coincidence, hearing that particular song on the way to the funeral home that day, but that was just the beginning. That night, after the calling hours were over, I was visiting with my relatives at the hotel where they were staying. We were eating dinner in a common area. In the background, some music could faintly be heard playing over the hotel's speakers in another room. And as I sat there eating and conversing, and another song started playing, I turned more of my attention to those distant notes because they sounded familiar - was that really...?

A stunned expression came over my face. This is a fairly obscure song we're talking about here. Why was it playing over the hotel's speakers, on the same day as Cara's calling hours, on the same day I had already heard it on the radio?

I found this eerie, but an even more eerie thing had happened several days before. Early in the morning hours of April 24, I sat by Cara's hospital bed. At 4:15 am, her mother, the nurse, and I watched as Cara breathed her last breath. At that very minute, my phone's text message notification sounded. Her mother and I looked at each other, startled. The sound played again.

My beloved wife had just passed away, but not knowing what else to do, I looked at my phone. I had received two text messages from my mother. Not only that, but both messages said "blank message."

This was probably the most eerie moment of my life. It was as if Cara's spirit was trying to communicate with us as she left the world.

I later learned that my mother had indeed texted me at that time with a message about how she and my father were leaving Columbus to head up to Cleveland. The reason the messages showed up as blank (something that had happened before) was that my outdated phone could not handle some symbols my mother included in the messages, and as a result, did not display the messages at all. Still, it was quite a coincidence that my mother texted me at the very same minute that Cara passed away.

Finally, I have one more little story to tell. This past November I went for a walk at Horseshoe Lake in Shaker Heights, a place where Cara and I many times enjoyed walks together. While there, I happened to notice a memorial marker. I was startled when I saw the dates. I posted this picture to Facebook and captioned it, "At Horseshoe Lake today I happened upon a memorial to another person who died far too young on the 24th of April."

(The text on the marker says: "Tasting all these and letting them have their ways to waken me, I shiver and resolve: In my life, I will more than live." -William Stafford. Michael Robert Tucker June 4, 1982 - April 24, 2010)

Happening upon a memorial, at a place Cara and I loved, for a person who died exactly five years before Cara was a coincidence, sure, but not that crazy, right? Well, here's the crazy part. After posting the picture on Facebook, I was informed by a good friend of mine who saw the post that Michael Robert Tucker had been a close childhood friend. Even more amazing, the two, after not seeing each other for years, had reconnected, by chance, just weeks before Michael died in a tragic rock climbing accident.

As with every other story in this post, I once more found myself stunned.

It can be tempting to think of all these wildly unlikely occurrences as evidence of some sort of higher power. It can even be fun to think that way. Of course, I'm well aware that we humans evolved to find patterns in randomness. Still, who really knows?

I do have to point out one other extremely unlikely event that happened in my and Cara's lives. At some point in time, in a single cell within Cara's body, by random chance, a very specific error appeared in her genetic code that would ultimately lead to the development of lethal metastatic lung cancer.

Downer of an ending, I know, but that's life sometimes.