closet.
Pretending to live as we had before was like living a lie. It wasn’t long before I came to the conclusion that we needed to make a new life or be consumed by the old one.
A few weeks before I had come to this conclusion, a friend of mine from college had contacted me to tell me he was taking over his father’s auto dealership in Pasadena. He needed someone to handle his accounting. He even offered space in his office where I could start my own CPA firm. At the time I told him I would think it over. Now the idea appealed to me.
One of Kate’s neighborhood friends took Alan in while I flew to California. I found us a little home on Altura Street in Arcadia, just east of Pasadena. I met one of the neighbors, a recently divorced man with a girl who was Alan’s age. He told me that the area was a good place to raise a family. I put an offer down on the home, then came back and told Alan that we were going to move. He didn’t seem any more upset than he already was, which I took as a good sign.
We moved just five weeks later. While uprooting our lives was difficult at first, the change turned out to be good for Alan, as it kept him occupied. Not long after our move he became friends with McKale Richardson, the girl nextdoor, and from then on he spent most of his time with her. I think she filled a hole his mother left.
VIII
And So It Goes
Five years after Kate’s passing I met a woman named Gretchen O’Connor. She was a saleswoman at the car dealership. I suppose she reminded me of Kate in both looks and personality. Like me, she had lost her spouse to cancer. She had four children, the youngest just eighteen months old. I considered marrying her; we even talked about it, but she was so focused on the circumstances of her own children and their pain that I worried about how much attention and love she could provide Alan. As much as I desired companionship, I decided that she wouldn’t be good for him and I told her that it would be best if we didn’t see each other anymore. Saying goodbye wasn’t easy for either of us, but I have never regretted the decision. My son needed me.
As I read this I felt ashamed. More than once I had criticized him for not finding love again. I had never known, never even really considered, just how much my father had sacrificed for me. He had given up his job and home in Denver, then the chance to marry again. How could I have been so unaware? How could I have been so ungrateful?
Life went on. In January 2001 Alan informed me that he was going to ask McKale to marry him. I thought that they were still a little young to get married, but he was smart and I’m not one to intervene in his choices. Sheaccepted his proposal, and they were married on October 28, 2001.
Alan was accepted to the Art Center College of Design, and he and McKale moved to an apartment in West Pasadena, near the school. The house was quiet without my son. I was grateful to see them most Sundays, when we gathered for dinner.
Just three weeks after Alan graduated he was offered a job with Conan Cross, a prestigious advertising firm in Seattle. I was pleased that he got the position but upset that he would be living so far away. He did well at the agency and won a wall-full of awards.
Three years later Alan struck out on his own, starting a firm called Madgic. Again, it seemed as if my son could do no wrong. The firm grew by leaps and bounds, and Alan continued to win award after award. He and McKale purchased a large, beautiful home in Bridle Trails, an upscale suburb near Bellevue. Then, on September 8, 2011, McKale was thrown by a horse and broke her back, paralyzing her from the waist down. A month later she died of an infection. During this time Alan’s business partner, whose name does not merit mention here, stole all of his clients, leaving my son bankrupt.
Alan had lost everything a man holds dear: his sweetheart, his home, and his business. The loss of any one of those things has brought lesser
Pretending to live as we had before was like living a lie. It wasn’t long before I came to the conclusion that we needed to make a new life or be consumed by the old one.
A few weeks before I had come to this conclusion, a friend of mine from college had contacted me to tell me he was taking over his father’s auto dealership in Pasadena. He needed someone to handle his accounting. He even offered space in his office where I could start my own CPA firm. At the time I told him I would think it over. Now the idea appealed to me.
One of Kate’s neighborhood friends took Alan in while I flew to California. I found us a little home on Altura Street in Arcadia, just east of Pasadena. I met one of the neighbors, a recently divorced man with a girl who was Alan’s age. He told me that the area was a good place to raise a family. I put an offer down on the home, then came back and told Alan that we were going to move. He didn’t seem any more upset than he already was, which I took as a good sign.
We moved just five weeks later. While uprooting our lives was difficult at first, the change turned out to be good for Alan, as it kept him occupied. Not long after our move he became friends with McKale Richardson, the girl nextdoor, and from then on he spent most of his time with her. I think she filled a hole his mother left.
VIII
And So It Goes
Five years after Kate’s passing I met a woman named Gretchen O’Connor. She was a saleswoman at the car dealership. I suppose she reminded me of Kate in both looks and personality. Like me, she had lost her spouse to cancer. She had four children, the youngest just eighteen months old. I considered marrying her; we even talked about it, but she was so focused on the circumstances of her own children and their pain that I worried about how much attention and love she could provide Alan. As much as I desired companionship, I decided that she wouldn’t be good for him and I told her that it would be best if we didn’t see each other anymore. Saying goodbye wasn’t easy for either of us, but I have never regretted the decision. My son needed me.
As I read this I felt ashamed. More than once I had criticized him for not finding love again. I had never known, never even really considered, just how much my father had sacrificed for me. He had given up his job and home in Denver, then the chance to marry again. How could I have been so unaware? How could I have been so ungrateful?
Life went on. In January 2001 Alan informed me that he was going to ask McKale to marry him. I thought that they were still a little young to get married, but he was smart and I’m not one to intervene in his choices. Sheaccepted his proposal, and they were married on October 28, 2001.
Alan was accepted to the Art Center College of Design, and he and McKale moved to an apartment in West Pasadena, near the school. The house was quiet without my son. I was grateful to see them most Sundays, when we gathered for dinner.
Just three weeks after Alan graduated he was offered a job with Conan Cross, a prestigious advertising firm in Seattle. I was pleased that he got the position but upset that he would be living so far away. He did well at the agency and won a wall-full of awards.
Three years later Alan struck out on his own, starting a firm called Madgic. Again, it seemed as if my son could do no wrong. The firm grew by leaps and bounds, and Alan continued to win award after award. He and McKale purchased a large, beautiful home in Bridle Trails, an upscale suburb near Bellevue. Then, on September 8, 2011, McKale was thrown by a horse and broke her back, paralyzing her from the waist down. A month later she died of an infection. During this time Alan’s business partner, whose name does not merit mention here, stole all of his clients, leaving my son bankrupt.
Alan had lost everything a man holds dear: his sweetheart, his home, and his business. The loss of any one of those things has brought lesser
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