I’m starting to better understand the potential value of this endeavor. I’ve struggled with grabbing hold of the loose threads of good memories. They’re seemingly just out of my reach. They’re also overshadowed by those from the past 6 months. These more recent memories are most vivid and painful. There were plenty of moments of beauty too – like taking her to Winnetka Music Festival – but there’s always an undercurrent of sadness and melancholy attached to them.
Yesterday, I had to find Charlie’s birth certificate to satisfy one of myriad estate requirements. Shelli was very organized but also saved everything. I knew that she would have a file with this document, but I also knew that it would be buried among hundreds of others. I took armloads of files to our porch and started going through them one by one. This trip down memory lane was difficult. There were files of our numerous real estate transactions over the past 20 years. We moved a lot. Each one triggered a memory of our life in that home. How old we were, pre-Charlie, post-Charlie, favorite neighborhood restaurants, etc. Then I found her file marked “cancer.” It started with lab reports from back in early November of 2021 when she was told, ‘sorry, you have breast cancer’ to ‘oops, good news, you don’t have breast cancer!’ only to receive a somber, apologetic, phone call from the radiologist with the news that he had fucked up and that she did, in fact, have breast cancer. Then there were her careful notes from our meeting with the top breast cancer specialist at University of Chicago where her treatment plan was carefully laid out and we began to prepare ourselves for the battle ahead. Of course, we would learn on 11/26/21, on the eve of her 49th birthday, that she’d been misdiagnosed and instead had metastatic melanoma. Both the breast cancer doctor and melanoma doctor disagreed over which was worse. That’s a distinction without difference as far as I’m concerned but melanoma certainly felt worse. The documents then shifted to our meetings with melanoma specialists at Northwestern and University of Chicago. We eventually chose UC because her doctor, Dan Olson, focused on positive outcomes and tabled discussions of what we would do if she didn’t respond to initial treatment (immunotherapy). That aligned perfectly with how Shelli dealt with things. There were hundreds of documents, each with her meticulous notes in the margins. She may have chosen to say very little about her cancer and focus on moving forward but that didn’t mean her head was in the sand either.
I realized that the existence of these files in my house was an issue for me. I can’t undo the past, but neither will I ever want to revisit it, at least not this particular time period.
Shelli had bought me a Solo Stove for some occasion. I don’t remember if it was for my birthday, Father’s Day, or Christmas. It’s one of my favorite things. The rare thing you see advertised on Facebook or Instagram that doesn’t disappoint. The pizza oven she got me…not so much.
I filled my stove up with wood, got a nice fire going, and slowly burned every piece of paper related to her illness including the business cards of her various doctors. I kept the insurance stuff just in case but once that is all settled, it too will be reduced to ash. This exercise wasn’t as cathartic as I’d hoped. Mostly because to figure out what could be safely burned, I had to at least skim it beforehand. The memories, unmercifully, came flooding back. Shelli asking me to feel an odd bump on her abdomen that she had convinced herself was “nothing.” Her friends gathered in our bedroom to cry with Shelli when we all thought she had breast cancer. The pre-mature, celebratory, lunch at Summer House when Shelli and I received word that she didn’t have cancer at all, just some benign cysts. The same group of friends gathered in our house when we found out it was instead melanoma.
One of the things Shelli feared most about cancer was that it would become her legacy and by extension, ours. I told her at the time that her cancer was simply a short chapter in her long and beautiful book. When I said that, I truly believed that she would win. After all, Shelli doesn’t lose. I was quick to remind her that Jimmy Carter was diagnosed with melanoma in his 80s and he was still going strong 5 years later. Jimmy Carter’s story is a common source of hope for melanoma patients. But the truth is, while it’s still a short chapter, it has the added significance of being her last one. There’s no way to avoid thinking about it when you think of her and that will forever be the case. So, I need to work on fixing that narrative. I can’t remove the association, but I can work to give equal prominence to the rest of her amazing, non-cancer, life. I need to do this for me and especially Charlie. I don’t want him to remember her as she was these last 6 months. He needs to remember her for who she was before things went to shit. That isn’t easy. Think back to when you were 17. Of course, you remember things but it’s probably sort of grainy. For example, you might remember a vacation you took but not much beyond that you went to ________. You may not remember what you did on that vacation. So that is my goal here. Reclaim good memories or at least the memories that don’t hurt as much.
Charlie was born 1/13/06 which was Friday the 13th. Getting pregnant wasn’t easy for us. There were fertility treatments and numerous tests. When we finally got confirmation that she was pregnant, we were over the moon. Shelli was a planner and liked actionable information. She didn’t enjoy surprises, so when we got the definitive ultrasound, she had the doctor place the result in a sealed envelope. We went to a nearby restaurant, got a table outside, ordered champaign and had our private gender reveal. We immediately began debating names. For a while, Luke was the clubhouse leader until I pointed out that Michelle’s son was named Beau. If they became friends, they’d be Beau and Luke. Good point, she said. I tried in vain to sell her on Maxwell George Anderson III. I didn’t help my case when I told her we could call him Trey or Trip for short. My WASP was showing. She pulled out some arcane Jewish rule about not naming a child after the living, so that was that – Charles Maxwell Anderson it would be.
Charlie’s delivery wasn’t easy. I’d created a playlist to play on a small portable speaker I’d brought. Shelli’s Birthin’ Mix or something equally stupid. I don’t recall what was on it except for Here Comes the Sun by the Beatles. I remember when he finally entered the world, he had a mark on his cheek from the forceps which eventually faded. But to Shelli, he was absolutely perfect. Even after a long labor, she looked stunning. Our friends queued up to visit. I remember my friend Dave, who was already a ‘veteran’ dad, taught me the best swaddling techniques.
The decision to go back to work full-time after maternity leave was a brutal one. She struggled with it daily and would go back and forth. She noted the mixed experiences of other attorney moms and how difficult it was to succeed and be taken seriously in a part-time capacity. She eventually decided she could do both if she worked hard enough. And she did. She never missed a single event of any significance in Charlie’s life. She chaperoned every field trip, managed school drop offs, made every teacher’s conference, and sporting event. She didn’t miss anything until she grew very sick and even then, she was actively involved in his life but more behind the scenes. She didn’t just go through the motions either. She parented the shit out of him. There wasn’t a missed assignment she didn’t know about. She was never too tired or busy for him. He was always her number one priority. She longed for any connection with him and would pepper him with questions about his day. Charlie is much like his mom in a lot of ways, but he doesn’t share her (or my) love of conversation. He’s also inherited my sarcasm. To the question, “What did you learn today?” he would answer “we learned about plants”. This was his answer for three years. It was sort of a running joke. But she would press him for things that were ‘real’ and made him tell us three real things from his day. She wanted to know about his friends and what they were like. Who he ate lunch with. Who was nice. Who was not-so-nice.
Every house we purchased included a large area for Charlie and his friend to assemble. She always wanted to be ‘that house’ – the house where ALL kids felt welcome. She would always make sure we had ample snacks on hand too. If we didn’t, she would run to the store to make sure we were stocked up in case he had friends over. She would (over)order pizza whether the kids had eaten or not.
Now admittedly, there were some things we would later regret. Charlie being our only child, we were fiercely attached to him. For example, Shelli grew up going away to camp in the summer for up to 8 weeks at a time. She loved camp. Charlie would have loved camp too, probably. But we just didn’t want to be apart from him for so long, so we instead did local day camps. Shelli and I were both probably a bit too invested in his social life. We didn’t care about who he hung out with. It wasn’t like that ever. It was more about him hanging out with someone. Charlie’s very independent and was perfectly okay with being alone at times so we would try to gently encourage him to reach out to friends and make plans. To be honest, we always carried a little guilt about not giving him a sibling. It wasn’t for lack of effort. But Shelli’s first melanoma diagnosis, many years ago, put an end to fertility treatments and pregnancy. Even adoption was challenging because many services required that you are cancer-free for at least 5 years.
At the root of all of this ‘helicoptering’ was nothing more than the deepest love I’ve ever witnessed. She wanted the world for him. She didn’t care about impressing friends with his athletic or academic accomplishments. She only wanted him to find happiness and joy in life. That can sometimes be hard to discern with teenagers, especially boys. They can betray a lot of emotions and happiness isn’t always at the top of the list. It made her heart soar when he called her “momma” (rarely “Mom”) even in front of his friends. It reminded her of times when he was little, and mom and dad were still the center of his universe. Even near the end, when Charlie would poke his head into our room, and say “I love you, momma” her entire demeanor would change. Where immediately before she might be listless and agitated, she would become calm, focused, and reach for him. It was pure love that cut through the fog of morphine and the thought of it, while beautiful, hurts like hell.
When Charlie got his first girlfriend, Shelli was predictably hilarious. She wanted to know everything about her, and we could all see Mama Bear coming out. Shelli was used to being the only female in our household/universe. Even our dogs are male. And when it ended, as teen romances always do, she made sure that he felt loved and supported. Of course, part of her was thinking, “Who is SHE to break up with Charlie?!”
There are many things I don’t ever want to forget. The small memories can fade if the stories aren’t rehashed occasionally. Many of them involved our small family of three and we’re down an important storyteller. I don’t ever want Shelli to become a simplified composite where all that is remembered is that she was kind, thoughtful, brave, smart, etc. She was all those things but that’s too reductive. Details mattered to her and details are where you find her soul.
“Kind” was a word used often by friends to describe Shelli. To me, she was the kindest person I’ve known. Shortly after she died, I received a text from someone who was/is friends with us. Sadly, we rarely saw him after our kids went their separate ways. He recalled an outdoor movie night we hosted years ago, ostensibly for our kids, but really for us too. Shelli loved outdoor movies. He remembered that Shelli talked to every single person there, one on one, and that when it was his ‘turn’ she made him feel like he was the most important person there. That as much as anything captures the essence of who she was. She sought meaningful connection and only with people who were inherently good. She didn’t always have the easiest time in Evanston. When Charlie was in elementary school, many of the kids’ moms didn’t work. She couldn’t join them for coffee after drop-off. It was easier for me. I coached some of the teams, so I got to know the dads quite well and made solid friendships. But it was always a little odd. I was friends with them, but Shelli wasn’t friends with their wives (friendly, yes). Not really for any other reason than she worked a lot and didn’t get to know them. But she eventually made real friends in Evanston who she grew close with. It took about 10 years, but it did happen. Shelli’s friend vetting process can be lengthy. Also, these weren’t friendships born out of convenience or social mobility. There was never an agenda. If you were a good, authentic person, and didn’t put others down to elevate yourself, or put on airs, you were okay in her book. She didn’t care about gossip or being invited to parties. She had lots of great, non-local, friends who covered those times when she felt like a bit of an outsider in our community.
Shelli was always happy about her friends’ successes. When her friend Kate was promoted to manager of a national retail chain, after being out of the work force for years, she was excited for her. She would talk up/brag on her friends all the time. Her friend Michelle’s sports drink business, the athletic exploits of Ali and Peter’s sons, Jack and Ryan. There was not a single ounce of jealousy in her body. Every friend’s success was a cause for celebration.
While she admitted to growing up entitled, she never once took it for granted and worked harder than anyone I know. But even with her personal successes and the comfortable life we carved for ourselves, she lived very simply. Sure, she had a weak spot for some luxury items, but she truly did not care about status symbols. I remember trying to convince her to get her dream car as a much-deserved reward for all her hard work. She refused and insisted that her Subaru was more than enough and pointed out that it was their fanciest model. That always made me laugh. If she had a tombstone, I’d include in the epitaph “Drove the fancy Subaru.” Hawaii would have been our last planned trip. We’d only gotten as far as booking the flights before she got sick because she couldn’t decide if it was worth $200 more per night for a room with an ocean view terrace. She liked ‘nice’ but stopped short of extravagance. It drove me a bit mad but that was who she was. It was almost like she felt like she didn’t deserve it for some reason.
She loved playing cards. Charlie and I would play gin with her, sometimes reluctantly. I regret not playing cards with her more often. She hated bad card playing and Charlie would earn a smack on the hand if he missed a set or gifted me one with his discard. She liked board games too. We would play Trivial Pursuit, Rummy Cube, or on special occasions, Cards Against Humanity.
She was a cook in progress. She had her go-to dishes. Nothing too ambitious but each prepared with love and care and never light on seasoning. She liked to randomly swap out ingredients as she saw fit. Most recipes were treated more like helpful suggestions. The results were mixed but we never complained. The fact that she’d come home after a long day at work and prepare a meal is amazing in hindsight. I wish I’d shown her more appreciation but that’s part of the grief and pain I feel. Dinner as a family was extremely important to her. We also ordered in, a lot. More than most families, I’m sure. The process was always the same. Shelli: “I don’t really care. I’m good with anything. Just pick a place.” Me: “Okay. What about ____?” Shelli: “No, not there. Pick something else.” She was a vegetarian but would eat some seafood but even the slightly fishy taste and it was a no go. If I made her tuna steak on the grill, it had to be overcooked to the point of having the consistency of chicken. Besides thin crust pizza (and the occasional Pequod’s) her favorite was probably Middle Eastern. It’s why our rehearsal dinner was at Reza’s in the city.
Her tastes in TV and movies were varied. She really enjoyed 80s/90s action movies, didn’t like anything overly violent or scary, and if there was an animal featured prominently in it, even if it was a ‘happy’ movie, it was a non-starter. She would say that the animals in perilous, dramatic, situations on-screen didn’t know they were actors and were probably scared in real life. She refused to take Charlie to the zoo or even the aquarium. Okay, we may have gone once or twice when he was very young simply because we ran out of things to do with a toddler, but never when he got older. To his credit, Charlie will also not go to a zoo. She grew up riding horses and would argue that this was evidence of her athletic prowess. I told her the athlete was the horse she was riding. I’d never really ridden with her until we went to Costa Rica a few years ago. It was amazing. While Charlie and I struggled to hold on, she was galloping down the beach looking as comfortable and graceful as she probably did as a child equestrian. She was also a good skier. Technically sound but also picky as hell. She wanted blue bird days. A “Shelli Day” is what her dad, Mel, called them. The snow conditions could suck but if the sky was clear and the sun was out, she would be happy. If grey but with lots of fresh powder, that’d be a spa day for her. Our first real trip together was to Aspen. I think I fell in love after our first run. I couldn’t imagine a more perfect woman. I took her to a place special to me too – Nantucket. That was when she first spent time with my family, and they all fell in love with her.
Arguing with Shelli was an exercise in frustration. Even on the rare occasions that I was completely ‘right’ her apology would usually contain some unsolicited tips on how I can better frame my argument in the future. Basically, ‘you’re right, but your argument sucked.’ I can see why she was a formidable attorney. Where I would argue from a place of passion, Shelli would calmly dismantle me with logic and reasoning to the point where I would apologize for things totally unrelated to the issue at hand. It was maddening but kind of exciting. It was like an amateur boxer going toe to toe with peak Mike Tyson.
My grief is still painful but at least I’m trying to do something about it. I know Shelli would be acing this test. Not because she loved me less, but because she would be practical about it. She would box up her grief and throw herself into work and Charlie. I need to push through (not past) this period but with the understanding that it’s going to hurt. There will probably never be a day where I don’t feel sadness when I reflect upon what she/we lost. But hopefully, I’ll learn to live next to it (pain adjacent, if you will) and find joy again. My new therapist is a widow so I’m hoping she can help me in my efforts. Oh, and at the suggestion of a friend, I’m going to see a Native American healer that practices in Evanston. What’s the downside? Shelli would for sure laugh at me. Finally, I will be joining group sessions with fellow widows/widowers through Gilda’s Club.
Charlie seems okay, so far, but he’s not eager to talk about it and I don’t pressure him to do so. He knows I’ll always be here to listen to him whenever he’s ready. In the meantime, I told him to pick a vacation next summer – anywhere in the world he wants to visit. It’ll be his last summer before college, so I want to do something special, and I want to give us things to look forward to.
I’m sure more good memories will come to me…
Musings of a Widower 