The sun rises over San Francisco. The fog rolls in. Night comes. Another day slips by.
I’m not sick, but I feel like I am. There was an explosion and I lost half my brain. I can’t focus. My appetite is gone and bright lights hurt my eyes. I am paralyzed by sadness, pain, and fear.
I’ve experienced grief before—my parents, some friends who died young, a divorce. But never anything this overwhelming.
On May 24, I lost my wife Kathi Kamen Goldmark—best friend, partner, love of my life—and now I can’t see how to take the next step. It’s been just under three weeks, but it feels as though months or years have passed.
I keep hoping this is a nightmare and I will wake up. I’ll put my arms around Kathi and we’ll talk it through. Soon enough we’ll be laughing. We laughed all the time.
Kathi was a superhero. Other people have their powers—the ability to fly, telepathy, X-ray vision, etc. Kathi’s powers were softer. She fought pain, sorrow, anger, and narrow-mindedness with kindness, humor, joy, and understanding.
Now she’s gone. Decisions that I thought would be hard are easy, while the simplest of chores are unbearable. The necessary trip to the mortuary was surreal, but not emotionally wrenching. Two weeks later, on the other hand, I have yet to go to the grocery store on my own. I need milk, but buying it seems like a huge issue. Not being able to call Kathi from the grocery store to ask what we need is too real. Shopping for one is too real.
I haven’t starved because I have been living on food friends have brought me, or dining out with them. Our friends and family are like a great cloud of witnesses watching over me, talking me through the rough times, carrying me until I can walk again, thinking for me until I can think clearly on my own. It’s as if Kathi is present through them, and the love she gave to so many is here, washing over us all, salving the loss.
Kathi was connected to so many different people and worlds, and there have been and will be numerous events to remember her, formal and informal, in the publishing world, in San Francisco’s musical world, in the non-profit community, online, in places high and low. She did not discriminate. One of those worlds was grassroots, live music. Last night, June 12, our wedding anniversary, I was at Los Train Wreck’s All Star Jam, the musical event that Kathi created with pedal steel player David Phillips. Because of her spirit and out of love for her, some of San Francisco’s finest musicians have shown up month after month for twenty years to back up singers and players both gifted and, well, less so. Befitting the woman, it was and is always a fun and somewhat wild event.
El Rio, the honky-tonk where the jam takes place, was packed. Virtually every performance was a tribute to Kathi—a song she loved or had sung, and others written especially for the occasion. And when it was time to end, bassist Paul Olguin led us in the great song by The Band, “The Weight,”
and an entire building of people joined in and sang with him. It was a magical evening—one more gift from Kathi.
I said before that I am paralyzed by sadness, pain, and fear. But that’s not the end of the story. My beloved Kathi lives on through all of us whose stories became entwined and enriched, because of her.
It’s wrong that Kathi left us too early, but she was not cheated by life—not one bit. She lived each day so fully, with so much joy, that she managed to pack several lives into her one, too short life. Good bye, beautiful spirit. I am so grateful to have been your soul mate. You are amazing and I am forever changed because of you. I promise to keep laughing, writing, playing, and to share the fun. Thank you. I love you.
22 Comments
What a beautiful tribute, Sam. Thinking of both you and Kathi from afar.
I am so sorry that you are in pain, but I wouldn’t take an ounce of it away. Pain and grief are the honor we pay to those we love for all they have given us. I always ask this question: If you knew at the start that you would one day have to go through this pain, would you forego the years that intervened. I have no doubt your answer would be a loud “Of course not!”
Amen.
Sam–
I would never presume to say I’ve known your kind of loss or sorrow, but as someone who has lived through some hard losses–and believed, at the time they happened, that I might never know joy again–I want to say I believe you will. I was not in the intimate circle of your friends (and I know, even the INTIMATE circle was enormous) but I always felt the power of your connection to each other , and so your loss of Kathi has been on my mind often these last three weeks. I simply want you to know that as much as we are all thinking about Kathi, I know that all of us who knew Kathi, and knew you as a couple, have been holding you in their hearts.
Oh no! I am so sorry for your loss. I only saw Los Train Wreck once at the Freight and Salvage, but Kathi had great spirit.
Thank you so much, Joyce!
A truly beautiful piece, Sam. You are a brave and tender soul. You and Kathi deserved one another. I love you both.
Dear Sam, it seems like yesterday our 35th high school reunion where my family and I attended your marvelous book signing with Kathi. My boy’s Stefan and Kenneth walked away inspired and they both write well in school today. Nancy and I were touched by the gracefulness and pleasant way you talked about publishing books. You are a great team.
You will carry the torch that this beautiful angel has given you. All the love in the world goes out to you my brother.
Ken
It was an honor to read this, Sam. I cried my way through…As we Jews say, may her memory be for and a blessing. Each time you remember her, she will be with you and you will be blessed.
Beautiful, Sam. Hang in there. It’s a tribute to Kathi that you’ve hit the right chord.
Sam, your comments were touching and so true. I’m one of the many that Kathi’s light shone on over the years. Your words are a wonderful tribute to a very special person. Having lost my husband exactly 2 years ago, those feelings persist – both sweet and painful. You were lucky to have each other. Thanks for those words that express something universal.
This is such an honest and resonant account. My heart goes out to you, Sam. I love the image of friends helping you walk until you can walk again. I wish you great comfort in this hard, hard time.
One thing I know for sure is that Kathi lived enough in her 63 years (she’s 10 days younger than I am) for about a dozen or so of us. And, she had the good sense and heart to wrap you up in her life and her spirit! Every single photo I’ve seen of the two of you together, both of you have been grinning like lunatics…ear-to-ear and completely unguarded. That, my friend, is real love. You’ve known that, and now you will have it always. It will sneak up on you, break your heart and, ultimately, heal some of the grief that you are feeling now. You are in my thoughts!
Dearest Sam,
As always your tender, loving, spirit shines through. You have an amazing capacity to express the deepest things in life. Those things that truly, truly, matter. I am so grateful that you have this gift. I believe it will see you through, lift you up, as you lift others. It is your calling. Loving you and, always, Kathi.
Sam, thank you for sharing your thoughts and your pain. These are simply impossible days you are living through. I am praying for you, as I know many other people are.
Sam:
I hope that some day when you are stronger and able to get to the grocery store for the milk–that you will write the story of your life before, with, and beyond Kathi. I just read your essay in Exit Laughing and I have been following your blog and postings and you are a talented writer with a powerful voice and an amazing life story. I am so so sick of Joan Didion and Calvin Trillin and their hagiography of their partners. They ain’t got nothin on you–I know it can’t be right now–but there is a book in you.
“I promise to keep laughing, writing, playing, and to share the fun.”
Let’s all take this vow in Kathi’s honor!
Sam — Sitting here in the heat of Vegas has been most frustrating. I’m on a cane, awaiting hip surgery which is why I’m not in SF giving you a huge hug. Sam, you know how much I loved Kath, my little sister. My dear, dear friend. She lived an eventful, blessed life full of music, friends, great food and laughter which are all the best things in life. Kathi was the Grand Master of the Revels. There will be no other. Grief, my dear friend, is cleansing, annealing and almost too much to bear. But you will get through this with the best memories of the most wonderful love a person can have. We all miss her, Sam. She is/was the best.
dear sam, i’m just hearing this news today, as i lost my mother to cancer two days before kathy died and i haven’t been in touch with the world. i did a short intern stint with west coast live and i didn’t know kathi very well or long but i was so struck by how powerful she was, how funny and beautiful and strong. the last time i saw her we both didn’t recognize each other. “you look beautiful!” we said almost simultaneously. it was a sweet moment. i felt really blessed to be so recognized by a woman i so admire. i feel so blessed to have known her and i hope the love of friends and family carries you through what is inevitably the alone-ness of this grief. may there be some comfort in knowing that she is always with you, in every memory, in every breath. with peace and love to you and kathi, silvi
Hi Sam, i’am just shocked about Kathi, what a doll. I met her in 2004. How she loved the Rockbottom Remainders, how she started it.
I lost my son at the age of 17, it gets you in the gut. Many years ago, but it never goes away.
Kathi, so beautiful, my prayers and heartfelt thoughts go out to you. GOD BLESS YOU SAM.
Friends through Authors,
Ramonda Brady
I will be seeing Ridley on July 2nd,2012.
Dear Sam,
I had the wonderful experience of meeting you and Kathi. I always remember the kindness you both showed to me and her beautiful smile.
I am so very sorry for your loss. I wish I could be more helpful with soothing words. But I know there are not words that can help at this time.
Be sure you are in my thoughts and prayers.
Dear Sam,
I was surfing this morning and saw the sad, almost unbelievable news. I met Kathi long before her son was born, and did his astrological chart.
She saved the chart for 13 years, and then we did a review! What a woman!
What a Mom!
And she introduced me to her Mom, for whom I worked for a time.
Kathy, for sure, will be with us “in her many acts of goodness, and in the hearts of those who cherish her memory”.
May your lonliness fade in the sure knowledge you are still, eternally connected. She was SOOOO happy with you!!! imo abraham
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