Loving Anne

A year ago today, I held Anne’s hand and gave her one last kiss as we said goodbye. It was the end of ten days in the hospital following her terrible accident. It was the end of my 20-year marriage to a wonderful, smart, funny, beautiful, caring partner — my best friend. I was there with Kate, my brother, and my mom and dad. We left the hospital for the last time and went to my parents’ house to eat a little dinner, cry, and try to wrap our heads around what had happened. Anne was gone.

The next month was a haze. I felt like I was in a perpetual fog. I kept fighting a huge feeling of disbelief — that this was all some sort of mistake, or that Anne was just “away” somehow, somewhere, and if I could use all of my brain to solve the puzzle of her absence, I could bring her back. But on another, more realistic level, I knew of course that was a fantasy.

I kept a journal to try to process my feelings. Four days after she died, I wrote:

I’m wrestling with grief. I’m still a bit in disbelief that Anne is gone. That I will never see her again. That she won’t be there when I get home, or call me up at work to tell me something interesting she learned. That she won’t say “Sleepy go nigh nigh” just before she falls asleep in bed. That we won’t have another vacation together, nor another Christmas. Nor our weekend games of Bananagrams over morning coffee. We won’t visit friends together, or do one of our usual 5-mile weekend walks. We won’t make cotton candy together for the Bryant Blast.

I went back to work, and my manager and coworkers were very gracious. If I’m honest, I wasn’t getting much done, but having somewhere to go during the day was good for me. Meetings were hard. It took a while before I felt comfortable in a large meeting with other people, so I took many of them remotely — even when I was in the office. And I still felt like I was in a fog.

There were a lot of details to keep track of — accounts to close or transfer, processes to put in motion, paperwork to fill out, phone calls to return. I started making lots of lists and prioritizing things into Today, Tomorrow, Next Week, and Sometime. Even now, I still have plenty of things sitting in the Sometime list.

Several people recommended joining a grief group through The Healing Center. I signed both Kate and me up. My group met on Zoom. Kate’s teen group was in person, but wouldn’t start for a few more weeks since it aligned with the school year. These groups have been helpful for both of us. It’s nice to be around people who can genuinely relate to what you’re going through.

I began planning a remembrance for Anne. She had a huge community that adored her — friends, family, colleagues, students, parents. Should I have one service or two? And what kind? And where? A funeral didn’t sound right. In the end, it felt like her school, Bryant Elementary, was the place to do it, and I decided on one big Celebration of Life. Bryant staff and volunteers poured an extraordinary amount of time, care, and talent into making it happen. They created a tribute that filled the auditorium and gym with love for Anne.

Thanksgiving and Christmas were intentionally different — an attempt to face things head‑on and shake things up. No turkey at Thanksgiving. And for Christmas (also Kate’s birthday), Kate and I escaped to Honolulu. With 2025 behind us, I felt like I could finally let out a breath.

As 2026 came on, I thought the initial acute grief of the first few months was behind both me and Kate. And I was right, to a point. But that phrase “grief is not linear” kept echoing. I would have a stretch of “good days” followed by a few “bad days,” and all I could do was give in to the grief and let the tears come. So many tears.

By the end of February, we had already faced many firsts without Anne — my birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Kate’s birthday, New Year’s, Valentine’s Day. For spring break, Kate and I headed down to San Diego, which was nice but also hard because Anne had a real affinity for San Diego, having gone to college there. I thought of her often on that trip, remembering our past visits.

“Anne would have liked this.”

How many times have I said that over the last year? Whether it’s a TV show, a restaurant, or a pretty view. I miss being able to appreciate new things with her.

I was dreading the summer a bit, mainly because of the final “firsts” that were coming — our anniversary, Anne’s birthday, the accident, and today, the anniversary of her passing. But writing has helped. I wrote an entry for each of these “firsts”, and that act helped me distribute my feelings over several days of writing and editing, so when the actual days arrived, I had already processed a lot of what I was feeling. Even the words you’re reading now, I started writing in July.

Which brings me to today, August 14 — and to the music that connected us throughout our life together. When I think back on that time one year ago, I remember that in the preceding ten days in the hospital, I played Anne’s favorite songs each day from her Spotify favorites list. And when I would give a condition update in this blog, I often mentioned a couple of songs that were played that day. I knew Anne was in a coma, but I hoped that some little part of the music might make it in, somehow.

Our story, in music

When Anne and I met in early October 2002, we quickly realized how much overlap we had in the movies and music we loved. We compared favorite artists and traded music recommendations.

One album Anne was especially into at the time was Sea Change by Beck, which had come out just a few weeks earlier. She played it often, and I quickly became a fan too. In turn, I introduced her to songs from the two most recent Flaming Lips albums, Yoshimi… and The Soft Bulletin. When we learned that The Flaming Lips were supporting Beck at Benaroya Hall in November — opening for him and then serving as his band — it felt like fate. Tickets were acquired. It became our first show together.

The night of the concert, we lingered in the lobby right up until showtime. When we heard the first song start, we hurried down the hall to find our seats in one of the elevated side boxes. We opened the door to see The Flaming Lips already in full celebration mode on stage — animal costumes, colored lights, giant beach balls bouncing through the crowd. It was a joyful, chaotic party.

After their set, Beck came out alone with a guitar in front of a scrim for his first two songs. Halfway through the third, the stage behind the scrim lit up and The Flaming Lips joined him. The rest of the set was electric — and a fun first concert to share with Anne.

One Flaming Lips song, “Do You Realize??,” could bring a tear to my eye even before Anne’s passing with its line, “Do you realize that everyone you know, someday, will die.” It’s a song about life’s impermanence and cherishing your loved ones while you can. It’s both celebratory and melancholy.

When I was initially choosing music for Anne’s Celebration of Life slideshow, “Do You Realize??” was in the running. But in the end, these three songs felt right for that day:

Here Comes My Girl – Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
Shining Star – Earth, Wind & Fire
Solsbury Hill – Peter Gabriel

Tom Petty was one of Anne’s favorite artists, and to my ears, “Here Comes My Girl” is one of his best. “Shining Star” brings the kind of bright, joyful energy that fit Anne so well. And “Solsbury Hill” carries a reflective yet hopeful spirit — something that speaks to the experience of profound change. Gabriel wrote it during a turning point in his own life, as he stepped away from Genesis to discover who he was on his own. Peter Gabriel was a favorite of ours; we saw him live twice, and Anne had seen him a couple more times before we met.

The Celebration of Life slideshow video began with an excerpt from a readaloud video Anne had made for her students in the early days of Covid. It ended with a clip from a Paul McCartney concert where Anne can be heard singing along to Hey Jude. It ran just under 15 minutes.

Last month, I created a more concise slideshow to share with my grief group, aiming for something around five minutes. This time, I went back to “Do You Realize??.” Anne would appreciate me giving it a callout today, to honor the wonderful times — and the music — we shared.

As I said, it’s a song that acknowledges life’s finitude while also observing that many of life’s events offer multiple perspectives. Revisiting the song today, I appreciate its reminder to notice the beauty in the time we’re given and value the people we hold dear.

Click to play slideshow or visit:
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1zonag1l7GDBSebksXCxgenhbitef-3pp/view?usp=sharing

Eight years ago, I made a Spotify playlist for our joint 50th birthday, with a song from each year we’d been alive. Looking back at it now, I’m struck by this cluster of four tracks that sit together:

“Do You Realize??” – The Flaming Lips (2002)
“Transatlanticism” – Death Cab for Cutie (2003)
“Somewhere Only We Know” – Keane (2004)
“Always Love” – Nada Surf (2005)

Seeing them grouped now, I note related themes: songs about connection, longing, and focusing on what matters. They weren’t chosen with any theme in mind at the time. Not consciously, at least. Listening to them now, they remind me how songs take on new meaning as life unfolds.

Resolve

A year ago, I didn’t know how I would manage the days and months ahead without Anne. I tried to stay aware of how I was feeling and make good decisions, but everything felt uncertain and often overwhelming. As 2026 arrived, I began to have more good days with the occasional setback.

These last ten days, the anniversary of Anne’s stay in the hospital, have been difficult. They’ve brought her absence back to the surface. Part of that comes from choosing to write about it so openly, but I have no regrets about that. It felt like the right and natural thing for me to do.

Now that the day is here, if I’m being honest, I’m looking forward to tomorrow — to having the first full year without Anne behind me. I will always love her, and I’m learning that for my own mental well‑being, it’s better to look ahead more than behind.

Kate and I are finding our way. We lean on each other, on family, and on friends. We’re still healing, and we still have hard days, but we’re okay, and we’re beginning to make plans for the future.

Thank you for your support, and for reading my words over these past months. Because this blog has been a place of love for Anne, it felt right to use it to share my feelings throughout the year. Writing has helped me process my grief, and I hope reading these posts offered something meaningful to you as well.

Anne will always be in our hearts, and I know she will always be in yours too.
– Brent and Kate

Notable links

How we met (Cat juggling and gasoline fights)
How we got engaged and Anne’s Favorite Day proposal book
Our wedding and anniversary
Stories about Anne
Anne remembered in The Seattle Times
Anne remembered in UW Magazine
Anne remembered on KEXP (“Transatlanticism”. Thank you, John Richards)
Anne’s Celebration of Life and Slideshow (15min)
Anneisms (on her birthday)
Loving Anne (songs from the blog) (Spotify)
Anne’s favorite songs (Spotify)