Three months have gone by since Kim's death. At times, it remains surreal.
But the reality of it now surfaces daily. I no longer cry every day. In a lot of ways, I liked it better when I cried.
I don't want to lose my grasp of Kim, her ways, her voice, her biting wit, her love for her children and grandchildren. This new reality is now the family's journey together. And there is a key missing ingredient.
Me and the six kids are dealing with the change as best we can. For each of us, it's certainly similar in ways, very different in others. We grieve differently, we remember Kim differently. But we do deeply remember.
Every day I slide my hand over Kim's urn, I look at her photo, smile and move on. That's both the surreal nature of it all and the struggle with the reality. I've been surprised by the depth of my grief, for we fought too much over 36 years of marriage. We disagreed often on important matters. We both made too many mistakes.
But we shared so much together. And we had become best friends again.
I also no longer struggle so at night getting to sleep. Kim's last day, last minutes, had been haunting me. I'm over that, thank goodness, and have left it in the hands of lawyers I deeply respect and trust. It's best left with them. But there still seems to be a bit of survivor's guilt living inside me.
There still are rough times. One of the worst was finding Kim's glasses. I had misplaced them for a spell, and daughter Mikell was thinking about filling them with her eye prescription. Taking them out of the case, I recalled Kim with those glasses, kitty-wampus on her head because of having to wear a beanie due to her brain tumor surgery.Mikell had originally picked them up from a St. Peter eyeglasses place in preparation for Kim's post-surgery recovery; contacts weren't going to work for a time. And Kim was pleased with them.
It was even a tougher day when I received a call from the physician who performed Kim's hysterectomy to address her uterine cancer. She asked if I wanted to hear the final report, and I did.
The surgery had been successful; Kim was cancer free. No chemo, no radiation would have been necessary had Kim lived. Ironically, my wife was a cancer survivor...only briefly. We're still searching for the answers. Answers which likely will never come.
Still, my personal journey is blessed by my children and grandchildren. Mikell has moved back for a spell, which I have so enjoyed. And we're now co-workers at the St. Peter Herald. These unexpected windows of opportunity also close quickly, so I treasure them.
And while I try to maintain a healthy balance, not cause the kids to worry about me, yet also provide strength and guidance, our depth of love certainly grows. How can it not? There is so much ahead of us all. And Kim, while likely being darn mad that she's not going along for the ride, would want us to hold tightly to this love.
I have also been blessed with my work, which I deeply love. Getting back into journalism has been a gift. It's also brought me into an amazing new community, with people who care about me and I them. I can not thank them enough.
My new friends at River Rock Coffee and St. Peter Food Co-op, at Patrick's, at St. Peter Public Schools lift me daily. I'm proud to share a sense of community with such talents as Ann Rosenquist Fee and Nicole Helget. Dr. Paul Peterson, St. Peter superintendent, checks on me from time to time, It means a lot.
My passion for and love of music is healing and spiritual for me. It's initiated my new friendship with the talented Mary Jane Alm, prompted me to take in the sounds more often, to grow in new and different ways. This Saturday, I will see gifted Indianapolis singer-songwriter Carrie Newcomer for the first time in over 15 years, when she sings and spiritual guru Parker Palmer speaks in Belle Plaine.
But despite this renewed sense of purpose and hope, it's still a struggle at times, I remain somewhat lost.
It will be an ongoing roller coaster ride, I've been told. It's simply a ride none of us expected.
