Five years later: Kim's birthday, death make November a month of reflection

Kim (Polzin) Melius would have turned 63 this Nov. 15. It was that brief couple weeks in which she and I were the same age. My birthday comes Dec. 1. 

But just eight days after Kim's 58th birthday, just a couple months after an amazing wedding celebration of daughter Ambryn and her partner Alex at Flying Horseshoe Ranch near Cle Elum, Washington, northeast of Seattle, our world was dramatically altered. Kim died Nov. 23, 2015, at Fairview/University of Minnesota hospital, a terribly unexpected death that rocked the Melius family, our friends, and the Winthrop community. 

Kim with grandchildren Juniper and Myles in Sept. 2015.

For the next year, I blogged my thoughts once a month. It was tough, often repetitious, always emotional. Every time I'd write -- even today -- I would remember son Andrew's early thoughts: "I'm so afraid I'm going to forget what her voice sounded like."

That first holiday season might have been the most difficult period, other than the dozens of telephone calls I had to make the night Kim died. How do you start the conversation that your wife of 36 years, your partner through the ups and downs of 40 years together, is gone? 

"This is Dana. Kim made it through the surgery just fine. But when I got into her hospital room, she started having trouble breathing and they couldn't get oxygen too her in time. She didn't make it."

I called Mikell first. She was working at the St. Peter Herald with me at the time, and she was the first to make it to the hospital. And then it was one by one to the other five kids. Ambryn, living in Seattle, didn't answer right away so I left a voicemail and said to call immediately. Andy, who had just visited Winthrop with the kids a couple weeks prior to Kim's death, was back in Traverse City, Michigan. And to Ben, Billy and Matt.

Each call brought immeasurable pain and emotion. Still does as I look back. 

Then it was Kim's sisters, my brothers and sisters, then Kim's friends.

And finally, to Pastor Bob Miner. Bob, like everyone else I called, was in disbelief. This was supposed to be as routine as you can get they told us. Kim was in for a hysterectomy, less than a couple months removed from invasive brain surgery for a benign tumor. That was the one we worried most about, but she handled it so well. But during all that prep and testing, it was found Kim also had uterine cancer. It was in its early stages, and a hysterectomy was scheduled to be safe.

The chances of dying after a hysterectomy is less than 1 percent. Still, she made it through the surgery. Later, the autopsy provided no answers. Never knowing, always questioning, wondering what in the hell really happened doesn't leave you. Nor does the 45-minute stretch during which medical personnel tried to save her.

With the four Melius kids living in Minnesota all arriving and joining me in the hospital room to say goodbye to Kim, we called Pastor Bob and he did his best to not swear, to provide some grace in this toughest of moments. He's the best at sizing up situations and putting some words to it, no matter how tough.

Is it still tough writing about it? Sure is. But it's important for me, for the Melius clan. One doesn't want to forget Kim, and remembering even the tough times remains important. Nothing's tougher than saying a forever goodbye, particularly one this unexpected.

We are all going through this journey in different ways. But I do believe we're growing because of it. I do know that we're not taking anything for granted, that we're doing our very best to move on with deep memories of Kim and what she brought to all of us, to others.

Kim was an amazing hospice social worker. It was her gift to so many. As I've written a few times, a past co-worker of Kim's said she could be as hard as a nail or soft as a marshmallow, often at the same time. That pretty much summed up Kim. Following Kim's death, many of her co-workers through the years provided some of the finest words of remembrance. It was really the first time our kids had heard such praise of Kim's hospice work and dedication. It meant so much to them.

So, as we all move forward, November 15 through the 23rd is kind of like "Kim's week" for the Melius clan. I've moved away from the Winthrop community, the house that was home for much of our 36 years together. There are now 8 grandkids, four more than Kim was able to hold in her arms. Kim was meant to be a grandma, and each new birth is both a reminder of what she's missing as well as an emphasis to not take anything for granted.

I'm sure we're all stronger for what Kim brought to us, gave us, and continues to provide us, with memories and unique messages from time to time. After five years, I believe we are taking her with us as we move along on our respective journeys.

Peace to all. Live and love.

Daughter Ambryn and Kim getting some "RESPECT" in 2015 at the Flying Horseshoe Ranch near Cle Elum, Washington.

(This next post first appeared December 2015 in the St. Peter Herald, one month after the death of Kim (Polzin) Melius.)

Wife’s unexpected death brings community support, change

My life partner of over 40 years died Nov. 23. Kimberly Ann (Polzin) Melius had just turned 58 and died unexpectedly following complications from cancer surgery. She loved Christmas with family and will be dearly missed this year and beyond.

Life’s journey can be difficult at times, and this is certainly one of those. But nobody knew better than her of life’s circle and the reality of it all. She was a gifted hospice social worker much of her life. Still, for our six children and four grandchildren, Kim’s death hit hard.

I promised myself I’d put together my thoughts one month later, for the days move by so quickly, and life tries to return to some sense of normalcy. But it will never be the same.

Kim was more than a gifted social worker. She was tough. Death isn’t an easy path nor very often welcomed. Kim was gentle and compassionate to those individuals and families, blunt and pointed at times when needed. Her days providing hospice care were her finest, and she touched lives from St. James to Waseca, Arlington to Mankato and beyond.

On the few occasions families allowed me to tag along, I was so impressed with her passion, her ethics and her advocacy for the dying.

A past co-worker of Kim’s said she could be as hard as a nail or soft as a marshmallow, often at the same time. That pretty much summed up Kim.

The kids understood both sides, too. Family life isn’t always simple or easy. Six children and their differing personalities add to the sometimes dysfunctional nature of a large family. We weren’t perfect in our parenting skills and differed often on the right touch.

Marriage, too, can be difficult, and Kim and I struggled at times. But love evolves; it rarely adheres to the same design through the years. As Kim battled through some health issues over the past few years, she and I again became best friends. That might sound raw, but it’s so important.

The kids noticed, too. Nearly every night, Kim would place her head on my shoulder and thank me for helping her through the battles. She had undergone parathyroid surgery in May, invasive brain surgery for a benign tumor in October, and was staring at a third surgery Nov. 23 to address uterine cancer. This one was supposed to be rather routine, if surgery ever is. We’re still waiting for answers as to what went wrong.

I had become her caretaker in many ways. And I was perfectly fine in that role. It’s what you do for your life partner. I had often joked with Kim, sometimes to her sharp eyes, that 36 years of marriage wrecks one’s search for a soulmate. The joke sounds harsh, but there’s some reality to it. And as we both came to understand it and accept such reality, we relaxed and enjoyed life together.

One’s life partner, the love of it all and the great experiences and journey, prompt change. Love evolves and changes with it. Such was our relationship and marriage. Through all the ups and downs, we grew close. And I am so damn grateful for that.

Our jobs through the years often placed us on separate paths, with different friend networks. But this diverse group of friends, as well as those unique networks of our children, surfaced at Kim’s memorial service in Winthrop, our hometown. This overwhelming support, as well as touching words and thoughts on social media, was so appreciated by my family.

My presence in St. Peter over the past 18 months has also brought me into an entirely new network of friends. It was, and is, becoming my community. Kim and I had been discussing a move to the area, our first-ever discussion of leaving our hometown.

You know, when you’re caught between communities, one can feel a bit disjointed. And a sense of community is so important. So I am pleased and humbled the St. Peter community has become such a key part of my life.

That life has been forever altered. But it remains an amazing journey. And there is a great deal of good ahead. Kim would want us all to know that and move forward. And she would remind you to hug your loved ones, tight and often, and never be shy to tell them so.

And we will. Peace to you, my dear.