Six years: Kim's Nov. 23, 2015 death floods us with memories

Six years ago, I was driving up to Minneapolis with Kim in the passenger seat and talking about her upcoming hysterectomy surgery. She was anxious but looking forward to getting this one over with and moving on to remedy a growing hip problem.

It had been a tough few months for Kim. Yet, the Sept. 19 wedding of daughter Ambryn to Alexandria Kewitt at Flying Horseshoe Ranch near Cle Elum, Washington, might have been the highlight of Kim's days. After 36 years of marriage, Kim and I took a flight together for the first time, which finally hit us while on the plane to Seattle. Kim and I had both flown to conferences and visits, but never had we been together on a plane.

I think that was symbolic of our years together, often going different directions, trying to maintain our sanity while raising six kids in Winthrop. The kids were great; marriage, however, can be difficult.

Still, in the weeks leading up to her Nov. 23 surgery and that drive up to the hospital, we had settled into the reality of our years ahead, together. As I've written often over the past six years, we had once again become best of friends. Kim and I had gone through a lot together, good and bad. But we remained together, had done our best raising Ben, Ambryn, Billy, Matt, Andy and Mikell, and were amazed all had turned out so well despite the insanity.

And those four grandkids had helped keep us alive and well. Until that day.

Not truly knowing what happened to Kim that day still haunts one from time to time. Doesn't really matter, I guess. She's gone. One now simply wonders where; yet knowing she missed the birth of five more grandkids hurts, for Kim was meant to be a Grandma. She had moved on from Kimmer to Grandma Kim. And she loved it.

I've mentioned often about how Kim's hospice social worker days were her best, for she was amazing in that difficult field, "tough as a nail yet soft as a marshmellow at times," as one co-worker said. Ironically, her passion for hospice work helped guide us through her death, I believe. And now it's part of her legacy.

With grandchild number 10 on the way, I'm lucky to be there for them. And while I know I fall short too often, I don't take lightly that I must try to keep Kim's presence alive and well.

I owe that to her, to the kids, to the grandkids. Kim was a gift to all of us. Sometimes, the reality of those gifts is lost in the shuffle. And then it's gone. So each year, at the very least, I'll write about Kimberly Ann Melius, what she meant to us. 

Life moves on. Each sunrise remains beautiful. And each day, despite the craziness on too many levels, remains a gift. Peace to all who have helped guide us through this journey.