10 months: The nightmares return

I'm not really certain what prompted the return of nightmares, the reliving of my wife Kim's final minutes in the hospital room. I've some ideas and have reached out to those I trust to try and bring some peace to it all.

And while it's been unexpected and painful, I've kind of needed the look back. It's all we've got now, holding on to all those memories, good and bad.

I'm guessing they returned because I still hold deep guilt. Guilt over not speaking out that maybe Kim wasn't strong enough for another surgery, that Kim would've preferred a different hospital, that I didn't shout loud enough that she was in trouble.

And for as many times as I've told myself that I'm not at fault, that we had to trust the medical doctors who approved the surgery, that no matter what decisions were made, I shouldn't be feeling such guilt. But I do.

I'm working through that. Yesterday, on the 10-month anniversary of Kim's death, I needed to reach out again to a friend who's also experienced trauma, in a much different way. And we both cried again.

She looked me in the eyes and said bluntly: "Dana, you shouldn't feel guilty." And she knows she shouldn't either. But trauma, at all sorts of levels, can hang with you.

My recent nightmares might have been prompted by our lawyers' decision not to pursue a medical malpractice suit. It's a firm filled with people I know and respect, and they simply felt they couldn't prove negligence.

I know what I saw. Proving that in the courts is an entirely different issue. And I accept that reality.

I'm also guessing that's why I keep writing about it, making that promise to compile thoughts at each month interval through the first year of not having Kimmy around the Melius house. I still gaze at her picture each morning, rub my hand over the urn, and move through each day.

But it takes a toll.

My past couple years with the St. Peter Herald and Le Sueur News-Herald have been cherished. I'm surrounded by people I care deeply about and they return the favor. I've made new friends, met amazing people. It was a perfect fit for Kim and I, we thought, despite the 35-mile commute. I'd traveled much farther in other jobs.

I had actually hoped to retire at the Herald office. And because the Adams Publishing Group continues to buy up papers, there's probably an on-going need for old-school journalists like me.

Kim's Nov. 23, 2015 death changed all that. I knew almost immediately it would. There's that loss of current purpose, loss of half of the household income, the need for change. It's why I asked to shift away from the St. Peter community a few months ago; I had grown too close to many there and it was an ongoing, emotional roller-coaster.

At Le Sueur, I targeted mid-June as a critical point to make it through -- the LSH Giants softball team was likely going back to the state tourney and I wanted to be there for it. Sounds odd, but that program gave me a sense of community that was so important at the time. The coaching staff and members of that team welcomed me; others appreciated the coverage.

But after the Giants' finale at Caswell Park in North Mankato, I broke down walking to my car. I had made it to through that special point. And it was over.

I took nearly three weeks off in July to decompress. I wasn't really sure what the end result might be. Now I do.

Recently, I gave my notice. I'll be done at this wonderful place Nov. 11. It was a difficult decision but the right one. The St. Peter Herald needed me when I joined them in 2014 and I needed them. That's a pretty darn good match. And it brought me back into a profession I love and hold deep pride.

What's next? I have no idea. But this remains a grand journey. And I still have more in the tank and more to give, And more love in the heart.

Peace friends.

9 months...Almost 

Some of the memories fade away. I guess it's both human nature and part growing older. It's inevitable yet not something any of us wish.

Over the past few months, I've struggled to come up with just the right words to express my feelings or relay what's going on in the Melius family, almost 9 months since Kim died.

This month, the words come easy.

August 20 is oldest son Ben's birthday, born in 1979. Kim and I would joke that Ben's was easy to remember -- 7 months after our wedding!

Kim was hoping for a September wedding and we had things pretty well set for a late summer event. But some Thanksgiving weekend celebrating in Mankato changed that a bit.

Initially, when we found out Kim was pregnant, it pretty much not only threw plans for a September wedding into some chaos, our college studies were going to be a bit more challenging. I had just one semester left at the University of Minnesota; Kim had a full year left at Mankato State.

We decided to move things up to March 24, which became quite a day in the Melius household. Our anniversary, Grandpa Mel Polzin's birthday, and down the road, third child and second son William's birth date.

Thirty-seven years later, the first-born memories have not faded. Ben was a beautiful baby with big eyes, curly hair right out the chute. Kim, I'm thinking, probably wouldn't like how that's phrased, for I was just a spectator. She did the hard work. Six times, too.

That first-born experience is so special, not that the other five Melius children weren't, but the fear of the unknown, the amazing emotions of holding that creation of ours, the fear and excitement of what's ahead when Kim and I drove away from the Arlington hospital. Precious, lasting memories.

Kim was such a trooper. After a very brief honeymoon which included a small Bloomington hotel. (We actually watched the Ten Commandments the first night, but that's another story.) She went back to MSU for spring quarter; I went back to 1104 South Eighth St. in Minneapolis, rooming with Gary "Gigs" Saxton.

Kim never liked the Twin Cities. It might have been the location of our duplex, on a busy street which then turned into Hwy. 55 East. It might have been that evening when we looked out our window to see a burning mattress on the front yard. Whatever the reasons, Kim never really warmed up to the metro area.

On weekends, we'd come back to Winthrop and stay at Kim's parents' house. She continued her social work studies, growing bigger by the day, even taking some summer classes to get ahead. I was so proud of her and should have told her that more often through the years.

Ben's presence in our lives drastically changed Kim and my plans. We really weren't certain what those plans might be, but we never truly imagined living in Winthrop all our lives. The old, fading black and white picture of Ben's first T-ball score has always been one of my favorites, as the park became a key part of our lives.

We made Winthrop home and, for the most part, was good to us, especially the 1980s emergence of GFW schools. And while there are always times one wonders what might have transpired on a different journey, there are no regrets. And looking back never changes the road ahead.

Kim and I were honest to one another -- had we not settled into the old hometown, we might not have had six children. We might not have even managed to stay together for 36 years, for our personal journeys were so completely different.

But we did. And we cherished the diversity of our children and the joys they brought to our lives. I have said it often since Kim died -- our six children are Kim's living legacy. I am not just proud of that fact, I am honored. They have often held me up when I should have been shouldering their needs. I will never be able to thank them enough.

The Melius family has journeyed together through some ups and downs. There will be more. Kim's death sidetracked all of us, stunned us. But we are stronger because of her.

Some memories fade, like old photographs. The legacies left by Kim in the eyes of her children, in her passion for hospice and families dealing with death and dying, and now in our grandchildren, will never die.

Matt and Krystal's Aug. 6 wedding was another special time for all of us. Kim would have loved to have been a part of it. We continue to miss her dearly. Hopefully, she's smiling. Pissed she missed it. But moving us on.

Eight months-plus: Vacation thoughts

I've taken few vacations over the past decade. Moving from project to project since my days working in St. Paul haven't allowed me to build up much time off. But this July, I needed the time to catch up, to reminisce, to think ahead.

In past words, I had mentioned that a September trip to Seattle for Alex and Ambryn's wedding was the first time Kim and I had ever flown together. And it became a special time for Kim. The venue at Flying Horseshoe Ranch in Cle Elum, Washington, was amazing. It's about 90 miles east of Seattle, where the couple lived.

Today, they are on their way "home." A stop in Missoula, Montana to visit Alex's brother, then a stop in Cody, Wyoming to spend time with Alex's father and step-mom. It's all gorgeous country, and I was worried about Alex leaving it for the prairies and lakes of Minnesota.

But over the Fourth of July weekend, it seemed a good time to visit them in Seattle one last time. Some friends asked me why visit now, when they'll be back in Minnesota in short order. It was an easy answer: "That's where they are right now." I really didn't want to wait a few more weeks before they and their moving pods hit the Minneapolis area. That's where they expect to find their new place, a space and community they can call home.

But there was another big reason for visiting Seattle again. Besides the Pacific Northwest being such beautiful country, I needed to be in a place that I truly believe was the highlight of Kim's days. I told that to Ambryn for the first time while visiting and she seemed in a bit of disbelief. But it was. For Kim, as I've said before, was changing. She was trying to take control of her life and health. And while her medical journey was still unfolding, she was so optimistic and encouraged by this new part of her very personal path.

To see this area one more time, one in which Kim truly seemed to be on a new spiritual journey, was important to me.

Ambryn and I have also talked about community and space, the importance of it all. Seattle had been her and Alex's place, their home. Now, they'll soon be in Minnesota, hoping to find that new community of friends, that new space. I am beyond excited. So is Ambryn's younger sister, Mikell, who recently posted to Facebook:  "I haven't lived in the same state as my incredible sister since I was about 11, and now she brings the wonderful addition that is Alex Kewitt. It'll be good to have you home ladies,"

It will. Of the six Melius children, only Andy will be outside of Minnesota. He, wife Sarah and that smiling bundle of joy, Juni, are settling in nicely to Traverse City, Michigan. It's also a gorgeous, special place. Visit there if you have the chance. (While there, possibly trim Drew's beard growth.)

Family has kept us together through this journey. It will continue to be my strength.

More vacation thoughts

Some random thoughts this July:

• I still love golf. I wish I wouldn't have given it up for such a long period. But baseball took a toll on my shoulder, so a difficult game has become more difficult. 
• I do love almond milk.
• Our health care system remains a mess, and it's not because of Obama's Affordable Care Act. The high costs of health care in the U.S. are out of control.
• Donald Trump scares the hell out of me.
• Life remains good.
• But I miss Kim dearly. I'm still adjusting, transitioning, finding my way. I still don't feel complete. 
• My children and grandchildren drive me to be better.
• The August entry, at nine months, will be special, reflecting on Matt and Krystal's wedding.
• And there are many others, new and old, that I dearly love.

Seven months-plus: Trying to find the right words to move forward

It's been well over seven months since Kim died Nov. 23, 2015. I had promised myself to write down my thoughts each month, trying to best explain the journey of my family.

This one's been the most difficult. And I'm really not sure why.

I started jotting down my thoughts only days after that 7-month mark -- June 23. A week later, I went at it again. But after a couple attempts, I set it all aside.

Now, as we're closing in on the eighth month, I'm back at it once more. Maybe my loss of words was because of a crazy schedule. Or maybe there were simply too many special days from May 24 through June 23. But what I truly fear is that the memories are fading.

I don't want that.

There were so many firsts again. One of those was granddaughter Juni's first birthday, which Grandma Kim would have truly loved. Matt and I had planned to get out to Andy and Sarah's in Traverse City, Michigan, but both our schedules complicated the long, 12-hour drive there for Juni's big day.

Then Mikell's stubbornness, planning and unique ability to pull the string on decision-making rose to the top. Thinking Matt and I were driving there for a quick visit and turnaround, Mikell bought a plane ticket to Traverse City and hoped to ride back to Minnesota with Matt and I.

But she's smart, and knows us. Mikell purchased insurance on that ticket...just in case we changed plans or didn't make it to Michigan. The Melius car history is well-known.

Matt and I did change plans. Still, I pretty much figured Mikell would then drive out on her own, and I didn't want that. So, the two of us made the crazy trip together, and back. It was worth it.

Juniper Melius, 1, is one happy little girl. Darn near a spitting image of her father, Andy. And, as the kids have ceremoniously noted, a hair style like her Grandpa Melius. Thin, sprouting up, more than a bit goofy and wild.

It was a tiring trip back to Minnesota, but well worth the effort. And as Mikell noted, Kim would have wanted us there.

Time to take some time off

There's really no other way to put it: I need time off. Since taking a week off to plan Kim's funeral, I've pretty much dug into my job at the St. Peter Herald and Le Sueur News-Herald. There's been a lot of moments which have convinced me to take a break. There was none more direct than a Friday morning covering a volunteer appreciation at the Minnesota Valley Health Center in Le Sueur.

I have spent a lot of time in nursing homes, assisted living facilities and retirement centers. For almost a 7-year stretch, I had visited my father, Pud, and mother, Karen, through their final days.

But prior to that, Kim's work in the hospice field placed me in the middle of her amazing work. She was a great hospice social worker. I admired her for that talent and dedication to bringing dignity and understanding for those dying and their families.

As I visited with some volunteers and staff members -- and as I had become more and more aware during my early weeks in Le Sueur -- I realized Kim had touched many families in the area during her days in hospice.

It made me proud of Kim's work through the years.

Now, it is time for me to re-examine my accomplishments, as well as my flaws, and consider the future. For the future is full of amazing opportunities. But to contribute, I need time off. And I'm planning to do so in July.

Through it, I will both honor Kim's legacy, and try to reshape mine.

Six month's re-boot

It's now been over six months since Kim died. And it's been over a week since I scrapped my original blog post for this half-year reflection. It was too difficult.

When Kim died Nov. 23, 2015, I vowed to write each month, telling about my feelings, those of my kids, and this journey of "losing" a spouse...And I know Kimmer, we didn't lose you; you died.

I also had convinced myself that if we had no answers regarding Kim's death by six months, I would revisit that horrific scene in the hospital. I thought I might need to better inform friends on what happened, what my eyes saw. And I truly thought I might need to finally unload my inner feelings, to finally feel free of that experience.

But I couldn't.

And I'm still trying to sort out just why. What I do know is this: Kim died, and she shouldn't have. And people I trust are trying to sort it all out.

My original words for this month may someday surface. Maybe not. It might be that when re-reading those reflections of that unexpected, frighteningly difficult turn-of-events in Kim's hospital room it appeared as if I was unforgiving. And that's not the case, not me.

Forgiveness is one of life's most passionate sentiments and often the most difficult for many. I have often considered that reality most troubling. How can a nation which so often prides itself on Biblical teachings be so hesitant to forgive? How can a nation which preaches Christianity be so intolerant?

I've written before about some of Kim's last Facebook postings which, of course, were some of her last thoughts. She was deeply troubled by the mounting refugee issues in the world, of the harsh words she was hearing about Muslims, about the intolerance of gay and transgender rights. Kim was looking deeply into her core beliefs. And I was proud of her for doing so.

At this half-year point, Kim would be appalled at the Trump campaign, at the state of politics. And she was not political. But she did have a deeply-rooted sense of fairness and justice. And she wore it in a social worker's role.

I'm guessing that just maybe, for the first time in her life, Kim would become much more vocal and active this election season. She was also firm that she didn't want me to re-enter the political scene; too many skeletons, I'm thinking. And she was probably right. She wanted to protect both me and the kids.

But this election season is changing the norm. We have a local legislator who is championing language that is so hateful, so dangerous, all the while with a hand on the Bible. It's hypocrisy at its peak. It's disgusting. And it's disappointing so many support his words.

We have Donald Trump one step away from the presidency. How could one consider such a vulgar man for this country's top spot? I'm more qualified than Trump. I even have fewer skeletons!

What is it that Trump has that I don't? Money.

That's one of today's greatest injustices. I've worked much of my life on issues of poverty and class issues. Trump is dialing it back and campaigning on fear. Sadly, it resonates.

Kim would be stepping up against those words of hate. We all should.

So at the six-month point of Kim's death, even a blog talking about this journey can't hide from the fact that it's been ugly out there. And Kim would now want me to venture into the fray, I'm thinking. And to speak my mind, campaigning in my own way against hate.

How's that for a shift away from Kim's final day, those final minutes?

I still have moments when I cry. It usually comes after spending time with the grandchildren. Kim would be shining during those times.

For those grandchildren -- and your grandchildren -- we can't keep going down this road of hate, climate change denial, and intolerance. We can do better. Kim would want it that way.

Mother's Day 2016
This was a Mother's Day like no other. For the first time in my 59 years, there was no mom.

With Kim gone, we all tried. I bought hanging plants, because it's what she liked to do on these type of days. To my surprise, so did Mikell, who also bought small potted plants for the side of our house. It was one of those odd rituals Kim had, and she had plenty.

Andy, Sarah and Juni did similar things in Traverse City, Michigan.

Kim liked these simple things. She would be pleased to know the kids have been checking up on each other, trying to get some sense of how everyone was faring this Mother's Day 2016. She was so proud of her six children. So am I, more than ever.

But it's not the same, nor should it be. And that's what we all wrestled with. There's this huge hole in our lives, more so than we'd ever have imagined. Mikey's post late Sunday night summed it up, I think:

To a woman who loved with everything she had, who wasn't afraid to speak her mind and enjoyed a cold beer.

I more than miss you mom. I ache for you, and I so wish you were here.. Every single day I strive to be the loving, caring, helpful, sassy, strong woman that you were.

Forever and always Mamma.

Happy Mother's Day ❤️

You try to be better prepared for these moments, but I'm guessing there's truly no way to be. I have always told my kids that no one day means any more to me than any other. Live for each one. Every moment is sacred.

The week began with the grandson's first birthday on May 1. It would have been a moment, a day Kim would have both reveled in and pretty much smothered Myles, and been almost too much to bear! It was a day that I knew, eventually, would become emotional. Oddly, it hit Bill and I when I danced softly with Myles, as he fell asleep on my shoulder, listening of all things to the Adam Levine version of Prince's "Purple Rain."

Myles and I had been practicing during a babysitting episode a few days earlier. Who knew he'd konk out before the guitar solo. But it was touching, and a day Bill and Jess so wanted Kim to witness.

The week also included the Saturday dance recital of grand-daughters Bryce and Brynn at Mankato West, of which Kim usually was the loudest to cheer of all mothers/grandmothers.

I sat in the auditorium with Ben (right) and Mikell and couldn't help but get emotional again. Every one of these highlights, be it a birthday or dance recital or next Mother's Day, she would no longer experience. And we'll keep planning for Matt and Krystal's wedding without her.

So she needs to be in us.

Ambryn, who is anxiously planning a move back to Minnesota this summer with wife Alex, set up a mini-shrine in honor of Mother's Day at her place in Seattle. There is now a different, even renewed love for Kim.

We are stumbling through these days as best we can. And they are still very good times. But Mother's Day, of all days, tests one's soul.

We will make it. And we will make it together.

Five months: The healing magic of music and dance

I've hit the concert and music circuit often since my wife Kim died Nov. 23. It's therapeutic and soothes my soul. I'm even remembering Kim's simple message to me when I'd get emotional listening to certain songs:

"Then quit listening to so many sad songs!" she'd tell me. Kim liked dancing to Aretha Franklin and Motown. Her final dance at the Seattle wedding of Ambryn and Alex in September 2015 was a classic. And it will continue to be one my family's cherished pictures.

Singer-songwriters simply write a lot of sad songs. While they can tug at your heart, the messages come from the soul. And it makes for great messages in songs, for most of us have gone through some heartache.

I love music. A couple decades ago when I took in a community leadership retreat, then called the Institute for Renewing Community Leadership, the question was asked if one had to do it all over again, what path might you take. I said singer-songwriter.

But I laughed a bit about it. Talent helps and makes that do-over easier.

For I grew up listening to Jackson Browne and others of that genre. Those '70s songwriters like Browne brought great lyrics to great songs. His "For a Dancer" is still among my all-time favorites, and when I spoke at my high school graduation back in 1975, I quoted from another Browne tune, "These Days."

"Don't confront me with my failures, I had not forgotten them."

Kim wasn't planning on dying just yet. So, while she and I talked very briefly about some funeral plans, the only thing I recalled was she wanted the Patty Griffin song -- "Heavenly Day."

It wasn't, however, an easy choice. Youngest son Andy and his wife Sarah had that song at their wedding. But after some family discussion, we opted for it to be played. And I'm glad we did.

Who to play it was a bit more difficult. We have some great singers and musicians in the Melius circle -- Tyler Polzin, Tom Womack, Jeff Melius. But they were too close. So I sent out a Facebook inquiry to my musician friends and, amazingly, three came through in short order.

Ann Rosenquist Fee found one; Mary Jane Alm said she would check within her network. But it was Lori Jean Mathiowetz who found Andrea Lyn Gehrke. We'd never met, but she didn't hesitate, played with such passion and depth, and her song will be forever etched in our family's history and souls.

Found out later she married the son of a high school classmate of mine, Dave Gehrke. A couple of months later, I attended a fundraiser of hers in New Ulm, one raising money for kids in the New Ulm school district without a permanent address, those who were likely couch hopping or living with relatives.

Music has that power. Always has.

That's part of the reason Prince's death -- and his tributes -- touch us so. I joined a couple friends Thursday night at First Avenue in Minneapolis. I was touched by the simplicity of action, for thousands joined in a peaceful, yet rocking tribute. It was special.

I was never a diehard Prince fan, never saw him live. But loved his music and "Purple Rain" was, and is, my favorite. Same goes for "Nothing Compares 2 U," which Prince wrote and Sinead O'Connor made popular.

But Prince's evolution and personal journey I found interesting. He had so many gifts to share and he seemed to be re-inventing himself, growing, and -- finally -- opening up to his fans. But the time of his death, he had also grown spiritually and was giving back to causes, those in need. Particularly our youth.

One of his lesser known songs, "Sometimes It Snows in April," touches both our heartache and the magic of music.

Sometimes it snows in April
Sometimes I feel so bad, so bad
Sometimes I wish that life was never ending,
But all good things, they say, never last

All good things they say, never last
And love, it isn't love until it's past

That truly sums up this journey. This thing called life.