Healing in Progress

Today, the little girl had her first grief group session at school. It's a weekly group that lasts for about 25 minutes each time, to help children who have lost someone close to them cope. She really gave me hell over Christmas break about going...she didn't want anything to do with it, and she certainly didn't want to talk about her papa. And that's what worried me. She walked into the room one day when I was talking to one of the boys about papa, she got angry and said "Do we have to talk about him?!" and then stormed out crying. The holding it in worries me. As much as it breaks my heart to see her upset, I know that it will do more harm than good for her to hold it in like she has been.

She finally gave in and said she'd try it out. She got in the car this afternoon and says, "The group with Ms. Clinch (her school counselor) isn't about loss, mom! It's about being angry!." While trying to explain to her that being angry is often a part of losing someone, I pointed out how angry she was about papa "leaving her" just last week. Ultimately, she said that she liked the group (and then told me that when I tell her that she can't have a snack when she asks, sometimes...it makes her angry). I'm really hoping that this will help her cope with losing him. I'm trying the best I can, but there is only so much I can do when I'm trying to deal with it myself...and as we all know, sometimes it's better for someone on the outside to try to help.

Tomorrow will mark one month since dad has been gone. It doesn't seem possible. Now that the holidays are over and everything is getting back to normal, I've had more of a chance to process what happened. It was so much to take in in such a short amount of time. It almost feels like reliving it all over again. I'd give anything to have him back, but since I can't...I'll just be grateful once I feel that I've got a good grip on it.

7 days in...

And the New Year's resolutions are coming along well. I've been a hell of a lot more productive. I've redesigned the blog. And I've lost 2 lbs (not a lot, but enough to keep me going!).

One of my resolutions was to get the house in order and more organized. Slowly, but surely, it's coming along! Even I'm impressed with how on top of things I've been.

What do you guys think of the new blog design?

Meanwhile, things will be back to "normal" tomorrow. ZoeJane starts back to school, and just in time. She has had it with her little brothers. The girl is chomping at the bit to get away from them. Poor girl. Wish me luck. This week is going to be insane.

2012

Holy crap! We're already doing this? It seems like I was just posting an end of the year wrap up a few weeks ago for 2011.

2012 has been one hell of a year for my family. I figured to make it fun and hit the highs (and lows), I'd make a little countdown of the biggest moments of 2012, here at Kline Headquarters. Here they are in no particular order:

#10: Phoenix turned a year old! This was a little bittersweet for both Dayton and I because we knew it was the last "first birthday" we'd be celebrating. At the same time, it was also a little bit of a relief....because it was the last "first birthday" we'd be celebrating. ;) You can read about the little man's big day here and here. Be ready to look at pictures.

#9: My baby girl started REAL school! Big girl school! My sweet ZoeJane has officially started her long journey to college, a career, life in general. You can read all about that here.

#8: We had a health scare with Michael. It was made even more terrifying by the fact that every Dr. we saw felt the need to tell us that it could be cancer. They just couldn't make up their minds to rule it out. This was by far the most terrifying thing we've experienced as parents thus far. We ended up being so lucky. God is good. You can read everything from the beginning of the ordeal, to late night hospital ramblings, to his surgery post here, here, and here.

#7: We officially made the permanent decision to stop adding to our brood. It was an emotionally tough decision to make (it's hard to make such a permanent decision!), but it was the best decision for us. Sorry, don't have a link for that one. I didn't think you guys would want the deets ;)

#6: Dayton left the Marine Corp on a medical discharge. And while overall, he's been happier since he's been out, the transition was a bitch. It's really different for us, because we've been a military family since we got married.

#5: I finally got my own car! We've been a one car family since we got married, too. That's a phase that I'm happy to put behind us. You can get a glimpse of my newest baby here. =D

#4: Dayton was baptized. This was particularly meaningful because my dad is the one who baptized him, and my dad also baptized me when I was 12. And of course for another reason that will be covered further along in this post.

#3: We made our first trip to Michigan in almost 3 years! If you'd like, go ahead and check out the evidence.

#2: Dayton and I celebrated 7 years! Our wedding anniversary and Halloween all in the same week!

#1: My dad got sick. My dad died. I pushed through and managed to give a eulogy at his service without breaking down.

This year was one hell of a ride. And I'm going into the New Year with something I never thought I'd be moving forward without: my daddy. Last New Years Eve, I never imagined that this year's post would end with me talking about losing him. I wish I would have known. Tonight, when I think back over the last year, I'll shed tears without a doubt...and because of that, I'll consider this a beneficial year of learning and growing. Tomorrow, we'll all wake up and start all over. Screw 2012...let's make 2013 EPIC!

Daddy-

A few minutes ago, I opened up my email account and there was an email from YOU. I shit you not. It was spam...but still, I find it a little...shocking.

It couldn't have come at a better time. The last couple of days have been really hard. It seems like the permanence of you being gone is finally starting to set in and my heart hurts in a way that I never knew it could.

I keep replaying all those moments, and the one-ended conversations in the hospital, the weeks before you got sick....none of it makes sense. Did you ever hear what I was saying after you were sedated? Did you know you were sick before the day you went to the emergency room? Did you know that you were never going to wake up when they sedated you? Were you scared? If you knew you were sick, why didn't you tell someone? Didn't you know that what losing you would do to all of us?

Honestly, I don't know how I feel. Some days, I can't stop my crying spells. Other days, I feel numb and heartless. When I used to think about what it would be like to lose you, I used to flip out. I even remember having to call you to calm me down about it one day. But now, I've actually lost you, and I'm calm. I'm not a mess. I'm holding it together. It all still feels a little surreal. And that scares me....because how much more can my heart hurt? (I realize nothing about this paragraph makes sense)

How am I supposed to make sense of this? I'm here...you're not. Nothing about that makes sense or feels natural or right to me. I don't know how I'm ever supposed to wrap my mind around all of this.

Another souvenir for the books (er, blog...)

Today was one of the hardest days that I'll ever face. I said goodbye to my dad. I think it would have been harder if there was a body, but per his wishes, he was cremated. And as selfish as it may sound, I'm grateful for that.

The layout was beautiful. A 16x20 photo of my dad...a close up of his face. And it was altered from an original picture of him holding ZoeJane as a newborn. It's one of my favorite pictures of him. There was an old bright orange skidder (tractor type thing....google is your friend with this one) that he's had since the 80's. It was always a staple in our house. He won it at a company party when he worked for a logging company and we've had it ever since. All the grandchildren (the boys, especially) have loved it. There was a smaller picture of dad, and some other pretties laid out, and in the middle...a perfect rectangle wooden box, holding what is left of my dad.

I kept looking at the big picture of him...looking at his eyes, imagining him giving me shit for being upset and nervous about speaking. And while the preacher was speaking, I kept looking at the box. After 69 years of life and learning, this is what it all comes down to: a simple wooden box.

I managed to make it through the service without crying. I started tearing up a few times listening to the preacher, but I was able to suck it up. My brother spoke and I was good....then I got up to speak and I thought I was going to cry just from facing the crowd, but I managed.

If you read my last post, I had prepared a well laid out eulogy for him...and I started out with what I had written, but quickly veered off track. I choked up three times, but was able to stop, take a breath...look at out the crowd for reassuring faces and keep going. I felt like I had to at least try. I never thought I'd make it through, but I knew I'd regret it if I didn't at least try.

I sat back down and everyone was shocked that I made it through. But then they started a slideshow. Against the Wind by Bob Segar started playing (a song that I know well, as a mix of Bob Segar and Tom Petty were the soundtrack of my childhood) and up pops pictures of my sweet daddy. Daddy with the grand kids, daddy with me, daddy back in his carefree days with his friends and when he was logging. Dayton started crying, and I lost it. They included a picture that I emailed to them of Phoenix's hand laying in his when Phoenix was about a week old. That broke me. I love daddy's hands. I always have.

After the slideshow, we (the family) left the room and had to stand in the hallway to receive people's condolences. People kept coming up to me telling me how great I did and how surprised they were. People seriously had no faith in me to get through it, and I think that's one of the reasons that I was able to. He would have told me to muscle through it just to spite them.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PmrkY-EZy74

I love you, daddy.

For Daddy

My dad was the best man that I have ever known, the best father a child could ever have, and the best example of a generous man that anyone could ever look to. The memories that I have of my dad are simple: hitting a baseball in the back yard after school, taking long bike rides on Sunday afternoons (but only during the boring part of the Nascar races), and going to Sunday school every weekend…but they are the best memories. As I got older, the memories changed, but my dad’s dedication as a father didn’t, even when it meant supporting me in something that he didn’t necessarily agree with. Because that’s what kind of man my dad was: strongly opinionated, but ultimately committed to being the best father that he could be. The fact that he was such a good dad has meant that every day since he has been gone, my world has been a little darker, a lot scarier, and much less funny. And daddy would hate that.

He hated the idea of someone being sad, and if it meant cracking inappropriate jokes or teasing someone to make them smile, he would do it. Even in the worst of times, daddy could find a way to make someone smile…and that is exactly how he would want to be remembered.

There are no words to adequately describe the sense of loss felt by my family, my dad’s church family, and his friends today.

I have no idea how we’re supposed to move forward without him, how I’m supposed to explain to my son why he can’t call his papa 6 times a day just because he wants to, or how I’m ever going to be able to manage sitting in church without looking over and seeing him at the end of the pew. But starting tomorrow, I’m going to wake up every day and try, because that’s what daddy would want me to do, that’s what daddy would insist that I do, that’s what would make my dad proud. And if I can make him just a fraction of how proud he’s made me, I’ll be doing okay.

Saturday at 2pm, family and friends will gather to say their final goodbyes to my dad. Or his ashes. I've never been to a funeral (er, service) where someone was cremated and I'm not sure exactly what to expect (Is it going to be as upsetting as it would be to see his body? Will I still have closure?). I'd really like to say a few words, but 1, I'm not good in front of crowds and 2, it's hard to be optimistic about those public speaking spills when your mother flat out tells you, "I don't think you can do it". Thanks for the vote of confidence there, mom. I'd like to push past the fear of the crowd and the emotions (that I may lose control of) and do it for my dad...but I just don't know. Besides, what do you say about/to someone when it's the last time you get to say it?

I'm not sure what my deal is. I haven't cried since I got the news Tuesday afternoon. I did a lot of crying while he was in the hospital, while I was at the hospital, while I was talking to him and holding his hands. But now, it's almost like I've run out of tears. Maybe I did a good job of psyching myself up for it before he actually passed away. I never felt very optimistic about the outcome. I just knew. I wonder if he knew. I wonder if he knew I was there after he was sedated, I wonder if he heard me.

My dad was the best man I've ever known. He was funny and practical and frustrating and a sarcastic pain in the ass. But he was my daddy. Logically, I always knew the time would come to say goodbye to my dad, but I never imagined it would be at the age of 25. It's terrifying, losing a parent. It's even more terrifying when it's so sudden and you realize that life really can be taken from us at any moment.

It doesn't make sense. My dad was a hard worker. He worked up until the day before he went to the emergency room. He was healthy (so it appeared). He was a man of strong faith. In fact, he baptized me at the age of 12, and Dayton on New Year's day of this year. And just like that...he was snatched away from us. And from gallstone (gallbladder) pancreatitis. I've never even heard of it. It doesn't even sound scary. And it's not like he had this horrible cancer that ate away at him for months on end. No, this bitch came and took him in 11 days. Eleven DAYS (Well, 11 days from onset of symptoms to death. They say that his pancreas had "been sick" for a long time). One of the last things he said to me was "I thought I'd done good...then I come all this way for everything to go all wrong at once". And he was right. First he was diagnosed with kidney stones, then gall stones, then critical pancreatitis, then his lungs filled with fluid, then his kidneys started failing....it was one thing after another. It just isn't fair. Maybe I'm still in shock (yes, this just occurred to me).