The above photo was from Thanksgiving of 2013. I think you would appreciate it because you were both happy and healthy. There was nothing wrong then. We were just having thanksgiving dinner together and God, looking back, we had so much to be thankful for and so much we took for granted. C’est la vie. This is life.
Fast forward two years. It doesn’t take long, does it? Life happens too quickly and the unexpected sneaks up on us. I might not be religious but I use the word “God” in an ambiguous sense when I say God had other plans for you. God, or whatever higher power there is out there. You might have had a different definition of God than I do, but our definitions reduced to the same thing – something much greater than humanity.
Around Thanksgiving of 2015 you were given a grim diagnoses – only a couple weeks to live. You were (and still are, and will continue to be) the embodiment of resilience and strength. Your will to live was unprecedented. You were told you wouldn’t make it to Christmas, but you said, “I will,” and you did. And you kept saying “I will,” and you saw another New Year, another Valentine’s Day, another Easter. You pushed through as long as you could. Now you can rest.
I talked to my mom this morning. She said that Aunt Donna told her you said to her, “Amanda is going to be a great mother.” I don’t think I can tell you how incredible a compliment that is coming from you. You were a mother to so many children, above and beyond your own. You rocked it.
I talked to Jason this evening. I know he is hurting, and it’s hard for me to see my brother hurt. With that said, all he talked about was how happy you make him. How he was thinking about all the laughter and love you shared and brought into this world. How much he misses you. I told him I understood and had to stop myself, apologize, and say, “Jason, I don’t understand how you must be feeling at all. I just know how I’m feeling and how much this hurts.”
Kim, you were never just my brother’s wife. You were a sister and a friend, a mediator, a diplomat – you were a lot of things, but you were family.
I don’t know how to say goodbye. You left a world that you brought immeasurable love, support, and joy to, far too soon. You were often a light, a voice of reason. I’m not sure I can say goodbye. Maybe in time I will, but I think in the meantime I’ll keep talking to you.
Travel in peace and love, Kim. I love you.