Tag Archives: loss

A Page From Alexa’s Journal

Kalli & Lexx

February 18th, 2006 Alexa’s father died. To mark the one year anniversary last year I posted the tribute that she  wrote for for his funeral. Since then Alexa has written more about surviving loss and living with chronic illness.

Since today marks the second year I have provided a link to the tribute she wrote and read at his funeral and I’m also posting the following tilted:  My Angel

“There is one person who  has gotten me through all the hardships in my life, all those nights I cried, all those days I thought that ending my life would be easiest on everyone.  My angel was the one who stopped me and she has been my best friend since birth. Complete opposites, she is wild and crazy and I am quiet and withdrawn. I watch life and she lives it. Her name is Kalli; she is my cousin, my best friend and my guardian angel.

My father had always looked at Kalli as a second daughter, so when I found out he had died I wanted to be the one to tell her.  Even amidst of our tears, anger and pain Kalli did what she always did, she made everything better. Within minutes of the horrible news she had me laughing so hard that I had forgotten what had happen. With lines like: “Well maybe you can get a puppy now” and “Do you think they’re naked in heaven since you don’t need clothes up there?” She never fails to make me smile even on days when it seems impossible.

At my Fathers wake Kalli never left my side, always there to hold my hand and to hold me when another sob rattled though my body. I remember not being able to take it anymore and I tried so hard to hide it but Kalli knew. Quietly she weaved me through the crowd and outside onto the sidewalk where I collapsed into a ball. I laid my cheek onto the cool concrete with Kalli sitting next to me brushing the hair away from my face and telling me it would all be okay. Like always, she was right. What would I have done if she hadn’t been there? If I would have stayed in that room crowded by people. What would I have done if she wasn’t there to hold me and keep me from collapsing to my knees, the thought still cross my mind.

kalli-lexx1I had written a speech to read at the funeral, everyone was unsure telling me I would most likely not be able to read it, that I would stop in the middle of it crying. But Kalli, like always, was there telling me that I could and I did. When the pastor called my named to come to the podium and start the speech, silently Kalli and I walked up hand in hand and faced the hundred people who came to mourn. Throughout the speech she stood behind me quietly sniffling and every second when I was sure I was going to quit, she  knew and squeezed my hand giving me the strength I needed to keep going.

I will always remember going to a grief group with my grandmother, I of course brought Kalli with me. We sat in the group shy, practically sitting on top of each other. I never noticed it before, but the people in the group became interested in how Kalli and I acted, how when she moved I  moved at the same time, without thinking about it, we fit together like a puzzle. Sometimes, I don’t think we are aware that we are two separate people when we are together.

At one point during the session a lady looked at us with such sadness in her eyes, she had lost her son a few years back, and she said, “you two are so lucky to have one another, to be so close. I wish I had some one like that in my life.”
It dawned on me that she was right, Kalli and I are closer than anybody I know. We remind me of twins, how they are said to be connected in a way and there is no question that Kalli and I are. I don’t think her and I will ever grow apart, she was sent to help me through my life and I was sent to help her.” – Lexx


I’ll close this post with a note to my daughter, an excerpts from the essay, “As I Stand Here Ironing” by Tillie Olson

Lu“I stand here ironing, and what you asked me moves tormented back and forth with the iron…when is there time to remember, to sift, to weight to estimate, to total? I will start and there will be an interruption and I will have to gather it all to gather together again. Or I will become engulfed with all I did or did not do, with what should have been and what cannot be helped…There is still enough left to live by. Only help her to know-help make it so there is cause for her to know that she is more than this dress on the ironing board, helpless before the iron.”



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I Forgot that Sunflower’s Die

The sunflowers were in bloom today, the ones my daughter and I planted as a memorial to her dad. One flower bloomed weeks before the others, then it slumped over and hung its head. My heart hurt. As I walked to the house I wondered how I would face the remaining 50. I wondered if my garden would look like the people who stood in rows at his funeral. I forgot that sunflowers hang their heads when their season has ended. I forgot that sunflowers die.


Filed under Life

A Tribute – December 28, 1961 – February 18, 2007

It was a year ago today that I recieved a phone call saying my daughters father had died, he was 45.  Nothing in my life could have prepared me to break that news to our then 16 year old daughter.

My daughter wrote the following tribute which she read last year at his funeral:

 Dear Dad,

I can’t believe how hard it is to write this. I can’t think of anything right to say. If I let myself write without choosing my words carefully this letter would be an angry letter for leaving me here. Although I nod and agree with the people who tell me that you will always be with me I can’t help but feel selfish and want you here all the way.

I’m so very worried about going through life without you, you were my go-to man. If I ever felt bad or sad or had a problem I’d call you and within minutes you’d have my problem solved and you’d make me laugh again with your your cheesy jokes. Who will I go to now? No one will ever be as perfect as you were, and still are.

After I found out the news I was devastated, I thought oh, my god I have to call dad. As I made my way to the phone I realized that you were the one who was gone. I miss you so very much and I guess I took my days with you for granted. But I will never forget all those great memories we shared. Like the silly pirate game we would play on your water bed when I was Isabella’s age. We would pretend we were on the raging sea, I would jump to make the waves while you would pretend to raise the sails.Then there were the times when you and Jimmy both would take Matt, Kalli and I to Leaps and Bounds. You would chase us through the tunnels with us kids screaming bloody murder.

Every night I wasn’t with you I would call you just to say goodnight. We always ended the phone call the same way. We’d both count to three then hang up so no one was left on the phone by themselves. But almost every time between those three numbers we’d start up a whole new conversation. As I grew older I grew out of it. I never thought I would miss something so small so much, I will cherish those memories all of my life.

As my dear little sister, Isabella grows up I will tell her every little detail about you. I will tell her how much her daddy loved her and adored her, more than words could ever say. I’m so very lucky to have had all this time with you and yet so angry that I won’t have more. I worry about the big days ahead, like graduation which is so very close, then college, marriage and hopefully kids.  I know I have all these people who are here with me, like my uncle Jimmy who said he would fill in and though that means the world to me they will never be you. And while I am with those people I will be wishing every second of that day it was you with me.

I miss you daddy so very much. And I love you around this world and back again. So for old time sake lets finish this like we always did –  One, two, three –  Goodbye Dad, I love you.


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