How's my knee doing? Well, let me tell you...

Hi guys! How’s everybody doing today? I’m doing well, actually. I’m in a bit of shock realizing that the Fourth of July weekend is already behind us, but yeah… doing well!

Speaking of holiday weekends… I wanted to update you on how things are going with my knee. (Reminder: full right knee replacement) I had booked my surgery for April 2^nd. Since Todd and I are boaters, we wanted it to be early enough in the spring that we’d be able to salvage our boating season. We hoped I’d have enough healing by Memorial Day weekend to be able to get out and have some fun; not need to put all of our usual activities on hold. I knew that six or seven weeks might be a bit optimistic in “Knee World” to be all healed up, but figured that surgery in early April would be my best shot at a full summer.

As I reported a couple of blog posts ago, my surgery went well. I attended every physical therapy session, and religiously exercised, as assigned. I mean… my not being able to boat would have changed everything we normally do in the summer. I wanted to do whatever I could to get my strength back, and try to make it happen. I met with my surgeon for my final post-op appointment a few days before we were scheduled to go out of town. He said I not only could get back to my normal life, but that I should. I fired out my usual “20 questions” just to be sure (like, REALLY sure). “Can I go out on a boat? Can I go into lake water? A river? A hot tub? Can I…?” He just kept nodding his head “Yes” and told me to go live my life. I figured that with his advice, living it was at least worth a try.

For those of you who’ve never been boating, I’d describe it to be both very relaxing, mixed in with a whole lotta work. I know full well what it takes for us to perform (what seems to be) even the simplest of maneuvers: cast off our lines, back out of our boat slip, and head for the lake. It can be quite challenging, even when we’re at 100% physically, which I wasn’t. I began to doubt/second-guess myself. Will I really be ready to get in and out of our boat, much less climb around, as needed? As boating time approached, I wasn’t so sure.

And it isn’t just the boat, either. The boating process actually starts on our own driveway. We have a pretty large truck with which to tow the boat. It does have one of those bars to step up on, and it does have a grab bar overhead, but even the (usually simple) task of hauling myself up into the truck, seemed daunting.  

For a couple of weeks, neighbors witnessed me standing on the driveway, cane in hand, carefully eyeing our truck from various angles. One kind soul even stopped to ask me if I was “okay”. “Yes,” I said. “Just figuring out the best way to step up into the truck.” For motivation, I kept singing one of Tony’s (my singer/songwriter son’s) songs, running the lyrics over and over in my head. “I am never, never, never gonna give up; never, never, never gonna give up…” How can I have a son who writes songs like that, and not be able to get up into our own truck? To my way of thinking, this had to happen. And, of course, eventually, it did.

It's funny how the healing has been happening for me. My Physical Therapist would suggest a new exercise for me to try, like walking up a few stairs. It would sound crazy to me - totally out-of-line wrong. Then, within a few days, I could do it – a whole flight, even! It’s almost as though there really is a time-frame for knee healing. Hmmm… Who’d have thunk it?

Anyway, long story short, on the Thursday before Memorial Day, Todd and I got ourselves all packed up – groceries, clothes, tools and other boating supplies. Without much trouble at all, I awkwardly pulled myself up into my truck seat. The research I’d done, weighing out what seemed most workable, had proved to be quite helpful. One big obstacle behind me… one-hundred more to go…

I won’t walk you through every step I took, but will simply say that as our boat calmly floated in her summer slip, nervousness built up inside of me. I slowly walked down the dock, feeling as though I was walking toward a wild horse. Will she allow me a clean entrance, or buck me off? There was only one way to find out. I tried to remember everything I’d learned, and all that my physical therapist had advised. With a new-found confidence, I grabbed the boat’s mane – I mean handle - and lifted my surgical knee first, just as though I’d be climbing a flight of stairs. Before I knew it, I was up and in. Yes, it had seemed a bit awkward, but my fear had been faced and even squashed. I was standing in our boat!

We ended up having a nice weekend. Only one day gave us good enough weather to actually get out on the water, but I was able to participate in most everything. I felt good that I hadn’t allowed myself to cancel, or even go to a motel like I thought I might. If I’d really had to, I would have, but that wasn’t necessary. We’ve been out several more times since then, including a nice long weekend over the fourth. Our summer is in full swing, and my knee is holding up nicely.

I’d like to thank all of you for your kind comments and support back when I announced my surgery. I referred back to the advice numerous times, and found good encouragement there. As always, it paid for me to open up and tell my story, allowing people to help me through. After all, that’s what friends are for, right?

I hope everyone has a good summer. With the fourth already behind us, don’t blink, or you’ll miss all that’s still ahead.

Katie Kolberg Memmel is the author of three books: “Five Fingers, Ten Toes…” (and now a 10-Year Anniversary Edition, with Photos!); “From This Day Forward…”; and “Silly Stories and Sentimental Stuff”. For more information about Katie and her writing, visit her website at: www.KatieKolbergMemmel.com

When Sleep Eludes...

 Hello, and welcome to May!

What with having my knee surgery in early April and all that followed, I can’t even believe we’re TWO FULL WEEKS into May already. Where does time go? Speaking of my knee, things have been going pretty well. I don’t see improvement every day, BUT I do see a lot of changes when I look back. I’ve been taking pictures of my knee ever since the bandage came off. I felt very encouraged today when I looked back at those early photos and saw a good amount of healing since then. For me, that’s a great big “YAY!”

Sooo… I suppose you’re wondering what I’m writing about today, huh? Well, recently, on the nights when I can’t sleep, some random thoughts have occurred to me. I figured I’d share them with you and see if anybody else can relate to what I’m experiencing.

First, let me start with a question. Do you remember back to when you were a child, and you could sleep a solid night through, from the time you went to bed until the time your mother (or your alarm clock) woke you in the morning? For the most part, that was my experience. Sure, there’d be an occasional bad dream or times when I’d have something important on my mind, but overall, I slept pretty well when I was young.

Well… suffice it to say that things have changed. I haven’t slept a solid night through in many (MANY) years. I’m lucky now if I only get up once a night and not multiples. Thankfully, I often go right back to sleep, but not always. I’ve grown to dread the nights when I get back in bed and then…

Man, I’m tired. I’m so glad I’m back in bed… but why am I cold? I wasn’t cold three minutes ago when I got out of bed. Why now? I sit up and gather all of my sheets and blankets around me, tuck my arms down inside and think, there, nice and warm. Now I’ll fall back to sleep.

One minute later…

Man, I’m hot. I sure don’t need all of these sheets and blankets wrapped around me. I toss the bulk of it off to the side, but not too far. These days, I might just need it all again soon.

There, now I’m much more comfortable. I’ll just close my eyes and drift back off. Not so fast. My eyes won’t close. They feel tired, almost heavy even, but open they are.  

As I lay in the dark, I realize that my right eyebrow feels itchy. With my eyes wide open, I work my right hand out from under my sheet, and allow it to maneuver its way to my face. I scratch the culprit. Once it seems satisfied, I tuck my hand back down into the cocoon from which it came. Aah, That’s better… My eyes close easily, and I lie still for a moment until…

Oh no! What’s… what’s… what’s this??? Aaaachooooo! I sneeze. Really? Who sneezes in their sleep. Oh yeah, I’m not sleeping, am I? Slowly, with my left hand this time, I reach for my tissue box, ensuring I don’t upsot my water cup. Once I blow my nose, I settle my left hand back under my sheets. All set. (Again.)

I begin to think. I know, I know… you’re probably thinking that thinking is a very bad idea. I should do absolutely anything else but think, yet… I think anyway. I ponder on past events I haven’t thought of in years, attempting to remember details I’ve overlooked or forgotten. Sometimes I think about current events such as why somebody did what they did, or said what they said. I even think about writing and what I should write next. Like this Blog post! This was dreamt up in the middle of a night.

In the midst of all my thinking, my neck begins to itch. Aww, come on! What’s next? My left hand makes its way up to the back of my neck. I scratch and scratch the area this time, hoping to overcompensate, just in case my neck gets any more bright ideas of itching again. I settle back in one more time.  

Hold on! I realize that I’ve lost track of what I was thinking about! What was it? I can’t remember, so I prop up on my right elbow and glance at the clock. It’s 3:15. Uh oh… that’s the time all the weird things happened in the book/movie “The Amityville Horror.” I never should have read or seen it, but… I was going through a phase. This new scary memory, unfortunately, gives me plenty of new material to think about.

Finally, I make a pact with myself.  No. More. Scratching. If something itches, it’ll have to wait until morning. No. More. Thinking. The most I’ll think about is counting backwards from 100 to zero. Although, to be honest, I’ll likely shoot up a quick prayer for a restful “rest-of-my-night”. That can’t hurt…

Before I know it, I’m awake again. The clock reads 6:30, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Since I can’t remember the last three hours, I conclude that I did, indeed, somehow fall asleep. Todd is up, retrieving socks from his dresser drawer. I say, “I don’t know why, but I couldn’t sleep last night.” Of course he comes back quickly with, “Well, you sure were sleeping just now!”  Okay, okay… He thinks he knows what I’ve been through, but he really has no clue, does he?

And so, here I am, sharing this late-night masterpiece with you all. Now that I’ve filled you in on some of my own sleep-deprived experiences, I’ll ask one more time – can anyone else relate?

My guess is a resounding YES!

Have great weeks, everybody!

Katie

Katie Kolberg Memmel is the author of three books: “Five Fingers, Ten Toes… a Mother’s Story of Raising a Child Born with a Limb Difference – 10-Year Anniversary Edition, now with Photos”; “From This Day Forward…”; and “Silly Stories and Sentimental Stuff.” For more information about Katie and her writing, please visit her website at: www.katiekolbergmemmel.com 

Nothing like a new knee in the new year!

Hello dear readers! 

I hope that all is well with you in your “worlds”. As for me and mine, I’ve had a big change, which I hope will prove to be a good one. On Tuesday, April 2nd, I underwent surgery for a full right knee replacement. I have been, and am still in recovery mode. 

First of all, I should share a little back-story. Do any of you remember me mentioning here on the blog that in the summer of 2021, I was having trouble walking? Well, as of a month ago (Spring of 2024), I was still struggling - even more so. Due to arthritis, not an accident, my right knee has given me pain for many years. For lack of a better word, I’ll say my condition had started to ruin my life. It’s also probable that the way I was walking began causing my left hip to hurt, too, which caused more pain while moving. It makes perfect sense, right? To favor my right knee, I leaned more heavily on my left.

I’ve been a pretty good sport, and have tried hard not to let the pain stop me from whatever I wanted or needed to do. I basically grinned and bore it. This method worked pretty well for me when I was at home, but… back in November, we took a vacation. We left Wisconsin and headed south, hit up some sites in Indiana and Kentucky, ultimately to experience the Smoky Mountains. Our final destination was to connect with Tony and family in Nashville, Tennessee for Thanksgiving weekend. 

It was a really nice car trip. Up to that point, I never had much trouble with my knee when I sat or laid down. However, as the trip wore on, the added walking - tours, museums, simply getting from point A to point B, became excruciating for me. When Tony (lovingly) suggested I use a wheelchair at the Country Music Hall of Fame, I began to protest the idea. When had my physical condition become so obvious? I wondered. 

I knew deep down that it would be best if I followed Tony’s suggestion, so I cast my foolish pride to the side. We got to the CMHOF when it opened, and they had chairs available to borrow, so I used one. The day went well, and I was so glad I had participated and not canceled my tour. It was just that… well… the experience had served as a real eye-opener for me. I guess I thought I’d been fooling everybody, but no… not even a little bit. 

Tony and Lesleigh made me promise that when I got home, I’d look into “next steps” for me and for my knee situation. True to my word, I visited with the string of doctors that a medical situation of this nature requires. The x-ray of my knee showed that I had been walking bone-on-bone. No wonder I was in so much pain. I tried a shot of cortisone in early December, hoping that it would patch me through the upcoming holidays and Todd’s retirement party. It actually did ease some of the pain, but exactly one month from the date of the shot, my pain returned. It was time. 

As the surgery date approached, I felt positive and matter-of-fact about it. I kept myself busy by filling out required questionnaires about my condition, along with ranking my pain levels from 0-10. I made a slew of phone calls, booked my post-surgery therapy appointments, and attended (with Todd, too) a required pre-surgery class. I can’t be 100% sure, but I’ll guess I was the youngest person there.

However, I’ll be honest. My positivity level did eventually take a hit. All of that talk of braces, canes, walkers, and wheelchairs was making me feel like somebody I had never been. Back in 2011, when I turned 50, I joked about being “fabulous”. In 2021, to me, 60 sounded like just another number. But I think that the old saying, “When you have your health, you have everything,” proves true for me. Being in a lot of pain day-in and day-out is exhausting. I’ve realized something else, too. Let me ask you… have you ever envied someone for their physical beauty, or maybe even for their wealth? I know it’s common to do that, but I no longer envy things like that; rather I now watch how gracefully someone walks, or how quickly they can climb a flight of stairs – sometimes even two at a time! I think Wow! I remember when I could do that. I wish I could still do that… Who knows? Maybe someday… 

So here we are. Three weeks have passed and I am working hard in therapy. I vowed to do whatever earthly thing was required to get back on my feet as soon as possible. I have a set of exercises that I am committed to complete twice daily. The surgeon is pleased with my progress. My Physical Therapist seems pleased, too. From here, it’s going to take time. They say that, “Time heals all wounds.” I’d like to insert “prayer” into the equation as well. Time, along with our perfect healer… 

I hope to be “back at it” (whatever “it” may be) very soon. Pray for me? 

Your friend, Katie

Katie Kolberg Memmel is the author of three books: "Five Fingers, Ten Toes - A Mother's Story of Raising a Child Born With a Limb Difference... 10-year anniversary edition, now with photos"; "From This Day Forward..." and "Silly Stories and Sentimental Stuff". For more information about Katie, and to order her books, please visit her website at: www.katiekolbergmemmel.com 

Just Kinda "out there" or "meant to be"?

Hello, and welcome to spring… winter? … spring! I don’t know. Here in Waukesha, Wisconsin, it’s been difficult to know what time of year it is. The other day we reached 75 degrees, only for the temperature to plummet into the teens again that night. But… other than that, our family is happy and healthy. And busy, like most!

So… Something really neat happened to me last week, and I wanted to share it with all of you. First, let me ask you this. Have you ever wondered if the things that you do really matter? Will anyone ever truly benefit from something I do (or write?), or is it all just kinda “out there”? As a Christian, I know that the answer is YES! Of course, with God’s guidance, the things we do (or write!) really can matter. We may never realize the effect our actions have on others, but nothing is just “out there”. While I do know this, sometimes it feels as though our best efforts fall flat. Until last week, that is…

Take for example… back in the summer of 2015, I began writing my second book, “From This Day Forward…” I’d had a deep feeling – a “calling” maybe – that it was something I should absolutely do. If you recall, the book is comprised of eight in-depth interviews with couples and individuals who have (or had) lived their lives in Christ-centered marriages. Some met and married young, some lived well into old age. One story follows a couple who each suffered through rough divorces, then found each other, which led to a blessed second chance. Another describes the heartbreak of infertility, which eventually led to four loving adoptions. There’s even a story of a widow and widower who found deep love for a second time around.

Each of our discussions, which I voice-recorded, took about five hours. After our talks, I sat down and transcribed each of them, weaving what they’d said into their own individual love story. On a personal level, that experience has enriched my own life/marriage more than simple words can say. The wisdom I absorbed while listening to each interviewee – watching their facial expressions, feeling their emotions, the highs and lows - was life-changing for me. After the book released in 2018, I had people tell me how one story or another had affected them, too. However, after the book’s initial launch surge, it didn’t sell many copies. I came to terms with the fact that the book (I was sure I was meant to write) would be there for whomever needed it, whenever they needed it, but was unlikely to ever be a best-seller. It bothered me a little, but I guess I felt okay.

Back in February, at the age of 91, one of my interview participants passed away. She and I had attended a Bible Study together at our church for more than 25 years. Yes, we had a 30-year age difference, but she was my friend, and she was with God now. Though I hadn’t seen her as much as I used to, I knew I’d always miss her. I felt deeply fortunate to have spent all those precious hours talking with her, listening to her as she reminisced about her life, her family, her love(s); then having the ability to transcribe it all and share it. Talk about time well-spent. When the book was finished and I handed her the beautiful printed copy with her love story(ies) inside, she loved it. Rumor has it that she “treasured” it. Wow, you know?

Last Saturday, I attended her memorial service. I appreciated what the pastor said about my old friend, which brought me a few laughs, and tears, too. Afterwards, on my way to the door, I greeted a few old friends I hadn’t seen in a while. From the back of the room, a man approached me. He introduced himself as a distant cousin of my friend, and asked me how I’d known her. I felt a little surprised to be meeting this stranger – like why is he approaching me? Anyway, I said hello, introduced myself, and explained I was a friend of hers from Bible Study. He then pointed toward a whole group of people (distant cousins, reunited) and asked if I’d take a few pictures of them all.

Hmmm… It was a different protocol for me, at a funeral, to take group photos of folks I’d never met, but I ultimately smiled and said, “Sure, of course!” Every person in the cluster – probably a dozen? – handed me their individual phone so they could all have their own shot. As you can imagine, there was joking and laughing as I reminded them to smile and counted to three, over and over again. In the end, I was glad he’d approached me, and that I could help them out.

As I shrugged on my coat, a woman emerged from the group, came up to me, and quietly asked me how I knew our friend who’d passed. I explained that for many years we’d been in a Bible Study together at church.

“Did you know her well?” She asked, her eyes growing teary. “What can you tell me about her? I let too much time slip by, and now it’s too late for me to talk with her.”

Oh my… I felt sad for the woman. It’s that “tale as old as time”, isn’t it? We’ve all been there; letting too much time slip by, and then it’s too late to talk to the friend or loved one who’s passed away.

But think about it… in this particular case, I was someone who could answer this woman quite thoroughly. In fact, what are the chances that I was the one person they approached to photograph their group at all? Of all the people in the room – probably close to 100 others, WHY was I the one they asked?    

“I knew her very well,” I smiled. “In fact, a few years ago I sat down and interviewed her for a book project I was writing on Christian marriage.”

My new friend seemed so relieved, almost giddy! “You got to interview her? What did she say? What can you tell me? How can I read the book?”

She seemed so happy as I wrote down my name and the book’s title. She said she knew how to access Amazon and that she’d be ordering her copy soon. I thanked her, too, and wished her well.

It was time for me to leave the funeral, so I waved good-bye to my new “friends”. At that same time, I whispered a little prayer, thanking God for His goodness. I knew His hand was solidly in this “coincidence”. In fact, the women in that Bible Study (and I) always refer to this type of coincidental happening as a “God incident”; a crazy turn of events, all seemingly unrelated, but actually line up to make perfect sense. How amazing was it that I was present, and could help that woman fill in some of the blanks of this old relationship? She needed to know more about her friend, and through the book I’d written, she was going to be able to learn so much about what she’d missed.

Some might say, “Right place, right time.” I’d have to answer, “No, no, no…” I firmly believe that God used me and my book at the exact right place and exact right time. There’s a difference. After all, since I believe He “called” me to write the book, I also believe He will arrange ways for it to be used for His good purpose. Nothing “out there” about that.   

By the way, the woman ordered the book from Amazon the very next day. I hope and pray that as she reads, she finds the answers (and the peace) that she’s looking for….

As always, have good days! Love, Katie

Katie Kolberg Memmel is the author of three books: “Five Fingers, Ten Toes – A Mother’s Story of Raising a Child Born with a Limb Difference” (Ten-Year Anniversary Edition – Now with Photos!); “Silly Stories and Sentimental Stuff”; and “From This Day Forward – True Love Stories Shared Through Interviews”. Each is available through Amazon in a Kindle or paperback version. For more information about Katie, please visit her website at www.katiekolbergmemmel.com

Cheers! to Retirement

Hi everybody!

How’re y’all doing? We’re doing well, actually. Yes, 2023 was one heck-of-a-year around here, but we’re putting it in our rearview and pressing forward.

I’ve been thinking. I don’t believe I ever blogged about the fact that Todd, my husband of 42-plus years, has retired. He formally retired at the end of 2022. know, I know… it’s an awfully big life change to not have mentioned, yet lots of “other life” snuck in and took over the front burners of our schedule for a long while. Now that things are settling down, I figured that today, I’d catch you up. 

Ten people = lots of shoes! 

Back in October, as our family discussed who would host Christmas this year, it sounded good to both of our kids’ families to come up to Wisconsin. Since both sets of in-laws also live in this area, it’s nice to connect with their other families as well. Todd and I accepted the host/hostess challenge, which included deciding how we might “sleep” ten people in our house – six adults, three little kids, and a baby.

As all of these dates, plans, and people-shuffling ideas started to form, I had a light-bulb moment. Last year, there hadn’t been a good time for everyone to be in town together to fully acknowledge Todd’s retirement. Perhaps the holiday season could be the perfect time for us to throw him that “Surprise Retirement Party” I’d been contemplating! I talked with the kids and they said it sounded good, so I started making calls and crunching numbers. December 26^th seemed like a perfect day for our family, so I rolled up my sleeves and began the invitation process.

This blog entry would not be complete without some history about Todd and work – a complicated pairing, indeed. I’ll start by saying that both he and I were raised in families who worked hard and saw jobs through to completion. From grass-cutting to babysitting, whatever jobs we undertook, we learned what we could from them.

In January of 1979, 45 years ago, Todd started his Sheet Metal Apprenticeship.  About a year later, in February of 1980, Todd and I met - he was 19 and I was 18. I was working at the Miller Brewing Company, doing secretarial work. Both of us were employed and happy in our jobs.

We fell in love, so in September of 1981, Todd and I said our “I do’s”. Those first few months of marriage were fun and care-free. Then, just three months into our marriage, he received his first lay-off notice. Our life no longer felt as fun or as care-free. We bickered more often, and I admit that these sessions were not very helpful, likely making our situation even worse. It took three long months for him to get called to a new company. Our hopes rose. Maybe this will be the end to the unemployment… but no. The placement didn’t last long. He received another lay-off. He hated what was happening. All he wanted was to work full-time, accumulate the hours needed to graduate from his apprenticeship, and finally become a journeyman.

In that tough early-1980’s job market, the way to permanent employment would be to make himself indispensable. The trade needed welders, so he enrolled in a night class to help him beef up his welding skills. His strategy worked and he was hired. Welding wasn’t/isn’t easy or glamorous. Despite the protective gear he wore, he came home every day with burn holes in his jeans and t-shirts. But his dedication impressed me. He knew what he wanted and needed, and went after it. He was no longer unemployed.

He liked his new company. Initially, he welded, but then grew into a whole different aspect of the trade – service. They gave him a van to drive and a schedule of appointments to keep. With lay-offs, he’d lost about six months, but eventually he graduated from his apprenticeship. The union ended up inviting Todd to teach night school. For many years, after working a full day at his job, he’d then teach up-and-coming apprentices one night a week. He could earn more money in those four hours of teaching than I could have earned in ten hours of part-time secretarial work.  Over the decades, many young people have approached me, saying how much they appreciated Todd’s teaching, leadership and mentorship in the trades. It always meant a lot to me, knowing that the sacrifice we made of him being away from us (his family), was helping others.

Woven into all of this school and work, other life experiences were happening, too. We bought a house and remodeled it. We became parents to our two children: Tony (our son) was born in 1985 and Megan (our daughter) was born in 1988. From early-on in our relationship, Todd and I worked toward me being a stay-at-home mom. Todd confesses that from the minute he watched our kids come into the world, a deep fatherly responsibility settled over him. It was no longer just him and me – no, we were now a family, and he (mostly) would be financially responsible. That was our goal. He took that very seriously. Finally, we sold our house and moved to an apartment while we built another home which he actually designed - from scratch! The kids started school and lots of other activities. Life really took off.   

At work, Todd became a boss - a man that other employees reported to, and relied on for employment. Remembering his own feelings about those early lay-offs, he felt deep responsibility to keep “his guys” employed; no longer working for just himself and our family, but also for a crew of other people who needed to feed their families, too.

During his years in the trades, he learned many aspects of the work. From his earliest days of sweeping floors, to hanging ductwork, welding, being “on call” for service, teaching, bidding and running jobs, and even attending engineering classes at MSOE to obtain licensing; to finally becoming a partial/co-owner of a mechanical contractor. What a career it’s been!  

Work held a top spot in Todd’s priorities. How could it not? But… to be honest, I personally experienced a love/hate relationship with Todd’s work ethic. On the one hand, I respected and was proud of him. Nobody would or could ever refer to him as lazy. I fully understood that the kids and I relied on him (almost solely) for income, and benefitted the most from all he did. Yet… we also took the biggest hits where his work was concerned.  

Vacationing became more stressful than simply staying home and having Todd go to work. We can laugh about it now, but he actually closed a big deal on a payphone (pre-cell phone days) at Walt Disney World in Florida. All we wanted was for him to ride “The Pirates of the Caribbean” with us, but he wouldn’t hang up. That said, we continued to go through the motions of him taking time off, always hoping for those special moments that only vacations can bring. The best trip our family ever took was in March of 2001. We flew to Mexico for a week’s stay at an all-inclusive resort. His cell phone usage was not yet international so he couldn’t work. We had a whole week with him to ourselves – snorkeling, playing volleyball, eating, drinking… relaxing! It was the best family get-away we ever spent.

As the kids grew up, I was able to attend most of their soccer/baseball games, marching band competitions, band and choir concerts, school plays, and church activities. Todd came whenever he could, and even coached soccer for a couple of seasons. Are the kids resentful of all the work their dad put in? There may have been days that was true, but overall, I don’t think so. Now that they’re parents, they stay mindful of how much work they invest themselves in; perhaps striving for a better work/play balance than our own family achieved. But they’re also both aware that work must take a high priority in order to keep a growing family fed, clothed, educated, churched, and active.

Back to present day… Christmas at the Memmel’s this year was crazy but joy-filled. On the morning of the surprise party, Megan said she had a terrible headache. My mind raced, wondering if after all of the planning, she’d even be able to attend. As life would have it, she could not go. Her husband, Joe, and kids were there. Tony, Lesleigh and the boys were there, but not her. What could we do except to keep going? Eighty people, everyone from family, neighbors, friends, and work acquaintances, were planning to attend; all of them ready to honor Todd for all of the work he’d accomplished during his 43 years of dedicated employment. It had to be celebrated.

The party turned out terrific! Todd was totally surprised! He had no idea, whatsoever. Tony honored Todd by speaking briefly. He acknowledged that from the beginning of time (Adam and Eve), work has been a complicated directive to which we must find a balance. Tony tied it all together saying that now that he’s a small business owner, himself, he knows how hard that balance can be to find. His words brought tears to many of our guest’s eyes. I spoke for a minute about how I felt about Todd’s work. Mostly, that I’m really happy that he’s finally done. I believe that retirement is going to be good for us. Food, drinks, cake… it truly was a night to remember.

Sooo… Happy Retirement, Todd! We’re all proud of the man you were, are, and always will be. You’ve accomplished so much. Here’s to many new endeavors and projects in the years ahead!

 

Katie Kolberg Memmel is the author of three books: “Five Fingers, Ten Toes – A Mother’s Story of Raising a Child Born with a Limb Difference” (Now a 10-Year Anniversary Edition with Photos); “From This Day Forward…”; and “Silly Stories and Sentimental Stuff”. All three books are available through Amazon as either a paperback or electronic version. Visit Katie’s website for more information. www.katiekolbergmemmel.com 

Good-bye, House...

 

Good-bye,  House…We’ll Never Forget You

Most of you know that my father passed away in May and we held his funeral on June 1^st. If you hadn’t heard that news, here’s the link to that blog post: https://katiekolbergmemmel.blogspot.com/2023/06/saying-good-bye-to-my-dad.html    

Celebrating Dad's 99th b-day

What many of you don’t know is that Dad still lived in his house until shortly before he died. He personally began building it for our growing family back in 1954. I remember my older siblings talking about the early days of living there. My parents moved in before the second story was finished, so my brother and sister shared the bedroom off the kitchen. When my next brother was born, Mom and Dad simply added his crib to a corner of their own bedroom until the upstairs work was complete in ‘56. Life went on until several years later when in August of ’61, yours’ truly appeared on the scene. That house was the only one I lived in until the day I married Todd in 1981. It’s been a part of my life for… well… for my whole life!  

Before he fell, I often talked with Dad about how his “end days” might play out, and how he thought things should be handled after he was gone. He advised that if nobody in the family wanted to buy the house, I should sell it. He knew I had worked on the administrative side of real estate for many years, and that I had a friend or two in the business. He trusted I’d handle the sale without any trouble.

My father had never been a pack rat. That said, he was 100 years old, and had not moved since building the place, 70 years prior. Let’s simply say he’d accumulated quite a few things, especially when you factor in that he was from the generation who’d lived through the Depression. He didn’t like to throw out or waste anything that might have a use some day.

After the funeral, I spent lots of time at the house, detailing each room’s contents, and weighing out the best way to empty each. I started by making an announcement to the family. “If anybody wants something, tape your name on the item. If more than one person wants it, we’ll figure it out.” (For the record, no two people ever wanted the same item). I was often present as our loved ones came through the house. I felt privileged to witness their tears, as sweet memories spilled out. “I remember holidays when we’d play ping pong in the basement…” “Remember when Grandma baked cookies with me…?” “Remember the games of basketball on the driveway…?” On and on...  

Slowly, the items were taken from the house, which then left me with decisions to make about the rest. The Salvation Army came and picked up some clothes, dishes, and furniture. I only became emotional once. It was when the movers carried my father’s brown leather recliner out the front door. I could still envision him sitting in it, all of us gathered to celebrate his 99th birthday. How many sports teams had he watched on TV from that perch? Movies? I must admit that the sight of it leaving made my throat close and my eyes mist. But… there was still work to do. We made many trips to Goodwill (and yes, even to the dump). Todd cleaned the basement, then packed up and boxed paint brushes, nuts and bolts, and any/everything else that was scattered around Dad’s workroom. One brother faithfully took care of the lawn and flowers. My oldest brother and my sister seemed to enjoy sorting through the numerous boxes of photos and news clippings that had accumulated. As we laughed, reminisced and even rolled our eyes, we created a pile of pictures for each of us, plus a stack to go through “later”.  

As I waited through the probate process, I received many phone calls, as well as a large amount of written correspondence, from realtors and “we-buy-houses-for-cash” businesses. I really didn’t want to sell our family home that way - to someone who only wanted it to turn it around and re-sell. Rather, I wanted a buyer who would enjoy living there, and who'd make the needed repairs because he/she liked the place. I received a couple of offers from those cash dealers, but just couldn’t see our family going that route. Before I listed the house, I asked my realtor friend for advice about the process. In the end, and to my delight, it was his son who purchased the house. In my opinion, the deal was a win/win – a young man who liked the home and neighborhood, and wanted to live there.

The phone was in the corner by the fridge

With a solid buyer in the wings, I knew our days at the house were numbered. I found myself looking more closely at every room, closet, cabinet and drawer. Talk about a trip down Memory Lane! I remembered back to when I’d sit in the kitchen, talking to my friends (and eventually Todd) for hours on our family’s one phone. I remembered friends standing by the backdoor in the kitchen, talking with Mom and Dad while I finished getting ready to go out. I remembered special occasions like Homecoming dances, when my date picked me up. We exchanged corsages and boutonnieres, then took pictures near the piano. I reminisced about walking out to our old mailbox, hoping and praying that in amongst the water and electric bills, I’d receive a letter from a pen pal or current love interest. And I remembered the Thanksgiving when Todd and I sat on the couch, and announced our engagement to my whole family.

My room and closet where I "hid" my journal

My biggest memory of the house itself will probably be my upstairs bedroom. After my sister got married, Mom and Dad let me move up to her old room. How many homework assignments had been completed there? How many books read? How many notes had I written to friends? Most importantly, that room was where I started journaling; not just about where I’d been that day or what we’d had for supper. No. I started journaling about the real stuff – the “who, what, where, when and why” of teenage life. Every night before bed I wrote my thoughts about it all, then hid the ever-growing pages in a shoebox in my closet. Had I really thought that was a good hiding place for such precious thoughts? Yes, for some reason I had.

And so… after the house was emptied out and cleaned by us for the last time, I signed the paperwork that permanently ended our family’s time there. It had to happen sometime. Was I ready? Yes… and no. Is anyone ever fully ready to let go of such a large part of their history? Their life?   

But I can say that just as love and care had been shown to each of us in that house over the past 70 years, first from our parents, then finally from our dad; love and care was given through our preparation of selling it, too.

Mom and Dad

Each of the four of us got the opportunity to walk through, take pictures, and say good-bye one final time. I was last. 

“Good-bye, Mom, good-bye, Dad. Good luck, old house. May you thrive with your new owner. Love, your one-and-only family… well, to this point, anyway. We’ll never forget you."  

Then… I closed the door.

 

Katie Kolberg Memmel is the author of three books: her recently-updated “Five Fingers, Ten Toes – A Mother’s Story of Raising a Child Born with a Limb Difference – 10-Year Anniversary Edition, now with Photos”; “Silly Stories and Sentimental Stuff”; and “From This Day Forward…” All are available in paperback as well as electronic versions. For more information about Katie and her writing, please go to her website: www.katiekolbergmemmel.com

 

 

 

 

Saying Good-Bye to My Dad

Hello Dear Readers! 

If you have been active on Facebook over the past month or so, you’ve likely read that our family endured some sadness recently. My dad, the guy who turned 100 years old last fall, passed away. Some folks reminded me, “Well, Katie, he was 100. He couldn’t live that much longer.” I know, I know… Of course they are right. I know they are right. Yet, when it comes to your own parent, your own father, it doesn’t feel quite that simple. 

My dad was sort of “one of a kind”, you know? After my mom passed, he lived alone for 20 years. He golfed pretty well until about three years ago when balance issues got the better of him. He was still driving his car at 99 - just short distances, mind you - but was still able to get around. Unless he was at work, he drank two beers a day for probably the last 80 years, solemnly swearing they aided in his good health. His blood pressure was still okay, his breathing and pulse rates were still okay. But then, back in February, he fell. Nothing would ever be the same for our dad – or any of us - again. 

He hit his head and developed a brain bleed. Just as its name suggests, his brain started to bleed and began clouding his everyday functions. At first, we thought he might recover - get some rehab and live another couple of years. My brothers, sister, and I tried for a few weeks, watching as things were possibly, slowly (like turtle-crawling-slowly), improving. However, about two weeks in, his progress stopped, and he seemed to reverse, and went downhill fast. 

A final CT scan showed that the bleed was spreading and taking with it his ability to stand, walk, feed himself, and more. There would be no more rehab. Hospice is what they recommended. Within two days, I was signing the paperwork. We knew the day we’d thought about was now inevitable. Our 100-year-old dad was going to die. 

At first, we watched his every move. “Is that normal? Does he always do that? Is he talking the same? Is he happy? Is he angry? Does he know what’s happening at all?” We didn’t know, but he didn’t pass. My siblings and I read two books about hospice care, and the information they provided made us see that indeed, some of his behaviors seemed like “end of life” signs. 

Early in the hospice process, during one of his brief moments of alertness, he told me, “Kate, I feel like something is happening to me.” I perked up, and encouraged him to continue. “I had a dream where I saw the Lord – not his face, of course, but it was him.” Intrigued, I told him it was okay if he needed to go, and actually told him to “walk toward the light”. But he said, “No, the Lord’s not ready for me yet.” 

Dad’s dream was so clear to him, like nothing had been since his fall, or ever was again. If the Lord wasn’t ready for him yet, then what was all of this about? There had to be another reason this was happening to him. I watched him closely for every possibility, but I don’t think I’ll ever truly know, at least on this side of Heaven. 

Another week began with us asking the same questions. Two weeks. Three. “Did we do the right thing by admitting him to hospice? Maybe the bleed will clear. Could he ever live alone again?” Oh, how naiive we were. Maybe, maybe, maybe… We kept wondering. Week four, week five. We didn’t know if we should get our hopes back up or leave them abandoned on the ground. It seemed as though every time we encountered something positive, the next day, afternoon, or hour, his situation changed again. Nothing was certain. No timeframe seemed to be present. Week six, week seven… visit after visit… holding his hand, saying good-bye. Sometimes he’d respond coherently, appropriately. Those were good days. Many times, we’d think it was the end. 

His pain became more and more evident - not just verbally saying so, which were some of the most heartbreaking sounds I’ve ever heard – but visually, too. Lines on his face, furrowed brow, clenched jaw, visible weight loss. By week eight, we seemed to have no more choice. It was time for heavier pain meds. With that, he seemed more restful, more at peace. Then finally, during week nine, the inevitable happened. 

It was a Friday morning, exactly three months to the day since his fall. Todd and I got up and started our morning routines, planning what time that day to go visit Dad. My cell phone rang, interrupting our schedule-making. It was a woman from Hospice. She explained to me that earlier that morning, my dad had passed away. I blinked, not knowing what to say. 

Even though I knew it was time, that it was best, that it was inevitable… I was still shocked. My brothers, sister, and I were now parentless, sort of like orphans - in their 60’s and 70’s, mind you, but orphans, nonetheless. I cried. 

My siblings and I cooperated pretty well, and planned a beautiful funeral. Ten years ago for Father’s Day, I had written a short essay for my dad about his and my relationship. Back then, he asked me if someday I’d read it at his funeral. I told him I would… so I did. Tony was able to come to town and sang/played guitar for the service – How Great Thou Art, Beautiful Savior, and Abide with me. My daughter and her family drove up from Tulsa, Oklahoma to say “good-bye” to their grampa. Dad would have loved it, had he been there. 

Our father was a retired fireman, so the city for which he’d served, provided him/us with an honor guard ceremony. As the visitation time began, about every 15 minutes, three guards ceremoniously rotated in and out of their post near where our dad lay, one of them always at attention, near him. I’d never seen that before. It was really cool… and emotional. 

Dad was a WWII vet, so he received a military honors burial, complete with the three gunshots. After they folded the flag that had draped his coffin, they handed it to me. Such a somber moment. My jaw quivered and my eyes misted. I swallowed hard, trying to be brave. Then, after 100 1/2 years of living, our dad was gone from this earth and out of our sight. 

He had been a Christian throughout his life. We know he is now at rest with the Lord. some of dad’s favorite scriptures are in John 14. There, the disciples are told that Jesus is going away to prepare a place for them. As much as we’ll miss our dad, we know he is now pain-free and perfect, living with the One who prepared his place. Oh, how that vision brings me peace. 

Three months doesn’t seem like a long time, yet it felt like an eternity. My siblings and I each had time to say what we wanted to say to our dad, even if he wasn’t always awake or comprehending. I hope they each took those precious moments and used them. I know I did. 

And so… we now move forward. Here I am, blogging about the experience, hoping that someone who is reading these words will know that they’re not alone - that our family has also endured something hard.  

That said, we do know our dad’s okay. Better than okay. Actually, he’s finally home. 

Both in good times and hard, I wish you God’s every blessing, 

Katie 

Katie Kolberg Memmel has written three books: “Five Fingers, Ten Toes – A Mother’s Story of Raising a Child Born with a Limb Difference” (Ten-year anniversary edition, now with photos); “Silly Stories and Sentimental Stuff”; and “From This Day Forward…” All three are available through Amazon - paperback or Kindle edition. Visit her website at: www.katiekolbergmemmel.com for more information about her, and for links to her books.