One Less Thing To Worry About

Danielle Louise Joanette-Kluck passed from this life one year ago today. As has become a cathartic personal tradition on milestone dates, I've written her a letter, which I share with you below. Danielle, my love, It’s been one year since I held your hand and felt you squeeze mine for the last time. Though only the first of many, it’s still surreal to think about. I went back and read the blogs I wrote and the other letters I’ve written to you (some of which I’ve also published as blogs), and it very easily brought back feelings and memories of the past year. There are a number of moments that I remember like they were yesterday, and that I’ll likely never forget. It seems like a good time to take stock. How are Torin and I doing, one year out? There are a few different axes upon which we can measure, but I think I’m going to upgrade the overall answer from my frequent reply of “okay most days” to “pretty good on average” . I’ve hit a stride in my single-parenthood and feel more c

I wrote another letter to Danielle today. Merry Christmas, my love. It’s been way longer than I intended since I last wrote to you. I kinda feel like I just need the day with nothing else going on to devote to writing, because it can be an emotional rollercoaster. I had actually taken a day off work for my birthday, but then Torin was sick and had to stay home that day, so I was busy being a daddy instead. Anyways, I miss you. It’s the little things that are hitting me now. The other week, I activated a free few months of satellite radio that I got from having Stevahn serviced at the dealership, and hearing 90s music made me think of listening to music with you, and I cried the whole way home from my parents’. And just yesterday, I went to pick up the Doat from Pet Supplies Plus where my mom had dropped him off to get groomed, and the last time I’d been there was when you and I were taking him there for puppy school, and I had to pull myself together before walking in. Not all car-rel

Today, on what would be her 38th birthday, I wrote a letter to Danielle. It's the first such letter I've written, and it was cathartic. I wasn't sure whether I would just paste it here, or just paste parts of it here, or write something else entirely, but I've decided to share it in its unabridged entirety. It re-treads some ground that I've already covered in this blog, but this was written to Danielle; those were not. Most typos are inside jokes or turns of phrase. Happy birthday, Danielle. I love you. First, foremost, and always. My love for you is unconditional, unquestionable, and unquantifiable. I miss you. Lort, how I miss you. I miss your smile, your wit, your kindness, your grace, your strength, your care, your laugh, your sillies . I miss my partner and companion. I miss my babymama. I miss my wiff. I cry every day. I have a little ritual - my specific time for grieving you. When I put Torin to bed, I play him the last video you made. I can watch the video

Seven years ago today, on June 28th, 2015, I married the woman of my dreams. It was a beautiful, sunny day on the shores of Lake Michigan. Just our immediate families were there, standing on a little bluff about four feet above us. Danielle's childhood pastor performed the ceremony while we said our own vows, waves lapping at our feet. We had met a little under two years before that day; the nearly nine years (8 ¾ if you want to be specific - between ⅕ and ¼ of my life) I had with Danielle were undoubtedly the best years of my life. I don't often think about the raw numbers like this. But on our anniversary, a day celebrating such numbers, it's hard not too. People ask me how I'm doing, and my usual answer is "okay". It's true enough, I suppose, in aggregate. Most days, I keep busy and go through the motions. I might even have some fun, whether personally or vicariously through Torin. I can think and talk about Danielle calmly. Sometimes, though, I crumble

Before talking about anything else, I want to shout from the rooftops that the Celebration of Danielle's life was wonderful . It was everything I wanted, and more. Stories, memories, videos... I feel like everyone there got to know her a little better. After a month of planning, everything went perfectly, and I know, in my heart, that Danielle would have  loved it . One less thing to worry about. A big thank you to everyone who came. And thank you too, to everyone who wanted to be there but for whatever reason couldn't, for keeping Danielle, Torin and me in your thoughts. And biggest thanks of all to my Planning Committee, without whom there's no way I could have pulled this off. Your love for and dedication to Danielle are humbling.

Thursday felt weird all day long. Everything was really quiet. Time seemed to pass more slowly. Fido didn't want to go on walks (but deigned to be led around the yard), perhaps sensing the strange vibe given off by the humans in the house. Danielle could still squeeze my hand that morning, which was reassuring, at least. Torin was finally well enough to return to school, and my parents came by after dropping him off. They spent much of the day here, which was nice, because most of the times they'd been here previously, they spent almost all their time wrangling Torin, rather than spending it with Danielle. A friend sent me some advice that really resonated, based on his experience losing his mother to brain cancer. I decided that I needed to act on it. I spent all afternoon just talking to her, reminiscing about fun times and travels and anything else that came to mind. I can't count how many times I said, "Remember when..." It was really nice to relive some of th