Tag Archives: Kathy Anne

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How am I supposed to feel?

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AMARILLO, Texas — Allow me this bit of candor, which is my admission that I do not know how I am supposed to feel upon returning to a city my wife and I called home for 23 years.

We moved to the Metroplex in early 2019 to be near our granddaughter, but my sons and I are gathered here to say goodbye to my dear bride, Kathy Anne, who passed away barely three weeks ago after a brief, but fierce battle with brain cancer.

Our granddaughter and our daughter-in-law have joined us for what we will call a “celebration of life” on Saturday that Kathy Anne led. We will be among many friends. They will offer their love for her they will remember her as a joyful servant to her Christian faith.

I find myself feeling wistful at times, wishing it were different, but knowing the brutal truth about why we have come back here.

Yes, my journey continues through this dark passage we call grief. I know there will be light. When I will see it remains an open question for my family and me. We miss her terribly. Our celebration will not be free of tears.

Joe Biden himself — a man who has experienced the painful loss of two children and a spouse — has said it well many times … that the tears we shed today will give way to a smile when we remember the loved one we have lost.

I am prepared to wait for as long as it takes for that moment to arrive. Right now? I am just preparing for what likely will be a day filled with as much pain as joy.

johnkanelis_92@hotmail.com

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Learning lessons of life

My journey through the darkness of mourning the loss of my bride is teaching many life lessons along the way.

I believe many millions of others have learned them, too. Indeed, I take comfort in knowing I am not the first person or the last person — and damn sure not the only one — ever to be thrust into this “life-lesson classroom.”

In many ways, I am taking a page from Kathy Anne’s own book. She imbued in me during our 51 years of marriage the knowledge that “everything happens for a reason.” We don’t know the reason, nor can we anticipate its arrival. I certainly did not expect the cancer diagnosis we received on Dec. 26 to produce the conclusion that it did.

Her belief that fate is not a blind exercise taught me well. I adopted that philosophy for myself, although I will admit freely that at this moment it is difficult for me to wrap my arms around the “reason” for my intense sadness.

But it is a lesson in life that I am learning.

I will be on the road soon to get away from the home we shared for just a few years. I will return with what I hope are wounds that continue to heal. Then … who knows what lies ahead?

My effort to get on with living might include a part-time job; I’ll keep writing for the weekly newspaper group that signed me on a couple of years ago, as I am having too much fun doing what comes quite naturally.

My bride would insist on it. Honest.

johnkanelis_92@hotmail.com

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Awaiting next hurdle on grief journey

The next major hurdle looms just ahead on my journey through my intense grief. I am looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time.

We’re traveling to Amarillo very soon to conduct a memorial service to honor the life of my beloved bride, Kathy Anne. My sons, daughter-in-law and granddaughter and I are returning to the place where Kathy Anne and I cultivated many friendships; we spent more years in the Texas Panhandle than we did in any other place where we lived during our 51 years together. My sisters will be there, traveling from the Pacific Coast to bid their goodbye.

I expect to get a lot of hugs and expressions of love from many friends.

I anticipate a lot of tears along the way. Then again, that’s nothing new. I have spent many private moments since Feb. 3 crying. My friends tell me it’s natural. They tell me not to rush my full recovery. Mourning takes time, they tell me.

I get it. I am prepared for the long haul. This next obstacle will be difficult to overcome. However, I have noted already that I am far from the first human being to lose the love of his life to a dreaded disease. I won’t be the last one.

Perhaps I can apply the experience I will have gathered from this journey to lend comfort to someone else who undergoes similar grief.

That’s not exactly a silver lining. It is my way, perhaps, of finding some positives to pull from my sadness.

johnkanelis_92@hotmail.com

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Tragedy brings form of comfort

There was no way on God’s good Earth I could have foreseen this happening … but it has happened.

My dear bride’s passing from cancer has allowed me to share my grief with those who are willing to read about it. Kathy Anne would want me to continue to “do what you love to do.” Indeed, she encouraged me to do so even as we believed a good outcome was possible when she was stricken at the end of this past year.

I have done that. You know what? It has given me a peculiar sense of comfort to share my grief.

Kathy Anne often would joke that since my career came to an end in 2012 that I was being “paid to have fun.” Yes, writing is “fun” for me. It’s what I do. I’ll leave it to others to assess the quality of the work I churn out. I’ve been called a “prolific” blogger. That’s probably true, as I was able to write a heavy volume of news stories on deadline back in the day when I was filled with loads of energy.

These days I am a whole lot longer in the tooth, but am still able to kick it out. I have done so even as I grapple with this intense feeling of loss and sadness.

And it helps. A lot! It gives me a curious feeling of peace. I cannot begin to define its source or why it happens. It just does!

So, if you don’t mind, I will continue to share segments of this still-developing journey toward the rest of my time on Earth. Many of you might be able to relate to the struggle that we all face.

johnkanelis_92@hotmail.com

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It’s OK to laugh while mourning?

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I continue to mourn the passing of my bride and I figure I will do so for a good while.

However, some bizarre thoughts coarse through my noggin as I seek to find my way toward a new normal life without my beloved Kathy Anne. One of them involves laughter.

I am 73 years of age. We were married for 51 years. That means she was a major part of my life for most of my time on this Earth.

There are moments when I laugh out loud at something I see, or when Toby the Puppy performs one of this pooch tricks, or when I watch someone tell a joke. I told a friend on a social media message that I feel strangely embarrassed when I laugh out loud. It’s weird, man.

There is no way I will wear black in public the way my grandmother did after my grandfather died in January 1950. Yiayia mourned Papou in a formal matter for the rest of her life, which ended on July 4, 1978.

However, I don’t want to feel oddly self-conscious when I chuckle at something. Those who have been through this level of grief perhaps know of what I am mentioning.

Hey, I’ll get through this, too.

johnkanelis_92@hotmail.com

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Grief journey takes new turn

My journey through the darkness of grief continues … but I am happy to report that it appears to be moving into a new phase.

It’s undefined at this moment, but I am sensing comfort in the company of good friends.

I met two dear friends today. One of them is recovering from major back surgery. She is in rehab at a Frisco hospital. Her husband is there, too, sleeping on an uncomfortable couch in her room.

I made the drive from Princeton to see them. I was anxious to (a) get out of the house for a couple of hours and (b) to enjoy the company of these two delightful individuals.

During our visit, we found ourselves not dwelling on my sadness. Yes, there was a moment when I talked about my dear bride, Kathy Anne, and couldn’t continue through the tears.

The moment passed quickly and we resumed whatever it was we were discussing. Our chat turned to political matters in Amarillo, where they have relocated after living briefly in the Metroplex before deciding their roots on the Caprock were too deep to abandon.

We looked back at a number of issues that I had been following during my years as a journalist in Amarillo. They remain involved in the life of the community. We chatted about their son and his wife. We talked about my sons and their lives.

Our visit took many fascinating turns during the hour-plus I sat with my friends.

Why bring this up? Because the journey on which I have embarked since my bride’s passing on Feb. 3 has been mostly dark. I had found myself thinking mostly about her final days on this Earth. I also have discovered that I am able to share others’ joy, such as my friend’s recovery from back surgery and their return to the community that gave them their identities.

I am thinking less about myself, especially when I am in the company of others. That’s a big deal, man!

The journey will continue. I don’t expect it to be an easy path toward the light, but I am beginning to see some glimmers.

johnkanelis_92@hotmail.com

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In the mood for philosophical thought

Waxing philosophical is not the normal grist that fuels this blog, but at this moment, I am in the mood for some of it.

So … here goes.

My mind and my heart have been traveling at light speed since earlier this month. I am realizing in real time how precious our time on Earth is and I am vowing privately — I guess now I am making it public — to make the most of the time I have left.

I wanted desperately to have more time to share adventures with my bride. That won’t happen now. I am left more or less to make do on my own. I will do that. Kathy Anne would insist on it. Indeed, she did insist on it once long ago as we talked about how we would proceed without the other one by our side.

She insisted that I stay focused on things that interest me and never stop pursuing them. As I recall that conversation, she made that statement in the form of a directive.

My two years in the Army long ago taught me to obey orders. I will obey hers.

I have known all along that our time on the good Earth is short. None of us gets out of here alive, as one of my newspaper colleagues used to say.

I am going to keep writing. I will finish, hopefully soon, a memoir I’ve been writing that I plan to leave for my sons. Kathy Anne pitched the idea to me about the time my career came to an unannounced end more than a decade ago. I think it’s about two-thirds done.

We liked to travel. I will do more of it. I have a couple of bucket-list destinations in mind: Australia is No. 1, followed closely by a photo safari to Africa. Don’t hold me to visiting those places. As I learned in horrific detail not long ago, fate can deliver an immovable obstacle without warning.

Life almost always teaches hard lessons. I have tried to be a good student of the “curriculum” that comes my way. This is the sternest test yet. I intend to give it every ounce of strength I can.

There. Philosophy lecture is over.

johnkanelis_92@hotmail.com

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Writing becomes addiction

Discoveries of oneself come at the most astonishing moments. In my case, my latest discovery comes at a time of intense personal grief.

I have learned that writing this blog is therapeutic. It is cathartic. It gives me comfort.

My beloved bride passed away on Feb. 3. Writing about the event and the journey on which I have embarked since then has filled me with an intense desire to keep writing on this blog, which I created so many years ago. It is full of archived text and pictures. I look back on much I have posted and am, frankly, amazed at the volume of material I have launched into cyberspace.

My chronicles about political matters and public policy remain the focus of this blog. I intend to keep firing away at those who deserve a brickbat or three from me. I also intend to offer bouquets to those who deserve a good word — or three — again, from me. High Plains Blogger isn’t limited to just those matters. I also want to offer “slice of life” observations, which I have done since the blog’s beginning.

I will beg the indulgence of those who read this stuff, as I will continue to write about my journey through grief.  Why do so? Because I know in the depths of my soul that many others have traveled along this path before me. They can relate to the pain I am enduring. I want them to know I salute their courage as they have found their way out of the darkness.

Therefore, I can think of no better venue — at least for me — than to put words into my laptop and send it your way. It’s good for me to write them and I hope it is good for those who read them.

johnkanelis_92@hotmail.com

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Turning a key corner

I had said in an earlier post I was going to back off my commentary over dealing with grief … but I now am going to renege on that statement with this brief post.

I want to declare to those who have been following my journey through the darkness after my darling bride’s passing from cancer that I am starting to turn a key emotional corner.

I am finding myself quite able to conduct business, to do certain tasks and — most importantly — to actually smile and laugh.

The only time I crack is when I talk about Kathy Anne, when I remember something about her, when I recall the love we shared, when I bring back memories of the glorious journey we took over the span of 51 years.

Indeed, I am welling up as I write those words.

However, I am sensing the start of a new normal for my life. I don’t yet know where it will lead me. I am confident, though, that I will find my way to the light. I am learning, too, to take it all one day at a time.

I have learned yet another valuable life lesson and something more about myself. It is that life must go on even as we deal with shocking, shattering loss. I am going through it to this moment and I am beginning to believe I can get through it.

johnkanelis_92@hotmail.com

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One more grief update …

OK, gang. I am going to give you one more brief update on my struggle with grief before I move on to other topics — at least for a little while.

The loss of my beloved bride a little more than a week ago has prompted me to make at least one command decision as I begin the long trek toward daylight at the end of this dark path.

I will hit the road, probably sooner rather than later. Toby the Puppy and I are going to climb into our pickup truck and go somewhere, probably out west toward the Pacific Ocean.

I have family out there and I have friends who live along the way. I want to see them. But more importantly — and I know that’s hard to fathom — is that I want to vacate the house I shared with Kathy Anne for the past four years.

Why? Because I see her everywhere in this house. Her cabinets with angels. Her wall decorations. The pictures she put out of our sons and assorted family members. My bride’s fingerprints are all over this place.

They will be there when I return. I know that I will have to look at what she left behind when I walk through the door. I believe in my heart I will be able to take it all in better than I can at this moment.

Of course, and this goes without saying (but I’ll say it anyway), I never will cease remembering her and the life we shared for more than five decades.

We are going to have a memorial service on Feb. 25. That will occur in the church where we worshiped for two decades in Amarillo. I hope to see our many friends come to celebrate the joyful life my bride led and remember her as the faithful servant of God she was for her entire life.

After that? I’m on the road in search of that shining light.

johnkanelis_92@hotmail.com