Daniel's Annual Christmas Letter

 

                           Daniel as he might appear this week, had he remained on Earth with us.

 

  Daniel,

 

         When I first started putting an annual Christmas letter to you in your stocking at Christmas, I wasn't sure how long it would continue. The year you passed, so suddenly, I had so many things I needed to tell you. There were things I was not sure you knew.  Last year, I began placing them electronically, here and on your Forever Missed page.  

          This past year has been very hard.  You have been gone now for fifteen years, and your brother Matthew has been gone for a year.  I know you have a basic perspective of how things are or will be, but again, from me, we are doing our best. Some days, we do better than you might anticipate and you would be proud of us.  Other times, it's hard to put one foot in front of the other, and to clean and organize for Christmas when sometimes we might prefer just to skip it this year.

           Your memory has never faded.  Your jokes, your comments and your attitudes about things are never forgotten, and they are still a source of amusement here.  Only one of the animals here on the farm that you knew when you were here, still remain alive.  Fifteen years is a long time in the animal kingdom. Warrior Princess Camellia (the black alpaca) still remains alive, although she is quite elderly.  She is doing quite well medically at this moment, but as most alpacas do, she will eventually become ill, usually within the course of one day, and pass before the next. She still lives a beautiful life and we hope she remains as long here as possible.  I know that you will he there to encourage her when she does eventually depart.

            I love you so, Daniel.  Please take good care of Papa Lawrence, your brother Matt and the others there with you, including the animals. I know they will try to do the same for you.

            Your "Turkish brother" and friend Onur has provided a picture of what you might look like if you had remained on Earth and I have posted it above.   I love you wider than the oceans and deeper than the seas. Yes, including the inland sea on Cape Breton Island in Nova Scotia. 

A Year of Loss and Confusion

 

                         Daniel at 12, Matthew at 32, joined in

                        an artist's fanciful picture of them.

 

                   Fifteen years ago, Daniel died suddenly, the day after Thanksgiving. A year ago, his brother Matthew, 32,  died in his sleep, a couple of days after an influenza vaccine, just a few days before Thanksgiving.  In a sense, grieving for Daniel stopped this year, in its frozen state while we tried to wrap ourselves around a new task, settling the estate of a suddenly lost adult son, and the grief and issues that surround his terrible and unexpected loss.

                   In some ways, the sudden loss of Daniel, and sudden loss of Matthew, years later, are similar. The loss of each son was also very different. The loss of Daniel was the loss of a child. We lost a child so teeming with potential that it was gobsmacking.  He had so many skills and interests and we could not wait to see what he would do with them, and then in an instant, his spark was gone from his flesh suit. We would not be sitting back to enjoy his victories in life. 

                    The loss of Matthew, as an adult of 32, who has achievements,college graduations, good jobs, a network of friends, and who was a partner in the family business wasn't just a personal loss, but a professional one that endangered my husband's business, and leaves its future uncertain. In this year, we worked settling his business matters while simultaneously grieving the absence of another bright spot in our lives.  Having Matthew with him in the business meant that it had expanded, and that there was plenty of work for two of them. When Matthew passed, this meant that more work than could be done by one engineer existed, and that deadlines might not be met. It also meant that the business had expanded beyond its abilities to continue to produce, and that it must now shrink.  My husband threw himself into work, and worked fourteen to sixteen hours most days, in order to deliver on the businesses obligations.

                  I also focused on what could have happened to Matthew. Although vaccines do result in deaths, on occasion, they do not often take adults without a known diagnosis or other health history. I was focused on two autopsies, a VAERS report, and how a simple flu shot could have taken Matthew. There are theories on what may have happened, but they remain just that.  Matthew was a healthy man who died in his sleep. His toxicology was negative, and his eventual death certificate reads "cardiac arrest of indeterminate causes".  They haven't even mentioned his influenza vaccine, and I am told, they never do. Matthew had not received any of the COVID vaccines, and had a mild short course with COVID at its relative beginning.

               And so we continue. We plod along having the Thanksgiving that Daniel and Matthew would expect us to have.  Daniel loved Thanksgiving. He loved the meal and the family gathering, and then our propulsion into the Christmas season. It makes me sad to think that he has missed the last fifteen of them here. Matthew missed last Thanksgiving, and now this one too. He usually contributed a dish or two, and he enjoyed the day off and the gathering with his siblings and their families.   As the business became better established, he was likely on the edge of moving out, although we would have seen him often, because of the business at the very least.

                 There is no choice though.  Both Daniel and Matthew would expect us to be the people we always were when they were here. They would not want us to stop what we are doing, or to be so destroyed by their departure that we did not live our remaining lives, and so we do the best we can.  We take one uncertain step forward after another. Eventually, we will have to deal with the essence of their losses. I miss each of their thoughts on situations, politics, and what they wished to do in the future. I miss their friends being part of our lives as they were. I miss seeing the futures that each of them would have had.  Happy Thanksgiving to each of you and to your families, regardless of your circumstances this year.

    (Lettering size was increased for those of you who read this blog from a cellular phone.)

Daniel's Forever Missed Page

 

 

   For those who have an interest,  Daniel has a remembrance page here:

 

 https://www.forevermissed.com/daniel-krehbiel/about

 

 

 

Missing Daniel

 

                You might think that after fifteen years, I might understand that you are now twenty-seven years old and that you would be significantly taller, larger, and that you would likely look quite different.  Since your father, and two of your brothers have beards, you are very likely to also.  And yet, in my heart the soul I miss, the soul often in my dreams, is you looking very similar to the young man when I last saw you alive, walking, talking and speaking.

                 I know that from many Christian faiths, we are thought to grow in Heaven if we go there as a child, and that ultimately, the mature soul may stay looking as most of us do around thirty.  And yet, it's my twelve and a half year old son who lives on another plane.

                 I love you so much, and even after the death of your brother Matthew, I still grieve your not being here, along with him.

                  Please know I try hard to keep all the promises I made to you the day of your sudden departure.

 

There Have Been Too Many Passings

            

 

   Some years ago, when our family first moved to this intensely rural area, there were few general stores. Once a week or so, the kids and I or occasionally just Daniel and I would go to a general store for milk or bread if we had no other plans to go into a distant town for something else. These general stores also had a couple of gas pumps.

                Not long after we moved to the area, one of the general stores sold to a couple of men who were partners, and who had big plans for the store. They planned to have a small bakery, a delicatessen with quality meats, and to make quality pizza and calzones on certain nights during the week.  Once they adapted to country life, which took some time, our kids often didn't wish to accompany me to the store, even if it meant the possibility of getting a Yoo Hoo or a couple of small York peppermint patties.  One day Daniel came with me, and the storekeeper was making homemade oatmeal raisin cookies and offered one free of charge to Daniel. The cookie must have been pretty good because after that, Daniel almost always wanted to accompany me, either to try a chocolate chip cookie or just to say hello to the shopkeeper himself, who liked Daniel and often spoke to him while I was there.

               As Daniel grew, and then died suddenly at 12 1/2, the storekeeper I mentioned was devastated. He questioned me on what I had seen and what I had missed, and how such a thing could have happened. I explained that the medical examiners had believed Daniel's death to be due to something called sudden arrhythmic death syndrome, and that under present technology of the time, that it likely could not have been anticipated, and therefore prevented. Somehow the poor man got the idea that the almost weekly cookie he had been giving to Daniel had contributed to his death.  I did my best to explain that Daniel's coronary arteries on autopsy had been as clean as a whistle. His passing had been surmised to be a failure of or short circuiting of the rhythm system, the electrical system of the heart.  Still, the man seemed to carry some guilt about this, and he occasionally mentioned making better food choices to people who shopped in the store, and he also periodically dieted himself.

               I wasn't sure how to convey to the man that what had happened had not been his fault by any stretch of the imagination.  Of course, I too was struggling from time to time with my own insensible guilt.  How good a cardiac nurse could I really have been if I saw absolutely nothing before the day Daniel passed ?

              Afterward, my husband and I honored a wish that Daniel had, and we adopted another child. The ultra rural place in which we lived had more new homes built, but after 2010, many changes came. Our shopkeeper friend became disillusioned with the tax structure, and decided to move to another nation where he had relatives. We were sorry to see him go, but we understood he wanted to move to a place with more certain profits before starting his own family.  He and his partner sold their business, and no one locally seemed to know anything about them afterward.

              This week I learned that our shopkeeper friend indeed moved out of the country. He married and had just had a baby boy before he too died suddenly.  I cannot tell you how sad I am about this.  Not only did we lose Daniel just after my father in 2008, but we lost our son Matthew in 2022 just after an influenza vaccine.

              In the COVID era, I cannot tell you how many friends and acquaintances in our rural area, of all ages, have passed suddenly. A few of them had a pre-existing medical problem they were battling, but many did not. They were physicians, housekeepers, builders, nurses, writers, school teachers, county administrators, teens, children, and they were from all races and walks of life.  Many of them were couples. One would pass, and then within a year, so would their spouse.

 

             I am consoled only by the idea that in Heaven Daniel can greet our shopkeeper friend, and Matthew can show him how he learned to make his own dough for calzones, inspired by the shopkeeper. My Dad can laugh as they all swap stories about the rural place with unyielding summer heat that we all have loved so much.

            I and the rest of the family still think of you all often, especially on this sweltering Independence Day.

Daniel Finally Gets His Cat

                

 

 

   Readers of this blog may remember that Daniel, 12,  passed in late 2008, and that on his birthday the following year, a friend of ours said they had a gift for Daniel.  Our friend Jan allowed us to pick one of her six week old kittens as a birthday present for Daniel.  We would love and raise him, and someday when he passed, Daniel would finally get the cat he wanted, but couldn't have, due to allergies during his time on Earth.

                   I picked a beautiful sleeping kitten who was about six weeks old, and took him home. We named him, exactly as Daniel would have, which was MacIntosh II, after a cat who belonged to a friend that Daniel liked a great deal.  MacIntosh I,  actually attended Daniel's Celebration of Life in a cat carrier.

                   Very quickly, MacIntosh II became Tosh. He was a healthy, inquisitive and a very bright cat who adapted to life inside our farm house. Tosh was not only highly intelligent, but he was adaptable as well. Over time, we added two little dogs inside the house. We have other dogs in a kennel on the farm who do patrol and animal corralling duties.  When we would leave the house, we would tell the tiny indoor dogs, "Be Good. The cat's in charge", and he was.

 

 

                    Tosh has been a special family member to my husband and I, our adult kids, and he's special to our grandson, Nik as well.

                                                

                                                    Tosh as a baby cat

                Tosh has truly been a joy. He was incredibly gentle even after Nik was born and spent a lot of time here. Toddlers are often tough on cats, but Tosh always knew he was a growing child, and never once scratched him.  Our daughter sent us a video recently that shows Tosh walking on the piano as if to simulate practicing scales. Tosh found many ways to entertain himself and to entertain us.

                It's hard to believe that fifteen years has gone by. So much here has changed, and so much has stayed the same. We knew that Tosh was getting older but he was healthy and moving well and we didn't dwell on it much.  A couple of weeks ago, Tosh had a stroke, and was recovering from it. Then, a couple of days ago, he wasn't eating well, and was just drinking. He was checked for diabetes, which was negative.

               Tosh was a little anxious last evening and we made sure he got a lot of love and attention. We told him that we thought soon he would pass and go to God, and that God would make sure Daniel got his cat.  This morning, I checked on Tosh, helped him drink some water, repositioned him, and told him how much we loved him. At 6:36 am, he passed.  The cat is as beautiful as a cat whose soul has passed to the next plane, as he was alive.

              Thank you Tosh for helping us as we were grieving for Daniel. Thank you for giving us endless hours of companionship, amusement and joy. You were an uncommonly bright, loving and human cat in so many ways. I know Daniel will be thrilled to have you join him. I love you Buddy, and we all do.  Please send love to Brielle (Adam's cat) also.

              Today, it is raining hard as if the angels are crying, just as are we.  

Prior posts on the subject of Tosh, "Daniel's cat"

https://learnedfromdaniel.blogspot.com/2022/06/an-update-on-daniels-cat-tosh.html

 

https://learnedfromdaniel.blogspot.com/2013/02/time-with-tosh.html 

 

https://learnedfromdaniel.blogspot.com/2009/06/tosh.html 

 

 

 

Happy Twenty-Seventh Birthday, Daniel !

 

      This laptop cake did not exist when you were last on Earth, but I would have made one for you now !

 

         This week it will be your twenty-seventh birthday, and yet I can remember the day of your birth and the day of your passing with a crystal clear clarity that may not be true of many other of the events of my own life. Please know that as we mark your birthday here on Earth, that we know that you, and now your brother are beyond our horizon, and safe in the world beyond this one. There is not a day I don't remember you, and there is never a day I don't laugh at something you once said, and I often share it with your oldest little nephew. I am not good at being without you, but I am determined to make you proud. With much love to you, Daniel.