Wahl Four Seasons

A year of lost love, enduring love and the greatest love
1. Auflage 2024
ISBN: 979-8-3509-2542-5
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 210 Seiten

Reihe: Four Seasons

Join Dee on an emotional rollercoaster through 'Four Seasons,' a gripping true story of love, loss, and resilience as her life takes an unexpected turn.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Wahl, Dee

Leseproben

Chapter 2:
Say Goodbye When we were kids, back on the farm, Shel and I played on a stack of haybales. We were at the top when I slipped through a hole between the bales. I was about ten at the time and had never had the wind knocked out of me before. I was on the ground looking up, unable to breathe, but I wanted so badly to breathe. I was dying. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. Above the haystack I could see the bright, blue sky, and then Shel’s little face. He peered down at me with utter horror. “Are you okay?” he yelled. I could not respond. I tried. I looked at him helplessly. Finally, I squeaked out, “I’m okay. One minute.” After a few moments, I could breathe again and inhaled as if for the first time. I slowly climbed my way out of the haybales. “That was so scary!” I told him. “I couldn’t breathe!” We climbed down and moved on to other adventures. As I lay in bed that morning, I was back at the bottom of that haystack. Completely shattered, I wondered if I would ever be able to climb out of my despair. I heard voices downstairs. I was groggy, as if I needed more sleep, but I decided against it. There would never be enough sleep. I could not believe Shel was gone. I went downstairs and sat at the dining room table with Shannon. I could not think where to begin, but he knew—he was already making calls. He hung up the phone and met my gaze across the table. “Can you call Liz and see if she can sing at the service?” he asked me, referencing our cousin and my childhood friend. “Sure,” I said with a nod. “Can you write the obituary?” he asked, still holding my gaze evenly. I thought for a moment. I did not relish writing the obit, but I was the natural choice. I have always enjoyed writing. As hard as it would be, I resolved to write it by the following afternoon. I needed some time. “Yes, I can,” I answered him. Brad drove from Bismarck to see me that morning, and I was never so glad to see him. I dissolved into his arms and sobbed. He held me until my tears dried and then we talked. We were supposed to be in Minneapolis closing the deal on our new house. “I’ll have to drive back tomorrow,” he said gently. Panic rose inside me, which must have been palpable, because he grabbed my hand. “I will fly back for the wake and funeral. I will drive you home,” he said. I sighed with relief. I did not want to go to the funeral without him. I hadn’t even thought of the ride home. What happened that day I can scarcely explain, but I found myself playing in the backyard with the kids. Brad and I started a game of kickball. Shel would have loved it. He would have been right in the middle of it. I would live for moments like this over the next few months. Moments when I could laugh and see past the pain. I didn’t expect it to happen on the day after losing Shel, but it did. As the children played and laughed, I knew it was the right thing to do. I played hard and cheered the kids on. Some neighborhood kids joined in, and we played until we were tired. I could not stay with my parents. The idea of walking into the house that knew Shel so well brought immeasurable pain to me. We had a routine. I slept in the room next to his when I stayed with them. I would usually wake up first. Shel liked to stay up and watch movies till the wee hours of the morning. I would jump on his bed and tell him to get up. Sometimes he would get up right away or maybe need a few more hours. Then he would come downstairs, and we would begin our day. We would go for a bike ride or a walk or watch movies. In some ways, I reverted to childhood when I came home. We had our own language. We would play old records and dance around the house at Christmas time. We would do a pathetic version of the jitterbug and laugh at ourselves till our sides hurt. Mom and Dad would shake their heads at our silliness, but there was no stopping us. That house held so many memories that I couldn’t step foot in it. I camped out at Shannon’s and left my parents to grieve alone. Brad left later that evening and we settled in for the night. The kindness of Shannon’s neighbors was incredible. We were bombarded with food and cards and phone calls. The kickball game had done some good—I slept that night without the aid of pills. I woke up the next day and my parents came to Shannon’s for breakfast. It was not a pleasant visit. I found out that my father was not allowing my mother to speak Shel’s name. He was belittling and berating her nonstop and I finally lost it. “You have no right to tell my mother how to grieve. There is no excuse for talking to her in this manner. We all lost Shel, not just you,” I yelled, my voice as cold as ice. Dad did not even look at me. He got up and left. I hung my head. I should not have raised my voice at him. I do not know what it is to have lost a child. I only knew that Mom had lost her child too, and Dad was inflicting more pain on her. I wrote the obituary later that morning. I had trouble at first, but once I got past my tears, the words began to flow. I kept it simple. I took it downstairs and let everyone read it. After a couple of tweaks, it was perfect: Shel Wahl, 27, Tuttle, died October 10, 2005, at St. Mary’s Hospital, Rochester, MN. Services will be held at 2:00 p.m. Saturday at the United Methodist Church in Tuttle with the Rev. Richard Wyatt officiating. Burial will be in the Tuttle Cemetery. There will be no public visitation. Shel was born November 29, 1977, in Bismarck, ND, the son of Dennis and Judi (Dougherty) Wahl. Shel made friends easily, young and old, and genuinely loved being around people. His greatest joy was spending time with friends and family, especially his nieces and nephews. He made an indelible mark in our hearts during his short time with us and will be greatly missed. Shel is survived by his parents, Dennis and Judi Wahl; his brothers and their families, Shannon and Carmen (Fetzer) Wahl and their children, Cole, Cody, Channa, and Chase; Shad and Tammy (Puklich) Wahl and their children, Kalene and Wyatt; his sister, Dee Wahl, and her special friend, Brad Kesselring; his grandmother, Lois Wahl; his grandfather, Jerry Dougherty; and many aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends. He was preceded in death by his grandfather, Harold Wahl and grandmothers, Jane Kennemer and Carmen Dougherty. My parents bowed out of planning Shel’s funeral. Dad couldn’t handle it and my mother chose to follow his lead. I was bewildered by their behavior. I wanted to be involved in every decision possible. I wanted to honor Shel in a way that would have pleased him. This would be the last thing that I could do for him, and I wanted it to be done just right. I know my brothers felt the same way. I sat with them and my sisters-in-law in a conference room at the funeral home. Despite our ignorance, we hammered out the details for the service. We picked out Shel’s casket together. It was one of the nicer ones, a glossy, dark-emerald green. We chose arrangements with sunflowers and a matching program. My nephew Cole wrote a lovely poem for the back of it. The obituary was posted in the paper. The wake arrived the following day. Cole and I drove to the airport to pick up Brad. “How was your flight?” I asked with a big hug. He pulled back and his eyes were bright with excitement. “One of the engines died on the plane! I thought we were in trouble. People were praying out loud, thinking we were going to crash! But then they got it under control. I survived,” he said with a grin. “Are you kidding me?” I asked incredulously and smacked his arm. “It’s not funny! Imagine if I had lost my brother and boyfriend in one week.” He laughed and gave me another hug. “I’m sorry! But it was amazing. I’m a little wired,” he said as he threw an arm around my shoulders. “Behave yourself,” I said with a weak smile. I shuddered at the thought of losing him. I silently sent up a prayer. Thank you, Lord. Thank you for bringing Brad to me safely. Cole, Brad, and I drove to the wake. I squared my shoulders and steeled myself. My family had put together two poster boards full of pictures of Shel. They were on display as I walked into the funeral home foyer. I stopped for a few minutes to admire them. I smiled one minute and cried the next. Some photos made me laugh, and then suddenly it would catch in my throat. These photos would yellow with time, while we would continue to age. Shel would remain forever young, handsome, and gone from us too soon. I bowed my head and opened the next door. Brad was right behind me. I sobbed as soon as I could make out his features. It was impossible to prepare for such a moment. I noticed...