Alida Van Klompenberg, aged 76, of Grandville, went to be with her Lord on Friday, January 15, 2010. She was preceded in death by her husband, Howard. She is survived by her children, Deb and Bruce Kadzban, Dave and Kathy Van Klompenberg, Nancy and Doug Kadzban, Joel and Melissa Van Klompenberg; nine grandchildren; one great granddaughter; her brother and sister, John and Virginia Dantuma, Fran and Ron Aardema; her in-laws, Winnie Dantuma, Wayne and Hazel Van Klompenberg, Martha Van Klompenberg, Don and Millie Mulder; many nieces, nephews, and cousins. Funeral services will be held on Monday at 11:00 a.m. at the Zion Reformed Church with Rev. Greg Brower officiating. Interment Jamestown Cemetery. Friends may meet with the family at the funeral home on Sunday from 2 to 4 and 7 to 9 p.m. Memorial contributions may be made to Grandville Senior Neighbors.
I'm pretty sure I've been avoiding this entry for about a week now, and for good reasons.
1) How is it possible that while somedays I'm insanely bored from sitting in this house all day, by the end of the day I look back and realized that I have barely had a moment to myself?
2) I think I'm just unsure how to talk about this entry.... one that I know people have been waiting for... because it's not only close to my heart, but quite overwhelming.
So for the sake of my sanity, I'm going to try and keep this entry brief. I know I've said that in a number of my other entries that have turned out ridiculously long, but this time I hope I mean that statement.
This morning, I woke up and realized that Grandma VK has already been gone one week.
I realized that one week ago, I made a phone call to my husband at work that broke both of our hearts.
That one week ago, people who I love dearly lost their mother, grandmother, and great grandmother all in a single moment.
The flowers from her funeral sit in our entryway. There are three red roses sitting on my windowsill above the sink that I look at 20 times a day. Both are repeated reminders that she's gone and aside from the memories and pictures, that's all we have left of her.
And flowers can only live for so long. I think of that every time I see them and I wish I could keep them alive forever.
But if you know me, you know that's not likely. (Insert laughter here)
I also realized this morning that while it's often easy for me to discuss other people's losses in this journal, it's not easy to discuss my own. I'm all too aware that my family may read this and I don't want to inflict any more pain or sadness into their lives right now, so I'm not sure what to say.
However, the social worker in me knows that Grandma VK needs to be discussed. We can't go on in life acting like she wasn't here. She was. And what kind of justice would I be doing to my family if I ignored the subject? What kind of signal would that send? A message that she wasn't important? Because she was. She was important to this family and because she was important to them, she was important to me.
I hate to see my family grieving. I hate watching "The Sob Sisters" sob (and I say that lovingly, Aunt Nancy and Deb!). I hate that they're hurting. I feel so much compassion for them because I know that someday, that'll be Brittany and myself and we'll surely take over that title. I hate to see Dan, an otherwise comical and strong guy, let his guard down and then feel badly about it. I hate seeing my husband ignore/avoid his grief and just plunge forward into his busy life at 150%.
But I love seeing our family come together. I love seeing the support that's there when one of us is in need. I love that all too suddenly, we want to be together.
Grandma VK wasn't a healthy woman and so it didn't come as a surprise to me that we got that phone call last Thursday night. However, you're never ready for a loss in your own family. You're never ready to see your loved ones be brought to their knees with grief. To look around at the funeral and realize, "Wait, this is real. This is my family sitting in these pews. These are our tears. This time, I'm not on the outside looking in... I'm in the depths of this." I walk in and out of situations every week where my patients and their families are presented with a loss, sometimes suddenly and sometimes not. I'm able to walk into those situations and know my role, know what to do and most of the time, know how to help. But with my family? I wasn't sure of these roles. All I could do was be there. And I was.
I realized something else in all of this... it's amazing the kindness of friends during a time of loss. My coworkers were amazing to me last weekend. During a time when I wasn't sure I could be strong for others because I was trying to be strong myself, they were kind and protective of me. While I felt/feel guilty for not being there 100% to help them, I love them for what they did and I'm so appreciative of it. Certain friends were there and certain ones weren't... both by which I was surprised by.
This loss is one that's going to affect our family for quite some time to come, I know that much. Summer cookouts, Sunday get-togethers, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Saturday morning coffee, Tuesday afternoons, birthdays... those are all going to have a very different look and feel to those I love now that Grandma's gone. But while she's not here to spend those occasions with, she's still with us. We'll still feel her around us.... for me, I'll see her in Deb. In Nancy. In Joel and Dave. I'll make note of that "empty" chair that she "should have" been sitting in. And while I know that'll make me sad for a moment, I know I'll also rejoice because I remembered her.
I will remember her.
All of those things will be a reminder that she's in heaven now, dancing with Grandpa Howie.
And that will make me smile.
(short and sweet... go me!)
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