For the Record

Okay, just to be sure that you don't think my family is from Kentucky or anything: it is all perfectly legal for my dad's brother to be married to my mom's sister. So, for the record, the blond on the far right in the top picture is my Aunt Barbara. The freckled boy in the center of the bottom picture is my Uncle John--they are married now. See? No problem. Just to clarify that there is nothing funny going on in my family tree. Okay, there is SOME funny stuff going on, but you know what I mean! My last blog may have left some uncertainties. Now you know.

Parker Family (pre-twins, Aunt Kathy and Uncle Keith weren't born yet)

From the left: Bryan's mom: Victoria, Aunt Peggy, Aunt Emmy, Aunt Shirley, Aunt Barbara, Uncle Larry, Grandma Florence. Circa: 1950's

Klungreseter Family (pre-Uncle Karl and Aunt Ingrid)

From left: Grandma Birthday, Uncle Eric, Uncle John , Grandpa, and Bryan's Dad: David

Circa 1953?

I need some more pictures of these two families. Any relations out there with some good ones? I will pay handsomely for your contributions :)

With Hope

There is joy. Lots of it. I just needed to pay attention. To the little things. My youngest son's irresistible dimples. My oldest daughter's quiet and graceful blossoming. My middle girl's tender motherly care for her brother. The quick gleam of curiosity and mischief in one son's eyes. The determined focus of one boy--his stick-to-it-tiveness brings joy to my heart. A molten sunset on the horizon. The sound of waves crashing on the beach outside my tent, lulling me to sleep. My husband catching his first wave--three whole seconds of surfing. S'mores over a campfire. Reading a good book with no interruptions. Grieving with Hope. Not like the world mourns, but with eager expectation. Joy. In the morning. Thank you for answered prayers, Lord.

This week my heart welled up with joy each time I caught myself thinking of my brother. I was one blessed sister. It may be true that I think about Bryan more each day since he died than I ever did when he was an accessible, active, present fixture in my life. His face, his huge grin and long-lashed brown eyes, flashed before my mind so many times this week.

We vacationed right on the Pacific Ocean this week. Out-grown tent, over-used airmattresses, forgotten flashlights, icky-yucky gross bathrooms, expensive showers--the whole bit. I confess that Bryan and the beach really shouldn't go in the same sentence. He hated the sand. I have no memories, NONE, of us ever playing in the waves together or building sandcastles or burying each other in the sand. Last year Reilly had a beach birthday party and Bryan even conveniently got out of attending. Once he came after we had spent the day in the sun and surf but only because I bribed him with a campfire hotdog and s'mores. The man could not turn down hot dogs blackened on a coat hanger. With mustard.

But seeing Aidan race to the toilet barely making it reminded me of my brother's ability to time his dash to the bathroom just in the nick of time. He never wanted to interrupt his fun even when nature called. And seeing our cousin John come up from the shore made me take a deep breath and glance away. John and Bryan look so alike. Of course. His mom is my mom's sister and his dad is my dad's oldest brother. Even John's long toes in flip flops made me think of Bryan. And that tattoo--each member of John Jr's family memorialized Bryan forever with a tattoo. Listening to the Eagles with Bryan's Uncle Keith and his "nephews", Justin, Mark and Wyatt. Eating boxes mac n' cheese. Driving past D Street in Encinitas. A dozen different times a day I think of my brother. And I smile. He was such a great guy. I was so lucky to share my life with him. He brought me joy. And his memory still does. I can't wait to see him again.

Joy Comes in the Morning

Yesterday I finished another book on my summer reading list: Betty Smith's Joy in the Morning. I liked it. It felt reminiscent of many of my early married days (oh the angst and insecurity!) and my first pregnancy (oh the angst and insecurity!). Then in my quiet time I read Psalm 30:5 which reminds me: "Weeping my endure for a night (or 216 nights) but joy comes in the morning." This morning, coincidentally (or NOT!), I was reading the confessions of my favorite blogger and her post was entitled: Joy Comes in the Morning

(you can read it here: http://thepioneerwoman.com/blog/2009/07/joy_comes_in_the_morning/#comments)

Well, I may be a bit slow to the draw but three times a charm, or whatever that pithy saying is. I hear you God. I am waiting for the joy. I am expectant. I am anticipating the pleasure of it. I am waiting for your joy which is my strength.

The Pioneer Woman ended her blog with this line:

"Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion."

I agree with her (she stole the line from a movie, can you name it? no fair looking at her blog first!). But I haven't been laughing this week. This morning I prayed and asked God to give me more happy, smiling, belly-busting joy-filled stories about Bryan. I can't remember any now. But stay tuned! I have a feeling the best are yet to come.

Daisy

If you stick with me, I will eventually come to my point. This is Bryan's story, honest.

I am in a book club with a few of my girlfriends. This summer we read Seabiscuit. I enjoyed it. To follow up my reading satisfaction, I checked out the PBS documentary on the famous Horse of the Year from 1938. It really is an amazing underdog (or underhorse?) story. Lastly, I rented the Hollywood version of the story with Toby McGuire. All three of narrative perspectives: the journalist/author who shared fascinating tidbits about the life of jockeys and our culture during the Depression in her novel, the documentary facts and and archived pictures added dimension to her words, and finally the melodramatic license used by the directors tugged on my heartstrings in the academy winning movie. I feel like I am an expert on all things horse racing right now.

But to be honest, I would not have read the book unless I had to. I am not a natural animal person. Some people are dog people, some folks love tennis, others are gourmet cooks, I love people. So I don't usually chose books about animals. But I had to for the book club. Anyway, how does all that relate to Bryan? Be patient, I'm getting there.

Bryan loved underdog stories. And the story of the broken horse and his broken jockey making a remarkable comeback fits the bill for an amazing down-and-out tale with a triumphant ending. Incredible courage and tenacity against great odds. Bryan read the book when it came out in 2001. It was a sports book. It won rave reviews. Bryan was an avid reader. He had the movie in his collection. I know he liked it. He told my parents to go see it. So last night when I was watching the movie, and the actor playing Tom Smith, Seabiscuit's quiet and reticent trainer, said his line: "You don't throw a whole life away just cause he's banged up a little. " I immediately thought of Bryan. And Daisy.

We used to have a kitty named Daisy. Actually, when we were newly married, we practiced our parenting on our two cats, Baxter and Daisy. Baxter was neurotic (thank goodness I practiced on a cat first!) but Daisy was sweet and snugly. She was a gentle lap cat. Right before we moved into our first home, Baxter ran away and sad Daisy was left to mourn the loss of her companion. Awwww! We proceeded to have babies three and four within months of moving in and I confess that I was overwhelmed. Four kids, all three years old and under. And a depressed, needy cat.

Bryan to the rescue! He took our sad cat and spoiled her rotten. I mean it. His girlfriend and he overfed her, gave her Evian water, and spent hundreds of dollars for her at the vet. Daisy cat loved to sleep on my brother's back. Bryan liked her quiet, comforting companionship.

At the end of his life, Bryan faced hard times. Hard choices. One of them was about Daisy. He was trying to get a new roommate and not everyone wants to live with a shedding, snuggle cat. A sick cat, at that. Daisy had tummy troubles. She vomited several times a day. Medication hadn't helped her. First Bryan called me and asked me to ask any and all of my friends if they wanted a cat. A quiet, cuddly cat. Who vomits regularly. No takers. Then he called again and asked if we would take her back. "No way Bryan!" was my incredulous and emphatic answer. "You are going to have to decide what to do with her, little Brother. Be a man. Either take her in an put her down since she is so much trouble. Or find a new home for her." That was my ungracious and unmerciful response. I am ashamed to admit it here. But I need to tell this story. It is cathartic.

Bryan started crying. He refused to even consider ending the life of a cat who had been his comfort through so much. Just because she was banged up a little. I didn't understand then that he was in despair and was struggling just to stay above water in the ocean of troubles that was overtaking him. He was tormented. But I didn't understand that then.

Bryan WAS a man. One of the BEST men I know. He wasn't complaining or seeking my pity for the difficult consequences he was facing. He just wanted me to help him. And I told him to be a man. It is one of the greatest regrets of my life. This conversation that I had with him. Oh to be able to take all the words back and do it all over again. Right. With wisdom, knowing what I know now. I thought I was giving him tough-love. I believed that I was avoiding enabling him by bailing him out of his self-made troubles. He was fierce in his proteciton on Daisy. What Bryan was doing, what he was showing me, was his heart. His broken, overwhelmed, desperate heart. And I missed it. Completely. And there is no way to go back. So I am writing this as a reminder to myself that things aren't always what they seem. And you can never fault with too much love, too much grace, too much mercy. I don't think you can ever have TOO much of those things. To turn back time, and take it all back. But I will press on towards the finish line in my race and learn from my mistakes. Maybe you will too.

When I think about it tonight, it makes me so sad. It almost makes me physically ill. He was being a man. A better person than I ever could be. He knew that you don't throw in the towel on others just because things get tough. I didn't understand that he identified with Daisy. They were both broken and banged up. They needed someone to help them. Bryan instinctively fought to protect Daisy, even if keeping her didn't make sense or wasn't practical. He was so loyal like that.

Daisy lives in Carlsbad with Bryan's very good friends Gary and Carrie. I am so grateful that Bryan didn't give up on her even though she was banged up a little.

An American Rite of Passage:Prom and other silly things

Homecoming 1989-Bryan, Mom, Me

One bathroom-Two kids trying to get ready for the same dance!

Bryan and a date whose name I don't even remember. Notice the year?

I only point it out since there were different girls for most dances.

Sadie Hawkins Dance
Bryan and Salina
Spring 1990



Same Year-Senior Prom-Different Gal
Bryan and his senior year sweetie Salina

Even though Bryan's Memorial Service is a blur, one thing stands out in my memory. Salina was there. I hadn't seen her since 1991 when their high school romance fizzled. But she came to remember my brother. She brought with her special mementos that I had never seen. She had saved them for all these years. And Salina gave them to my parents. Articles from the North County Times with Bryan in the pictures. His senior practice jersey for football. Photos. Herself. Her sobbing self. It moved me more than anything else that I remember from that day. There were other girlfriends there. Ones he dated for much longer. But Salina came. I was moved by that.

I guess it just make me think of how many lives he had touched in his thirty-six short years. He had many girlfriends over the years. I didn't meet them all. I can't even remember some of their names. I think I didn't even bother to forge a friendship with Salina because I assumed their relationship would be passing. But it left an indelible mark on her. And she came. And I regret that I didn't get to know her way back then: she was a sweet girl. I am so glad she came. And if you are reading this: "Salina, thanks for giving my brother happy memories and good times. And thanks for honoring those times by coming to his Memorial and giving my parents the tokens you lovingly shared. I am so grateful to you. You are kind"

Now on to some ridicule. I meant to post these in May when Prom was going on around here. Since Bob is a high school teacher, we get to experience some of the springtime hoopla, second-hand at least. And one of my friend's daughter went this year and there were pictures. It all made me feel old. I am getting ready to go to my 20 Year High School Reunion at the end of this month! YIKES! It has been ages since Bryan and I fought over our tiny shared bathroom for pre-prom primping. My mom used to always say that Bryan spent more time in front of the mirror than me. Check out the spiky hairdo on that guy! I'm telling you! It took A LOT of work AND Aquanet to achieve that look. And I remember pouting because my mom spent more on Bryan's duds than mine (she will object to this statement!). Corsages, Photos Opps, dinner reservations, what a racket! How did she endure Homecoming, Winter Ball, Sadie's, Prom EVERY YEAR for BOTH of us for five years--no six years!?! Because Bryan was still dating Salina the year after he graduated and he returned to EHS for his younger date's dances! Oh NO! Then he dated sweet Stefani who was younger still and he went to all those dances for her senior year! That's gotta be some kinda record! Seven years of that silliness.

WOW! What a mom! I salute you Momma! WHEW! You deserve a medal! I feel jittery just thinking about it. And since I have four kids who are three and a half years apart--I am getting queasy. I am not even gonna go there! I am NOT thinking about THAT today.

Six Months and Counting

I guess I was foolishly thinking that I would be healed or better or this would all be easier by this time--six months. It's not. I still think about Bryan everyday. The loss washes over me at random (and inconvenient times). I feel that aching hurt deep down inside of me and I wonder if it will ever go away.

I was at my friend's daughter's graduation and I cried because it hit me that my brother won't be there when Reilly graduates from high school. Her biggest fan won't be there to make it an incredible night. My brother's cousin is graduating on Tuesday and I lamented that Bryan wouldn't be there to tell Justin how proud he is of him. And then there are the Wednesday night family nights at my parents--it is not the same without him. Mom's macaroni and cheese casseroles make me nostalgic for our childhood. I could go on and on. I just miss him and I feel sorry for myself. And even crying doesn't make it feel better. Nothing does, some days.

Then I am reminded that Bryan is not wishing he were here. Bryan is in heaven, where there are no tears or pain or suffering. I don't think he would come back to this side even if he was offered the chance. Not even to share in these special milestones that are so painful for us without him here this first year. I am not sad for him anymore. His death, the despair in his last days, that was all fleeting. I believe Bryan is experiencing life as he was made for it. Glorifying God. For eternity. When my perspective is shifted off myself, I see his gain and not my loss. To live is Christ, to die is gain. I never understood that truth before. I am beginning to. Slowly. As time is healing my broken heart. I am not sure I will ever understand completely, all the suffering and sadness involved with losing my brother, my good friend. But on this, the six month since he left this earth, I am glad for him.

But I do wish I still wasn't so sad for me and my momma and my daddy. And every one of you who still smiles (or cries) when you think of his witty humor or generous ways. Or a glimpse of his big cheesy grin flashes before your eyes. For all of us, I am so sorry. But not for Bryan. I am truly glad for him.

I miss you Bryan. I miss your hugs. I miss seeing our mom's smile of pride when you walk in the room, gearing up for a good laugh. I miss hearing daddy talk sports over the phone with you. The Lakers wiped out the Magic and he only had Bob to share it with. My kids miss your face. I just ache for missing you. Maybe in six more months it won't still hurt as bad?

Meet the Newest Bryan in our Family

Bryan Mejia

Birthday May 17, 2001

Honduras

We have a tradition in our family that when our children are old enough to understand their commitment, we "adopt" a child through a relief agency to pray for, support financially, and send letters to. Reilly "got" Andrielle when she was 6. They are the same age and Andreielle is from Brazil. Kate "got" Jenifer from Ecuador when she was 7. They have the same birthday.

Today, I would like to introduce the newest "member" of our family: Bryan Gerardo Canales Mejia. He is the same age as our boys and we chose him (actually we feel like the Lord planned him for us!) because he has their favorite Uncle's name. Even spells it the same way (which is unusual!). We support him through Compassion International and the boys are already excited to become acquainted with their new "brother" through letters and packages. Even though Bryan is almost the exact same age as our sons, his life is very different from theirs. More importantly than our monthly support checks and care packages, we intend to pray for Bryan every week like we have "our girls".

Just another step towards keeping my word, to live BIG in my brother's honor! Now we have a sweet-faced, eight year-old Bryan in our lives to pray for and love. We miss you Uncle B.

PS--Disneyland was indeed bittersweet. Mostly sweet. I would post pictures but I have lost my download part thingie--you will have to wait. I am no good at making Disneyland magical. We almost missed the parade, we visited Toontown AFTER the slurpee place was closed and my mom called me General Kelly for the brisk pace I set. Bryan was greatly missed. But we shared a gumbo bowl in his honor and only cried a few times. We did skip Pirates of the Caribean and we only went on It's A Small World once. He would have been proud of how I utilized "fast pass"--he is the one who taught me the game! Over all, new memories were made and life is moving on. Slowly. My heart will go on. My mom and daddy were troopers and even though I know it was very difficult to have all the memories and emotions swell up inside of them on that first ride, they smiled and laughed and made it a RAD time for our children. I love that about them. They are so courageous. Bryan would be proud.

The Happiest Place on Earth

Uncle B, Samuel, Reilly, Kate, Aidan and our Mom

Christmas 2002

I could not find pictures of the other Christmases.

Our first family trip to Disneyland

Reilly's Birthday August 2000

Bryan is on the right.

My children have never been to Disneyland without their Uncle B--their "sugar daddy" of sorts. Bryan always made our trips to the Happiest Place on Earth even happier. Starting with Reilly on her 3rd birthday, Uncle B made a yearly trek with our family. The year the boys were born, he started the Christmas time traditions there. Slurpees in Toontown. Lunch at Goofy's Diner. Coco on the bench waiting for the Parade. Staying late until the snowflakes and fireworks. It's A Small World over and over again until he had a turn with each kid in his lap. Tigger santa hat. Minnie Mouse santa hat. Treats. All Uncle B-style. He never tired of the magic. He made it marvelous.

We stopped going because I am a kill-joy, a royal stick-in-the-mud; I did not want him wasting his money on frivolous stuff and extravagance for us. I wanted him to save for a house. Now he is gone. He never bought that house. And we are headed to Disneyland for the first time in almost five years. Without my brother. It is bittersweet. I am praying for more sweet tomorrow when the children's joy, peels of giggles, and twinkling eyes remind me of Bryan. But it won't be the same. Especially not gumbo in sourdough bowls in New Orleans or The Pirates of the Caribbean. I am not even sure I am going to attempt it. That lump is back in my throat. In my heart.

But it will be good. The boys, my mom, and my hubby are all celebrating their birthdays. And it is the Happiest Place on Earth after all. And Bryan is in the Happiest Place Ever. So I guess that may be as good as it gets for now.

MEMORIAL DAY

Fitz Kidz at Memorial Statue of unknown soldier

Duck Pond Temecula 2009

Dedicated to John Klungreseter Sr.

John is Bryan's Uncle who served many tours in the Vietnam War

Bryan wrote this Tribute to his Uncle while in High School in 1988. He was 17 years old.

"Black Granite"

The brutally sleek face of the cold, unyielding black granite stared down at the camouflaged man in the wheelchair. As he stares back, the cold winter wind glancing off the glazed wall wisps through his hair. This crying shell of a man is one of our Nation's heroes. But our Nation doesn't care. Kindness and friendship, none can spare for these terrible men who fought and died over there. Yet we built them this monument. So the men come and cry in memory of the men they loved who went there to die. Most came today by themselves. Others need help. They paid their dues in that war, in the form of limbs. They have no more. They all come for the same reason. To remember. They walk along side the dark reflective wall. The names etched on the wall seem to say it all. They find the spot of their best friend. They keep whispering his name over and over again. They start to remember how his young life came to an end. They loved each other like brothers. One was always watching out for the other. Then one died. At the time, the other didn't even cry. He is crying freely now. "It doesn't matter anyhow. He is dead. He is gone. You are here. You must go on." They try to convince themselves. It does not work. Most have lost something. People who were there are the only ones they bother. They were there at Tet, at Da Nag, at Ke Sahn. Most of the time they felt they couldn't go on. They fourth Victor Charlie. They fought the NVA. The people they were fighting for wanted them to go away. The only think that kept them going is the that they knew there would come a day when they would be on a plane heading for the good ol' USA. And if they lived through twelve months of hell and they made it to that plane. Most of them didn't know that nothing would ever be the same. So through the sky and clouds they flew and homeward bound they came. Only to be greeted in their country as constant forms of shame. Not as heroes, as was their right. But as villains because they went off to fight. Most did what they were told. Some pushed it and became too bold. But they were all just trying to survive, to save their own lives, to save their buddies lives.

So we built these men a monument ten years after their war. Gave ourselves a pat on the back and said we have evened the score. But all year round you will find them, crying, staring at the black granite wall. Realize, we haven't come close to evening the score at all. The names etched in the cold black stone are the ones who took the fall. For all of us.

Five Months and Counting

Bertha Pauline Klungreseter (Bryan's Grandma Birthday)

And one picture of Anders Klungreseter (Bryan's Grandpa)
Hjordis Anderson with one of her babies (Bryan's Great Grandma Lolly)
Her long hair is a lovely sight! She is holding Frank Sr.

Hjordis and Frank Anderson
Bryan's Great Grandparents on our father's side


The Klungreseter Family circa 1953?
Pre-Uncle Karl and Aunt Ingrid
Bryan's Dad is the baby




Our Daddy
David Clark Klungreseter


Klungreseter Family with four of the five kids!
Uncle John is missing.
1963ish?
Bryan's dad is standing in the back.


I have no idea how to get this second copy off. It is my favorite childhood pic of my daddy. My oldest son Samuel looks so much like his grandpa. And they both LOVE baseball! And they both have those same Klungreseter pre-orthodonture :)

Another of my favorite Norseman!

Our Dad in Solvang mid-90s

Our dad with his Weston and Anderson cousins. David Clark is the youngest boy.

Our Grandpa's brother holding Aunt Ingrid (I thought this was our Grandpa since brothers look so alike!(top left), Grandma Lolly (top right)

Uncle Karl, Uncle Eric and Bryan's Dad, David Clark

Our dad, David Klungreseter, on his way to his senior prom--

with our mom, Victoria Parker

1970

Our Grandparents

Bertha and Anders

Feeling nostalgic today. Wanted to share these pictures of Bryan's family legacy. Many of these beautiful faces cannot be seen this side of Heaven.

Funny how those Norse genes keep cropping up. Case in point: Samuel David, Bryan's nephew--boy you can see all that Norweigan blood. Miss you Aunt Ingy! Thinking of the party in Heaven today!