Another Year Around The (Sometimes Unshiny) Sun

    Today is a difficult day.  It's wasn't the weather. The weather is beautiful--a crisp, sunny October day perfect for all the things folks are trying to wrap up this time of year in our area.  The school day went well.  We just wrapped up a three day weekend and my students were filled with stories about trips to pumpkin patches, weddings, football games, and playing with friends. I had some delicious soup for lunch and enough iced tea to survive the wild afternoon.  All good there.  I received a text message in our Convent group that a new third generation "Convent" little had safely arrived to the world (Welcome Ella Rae).  What a powerful thing to celebrate this fine day. I got watch my students play some volleyball right out my office door.  I love watching kids do their thing.   We are wrapping up the first quarter and I have a quiz to deliver tomorrow and I didn't even jam the copy machine as I ran it off.  I know Mary is proud of me.  I glance out the backdoor of the school and see Scott enjoying his time helping with varsity football. I am happy he is following this trail into coaching.  I can look all around at this beautiful day I've been blessed with but the actual date is what brings the nagging sadness.  We have arrived at the second anniversary of Mark's death.  And this folks, makes today, despite all of the blessings and goodness that arrived with it, a difficult day.  

     I spent the weekend thinking back to Mark's last week here on Earth.  The beautiful morning where we planned to take a short trip up to Gypsy Days-- even if  it meant we drove up and turned right back around--just to get Mark out of the house he had been trapped in for the past few days.  He was just not feeling well.  Some virus or residual effects of his aggressive chemo and shingles had him badly beat down.  But all that changed in an instant.  The gorgeous Saturday morning was quickly tarnished.  I thought about all of this over the weekend.  Especially on Saturday.  Whirling through my mind was the accidental fall, the swift decision made to  transfer him to Sioux Falls, the flight, meeting Scott at the ER, the doctors, the experts, the machines, the friends there joining us in the waiting room,the family that later that week hoping for a miracle, the incredible palliative care team lead by Dr. Lie who answered every question with such compassion and kindness, (I loved her so much. What an incredible gift she shares in heartbreaking times.).  I thought about the coaching colleagues who traveled to visit him, the dearest of friends who joined me throughout the week, the texts,the messages, the most precious basket filled with treasures from my dear Convent sisters (I still use the beautiful, soft blanket), the skilled, kind, patient neurosurgeon who looked me straight in the eye when I asked the hard stuff and answered compassionately that no, Mark would most likely never live independently at home again which my gut knew but I needed someone else to confirm this for me.   I think of the witty, understanding priest who came to visit--sharing some humor and lots of faith with me at the most perfect time in this journey.  I think of Scott and Katie and the hours they spent in the room.  Everyone wanting none of this journey to be true, but all of us deep down knowing this incredible guy, who was as stubborn and competitive as anyone I knew, was slowly in the midst of a game he would never win.  There was so much to absorb.  So much we all wanted to change.  

     On Wednesday that week I asked for palliative care to come visit with us to help us with a plan.  Their reassuring messages and help with decisions that were approaching for us, immensely helped our navigation of the first few days.  I think deep down in both Scott and I's hearts we knew what to do.  We knew Mark's wishes and knew that a transfer to hospice house for end of life care would be the next step.  I could barely wrap my head around that phrase. We would continue to pray hard for our miracle, and they assured us at anytime we could call Dr. Lie and she and her earth angels would help us arrange the (worst) coming days.  We spent the evening close to the bed and watched as Mark continued to battle this nightmare.  

     Thursday afternoon we made the difficult, but compassionate decision to move Mark to hospice care. We hadn't made an official decision but our hearts were telling us this was what he would want.  We were following his decisions.   He was not improving, some difficulties with his blood pressure were causing him difficulties with breathing, one number would go up and two others would sink.  A constant mass of machines, trying to get him off sedation, keep his heart rate stable, breathing controlled...all of the things.  All of the things that my favorite human had never struggled ONE day to control were now his biggest hurdle.  This hero of mine was in incredible shape until they found this damn slow growing brain tumor. That tumor had ruined everything. He had never even been to the doctor in Pierre.  He walked 5-8 miles a day.  Ate a salad every day for lunch. He had to eat my cooking, but chose wisely usually. 💟 This could not be happening to THIS guy.  But it was.  And we needed to help him with his wishes. There was not a lot of discussion between Scott and I that late afternoon, but we had asked Katie to join us for supper.  The three of us were meeting Scott's incredible friend posse at Buffalo Wild Wings....we needed a break from the room and from Mark's neighbor Sy who had kept the Critical Care unit hopping all day.  He was our only comic relief of that time. ("Sy--get back in bed.  You need to be dressed.)  We made our way out of the unit but we were told we could come back whenever and tonight we could stay as long as we wanted.  I was shocked this wasn't the norm---I had been able to stay with mom 24/7 across town at Sanford, but we could not in this situation.  I told them I would be back.

     We joined a busy crowd at BWW.  I think Thursday nights are BOGO special, and let's face it, aren't most of us usually tired of the kitchen by that time of the week?  I sat there looking around at the group of friends surrounding us and my heart was full.  Our lives, already greatly changed, would be gravely different in the coming days. Hours of sadness and grief were ahead. Years if I'm being honest.  Did I feel a little bit guilty pounding down chicken wings and an iced tea all while facing the most difficult decision I would make tomorrow?  I did for a small while.  But I  just kept thinking how much joy this gathering would have brought Mark.  He loved to visit and talk sports.  He loved BWW and an occasional beer or five.  (Now he didn't love BWW as much as Katie, but we had some epic times there. 2019 State B GBB Semis come to mind...full on cheering for ya, Osthus and Bulldogs.  He was full on cheering in a crowded bar. And a bit sad he wasn't there competing with his Chargers ...)   So I chose to take all of this scene in.  Maybe we  could find some smiles and laughter amongst the banter at the table and push the sadness away for even just a short while. And we did.  I told Scott as we left that his dad would have LOVED everything about the meal.  He agreed. (And imagine my surprise to meet up with a former Timber Lake student and his adorable family that evening...fully proving both Katie and Scott's claims that I know too many people. They were dying about this random encounter and still tease me about the folks I know. They actually sound a bit jealous.)  Tomorrow would be tough.  So very tough.  Chicken wings, a few beverages, and dear friends were blessed distraction from our reality.  

     I made my way back to the dark, dreary parking lot.  Navigating the parking at Avera is a talent all of it's own.  They buzzed me into the unit and I perched by the bed.  They were having trouble getting Sy to lie down and the nurses were now tag teaming on keeping him in bed.  I was on the verge of tears and began to start laughing.  Mark would have loved this madness going on. Absolutely would have loved it.  It was like an old Carol Burnett scene and Harvey Korman (who I pictured as Sy) was winning. As the scenario calmed down, my tears began to flow.  I sat by the bed and rested my head next to the best guy I ever met.  He gave me the very best life.  Did everything he could to take care of us--and we were a lot to wrangle--me being the most difficult.  He never got too high or too low--so steady. I did all the overemotional stuff--and he was always there to be the voice of calm.   We had shared some of life's greatest joys and life's greatest loss--burying a child.  I could not imagine my life without him.  I never dreamt I would outlive him. Ever.  He very rarely did anything for himself and we had so many plans for the days where his schedule would slow down.  I did NOT want this to end.  And yet my gut, heart, mind...you name it, knew this was not how Mark wanted to live.  His body was slowly letting us know this was not living.  I stayed long into the evening finally leaving his bedside about 1:00 AM.  We would have a long day tomorrow.  The longest days were ahead of us....

     Scott and I met at the hospital on that Friday morning and began what would be Mark's transition to the Dougherty House.  Everyone was so kind.  The plans were in motion and I let folks know we would be moving there sometime in the afternoon.  Dr. Lie and the trauma surgeon I had loved were still on call for the week.  They were an incredible amount of support.  During all of this process they had to get an ambulance service to transfer Mark.  I hadn't been doing much with any finances--had some cash on me to buy an iced tea during the day at the cafeteria, but I really hadn't even thought of bills or payments, etc. The kind nurse making arrangements came in and said that ambulance service required prepayment for the transfer so I would need to call this number.  It was so odd to me.  The nice guy came up to the room and gave me two prices--one if I would be paying by debit card or I could save money if I could pay by check. I was just so annoyed by this...like it was anything I wanted to even be concerned about, let alone be doing right now.  I grabbed my wallet and saw a few check blanks in there...quite frankly, someone could have robbed me blind that week and I may not have known.  For all of that week, I had holed up in the ICU room, snuggled in my Convent sister blanket, leaving only for the nugget ice machine and tea bags in the waiting room.  I had rarely taken my purse anywhere.  I don't really like carrying one and lost things regularly because of this.  It drove Mark CRAZY.  So seeing the check blanks in the side pocket, I saved that $23.63 like Senftner would have wanted me to do, and I wrote the check instead of using the debit card option.  I think he would have loved my choice.   And would have been proud that I managed to find my wallet without much trouble.  

     I remember the second year after Tate's death being much harder than the first.  And I'm so sad I know this about grief and loss and navigating days when you'd rather be in bed.  The second year without Mark has been just as difficult.  I didn't know what to expect today. It's just a date on a calendar.  But these anniversary days are hard no matter how much time has passed.  I know people don't get that and this is okay.  I'm glad they don't get it.    I also know people do the best they can and my journey is very different than others facing loss.  Grief, while often familiar, is a private journey. No one can tell us how to travel these days.  Most just do the best they can.  I like to think we have, but I know that's debatable.  I remember driving to the funeral home after Tate died and looking over at the the drive up line at Taco John's.  I wanted scream--how can anyone be ordering tacos? Do you not know that my child is gone?  It took us very little time to realize that life does not stop with loss.  Huge, unimaginable losses happen every day to all sorts of folks.  And only by the love of family and friends and the grace of God do we survive the days that follow.  We survive them as best we can--some days failing miserably, and other days doing a pretty solid job. There have been some incredible tough days this past trip around sun without Mark. I think of these as  "The not- so-shiny-sunny days."  The sun might be there, but he is not.   There have also been some great days too, with the VERY people in the very BEST places--but they are all tinged with the thought "I wish Mark were here."  He will be forever missed.  My parents, Tate...all forever missed. 

    Year three....here we go.    

Zac and Zach...A Tale of Two (Amazing) Grooms

Back in the day when my generation was preparing for college, we signed up for a dorm room and filled out a simple interest survey for the housing department on campus.  The rest was, what would one say, a crapshoot?  In rare cases, you may have arranged to live with a high school friend or someone you knew, but in most cases, you just took what you got.   The summer after I graduated, my friends and I anxiously awaited the postcard with your roommate’s information on it.  We fretted and wondered about this new mystery person we would be sharing a small space with as we embarked on this new journey. You may have made a phone call to connect and see who was bringing what, but it may have been a letter. (You young pups reading this—yes, people used to write letters. Complete with full sentences and indented paragraphs!)  But I can honestly say I was not worried about who I was going to be my roommate.  I was just so naïve and unprepared for this next step that my living partner was the least of my worries. I don’t really know, but I do know I was excited to meet my roommate.   (My freshman year roommate was an incredible gal.  I was so fortunate and was sad she left at semester time to change career plans. Well, that’s what she told me. I don’t THINK it was me? )

 

The current process is not nearly as dramatic as it was in my day. There is literally no element of surprise.  The power of cell phones and social media has connected kids like never before. It’s pretty amazing actually.  There are sites you can sign up for to search for the perfect roommate.  Before adults ruined Facebook, (I’m quoting Tate here) there were sites you could log onto to seek out a person to live with for the year. I guess I call that creeping, but again, I’m old and we ruined Facebook with recipes, photos of our pets, and not fully understanding how the platform worked.  (Again, I’m quoting Tate who was very annoyed I joined Facebook during his high school years. And this brought me much joy as I often annoyed him with a post or two during the week.  He NEVER once hit Like..so rude.)   I’m guessing Instagram is in this mix and Snapchat and Reddit and Lord knows how many others there are out there.  All I know is that you kids missed out on a character-building lesson in my opinion. Learning to live with someone you don’t know can be a really great lesson in acceptance and adulthood.   Where is your sense of adventure peeps?   Enough of the lecture.  I’m moving on to dorms.

 

 I love dorms.  There I said it.  I know my opinion is not a popular view for many of the kids preparing for college.  Everyone wants to move off campus and into apartments.  I just really love dorms and the possibilities they provide for the kids that live in them.  You have an entire building of people traveling the same journey you are.  There has to be someone in these rooms that can help you, bring out your best, or become a new friend. There is really no way to be lonely in a dorm.  And I love the opportunities they provide—especially freshman. I know it can be challenging sometimes, but again, it’s a great life lesson in sharing a common space and learning how to deal with adversity. 

      My freshman year was spent at Augustana in Bergsaker Hall with some of the best folks ever.  After I decided to transfer to Northern State University (Go Wolves), I made Jerde Hall my home for the next two incredible years.  I met some of the very best folks in these small spaces.  I have written about these folks before, but the collection of friends I have in my life from Northern has provided me with so much joy.  And love.  And support.  And laughter. And tears.  And did I say joy?  These Sisters, as we affectionately call ourselves, (stemming from the college house we shared called “The Convent”) have shared many wonderful days and supported each other through some of the most difficult days also.  Most of us met through the random match process and we cannot imagine our lives without each other.

 

This weekend Team Senftner will be celebrating two incredible couples.  Zach and Sydney will be married on Friday in Sioux Falls.  Zac and Mia will tie the knot on Saturday in Aberdeen. It’s a Zac/Zach kind of weekend.  I cannot say enough good about both of these guys, but I’m going to try.  And the best part of these young men is the fact that Scott crossed paths with these fine gentlemen during his college career and shared many great times in the DORMS.

Taking Scott to college was tough.  Both Mark and I were sad with the thought of an empty nest.  There were jokes from friends about walking around the house with no pants on and cereal for every meal, and we laughed, but deep down we had no idea what we were going to do with ourselves.  A large amount of time, energy and love had been shared in our parenthood days.    But here we were, dropping Scott off at DWU to begin his freshman year.  He was checking in early for football and his roommate Tucker, would be joining him in a few weeks when the rest of the freshman reported for classes and orientation.  Most of the other athletes had roommates but Scott was all alone on third floor Dayton.    How would this go?  We met many other families and young men that day before we took off, but I remember feeling so bad that Scott would be all alone at night in his room.  As much as I was excited for him to experience college and dorm life, I just had a nagging feeling about dropping him off alone in that room. 

I don’t think it took too long before Scott had an incredible entourage joining him at DWU.  The third floor in Dayton Hall was filled with some great guys.  Really great guys…. kids Scott had competed against and met through athletics and other school activities. Dayton Hall was the freshman dorm and there were just so many solid kids surrounding Scott.  Soon Tucker arrived, and Aaron, Mason, Jacob, Zach, Rory, Ty, Collin, Taner, Manny and so many others.  It was easier to know classes were starting and he had begun to make his friend group.  He wasn’t alone in the dorm room.  There was comfort hearing the laughter in his voice when we got a rare call from him in the evenings.   We heard stories about (some) of the shenanigans taking place in the dorm—the parental version I’m guessing, because now that these young men are older, they have shared more about the stuff that took place on 3^rd floor Dayton.   And yes, I laughed.  And yes, I shouldn’t have been laughing. They are the tales that will be told for years as they grow older and hopefully stay connected.  The stories will become embellished as the years pass, because all great stories do, and they will always bring laughter. #ItReallyWasGatorade

If you’re lucky, your kids’ friends become a special part of your lives.  We were so blessed to have gained these young men and women in our lives.  Scott’s crew from DWU are some of the best humans we know.  I feel honored they tolerate my texts and questions and if they are sick of me, they hide it well.  Both Mark and I loved Scott’s DWU friends, and we were so thankful for them those first few semesters he spent in Mitchell.   They have been there for Scott during some tough days these past few years and I will forever be grateful for their friendship. 

Zach arrived at 709 Circle Line Drive on a bitterly cold Saturday in January 2023.  He was an RN and had signed a contract with Avera as a travel nurse and his first assignment was in Gettysburg.  Scott assured him he could stay at our house in his old room.  He knew I would agree to this arrangement, and I was happy to share the “red room” with Zach if he needed it.  It was not fancy and certainly needed some updating, but it was his if he wanted to use it.  It was a 30-minute commute which out in our area is nothing.  I hoped this would work out for him.

Frankly, I was looking forward to having the company.  I left my home for college, left the dorms for a full house of roommates, and two months after I graduated, I married Mark.  I had never lived alone.  Mark’s death, two months earlier, had lunged me into widowhood and I’m not going to lie, I was struggling.  The company, even just a few days a week, was going to be welcomed.  I promised myself I would try not to be too overbearing or weird—but I’m guessing I was both.  His impeccable manners and kindness hid any annoyance he had with me. He hid it well.  Bless his kind, little, heart.  I loved having Zach here.  He worked mostly nights so he would be pulling up to the house as I was leaving for school.  Every morning, I would greet him with some (annoying, I’m sure) comment about his long shift “saving the humans”.  Jacob and Scott claim he watched more NBA games than he did nursing, but they’re just jealous….and I told them that.  Often.  He was busy and awake in the wee hours of the morning.  No easy task.  After Mark’s journey, there are few folks I respect as much as nurses and the medical profession.  It is a calling, and I can only imagine what a compassionate, smart, effective nurse Zach is for his patients.   

We had a great 5 months with this arrangement. We share a love of basketball and March Madness gave us plenty to visit about.   We both have excellent taste and love Duke. March was hard—it was always such a busy, fun month for our family, and Mark’s absence was so very apparent.  I was blessed to have someone to visit with about all the games.  ( Zach, sorry about my 20 minute narrative about how awesome the NSIC conference is….I’m not sure if your questions were polite or you were truly interested, but bless you. )  One afternoon while sitting at the kitchen island, he shared his plans for his weekend trip to propose to Sydney.  It makes me smile just thinking about this conversation.   I was honored that he shared his plans with me. And I was excited just thinking of the anticipation of the upcoming proposal.  Getting the text and picture from them was just so special.  He didn’t have to include me in any of these things, but he did.  And I was so happy to be included.   His genuine kindness and friendship were just what I needed as I struggled with my new widowhood status, and for that, I will forever be thankful.  We made a pretty good team.  Or I like to think we did.  Zach wrapped up his contract in early summer and I was sad to see him go but knew that he was off on another adventure.   I will treasure this time forever. 

Scott’s last-minute decision to transfer to Northern brought one of the hardest nights of my life.  I think he had made up his mind much earlier but waited to drop this on us 3 days before the second semester was to commence.  I wish I could say how upset I was by his timing, but I cannot.  I did the EXACT same thing when I transferred to Northern from Augie.  Déjà vu…I had this coming.  I had done the same thing to my parents.   He was stressed and worried we would be mad.  We were not mad, just worried about how to put this plan into action in such a short time.  I’m sure I yelled a bit and overreacted.  Mark calmly started planning and asked some of the tough stuff.  It all seems like forever ago.  Scott had called about housing and Northern assured him they had a room for him at my beloved Jerde Hall. I kept asking him about classes.  A meal plan? Financial aid?  I burned a personal day, and we trekked up to campus for the day.  They assured me he would have classes, and everything would be fine.   So, on a crisp winter January Sunday, we packed up his things and went to an afternoon new student orientation.  He seemed fine but I knew he was going to miss his DWU friends. We were going to miss his DWU friends.  But this was going to be a good plan B. 

 

We got Scott’s key and opened the familiar-looking door to a dreary, empty room.( Jerde had not changed at all! )   The housing people said he had a roommate.  Not sure who was supposed to be there, but there was no sign of inhabitants in that room.  This guy had either moved out at semester or moved to a different room.  We got Scott settled as best we could and after some small talk and stern reminders that he needed to get butt out of bed and get registered for some classes right away Monday morning, we had to head for home. I think I heard Senftner mumble he had a game film to watch yet when we got back.  I had not felt this kind of pit in my stomach since I left him at day care as a 6-week-old infant.  We pulled away from Jerde Hall and I was crying.  I knew he had to figure this out, but it was just so depressing.  I was up all night wondering how this would go.

Enter Zac…..Scott knew Zac from athletics. An incredibly bright, friendly, amazing guy, Zac had started at Northern in the fall and was doing well.  Scott and Zac had competed together in track and basketball, and Scott had stayed with the Fries family during a team camp a few years earlier. Zac and his family were good people.  I may have some of the details a bit blurry, but as the story goes, Zac saw Scott strolling into the Den and yelled “what are you doing here?”  Scott went to the table and joined them and explained he had transferred.  And the rest, as they say, is history.  By the end of the following week, Scott had moved into a quad room in Kramer with Parker, Micah and Zac.  I was so relieved.  Like his DWU posse, these were solid guys.  We were so glad to hear this had worked out.  (AND that he had filled his class schedule) He found a job at the Boys and Girls Club, He was missing his Wesleyan friends, but things were going well. The amount of praying I did during this month was insane. 

Zac and Scott shared “The 12” the following year. Apartment #12 close to campus.   I shutter to think about the things that took place in that apartment.  Its proximity to the popular tavern, The Zoo seemed to make it a starting and ending point  (and bathroom stop) for many folks enjoying the local nightlife. It appeared to be the warmup spot or after bar hang out.  I don’t know how many people slept on the couches or beds and quite frankly, I try not to think about it.  I spent one night there on an air mattress after a late-night trip Scott and I made to see Ed Sheehan in Fargo.  I scrubbed the kitchen and bathroom the next morning and didn’t need a tetanus shot, so there’s that. It was a neat apartment.  Hopefully it has a new door after a late night, I Hate Winter guest “joined” the party.  It was locked but the kid managed to “break in”….#IfThoseWallsCouldTalk

The following year, Zac and Scott landed at 1425 South Main Street….The Frieser as they affectionally called it. The Frieser was Matt and Brandi’s investment and a beloved address for Scott. The crew included Bo, Ashley, Micah, Scott and Zac.  It was the perfect combination of people and personalities.  A quaint little house close to campus was home for Scott for two incredible years.  After Micah moved on to optometry school, Lexi was added to the family. And they truly were a family.  Bo was in charge (thankfully!) and he kept everything going in the right direction. I’m not sure how easy this was with Scott and Zac, but he was such a great role model for Scott.   This group quarantined together during the Covid year.  They spent a ton of time together…Ashley’s puzzles, Scott’s music, The Office, cleaning assignments, Zac and Bo having a few brotherly disagreements, Lexi and Scott bickering like siblings…. All. Of The. Things.  I think for the most part, it was good.  Scott loved his roommates and his life in Aberdeen.  He was surrounded by some of the best people on earth.  Mark always told his teams to surround yourself with good people—it would be the easiest way to live a good life.  The Fries boys, Micah, Ashley and Lexi were good people.  We were so thankful for these friendships.  We prayed Scott would find brother-like friends after Tate’s death.  He hit it out of the park with Bo and Zac.  And Brandi and Matt as a “bonus” parents…well, you just couldn’t do much better than that.  I will never forget leaving Mark’s bedside for a bit to see Bo, Zac, and Brandi standing in the ICU waiting room. My eyes filled with tears and my heart was so full seeing these amazing humans.  It was Native American Day and they had vacation from work.  It was their favorite time of the year—hunting season.  And yet, they chose to travel 3 hours to come support Scott as we navigated this awful situation.  These guys were the bonus brothers I prayed Scott would find after Tate’s death.   And I am forever thankful.  I don’t know if they will ever truly understand how much our family loves Team Fries.

 

On Friday, the world’s greatest travel nurse will marry the (neighbor) girl of his dreams. Zach and Sydney will celebrate wedding Mass on Friday.  We will be enroute to Aberdeen for wedding rehearsal for Zac and Mia as Scott is honored to be groomsman and I will be doing the readings.  We have been graciously invited to join Trieber’s for their wedding rehearsal and this means the world to us. We get to help them kick off their weekend celebration and I look forward to seeing my old roommate.   Two of the greatest guys we know, who ironically share the same name, are sharing a wedding weekend.  We are fortunate to have  these fine gentlemen in our lives and sometimes things just overlap.  In a perfect world, we get to witness both ceremonies.   We all know life isn’t perfect, but it won’t stop us from celebrating both couples. 

Happy Wedding Weekend to Zach and Sydney and Zac and Mia.  May God continue to bless your lives with the goodness you have shared with so many folks.  We treasure your presence in our lives.   We love you.

 

 

 

Candy, Kindness, and Keva

 

     There is a lot to be said about small town life.  Some good, some bad, but most agree, some of the best people and examples of neighborly love originate in the smallest of places.  Despite a few years in Sioux Falls and Aberdeen during college, most of my trips around the sun have been spent in some of the most amazing villages, surrounded by the most amazing neighbors.  My current neighborhood and community—well, there is no way to adequately put into words how incredibly supportive this little village is to its villagers.   We might get a little salty with each other now and then, but if people need something, they are there.  SO. VERY. MUCH. PRESENT.  We have experienced this more than once since arriving here and I consider our address(es) through the years to be our family’s greatest blessing.

     A favorite village I was blessed to call home is mourning the loss of one its finest villagers this week.  It took my breath away when I read her obituary notice online.  She was one of the first people to greet us when we moved to town, and I still remember leaving her house after packing the last box into the horse trailer the day we moved.  We shared a big hug, I shed some tears, and she said she would keep me in her prayers.  And I know she did. 

  Keva was part of the fabric that made Timber Lake such a fantastic place to call home.  We moved in right across the street from the Aberle family into a tiny little house we had been lucky enough to purchase in a tight market.   Mark had moved to Timber Lake to teach and coach in 1998 and the boys and I joined him the next year.  Coaching can be a tough gig and the move northwest for Mark was a decision we did not make lightly, but it was hard.   I’m sure there were all sorts of stories about the “wife and kids” that came the year after the coach, and I bet there were some great stories over coffee at TLS that year. I heard a few of the stories after we moved, and they were pretty epic.   Keva shared a few of them and we had a good laugh over the years. We were so excited to be back together under one roof that we didn’t even care that the square footage of our “stuff” was quadruple the size of the house.  I miss that house.  I miss that village.  I’m sad I never told Keva enough how much I missed her after we moved. 

     I first met Keva in Lloyd Kjellsen’s grocery store.  We had two grocery stores at the time and this market and the other were a huge resource for so many folks.  The boys and I were strolling down the aisles; Scott in the cart at age two and half, and Tate anxiously awaiting to start first grade as a Panther.   Our carts met once by the soups and vegetables, and we exchanged smiles.  Keva’s smile was radiant—so bright and welcoming.  We made our rounds and as the boys and I decided what cereal to get, she stopped her cart and came over to say hello. 

Keva: “Hello folks.  I think you are my new neighbors.  My name is Keva Aberle.  My husband Andy and I live in the white house across the street.”

I introduced myself and the boys.  She smiled and visited a bit. Then she got down to the ground rules.

Keva: “ Now boys, I have a lot of grandkids and nieces and nephews who come over to my house to play in the yard.  I hope you join them after school someday.

Tate’s eyes got big, and I could see he was excited to know there were neighborhood games on the horizon.

Keva: “Listen, I’ve got a few rules if you’re coming over. (Bigger eyes graced Tate Benjamin’s face!  Scott was probably trying to climb out of the cart by now.  I don’t remember.)

Keva continued, “So, here are the rules.  You cannot come into the house if I’m not home.  You can play in the yard, but you can’t come in the house unless I’m home.  And next, no offense mom, but if I have to come out and get after anyone, and I will, well, you’re all getting chewed out.  If one of you is in trouble, you all are.  I don’t have time to figure out who did what.”  #GoKeva

I laughed and said she sounded like my kind of gal.  I might have suggested she come over to do some recess duty now and then.  The ground rules were set.  I was still smiling when she rolled the cart away and we both continued our shopping. 

Keva looked back and said, “Oh, and I do have a candy dish.  You’re always welcome to come grab a piece of candy.” Tate and I smiled broadly back at her.  The real benefactor of the candy ended up being Scott Robert…more to come on that story.

And with that no nonsense, kind but firm welcome to the neighborhood, I had met my first neighbor.  And I was so thankful.  We had moved a long way from our special little neighborhood in Gregory and I was appreciative for this invite for the boys to join in the Aberle adventures.  I didn’t even know any Aberles yet, but I had a hunch they were good people. 

   The year moved on and we settled nicely into both a great school and church community.  We loved both places and immediately felt at home. My class that year was one of the most enjoyable years ever.  Our church family was welcoming and a place we grew to quickly love.  And Keva and Andy—they were exactly who I hoped they would be.  The best neighbors ever.  Mark enjoyed visiting with Andy.  They had similar personalities—quiet, friendly, sincere.  Andy and Keva knew all about the area and with Mark having grown up just up the road in McLaughlin, they shared common acquaintances.  

    One summer day Keva stopped over and said she had a great story for me.  She came in and said, “Well, my son Wayne was home for the weekend.”  I mentioned I had noticed lots of action over at Camp Aberle.  She continued,” We laughed so hard.  The door opened and here comes Scott in for a piece of candy.”  (There were no kids in the yard at this time, but Scott knew they were home and had been told the rules, so he obviously decided that the candy dish was open.) Keva said, “I was busy in the kitchen but had looked over and saw it was Scott so I smiled and waved.  Scott grabbed his piece of candy, yelled “Thanks Teva” (we were still working on those K sounds)  and took off out the door.”  Wayne yelled into the kitchen, “Mom, who the H--- was that?  Some little kid just walked in and grabbed candy?”  Keva explained it was her neighbor boy and she had kind of forgotten that Wayne, while recognizing his nieces and nephews, would maybe be surprised by random kids waltzing in to grab their sugar fix.  We laughed pretty hard about Scott just rambling in without even a hello, but (thankfully) an acknowledgment of thanks, to grab what was his favorite thing to do at Keva’s house.  Keva’s home and candy dish were always open.  Especially for the kids she so loved. 

    Sadly, Keva and I shared something more than the same street location.  I will never forget seeing Keva and Andy shortly after Tate died.  They too, had lost a young, adult son in a tragic accident.  If you are reading this and are in this club, I’m so sorry.  If you are reading this and are not, I am so thankful.  But there is an unstated connection that often comes with the loss of a child. You know exactly what crippling heartbreak they have faced.  The questions, the sleepless nights, and the emptiness you endure.  We greeted our former neighbors with hugs and smiles.  Keva grabbed my hands and asked me how I was doing.  My tears began to flow.  She grasped my hand tighter and said, “You will get through this, Lynn.  It will never go away, and it will never be easy, but you will get through this.  You keep your faith in God and keep looking forward and your heart will eventually mend the best it can.”   Advice from someone who had shared this loss and who knew exactly what we were going through.  It meant the world to me.  I greatly admired, and greatly missed so many of our friends in Timber Lake.  Keva certainly topped this list.  She knew what I needed to hear and in the very same no-nonsense, kind way she had introduced herself, she assured me I could live through this nightmare.  Her faith and kindness never faltered.  Keva had known great heartache and many tough days throughout her life and if you didn’t know this about her, you would have never known the many hard times she survived.  She lived by showing great faith and sharing firm, but fair advice.  She lived her faith.   

   I let all my classes today have a piece of candy in her honor.  I told them about my sweet neighbor lady and how kind she was.  I needed to share the story…I’m sure it rolled right off some of their backs, but I needed to remind myself what blessing it was to know her, so I shared it with each group.  As I watched the container slowly lower, I had to smile.  I wonder how much candy Keva purchased through the years.  How many kids enjoyed the Aberle front yard, and the love and firm guidance Keva shared with them?  Family, friends, kids of all ages were loved by this amazing woman.  Refilling my big container each time it empties will be a wonderful reminder of Keva.  A reminder to share and enjoy the humans who cross your path.  A reminder to open your home and heart to those you meet.   Big faith, big love, an open door, and a little spice all rolled into the very best neighbor lady. What a beautiful way to be remembered. 

Happy Father's Day

 

Thirty years ago this month I faced my first Father’s Day without my dad.  It seems like forever ago, and my Winner High School math tells me I have officially spent more days without the blessing of my dad’s presence than with him.  The years have travelled on without Dad and boy, today I could really use him.   And the most difficult thing on this day of celebrating all things “Dad”, is that Scott now joins me in this club.  He’s even younger than I was when my dad died.  I hate this reality for Scott.  Writing this is still a punch in the gut and frankly, I’m pretty tired of being in the ring.  

I was a new mom, balancing a teaching/coaching career when Dad died at the all too young age of 56.  Thankfully, we lived right down the road in Gregory, and I was able to enjoy my parents with that move.  The coaching grind is a busy life and sometimes your plans follow the “game schedule”.  Ours certainly did so being a half hour away was a bonus for my family.  They were able to come to games and we got together often on the weekends.  The weekend we moved to Gregory was the same weekend they dropped my youngest sister off at USD.  So much for empty nesting….I was there often as I had been fortunate enough to get a job teaching in Winner.  It was not unusual for me to run home to have lunch with mom and dad. (The daily menu of Mrs. Grass’s Chicken Noodle Soup, crackers, cheese, and lunchmeat…with Oreo’s for dessert. Bob had a pretty simple palate.)  Sometimes I would spend the night or even stay for supper.  I’m guessing they didn’t mind most of the time, but I was so wrapped up in my life during this era, I didn’t even think about them actually having the house to themselves for the first time 27 years…. I regret that now.  Not the time I spent with them, but absolute oblivion on my part of giving them some time to adjust to the empty nest.  (Like my little friend Spencer Shanks would say, “Come on, Lynn!” )

Blessedly, Dad was gifted with the title of Grandpa on April 1, 1992. We were all thrilled to finally have a baby in the family.  In dad’s eyes, Tate hung the moon.  He found out his diagnosis of esophageal cancer in the middle of my pregnancy.  He was in the middle of chemotherapy when our dear boy arrived, and this was a huge motivator for Dad.  They loved taking on the role of “day care” for the last two weeks of the year when I returned to school.  I’m not sure how they divided the cuddling time with Tate, because my mom was ALL IN with this gig too.  I know Alice did all the heavy lifting—diapers, feedings, baths—but most days I returned after school to Dad sitting in his den with Tate holding court.  Yes, Tate, even at the mere age of 6 weeks was in charge with Grandpa Bob and Grandma Alice.  He ruled the roost, and they loved it. And for exactly 358 days, Dad relished that role.   His cancer battle was over on March 25, 1992--7 days before Tate’s first birthday.    We were crushed. 

I received a card after Dad died and its message perfectly summarized what I was feeling.  This great gentleman had lost his dad a few years before also and, in this card, he wrote how not only was he mourning the loss of his dad, but the loss of all the things his kids would miss out on with their grandpa.  I remember sobbing as I finished reading that kind card.  He nailed it.  My loss while incredibly hard, wasn’t bothering me as much as what Tate (and later, Scott) would be losing with Dad’s death. My kids were missing out on their grandpa.  I distinctly remember Tate’s last basketball game as a senior.  We had played an incredible tournament in Aberdeen—Tate and his teammates had knocked off the number one seed and after a semi-final loss, were playing for 3^rd place.  It was a full house and right at the tip off, I teared up.  All I could think of was that I wished my dad had been able to enjoy these days with him.  All the things—concerts, school plays, baseball, football, track, hoops—I wanted him to see all the joy we were experiencing.  Mom and I often talked about what Dad would have done as the boys grew older and events, especially state events Tate was fortunate enough to be involved in, occurred on Friday nights.  Fridays were sale days.  There was a joke amongst our family that you weren’t married, buried, or born on a Friday in our family.  Dad had only missed 3 sales in his entire life before his illness—one was the day I was born. The other one involved the Blizzard of 1966 and another a health issue involving my grandma.  Fridays were for paying the bills.  Sale days were sacred.    Mom claims he would have been cancelling sales or making the entire ring listen to DT  Meyer do play by play of the Charger games during the sale.   We had a few laughs over what might have been Dad’s decisions for these game days. I wish we knew. 

Today is the day to celebrate all things Dad.  Mark was not one to get all hyped up for this holiday. He didn’t need the attention.   He was usually at some team camp or teaching driver’s ed. Some of our best Father’s Days were spent watching the boys play baseball.  I forgot one year to get him a card and as I apologized, he said in his incredibly sarcastic, calm, non-coaching voice “That’s okay, I’m not your dad.”  I laughed for years about that.  I still do.  And I’m still regretting that I didn’t get that card.  Mark took care of so many things for us….he made sure we had what we needed all the time.  Rarely took the time or funds for himself to make sure we had what we needed or thought we needed.  He was just so solid.

I know there are so many others today who are also missing their dads.  It is a terrible club to join and the older I get, the more of us there are traveling along missing their dads.  I try hard not to get consumed with what I don’t have –the things I miss are rarely material things.  I miss the people in my life who have gone on before me.  Too many of them and I struggle to grasp why God placed me on this journey.  I have had well meaning folks tell me to keep the faith and how tough I am.  I don’t particularly feel tough, but I am realistic enough to know that I cannot do anything to change this journey.

I watched with great joy and pride on Tuesday night as Scott coached the littlest group of T-Ball players ever assembled in the history of T-Ball.  Tiny, excited, helmet-wearing, dirt playing, littles wearing their adorable purple jerseys, while Coach Senftner and Coach Kayla navigated the evening.  Some of them didn’t know where first base was located.  Some needed help putting on gloves.  He coaxed some of them to their spots in the field.   I heard his big, booming voice encouraging them and helping them hit the ball.  The stands were full, and my heart was too.  His dad would be so proud of him.  He is good with kids and has a gift of drawing kids into whatever is going on.  I pray he always uses his talents wisely and shares his gifts with those who need him. 

Today my heart hurts for Scott who continues to show me that despite what we’ve been dealt, that the glass truly is half full and to keep on drinking…(sometimes old Scott Robert takes that a little too literally I’m afraid. #BunkhouseKaraoke LOL) But his outlook shows me that you need to keep moving forward even on the hard days. Scott seems to do this.  He always has.  He was blessed (?) with Daughters’ voice volume and Mark’s unwavering faith to just keep going.   I’m not going to lie about this, it has been a tough month.    But we are not alone in tough journeys…so many are living days they never planned with circumstances they’d love to change in a heartbeat.   We aren’t special.  And there are so many who have huge mountains ahead of them that just don’t seem fair.   We will be okay.  Broken and sad some days, but we have much to be thankful for also.

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there. I pray you know how much you mean to your family.   The dads in my life made everything better….and you do, too.    

 

Memories of Mel

 

There are some people who just radiate joy.  They enter a room, and everything becomes brighter and better.  Their smile, infectious giggle and genuine interest in seeing you lifts your spirit and makes you feel safe and secure.  These people are rarities in today’s struggling world, so when you are lucky enough to find one, you need to appreciate any time you get to spend with these amazing humans. 

Mel was one of these people.  The forever cheerleader for those of us blessed enough to know her. 

Mel and I married cousins.  Ironically, they are both named Mark—Hackett and Senftner.  Their moms were Keller sisters and obviously had the same taste in first names.  I would be lying if I didn’t admit that sometimes both Mel and I blamed any oddities in our families on those “Keller” boys we married.  If our kids did something dumb or something we didn’t agree with, we would shoot a text and blame it on the “Keller” in them.  There is no proof of any of this….we each had our own crazy on our respective family trees, but we just found comfort in blaming the other side.  It was our joke and something we giggled about in late night texts. 

I knew Mel from afar when Mark and I first married.  Mark Senftner liked to stop and visit his Aunt Betty whenever we were in Ft. Pierre.  Spending summer days in Ft. Pierre being spoiled by his Aunt Betty and Aunt Janice, are fond recollections for Senftner.  Days filled with cousins, pickup ball games, and candy and pop are some favorite summer memories for him.   Gracious, welcoming hosts, Jim and Betty always made us feel welcome.  The visits were long and filled with sports talk,(lots of Buffalo vs Gorillas football)  laughter, and always a delicious meal.  We spent hours on the huge woven sectional where there was always room for one more.  Mark and Mel were busy playing softball, establishing their careers, and raising daughter number one—Lyndsey.  We always enjoyed getting to see them, but it was often hit and miss.  But we always enjoyed our time together when we happened to cross paths. 

There are stories about Mel’s genuine spirit and vibrant personality as a young athlete.  Her smile and skill adorned the sidelines as a DWU cheerleader.  Her rodeo career gave her the opportunity to promote and share her love of horses and rodeo.  She was an excellent softball player—competitive, determined, and a teammate you wanted to have on your roster.  If Mel was going to do something, she was going to do it to the best of her ability.  She worked hard.  She cheered loud.  She made everything better with her hard work and tireless energy.  

Fast forward to what seems like a few years ago, in all reality was more than a few years ago.   In the Fall of 2008, Team Hackett moved to Onida and Taylor became a Sully Buttes Charger.  Mel became the unofficial pep club for everyone and everything SBHS. If our ABO kids were competing, Mark and Mel were there supporting them in all kinds of events.  Like the postman (or the FedEx guy), they delivered support and cheer no matter the weather! They were fixtures in the bleachers at home and away games of all ages.  Mel loved seeing kids compete and loved to compliment effort and hustle.

It was during this time that Mel and I became better acquainted. We shared game day emails and good luck texts.  We discussed nerves and the local sports pages.   We both spent our nights and weekends at the games.  The one thing I truly I loved was watching her watch Taylor compete.  Her intense love of both the player and the game was a blessing to witness.  She was just so proud of both of her girls.  Mel treated my boys like they were her own—and even after some of their subpar performances both Tate and Scott could always count on a pep talk from Mel.  The eternal optimist wearing her purple and gold lenses….she loved cheering for the Chargers.  I think Tate could’ve had 22 turnovers and Scott 8 interceptions and Mel would’ve found something positive to share with our boys.  They were so lucky to have her cheering them on in their careers.

Taylor’s graduation brought the end of Team Hackett living in the 57564.  But Mel’s love of Charger sports and Sully Buttes kids didn’t end with the return to the Fort (as she affectionally called it.)   Our texts became more about what our kids were up to and how much we missed our bleacher days.  Soon photos of Miss Myken Ann filled my phone and wonderful, hilarious stories of how quickly little Miss Myken had wrapped Papa Mark around her sweet little fingers.   I loved receiving these texts.  Now I will treasure them. Always.

Mel faced and defeated her illness with as much grace, guts, and grit as anyone I know.  She bravely completed treatments.  Never complaining and always complimenting how nice her nurses were and how it was going “fine” (even when it wasn’t).  It would have been easy to be down—she had every reason to be furious with the hand she had been dealt.  But that wasn’t Mel.  She was full on cheerleader for the rest of us worrying about her. 

Hearing the news of Mel’s unexpected, untimely death Friday morning was incredibly hard.  The shock of this news rumbled through both Onida and the Pierre/Ft. Pierre communities.   This past weekend I went through and read all the emails we shared.  I’ve read and reread the texts—both laughing and crying.   I’ve read the many written tributes others have shared about the impact Mel’s attitude and life made on them.  I pray I never forget the sound of her giggle or the cheer in her voice when she greeted you with the huge smile.   I’m so glad we enjoyed a fun evening together at Mark’s birthday party in April. 

And to those of us blessed enough to know Mel, I hope we remember to carry on her joyful, kind spirit.  May we all continue to keep cheering on those around us.  Take time to notice the little things. Applaud effort and hustle.   Spread joy and love and radiate the positive things we see.  Ever the optimist, Mel made things better with her attitude and the sharing of the good she saw in others.  We need to carry on her pep club duties as best we can.  We owe her that. 

I’m so glad we both married those “Keller boys”….I can’t imagine not having you in my memories.  Fly high, Mel.  You will be so missed. 

 

 

30 for 30--Happy 30th Birthday Tate Benjamin

 

In a perfect world, today we would be celebrating all things Tate.    But as we are reminded daily, in so many ways, it is not a perfect world, and Tate is not here.  Thirty years ago today, after the world’s longest pregnancy, Tate Benjamin Senftner made his long-awaited presence. This day brings a whirlwind of sadness, fond memories, and regrettably, an empty feeling of all the things that he’s missed.  The things that we’ve missed…Today is difficult day. 

To say Tate was a sports crazed fanatic is an understatement.  He simply loved everything about athletics and competing.   I have written often of the notebook pages filled with brackets, formations, plays, potential match ups, Final Four stats, playoff power points, and of course, original plays he would draw up. In a tote in the basement, one of the things we treasure are his Wolves Football notes.  Pages and pages of scout plans and potential game situations.   I know just enough to know an enormous amount of time goes into preparing for games each week—at every level, but especially the college level.  I can decipher a few plays, but it is pretty much like me reading Italian. ( I’m Czech and Irish)  But I love to look at it.  Just seeing his neat, precise handwriting, I smile at the happiness all these symbols and X’s and O’s brought him.  Even as little boy, he loved to write things down.   Color a picture?  Of heck no. He hated coloring.   But making lists and writing things down was something he greatly enjoyed. Tate was drawn to watching scouting film with his dad, or sometimes riding along with Mark if the games were close enough to get home at a reasonable time.  As he got older, he liked to discuss and debate with his dad about various defensive and offensive strategies.  They were often on the same page, but not always. 

ESPN (one of 3 channels our television is acclimated to landing on most days) produced an incredible series starting sometime around 2007 I believe.  Tate loved watching these in-depth episodes about various sports figures and historical events told from the athlete’s point of view.   There were shows about rivalries and big games.  Episodes exposing scandals and behind the scenes happenings in sports history.   Even as little boy, Tate wasn’t into many cartoon characters.  He liked Rugrats and some Power Ranger action now and then, but animated movies and shows were not his thing.  He loved shows with real people.  (Barney was one of his favorites! ) He was drawn to history as he grew older and loved newspapers and sports magazines.  Facts, statistics, and biographies of sports figures intrigued him. 30 for 30 was right up his alley.  I can only imagine how much he would have LOVED the Michael Jordan series “The Last Dance”.

As humans we all have stories to share.  There is a 30 for 30 episode that exists in all of us.  Conquering a fear, surviving unimaginable events, the simple joy of our day to day lives, living through challenges, new jobs, broken dreams, and amazing celebrations—all a story waiting to be shared.  There are sad stories too—of loss, illness, disappointments.   Not all the 30 for 30 episodes were feel good stories, but all gave the viewers an inside look at humanity.  And mistakes.  And losses. And victories.  And life.  Regrettably, Tate’s 30 for 30 would more than likely focus on his death.   He was so much more than the manner in which he died, but regrettably, many will only remember his heartbreaking decision. And I hate that.    A kind, beautiful young man struggling with life all while hiding behind a beautiful smile.  Tate’s decision will never make sense, but it does not change anything about the life we were honored in sharing with him.  To know he would be 30 today hurts. To think back on everything he’s missed—good and bad—is numbing.  To have been given the great gift of being his mother is one of my life’s greatest blessing.  I miss his earthly presence every second of every day.

So, on this difficult day, I am going to choose to think of all the joy Tate brought to our lives—his laugh, his welcoming smile, the competitive drive that introduced him to so many amazing people, coaches, and places, his kind heart, and his kind soul.  Tate had an incredible gift of meeting and greeting others—his welcoming nature helped him gather many friends in his short life.   His story, while entirely too short, will be forever shared by those that loved him most. If you are reading this, I hope you knew him.    We probably each have something we remember that would add to the fabric of his 30 for 30 episode.  Some funny events, some frustrating ones, but hopefully he left something with you that you will never forget. 

If you stumbled upon this, never forget—The world needs YOU.  You are someone’s entire world.  Reach out and let someone know you are hurting.  I assure you people truly care.  We need you here. 

PS  And Coach K…….let’s get this done this weekend.  GO DUKE!!!! (Tate and I watched his first Final Four in the hospital in 1992!   I like to think he was born to be a Duke fan.  His dad and brother, not so much.  )

Thanks Coach

    

          A few weeks ago I received a text from a friend telling me some very sad news.  It was right before my classes started and I looked to down to read the message.  It stopped me in my tracks and some tears started forming in tired eyes.  The bell was about to ring, so  I put my phone in the bag and headed down to class ready to channel the energy entering the room. Concert season is upon us and when you’re a music teacher (Technically a music minor with a teaching degree…) you have to make use of every second you get with kids.   We sang Christmas songs in preparation for our big night and despite the joy coming from these young musicians, I could not get the text and nor its message out of my mind. 

       As the day went on, my phone continued to buzz with text messages from people sharing this news.  It was being shared on Twitter, and Facebook, and the newspaper websites with a variety of emojis depending on how you felt about the news.  As I watched this story make its way through the social media realm, it continued to bother me immensely--both as a coaching spouse and as someone who greatly admired this guy.  I spent my lunch hour combing through Twitter and responding to folks who were as shocked and saddened as I was by the news that had resonated from the Barnett Center this morning….There was going to be a new football coach at Northern. 

      Tate first met Coach Tom Dosch his senior year sometime in February 2011.  He and his dad took a trip up to campus and were invited to meet with Coach Dosch about a chance to walk on with Wolves Football.  He was not heavily recruited, but Coach Dosch had invited him up to campus and Tate was interested in seeing what he had to say.  He had already planned on going to NSU to study banking and was starting to look at scholarship opportunities and all the things that go with enrolling in college, so this was a perfect chance to line some of these things up for the coming fall.   I look back now and just shake my head.  We were clueless about many of the processes and things that needed to be done. 

            They returned home and I asked how things went.  Both of my guys said it went fine.  They had offered him a chance to come walk on and join the Wolves and he was going to do so.  Tate told me he liked Coach Dosch and that he was very friendly and had a really deep voice.  I was getting no information and it was driving me crazy.  I asked Mark how it went and he said, “Fine. If he wants to try to play, they will let him.  It’s up to him.”  So much for a delightful, detailed description of their day on campus.  Both of them had practice that afternoon, so the trip was quick.  They had no time for my questions or my concerns.  #BoyMomReality

            During March Madness, the Chargers were fortunate enough to earn a berth in the State B Tournament held in Aberdeen at the beautiful Barnett Center.  Tate’s team went on to knock off the undefeated, top-seeded team in the opening round.  This will always be one of my favorite games and memories of Tate’s short life.  I still remember sitting there watching all of this unfold and how excited we were.  (Conversely, I do NOT remember a lot of the rest of the evening/early morning though for if there is one thing we Charger fans enjoy, it is a state tournament in Aberdeen or Huron. J )  While we were heading down to the court level, giddy with excitement about our huge win, I looked over saw Mark ahead of me talking to a gentleman wearing an NSU polo.   When I caught up to Mark, I asked him who the gentleman was he had been talking to and he told me it was Coach Dosch.  My first official TD sighting…

          The “six degrees of separation” thing is so very true in the Midwest.  You start visiting with someone and they know someone that you know, or they work with someone you know, or your cousin lives right next door to them, and instantly you have this connection.  Well it was no different with Coach Dosch for Tate.  His best friend’s mom  was Coach Dosch’s sister’s best friend growing up in Strasburg, ND—birthplace of Lawrence Welk, home to the Blue Room, and a beautiful Catholic church to name a few things the strong German community boasts.   She knew both Coach Dosch and his family very well like so many of us do in small towns. When Tina spoke of Coach Dosch she referred to him as “Tommy” just like she had growing up.   This used to send Tate over the top—a combination of laughter and exasperation.   He once told me there would never be a day that he would look at that guy and think his name was “Tommy”.  Then he’d start laughing—that beautiful giggle and smile, shaking his head while he imagined himself ever calling him anything but Coach.      Tate usually had a strong sense of respecting authority—not all the time because no kid is perfect—but even then, before really getting to know Coach Dosch, he respected both his position and his presence. 

         The fall camp reporting date came and the Explorer left early one August morning.  I remember everything about that morning.  We did not go up to campus right away because they were not actually moving into their assigned housing.  We were coming up later the next week, and bringing the bigger items to help him move in.    Like most college freshman, I think he was shocked at the amount of time, physicality, and effort this was going to take.  But whenever we heard from him, which was not often, (#BoyMomReality) he spoke highly of Coach Dosch and the staff.  He was meeting amazing new friends, learning a new position, and totally immersed in football—something he loved. I figured he would love the meetings because from the time he was little boy,  Tate always was drawing up plays on paper and loved scouting game tape of any kind with his dad.  He might have left with becoming a banker in mind, but I knew eventually he was going to coach. 

         Tate made his way home one Monday afternoon so he could see his little brother play in a football jamboree.  He had not been home yet so we were all very excited to have him home if only for 8 hours.   Coincidentally, earlier that week Tate had contacted me that he had been randomly audited in some NCAA D2 program and Coach Dosch had told him it was not big deal, he just had to prove where some of his local scholarship monies had come from.   I was up early that morning hoping to make him a decent breakfast before he headed back to campus for class.  I wanted to make sure I had the correct information so I emailed Coach Dosch asking him a few questions.  I had to leave for school soon, but like all organized guys, he had immediately answered my questions and assured me we were on the right path to getting the documents he needed.  I went over to the couch where Tate was waking up and relayed the message to him that everything he needed was in the folder on the table.  I assured him it was the right stuff because I had emailed Coach Dosch.  He groaned and I will never forget his comment,   “Please tell me you didn’t email Coach Dosch,” he said. I told him I did and that Coach Dosch had already emailed me back. ( I was so proud to be on top of this issue all before 7:15 am.)  Tate responded, “Really?  Moms do not email D2 football coaches.”    Oops…I had broken some cardinal rule of D2 parent communications I guess.  (And as soon as he drove off, I logged right back on and told Coach Dosch about the entire conversation!  And I have continued to email him since that day…sorry Tate. )

       Tate survived his redshirt season and seemed to be enjoying it.  Winter conditioning was another tough hurdle, but again, we heard very little complaining from him when he called.  I’m not saying he wasn’t grumbling about the early mornings and the workouts, but his roommates took the brunt of that.  We heard about the people and the teammates.  Most of his conversations were about Coach Dosch and the rest of the staff—Coach Mistro, Coach Shafer, Coach Flyger, Coach Hoskins, Coach Holinka,  Coach Tupo.  All guys he respected and admired.  

        As a Wolves football family we had the opportunity to meet these coaches and their families and these people were some of the best folks we’ve crossed paths with in our years following athletics.  If you aren’t a coach, you may not have any idea how involved and invested these coaching families are in the process of building a team.  You live the season—the wins, the losses, the recruiting miles, the early practices, the holidays that really aren’t yours because there is probably a game to prepare for—all of it.  The wives (or husbands) keep things rolling at home while their coach/spouse manage the team.  Your kids share their dad/mom with an entire community/region.  This life can be brutal.  And these folks were some of the first folks I thought of after receiving that text a few weeks ago. 

          Coach Dosch gave the eulogy at Tate’s funeral Mass.  While it meant the world to us, I think it also showed his immense leadership skills and love for his players.   They needed to hear from him that they would get through this.  He was leading his team through adversity for which there was no scout plan.  In the middle of our family’s greatest tragedy, he masterfully shared the good he had seen in Tate.  He got up in a packed gymnasium full of people and spoke eloquently about our dear boy. And we needed to hear those things.   In our grief, we were clinging to his words.  Tate would have been so incredibly proud to hear him speak about his character and abilities.  While I treasure those words, I treasure even more the fact that he had had the opportunity to be led by such a good person.  Coach Dosch is a great leader and a man oozing of integrity and kindness. He has spent his career molding and developing young men into productive, solid citizens.  And sadly, none of this matters. 

        I am not in any positon to hire or fire any coaches at my dear alma mater.  What I believe was a really poor decision for Wolves Football doesn’t matter to anyone making those decisions and I get that.  It’s not my job.  But I do question that so often these decisions are made by someone who has never coached a down, or recruited an athlete, or walked a team through a difficult season or situation.  I’m guessing those who made this decision, didn’t make it lightly, but I still think it was wrong.   All of these folks involved with Wolves Football have been on my mind constantly since that midmorning text a few weeks ago. I keep thinking of how difficult it must be to read on social media that you are being replaced.  Or to see people “liking” these tweets or comments?  That is a tall order to ask of anyone no matter how much integrity they carry.

      I wish the Wolves coaching staff the best of luck as they navigate this difficult time in their career.  I pray their families know so many are keeping them close because, they too, are on this journey.  Our family is so blessed to have crossed paths with you Dosch family.  You mean a whole lot to a whole lot of people…you won the division in our books.  Thank you for everything you have done for our family in the past six years.  There aren’t enough words to adequately thank you…but I tried.