A. Krouse

Is the goal to eventually make the girl stop crying?
Is that the desired effect?

Because it’s happening…
but not because everything is all better…
instead because her heart has turned to stone
and trying to get water from a stone
is as sad as it gets.
Just move on now.

It is no secret that I am rarely at a loss for words, and so on the morning of Flynn and Iris’ birthday, after giving them each a “Swag Bag” I made them sit there and let me read my thoughts and words about them. I’ll put it here and hope to not lose track of it. They’re just a couple of real great kids. 

Flynn.

Flynn Isaac Krouse. 

You tore into the world. The first of your kind. A Krouse…from the love of Chris and Autumn. Heir to the red headed.  That’s what your name means. Who knew I would find myself 7 children deep into this union with nary a red head in sight.? But we didn’t know then that the red headed gene needs to be present in both blood lines for an actual red head to appear. That’s alright. We still know you are heir to the red headed. That might mean you aren’t necessarily noticed for any red hair…but instead you’re noticed for your strength of character. Please know how difficult and heavy life can be. But also know how much strength you have within you. One of your grandfathers was a welder and a logger and a marijuana dealer/convict and the other is a pastor of people and a preacher to men. You know your father and I well…so no introduction is needed. There are a number of destinies ahead of you my son. None of which is not EXACTLY what you are meant to do and be. Follow your heart Flynn. Do the thing that life doesn’t make sense without. If it’s an occupation or a woman or a car or a sport…do it. Follow what draws you in and captivates you…it is the way that you are meant to go.  You are stronger than your obstacles and you have been an overwhelming blessing to your father and I. We count on you to do what is right and you have therefore eliminated a great portion of our responsibility…bearing some of the burden of this family. Don’t think that it doesn’t come with a cost. My brother Andy was the first of my siblings. He bore the load, both physically and emotionally, that was there to be shouldered. I always felt stronger when Andy was there. You have that same strength. Don’t underestimate your role in the lives of those around you. Know you are being watched and admired and beheld. Be my oldest son with all the dignity you have effortlessly given the position. Skateboard and snowboard and play your baseball and APEX…but keep your eye out…for those that need your help. Even if it’s just your kind words or an unasked favor…just remember…that you have it to give. You are wealthier than you think. Know that our love for you is beyond time and space and logic. You can’t screw this up Flynn. We just want to know you along the way. Of course we’re sorry for our mistakes. Of course we wish it were always “Koombyah”around the campfire…but instead we’ll teach you how to stick with something when it’s hard…and we’ll teach you how to be a little scrappy when you need to stand up for yourself.  Know that it’s ok to stay the way you are…to stand your ground…but also know that it’s alright to change when it’s presented and it makes sense. When something is worth changing for…do it. You won’t regret it. Maybe it will be a lot of hard work…but we are hard workers in this family so you don’t need to be intimidated by that. I love you my son. Thank you for all your years of service to CK Drywall LLC. And especially, thank you for politely interrupting our lives 16 years ago. 

Iris. 

Iris Eve Krouse. A flower worth pulling over for. A flower worth getting a picture with. How have I found myself so blessed!?  To share laughter in the kitchen!  What fortunate women we are!  You are among my few favorite people. You are one of the most competent women I know. I’m sorry that your dad and I only go on dates when YOU are home…you’re just the most responsible and attentive and caring person we have in our support system. You see that.?.we made our own support system…and holy crap it’s a strong one. Please know how much we love you…your beautiful voice…your radiant presence. My dad always told me that wherever I went…sunshine followed.  I know that he was just saying it, but man did it feel good to hear. Here’s the thing…I’m NOT just saying it…my days are so much better with you in them.  My first daughter. One of only two daughters within my 7 children.  What a rare and precious gift I have known a daughter to be. I look to your ferocious spirit to remind me of what I once was and you call me to a place I have almost forgotten, were it not for you. I’m so honored to get to spend your 16th birthday on the slopes with you and Flynn today.  I’ll never be the snowboarder that you are but I know I can count on you to check on me occasionally and make sure I haven’t yet broken a hip. There’s no point mentioning you or Flynn’s “honor student” status or your startling work ethic because neither of you hold that in high enough esteem for it to be notable…but for the record…you’re a pretty good kid. Like a REALLY AMAZING KID. I get to be your mom and watch in amazement while you learn to harmonize and nag to go snowboarding and complain about Mr. Pearson’s class and enjoy the whimpers and love and closeness of a baby sister. I’m just a spectator, but it feels really good. May we spend our days together laughing until we pee a little. You are one of the best people that has ever happened to me. Happy 16th birthday. 

These days have been dark ones.

I dressed Daisy in a manner that would cause me happiness when I look at her…opposed to not getting her dressed at all. I decided if a toddler is going to whine at me and wipe snot on me and pull at me and demand shredded cheese in a bowl and spill the cat food for the thousandth time, she better at least be in a tutu and moccasins with a little old lady cardigan sweater.

I got the neighbor boy to walk Max to school so I didn’t have to wake Noah up before nature would. I put on some music and considered doing all the mundane housework that I completely gave the middle finger to yesterday. I couldn’t be depressed in my house for one more minute yesterday morning so I texted Alena “you home”…she was. I walked the two kids in the stroller over to her house and sat in her mess for a few hours and she breathed a tiny bit of life into my depleted soul. I stayed a little over an hour and walked back to my mess. Put a movie on for Noah, laid Daisy in her bed, even though I knew her cat nap on the walk home was going to prevent her from having a solid afternoon nap. I climbed in bed and melted. The rest of the evening was an extension of the morning.

Today I want to try. Shelly is taking me out tonight and I want to have dinner made for my 7 kids and I want to pretend there’s a fun time in my future, and that it matters. I want to pretend to be looking forward to something, instead of holding my breath and waiting for bad news. Always bad news. When you receive bad news enough in your life, your brain and your body have a way of waiting for it and looking out for it and listening for sirens and watching for strangers near your home and getting up to make sure the doors are locked after everyone goes to bed. Call it whatever you want. It is part of being close to “bad things”.

I wasn’t at church on Sunday because I was serving Hard Cider samples at the West Reading Farmers market, a tiny part time job I’ve been using as an escape. When I got home around 1 PM, Chris shared a clip from our churches worship service. The worship leader was talking about the Henry Longfellow poem “Christmas Bells”. He explained the background of the poem…that Longfellow was done seeing any goodness in the world. His wife had recently died and his son had been paralyzed in the war. All he saw was hate and darkness everywhere. Upon hearing the bells on Christmas Day he was stirred to remember that hate and darkness are the way of the world, but WE are called to be the hope, the light, the difference. If we, who believe in an eternal, life giving God can’t see the goodness in this world, how can we expect the rest of the world to? “God is not dead nor does he sleep…”. The song “Christmas Bells” that followed has never meant as much to me as it did right then. I wish that my brothers murder were the only sadness I am battling this season. Layers of pain and disappointment and trauma are being stirred into this foul poison that threatens my quality of life everyday. I struggle everyday to find the hope. The purpose. The meaning of any of this.

While putting away some dishes that were sitting on the counter this morning, Daisy approached to hold my knees and cry up at me…I picked up two spoons and started tapping them together to the beat of the music. An effort to distract her. She silenced, watching. After a few moments I hand the two spoons to her. I grab two more and I start tapping on her spoons with my spoons, to the beat. She’s smirking. I stop. She starts tapping her spoons together, not to the beat. I hold the interaction. I stay with it. The goodness. So much of what I do here feels meaningless. It feels like I could blow away and people might not notice till the house gets messy enough and there’s no dinner. But right now, while tapping spoons with Daisy, I have to believe that I’m still here for a reason. Even if today feels so monotonous I could just go to sleep…even if the thoughts of my brother being murdered won’t leave me…even if it’s been the hardest year of my 17 year marriage…I get to tap spoons together with a smiling toddler in a tutu and moccasins and a little old lady cardigan sweater…and it might not seem like much…but I’m grasping and reaching and looking for the goodness today…cause I can only have so many yesterday’s to feel depressed and sorry for how bad things truly can be. Today I’ll look for the goodness and if I can muster the strength, I’ll try to be the goodness for someone else.

    Tragedy changes us.  Immediately, unexpectedly and eternally.  Of course there arent words that can accompany a tragedy like this,.  Suddenly words sound like noise, but I’m Andy’s sister and i wouldnt be his sister if I didnt at least try to use one of my only gifts to shed final light on the person that was my big brother. 

Recently a friend was at my house for dinner.  We were having a particularly chaotic bedtime as he was getting out the door.  A few tantrums, some bickering, quarreling over who gets to use the bathroom next.  As he was heading out the door, he embraced me and said “Autumn, this house is full of life…I know, it doesn’t feel good all the time, but it is.”  I knew what he meant, and it did comfort me as I headed upstairs to help beat back the bedtime shenanigans before turning in.  As I sat on the porch swing a few days after Andy’s passing, I heard a leaf blower, I saw a person walking their dog, I could see my neighbors sitting on their couch through their front window, in my window I could see my daughter playing piano, the baby running around.  Everywhere.  Life.  My friend’s words echoed in my ear.  Full of Life.  And all I could think of now was my brother. He was full of life like no one I’d ever known.   It was hard to part from an interaction with Andy and not be left with a deep and oftentimes surprising impression.  

While so many of Andy’s interests and passions were not something I naturally understood, like his ease with math and mechanics or his love of fungus and his ability to identify most every plant species that surrounded his wooded home, his love of music was always something I felt so honored to share with him. He was my first music guru.  I always knew I could count on him to share openly and generously from his music wealth.  But I also remember feeling overwhelmed.  I knew that I would never be as committed to procuring and listening to music the way he was.  In highschool I remember being completely blown away at his collection of Beatles albums.  He owned every single Beatles album that he could get his hands on.  The Grateful Dead, Pink Floyd, Neil Young, Ween, Nirvana, Billy Joel, Elton John, The Doors…It was just too much.  I was more of a “greatist hits” kinda girl.  He was a masterful collector of the lifes work of musicians. 

I heard a beautiful story about John Lennon the other day.  He was on his way to the hospital, on his 35th birthday.  His lawyer called to tell him that after 5 long years, John had won his case against the United States, granting him citizenship in our country.  He was very pleased to hear it and said he had to go because Yoko was in labor.  Hours later he called his lawyer back to let him know he had a beautiful boy.  Yoko later recalled that moment with John and told an interviewer, “I never saw John like that before.  Just like a little boy.  So happy.”  I immediately thought of a picture Amy had just shown me, of Andy on the swings at their house, with both the boys.  He had that look on his face.  Like a kid who didn’t grow up, just taking that swing to places it had never been.  Abacus had an amazed look on his face while he stared up at Andy and Andrew looked determined to swing just as high as his dad.  Ironically, Andy and John Lennon both lived 40 years on this earth…each of their lives cut short by the hand of another.  It somehow brought me great comfort to think of that the other day.  I know how much Andy would appreciate sharing that with John.  And I also think that anyone who knew Andy or John could agree that they were living two years to every one of ours.

If you could ask Andy, “Do you think your sister is going to attempt to write something to read at your funeral?”…I guarantee that his response would be “Hell Yes!  Funerals are her specialty!”  Man, was my brother a hilarious guy.  He had a sharp wit and an impeccable sense of humor.  Sure, Ive heard it said that humor can be used as an unhealthy way of coping with life…and if that is the case, then it was my favorite unhealthy coping mechanism that my brother had.  He was funny!  

During a visit with Andrew and Abacus this past week, Abacus got Alexa making some fart noises, nothing new at our house, with 5 sons…Ive heard whole musical pieces done with only the accompaniment of farts.  Through the laughter Abacus chimed in, with complete confidence, “My daddy is the Fart King.”  Amy, smiling…rolls her eyes and proceeds to recall their dinner times, where Andy would have all 3 of them laughing until their sides hurt.  She would look at her boys and there would be no sound coming out of their mouths as laughter posessed their entire bodies.  Andy is gone, but no one will ever take away the farts shared around that dinner table.  

Once the boys settled down and we sat to eat lunch I said, “Lets pick a different song…any song you want.”

Andrew immediately suggested, “How about The Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald…?”  I now feel embarrassed to admit it, but I wasnt familiar with the song.  I must have missed that lesson.  I tried to take it all in as Andrew and Abacus spoke over top of one another, excitedly, to describe this storm in which this massive freight liner went down in Lake Superior in the year 1975. I attempted to relate, “Oh wow, Chris and our younger boys were recently really into reading about the Titanic…”  Andrew looks me straight in the eye, “Well, it was considered the Titanic of The Great Lakes.”  As the song began to play, everyone quieted and ate their pizza.  I could tell how this song, a retelling of the tale of this great ships demise brought them such comfort.  Another beautiful memory they shared with their father. 

Before the boys left one evening last week, they were getting their shoes on and finding their coats.  The kitchen was full of kids, grabbing a snack, saying goodbye.  I looked at Andy’s boys, these two little guys who would never see their father again, Abacus gripping Andy’s wallet tight in his small hand…and I knew as I was about to hug them goodbye, I was going to do it for Andy.  I was going to hug his boys the way he would.  I was going to linger on that squeeze…a traditional Andy Dzwonchyk bear hug.  

Days after Andy’s passing, my 15 year old son walks into the kitchen.  We have been a family racked with the contemplative grief that surrounds this type of situation.  He pauses before sharing with me…”I mean Andy is basically the reason I started skateboarding.  He gave me my first board.”  I could barely recall, but as he spoke about it, it came back to me.  My son, who’s greatest enjoyment in life is taking off for 30 minutes to an hour most afternoons to just skatebaord.  My son, who googles “skateparks near me” on my phone to make sure theres nothing that he’s missing.  My son, who has found a hobby and a passion, can trace it back to my big brother.  

In Andy’s passing I’ve found myself listening to more music than ever before…because its how you really got to know Andy…you hung around long enough to listen to something with him…and talk about it.  I suddenly realized, like I walked directly into a wall…Andy is partially to blame for me meeting my husband, the only reason I have my 7 beautiful children, is because of my big brother.  I never would have known about Dave Matthews and my husbancd and I never would have bonded over that Crash album if it werent for my big brother.  

The stories and the memories that we have all shared with Andy are too many to be documented or added up.  In my selfishness I want them all.  I want mine and yours and everyones.  We do this when someone we love leaves us too soon.  We become greedy with the memories.  I have recognized through this horrendous process of grief and tragedy that his moments with each of us are his gift that he has left us with.  But another miracle I’ve beheld through this journey, is what happens everytime someone shares a beautiful experience they had with Andy, it helps those closest to him, who are living this horror everyday…to unbandage this gaping wound, and assess it and re    -dress it and take note that slowly, ever so slowly, it is healing.     

So many people in this room can say they loved him like a brother, and I just feel so fortunate to have actually called him my brother.  Hold onto those memories, those gifts from him…however big or small and keep them safe until you meet again.  

In the meantime, I asked myself…what would Andy want me to say in closing, to the people who have shown up to weep over and honor and celebrate his life.  Of course he would want me to mention his civil rights and naturally that fight takes time and we are seeking justice with the help of one of the finest civil rights law firms that Philadelphia has to offer.  But once that’s out of the way…what would he want me to say.  And i think it would be an encouragement.  I think Andy would not want his death to harden us, but rather to soften us…to remind us to stay moldable.  As some one whose very next right to make a decision was ripped from him, I think Andy would want us to use our continued existence and decision making power to cherish those we love and appreciate this very second…and for an unknown amount of future seconds…knowing that we never know how many we have left.  One of my all time favorite quotes begs to suggest that the only way to slow time down, is to weigh it down with our thankfulness.  Friends, may your life be one that is heavy with thanks.  It is through the lens of thankfulness that our life can transcend this plane become something not bound by time or space.  How thankful we all are to have known and loved Andy.

The last month of Andy’s life was not his finest.  He encountered elements that he had no tools to manage.  Much like the tragic tale of the Edmund Fitzgerald, the gales of November came and Andy found himself without radar and without a beacon to guide him.  The destruction, devastation and tragic loss were greater than anyone ever could have imagined.  But he wouldnt want any of us to feel troubled in remembering that final month of his life.  Instead, remember the 39 years and 11 months prior.  Remember his laugh.  Remember his bear hugs.  Remember his firm hand shake and his bright eyes.  Remember how inclusive he was to people.  Remember the draw of his vibrant personality.  Remember his influence.  Remember his passion. Remember that smile.  Andy, we are changed forever and we are full of thanks for your life

1. Yesterday was a wonderful treat. I woke up to Iris making the family pancakes. We happened to be out of coffee, but when Chris got up he insisted on running to Starbucks and I wasn’t about to argue with him. I remained in my pajamas until 11:30. The twins presented me with flowers that they secretly rode their bikes to purchase the day before. They had a wonderful story to accompany the flowers, involving hurling their bicycles over fences and traveling through cow pastures and the wind nearly destroying the flowers before they made it home. I repotted and newly potted lots of beautiful things. We took a walk around South Hills and very few people complained and even though I’m not currently speaking to my own mother because I don’t know how to have appropriate boundaries with her, she did hand off some flowers and grocery treats to the kids.   I will always appreciate all the sacrifices she has made for myself and my four brothers, but until she can manage to have a healthier personal life, I can’t expose myself and my children to the residual ripple that is caused by her individual choices.  In a perfect world, all our relationships are exactly why we want them to be.
   As we pulled into South Hills I expressed that my only actual Mother’s Day wish would be a picture with all my kids. I give up very easily when I comes to trying to coordinate group pictures or make grumpy kids smile or whatever else is interfering with what every mother truly wants…a captured image of their kids, all together…with herself in there somewhere also. They made it happen, and I love them for it. 
   Then I got real brave and asked Iris to snap one of the only man I’ve ever loved or been in a relationship with and the reason I keep having babies…because he’s such an amazing father and I can’t think of one good reason he shouldn’t be in charge of more people! He makes us turn off the TV and go for bike rides and practice music and plant gardens and organize the garage and I’m just completely crazy about him.
   We attempted to order take out but restaurants were completely swamped, so we went home and used up the Italian sausage that has been in the fridge a few days and had spaghetti and Italian sausage and a beautiful salad (which was all I was really craving) and we all agreed it was better than spending 80 dollars on food someone else prepared. The twins bathed the little guys while Chris and I sat at a camp fire in the yard and after we got them to bed, we ate cheesecake with the older kids. It was, a perfect day.
   Today was back to the quarantine grind. Chris off to work, kids working out the technical glitches of a fully on line education model. Max and Noah building forts in laundry baskets. Me tidying and getting ready for my final week of mission “debt pay off”. I’m $500 dollars away from total credit card freedom. I’m looking forward to only working when I want to or when we need some extra money. I’m looking forward to my home once again becoming my main focus. I’m excited to do some clean out and some purging and some nesting that the broken up nature of gig work prevents me from accomplishing normally. It’s raining and 55 degrees. We’ve been bringing potted flowers in and covering our sad little garden at night as the temperatures have been unreasonably cold at night. Apparently anyone who knows anything about gardening doesn’t plant until after Mother’s Day. We’re learning as we go. I’m 31 weeks pregnant and other than feeling pretty winded after a flight of steps and the occasional lower back/hip discomfort, I’m feeling pretty good. That report will most likely change in about a month, but for now I’m so pleased to be feeling awesome.
   
   Maternity overalls have turned out to be one of my favorite articles of clothing this round. Scored em cheap on eBay. 
   I used to think black and blue, specifically navy weren’t a good match. I’m glad I let that old fashioned belief fall by the wayside, cause this cotton, thrifted sweater has been a cozy option and one that can be stretched over mountainous body parts and recover quite nicely.

I need to go search the freezer for dinner inspiration and delivery someone’s Panera Bread order.  Later.