Dad

This poem rings so vibrantly in my mind as I think about my dad. I can still hear his voice in the words. When my sisters and I were little kids, my dad would recite poetry to us every bedtime. I remember being in elementary school and being able to recite that poem along with my dad. Today, as a 22 year old, this poem truly speaks to me about love. I feel honored to say my daddy was the only man I have (thus far) given my heart to. And I deeply feel the effects and seriousness of giving your heart to another.

 Many of you know my dad as Dr. Klunder, his preferred name after his relentless dedication to education and learning. I am sure that many of your memories of Professor Klunder include insightful and sometimes humble interjections. My dad was a ridiculously smart man, always learning, reading, and growing his mind. He was passionate about so many things. Our home is stuffed with books after books, layering two rows deep on the shelves. When we were in elementary school, my dad bought us each a personal dictionary to keep by our desk or bed for reference. He would review new history books, help write tests for other states, and served fervently at Wichita State. Every time a scholastic book order was passed out at school, we ordered a new slew of books to stock our bookshelves. I used to joke with my dad about his lecture notes. He spent so much time editing and reviewing his notes before each lecture, and I would say “Dad, can’t you just use the same notes from last semester? History hasn’t changed that much, right?” Although I was teasing him, his commitment to higher education and being prepared to teach his students to the best of his ability shone brightly in all of his work. So much of my passion for learning and teaching comes from my father. Even with his title of Associate Professor, previous Faculty Senate President, and many other accolades over the years, his role as Father to three daughters was his best and most prized title of them all.

My Dad was an incredible man, servant leader, and loving daddy to his three girls. I think the Lord knew just how good he would be to daughters, so he gave him and my mom only girls. To this day, I laugh about how much he put up with having only females in the house. Sorry for all of you daughter-less men in the room, but there was once a time in middle school when we were grocery shopping at the Tallgrass Dillons and he asked me in the feminine products isle what I needed. I remember being so embarrassed and getting mad at him for asking me. I think I ran down the next isle with embarrassment, but he humbly helped his daughter with no more questions. His hugs were warm, tight, and one of my favorite things. All three of us girls called him multiple times a day to chat. Any time I was driving, I would call home just to catch up with my dad and tell him about my day. He got way too many “Hey dad, it’s me Catherine…” messages. When Erica and I studied in England for a semester, not a night went by we didn’t Facetime our parents. We would email back and forth all the time, and he always ended the message with Love.

Besides loving so incredibly well, my dad taught me how to be independent, responsible, and hard working. When I was in elementary school, he started a bank account for me to help teach me about finances. My dad was always thinking ahead to how he could better his girls and teach us about life. When we shopped Dillons, he would teach us how to compare ounces to price, because a lot of times, the “value size” isn’t the best value. His subscription to Consumer Reports has consistently been a great resource when we think about purchasing important items like cars or laptops. He was never rash in making important decisions, and his opinion on pretty much anything was highly regarded.

I am so like my dad in so many ways. When I think about who my dad was as a person, I am grateful to my core that so much of who I am came from who my dad was. Many of his colleagues probably didn’t see his tender and affectionate side as much, but my dad loved all of us so well, as well as others. He would go out of his way to see his favorite banker instead of going to the bank close to our house. He befriended a sweet 85 year old man, Paul, at Dillons. He would do anything to help others who needed it, and truly wanted those he interacted with to feel valued.  

The thing I admired most about my dad was the way he served our family. Sometimes I forgot he had a full time profession of teaching undergraduate and graduate level courses because he was SO present in my childhood and did so much for our family. Of course we didn’t know then that he would leave this earth so soon in my life, but all the rides to and from school, trips to the grocery store, and time spent helping fold laundry are treasured in my heart. I am forever grateful that he pushed me to learn and grow as much as I could, teaching me how to use power tools when fixing our fence or learning the importance of financial responsibility. He held our family together like glue, and his presence is terribly missed. I get angry when I think about losing my dad at 22 years old, but if that meant having him as my daddy, I couldn’t be more thankful that I was loved by such an amazing, loving, brilliant man.

You probably already knew this if you knew my dad, but he LOVED to travel, and made sure we had enriched lives through diverse experiences. We would pack his mini-van full of suitcases and travel the US. He planned the most spectacular trips for our family. Before my 16^th birthday, we had been to Lake Taho, Salt Lake City, San Fransisco, Boston, Gettysburg, Maine, Philadelphia, Washington DC, Niagara Falls, New York City, Wisconsin, Wyoming, Florida, Chicago and Indianapolis countless times, covering most ends of the United States. This summer we took our last family roadtrip. My dad began planning our Rocky Mountain extravaganza over a year in advance. He was so excited for this trip, unlike I had seen before. When he pitched the trip last summer, my immediate thought was “a whole month in the car with my family?!” I even had a conversation with my friend Leslie about how I thought it might be too much concentrated time together.    Our trip this summer was magical.     My dad totally outdid himself this year. We started in Estes Park, then hit the Grand Tetons, up into Glacier National Park, then the big finale in Lake Louise in Banff Canada. I am so, so thankful for those weeks with my dad. At the end of the trip was when he got sick, and never in a million years did I think this is how things were going to end. I will forever hold on to those memories with my daddy, experiencing one last family roadtrip. 

My dad never complained about anything, even in the 9 weeks he was in the hospital. My dad fought so hard and loved us unbelievably well. Even though I ache and ache with the loss of my precious dad, I feel honored to have had a father who cared for me, loved me, fought for me, and fathered me the best he could. My life is forever changed and imprinted by his love. He held a huge piece of my heart, and like Housman says, love is paid for with sighs of plenty, deeper and stronger than any other thing. Daddy, I love you beyond what I will ever be able to express. I miss you so much it seems unbearable. Thank you for loving me and helping make me the woman I am today. Your presence will forever be missed, but the imprint you left on my heart and life will forever linger.

 

Dad AKA Professor Klunder

I have been processing a whole lot internally, and I decided to write out my thoughts tonight as I sit here with my dad.

 

Yesterday, I raced out of school to get to Wesley. The paramedics had come to transfer my dad from the ICU (where he was for 4 weeks, after 3 weeks in 6 different ICU and normal rooms at Wesley). I rode with him in the ambulance to Select Hospitals, a private long term acute care facility within St. Francis downtown. Last night, I kind of lost it. I let myself feel sorry for everything that has happened, and just wept and wept.

 

My family has now been walking this road of sickness, hospitals, and pain for seven weeks. That number for some reason really got to me this weekend. In the seven weeks, my dad was in 8 different rooms within Wesley. He had an abscess surgery, open heart surgery to replace his mitral and aortic valves, was sedated and ventilated for 2 and a half weeks (the scariest weeks of my life), and now has a trachea tube and feeding tube. I will back up a little for those of you who don’t know the messy, long details of the last 2 months.

 

It feels like another lifetime that all of this started. My family went on an incredible vacation this summer. My sweet dad planned it over a year in advance, and it was magical. We went to Estes Park, CO, the Grand Tetons, Yellowstone, Glacier National Park, and up to Banff Canada to Lake Louise. I have never seen such beauty or felt the majesty of creation before. On that trip, I got tonsillitis and was very sick for the first week. Just as I was getting better, my dad began to get sick. We were up near the border to Canada in the middle of Montana. He wanted us to continue on the trip up to Lake Louise, despite him not being well. He was incredibly weak, not eating, could barely walk, having horrible fevers and just really sick. If only we had known, then, what we know now.  While in Lake Louise, we stayed at the Fairmont Chateau, the nicest and most incredible hotel I have even been in. My dad truly outdid himself planning this trip. He did not leave the hotel room except for one time in those three days there. We were supposed to be there for 6 days, but left on the 4^th morning for our 1,700 mile drive home. That drive and those three days were long and hard. I think we all knew something more was going on, and my dad wanted to get home so we could take care of things in Wichita, not in the middle of Montana or Wyoming.

 

July 24^th my dad was admitted into Wesley for what we thought was a hernia. It turned out the hernia was an abscess, and the infection from the abscess spread to his blood stream. Because infected blood was pumping through his body, vegetations grew on his mitral and aortic heart valves, and on August 6^th my dad had open heart surgery. He had been in the ICU for two weeks before his surgery, so his body was very weak going into a major surgery. The thoracic surgeon said his valves were way more deteriorated and damaged than he thought, so the timing of the surgery was vital. The surgery went great, and the road to recovery began. While in recovery, he took a very sharp turn and was moved to the ICU at 3 in the morning on Saturday August 16^th. His body went into multi-organ failure as well as respiratory distress. They sedated him and ventilated him that next morning. His kidneys were failing, his lungs were failing (he has pneumonia), and his blood was essentially attacking itself. We were so confused what happened, because he was doing so well after surgery. While recovering from heart surgery, they gave him a blood transfusion, but his body had developed an antibody to donor blood. This antibody began attacking his blood, and caused his whole body to go into sepsis. They had him on dialysis to do the work of his kidneys, daily lung treatments for his pneumonia, and so much monitoring. I had come by that Monday (August 17^th) morning before making my way to my classroom to prep for the first day of school the next day. The ICU closes from 7-8 daily, so I came around 6 to be with him. My mom and I were both there and about to leave for school when the hospitalist came by and told us he was extremely critical, and it was unknown about his progress or potential to overcome his multi-organ failure. I remember that day so well, and even writing this hurts my heart all over again. I was on the hallway floor bawling, having to call my sister in St. Louis (on her first day with her students) to tell her to come home as soon as she could. I have never cried so hard in my life as I did that entire day. I missed my entire first week of teaching of my first year being a teacher. My school and principal were unbelievably supportive and took care of everything. I remember sitting next to my dad while he lay there, so critical and sick, feeling so empty and pained that this was our reality. None of what happened was how I had planned it to be or wanted. I am forever grateful for that week with my dad. He was sedated and unaware of what was going on, but I know he knew we were there for him. The second week, we all went back to work (and had my first day with my students). Overwhelmed, exhausted, aching, and anxious I went into my first week of teaching. It was so great to meet my kiddos, and despite my own doubts of myself, my students seem to like Ms. Klunder. J

 

After many rounds of dialysis, his kidneys began to bounce back. The day I walked into his room and saw urine in his catheter bag, I was yelling at the nurse about how cool it was. He looked at me like I was a little crazy (and I am not even sure he was actually my dad’s nurse that day), but it was a victory. After two and a half weeks being sedated and ventilated, they took him off sedation medication. Those next couple days were even more terrifying that the days he was sedated because he was completely unresponsive. What happened was that his kidneys were taking longer to filter out fluids, so the medicine was still in his body. 3 days later, my dad woke up. And what a sweet, needed thing that was. I wept all day seeing him look at me, and was so so grateful to know he was there. Even with all the tubes, wires, and ICU things, he was still his sassy self.

 

They ended up having to put the trachea tube in because he wasn’t quite ready to breathe on his own, and it is less damaging to his vocal chords and throat. Once the tube was in his neck instead of his throat, my dad seemed so much more himself. He could now kiss us, talk (with no sound…and trust me, lip reading is a nightmare), and somewhat communicate what he needed. There was one night shortly after he woke up that Erica and I explained to him what all had happened in the previous 2 and a half weeks. That was a hard night.

 

His kidneys are functioning again, and he is no longer in the ICU. For some reason, the move really got to me this weekend. My dad has now been in the hospital for 7 weeks. SEVEN WEEKS. It aches me so deeply that he has to go through all of this. I wanted so badly to talk to him about everything , especially those weeks he was sedated. We can talk to him now, but it is important that we are strong and encouraging for him. The move was extremely hard on his body, and just change in general is hard. I found myself so agitated by everything last night. The hospital is further from home, the parking is more difficult and getting to his room takes 4 times longer than at Wesley. We don’t know any of the staff yet, and saying goodbye to our ICU family at Wesley was heart wrenching.

 

It is hard to explain how I have been feeling through all of this (moving, starting my career, and dealing with my dad). We have had so many friends come sit with us at the hospital, bring coffee or a meal, listen to me weep and vent all of life on them, etc. Some days I am so utterly overwhelmed with learning everything at school and trying to make sure I am doing my job as a teacher that I can focus solely on school. Other times, times I think and process everything that has happened and is going on, I feel like my insides are turning out and my whole body will just turn into a ball. I ache and ache for my dad. Some days I feel completely overwhelmed with life and just sob in my car. If you are reading this and are a teacher, you know what kind of intense stress comes with your first year. I have been waking up at 5:30, getting to Wesley by 6am so I can spend an hour with my dad before they shut it down until 8am, going to work, then coming back as soon as school is over. Most nights, I come again after shift change and stay until 10 or so. After school, I love getting to share with my dad what happened. He always told me I would be a great teacher. I show him pictures of my kids and important things like my newly organized cabinets.

 

My whole world has been consumed and affected by this. It affects me every day, and not a minute goes by I am not thinking about my dad. I feel tired every day. I hate that I haven’t been a good friend to all of my incredible friends. I am bad about responding to texts or calls. I get home and go right into bed. The tiniest of things can annoy me and I find myself getting short with my mom and sisters. The times I go do something for myself (like run to Target for groceries or work in my classroom on the weekends), I feel guilty that I am not at the hospital. When doctors or nurses tell us “your dad is very sick,” I want to punch them in the face, (but I still love them). When a person you love so deeply it hurts is suffering, it doesn’t matter if you are tired, or overwhelmed with a new career, or feel stressed about the little things like how far you now have to park. Being there for my dad is the most important thing to me. There is no place I would rather be than with him, showing him how much we love him and how undeniably incredible he is. The nurses in the ICU all came to his room the day he woke up, and many cried tears of joy alongside us. Man oh man, I miss my people in the ICU. Love you all.  

 

I guess I just wanted to get it out there that I am hurting for my dad. That life has been a bit of a hot mess. When I see him in his bed and think about everything he has gone through, it physically aches my body. I feel so completely helpless and wish I could do more for him. I had a friend, shout out to Mary Ashton, who walked through her own dad being very ill, and she sent me an article about how God never says he wouldn’t give us more than we can handle, but he will BE THERE when we are going through more than we can handle. I can say that I have about filled my cup of “things I can handle without losing my cool completely”, and then some. But through this, I have seen God’s faithfulness in little things. Just last week I was deeply moved while leading worship at church, and was reminded that the Lord has been in this process the whole time, even when it has seemed unbearable. And even though seven weeks seems long, my dad is slowly improving. The fight is not over, but I know my dad. He is a fighter, a doer, a champion who never complains. I love him so much.

 

Thanks for sticking with me. This was very cathartic for me, and might help some of you understand a little better where I have been coming from, especially all of the unanswered texts…I am the worst. But on a serious note, please pray for my daddio.