I take a few deep, slow breaths on the drive to work, preparing to face the good people and play-act as my old self. From behind their masks they will say, “Good morning,” and I will add the letter “u” to my reply in my own private little joke: “Good mourning!”

In this solitude, I think of you on the other side of the world, buried in paradise, where the leaves never brown and snow never falls. Did you know that your second family gave a Mass for you? I watched a video clip of it, and it was lovely, but the service was in a language that neither of us understands.

I would have liked to have held my own service here, where I would have served the baked mostaccioli, Italian beef, and deep dish that you craved. I would have eulogized you. I’m not sure exactly what I would have said, but I think I might have poked fun at the black dress socks, gym shoes, and short-shorts that made up your weekend uniform. And I might have described what a passionate hobbyist you were, giving your full heart to each new interest, from crossword puzzles to autograph hunting to big band music. I might have shared how some of my warmest childhood memories involved hanging around you while you shaved, watching your slow, careful movements while we talked about matters small and large.

I look for any piece of you in this city you loved, but nothing easy comes to mind. My imagination wanders to some small, forgotten corner of the courthouse where you worked, where a molecule of yours might lie, sleeping, waiting for an agitating broom to release it to space.

When my beloved son Kyle was little, we called him Dog Boy. If there was a dog within a 1/2 mile, Kyle would find it and love on it. I’ve never seen anyone so in love with dogs! We had many dogs over the years, so there were many opportunities to give and receive love. Sadly, due to family chaos during his childhood, I had to re-home the two dogs he had come to think of as his own. I know that Daisy, a black Basset Hound-Border Collie mix, and Duffy, a white rough coat Jack Russell Terrier, met him when he crossed over April 6, 2021 at 8:49 pm. He was 38, and had been married only two years.

Kyle was an interesting combination of steadfast loyalty, cranky impatience, infectious laugh, and endless forgiveness. He could be crabby and intolerant. He was willing to be understanding and forgiving. At his memorial, one of his buddies said he didn’t think he’d ever seen Kyle without a smile on his face. At 6’2″, 390 lbs., he was big in every way. Big heart, big appetite, big smarts, big beard, big love.

Kyle was our holiday maker. He refused to let a holiday go by without a get together. The only one we missed was Christmas 2020 because I was just too nervous about the virus. But that Thanksgiving we had a big meal in the living room of our half finished house. Bare grey block walls, a late November Colorado breeze blowing through the many openings yet to be filled with windows and doors, a football game on the TV, a microwave to reheat the quickly cooling food – a memorable day to say the least. We sat across the room from each other in green lawn chairs, Mike and I on one side, Kyle and Charlotte on the other. But we were together, and that’s what mattered to Kyle.

Kyle had a natural facility for sport and language, and became fluent in Spanish for his LDS mission to New Jersey. He played multiple sports and mimicked any accent, frequently making folks laugh with this talent. With the help of the church and his LDS family, he reinvented himself in high school, and created a good life with his conversion. Although he drifted away from the church in recent years, he maintained the many rich relationships he had made. Some of these wonderful people made possible his outdoor Celebration of Life when we were too deep in our grief to do anything, and many more came to share memories of him on that bright May afternoon.

Kyle and I butted heads quite a bit through the years. There were plenty of times when we were both tough to love. But we forged some kind of loving truce, and really enjoyed our time together. Strangely, now that he is dead, we have an even better relationship. We talk every day, though it is brief. He encourages me to stick out this human life, even without him. I miss his laugh and his generosity and his hugs and his genuine positive regard for us. He taught me to look for joy, though that is not my first inclination.

Kyle’s illness lasted just 17 days from beginning to end. He and Charlotte could not afford medical insurance, yet he was given every available treatment. We are forever grateful to his nurses, doctors, respiratory therapists and financial aid counselors for their unflagging efforts to help him. Charlotte was able, via a Kickstarter fund, to pay all of the fees that the hospital could not recover from the federal assistance program. Thank you, all you beautiful people.

We have been together in many lifetimes, and I look forward to seeing you again, Kylie, on the other side of the veil. Love you, Honey. See you in a while. Kiss those doggies for me.

Dear Pop,

Some tell me that you gained your wings on January 5, 2021. From this daughter’s perspective, you didn’t gain them because you already had them. You were an angel right here on earth. And while I know with 110% of my heart that you are up in Heaven watching over me, guiding and protecting me, I think it’s important to remember certain quirky, funny memories that we shared while I was honored to have you as my Dad on earth.

Christmas is approaching, which is difficult because you were Christmas to me. You gave me the best memories any daughter could ever wish for.

You always let me lay beside you on the couch, resting my head on your chest (I still can hear your heart beating to this day) and we would watch “The Grinch,” “Frosty the Snowman,” “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” “A Charlie Brown Christmas,” and “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation” a million times. Our favorites were the Grinch and Christmas Vacation. I remember you laughed and smiled just as much as I did during the Grinch. When you smiled, you smiled with your whole heart, your grin was as big as the Grinch when his heart grew three sizes.

I remember us sneaking into the kitchen, after Mama was sound asleep, and we fought over all the Wal-Mart Christmas sugar cookies with the green sprinkles on top. Because the green sprinkles tasted better than the red sprinkles. Even though we both knew that the sprinkles didn’t really taste any different, we enjoyed the laughter and banter it created. You would take those sugar cookies and put them into your homemade milkshakes that you made us with Breyer’s Neopolitan ice cream and Barber’s milk.

I can still see you carrying our massive, frosted, artificial tree up the stairs from the basement. I was always amazed at the beautiful red and green old-fashioned bubble lights center piece that you set up in the foyer. I remember being 6 years old and looking forward to standing in the foyer, watching and waiting for those lights to begin to bubble. To this day, I set up a bubble light centerpiece and night lights in our home.

To some kids, Santa Claus, presents, and candy were Christmas. But to me, the time I spent with you laughing and making memories was Christmas. So Pop, I know you are up there in Heaven shining down on me and I want to thank you for every single Christmas memory you gave to me. This year will be my first Christmas without you. I must admit that most people want presents under the tree; this daughter has a different wish. Pop, I wish that you could be here with me sharing a cookie milkshake and watching “The Grinch.”

You can find my project “Live Like Pop” at livelikepop.org.

May 5, 2020 we lost our oldest son, Johnny, to Covid-19. He had just gotten engaged at Christmas, 2019. He was taken way too soon. We were going to start planning the wedding, but instead, my husband and I had to plan a celebration of life. We couldn’t have a proper funeral due to restrictions. With the help of Johnny’s best friend since birth, Becky, and her sister Beth, we had a beautiful service.

Johnny, you are always in our thoughts everyday. Until we see each other again, Laugh Loud our sweet boy. We love and miss you very much!! Love Mom, Dad, Matt, Anthony, Heather, Becky, Beth and all your family and friends.

Bob graduated from Tomah High School (WI) in 1954. He had a short stint in the Wisconsin Army National Guard before becoming active duty in the U.S. Air Force (stationing in the Philippines and then Japan) and afterwards joining the U.S. Air Force Reserves. After his initial military service, Bob earned his B.A. in languages (Japanese/Spanish) at the University of Minnesota (U of M). After his undergraduate studies, he spent a year in Cali, Columbia, teaching English as a Second Language (ESL) and Bookkeeping while honing his Spanish. A lover of languages, Bob returned to the U of M to pursue a doctorate, where he met his beloved German bride and ultimately earned his M.A. in Spanish/Linguistics.

Bob (“Professor Dahl”) was passionate about instructional systems design (curriculum development and assessment) and taught language courses at the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis, MN; Concordia College in Moorhead, MN; and the University of South Carolina in Columbia, SC. His civil service teaching career kicked off in 1969 when he taught at Air University’s (then) Foreign Officers School on Maxwell Air Force Base in Montgomery, AL. While teaching at Foreign Officers School, Bob went back into reserve service for a year with the Alabama Air National Guard. He continued with curriculum development, instruction, and desktop publishing with Civil Air Patrol and then Air University’s Air War College. Along the way, Bob received an M.S. in Adult Education and Ed.S. in General Educational Administration from Troy University. Bob retired from civil service in 1994 but continued to work in the educational field for several more years teaching English and Spanish both privately and for local continuing education programs.

Bob loved flying airplanes as a teenager and learning and teaching foreign languages throughout his adult life. His love for dad jokes, cats, family, and food endeared him to everyone who met him. Bob enjoyed 54 years of marriage. His wife, three children, son-in-law, grandson, granddaughter-in-law, and great granddaughters were the light of his life. Forever with a friendly smile on his face, Bobbie/Bob/Dad/Opa will be dearly missed.