Kari’s journey was a difficult one, but one that she fought valiantly every day for many, many days. Her story unfortunately doesn’t have a happy ending and we are still reeling from the loss of a daughter, a sister, a wife, a mother, a niece, a cousin, a friend, and a mentor.  We were a very close family as you could probably guess from her prior posts, and as her mom, I knew her health issues intimately. If I could have, I would have taken it all from her, traded places with her, suffered for her, and yes, even died for her if it meant she could have the long, healthy, happy life she so deserved.  I don’t know anyone who was stronger or braver in spirit – it would have broken many of us a long time ago.  But not our Kari.

September 12, 2021 marks the 4^th anniversary of the transplant and all that feels like ages and ages ago.  I’m going to attempt to finish her story the best that I can. I know I won’t do it justice as it will be missing Kari’s raw honesty, humor and oh so sarcastic wit. And I hope she doesn’t mind that I do…

When I received access to her blog, I noticed that she had a couple of drafts started for various parts of her journey. She was coming to the really rough parts and I could tell by what she had started that it was very difficult, still, to talk about. I can’t finish them for her and won’t publish them as is. That part of her story is about the mental trauma she struggled greatly with. Her transplant went sideways, and I only know how hard it was for us to watch her go through it, not what she was really going through.

We talked about it a lot afterwards. She worried that the person she was during that horrible, drug-induced time was who she really was. She hated herself for the things she hallucinated about, even though I tried to convince her that they didn’t really happen. She said that maybe sepsis was like a truth serum, bringing out who she really was as a person – kind of like those people who become brutally honest when they’re drinking. I told her she was not that person – it was a combination of severe PTSD and a horrible drug cocktail, both of which were out of her control. But that part I can’t write about – I wasn’t the one living it. 

Kari would have found a way to share those difficult words eventually. She would have also written about the additional surgeries she’d had, and the toll those played on her mental (and physical) health. She would have written about the disappointment of healing from one thing only to have another thing happen shortly after. She would have written about self-loathing, how she hated the mess her tummy was in from that horrible surgery, and the struggle with the side effects of being on anti-rejection drugs. She would have written about how she struggled with asking the people around her for help when mobility became an issue, or how her, “I’m fine mom,” responses were only wishful thinking on her part, even though I knew that. She always thought she could trick me, but a mama always knows. And she may even have written about the heartbreak of her new lease on life not being what it should have been or anywhere close to what her team of doctors had promised her.

One of Kari’s motivational songs was Alicia Keys’ “Girl on Fire”. She played it often as she recovered from her transplant and subsequent surgeries and then later as a workout song as she drove herself to get strength and normalcy back to her life. Now that she’s gone, I seem to hear the song at some point every single day and, when I finally looked up the lyrics recently, I realized it truly was her song. The song is really about toasting to strong women in general, but my interpretation is of one brave young woman, fighting one challenge after another, trying to bear it all on her own, in a lonely world. Kari’s determination to live was her fire.

Once, during one of her dialysis sessions, we talked about her regrets – the shoulda/woulda/couldas. She was angry and scared – this was a new, and very serious path we were now on. We had taught our girls that there is a consequence to every action and that what’s done is done. What are you going to do to make it better now? What is the lesson you’ve learned? As much as we would have liked to wind back time, we couldn’t do anything about what had brought her to this point. What we did see was that if she was able to tell her story and help just one person learn one single thing, then it would be okay.

No parent should lose a child – that’s not the way it’s supposed to go down. I knew in my heart that Kari didn’t have a long life ahead of her, but it doesn’t lessen the heartache we all have now. Our worlds are much darker without her bright light. Kari inspired us to not be pussies in life. She was thrown things most of us would not have been able to handle. Her story is an everlasting reminder not to sweat the small stuff. People go through their own shit, but in the grand scheme of things, most of our daily stressors and worries are going to be long forgotten in five years’ time.

As open as we were, I knew she still kept things inside sometimes – she tried so hard to hide her pain on the bad days, but it was always visible in her eyes. Rarely did she ever complain or wallow in self pity. She also didn’t always ask for help – or even admit to herself that she needed it – but that’s the bravery part, and maybe a bit of stubbornness. She was the warrior who refused to give up because there were still battles to be won. I would give anything to have her back. I can’t put into words how much I miss her and how most days my heart actually hurts from the loss of her – but I can still hear “Ma? How you doin’ girl?” For her, still, I get up in the morning.

I’ll end her story by reminding you all that life is short. We all have special people in our lives that we take for granted. We don’t take nearly enough time to stop and smell the roses. We need to slow down and appreciate the things in life that are precious to us. We all have struggles in our lives and everyone has a story. We have to fight those struggles like Kari did. She had so many opportunities to give up, but she always found the will to keep going and I can’t begin to imagine how deep she had to dig some days to do it.

The time we have on this earth is limited and never guaranteed, and while no amount of time would ever be enough, I’m grateful for every second that I had with Kari.  She was our girl on fire, and I hope everyone remembers her that way!