Our perfectly placed little rental house slowly started to become home to the boys and I. I made a point to unpack all we had left from the flood as quickly as I could. I tried my best to make this new place as homey and as comfortable as possible for the boys. They needed to be feel safe and secure. Pretty sure the house was unpacked and completely decorated in about 3 days. There was no other option for me.
The blessings from others kept right on coming. Local friends, friends from out of town, strangers I’ve never met, organizations I had never heard of held fundraisers and made donations to our little family as we were recouping from losing our home. Thank you, each and every one of you!
As the months went on, I continued to deal with the numerous flood claims, as well as planning several trips around the country to attend multiple memorial services to honor our hero. It felt like my full-time job.
We were privileged to attend more local memorials, a state memorial in Sacramento, the national memorial in Washington, D.C., as well as many other police events. There were so many that I actually had to opt out of a few other ceremonies.
It’s an absolute honor to have your husband recognized for his sacrifice in such a large capacity. He was already our boys’ hero, but seeing their dad honored in these ways really gave them a whole new appreciation for him and a feeling of pride.
Along with that great honor and pride came some of the greatest pain I’ve ever endured. The most overwhelmed by grief and sorrow I have ever felt. The numbest I have ever been. The most worried, confused and alone. During every ceremony I was escorted into, every rose I had to lay, every time Mike’s name was read out loud, I wanted to be anywhere else in the world but there. I had always wanted to go to Washington, D.C. especially, but not for the reason we went there. I hated it!
Once we returned from Washington, D.C. I started to feel a little bit of weight being lifted from my heart. Even on the flight home, I felt a sense of relief. I was almost proud of myself, proud of my boys for getting through those 11 months of hell. We returned home in the middle of May, just in time to start thinking and planning Mike’s first End of Watch anniversary. But I was done attending one somber event after another.
I didn’t have it in me anymore to be the police officer’s widow.
I just wanted to be April and I wanted to finally mourn and grieve my husband, Mike…not Officer Katherman. For almost a year all I had been was Officer Katherman’s widow. And my boys…the surviving children of Officer Katherman.
With End of Watch and Father’s Day approaching I just knew I desperately needed to be April again. That month the boys were turning 9 and 11. It was time for them to just be 9 and 11 year old boys. It was time to get away, just the three of us and celebrate my husband and their Dad. And that is just what we did!
