This one comes straight from that sacred little pocket of my soul, where I imagine all human sentiment percolates into the essence of being.
The winter solstice does that to me, nudges me into a trance of sentimentality that is both reflective and nostalgic…but, somehow, also hopeful. After all, what is the winter solstice, if not the grand crescendo of darkness, after which comes all that light?
So, in the spirit of that unignorable cycle and because I sincerely think of WAC’s members as extended family, I’d like to share a bit more about some of the hardships that our own little family has faced this year. Both of which, too, have shown up with a great flood of pure light.
Around a year ago, on the day of our wedding anniversary, my husband Arron (WAC founder + CEO) and I learned that our second child, our baby girl born early last year, was diagnosed with what the medical community refers to as an “ultra-rare” genetic condition. At the time, we also learned that she was one of approximately 18 other such cases in the medical literature. For those first few moments, heaviness and helplessness eclipsed my entire being, this inescapable feeling that the rest of our lives — and most importantly hers — would somehow be ruined. As a relatively new mother, the news felt catastrophic. A distinct blend of despair and fear, the kind that feels insurmountable. Those first few months whizzed by as a chaotic blur of logistics and emotions as our family, on the one hand, did all we could to learn about our daughter’s medical reality. And on the other hand, learned how to get comfortable with the ever-presence of its built-in uncertainty.
What I didn’t expect, however, was that the monumental difficulty of facing this information would be accompanied by the indescribable pleasure of getting to witness her warrior aura in bloom. That my love for her would outweigh the discomfort of not knowing how things were going to play out. That the privilege of being her mother would invite the best of myself to show up. I could have never possibly known then, in that viscous sludge of that brand-new pain, that our daughter’s diagnosis would infuse our day-to-day with a new dimension of understanding, dedication and humility. And that I would be called to face our new reality with equal parts stamina and grace. That our baby girl had come to us as our greatest teacher, a living revelation of love in its most pure and unconditional form. “A person of consequence,” as my late father-in-law Walt used to say.
Which brings me to the other existentially difficult moment that 2024 showed us: the sudden loss of Arron’s dad, Walt Kallenberg, whom, as many of you know, I’ve shared about here before. That loss alone, and more so on the heels of all that we were already trying to manage with our baby, including multiple surgeries, felt like an act of cosmic cruelty. A primal unbearability. Perhaps even a test.
And yet, the loss of Walt has also come with a profound appreciation for his role in our lives, especially Arron’s, whose whole raison d’etre began to emerge — whether he knew it or not at the time — on the back deck of the Mary K, the commercial salmon fishing vessel that Walt designed and built. Somehow, losing Walt amplified the omnipresence of his legacy, the sense that his spirit would become even more deeply imbued into everything that we do. To lose our beloved Walt was to learn how to foster a new dimension of love for him, an even deeper sense of appreciation and admiration that today serves as our map.
And so it goes, with lots of processing, togetherness and time, that our wounds become our wisdom. We now understand that our daughter’s ultra-rare condition is also an ultra-rare opportunity for us to show up as the best versions of ourselves. We now know in our bones that she came to us for a reason and that it is our job to hunt for the beauty of those lessons for the rest of our lives. Likewise, there is no question that losing Walt has been an absolute tragedy — and yet also an opportunity to love him even more, to lean deeper into his essence, and to march forward with our mission not only with his name, but in his name.
In many ways, 2024 has felt like the mother of all winter storms, yanking us from the steady rhythms of our comfort zones and demanding that we learn how to dance on the edge of the unexpected. So, we continue to teeter there, in the fullness of the joy that comes with love and family, but always alongside the difficulties therein. We learn how to drift between the agony and the ecstasy, forever tapped into the resilience of our Alaskan fishing family, knowing very well that good ships are not built for safe harbors. That the journey is long. That it may never get any easier. But also, that after the freeze of winter, the light always comes.
I truly hope that whatever feels challenging for you will also, in time, be a source of illumination on your path. And as always, I deeply thank you, dear members, for allowing me to be vulnerable with you.
Live Wild!
Monica
Pictured above: A montage of sweet moments with our girl, some of which include an epic shot (lower left) of Arron hoisting her up at the top of “the Rocky” stairs in Philadelphia, after a particularly difficult appointment at the Children’s Hospital; a tender shot (second from right on the bottom) of Arron hugging her close after her first surgery; and perhaps the most poignant one here (second from right on top) is of baby girl and Grandpa Walt in our Homer cabin, the week before he passed.
