Charles Crane/MDN November Reinoehl, at left, Angie Reinoehl, Luca Crane, Charles Crane, Jeremey Vidmar and Xavier Vidmar listen to Fr. Todd Kreitinger during November’s and Luca’s joint baptism at St. Leo the Great’s Catholic Church in Minot in February 2024.

I do have misgivings about using this column as an outright platform for all of the grief I and so many others are carrying in the wake of my step-daughter November’s passing.

This paper’s readers aren’t coming to its pages looking to feel sad when they open the weekend edition, one would hope. However, my intention is to uplift myself and all who read what I have to say, whether they knew that little girl or not.

That said, consider this your last warning. This is going to be a tough one.

One of the first things I grappled with that Sunday afternoon when the dust settled, was an accounting of all the horrible knowns and unknowns. Family had swooped in, holding us up, and cleaning up our home which had fallen into a mess we couldn’t hope to address in the state we were in.

I checked them off like a list in my head as I clutched November’s Elsa bathrobe, alternating between sitting, standing and pacing around. One of those horrible unknowns was the uncertainty as to the condition of November’s body after the accident. This concern, which wasn’t mine alone, was relieved after November was brought back to Minot.

Angie went to visit her at the funeral home. I stayed home, trying to do something useful. Angie messaged me later, saying that November was in such good condition, she almost looked alive, especially in her hands and feet.

“I think she’s a saint,” my wife texted me. She hadn’t been the first person to say that.

November was baptised along with her baby brother, Luca, in February 2024, a few weeks before their mother joined the church and our marriage was convalidated later that Easter.

The Sundays we made it to church (I can’t say we’re perfect), November always filled up the Mass bag she received from her Aunt Katie, complete with Saint holy cards, felt books explaining the different stages of the Mass, and a crocheted Mary Queen of Heaven doll. She sometimes became intimidated by larger congregations, so we’d sit up front to make her comfortable and focus on what was happening at the altar. She loved lighting votive candles after Mass and saying special prayers for people.

Returning to that same baptismal font to meet with Fr. Todd Kreitinger at St. Leo’s that evening on Sept. 28 literally brought Angie and me to our knees. Fr. Todd had been the one to baptize the majority of our little family.

November had tagged along on several of our meetings with Fr. Todd as we navigated Angie’s joining the church, and it’s safe to say she made an impression on our local priest. Before she could really read, she would flip through her hardcover Golden Book Bible she received as a baptismal gift. She was fascinated by the Rosary, but admittedly didn’t have the patience to sit through one.

We didn’t realize it until after, but in the next year after her baptism, her grandfather Jessey also joined the church. The three of them were on their way to Dickinson for church with Jessey and Karen the morning the crash happened.

We had a special Mass for November the next evening. Fr. Christopher Kadrmas and Deacon Ben Auch drove up from my home parish of St. Vincent’s in Mott to be co-celebrants in the Mass, which meant a lot. Kadrmas visited with me afterwards, invoking an Italian proverb of a shepherd who used the bleats of a lamb to lead his flock across a stream, in reference to the crowd gathered.

November’s casket was open for her visitation and funeral, which I’m grateful for. My nieces and nephews spent a lot of time taking it all in, how she looked, felt, and all the possessions and mementos we surrounded her with. Her father, Jacob, was there by some miracle despite his severe injuries, possibly her first.

My sister Katie mentioned her kids have taken to saying, “Saint November, pray for us,” calling on their cousin’s intercession on their behalf. My niece Greta was November’s age and told Katie that while she was sad November was gone, she was so happy she was with Jesus in heaven.

There’s small comfort in certainties, especially in Catholic rationalizations like Greta’s. I’ve been telling myself the same thing.

Our little saint is with all those who came before, arms opened wide to welcome her loved ones into the same eternal splendor. Until that day comes, November, pray for us all. We need it in this world without you.