Charles Crane/MDN An ornament made in remembrance of November Sky Reinoehl by her grandmother Peg Crane hangs near the top of the tree on Christmas Eve.

Everyone grieves in their own way, or so I’m told. Quite a few people I respect and the literature I’ve read have reinforced grief is also far from a linear process. One never knows where on the wheel the arrow is going to land today.

For some, that arrow spins round and round chaotically. For others, it gets stuck in one place.

In the years since my cousin Alisha’s daughter Bridgette passed on, she and her husband Oren and my aunt and uncle Katie and Jim have left Bridgette’s rooms untouched; as though she would materialize within them at any moment. Jim volunteers to help with funerals in Great Falls, Mont., holding up others, knowing firsthand how heavy the weight of grief can be.

It is with that goal that I resurrected my dormant column, in the hope that I too could give structure to the whirlwind of sadness and chaos that afflicts all those who mourn the ones they love.

I made it about three weeks before writing these things just became too hard. That is just one of many things I’ve had to struggle with and measure up for. I haven’t been back to the cemetery in Bottineau since my wife Angie, Jacob, and I along with our extended families said goodbye to our bright and boundless November Sky Reinoehl. Jacob, November’s biological father, and I are planning to go together soon.

I knew the holiday season would be difficult, as every day since that car accident outside Watford City on Sept. 28, 2025, has come with its own set of challenges, obstacles, and uncertainties. Our St. Bernard, Maggie, whom we had only just gotten after Mother’s Day, was growing exponentially into the monster dog we knew she would be, had become more than what we could handle in our debilitated state. Fortunately, we found an amazing family in Dickinson who welcomed her into their pack. Though, I’d be lying if the exchange wasn’t one of the hardest goodbyes I’ve ever had.

That said, I hate to admit it, but I’m glad walking her and disposing of her massive contributions to lawn fertilizer are no longer on my to do list. But November got to know her from when Maggie could fit in her arms until she could almost ride her, and that time will always be treasured in my memory.

We never managed to set up our Christmas tree this year. The energy to bring everything in from the garage just wasn’t there, and the will to replace all of November’s things with a Christmas cheer we didn’t feel also failed to appear. We did take Luca on a drive through Sertoma’s Christmas in the Park, and have been spending a great deal of this holiday season with family, without whom we would not be standing upright.

It took some time, but Luca really has begun to understand that his Sissy isn’t coming home. He’s taken to identifying toys or knick-knacks that were special to November, saying, “This was Sissy’s. Now it’s mine.”

Lately, at bedtime he’ll burrow his face into my chest, and whisper, “I miss Sissy. I miss mommy. I miss daddy,’ which I guess is his way of recognizing none of us are who we were before we lost November.

November truly was the core of our little family. While Angie and I had apparently had a missed connection in 2017, and wouldn’t meet in person until spring 2020, it was November who forged the bonds that made us the “Reinoehl-Cranes.”

Pictures and videos don’t quite do justice to how sweet, endearing and loving that little baby girl was, even as she grew up and developed an attitude and defiant rage when properly agitated. As she entered the larger world of school and kindergarten, her kindness and boundless freely given love really started to shine out, brightening the lives of so many.

Her grandparents, Lolli and Pop, Karen and Jessey, came to visit us in December. They’d always treated Luca like he was a bonus grandchild, and wanted to give him presents after visiting November’s grave. Jessey said he found the right spot thanks to muscle memory, and cleared the snow off of her marker, as well as the headstones of her grandfather Clint Reinoehl and uncle Zach Reinoehl. They left her a present, with the intention that somehow it would wind up in the hands of a child who could use it.

Wouldn’t you know it, Luca wound up totally bored with the singing and dancing Mickey Mouse, as his attention was given entirely to the jumbo crayons and coloring book Lolli and Pop had brought him. Much like his sister would have. She imprinted so much of herself on her little brother before she went. Every day, Luca will manifest one of her sayings, mannerisms, or interests.

I don’t think Disney wants us using their streaming service solely to watch “Spidey and his Amazing Friends,” but here we are, starting up our fifth rewatch of the entire series with a little boy who will shout encouragement to its heroes and react to the villainy of the Green Goblin in such a pure way. Because that’s how his sister would watch it, and he was always watching her.

We’ve set up a small memorial wall for November in our apartment, and we have enough collages, keepsakes, and mementos to do five more. Don’t even get me started on the totes of her clothes, Barbies, dress up chest and the dozens of pairs of shoes.

Her special light up cowboy hats she got when the circus came to town still hang in her closet. Angie intends to hang them next to her late father Clint’s hats she inherited.

Someday, we’ll get around to making our home a home again. It’s difficult, but the time to get around to it is right now as I write this, and it’s something only I can do which mustn’t be put off any longer.

I started with flipping over our couch, revealing not only the grit of Minot’s infamous winter road kitty litter, a half dozen mismatched socks, crayons, forks, my right ear bluetooth headphone which had been missing for a couple weeks, but also the smears of half cleaned marker streaks still left on the wall behind it.

November and Luca had been caught in the middle of drawing their “mural,” and initially, November claimed it was her two year old brother who signed her name so neatly next to a complete set of ABC’s adorning the wall.

Eventually, she did begrudgingly wipe the marker away with the magic eraser her mother provided, but naturally left some of the job undone. I can almost make out the faint memories of every stroke of her masterpiece. I think I’ll leave it be for now, but one way or another, someone’s going to wipe every trace of her from this apartment when the day comes that we finally move.

There’s no good time to say goodbye, but for the most part, there’s no wrong way to do it. How one does it is up to them, but for me, I don’t know that I ever will completely be able to “say goodbye.” She’ll always be in the corner of my eye, giggling, waiting for me to find her in the most obvious hiding spot during hide and seek, until the day I join her myself in Heaven. God willing.

As we enter the New Year, Saint November, pray for us.