Jaxie and Gaylene, a Mother’s Day tale
5/8/2022 5:40:00 AM | Softball
As the photos cycled through on the screen at Joey Klucewich's memorial service a year and a half ago, both a celebration of the life that was packed into his 22 years and a gripping reminder of what had been lost and would never be again, a new background song began to play.
Brett Young sang: "There is no perfect life. You can't hold back time. But you hold on tight."
It's the path Gaylene Klucewich first chose to walk 20 years ago this July, when her husband, Jim, died in an accident in Missoula, leaving her with three children under the age of 7, Bobbie Jo, the oldest, and Joey and Jaxie, then 3 and 1.
One morning they were a family of five. Then they weren't. And there would be no perfect life. "You learn that life goes on. You can't stop time. These experiences, they can either make us bitter or better," Gaylene says.
"I've chosen to teach my kids to just lift their eyes and to rise above it, not to dwell on the loss and live at the graveside. It helps having faith in God and realizing that the spirit returns to God who gave it."
The photos that were chosen for Joey's memorial service in November 2020 didn't just show his life, how he was raised in Eagle, Idaho, before he graduated and relocated to Southern California. What was striking about the collection was that he was never pictured alone. It could be he never was.
There they were, all three kids, on the lake on jet skis. On the slopes, feet bound to snowboards. At sporting events, either watching or playing, in the backyard pool, playing another game of JJ Hoops, or just hanging out together, always together.
These weren't staged family portraits. They were spontaneous moments in time, always revealing the same thing: three kids who couldn't get enough of each other, who went big or went home, per Joey's personality.
That tight connection jumped off the screen as the photos cycled through on the day of the service, the laughing, the hugging, the good times. A friend of Gaylene's pulled her aside after the service and told her, "It's what every parent would hope for, that their children would love each other like that."
One day in November 2020, they were a family of four. Then they weren't. For as good as they made it after Jim's death, there would be no perfect life. Joey was gone.
"It's totally different losing a son than losing a husband," says Gaylene. "It was a lot more overwhelming grief and a really dark time for almost a year. Just sadness, sorrow and loss."
But you can't hold back time. You mourn what was lost, then take on a spirit of thankfulness for what was. "None of us are promised tomorrow. We don't know what the day is going to bring for any of us.
"As much as Joey will be near my heart for the rest of my days on Earth, none of us have any regrets. He knew how much we loved him and we knew how much he loved us."
It's a mystery, how he passed away, in bed one night, never to wake again. If it was his heart, it's only because it had room for everyone, or he'd give a piece of it to anyone in need. He nearly died at birth, blue and limp after arriving in this world. He was revived and was all heart ever since.
In that way he was just like his dad. When Jim and his twin brother, Josh, were in their prime as athletes and captains and picking teams, their top selections weren't their best friends in the hopes of stocking their sides. It was always the kids who normally would have been picked last, the overlooked.
They didn't want those who were usually at the bottom to feel like they were at the bottom. They wanted to do what they could to lift them up, to make them feel valued, people who had something to offer.
"Joey was a lot like that in reaching out to people," says Gaylene. "He was soft-hearted and kind and had a heart of gold. He was good at bringing people in who were maybe outside."
He became one of T-Mobile's top salesmen, not in California or the West but in the entire country, maybe because he wasn't a salesman at all.
At the age of 3, not long after his dad had died, Joey, even then looking out not for himself but his sisters as well, asked his mom, What will happen to us if something happens to you? "He was always a deep thinker. Even at 3 years old, that's what he came up with," says Gaylene. "That was a little tough."
Bobbie Jo would stand alone as the laid back one. If Jaxie was the creation of Jim and Gaylene, she was the product of being Joey's little sister. "They were like fire and gasoline," says their mom. "They were just trouble together. Everything was a game and there was always a winner and always a loser."
It was in that environment that she earned her nickname, The Beast. "He treated her kind of like a brother instead of a sister, so she became pretty tough through the process of it."
They'd go with their mom to Target, with ball in hand, the long aisles their new playground to the frustration of the other shoppers and employees. "We were just menaces," says Jaxie.
The backyard pool at the family home in Eagle became the site of JJ Hoops. If he won, she was mad. If she won, he was livid. Either way, "we'd always end up fighting," she adds.
That's the problem with a game with an ever-changing set of rules. "I could hear them. Oh no, that wasn't the rule. This was the rule. Then they'd write it out and someone would break the rule. It was just constant," says Gaylene.
For as competitive as their relationship was, it was equally protective. Only I'm allowed to beat up on my brother. "I hated going to his wrestling matches," says Jaxie. "Oh my gosh, they're hurting him!"
The pictures at Joey's memorial service filled in the rest, of a boy becoming a man, of the passage of time, of adventures, of living life to the fullest, never alone, always surrounded by family, by love, even now, after Gaylene has passed him off to Jim.
"It gives me comfort to think he's with his daddy now and safe in God's hands in his eternal home," says Gaylene. "I had him for 22 years, now Jim gets him for a while."
There is no perfect life, right? "I have a new motto: nobody gets off in this life easy. Everybody has something that has happened to them or will have something that tries them or tests them."
She could have put up walls after her son's death, to shield herself from any more pain. Instead she's embraced what she still has even closer. Jaxie. Brandt and Bobbie Jo Montelius, their son Beckham and another child due in July, all of them living in Missoula.
You can't hold back time. But you hold on tight.
There she was, in Hawaii over winter break, lifting weights with Jaxie every morning before the sun popped up on the horizon, going for walks on the beach, still sprinting the final 10 yards, trying for the win, because Jaxie became Jaxie from more than being Joey's younger sister.
The sisters live together. Mom joins them in the evening for walks in the Missoula hills, a comfortable routine but also am important time for reconnecting. Next season Jaxie will wear a customized glove with Big Joe stitched into the leather, even death not able to break up a family's bond or its love.
"I'm thankful I still have my daughters and still have lots of blessings," says Gaylene. "We had so much fun, so we don't have any regrets. And we have lots to look forward to."
Including next year, when Jaxie will be a senior. Gaylene's kids have always and always will come first, which is why she's only missed a handful of Montana softball games the last three seasons, home or away. If he was alive, she says Jim would have been there at her side for all of it, every game.
Jaxie tells her, Mom, you don't have to be at every game. Then the team plays at a tournament in Phoenix the first weekend of March, and Gaylene is there, of course, and it's the best. "It's great she's always there. It makes me feel good and really supported."
Gaylene always has her camera, ready to capture the latest moments in the family's history, with Jaxie in her distinctive eye black, applied in a sideways-tilting F, a nod to her mom.
"She's convinced I run faster with it on. If I forget to put it on, she'll say, I don't think you were running as fast because you didn't have your eye black on," Jaxie says. "If that's what she thinks, I'm going to wear it."
And Gaylene Klucewich will continue to love like she's never lost anything at all, like it's been a perfect life. It hasn't been. It's been filled with loss and sorrow, but she takes what she has and does her best to make it as perfect as it can be for those closest to her, as the best mothers do.
Brett Young sang: "There is no perfect life. You can't hold back time. But you hold on tight."
It's the path Gaylene Klucewich first chose to walk 20 years ago this July, when her husband, Jim, died in an accident in Missoula, leaving her with three children under the age of 7, Bobbie Jo, the oldest, and Joey and Jaxie, then 3 and 1.
One morning they were a family of five. Then they weren't. And there would be no perfect life. "You learn that life goes on. You can't stop time. These experiences, they can either make us bitter or better," Gaylene says.
"I've chosen to teach my kids to just lift their eyes and to rise above it, not to dwell on the loss and live at the graveside. It helps having faith in God and realizing that the spirit returns to God who gave it."
The photos that were chosen for Joey's memorial service in November 2020 didn't just show his life, how he was raised in Eagle, Idaho, before he graduated and relocated to Southern California. What was striking about the collection was that he was never pictured alone. It could be he never was.
There they were, all three kids, on the lake on jet skis. On the slopes, feet bound to snowboards. At sporting events, either watching or playing, in the backyard pool, playing another game of JJ Hoops, or just hanging out together, always together.
These weren't staged family portraits. They were spontaneous moments in time, always revealing the same thing: three kids who couldn't get enough of each other, who went big or went home, per Joey's personality.
That tight connection jumped off the screen as the photos cycled through on the day of the service, the laughing, the hugging, the good times. A friend of Gaylene's pulled her aside after the service and told her, "It's what every parent would hope for, that their children would love each other like that."
One day in November 2020, they were a family of four. Then they weren't. For as good as they made it after Jim's death, there would be no perfect life. Joey was gone.
"It's totally different losing a son than losing a husband," says Gaylene. "It was a lot more overwhelming grief and a really dark time for almost a year. Just sadness, sorrow and loss."
But you can't hold back time. You mourn what was lost, then take on a spirit of thankfulness for what was. "None of us are promised tomorrow. We don't know what the day is going to bring for any of us.
"As much as Joey will be near my heart for the rest of my days on Earth, none of us have any regrets. He knew how much we loved him and we knew how much he loved us."
It's a mystery, how he passed away, in bed one night, never to wake again. If it was his heart, it's only because it had room for everyone, or he'd give a piece of it to anyone in need. He nearly died at birth, blue and limp after arriving in this world. He was revived and was all heart ever since.
In that way he was just like his dad. When Jim and his twin brother, Josh, were in their prime as athletes and captains and picking teams, their top selections weren't their best friends in the hopes of stocking their sides. It was always the kids who normally would have been picked last, the overlooked.
They didn't want those who were usually at the bottom to feel like they were at the bottom. They wanted to do what they could to lift them up, to make them feel valued, people who had something to offer.
"Joey was a lot like that in reaching out to people," says Gaylene. "He was soft-hearted and kind and had a heart of gold. He was good at bringing people in who were maybe outside."
He became one of T-Mobile's top salesmen, not in California or the West but in the entire country, maybe because he wasn't a salesman at all.
At the age of 3, not long after his dad had died, Joey, even then looking out not for himself but his sisters as well, asked his mom, What will happen to us if something happens to you? "He was always a deep thinker. Even at 3 years old, that's what he came up with," says Gaylene. "That was a little tough."
Bobbie Jo would stand alone as the laid back one. If Jaxie was the creation of Jim and Gaylene, she was the product of being Joey's little sister. "They were like fire and gasoline," says their mom. "They were just trouble together. Everything was a game and there was always a winner and always a loser."
It was in that environment that she earned her nickname, The Beast. "He treated her kind of like a brother instead of a sister, so she became pretty tough through the process of it."
They'd go with their mom to Target, with ball in hand, the long aisles their new playground to the frustration of the other shoppers and employees. "We were just menaces," says Jaxie.
The backyard pool at the family home in Eagle became the site of JJ Hoops. If he won, she was mad. If she won, he was livid. Either way, "we'd always end up fighting," she adds.
That's the problem with a game with an ever-changing set of rules. "I could hear them. Oh no, that wasn't the rule. This was the rule. Then they'd write it out and someone would break the rule. It was just constant," says Gaylene.
For as competitive as their relationship was, it was equally protective. Only I'm allowed to beat up on my brother. "I hated going to his wrestling matches," says Jaxie. "Oh my gosh, they're hurting him!"
The pictures at Joey's memorial service filled in the rest, of a boy becoming a man, of the passage of time, of adventures, of living life to the fullest, never alone, always surrounded by family, by love, even now, after Gaylene has passed him off to Jim.
"It gives me comfort to think he's with his daddy now and safe in God's hands in his eternal home," says Gaylene. "I had him for 22 years, now Jim gets him for a while."
There is no perfect life, right? "I have a new motto: nobody gets off in this life easy. Everybody has something that has happened to them or will have something that tries them or tests them."
She could have put up walls after her son's death, to shield herself from any more pain. Instead she's embraced what she still has even closer. Jaxie. Brandt and Bobbie Jo Montelius, their son Beckham and another child due in July, all of them living in Missoula.
You can't hold back time. But you hold on tight.
There she was, in Hawaii over winter break, lifting weights with Jaxie every morning before the sun popped up on the horizon, going for walks on the beach, still sprinting the final 10 yards, trying for the win, because Jaxie became Jaxie from more than being Joey's younger sister.
The sisters live together. Mom joins them in the evening for walks in the Missoula hills, a comfortable routine but also am important time for reconnecting. Next season Jaxie will wear a customized glove with Big Joe stitched into the leather, even death not able to break up a family's bond or its love.
"I'm thankful I still have my daughters and still have lots of blessings," says Gaylene. "We had so much fun, so we don't have any regrets. And we have lots to look forward to."
Including next year, when Jaxie will be a senior. Gaylene's kids have always and always will come first, which is why she's only missed a handful of Montana softball games the last three seasons, home or away. If he was alive, she says Jim would have been there at her side for all of it, every game.
Jaxie tells her, Mom, you don't have to be at every game. Then the team plays at a tournament in Phoenix the first weekend of March, and Gaylene is there, of course, and it's the best. "It's great she's always there. It makes me feel good and really supported."
Gaylene always has her camera, ready to capture the latest moments in the family's history, with Jaxie in her distinctive eye black, applied in a sideways-tilting F, a nod to her mom.
"She's convinced I run faster with it on. If I forget to put it on, she'll say, I don't think you were running as fast because you didn't have your eye black on," Jaxie says. "If that's what she thinks, I'm going to wear it."
And Gaylene Klucewich will continue to love like she's never lost anything at all, like it's been a perfect life. It hasn't been. It's been filled with loss and sorrow, but she takes what she has and does her best to make it as perfect as it can be for those closest to her, as the best mothers do.
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