It is, once again, early here this Sunday Montana morning—my favorite time of day of my favorite day of the week in my favorite place at my favorite time of its year—and the peaceful sounds of Anne Murray’s ”What a Wonderful World” (which I highly recommend that you attain to assist in your soul work) play in the background. A substantial pile of anticipatory tissues are to my left; my view into the darkness is through the window off to my right; and the brightness of my future lies fully in front of me, a future that, unfortunately, will find me flying solo with my life’s partner having departed us this past Friday.
In this most fragile of times, I would like to write to you in tribute to my wife Kathy, as pictured above in 1998 when we first met. This tribute is not a solo act, but, rather one that ever so many of you actively participated in with by lighting your Kandle For Kathy as now savored forever on our www.kandlesforkathy.blogspot.com blogsite—a living tribute to a truly marvelous soul. Coming from a large Winter Park, Florida, family, Kathy was (egad, it is hard to write her name for the first time in the past tense, bringing on the tissues and inconsolable sobbing) a giver, not a taker. All those many of you who were blessed to be around her know that there was never an occasion when she failed to reach out to whomsoever was in the most need and provide help and solace and, even if you weren’t in need, you soon found out that her hostessing skills were such that you were soon in even less so. Babies, puppies, and children of all ages received Kathy’s kind unabated graces and warm affection…always; without fail.
When Kathy came into my life it was at time of relative personal darkness and, wow, did she indelibly light it up. As I mentioned once before, when we met on that Florida blind date on May 1, 1998, it was truly love at first sight. For the last now nearly 16 years, we were never for a moment emotionally apart…never. Even though our annual rhythm would find Kathy resident here in Montana from mid-May through mid-September and I would be based out of our San Rafael, California home, seldom was the time that we weren’t 100% in touch; simply stated, even when apart, we weren’t, and it has been the single greatest honor of my life to have had the privilege of spending over a decade and a half, non-stop, at the side of and with this wonderfully super-gratiated individual who (and I simply haven’t fully come to grasps with this, btw) has now departed us.
Perhaps the proper reason for my yet incredulousness is that, deep inside, I know that Kathy has not fully left us but, rather, her kind mind and giving spirit still lives among us. Yet, friends, it hurts—there is a bell-tolling deep-inside pain that I feel and I know that you also share; there is every bouillabaisse of emotion now unabatedly and involuntarily wafting through me (sadness, warmth, loneliness, pride, peacefulness, purpose, satisfaction, longing, and, yes, even a periodic hot sauce of upset) but through it all is the calmness of knowing that, while we were together, Kathy and I did everything in our power that we could do to make those and the environment around us a better one “because it was the right thing to do” and, from doing what we did (whether it was for kids Tyler & Trina, our local communities or for the betterment of our flora and fauna) we gained warm satisfaction and tremendous inner solace.
So a tribute to Kathy is one to all of the goodness in this world, to the portion of the cup that is half full, to the prospect that, properly directed, we can give wonderful purpose to our individual and collective lives to make this a better place to live. And I can tell you that, without exception, this world and each of our lives (mine being right at the head of that ever so long list) were blessedly better off with our dear Kathy at our sides and in our hearts with her unrestricted non-stop acts of random kindness. By way of example, for over a decade, without acknowledgement or publicity, was the “Secret Santa” for the nearby and needy Clinton primary school; she was a board member of the wonderfully giving organization designed to help children going through divorce, Kids’ Turn (in fact, we asked those attending our 1999 marriage to make donations to this worthy organization in lieu of unneeded tangible wedding gifts) and she was my partner in the Montana Matters fundraising campaign that, together, we divined, sponsored and have nourished for the past seven years (more on that below) and which now yet continues as one of the major Montana environmental fundraising campaigns.
Kathy was a giver, not a taker; she was a lover, not a hater (but, wow, don’t you dare ever get her dander up!); she was a hostess, not an attendee (even when a guest you would see her passing tray, tiding up and oft pouring coffee for any over-burdened restaurant where we might dine); she was a kind soul, not a wanton one; she was a beautiful partner who I will now miss forever.
My last week with Kathy was, beyond comparison, both the worst and best one. Worst because of the known inevitability of her soon-to-be passing; best because we got to spend a gaggle of uninterrupted hours together. Our routine that week was for me to arise around 1:00 a.m. and then spend the next 12-14 hours with her, giving Kathy the needed intervening time alone that I know that she cherished and so that our many Montana friends could visit here during the evening hours and have their own much-needed personal quiet time with her. As you know, I read aloud to her constantly (often up to 8 hours/day to the point of now proudly having a raspy voice); we “reviewed the bidding together”, going over the things that we shared together and loved together and the things that the future will now deprive. While on the surface an observer would seem to see and hear a one way conversation all week, it was quite the opposite. It was “business as usual for us”—in constant contact and synchronization without the need for a word to be said—and, during that vigil, I knew deep inside that two things would occur (although the timing of events was well hidden): first, Kathy would pass on her own terms at her own time and, secondly, she would do so when I wasn’t there (because she knew that her passing was my very worst fear)—and that’s exactly what happened…I called the night nurse at exactly 6:45 p.m. last Friday night to check on K’s status before retiring for a few hours’ sleep, was told unequivocally that “she is fine; things are normal” only to get a call from the hospital one half hour later that she had peacefully passed at 7:05 p.m.to the melodic voice of our dear friend and Montana Matters’ Troubadour Shane Clouse (who K affectionately called “one of my sons”) while he wafted Merle Haggard’ s “Sing Me Back Home”. You are now home, my dear, at the side of your loved and much-missed mother.
For those who believe in symbolism, as I do, Kathy’s passing has some ringing tones to it. K was born on a 12/3 and passed on 1/23—her life was lived by a simple 1…2…3 metronome. She passed on a Friday and I write to you on a Sunday—she was and is a saint who now rises to a higher dais. My favorite private song for Kathy (no one, not even her knew of its existence) was and is “For Emily, Wherever I May Find Her” (a copy is now posted on the Kandles For Kathy blogsite)—just before leaving mid-Friday afternoon, Mary The Golden Harpist tracked me down, took me aside and said that she was so touched by the manner in which we were handling K’s passing that she had not only viewed K’s blog but had memorized that song and wanted to play it for Kathy and me); my last waking moments with Kathy were of Mary strumming the glorious notes of that special song to us both—something that I unwittingly had the sense to record on my iPhone (which I will post on K’s blogsite when I get back to the Bay Area in a few days) and which I will now have forever, along with all of the glorious remembrances of our special earthbound life together.
Forever…the ultimate sign of love, in my opinion, is letting the person that you love have the unabated freedom of choice and action accompanied by a healthy dialogue of what is right and what is possibly wrong. That is the way that Kathy and I lived our lives—neither was the jail keeper for the other and neither criticized (well, not too much, that is) the acts of the other. Forever…Kathy: You and I both believe in our Episcopalian-taught deist ways that the spirit lives on; that there is a life beyond this one….and, as we both know, I will find you again, my dear, so that we can continue on together again in all that we so specially shared together here on this Earth….I love you now and forever with all of my now broken heart…may you travel and be in peace until we meet again, for again we shall meet in our continued foreverness…forever.
Many have asked whether there will be any services to honor Kathy and the simply answer to which (and the one that stunned and amazed the wonderful staff of Missoula’s St Pat’s Hospital) is that, unlike so many other who wait for death to celebrate life, we already had those services in our lighting a Kandle For Kathy during her last week of life and during a period time that she could join in (which she did and for which she thanks each of you, btw). Every Kandle For Kathy is now a continued service for her and I encourage that you engage in that continued act of kindness and reflection often and, as you do, lovingly look back on her life as one of quiet grace and giving. Also, we have set up a donation button on our beloved www.montanamatters.com website where those so inclined can make a monetary donation in her honor, knowing that your kindness will benefit the flora and fauna of our beloved Montana, God’s own backyard that she so cherished.
Thus is my tribute to Kathy; thank you all for being by both of our sides in these recent most trying of moments—I am in concluding satisfaction that we did all humanly possible to give to her in her final passing the grace and goodness that she gave to ever so many every day of her blessed life to us. Anne Murray currently sings “Nearer My God To Thee”, and that is my final wish to you Kathy—may you rest in Her hands in peace forever.
Lovingly,
Your Husband, Ron
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