For Kelley

We did the hard thing. 

First, my parents accepted Kelley's ashes.

And then, it seemed like everyone found a way to leave their fingerprints on the day. Leslie made the program and kept us steady with a smile and a laugh, Angie and I tried to do whatever mom told us to do, Dad had a few specific requests we tried to meet, Josh did all sorts of physical labor and worked his community magic by finding a tent and hauling chairs and tables with the help of his boys. It was fitting to have it on the farm despite the work. Every single one of us participated in pulling this service off. Long time family friends pitched in whatever way they could to help us celebrate Kelley, the son and brother and cousin and friend to many. 

It was a beautiful day, which seems weird to say, but it was. Though warm, the persistent Iowa wind kept the bugs away and our body temperatures at bay and we were able to sit and listen as someone who knew and loved Kelley lead us through reflecting on exactly who he was and then towards saying goodbye for now.

Angie, Josh, and Leslie were my personal rock stars. They did what needed to be done without asking, gave love and laughs and support at the right times. They held hands and gave hugs and showed up over and over and over again. Their own friends and family showed up to support them, as did mine, and that is the truest mark of knowing that perhaps you have been living right all along. The young adults kept us laughing and were so eager to help. I know people like to complain about young people, but in our world these young'uns are more than alright. 

Family and friends shared their own stories and it was a blessing to hear them, to round out a bit the person I have called brother for 53 years. I was most touched by two members of his AA group, the Hawkeye Club, who drove from Sioux City to the middle of nowhere bearing a plant and two cards (they needed two cards to hold all the signatures and kind remarks!) which showed us what an impact Kelley had on their lives. Leslie said it best. "It was so good to know Kelley was loved by people who did not need to love him."

It's true, our hearts will never be the same. 

And it also possible our hearts will be bigger and stronger and more open and loving because we have lived through so much shock and heartbreak in such a short amount of time. It can and does happen to everyone. For that reason alone, it is enough to tread more gently even if you pace and boom and the twinkle is almost a spark in your eye. You can always love more fully anyone who finds their way along your path. It seems my brother did just that. 

Rest in peace, Kelley. We love you.

Go rest high on that mountain.

*****

Here is the eulogy of sorts that Josh and I read.

For Kelley:

A few years back I happened to be home as Kelley was turning 53. After he stopped drinking, Mountain Dew was his beverage of choice. I had never known him to drink coffee so I noticed him having a cup while I was there. It stood out to me after years of seeing him chug out of those green plastic bottles.

"You drink coffee?"

"Well, I go to alotta meetings, you know. A pop is $1.00. If I go to six or seven meetings, that adds up. They always got coffee an' it's free!"

Most of you know Kelley was a recovering alcoholic. Eleven years ago, my parents forced him out of their home and he landed in treatment and then a halfway house. It took a mountain of effort to get clean and a mountain of paperwork to find somewhere to live, but he eventually landed in a subsidized apartment. His earnings and his budget were lean and to be quite honest, Kelley never wanted for much.

Kelley walked everywhere in Sioux City. He picked up pop cans and in warmer months, he'd find scrap metal to salvage. He watched the sales closely in the various grocery fliers and he did things like drink the free coffee and buy the pop when it was on sale. The littlest of things made his day--like giving him a dozen eggs or filling his old car with gas. An ideal birthday included a trip to the  Golden Corral and Mom making him a blueberry dessert. It is from Kelley that we learned that the happier you are with the little things, the happier you are in general.

To be honest,  Kelley was not always easy to talk to. His voice boomed all the time. We think it's because of the years he's spent trying to make himself heard to our dad, who is hard of hearing. Though we tried to suggest an adjustment in tone, it did not usually stick and so the conversation barreled on at its usual volume. Kelley could easily get stuck in a particular train of thought. If something was bothering him, it could be really hard to re-route his thought pattern.

But for sobriety, this glitch in his brain seemed to serve him well as he was entirely focused on staying sober. On this particular weekend Kelley was rightly proud that he would soon be getting his eight year chip from AA.

"It's no joke," he said. "I just went to a funeral of a meetin' buddy. He's been to treatment six times and it didn't stick. He stopped goin'. So I go. I go a lot. I don't want to die."

So staying sober was Kelley's full time job, and he hadn’t slipped that we know of, but this wasn’t without cost. Kelley remained anxious which meant staying sober was work and to his very last day, this fact remained. 

Though it was hard for us to talk with Kelley, this does not mean we did not see who he was.  We are proud of Kelley for staying committed to his sobriety over the last 11 years. He did it one coffee cup, one hour, one meeting, one day at a time. This added up to approximately 4,288 days of sobriety. Yes, my parents forced his hand, but it was Kelley who had to show up to himself every day and make it happen.

Though his pacing the yard continued and his fixations didn’t lessen, it seems there were still miracles to be had, the kind of miracles that aren’t shiny and perfect and  sometimes require a bit of distance or new eyes to see them. When Lisa called Jackson Recovery to let them know of Kelley’s passing due to natural causes, the woman thanked her. She said, “We don’t often hear the successful stories.” In her eyes, Kelley dying sober was a success.  

A few days later, Leslie pointed out that in his last week of life, each one of us spent time with Kelley. Though no one wishes a heart attack on anyone, this would not have been the case had mom not been in the hospital. Kelley visited mom in the hospital while Lisa was there and she heard them exchange “I love you’s” before he sat on the couch next to her, head in his hand to declare, “This is a lot.” He was just getting used to dad’s cancer diagnosis and treatments. Seeing his person, his mama bear, after some major surgery no doubt shook him.

Angie and Josh were home when he showed up to do his animal care routine as Angie prepared to take dad to chemo. Josh spoke with him multiple times that week as he drove between the hospital and the farm. Dad talked with Kelley before his last round of chemo. Conversation was not always a given with Kelley, but Angie, Landon, and Josh reported a conversation in the family room in which he participated. 

Shortly after Kelley’s body was taken from our home, Logan prayed for our brother in the living room. So many of the people who loved him sat shoulder to shoulder with their hearts all leaning into this man who never asked for much and yet gave everything he had to being the best version of himself. He left us without warning and then a storm blew in without warning and everyone headed to the basement. This storm took a few of our outbuildings and cut the power line and this seems fitting to us now. Kelley could be a force with his booming laugh and that twinkling eye when he was happy. We like to imagine him in this way as the wind howled, having a tiny bit of fun as he said his final goodbyes. Through all of this he was as clear-eyed and as free as Kelley could be, something our entire family bore witness to. Kelley, our brother, left us as a success story, a gritty and tenacious miracle, one that none of us saw coming.