Kelly’s Story

Today, on my Dad’s 70th birthday, I thought it would be a good moment to share five gifts I have received from him in hopes to impart them to his community, and also to illuminate a few sides of him that perhaps not everyone knew. 

This first gift from Dad that I will carry forward with me is his confidence. When I was little I used to love hanging out in his room watching him shine his shoes and pick out his suit and tie for the day. He had a very tidy closet. After he got dressed I would follow him to the mirror in his bathroom where he would comb and spray his hair (He would want me to remind you all that, yes, he did have hair back then). Then he would look directly at himself in the mirror and say, “God I’m good looking!” He knew it would make me laugh and it did every time. To this day I don't know whether he said that just for me as his mini audience or whether he also said it for himself when no one was there. But I do know it was that healthy self confidence that allowed him to thrive on the North Shore of Chicago having been born and raised with next-to-nothing in the Arizona desert. Thanks to him, I have tried to continually embody the kind of assured relationship to self that he modelled for me as I have moved through the world. 

The second gift from Dad that I will carry with me is a deep love of animals. From dogs to snakes to frogs to turtles to bunnies to bears Dad always loved having animals at home and seeing them out in nature. I'll never forget one night when Mom hosted all of her bridge ladies in our living room and Dad took me and my brothers to the movies. Across from the movie theatre there was a pet store where on this particularly lucky night I managed to convince my Dad to let me bring home my very first pet mouse, Clark. We bought a nice little home for him and a wheel and a water bottle and I had him in a small cardboard box. When we got home I excitedly came up to my Mom’s Bridge table to show her my new addition and remember feeling extremely confused when all of the bridge ladies started screaming with disgust. In that moment I knew that my Dad and I shared a special connection in that we could see the magic in all animals even when other people were scared of them. To this day every single time I see an animal of any kind, I immediately stop, give it my full presence and open up to whatever message it is trying to share with me. This past year as I welcomed a puppy into my life, she immediately loved my Dad. And as I raised her I realized that I intuitively played with her just like my Dad played with our family dog, Dotty. It makes me smile to picture them together in Heaven, Dotty with an all you can eat anything off the counter top buffet, and Dad doing zoomies with her around the living room table.

The third gift from my Dad that I’ll carry with me is a sacred relationship with money. From giving out chocolate gold coins and piggy banks on take-your-parent-to-school-day, to giving free tamagotchi toys to any kid who opened up their first bank account, to hiring all of the soccer moms to work part time at his bank, Dad always made money feel fun and magical. I have only really recently come to understand how much of a money magician he really was, not only because he came from nothing and built real wealth for his family, but because at his core, what motivated him to become wealthy was his desire to be generous, and his desire to empower generosity in others. His magic was in creating such a loving relationship with lenders and friends that they felt deeply personally motivated to do right by him. Many of us have seen how money can bring out the worst in people; how it can bring them further from their heart. But it was my Dad’s heart-forward approach to banking that not only made him successful, but legendary. His way was the way of the King, and it is a lesson I will carry with me forever.

The fourth gift my dad gave to me is something that every father will inevitably give to their daughter. As daughters, we look directly to our fathers for insight into how we deserve to be treated by men. From sending flowers to my classroom on Valentine’s Day each year, to never missing a recital, volleyball game, or daddy-daughter dance, to gently brushing my hair after the bath and being home every night for dinner, I always felt loved, cherished, seen, and prioritized by my Dad. I also witnessed him as he deeply loved two women throughout the course of his life. First, my mother, the equally powerful other half of their incredibly fruitful partnership. It was her presence, power, and belief in him that directly supported his success at the bank, and he knew it. I grew up as a young girl witnessing him choosing beautiful gifts for her, telling her he loved her daily, and kissing her properly in front of us every morning before leaving for work. He outwardly admired her beauty, did his part around the house, and came home every night ready to be present with us. 

Amidst a difficult chapter, Dad’s college love Genna re-entered his life, reigniting a light within him that had very obviously gone out. It has been a huge gift to witness their love, and how it withstood many challenges. Together they taught me that making a difficult decision is sometimes the right thing to do in service of our own happiness. And to me, there is no testament to the deservedness of their love more profound than the way Genna has shown up for my Dad in this last year of his life. Her unwavering devotion to him, and how supported he felt by her fighting his illness has deeply moved me to a new understanding of what soulmate love really looks like. 

The fifth and final gift from Dad that I’ll share culminated in his final days on earth, as it relates to the spiritual part of his nature. Many of us remember Dad sitting in the pews at church heckling the altar servers as they walked in procession, goofing around and trying to get them to laugh. But what many of you might not know, is that he would often talk to me about the sermons that Father Dunn gave. If the Dunnster was speaking, Dad listened every time. And, this is a true story—Dad was an avid golfer but his very first hole-in-one that he ever shot in his life was when he took two priests out to play 18 holes.

Genna organized for two chaplains to come pray over Dad during his final days, and while he wasn’t able to speak or open his eyes, I noticed a clear change in his breath after each prayer was said. In those last days, he was seemingly hanging on by a thread, to the point where I was a bit worried about what might be preventing him from letting go. But then, as what I perceive to have been his final gift to Genna, he held on until 30 minutes before their 6th grandchild, Genna’s daughter’s second son, was born. It was as if he waited for her to have a new joy to take his place. It rained for 3 straight days in the desert after Dad passed, as if the natural world was shedding tears along with all of us.

While I know that I’ve won the Dad lottery, I’ve heard it said that our souls choose our parents when we come to be born on earth. And as I looked out at the sea of 300+ people who attended his memorial, I feel so incredibly lucky to have come into this world to receive the special love of being my Dad’s first daughter, and his Dad’s first granddaughter. And while I am devastated that he won’t be there to one day dance with me on my wedding day, I know he left me with two incredible brothers to walk me down the aisle in his honor. Kit, there’s no one else with a more solid and trustworthy character than you that I will now count on as my father figure, and as my new emergency contact. And Bmr, you are the most worthy person on this planet to carry in your own way Dad’s name, his legacy, and his classy swagger. Witnessing your love for Maddie is a gift that reminds me of his love for me. Amy, the way you’ve served as the next evolution of Dad’s love for Mom humbles and inspires me more than you will ever know. And I am amazed at the grace and strength you have shown during this difficult time. Liz and Krista, thank you for holding it down at home so that all of us siblings could be together so much this year, despite the fact that you’ve been grieving this loss too. We’ve really needed you. And Genna, you are our bonus mom and Gigi, for life. I am so proud of our family, for all we’ve been through and for the way we have all shown up for Dad when it has mattered most.

And to all of you, his beloved friends, colleagues, and community, thank you for enriching his life. If I could share a wish, it would be to do what my 95 year old grandmother, Jean Kane did immediately upon hearing the news that my Dad was sick; to write down a few words, a story, or a letter of love for my Dad so that I can attempt to compile the essence of who he was and one day share it with my future children. 

And Dad, I know that you’d hate the idea of us crying because we miss you. So I thought I’d close with a poem that brought me comfort ever since I faced losing you, when I first found out about your illness. I changed the words a bit to honour the times that I feel your presence most.

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am the desert sunset glow;

I am the bear, the elk, the doe,

I am the swirl of Bailey’s cream,

I am the inappropriate political meme,

When you hike under desert sky

I am the creatures you walk by

The ones that slither, crawl, and hop

I am the view from the mountain top

When the summer storm rolls in

I am the awestruck child within

I am the scent of desert rain

I am a soul now free from pain

Do not stand at my grave and cry.

I am not there; I did not die.

And of course, I am not here to deny the reality that on the physical level, you did leave us, Dad. And I know that if grief is the price we must pay for love, there is not one person in this room who wouldn’t say that knowing you and loving you was worth it, no matter how high the interest rate. So rest peacefully now Dad, my fallen hero. We will all miss you but your incredible soul lives on within our hearts, within us kids, and among the forces of nature, forever. 

I love you, Dad. I miss you. Happy 70th.