A Day for Kay

I went to a funeral a couple of years ago which was held for a woman named Kay. Her last name was hard to pronounce. She was elderly but I had no idea how old she was, and I knew nothing about her family. I knew she was Catholic because she carried her rosary beads with her at all times. She died of cancer only a couple of days before the funeral. That’s all I knew of the woman in a technical sense.

Kay lived on the same floor as my Mother in Assisted Living and her memory was too poor, as most others there, to tell me much about her past. She watched over my Mother when she moved in and treated each of us, my Mother’s daughters, as she would a treasured family member. In fact, she helped a lot of people on her floor to get where they needed to be, to answer questions, to pay attention to them, to find help when needed.

Whenever we visited my Mother, we visited with Kay. I rarely saw her family there, but she became family to us. She was in better health than most, until cancer took her strength and confined her to a wheelchair. Even when she could no longer form sentences that would constitute ‘normal’ conversation, she would extend her hand to me when I visited, kiss me on the cheek, smile and tell me to drive home safely. She praised my Mother and each of us.

I loved Kay and wanted to honor her, and so I went to her funeral. My sister, who also loved Kay, came with me. I was surprised to find a very large step family – one she inherited since she married late in life, and everyone I spoke with confirmed Kay’s kindness to all she met. She was only 80 when she died. (I say only 80 because my Mother was 96 at the time.)

I will remember Kay all my life for her dignity and kindness in a place where all she wanted was to ‘go home.’ Mostly, she set an example for those within her small realm of influence – to those who cared for her, to those who visited family members at assisted living, to her extended family. She epitomized the ability to think of others even in light of her own fear and discomfort and to treat everyone with love. She continually put her faith in God to save her from her condition and to bless others. I would say that her actions were Christ like.

Who would guess that I would find someone I admired so very much in a memory unit of a Senior Assisted Living Center? I think of her when I strive to be a better person: to treat others as family members, rejoicing in their happiness and providing a listening ear or helpful hand in their trials, being forgiving and merciful to others who may not treat me in the same manner, and putting the other first.

I'm sure her humility prevented her from thinking she had such an impact on others' lives, but maybe this is also a quality of being Christ like. Not expecting kudos from others and serving, just because it's a part of who you are and....doing it because it's just the right thing to do.