Candy, Kindness, and Keva

 

     There is a lot to be said about small town life.  Some good, some bad, but most agree, some of the best people and examples of neighborly love originate in the smallest of places.  Despite a few years in Sioux Falls and Aberdeen during college, most of my trips around the sun have been spent in some of the most amazing villages, surrounded by the most amazing neighbors.  My current neighborhood and community—well, there is no way to adequately put into words how incredibly supportive this little village is to its villagers.   We might get a little salty with each other now and then, but if people need something, they are there.  SO. VERY. MUCH. PRESENT.  We have experienced this more than once since arriving here and I consider our address(es) through the years to be our family’s greatest blessing.

     A favorite village I was blessed to call home is mourning the loss of one its finest villagers this week.  It took my breath away when I read her obituary notice online.  She was one of the first people to greet us when we moved to town, and I still remember leaving her house after packing the last box into the horse trailer the day we moved.  We shared a big hug, I shed some tears, and she said she would keep me in her prayers.  And I know she did. 

  Keva was part of the fabric that made Timber Lake such a fantastic place to call home.  We moved in right across the street from the Aberle family into a tiny little house we had been lucky enough to purchase in a tight market.   Mark had moved to Timber Lake to teach and coach in 1998 and the boys and I joined him the next year.  Coaching can be a tough gig and the move northwest for Mark was a decision we did not make lightly, but it was hard.   I’m sure there were all sorts of stories about the “wife and kids” that came the year after the coach, and I bet there were some great stories over coffee at TLS that year. I heard a few of the stories after we moved, and they were pretty epic.   Keva shared a few of them and we had a good laugh over the years. We were so excited to be back together under one roof that we didn’t even care that the square footage of our “stuff” was quadruple the size of the house.  I miss that house.  I miss that village.  I’m sad I never told Keva enough how much I missed her after we moved. 

     I first met Keva in Lloyd Kjellsen’s grocery store.  We had two grocery stores at the time and this market and the other were a huge resource for so many folks.  The boys and I were strolling down the aisles; Scott in the cart at age two and half, and Tate anxiously awaiting to start first grade as a Panther.   Our carts met once by the soups and vegetables, and we exchanged smiles.  Keva’s smile was radiant—so bright and welcoming.  We made our rounds and as the boys and I decided what cereal to get, she stopped her cart and came over to say hello. 

Keva: “Hello folks.  I think you are my new neighbors.  My name is Keva Aberle.  My husband Andy and I live in the white house across the street.”

I introduced myself and the boys.  She smiled and visited a bit. Then she got down to the ground rules.

Keva: “ Now boys, I have a lot of grandkids and nieces and nephews who come over to my house to play in the yard.  I hope you join them after school someday.

Tate’s eyes got big, and I could see he was excited to know there were neighborhood games on the horizon.

Keva: “Listen, I’ve got a few rules if you’re coming over. (Bigger eyes graced Tate Benjamin’s face!  Scott was probably trying to climb out of the cart by now.  I don’t remember.)

Keva continued, “So, here are the rules.  You cannot come into the house if I’m not home.  You can play in the yard, but you can’t come in the house unless I’m home.  And next, no offense mom, but if I have to come out and get after anyone, and I will, well, you’re all getting chewed out.  If one of you is in trouble, you all are.  I don’t have time to figure out who did what.”  #GoKeva

I laughed and said she sounded like my kind of gal.  I might have suggested she come over to do some recess duty now and then.  The ground rules were set.  I was still smiling when she rolled the cart away and we both continued our shopping. 

Keva looked back and said, “Oh, and I do have a candy dish.  You’re always welcome to come grab a piece of candy.” Tate and I smiled broadly back at her.  The real benefactor of the candy ended up being Scott Robert…more to come on that story.

And with that no nonsense, kind but firm welcome to the neighborhood, I had met my first neighbor.  And I was so thankful.  We had moved a long way from our special little neighborhood in Gregory and I was appreciative for this invite for the boys to join in the Aberle adventures.  I didn’t even know any Aberles yet, but I had a hunch they were good people. 

   The year moved on and we settled nicely into both a great school and church community.  We loved both places and immediately felt at home. My class that year was one of the most enjoyable years ever.  Our church family was welcoming and a place we grew to quickly love.  And Keva and Andy—they were exactly who I hoped they would be.  The best neighbors ever.  Mark enjoyed visiting with Andy.  They had similar personalities—quiet, friendly, sincere.  Andy and Keva knew all about the area and with Mark having grown up just up the road in McLaughlin, they shared common acquaintances.  

    One summer day Keva stopped over and said she had a great story for me.  She came in and said, “Well, my son Wayne was home for the weekend.”  I mentioned I had noticed lots of action over at Camp Aberle.  She continued,” We laughed so hard.  The door opened and here comes Scott in for a piece of candy.”  (There were no kids in the yard at this time, but Scott knew they were home and had been told the rules, so he obviously decided that the candy dish was open.) Keva said, “I was busy in the kitchen but had looked over and saw it was Scott so I smiled and waved.  Scott grabbed his piece of candy, yelled “Thanks Teva” (we were still working on those K sounds)  and took off out the door.”  Wayne yelled into the kitchen, “Mom, who the H--- was that?  Some little kid just walked in and grabbed candy?”  Keva explained it was her neighbor boy and she had kind of forgotten that Wayne, while recognizing his nieces and nephews, would maybe be surprised by random kids waltzing in to grab their sugar fix.  We laughed pretty hard about Scott just rambling in without even a hello, but (thankfully) an acknowledgment of thanks, to grab what was his favorite thing to do at Keva’s house.  Keva’s home and candy dish were always open.  Especially for the kids she so loved. 

    Sadly, Keva and I shared something more than the same street location.  I will never forget seeing Keva and Andy shortly after Tate died.  They too, had lost a young, adult son in a tragic accident.  If you are reading this and are in this club, I’m so sorry.  If you are reading this and are not, I am so thankful.  But there is an unstated connection that often comes with the loss of a child. You know exactly what crippling heartbreak they have faced.  The questions, the sleepless nights, and the emptiness you endure.  We greeted our former neighbors with hugs and smiles.  Keva grabbed my hands and asked me how I was doing.  My tears began to flow.  She grasped my hand tighter and said, “You will get through this, Lynn.  It will never go away, and it will never be easy, but you will get through this.  You keep your faith in God and keep looking forward and your heart will eventually mend the best it can.”   Advice from someone who had shared this loss and who knew exactly what we were going through.  It meant the world to me.  I greatly admired, and greatly missed so many of our friends in Timber Lake.  Keva certainly topped this list.  She knew what I needed to hear and in the very same no-nonsense, kind way she had introduced herself, she assured me I could live through this nightmare.  Her faith and kindness never faltered.  Keva had known great heartache and many tough days throughout her life and if you didn’t know this about her, you would have never known the many hard times she survived.  She lived by showing great faith and sharing firm, but fair advice.  She lived her faith.   

   I let all my classes today have a piece of candy in her honor.  I told them about my sweet neighbor lady and how kind she was.  I needed to share the story…I’m sure it rolled right off some of their backs, but I needed to remind myself what blessing it was to know her, so I shared it with each group.  As I watched the container slowly lower, I had to smile.  I wonder how much candy Keva purchased through the years.  How many kids enjoyed the Aberle front yard, and the love and firm guidance Keva shared with them?  Family, friends, kids of all ages were loved by this amazing woman.  Refilling my big container each time it empties will be a wonderful reminder of Keva.  A reminder to share and enjoy the humans who cross your path.  A reminder to open your home and heart to those you meet.   Big faith, big love, an open door, and a little spice all rolled into the very best neighbor lady. What a beautiful way to be remembered. 

Happy Father's Day

 

Thirty years ago this month I faced my first Father’s Day without my dad.  It seems like forever ago, and my Winner High School math tells me I have officially spent more days without the blessing of my dad’s presence than with him.  The years have travelled on without Dad and boy, today I could really use him.   And the most difficult thing on this day of celebrating all things “Dad”, is that Scott now joins me in this club.  He’s even younger than I was when my dad died.  I hate this reality for Scott.  Writing this is still a punch in the gut and frankly, I’m pretty tired of being in the ring.  

I was a new mom, balancing a teaching/coaching career when Dad died at the all too young age of 56.  Thankfully, we lived right down the road in Gregory, and I was able to enjoy my parents with that move.  The coaching grind is a busy life and sometimes your plans follow the “game schedule”.  Ours certainly did so being a half hour away was a bonus for my family.  They were able to come to games and we got together often on the weekends.  The weekend we moved to Gregory was the same weekend they dropped my youngest sister off at USD.  So much for empty nesting….I was there often as I had been fortunate enough to get a job teaching in Winner.  It was not unusual for me to run home to have lunch with mom and dad. (The daily menu of Mrs. Grass’s Chicken Noodle Soup, crackers, cheese, and lunchmeat…with Oreo’s for dessert. Bob had a pretty simple palate.)  Sometimes I would spend the night or even stay for supper.  I’m guessing they didn’t mind most of the time, but I was so wrapped up in my life during this era, I didn’t even think about them actually having the house to themselves for the first time 27 years…. I regret that now.  Not the time I spent with them, but absolute oblivion on my part of giving them some time to adjust to the empty nest.  (Like my little friend Spencer Shanks would say, “Come on, Lynn!” )

Blessedly, Dad was gifted with the title of Grandpa on April 1, 1992. We were all thrilled to finally have a baby in the family.  In dad’s eyes, Tate hung the moon.  He found out his diagnosis of esophageal cancer in the middle of my pregnancy.  He was in the middle of chemotherapy when our dear boy arrived, and this was a huge motivator for Dad.  They loved taking on the role of “day care” for the last two weeks of the year when I returned to school.  I’m not sure how they divided the cuddling time with Tate, because my mom was ALL IN with this gig too.  I know Alice did all the heavy lifting—diapers, feedings, baths—but most days I returned after school to Dad sitting in his den with Tate holding court.  Yes, Tate, even at the mere age of 6 weeks was in charge with Grandpa Bob and Grandma Alice.  He ruled the roost, and they loved it. And for exactly 358 days, Dad relished that role.   His cancer battle was over on March 25, 1992--7 days before Tate’s first birthday.    We were crushed. 

I received a card after Dad died and its message perfectly summarized what I was feeling.  This great gentleman had lost his dad a few years before also and, in this card, he wrote how not only was he mourning the loss of his dad, but the loss of all the things his kids would miss out on with their grandpa.  I remember sobbing as I finished reading that kind card.  He nailed it.  My loss while incredibly hard, wasn’t bothering me as much as what Tate (and later, Scott) would be losing with Dad’s death. My kids were missing out on their grandpa.  I distinctly remember Tate’s last basketball game as a senior.  We had played an incredible tournament in Aberdeen—Tate and his teammates had knocked off the number one seed and after a semi-final loss, were playing for 3^rd place.  It was a full house and right at the tip off, I teared up.  All I could think of was that I wished my dad had been able to enjoy these days with him.  All the things—concerts, school plays, baseball, football, track, hoops—I wanted him to see all the joy we were experiencing.  Mom and I often talked about what Dad would have done as the boys grew older and events, especially state events Tate was fortunate enough to be involved in, occurred on Friday nights.  Fridays were sale days.  There was a joke amongst our family that you weren’t married, buried, or born on a Friday in our family.  Dad had only missed 3 sales in his entire life before his illness—one was the day I was born. The other one involved the Blizzard of 1966 and another a health issue involving my grandma.  Fridays were for paying the bills.  Sale days were sacred.    Mom claims he would have been cancelling sales or making the entire ring listen to DT  Meyer do play by play of the Charger games during the sale.   We had a few laughs over what might have been Dad’s decisions for these game days. I wish we knew. 

Today is the day to celebrate all things Dad.  Mark was not one to get all hyped up for this holiday. He didn’t need the attention.   He was usually at some team camp or teaching driver’s ed. Some of our best Father’s Days were spent watching the boys play baseball.  I forgot one year to get him a card and as I apologized, he said in his incredibly sarcastic, calm, non-coaching voice “That’s okay, I’m not your dad.”  I laughed for years about that.  I still do.  And I’m still regretting that I didn’t get that card.  Mark took care of so many things for us….he made sure we had what we needed all the time.  Rarely took the time or funds for himself to make sure we had what we needed or thought we needed.  He was just so solid.

I know there are so many others today who are also missing their dads.  It is a terrible club to join and the older I get, the more of us there are traveling along missing their dads.  I try hard not to get consumed with what I don’t have –the things I miss are rarely material things.  I miss the people in my life who have gone on before me.  Too many of them and I struggle to grasp why God placed me on this journey.  I have had well meaning folks tell me to keep the faith and how tough I am.  I don’t particularly feel tough, but I am realistic enough to know that I cannot do anything to change this journey.

I watched with great joy and pride on Tuesday night as Scott coached the littlest group of T-Ball players ever assembled in the history of T-Ball.  Tiny, excited, helmet-wearing, dirt playing, littles wearing their adorable purple jerseys, while Coach Senftner and Coach Kayla navigated the evening.  Some of them didn’t know where first base was located.  Some needed help putting on gloves.  He coaxed some of them to their spots in the field.   I heard his big, booming voice encouraging them and helping them hit the ball.  The stands were full, and my heart was too.  His dad would be so proud of him.  He is good with kids and has a gift of drawing kids into whatever is going on.  I pray he always uses his talents wisely and shares his gifts with those who need him. 

Today my heart hurts for Scott who continues to show me that despite what we’ve been dealt, that the glass truly is half full and to keep on drinking…(sometimes old Scott Robert takes that a little too literally I’m afraid. #BunkhouseKaraoke LOL) But his outlook shows me that you need to keep moving forward even on the hard days. Scott seems to do this.  He always has.  He was blessed (?) with Daughters’ voice volume and Mark’s unwavering faith to just keep going.   I’m not going to lie about this, it has been a tough month.    But we are not alone in tough journeys…so many are living days they never planned with circumstances they’d love to change in a heartbeat.   We aren’t special.  And there are so many who have huge mountains ahead of them that just don’t seem fair.   We will be okay.  Broken and sad some days, but we have much to be thankful for also.

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there. I pray you know how much you mean to your family.   The dads in my life made everything better….and you do, too.