7 months

I've just passed the seven month mark of Mom's death. I've realized its hard for me to come to terms with her being gone because of the geographic distance which was between us. Living four and a half hours apart, and with limited means, meant that we saw each other only a couple of times every year. Therefore, it is a very slow dawning that I'll never see her again on this earth. Thanksgiving last year is the last time I saw her. My Father is asking that we come down there again this year. I don't think I'm ready though, to be back in the hometown and NOT seeing Mom. Its been a rough week for grief.

From Michael about Nana

The week of Mom's Memorial Service Michael, my Son, came down with Chicken Pox. Ever heard the saying, "When it rains, it pours"? Needless to say we were all very disappointed that he wouldn't be able to join us. For his benefit we had the Memorial recorded, and had him write what he wanted to say about his Nana. This is what he wrote.

From Michael to Nana

I loved my Nana, and she will be very missed. The first thing I think of when I think of her are “Nana Days” when I used to stay with her every Friday. My favorite part of those Fridays was that it was just me and her. She would play with toys with me. I would hide under her sink and she would come and “get” me. Sometimes we would walk to the convenient store and get ice cream. Those are some of my happy memories. Those are the things I’ll remember about her. And that she always made me feel so special

Tribute to Mom (As read at her Memorial Service)

I became an avid reader early on, and gradually transformed into an all out bibliophile. With all that reading, and thinking on all that I’d read it didn’t take long to come to the following conclusion: one can learn a great deal about a person by what he or she reads. Naturally this stirred my curiosity and soon the question I came to ask everyone I met was, “What’s your favorite book?” Of course I had to know what was my Mom’s, a fellow bibliophile’s, favorite book? “The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran,” she said. I remember feeling weight in her answer. It was obvious the book moved her deeply. “It’s the most beautiful poetry. Read it sometime, when you’re older.” I did that very thing this past weekend, not for the first time, but certainly with newly tempered eyes. And in Khalil Gibran’s words I heard my Mom’s voice. I came to understand how this poetry, and its messages, helped to shape her world view, her priorities, her sense of Self, and her perception of God in all things, both ugly and beautiful. You’ll be hearing from The Prophet a bit today as I pay tribute to my Mother’s Life.

Karen Lynne Kenyon was born July 20, 1952 in Ft. Worth, TX, and died on March 11, 2009 in Freeport, TX. She is preceded in death by her Father, Thomas Gene Kenyon. She is survived by Me, Stephanie Walls, my husband, Mark, and son, Michael Eric Thomas Parmley; Mother, Colleen Kenyon of Granite Shoals; Brother and sister-in-law Terry and Kitty Kenyon of Austin; Niece Kelly Kenyon, and her husband David Meyer of Houston; Nephew Carl Kenyon of Austin; Many beloved cousins, friends, and her very loved kitty cat, Baby, who now lives with us.

Mom spent her school years in Freeport, a small Texas Gulf Coast town, only minutes from the Gulf of Mexico. She and her family spent lots of time outdoors swimming in the Ocean, the Creek, and the River. Having always been near the water and growing up with a sober respect and reverence for the water, it was just going with the flow when she began swimming with the Brazosport Aquatic Club at age twelve, and performing with the Surfettes, Freeport’s Synchronized swim team at thirteen.

One of the first magnificent things she taught me was how to hear the Ocean, no matter how far away, by holding a conch shell to my ear. She said, “We can have a little piece of home wherever we go.” For Mom, no matter where she roamed, the Ocean was always home. She seemed to move, in herself, to the rhythm of waves crashing on the shore. She felt a deep symbolic connection between herself, the Ocean, and the Moon. Her moods and emotions moved to that rhythm. And so, to hear the sound of the waves, even if only through a conch shell, was a realignment of herself to the soothing rhythms of the Earth. She found comfort in the water, and beauty unmatched, excepting when the full Moon was reflected in it. This relationship to water is one which she passed on to me, and there was not a time before she passed that I could look upon the moon in the waves without thinking of her. Now I look forward to hearing her voice in the Sea breezes, and seeing her smile reflecting in the full Moon, which turns the water below to an Ocean of liquid Silver, a sight she found reverent.

Mom believed she was born with the rhythm of the waves in her, for rhythm came naturally to her. This became obvious when she began studying ballet at age six, and quickly rose to the top of the class with her ability. She danced for about nine years performing in shows such as Peter Pan, The King and I, and Alice In Wonderland. Though she didn’t continue in dance, she did carry two things into the rest of her life as a result of it: Music remained an inspiration for her, and she often mused about what it must be like to hear music through the ears of a non-dancer. Because she danced in the formative years of her life, music was the rhythm of movement for her. She said she could never listen to music without feeling the dance in her body and seeing the dance in her mind.

Dance also seems to have planted the seed of love for the Performing Arts, and as she moved away from dancing she moved into acting. In 1966 & 67 she performed in UIL One Act Plays. These were the first experiences for her in what would be a lifelong passion, though it would not flower until several years later. In the meantime, being a well-rounded young lady, she participated in Girl’s Basketball and Track and Field events. She like to tell me a story about this time in her life of how she came to be called “Muscles” because she could beat boys at arm wrestling matches! In her year book of that year, its printed by her name. That spunk stayed with her as she matured.

Mom graduated from Brazosport High School, with honors, in 1970, and went to Brazosport College the next year. It is here that her talents as an actress blossomed under the direction of Tom Kinney. That year she participated in several shows, one of them being the first production of the Brazosport College Theatre “Roshamon”. Joining her as part of that first cast was her future husband, my Father, Don Hickman, and several other folks with whom she remained friends throughout her life. The next year she and my Father wed, and three years later I was born.

In May of 1980 my parents and I converted to Judaism. This was a major turning point in all our lives. Mom, though she didn’t remain a practicing Jew, continued to be influenced by Jewish Wisdom and culture. Her view of all things of the Spirit were rooted in Judaism from that point on. In true Jewish form she felt that the heart of a relationship with the Great “What is It?” rested in questions, exploration, and debate. I’m certain she learned this from my Grandmother and Grandfather! She taught me to never be afraid to ask God “Why?”, to never hesitate in asking clergy the same.

Mom wasn’t big on religion, but took to heart the philosophies behind Christianity and Judaism, and made use of religious practices from both, as well as a bit of Buddhist practice. These philosophies drove her love of nature, her fellow men, and her sense that stewardship of our planet was of the utmost importance. She saw God everywhere and in everything; the tree, the sun, her pet cat, the birds; she heard God’s voice in the wind, in laughter, in tears, despair, and joy. Seeing the Sacred in the small thins is a philosophy which grew in her slowly, but I believe it all began with her conversion to Judaism in 1980.

The Prophet has a passage about prayer, and one about religion. They nicely sum up some of the things she taught me on those subjects. On Prayer: “ …I cannot teach you how to pray in words. God listens not to your words save when He Himself utters them through your lips. And I cannot teach you the prayer of the seas and the forests and the mountains. But you who are born of the mountains and the forests and the seas can find their prayer in your heart, And if you but listen in the stillness of the night you shall hear them saying in silence, “Our God, who are our winged self, it is thy will in us that willeth. It is thy desire in us that desireth. It is thy urge in us that would turn our nights, which are thine, into days which are thine also. We cannot ask thee for aught, for thou knowest our needs before they are born in us: Thou are our need; and in giving u s more of thyself though givest us all.” (Ch.23 “Prayer” from The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran)

On religion: “…Who can separate his faith from his actions, or his belief from his occupations? Who can spread his hours before him, saying, ‘This is for God and this for myself; This for my soul, and this other for my body’ … Your daily life is your temple and your religion. Whenever you enter into it take with you your all. Take the plough and the forge and the mallet and the lute, The things you have fashioned in necessity or for delight. For in reverie you cannot rise above your achievements nor fall lower than your failures. And take with you all men: For in adoration you cannot fly higher than their hopes nor humble yourself lower than their despair. And if you would know God be not therefore a solver of riddles. Rather look about you and you shall see Him playing with your children. And look into space; you shall see Him walking in the cloud, outstretching His arms in the lightning and descending in rain. You shall see Him smiling in flowers, then rising and waving His hands in trees.” (Ch.26 “Religion” from The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran)

Over the next fifteen years she and my father divorced, and we lived in various places about the Gulf Coast area. For a year and a half we even got to live in Canada, which we both enjoyed very much. She remarked in a book that “the glaciers atop the Rocky Mountains” was one of the two most beautiful places she’d ever seen. We returned to Freeport in 1984. This is when I really began to understand my mother. Watching her fight the board of education and various teachers on my behalf I witnessed her spunky tenacity. Meeting some of the people with whom she grew up, along with my burgeoning love for the Ocean drew me closer to her. The more I saw of her, the more I loved.

In the mid 90s her path took her back to the door of Brazosport College theatre where she once again found creative expression by stepping onto the stage. She performed in many shows including, “Abe Lincoln in Illinois”, and “The Grass Harp”. You can see pictures, play bills, and newspaper articles in the scrapbook on the right on the table. Not only did she enjoy reuniting with old theatre friends, but was also able to perform in a few plays with me! I count this as the start of our real friendship, for I was an adult. And, onstage I got to see my mother’s passion in action, which allowed me to glimpse a younger, non-mommy part of her. We both reveled in those times together, and I will always count them as the most fun she and I had together.

After the very social and exciting theater years, it seems Mom was ready for quiet. Michael was born and she discovered a new part of herself, “Nana”. This new part took her into a new level of self-reflection. Now, Mom was always a thinker. Happier in quiet places where she could hear her own thoughts and feel her own heart. But now she became fearless about her explorations of herself. Something about being a Grandma seemed to anchor her. She found a new courage to look at difficult things. In this last part of her life she came to see the perfection of both her joys and her sorrows. From The Prophet: Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with you tears. And how else can it be? The deeper the sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven? And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives? When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. Some of you say, “Joy is greater than sorrow,” and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.” But I say unto you, they are inseparable. Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed. Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and joy. Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.”….(Ch.8 “Joy and Sorrow” from The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran)

And having accomplished a task of prime importance in a human life, reconciling sorrow with joy, my Mother left the planet to continue her Soul’s journey. Which brings us to the big question when reviewing a life, what was it all about? What did Karen/Mom/Nana feel was her greatest accomplishment? I never asked her that question. All the same, I know her answer if she’d been asked. First, she would hesitate, not for lack of knowing, but for her own humility. Then, with sweetness and timidity in her voice (she was occasionally timid) she would answer, “You, Stephanie, are my greatest accomplishment. Not to take credit for it all, because you have somehow become exactly who I wanted you to be without me telling you who you should be. Bringing you here, doing my best to make good decisions for you, and letting you be who you are so that I now look upon you and see a happy, successful adult….that is my greatest accomplishment, other than knowing myself and therefore life, of course. And neither was easy! In this place I find myself I finally understand the Sacred in the Small. My Soul flies with the Hawks, my heart opens at a visit from the Hummingbird, and my intellect stands in awe of the dogs who no longer bark at me as I pass because of something, I know not what, which makes me suddenly familiar to them. I’ve arrived at Joy in life despite my poverty, aloneness, pain, or fear…..or maybe because of them. So,” she would say glibly, “does that answer your question? Did that even make any sense? Do you know what I mean?” And I would reply, “Yes, Mom, I know exactly what you mean. And have I reminded you lately that you are a great Mom?”

She was a great Mom, a great Grandmother, a great Friend. As a parent she was never too proud to say, “I don’t know.” She was never too busy to see my pain, to celebrate my growth, to help me with my homework (or flat out teach me algebra at home every night when my teacher was failing miserably at it). She never cared more about being right than apologizing when she aught. I don’t mean to imply her perfection as the pinnacle of Motherhood. Truly, at such a suggestion she would laugh. She might even guffaw! But, a perfect mother wouldn’t have been able to teach me how to engage such an imperfect world, or the imperfections in myself. As a parent, Mom was willing to be naked in her imperfection, and was unashamed to be so. Once again, I think a passage on children from The Prophet gives deep insight into her basic parenting philosophy, and illustrates how she thought best to love me: “Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you yet they belong not to you. You may give them your love but not your thoughts, For they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday. You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far. Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness….” (Ch.4 “Children” from The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran)

When it came to being my Mom, Karen was a joyfully bent bow. Michael, though, certainly got the best of her love. Grandparenthood gave Nana a glow. All the wonderful things she gave go me, she extended also to Michael, and more. I think she felt free of all those Mommy fears that keep one up late into the night, and so she could just, well, play with him. She wasn’t demanding as a Grandmother, but accepting and supportive of Michael’s budding creativity. He was her Joy renewed, and everyone she met knew it!

As a friend she was a superb listener, a bold-faced truth teller, and one who would love a friend with toughness or gentleness, depending on need. She was a grand conversationalist, opinionated, outspoken, a bit on the wild side even.

As I sorted through her things after cleaning out her apartment, I found something written by her in a book called Generation to Generation. There was very little of the book completed so I felt that the things she had written there must have been of great importance to her. In the section on her childhood, she explained that her Mother nicknamed her “Pearl”. Never before had I heard this story! Here was the blessing of one more insight into who Karen was…if only I could crack the mystery. Then I found a second gem amongst her things, a poem written by my Grandmother to my Mother. It explained a bit more about “Pearl”, and I rejoiced in the depths of myself. For here was proof that I am not alone in knowing the true beauty of my Mom, Karen.

Here is the poem:

For Karen On Her 55th Birthday

20 July 2007

With Much Love, Mom

a.k.a Colleen M. Kenyon

Once upon a time

There was a little girl

So effervescent and such a gem

That her mother called her "Pearl".

As I write this I remember still

As if it were this morning,

The first time that I held her

The utter joy - the thrill.

Now grown and quite mature,

That sweet little girl

Is not as effervescent, but will be

Forever after her mother's lustrous "Pearl".

As if by the Divine Hand I then came across a poem by Kahlil Gibran, not from The Prophet called “The Pearl”. The moment I read the poem I saw my Mother’s life come full circle from being her Momma’s Pearl, through the deep waters of human life, and into the Divine Wisdom and Beauty expressed through the Fullness of who she became once she arrived at understanding and acceptance: “ Said one oyster to a neighbouring oyster, ‘I have a very great pain within me. It is heavy and round and I am in distress.’ And the other oyster replied with haughty complacence, ‘Praise be to the heavens and to the sea, I have no pain within me. I am well and whole both within and without.’ At that moment a crab was passing by and heard the two oysters, and he said to the one who was well and whole both within and without, “Yes, you are well and whole; but the pain that your neighbour bears is a pearl of exceeding beauty.” (Ch.11 “The Pearl” from The Wanderer, His Parables and Sayings, by Kahlil Gibran)

I have loved you passionately all my life, Momma. I rejoice with you at your newfound peace, and in the legacy you’ve left in Me. Though I will miss you every day, for the rest of my life, I wish that your journey be all that for which you had hoped. May you always be remembered.

Smiling, laughing, brilliant

Wanted to take a moment to say "thanks" to a few of Mom's past school mates. Though they didn't post their comments here, they send me private messages. I won't give all the details, but the running theme from all three was this: She was always smiling, laughing, and bringing others along for the ride.

I heard some beautiful and funny memories at the memorial service as well. Many of those sentiments echoed what I typed above, but a couple of other things that were mentioned:
Her love of nature (which you will read about more once I get her Tribute up here), and her Brilliant mind.

She used that brilliant mind all the time. It was always tick-tick-ticking away. It drove her intense and enlightening conversations, and her insatiable love of reading on all topics. She was especially interested in religion, the history of religion, and the history of family and country. I see many of those traits in myself, which re-affirms for me that she is not gone, but living in me.

Peace

Mom's Memorial Service

This part of the grieving process was truly beautiful. We had roses, lavendar, easter lilly's, asiatic lilly's, bougainvilla, and a couple other nice plants. I'm going to take those and plant them in a memorial garden. There were scrapbooks and yearbooks, pictures, examples of her woodburning, etc...There were lots of happy and deep memories shared. I missed seeing all of you who weren't there, and hope to hear from you by letter, email, card, or phone. Over the next few days I'll be posting her Eulogy, and some more pics.

Peace.

This is me and mom at my wedding.


I'm working hard on Mom's Memorial service. I'm hoping to give those who attend, and read her Tribute here, some insight into who she became over the course of her life. I loved my mother fiercely, and I'd like someone other than me to know a little bit about why. So, I'm taking my time (as much as I can anyway and still meet the April 2 deadline), reading through books she loved, and seeking the most beautiful and accurate words to describe her, her life, and what she's left as a legacy in me. Send positive thoughts. And, please, I'd love to have stories or memories from others to include! I know what MY favorite things about her were. I'm curious about what others remember as THEIR favorite things about her. To bed with me, so I can get up tomorrow with SOME energy with which to forge ahead with my task.







Peace.

Mom's Obituary

Our beloved Karen Lynne Kenyon, 56, of Freeport, TX died on March 11, 2009. She was preceded in death by her father, Thomas Gene Kenyon. Karen is survived by her daughter Stephanie Michelle Walls, son-in-law Mark Walls, and grandson Michael Eric Thomas Parmley of San Antonio, TX; mother Colleen Kenyon of Granite Shoals, TX; brother Terry Kenyon, and sister-in-law Kitty Kenyon of Austin, TX, niece Kelly Marie Kenyon and her husband David Meyer of Houston, TX, and nephew Carl Frazier Kenyon of Austin, Texas; along with many cousins, good friends, and her very loved cat, Baby.

Karen was born on July 20, 1952 to Thomas Gene Kenyon and Velta Colleen Kenyon in Ft. Worth, TX. The family became residents of Freeport, TX in 1957. She remained in the Freeport area throughout her school years, graduating with honors from Brazosport High School in 1970. After graduation, she lived in a number of Texas Gulf Coast communities and for a brief period lived in Canada, She returned to Freeport in the early 80s where she lived until her passing.

Karen was born a performer, beginning ballet at the age of 6, and continuing through the age of 14. Dance was a passion which never died, though she moved on to other pursuits in the performing arts. She performed in One Act Plays with Freeport Junior High theater group. Other hobbies included performing with the Surfettes (Freeport's synchronized swim team), swimming competitively with the Brazosport Aquatic Club, playing Girl's Basketball, and participating in Track and Field events.The year after high school graduation, Karen attended Brazosport College, where she was cast in the first play produced by BC Theater, "Roshamon". One of her fellow actors, Donnivan Hickman, became her husband in March of 1972, and 3 years later their daughter, Stephanie Michelle, was born. Karen received an Associate of Science in Business Administration, with honors, from Alvin Community College in 1978. Karen and Don divorced in 1982, but remained friends throughout the rest of her life. In the mid 90s she returned to BC Theater and appeared in many plays. Not only did she enjoy reuniting with long time theater friends, but was also excited to appear onstage in a few plays with her daughter.

Karen carried a love of nature with her throughout her life, and this friendship with the natural world became a great inspiration and comfort to her in the last few years of her life when she began to live by a philosophy of gratefulness for all the "little things". The greatest joy at the end of her life, though, was spending time with her beloved grandson, Michael.


A memorial service will be held Thursday, April 2, 2009 11am at Community Unitarian Universalist Church of San Antonio, 4818 Beverly Mae, San Antonio, TX 78229.