My Talk from the Team Meeting.

I have had a few requests to post my talk from the 
service honoring Kyle.

So here it is, full of typos and all. 

I will post the kids talks in the next few days
as well.

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Some of you may be wondering why we are here instead of sitting in a church with pews, so I am going to give you a little bit of the back ground story in hopes that you will understand Kyle’s wishes.

When we first got married Kyle informed me that when he died he wanted his body to be eaten by wolves, in the mountains.  Our good friends, the Thatchers, were pretty sure they could swing a body in the mountains being eaten by wolves sort of scenario for him. In my heart, I like to pretend Kyle was joking—but I’m pretty sure he was not since he mentioned wolf eating to people at least once, or 75 times, in our married life.  He wanted the wolves and he wanted the mountains. His heart has always belonged to the mountains and the outdoors, and he saw no more fitting way to go when he died then returning to where he came from.  You know the ashes to ashes, dust to dust, sort of thing.  When cancer came along and death was more eminent, we had to reach a compromise somewhere between wolf eating, and well, reality.  He has always been a big believer in cremation and after cancer came along he wanted nothing more than to have his body donated to the University of Utah to be studied for medical research and then cremated.  Sadly, cancer would ravage his body beyond what was acceptable for donation, so we moved past Plan A (wolf eating) and Plan B (donation for medical research) and on to Plan C.   (and here we are)

I will read, in his own words, the note he sent to me before he died about funerals, “Let it be noted that I hate cemeteries, funerals and especially viewings.  (For myself, if someone else chooses to do this, it is fine, it is just not what I want). If you want to remember me, go to the places I loved and you will find me there, I promise.  If we could NOT call it a funeral I would appreciate that—call it a party or a celebration or perhaps the final meeting for Team Kyle.  At this gathering it is my hope that you can all smile and laugh and try and say some nice things about me. I want talks about my life from my wife and kids and if I’m lucky enough I would love Sarah Sample to sing.  I don’t want Sunday School lesson or missionary moment talks. I want people to remember me and be happy and remember the things I loved.”  So there you have it, here we are at the final meeting for Team Kyle, honoring our husband, son, father, brother and friend in the way HE wished to be honored. 

What do you say about someone who has been your best friend for 27 years?  How do I narrow down the scope of my talk?  Usually words are something that come easily to me, this time it has been much harder.  I met Kyle when I was 21 years old and he immediately became one of my very best friends.  Dave Davis, his best friend, likes to tease that we are the perfect pair.  Kyle is the eternal optimist, and even laying on his death bed in the hospital he would say “I’m good” to everyone who came in and asked how he was doing.  Seriously, “I’m good.” I am much more of a realist and like to have things in order and planned out.  Cancer was hard for me like that.  Kyle, who always liked to take the path less traveled, seemed to adapt better at living life day to day with cancer than me.  There was a saying he found right at the beginning, which accurately reflects how he lived his life, and ultimately, how he battled his cancer.

“When a wave comes, go deep.  There are 3 things you can do when life sends a wave at you.  You can run from it, but then it’s going to catch up to you and knock you down.  You can chose to fall back on your ego and try and stand your ground, but the wave is going to clobber you anyway.  Or you can use it as an opportunity to go deep,  dive in and transform yourself to match the circumstances.  And that’s how you get through the wave, by going deep.”

Kyle went deep in a big way.  He changed the lives of people who knew him in a profound way.  He was a quiet man with a big heart who genuinely loved and cared for all those he met.  He always treated those who cared for him while battling the evil cancer, with great respect and rarely complained through countless chemo treatments, radiation beads, needle sticks, surgeries and long hours in hospitals and doctor offices.  He never did anything he did for recognition or glory, he just lived in his simple, quiet way and let his example shine as a beacon to those who knew him.  He always told me that so much of how he chose to live this cancer journey was for his children, so that they would remember a dad who kept going and didn’t complain at whatever it was that life, and this cancer, threw at him.  I would say that he did a mighty fine job and set the best of examples for our children.

AA Milne said, “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”

I could not agree more.  I am so lucky that I loved so deeply and shared my life with someone who was truly my best friend for 27 years. I think that there are many people’s lives that have been touched by you Kyle and it makes it hard to say good bye. So how about if we just say “see you later?”

I am a better person for having had Kyle in my life.  He always said this to me “Dor you can do this!”  It somehow seemed easier when he was here to remind me of that.  I found another quote in Winnie the Pooh that mirrored what Kyle told me for 22 months of fighting cancer….”If ever there is a tomorrow when we’re not together---there is something you must always remember.  You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.  But the most important thing is, even if we’re apart….I’ll always be with you.”  Kyle always believed in me, even when I didn’t want to believe in myself.  He always had a kind word of encouragement, a soft touch that would calm my troubled soul and a warm embrace that would comfort on the darkest of days.  I think he would tell all of us the same thing.  To believe in ourselves and remember how strong we are and most importantly that he will “ALWAYS BE WITH US.”

My thoughts since his passing are very disjointed and so I would like to share some snapshots of Kyle, perhaps offer you some insight as to who he was, in the best way I can right now,  in simple phrases that look into his heart and life.

*Kyle washing his 17 year old daughters long red hair in the kitchen sink, tenderly, gently, lovingly as only a father can with some kind of crazy loud music inevitably playing in the back ground.

*Kyle standing over the kitchen counter making lunches and smoothies for us before we all left

for school and work every day.  Even on days when he was green, vomiting, or gray from chemo—he always got up to make these things for each of us.

*Kyle bringing me and my co-workers Diet Cokes, just because.

*Kyle and Josh talking songs, music and sports while I listened on, thinking I will never be able to do this when Kyle dies.

*Kyle telling us his decidedly awful jokes from “Fun Joke Friday” in his best Ruby voice, making us all laugh, despite our circumstances.

*Kyle getting up at 3 in the morning after an 8 hour day of chemo to take Eliza to meet some famous You Tube star at the mall.  Needless to say they were first in line. He was exhausted and worn out, yet he still put the wants of his daughter over the needs of his own.

*Kyle dressing up in a turkey costume, as a terminal cancer patient, to hand out treats to OTHER cancer patients and staff at the Huntsman the week of Thanksgiving, because he could still serve and nothing was going to stop him and, why not?

*Kyle encouraging me during 40 hour work weeks and 30 hour school weeks to keep going and telling me he had faith in me and that I could do it.

*Kyle not dying until I finished my math class—I begged and begged him not to die until I finished that class.  I hate math.

*Kyle gently telling me to breathe in and out while I was freaking out during a math exam.

(And Josh laughing at me in the back ground).  Have I mentioned I hate math? 

*Kyle folding laundry and cleaning bathrooms until the very end because he could, and wanted to.

*Kyle hugging doctors and phlebotomists and nurses and front desk staff at the Huntsman cancer institute and watching everyone cry as he said “goodbye” because he loved them and they loved him.

*Kyle telling us he was tired, and ready to go, and holding all of our hands in the hospital while we waited for him to die (the first time)….only to have him sit up 5 minutes later and ask for chocolate pudding and Panda Express.  I think he was testing us to see if we would be sufficiently sad when the REAL time came.

We were.

*Kyle driving up the canyon at 11 pm one night to “rescue” his daughter who took a wrong turn on the freeway. She was weeping, but he found her, had her follow him and brought her safely home.  We all had a good laugh about it the next day.

*Kyle sitting in his chemo chair, breaking ALL the rules EVERY SINGLE WEEK with the amount of visitors allowed during chemo sessions—giving me anxiety because I’m a rule follower.  He always had more than the “2 person limit” surrounding him with love and laughter and food and stories.  Joan, from the Huntsman, always said you knew where Kyle was sitting because it was always where the party was at.

*Kyle, surrounded by love, as he made the exit from this mortal journey.  He constantly had 8 or 10 or 25 people in his hospital room, holding him, talking to him, loving him.  There was not one moment that he was not in the middle of love. 

*Kyle snuggling with his dog and his baby girl, Olivia.
*Kyle, getting back what he gave out during his whole life, Love. 

Here are a few lessons Kyle taught us along the way….

1. Love.  That’s what this life is all about.  I cannot emphasize this enough.  It's all about love.

   It just is.  If you learn nothing else from Kyle’s life, learn this.  This entire mortal journey is about love. In the end not one other thing matters.

2. Forgive quickly.  If it really really doesn't  matter?  Let it go.  And even if it does?  Let

   it go anyway.  We ALL need forgiveness.  And we all need to forgive

3. Judge Less.  Guess what?  We all do stupid things.  ALL OF US.  Learn to just

appreciate the GOOD things in others around us. Hopefully we will get the same kind of leniency in return.  Because we ALL need it.

4. Make time and spend it with the ones you love. Tell people you love them.  Even when you don't want to.  You won't be sorry. Do something fun or something dumb-just spend time together.

5. You are stronger than you think you are.  You CAN do hard things.  We were not superhuman, or super-anything, as we travelled this cancer road.  We were just regular people

   surviving a really hard thing, because we HAD TO. What other choice did we have?  We cried, we fell down, we said we're quitting...but then we rose again each day and dusted ourselves off and TRIED AGAIN.  That's ALL that really matters.  Getting up each time you fall. You can do it.  Believe in yourself.

6. It's OKAY to cry and hurt and be sad and FEEL THINGS.  As much as we like to think it's NOT?  IT IS!!!  It's healthy to let those feelings flow in and around and through and out of us.  Holding it all in and pretending doesn't do anyone any good.  Learn to feel.

7. Laugh.  Just laugh.  Give cancer, or other hard things, the bird!  It's okay to laugh and find humor in darkness.  Don’t take yourself so seriously all the time.

8. Back to #1....It's ALL ABOUT LOVE.  It just is.  Never. Never. Never. Forget that.

Kyle lived a life of service and love.  That is truly the essence of who he was in a nutshell. There is literally no way for me to encapsulate 46 years into a talk.  No way at all.  If I could leave just a last few things with you, they would be to know that he was one of the bravest human beings I have ever met.  He faced life, and cancer, with a quiet courage—one that meant getting up every day and moving forward. He loved his family more than life itself. My 4 children and I (and anyone that knew him) are the luckiest people in the world to have been loved by him as husband and father. (and friend and brother and son, etc).  He loved everyone he met, in his quiet sweet way.  He was never the loud life of the party, but he was the quiet guy in the back ground watching and waiting to help when he was needed.  He was the first person in line to help ANYONE and everyone who needed help in any kind of way—whether it be moving people in the neighborhood, helping a friend, co-worker, parent, grandparent or sibling.  Kyle was first in line and last to leave when there was hard work, or any work, to be done.  He told me at the end to be sad and grieve and miss him, but to also honor him by finding happiness again in this life. I’m not sure how hard that task will be, I imagine that some days it will be brutal, but I plan on digging deep inside myself and finding some light in this life again to honor him and his last request of me.

In closing I want to publically thank the Huntsman staff who treated Kyle with kindness and respect during countless hours spent in their facitility.

I want to thank our Oly 3 Ward friends for countless meals and acts of kindness. Countless.

Thank you to sweet Sarah Sample and The Lower Lights—you’ve made him so happy in honoring his life with your music that he so loved.  This music surrounded him in his last days and hours of his life, and brought tears of true happiness and joy to his heart, and ours.

Thank you to family and friends too numerous to name, and if I started naming names I would surely leave someone off the list and make them feel bad—so I won’t.  You all know who you are.  Thank you.

Thanks to my wonderful children for honoring their dad so wonderfully today.

Thank you for honoring Kyle today and for surrounding us with love.  He would want that.

Thank you all.