Legacy of K.I.M.

As a writer, words are so often the vessel in which emotions flow. As a daughter, words have been hard to come by to adequately share the grief I feel from losing my beautiful Mama. Lucky for me, she has a three-letter name that makes the perfect acrostic poem to describe her.

Kindness

As a kid, Mama often worked past my bedtime. If was something that bothered her so much that when I was old enough she started this tradition during the school year. She had set aside a giraffe journal for us. Each day after homework was done, I would write to her about my day. I could ask questions and talk to her. Before work the next day, she would write her response. After homework (and the darn vocabulary practice jar), I could read her response. And thus the cycle continued.It was in that journal she recorded one of my earliest memories of her kindness and lessons I carry with me today. 

My message to her was sloppily scribbled on the pages. Rancor (my favorite vocabulary word) ran through my 7 or 8 year old veins as I recounted my day of utter injustice. A group of kids started an “art club” at recess. I, a self proclaimed artist, asked to join. The answer was a hard “no.” How could it be? I loved art class. I often came home with As in the class. I loved color theory. I asked my Mama what I should do next to avenge this total injustice!

Her response? You don’t have to be in their club to be their friend. I probably wanted to go back to the vocabulary jar because that answer was crazy. The following sentences included her infamous saying of, “Don’t say anything now. There will be a time when you can say something” and some sort of “kill them with kindness.”

That is how she lived her life - be their friend anyway. As an adult, I saw this again when her high school friend started a ministry for the homeless in York. A woman with her children showed up each month. The tired mom yelling at her wild kids. When people saw them coming, there was this desire to take cover. My mama would scoop up the kids and hand them to me. She would shepherd the mom to the food line and make sure someone could help her carry enough for each kid. She would get them settled at a table and get each of them a drink. She rocked the baby and played Crazy 8s with the oldest boy so the mom could eat. When others wanted to vacate before they arrived, my mom leaned in.

Years later, I found myself loading up beds for this same family. My mom got a bed, mattress, and sheets for each kid when they moved into a new place. She ensured they had warm meals and school uniforms for years to come. And every visit she made sure she played Crazy 8s with the kids.

Mama’s kindness radiated from her every being. She would be getting blood work, sitting in a waiting room, or just strolling a store and she would come back with a new friend. People just always talked to her. She had a contagious joy and radiant kindness that just warmed a room.

Impact

Athletic training in the late 80s was a male-dominated industry. Mama never saw the glass ceiling. When the program traditionally did not allow female student trainers to be with the football team, she said something - respectfully. She argued that the prestige of the program would get her far, but coming out of the program having covered all the sports, including football, would show the industry that they truly prepare their students for the job ahead. To this day, you will find female student trainers on the Pitt sideline.

That experience lead her to the small school in the corn fields nearly an hour from home. Once she walked through those doors, she stayed for another 33 years. From an industry stand point she shined. She had one of the most robust student trainer programs, at times having more students than she could assign to teams. She included unique students - EMS and firefighters, unathletic sports-lovers, and off-season athletes. She would teach more than first aid and CPR. She would teach card games and Text Twist, lessons in finding the good in each day, and life skills like time management, kindness, and professionalism. She ran the most complete and well-oiled sports physicals in the area. And she was one of the first at the high school level to implement Impact testing and functional movement/preventative care programs.

Her impact on athletes was more than band aids, tape, and ultrasound. She provided a therapeutic experience beyond sprains, strains, and fractures. She wanted every athlete (even the whiny ones…rather, especially the whiny ones) to know they were loved and cared about. I remember students visiting us in West York on their way to prom, even taking pictures with her on our front porch.

During one of our Sunday calls in college, Mama shared a dream with me. Her dream was to collect cleats, sneakers, and other sports equipment for those who could not afford it. On my next visit to her office, I saw the box of equipment. She showed me the donated field hockey sticks and basketball sneakers. She shared stories from those who donated and of the families that received the necessary equipment.

When she was diagnosed with cancer, you wouldn’t have known by her attitude. Time and time again, I would check in on how she was doing mentally. Her response was always to some effect, “I want God to use my story.”

In the last year, I saw how He used her story to bring hope. After a difficult reconstruction of her ostomy bag (Priscilla as most know her), she had a roommate who had some health difficulties with her digestive system. While it is typical etiquette in the hospital to have the curtain closed and keep to your side of the room, I came into the room with the curtain wide open. I inquired, “What happened here?”

She told me about how she and her roommate started talking and sharing their stories. They laughed, they cried, and they prayed. They shared with each other how God was moving through the chaos. A few months later, I found myself hearing about how she shared Jesus again in the radiation waiting room. A room full of women in their hospital gowns knowing each other has cancer and she shared Hope.

Her impact has continued after her death. The boxes of medical supplies (various ostomies, wound care, etc.) are now on an UMCOR truck to help serve across the country. The bins of winter gear, blankets, shoes, and feminine care found home at New Life for Girls. Any toy that couldn’t fit in an OCC shoebox is ready to find a home this Christmas through Toys for Tots. And of course - many shoeboxes for OCC were filled (and she left us enough for the next few years!). We hope to continue her legacy through the Kind Human Foundation (https://kindhumanfoundation.com/kim).

Mama

When I look in the mirror, I mostly see my Daddi (with hair on my head instead of my face). But when I watch myself carefully, I see my Mama. I hear her voice when I say certain things. I hear her giggle when Jacob and I are goofing off. I see her love when I stop to give the homeless man food.

Our favorite show was Gilmore Girls. On girls nights, you would find us with ridiculous face masks on sipping out of wine glasses labeled “Lorelai” and “Rory.” While traditionally I would identify as Rory, the daughter, I see Mama as her too. Lorelai was reactive, completely unserious, and a bit of a chaotic mess. Outside of having her nose in a book, Rory was calculated, thoughtful, always down for a good laugh, but was good at knowing her audience, and she was the steady rock of the duo.

When I look back, I see my reactive anger to injustice counterbalanced by Mama’s cool facade and “wait for the right moment” patience. I see my desire to be a constant source of entertainment complimented by her giggles and encouragement (but the look that could get me to knock it off would also come out at times). And when my mind is a swirling tornado, I see my Mama’s touch and gentle spirit that could calm the craziest of thoughts.

I have never experienced the laughter I have with her. Half of what we said to each other didn’t make sense. And never let us alone in a dressing room - 99% of the time one of us almost peed ourselves laughing. In her last days, she continued to make me laugh. She made faces, played jokes on me in the hospital, and closed her life with some of the best one-liners (my personal favorite was “God’s in control! But I’ll fight like hell!).

She was one of my biggest cheerleaders. One of the earliest memories of her excitement for me was when she found the blue pamphlet in my room the summer of 2001. It was what was given to me after I gave my life to Jesus at church camp. I can see the sparkle in her eye as she shared how excited she was for me. I can hear the three of us blaring “My Hallelujah Song” by Julianne Hough pulling out of my high school graduation. She sang at the top of her lungs. I can feel her hug radiating with excitement after I graduated college. I can see the way she smiled when I told her Jacob was “the one.” It was months out from what would be our engagement, yet we talked weddings all weekend long. I can feel the way she fixed my dress as we looked in the mirror on my wedding day. In some of her final hours, Daddi and I had to bring our hands in so we could yell “‘Team Baby’ on three” (for a child not even conceived yet). She cheered for me until her last breath.

My first best friend. One of the three musketeers. Part of the Order of Fries. My Mama.

To me she was Mama, but to so many others she was Mama Kim/Mama Kimi. She and Daddi always wanted more kids. While naturally this never happened, they always had their “other kids.” Most times these were students.  My entire life students came in and out of our house. I was part of movie nights, game nights, Christmas parties, and award ceremonies.  My babysitters growing up were students (shout out Amey and Kristy). My first crush was a Bermudian football player.

To all who wrote in her white board, “I’m Kim’s favorite”: she loved you, but truth is I was her favorite student (and before me there was only 1 other favorite - “My Jeffery”). 

But seriously, she loved you all. I can attest to the fact that she cared so deeply for each and every person who walked in her room (from Berm or any other school). At times, I swore she cared for others’ injuries more than mine (I was just to rub dirt in it)!

I have heard people say to her, “I wish you were my mom.” And I am so glad I get to say she is mine.