In memoriam Richard Kelbe 1960-2008
Oct. 24th, 2008 04:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aryanhwyMy Uncle Rick died at home in his sleep last night, after a 4 year battle with cancer. He leaves behind his wife, Melissa, two sons and a daughter, his parents, two sisters, and many nieces and nephews.
When he was first diagnosed with a rare and particularly aggressive type of stomach cancer, he was told that no one with this type of cancer had, to date, lived more than 9 months beyond diagnosis. Rick had four years, on his own terms, with his decision to stop treatment at the end and to spend his remaining days doing what he wanted to do with the people he wanted to be with. In the last month and a half, he continued working on his old cars, went on road trips, got to have his parents, sister, and children all come from wherever they were to visit him. Even though I was never strong enough to give him a call, I did sit down one night and write him an email saying everything I knew I'd regret not saying, about how he'd always been my favorite uncle. Even though we didn't get to see him often, because the drive from New York to Wisconsin is a long one, he was always a part of family gatherings, calling at Christmas and Thanksgiving, participating in the white elephant exchange in absentia, and when he did visit it was always so much fun. And though they lived so far away, it always seemed like he and my aunt knew us cousins well enough to get just the right gifts -- I still regularly wear the snake earrings that I got from them when I was a teenager, and the duffel bag with an iguana on it almost came to the Netherlands with us because I still find it useful (even if I have perhaps grown out of the "decorate my room like a jungle" phase). I named one of my rubber rats after him, the only one of the rubber and plastic snakes, rats, mice, and spiders to be named after a real person. The two times I ever went on vacation as a kid were two weeks that my parents left me and my sister with Rick and Melissa in New York while they went to seminars in Pennsylvania. We got to go to Canada! And see Niagara Falls! And go camping in their log cabin! Wonderful and exotic and fun things. Both sides of my family have always been close and one of the hardest parts about moving over here has been not being able to get together with everyone at the holidays. The one thing which I'd always clung to, that reconciled me to the fact that my niece and nephew were growing up hardly ever getting to see us, was the example I have in Rick and Melissa. Joel and I could get to be the "cool" aunt and uncle, who don't come visit very often but are always lots of fun we they do, and who call on holidays, and who occasionally you get to visit in some wild and exotic place and do things you'd never get to do otherwise. And I got to tell all of this to Rick, and I got the most wonderful email back, saying that he'd wanted to be closer than we had been, but that he always felt a special sympathy with me, the crazy younger kid who was in to weird things like snakes and chain mail. So on that count, I'm satisfied: I got to say my goodbyes. And I know he got to say his. How many people are given the grace to know that their time is up and to make their peace with life before they go? How can I sit here and think "I wish I could be so lucky when my time comes" when all that's been raging through my head for the last few days, drowning out anything else whenever I thought about him and wondered how he was doing was "It's not fair!"
It's not fair that my grandparents had to live through the death of a child. It's not fair that my aunt should be left widowed (and on her birthday too). It's not fair that my cousins, two who are in college and the other is I think a senior in high school, should have to grow up the rest of the way without their dad -- that their spouses and their children will never get to meet Rick. It's not fair that the doctors couldn't fix everything, though by God they tried. It's not fair that from now on, he's just going to be stories and memories. It's not fair that I can't begin to think of anything more to say to my aunt and my grandparents and my mom than "I'm sorry." "I'm sorry your husband, your son, your brother has died." How can I say or do anything to help make them feel better when I'm so sad and mad myself?
The best memorial that I can do for my Uncle is to do my best to be to my niece and nephew what he was to me. And I hope that when Owen and Leah talk about the fun times they've had with Uncle Joel and Aunt Sara, Andrea can tell them stories about the fun times she and her sister had with Uncle Rick and Aunt Melissa.
When he was first diagnosed with a rare and particularly aggressive type of stomach cancer, he was told that no one with this type of cancer had, to date, lived more than 9 months beyond diagnosis. Rick had four years, on his own terms, with his decision to stop treatment at the end and to spend his remaining days doing what he wanted to do with the people he wanted to be with. In the last month and a half, he continued working on his old cars, went on road trips, got to have his parents, sister, and children all come from wherever they were to visit him. Even though I was never strong enough to give him a call, I did sit down one night and write him an email saying everything I knew I'd regret not saying, about how he'd always been my favorite uncle. Even though we didn't get to see him often, because the drive from New York to Wisconsin is a long one, he was always a part of family gatherings, calling at Christmas and Thanksgiving, participating in the white elephant exchange in absentia, and when he did visit it was always so much fun. And though they lived so far away, it always seemed like he and my aunt knew us cousins well enough to get just the right gifts -- I still regularly wear the snake earrings that I got from them when I was a teenager, and the duffel bag with an iguana on it almost came to the Netherlands with us because I still find it useful (even if I have perhaps grown out of the "decorate my room like a jungle" phase). I named one of my rubber rats after him, the only one of the rubber and plastic snakes, rats, mice, and spiders to be named after a real person. The two times I ever went on vacation as a kid were two weeks that my parents left me and my sister with Rick and Melissa in New York while they went to seminars in Pennsylvania. We got to go to Canada! And see Niagara Falls! And go camping in their log cabin! Wonderful and exotic and fun things. Both sides of my family have always been close and one of the hardest parts about moving over here has been not being able to get together with everyone at the holidays. The one thing which I'd always clung to, that reconciled me to the fact that my niece and nephew were growing up hardly ever getting to see us, was the example I have in Rick and Melissa. Joel and I could get to be the "cool" aunt and uncle, who don't come visit very often but are always lots of fun we they do, and who call on holidays, and who occasionally you get to visit in some wild and exotic place and do things you'd never get to do otherwise. And I got to tell all of this to Rick, and I got the most wonderful email back, saying that he'd wanted to be closer than we had been, but that he always felt a special sympathy with me, the crazy younger kid who was in to weird things like snakes and chain mail. So on that count, I'm satisfied: I got to say my goodbyes. And I know he got to say his. How many people are given the grace to know that their time is up and to make their peace with life before they go? How can I sit here and think "I wish I could be so lucky when my time comes" when all that's been raging through my head for the last few days, drowning out anything else whenever I thought about him and wondered how he was doing was "It's not fair!"
It's not fair that my grandparents had to live through the death of a child. It's not fair that my aunt should be left widowed (and on her birthday too). It's not fair that my cousins, two who are in college and the other is I think a senior in high school, should have to grow up the rest of the way without their dad -- that their spouses and their children will never get to meet Rick. It's not fair that the doctors couldn't fix everything, though by God they tried. It's not fair that from now on, he's just going to be stories and memories. It's not fair that I can't begin to think of anything more to say to my aunt and my grandparents and my mom than "I'm sorry." "I'm sorry your husband, your son, your brother has died." How can I say or do anything to help make them feel better when I'm so sad and mad myself?
The best memorial that I can do for my Uncle is to do my best to be to my niece and nephew what he was to me. And I hope that when Owen and Leah talk about the fun times they've had with Uncle Joel and Aunt Sara, Andrea can tell them stories about the fun times she and her sister had with Uncle Rick and Aunt Melissa.
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no subject
Date: 2008-10-24 03:53 pm (UTC)Thank you, Sara
Date: 2008-10-24 03:54 pm (UTC)Carolyn
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Date: 2008-10-24 04:23 pm (UTC)I am sad for you and your family.
hugs.
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Date: 2008-10-24 04:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-25 02:16 pm (UTC)I'm sure that you will be the greatest *special* Aunt ever.
Love, S.