The Montana services will be held on Jan. 16, as discussed in previous blog posts. Also, Kurt's obituaries have recently run in the Billings Gazette and Great Falls Tribune ~ both are available on the newspapers' websites.
A few of you asked me to post the comments I gave yesterday at Kurt's service, so they are posted after the jump. MORE
Thank you all for coming today. This phenomenal turnout is such a reflection of Kurt ~ the multitudes of lives he touched, the hundreds of people who are better for having known him. Kurt was always astonished at the overwhelming love and support he received throughout his cancer battle…like most truly good people, he gave all of his love and humor to us, never expecting anything in return. And so he was humbled by the network of friends and family who stood by both of us over the last 15 months.
I have been so comforted to hear your stories about him….to see my wonderful husband through your eyes and to learn what he meant to you. I’ve heard his humor, love, compassion, wit, intellect, drive, leadership, and passion reflected in your memories. And I have heard him characterized in so many ways ~ each label a component of the man who meant so much to so many. Those stories are his living legacy, the imprints he left on all of us. But the one label that I haven’t heard much about ~ one that I want to add to the playlist in your minds ~ is the one that most reflects the man I fell in love with: the football player.
Kurt loved football ~ playing it, watching it, coaching it….that man loved football. Our Sundays were spent on the couch, watching as many games as he could flip to on our Sunday Ticket. We would bet on games, argue over referee calls, commiserate over the Browns, and agonize over fantasy picks. In high school, separated by 200 miles, football games brought us together. And in those last days of his life here on earth, it was the football player in Kurt that I saw on vivid display.
I wondered so often, as I watched him in those final days, how he did it. How could Kurt be so fierce, when his body was getting so weak? How could Kurt demonstrate such steadfast faith in the Lord, when every day brought a new challenge? How could he look such an evil disease right square in the eye and chose to fight so bravely? A few days after Kurt died, it hit me – that’s just how you play the game. You size up your opponent, figure out the strengths and weaknesses, you go out on that field, and you play 60 minutes of football. Your opponent may be bigger, faster, or stronger, but when the ball is snapped, you put your hands up and block. As the clock ticks down, and the gap in the score seems insurmountable, you don’t walk off the field. Every down, every play, you give it your all. And when that clock hits zero, the only way you feel good about your game – regardless of which side of the score you are on – is when you left it all on the field. That is what makes a champion.
So that is what Kurt did. He played. Every minute of that battle, he gave his all. In the face of all evil, sickness, fear, and disbelief, Kurt stood firm in the Word of Our Lord, never questioning what he was being asked to do. He didn’t quit, no matter the odds, no matter the physical world. He trusted in the Lord, displaying more courage and faith in two weeks than most of us will show in a lifetime. When he could not remember his own name, he could quote the Scripture. Kurt’s last words to me were to tell me to leave the room….because in those final minutes, he didn’t quit being my husband either, trying to protect me from every bad thing that he could. Every down, every play – he didn’t quit. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t give into fear or pity. He fought that battle with every ounce of determination he had.
It would be so predictable to continue the football analogy here, to talk about grace in defeat, being a good sport, to start to use phrases like “my husband lost his battle with cancer.” And what a tragedy such language would be, given how Kurt faced cancer. As many of you know, Kurt and I chose to create a blog after he was diagnosed, and we called it “Waging War.” That’s how Kurt characterized his choice – war. There was no time or place for pity, melodrama, or panic. We would fight cancer on all fronts: medicine, diet, faith, humor … every weapon we could get our hands on would be brought to bear against this evil, unacceptable presence. So now, to end that story with a loss – I just reject that. It’s not true.
Kurt and I prayed for healing here on earth, knowing that cancer is not a part of God’s will or God’s plan for Kurt’s life. So many of you joined us in those prayers. If Kurt’s healing had been manifest here on earth….that would have been a transformative victory. But it would have been a victory in a battle. Had Kurt walked out of Johns Hopkins cancer-free, he would have gone on to face more battles. That’s what our lives here on earth are – trials, battles, difficulties….plenty of good, but challenges and sorrows as well. Instead, on that last day, Kurt went all in, and he won the War. Never content to settle for halfway, Kurt stared down cancer, refusing to let it or any physical infirmity separate him from the Lord, shake his faith, or weaken his spirit. Kurt claimed the only victory that truly matters – life everlasting. There are no more battles. The war has been won. Cancer will never touch you again, nor will any sadness, harm, or loss come near you. That is a total win, and I am so proud of you for it.
On that last day, I didn’t leave the room, of course….and as I watched those last breaths come of out him, I was washed in the acute sense of helplessness that has characterized so much of the last 15 months. I couldn’t take the cancer from Kurt, I couldn’t take the chemo for him, and in the end, I couldn’t keep that precious life in his body. So many of you, from the time Kurt was diagnosed up to and following his final days here on earth have asked me what you can do to help. And I struggled with that question, because there was so little I could do myself. Kurt was forced to look his own mortality in the eye just three short weeks after he turned 30 … a backrub from me seemed pretty insignificant in light of the path Kurt had to walk.
After Kurt went on to his reward, I found that helplessness turning into guilt …. guilt that I couldn’t fix it, guilt that I couldn’t protect him. Kurt could fix anything, and he was always there to take care of me. My mother gave me a quotation by Edna St. Vincent Millay that has stuck with me: “The most I ever did for you was to outlive you.” So, that is what we can do. We can celebrate the fact that Kurt will never have to grieve for any of us, never again experience the loss of a loved one. Instead, I know he is beside himself with excitement ~ so eager to welcome us and tell us what is in store. He is filled with anticipation … Christmas morning times a million! The 15 years Kurt and I spent together on earth are a tiny fraction of what awaits. I know that Kurt chose to walk ahead of us all, to show us the way, to not settle for a partial victory but instead to defeat every sickness and sadness.
I would be lying if I said coming to that conclusion is easy – it isn’t, and it is still a process. I struggle to reconcile my husband’s premature death with a loving and merciful God. I will not for one minute sit here and tell you that I believe this is all a part of God’s plan. It isn’t. Cancer is nothing but pure evil sent by the enemy who comes to steal and destroy. But Kurt looked that evil in the eye, he did not doubt or fear, and he defeated … eternally… that vile disease. I know – we all know – how much Kurt loved his life. He lived every moment full of humor and joy and love. He wanted to live here on earth with us. Therefore, I can only conclude that whatever the Lord showed Kurt on that last day is so extraordinary, so comforting, so wonderful beyond comprehension that Kurt could make no choice but to go. For those of us who knew him best, it was so ordinary to trust Kurt’s judgment – his reading of the wind, his modifications to designs, his combine repairs…when Kurt issued a directive, we all tended to follow, including me … despite what he might have wanted everyone to believe. So, what reason do we have to doubt him now? I know he made the right choice on that final day. I choose to believe that Kurt found the ultimate, everlasting victory on that final day, and that he can not wait to tell us all about it.
As comforting as that thought is, I miss Kurt with every single breath I take. He is my soulmate, and that is a hole that will never be filled. I think about everything he is missing here, and how unfair it all is. But, then in almost the same thought, I think about how ridiculous he would find that sentiment. I remember times when I would come home from some swanky reception, feeling like I was so important. Kurt would be at home, on the couch in his boxers, watching some horribly boring show about World War II or guns or something. I would feel terrible that I got to do something so fabulous while Kurt got left at home, and start apologizing about all the wonderful things I got to do. Kurt would then have to explain … again … that boxers and the History Channel are always better than suits and small talk. I expect we could have a very similar conversation today.
Those are the things I wanted you all to know about him, as you solidify your memories of him. Kurt taught us so much about how to live, and how to embrace life everlasting. We have the privilege of sharing those stories with each other and with others, knowing that every single one of us is better for having known him. That is an amazing thing to be able to say about such a young life.
2 comments:
Beautifully said . . .
Your comments on Monday were delivered beautifully as well as being a wonderful tribute to your husband.
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