I wrote this blog a couple years ago. I repost it now because I only recently learned that the reason I am so blessed as to have a car is due to the inheritance left by the passing of my great uncle. So now each time I get into my car, where I used to simply thank God for the generic blessing of a vehicle, I can now thank God more specifically for the life of Kermit. C. King that is continuing to be a blessing even after his passing.
I traveled to and returned from my Great Great Uncle Kermit’s funeral services today. I say services because we had one at the mortuary and then another one at the gravesite. It was a joyously sad day.
I walked into the Kuehl Chapel on Spring St. in Paso Robles and saw my family up at the front. I walked to them and we all embraced, I made sure to save my dad for last since I wanted to give him the longest hug. After greeting them and my extended family (grandma, great uncle and uncle) I looked at the displays arranged around the open casket. I delayed on approaching Kermit in his eternal repose. I know not why I felt a need to wait, but wait I did. I looked at the pictures, his “Board of Education” (a paddle board used to discipline students when he was a teacher and principle) and a few other pieces of memorabilia. After exhausting my instruments of procrastination I moved to the casket.
There he laid. Quiet, somber, still. Gone was the mischievious smile. Closed were the bright eyes and, therefore, impossible were the loving winks he used to give me (of which I have noticed myself beginning to use more and more). He looked pale, was clean shaven and seemed as if he had lost weight. His paleness isn’t such a mystery, his lack of a stubble was to be expected but still strange… it made him look younger. But the loss of weight made me wonder if he stopped eating very much in the days leading up to his passing. I know not. But I felt a sense of detachment. The man I saw lying before me was not the one whom I reminisced about life in Santa Barbara with a few weeks prior. And yet it was him. It was his body. The spirit that I sought was no longer in the casket. I heard a familiar phrase in my mind “Why do you look for the living amongst the dead?”
I sat down with my family and we waited patiently for the service to start. Kermit was a member of the Masonic Lodge in Paso Robles, and thus the service was conducted in Masonic fashion. One of the members read a long-winded introductory piece that felt far too rehearsed and rather impersonal.
Kermit felt further and further away.
Then the Mason invited my dad up to speak. I felt as if time had slowed down as he walked to the podium. To me, the loss of Kermit would hit my father the worst out of nearly everyone. And here he was, walking into the spotlight to speak. He opened his folder (he’s always so prepared) and pulled out his notes. He spoke of memories of Kermit, of feelings about and for Kermit, he spoke of the profound effect Kermit had on so many lives. He spoke of the part of himself that was lying in that casket.
During this entire proceeding of Kermit’s death, from the phone call I got announcing it through now, I have only cried 3 times and they were brief and perhaps more of a tearing up than crying. The first was when I spoke to my dad for the first time on the phone after hearing about it; when he began convincing himself and me that Kermit’s passing was sorrowful and yet relieving. Then when I wrote about Kermit in my e-mail to my friends and family brought tears to my eyes. The third time was while my dad spoke. I heard stories I had never heard before and saw strength I hope to possess as well.
My dad concluded his speaking by reading a letter from the principal of Kermit King Elementary, who was out of town and so faxed in a letter. After my dad finished the Mason resumed his position at the podium.
When my father sat down next to his brother, I looked at them and could see the emotion rippling just beneath the surface. But they remained in control and carried on. They’re fraternal compassion and sympathy was nearly tangible and yet only visible in a few words or touches.
The Mason opened up the floor to any and all who had remembrances of Kermit. Many stories were shared. Many lives were influenced. This was the Kermit I knew. The laughter we all had, the smiles that persisted through the mourning, the happiness that we all found because Kermit is where he has wanted to be since 1925: with his wife Dolly.
Kermit King and Dolly McCarthy were married in 1925 and she passed away on their 75th wedding anniversary. For the past 5 and a half years, Kermit has wondered why he was still alive and why Dolly didn’t wait for him. He often would break down at the thought of her having passed, even if it was years ago. Their love was incredible.
No story of Kermit was lacking something laughable, laudable or lovable. And yet so many stories brought the focus back onto Kermit’s love for his wife.
This has been something I have always marveled at.
Kermit King was born October 4th, 1900. He died April 11, 2006. Sit back and think about what all he lived through. He touched 3 centuries and 2 millennia. He saw 2 World Wars begin, be fought and end. He saw 27 presidential elections. He saw one president assassinated. He watched Hawaii, Alaska, Arizona, New Mexico and Oklahoma become states. He was born before and died after Mother Theresa, Martin Luther King Jr., J.R.R Tolkein, Victor Borge, and the Pet Rock. Look at this list: cars, planes, the Atomic Bomb, Women’s Rights, Civil Rights, Vietnam, Desert Storm/Shield, 9/11, moving pictures, color, television, computers, internet, all 6 Star Wars, Great Depression, Apollo missions, etc. etc. etc.
Now think of all of the things he experienced, all the people he met (and he loved people), all the places he went. All of this intertwining and coalescing to make a truly unique and abundantly full life. And yet what was his focus in life? His true love. This self-evident truth spoke volumes to me today. The world can go from crazy (World Wars) to wonderful (the post WWII boom) back to crazy (9/11 and after) and yet it was merely the undulation of life for Kermit. These things were important. These things had their place. But the most important thing that had the special place in his heart was Dolly King.
When I thought about this throughout the service at the chapel, I felt myself hoping that I will be remembered in a similar fashion. I also felt great admiration for my father. As I said, this loss would hit him the hardest and yet he was the one in charge of orchestrating everything: the funeral, the business with Kermit’s will, the reception, the gravesite service, the notification of numerous family members scattered across the nation… I looked longingly at my parents as they supported each other through this difficult time. Their hugs, hand-squeezes or status inquiries seemed to be far more moving and genuine than the countless similar gestures by everyone else.
After the service the group migrated to a Masonic/Shriners’ lodge for a luncheon and more time to converse and share. Seeing tons of familiar faces but not recollecting the numerous names reminded me of how often Kermit brought us all together. And yet, as we all realized, there now was no real reason for us to ever gather again. Many goodbyes were said to those whom would probably never be seen again.
At 2PM a few went to the cemetary to be a part of the gravesite service. A Christian Scientist presided over the ceremony. All he did was read from various sources: the Bible, a hymnal, the Christian Scientists’ extra-Biblical writings. It felt very superficial and false. Gone were the gales of laughter over storytelling. Gone was the feeling of intense interconnectedness. Instead, there was a man reading passages from so many places that any semblance of a thread of connection beyond the concept of death was lost. And the sheer amount of material read was dulling and superfluous. I began droning it out with my own musings on life, death and life-again.
After the temporally short, yet realistically long, service I was shown how many family members were buried nearby. A few words were exchanged with the remaining family members and/or friends. And then came time for me to depart. I said goodbye to the family that were not in the car with me (I needed to be taken back to my car) and watched from afar as Kermit’s casket was lowered 6 feet under. I got in the car and my family dropped me off.
Despite the circumstances, my dad still spoke to me as if I was going above and beyond for having come. I wonder if the independence I have has alienated us so much that attending a loved-one’s funeral is extra-ordinary. On the way to the graveyard, my dad shared with me that had Kermit passed away at the ripe-old age of 80, he would have reacted incredibly differently than he was now. He attributed it to his wife and children being there for him. I managed a lame reply. As we said goodbye my parents still made it a point to think of me and my life. They told me to drive safe, to keep working hard and to pass on various messages to Kristen.
I love and miss Kermit. For myself, the answer to his question: “Why has God kept me alive?” has been manifested today. The love he poured out to everyone issued forth to support and strengthen a room full of Kermit’s family, friends and admirers.
We will miss you Kermit. Rest in Peace.
“I’m the luckiest guy in the world, I have a frog and a school named after me.”
-Kermit
