Kevin's Hands

Today, one week after Kevin's death, we said good bye.  I know the reality of him being gone has not set in.  The necessity to make decisions and complete tasks has pushed me through this week.  When I thought I would be struggling at the visitation and funeral, I found myself lifted by the many hugs and kind words of literally hundreds and hundreds of people.  There was no overwhelming grief. No crushing fatigue.  Instead there were smiles and laughter and handshakes and hugs.

Will I crash? Yes, but not today.  There were too many wonderful people celebrating Kevin's life...helping me to appreciate even more the man I shared my life with. Thank you, God, for letting Kevin be a part of my life.

At the funeral today, I shared these words I had written prior to Kevin's passing.  Was I sure I could stand up there and do this? Absolutely not.  But I believe, once again, Kevin was giving me his strength.

Kevin’s Hands

            Thank you for taking the time to come together today to celebrate Kevin’s life. Some of you have known Kevin since he was a cute little baby where his tiny fingers may have wrapped themselves around your finger.  Others may have known Kevin since he was a young boy where I envision his hands were often quite grubby as he was busy following his Dad or Grandpa around on the farm or chasing his brothers and sister.

Some of us came to know Kevin in high school.  There his hands were large and manly. As a woman, I don’t have tiny, petite hands. But Kevin’s hands next to mine made me feel small.  Not small as in diminished, but small as in protected and safe.

Many of you knew Kevin’s hands to be rough and callused and dirty.  Over the years the grease and oil of his labor had made an almost permanent stain.  When Kevin would try to “give me 5” to little kids, they often pulled back thinking he was dirty and needed to wash his hands. Back when we were getting ready to be married, it was common for the groom to wear a white tux. We knew that Kevin’s stained hands would stand out against that white suit so he spent time soaking them in bleach before the wedding. And over the years, if Kevin spent time away from work on vacation, we would tease him if his hands started to appear white again.  Time to go back to work.

He had so many calluses that heat didn’t bother him.  He was known for reaching into a campfire with his bare hands and turning a piece of wood or grabbing a foil packet off the grill without the use of tongs.

So why am I talking about Kevin’s hands? Because I think his hands represent who he was.

Kevin was physically strong. He didn’t work out or lift weights but he had muscle. Over the years, I can remember stories where some man… (let’s just keep it generic here so as not to offend anyone)… some man was pushing or pulling on something and struggling with all of their might.  Kevin would walk over, give it a grunt, and have it done.  I’m imagining some said, “How’d you do that?” while others just shook their head.

Kevin was mentally strong. As many of you know, I thought of him as my rock. While I fussed and worried, he would try to calm me down and put things in perspective. I’m hoping he can somehow continue to do that for me even though he isn’t physically present.

Kevin was funny…or at least he tried to be.  If things got tense, he could make me laugh, even if I didn’t want to. He had some zany one-liners like when someone asks, “What’s up?” Kevin would respond, “A chicken’s butt when it eats.” It just catches you off guard and makes you shake your head before moving on. Kevin used that sense of humor to tease kids.  He’d ask the craziest of questions or twist something they just said and then the poor kid would just look at him and not know what to say.  For example, a little boy might say, “I spilled on my pants at breakfast.” So Kevin would come back with, “You ate your pants for breakfast?” It didn’t take long for Kevin and his humor to forge a bond with a child. He liked to tease and he kept that sense of humor right up to the end.

Kevin was hard working. If it was farm work or spraying crops at the co-op or being a mechanic, he put in long hours to get the job done. Kevin wasn’t a procrastinator.  He didn’t wait until the last minute to take care of things in our home or yard or with our vehicles.  I always knew the lawn mower or snow blower would be ready when the time came.  If we were going on a trip, he would always check things over on the vehicle before we left and he’d pack a little tool bag just in case.

Kevin was a fix it man. I’ve always considered myself lucky to have a husband who knows his way around a tool box.  If something broke I often said, “Your dad can take a look at it when he comes home.” And he did. And he fixed it.  He enjoyed making things work again. When it came to his work, he knew his stuff and the guys at Peterbilt can vouch for that. Truckers would call for mechanical advice day or night.  Although, he did grumble about the calls where the driver says, over the phone, “My truck’s broke.  What’s wrong with it?” He always wondered how he was supposed to diagnose the problem over the phone. However, a customer told me this week, he would often call Kevin and describe what was wrong with his truck. He said, Kevin would tell him what was wrong, he would bring in the truck and 90% of the time his phone diagnosis was spot on. As I said, he knew his stuff.

In my opinion, what made Kevin good at what he did was his realization that he wasn’t just fixing a truck. He was helping a person. As I’ve witnessed this past year, he made a connection. So even if he screwed up or made a mistake, people knew he was giving his best and would try to make it right. You can’t ask for much more than that.

This past year, Kevin’s hands changed.  The stains and calluses disappeared. His hands were more pale and thin and soft. Just like his hands, Kevin’s softer side became more apparent.  The rough and tumble outer edge was wearing away. He was more outwardly emotional and appreciative. It was always there, just not on the surface for everyone to see.

I miss this guy.

He won’t be there to make sure my car is okay

or fix what I break

or be my muscles

or my strength

or make me laugh

or hold my hand… 

So I look to the Lord as it says in Isaiah: 

For I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand; 

it is I who say to you, 

“Fear not, I am the one who helps you.”