Kenny

My hands are cold and I can't help but think of Kenny.

In the summer of 2008, I met a man named Kenneth through mutual friends in the theatre. Everyone called him 'Kenny'... and a small collective referred to him as the 'Falstaff of Tempe'.

Kenny was gregarious and acerbic... a larger-than-life personality. Incredibly intelligent, artistic, and genuinely funny, Kenny kept company with a diverse group of people and had a stunningly beautiful girlfriend who was a good 20 years younger than he. Even if his mouth wasn't curved upwards, his eyes were always twinkling with a hidden smile of mischief or merriment.

I never knew a healthy Kenny. He had been battling cancer for some time, and was frequently marred with the sticky residue left behind by medical tape and medicinal patches. His large frame couldn't hide his pale skin or the dark circles under his eyes. He had good days and bad days dependent on his level of pain and discomfort. There was always some level of discomfort. Often I would visit and the first question would be "So, is it a good day or a bad day?" His response was likely something to the effect of, "Well, I'm not dead yet, so it's gotta be a good day."
Because I have a hard time opening up to people, and am especially private about my own medical affairs, I expected Kenny to keep me at 'arms distance' (as I probably would have done if the roles were reversed). He was guarded the first couple of times we met and later explained that he had some preconceived notions about my character based on gossip from mutual acquaintances. By the third or fourth time we met, however, we were talking about music and art, exchanging favored clips on youtube, discussing children, parenting, politics. It wasn't long before I was harassing him to play his banjo for me while we joked and yukked it up. Every time he called, I answered the phone with the same greeting. "What's the frequency, Kenneth?"

On his 'good days', there was laughter... and much of it. On his 'bad days' he would talk about death and I would snap at him for being such a Negative Nancy. By the late Fall, Kenny's health was deteriorating. On the surface, he didn't look any different... but his breathing was a bit more labored and it took more effort to move from one place to another. He was having a rougher time and his girlfriend invited Jason and I over to lift his spirits and spend some time together. I remember that night so well. We laughed... Boy, did we laugh...
Kenny was a collector. He loved the quirky items you only find at private garage or estate sales... the kinds of things antique shops would have no interest in. Old personal family photos from decades long forgotten, outdated magazines from the 40's and 50's with ads for cigarettes and weight-gain products for women desirous of being more 'curvy'. Ha! We went through cracked and worn black and white pictures of people we never knew and made up stories about who they were and what their lives were like. It was a wonderful night.

Shortly after that, Kenny was admitted into Hospice. It was a rude awakening for me as I was in denial about how bad his health really was. How could he be dying when we were just laughing and joking and sharing stories about life and human nature and making the world a better place?? Kenny was one of the good ones and I wasn't ready to let go of such a precious friend who was so new to my life.

Kenny returned home from Hospice, but my joy was short-lived when I realized it wasn't because he was getting better but rather because he needed the comfort of home to ease his passing. I was crushed.

It was now starting to cool down as Winter approached. Our visits were shorter now as Kenny was confined to his bed. I would pop in to say 'Hi' and see how he was feeling. At this point, the illness and the medications were wreaking havoc on his system. He was constantly hot and uncomfortable and I felt helpless not being able to do anything to ease his discomfort. Until the evening I came in and hugged him before realizing that my hands were icy cold from being outside. I apologized for my cold hands, but before I could remove them, he grabbed them and put them on his burning forehead, groaning dramatically with relief. It became a ritual that I would stop in and warm my hands on Kenny's face, back and neck... giving him a short reprieve from the burning within.

I remember the call from Chelsea (his girlfriend) when she suggested I might want to come by for a visit. We had just finished rehearsal down the road and so my friend Jim and I popped over for a quick visit.

Kenny and I talked briefly again about some of the same subjects that had become routine. He talked about dying, and expressed his acceptance of that and his contentment with his life. We talked about our children and the 'legacy' we leave behind. He was so proud of his son, calling him his 'best accomplishment' and believing him to be the sole purpose of his life. He asked me the same question he had asked on prior occasions, "Why are you so nice to me?" I didn't understand the question. I would reply that 'you reap what you sow' and that I couldn't imagine NOT being nice to someone like Kenny... who was so immediately likeable. When I was with Kenny, I didn't worry about how I looked or concern myself with being PC and saying the right thing. He was just openly accepting of people... because he loved them. Well, most of them... ;) I knew something was different that night. Kenny wasn't smiling like he had before. In and out of consciousness, his mood was somber and his tone was serious when he spoke. I joked a smile out of him finally and gave him a last hug before saying my goodbyes. As I hugged him, he whispered in my ear "Pray for me."
And I did.
Kenny died that day.

It was the last time I saw him and the memory of our conversation still brings tears to my eyes. When I feel despondent or have lost my faith in humanity, Kenny's words echo in my soul... reminding me to give people the freedom to be flawed and to love them anyway. There are times when I think he was a much better person than I could ever hope to be. He was the last person who was truly 'kind' to me... for no reason.

It is approaching the one-year anniversary of his passing. I didn't realize that until I sat down on the patio and attempted to type with fingers half-frozen from the cold winter morning.

My hands are cold and I can't help but think of Kenny.