a brother's tribute (Part 5)

(part 5 -- story of Pat Kidd)


Once when he and my parents were headed west across the mountains in New Mexico, I think it was, Pat began to have difficulties, maybe discomfort in his ears from changes in pressure -  I don't know exactly.  Things got so bad, the family turned back and went home.  Another time we were all vacationing in northern Wisconsin, about to take the ferry from Bayfield to Madeline Island in Lake Superior.  We had two cars.  Susan's mother was riding with Susan and Sarah and me; Pat and Daddy and Mama were in the other car.  We had gotten our tickets and were lined up, waiting to drive onto the boat.  It would be fun for everyone - or so I had thought.  We were just talking and waiting when Pat silently got out of the car and walked to a nearby bench and sat down.  I didn't think anything of it at first, but it turned out that Pat had decided he would not get on that ferry.  It seems that a previous experience on a boat had made him fearful.  We went over to the bench to try to persuade Pat.   Sarah, and I tried being nice, and then we tried being ugly.  Nothing worked.  Pat was an adult now, too big to make do something like that.  So Pat and my parents stayed on the mainland that day.  After sightseeing on the island, the rest of us returned to the hotel, where we found that Pat and our parents were just then getting back too - and Pat was using a walker.  Early in the day he had tripped and hurt his knee, and I think constipation was a factor as well.  Constipation was a lifelong concern with Pat.  Anyhow that was the end of that vacation.


It took Pat a long time to recover from any injury.  Many years ago, when he hit his knee on a church pew here, it seemed to take him forever to get over it.  Last September 10, I think it was, he tripped on a bedspread at home and broke his right kneecap.  "Not my fault," Pat said.  After much tribulation at home and at the hospital, Pat underwent surgery to repair the kneecap, and then after a few days in the hospital went into a nursing home for a couple of weeks of therapy.  My dad spent every night with Pat.  Then at home Pat continued to undergo therapy twice a week, but it was a struggle for everyone because Pat was afraid it was going to hurt, and it probably did.  Thanksgiving came, and Pat made it to the family reunion - in a wheelchair.  Exactly a week later, Pat had a seizure at home, and that was the beginning of the end of his life in this world.  He was terrified of the hospital and all the testing that hospitals do.  He didn't want to be touched.  He seemed to have pneumonia or something wrong with his lung; perhaps he had aspirated during the seizure.  The five days at Harris Hospital were miserable for Pat and his parents.  Pat was crying out and belligerently resisting - he was not himself.  He did not want to be messed with; he wanted to be left alone.  He was having trouble breathing, he was not eating, and he had a blister on one of his heels from lying in bed on his back.


I did a computer search on the words "Down Syndrome life expectancy" and learned that at age 50, Pat was already old for a person with Down Syndrome. I read that people with Down Syndrome develop Alzheimer's Disease if they live long enough, and that "late onset epilepsy" is also common.  It became clear that Pat's time on earth was running out, that his quality time was over, and that the best approach would be simply to make him as comfortable as possible.  The transfer to Vitas Hospice at Baylor All Saints Medical Center brought immediate relief to Pat and his parents and everyone else who was aware of his struggle.


After Pat had his seizure and was so agitated in the hospital, I really didn't know how to pray except for peace and for God to work out the best for Pat and for the rest of us.  I know that many of you were praying, as well as my congregation in Dakota, and others.  I give thanks that God answered our prayers, and I trust that God has provided for my brother, Pat, and that he will provide for us all, always.


Many things we cannot explain - why things happen the way they do - why Pat was the way he was.  Things would have been different if he had been so-called normal.  My life would have been different. Would it have been better?  I don't think so.  I would not wish Down Syndrome on anyone, and yet I give thanks for my brother Pat as he was; I am grateful to have had him as a brother, and I know that all of you have been blessed as well.  You know, life is given. Our genetic makeup is give, our circumstances are given.  Our spiritual gifts are just that: gifts from God.  Paul wrote the church at Corinth, "What have you that you did not receive?  If then you received it, why do you boast as if it were not a gift?"  Today we give thanks to God for the gift of Pat, who had a way of humbling us and grounding us in the things that really matter:  hope and love and simple, childlike faith.  We give thanks that Pat was who he was and that we are who we are, even as we pray for the way that we shall be some day in Jesus name.   Amen.
(used by permission)


I agree, Amen.