Libby's Tribute (From Memorial Service)

Note: This one of several tributes we'll publish in the next weeks from Mary Kuhn's Memorial service on March 02, 2012.


Thoughts and Remembrances about my mom, Mary Kuhn Rowntree Rogers:
By Libby Rogers

So many people spend their days searching out mentors and teachers and wise people to guide them and teach them and help them find answers to life’s many mysteries. But Mark, Leah and I were so much luckier than most. We were born to this kind, intelligent and sensitive woman. She was a magnificent role model and a sage who eventually became a trusted confidante and a fun-loving friend.  How very fortunate we’ve been!

Through the years, mom showed me what it meant to be a good and genuine person; she showed me what kind of woman I wanted to be; and she led me through the intricacies of becoming a wife, a mother, a hostess and a friend. Even after I was grown, I realized my life lessons at the School-Of-Kuhn were continuing, and I spent years being amazed and impressed by the type of grandmother she became and how she managed so effortlessly to make a new generation of young students feel worthy and beloved and cherished and valued.

Most of mom’s lessons were done quietly and without verbal instruction. She taught by her actions and her willingness, when asked, to share her perceptions and her thoughts.

And what’s not to love about Kuhne? We all know about her generous heart and her impressive intellect. Most of us have experienced her welcoming manner and the way she always put others at ease. And how about the way she offered up guidance: always so gentle and free of judgment or guile? With Kuhn, you always knew she had your best interests at heart and that she respected your abilities. And, heaven forbid, if you were unwise enough to ignore her advice or choose a different path, she wouldn’t even be irritated or judge you harshly.

**  Most likely, I won’t be the only one here today to discuss mom’s wonderful curiosity about life or to celebrate her extreme love of language.  (The latter was so amazing, wasn’t it? People always tell me that I use big words, but I just laugh when I hear that because they obviously don’t know my mom. Her terrific vocabulary was all-the-more impressive because she never demonstrated arrogance about it or made others feel self-conscious about their own limitations in that regard.)

But, as Kuhne’s daughter and as a regular recipient of her attentions and love, one of the things I found most wondrous about her was her adventurous spirit. She preached a quiet-yet-firm message of living in the moment, indulging in the simple pleasures life has to offer, and keeping fun on our daily agendas.

As a grandmother and as a mature woman, Kuhne had what I would call “a youthful zest,” and I always felt that this was one of the central qualities that made her such “a favorite auntie” and drew people to her for counsel and conversation and a touch of that unique worldly perspective.

Besides, who can resist someone who reminds you that having fun together is just as important a virtue as working hard, doing the right thing, helping others and caring for your families?

According to mom, just because joyful moments are precious doesn’t mean they have to be rare, and they come in so many forms. For her, this usually meant reading a good book or mastering a challenging crossword puzzle, or maybe, taking a nature walk so you can spy on deer and listen to the birds. There’s also the easy joy of simply sitting in the midst of a noisy gaggle of relatives and enjoying the companionable sharing that is always a part of that familiar scene.

The word “mischief” always makes me grin and think of mom because Kuhne, ever the devoted and doting grandmother, was famed for her spontaneous Saturday morning phone calls with the polite inquiry, “Are the kids up for some mischief?”  She was always frugal with herself but incredibly generous with others, and she specialized in concocting schemes intended to produce both momentary joy and lasting impressions. She’d roar up to the house and honk her horn to collect her bunnies for excursions to museums or movies — or maybe just the library —  and these were almost always followed by a refreshment likely to involve milkshakes, fries and other treats not on our usual health-conscious menu plan.

I had a few specific “mental snapshots” this week that might give you an idea about the type of mischief Grandma favored:
* hiring a former zoo employee who raised exotic animals to bring  talking parrots and a giant yellow boa constrictor to my house to entertain the grandchildren on one of Robert & David’s summer birthday parties. (Kuhne, of course, was the first to allow the 20-foot creature to be draped across her shoulders and neck, and looped around her neck a few times.)
* teaching my kids how to bob for apples when Meredith decided this was a required activity of a birthday celebration. (I gotta tell you, until you’ve seen a 70-year-old woman immerse her head in a cooler of ice water and come out with a tiny apple delicately clutched in her jaws, and to do so REPEATEDLY, you haven’t really lived. It’s quite an impressive sight.)

The kidnapping of Cameron

* kidnapping a grandson who thought he’d gotten too old for birthdays. This was accomplished by donning a sombrero, giant plastic sunglasses, a bandana over her nose and mouth and, of course, plastic water guns twirling at her hips.  (For what it’s worth: she was very convincing, and Cameron accompanied his banditos without complaint.)

So many treasured memories. So many; yet, not nearly enough.

Her death, her dying, still feels so surreal. I’m having trouble imaging how any of us will get on without her. She’s been the glue of my own life and of our entire family.

Truth be told, I feel like a toddler taking my first awkward, random, unbalanced steps, haphazardly hoping for forward motion while incessantly falling on my face.

Friends tell me it will get easier, that time will help with the healing and the strong memories will help me find the strength I need to find my way without her.

In being forced to say goodbye, two big words come to the forefront.
THANK YOU.

Thank you for everything. Thank you for being such an adventurous spirit, a champion of the little guy and a thinker with an amazing outward focus. Thank you for being that bright beacon in my life, offering gentle reminders of how to do things right and how to live with your heart on your sleeve and your goodwill toward others taking precedence over selfish desires.

I couldn’t ask for a better mom, I couldn’t have hoped for a better example, and I couldn’t miss anybody more than I will miss you.

THANK YOU, Mama.
I’ll try to be brave.