Memories of Kenny

My Life with Kenny

Kenneth Wayne Farmer  (1960-2023)

Memories of Kenny
____________________ 

by Carolyn Farmer

It was very early in our dating - I'm guessing it was the summer of 2014. Although we had known each other since high school, we didn't start dating until March, 2014, after each of us had gone through painful divorces. But together, we overcame, kept each other company, and became each other's sounding boards.

I was working at St. Mark's Evangelical Lutheran Church at the time as organist and choir director. Kenny and I had volunteered to work that summer at Vacation Bible School (VBS). As a smaller congregation, our VBS was held in the evenings, most likely somewhere between 6:00 to 8:00. So Kenny and I firstly went out for dinner. For whatever reason, I decided to leave a review for the restaurant, and I started it with saying that I was having dinner with my best friend. Kenny picked up on this and did not let it go. Until we married a few years later, he always referred to me as his best friend.

After our dinner, we arrived at St. Mark's, and we went to work at our station, which was held on the newly renovated patio. Because our station was outside, we were in charge of the exploding diet coke bottle trick. This is where you put Mentos into the diet coke bottle, and it becomes a geyser. The kids loved it and so did Kenny. He was having a blast, and I was having fun watching him having a blast. He was very good with the kids.

I didn't have anything to do with planning VBS or the activities. Still, when the pastor saw what we were doing on "his" newly renovated patio, he also - like the coke bottle - erupted. 

One of the things that attracted Kenny to me - I'm sure of it - was my love of Star Trek. I was a huge trekkie growing up, but I had only ever watched The Original Series. He was excited to introduce me to all the newer Star Trek spin-offs. My favorite was Star Trek: Voyager. Kate Mulgrew and Jeri Ryan? Get out of here! We were so excited to watch everything together. In a previous blog, I had written that Kenny and I had watched every Star Trek ever made in order twice, and that is true. But we also watched it the first time out of order, starting with The Next Generation.

One of the first stories I told Kenny was about how I went through a phase, as a child, of trying to talk with a Russian accent like Lt. Chekov in The Original Series. My mother once asked me if we needed anything at the store, and I told her we needed bread. She asked what kind of bread to get, so I said - very confidently - Vonder Bread! And she was like, "What?" Kenny thought that story was hilarious. He also was very impressed that I could play on the piano by ear the song that Spock sang in the episode entitled Subspace Rhapsody.

After we were married, I decided one year to have my own birthday party, and so I invited my dear friend, Carol, along with my daughter and her fiancé to breakfast. The menu was one-sided. When my daughter arrived, she and her fiancé sat down and started to look at the menu. Kenny said to the table, "there's more options on the back of the menu," I, knowing Kenny pretty well by this time, was stoic and did not touch my menu. My daughter, however, believed him and turned her menu over and saw for herself that there was nothing on the other side. Kenny thought this was hilarious and so did Stephanie's fiancé. Strike one up for the boys!

At another time with Stephanie and Chris, the four of us were at Bob Evans for breakfast. Kenny got his usual biscuits and gravy with a side of bacon. And not just a side of bacon, but it had to be chewy bacon. We were all talking and having a good time and Kenny was munching away on his chewy bacon. Then, when that plate was empty and full of bacon grease, he poured the bacon grease into his gravy and stirred it up. Stephanie and I had the biggest, widest eyes, but Chris whispered into Stephanie's ear, "Let the man live." Then Chris turned to Kenny and said, "You now how to live, don't you?" And Kenny replied, "Yes, I do!"

Kenny was quite the character and was always just doing things. He would turn the lights off in a room if there wasn't anyone in it, even if you had just left for one moment to grab something. He had this sense when there was a light on in a room that no one was in. If you left that room, you'd come back to it in the dark. He also couldn't sort laundry to save his life. I can't tell you how many times I had to take the washcloths out of the dish towel drawer and take them to the bathroom. Or how many times he put his Deaconess Hospital pin code into our front door keypad. And he would just giggle and shake his head whenever he did this, because, of course, the Deaconess pin code didn't work at home.

He loved turning my pages when I was playing the organ or piano at church, even though I could've done it on my own just fine. I used those little post-it tabs to mark my places on the music and one Sunday, with huge grandeur, he grabbed that tab to turn my page. The tab, of course, came off, and my page didn't get turned. 

But more than anything, Kenny was good in a crisis. How many times did he swoop in and save the day? I can't count them. He loved his dogs and his tomatoes, and his big green egg. He loved to sing, and he was good at it. We spent many an evening just singing together in our living room.

It has almost been a year since he's been gone. I have done pretty well as a widow, thanks to my support groups - which consists of my friends, my family, my students, and my church. But as a memorial to my late husband, I have made a new subset for this blog called My Life with Kenny. I will remember him the best way possible by writing his stories as best as I can remember.

© 2024 by December Moonlight Publishing, LLC

My Husband’s Final Three Days

My Life with Kenny

Kenneth Wayne Farmer  (1960-2023)

My Husband’s Final Three Days
____________________ 

by Carolyn Farmer

The University of Louisville Hospital, as you may have guessed, is a teaching hospital. Doctors round each day with their students, and it felt like Kenny had a different doctor every single day while he was there. Every single day, the diagnoses and prognoses would be different. I would send a text out telling everyone what the doctor had said and quite literally, the next minute, another healthcare worker would tell me something completely different. I believe the disconnect was the copious amount of wine Kenny had been drinking. Drinking oneself to death is pretty common, actually. I know it now, but not then. Nor was this a diagnosis some wanted to accept, and I understand. Even so, alcohol abuse was listed on his death certificate as the contributing cause of his death. His severe outbreak of psoriasis didn't help.

Friday, March 17, 2023

U of L is BUSY. The Neuro ICU, where Kenny died, was a bustling hub of activity. Still, everyone there was sure to be quiet, because it was the Neuro ICU. People are trying to recover and noise can hinder that recovery, particularly those with neurological disorders.  And so I sat with my husband, as I had been doing the past 3 weeks, quietly reading and talking to him, even though he was unresponsive. Lunch was sushi in the cafeteria. I have a laundry list of foods I cannot eat, and I was ever so grateful for that sushi. Afternoons again were for quiet reading. Noise of any kind was strictly prohibited.

I cannot drive in the dark, because I cannot see in the dark. And this was a particularly dark March, I felt, not to mention that Louisville is an hour ahead of Evansville. I wouldn't be able to get on the interstate from my hotel to the hospital until nearly 7 am, because of the dark. Believe me, I tried. I decided to drive in the dark to the hospital one morning, and it was a disaster. I will never do it again. I nearly wrecked the car and thank God for his grace, I didn't, but I came awfully close. In the afternoons, I would leave the hospital around 4, so that I could be in the hotel room and settled before the darkness set in.

Saturday, March 18, 2023

Saturday morning, I received great news!!! After many back-and-forth conversations, Kenny was approved for in-home hospice care. I was told to immediately leave for Evansville, where hospice would meet me, so that we could get the bedroom set up with a hospital bed and everything else I would need to take care of my husband. I was very excited on the drive home. Kenny was going to be able to come home! How grateful I was that he had finally been approved. I was going to bring Kenny home!

I wasn't back in Evansville for a minute when hospice called. The hospital, they said, had changed its mind - again. And then the hospital called to tell me that Kenny had taken a turn for the worst. That meant getting right back into the car and heading right back to the hospital - another 2-hour drive. Fortunately my daughter and future son-in-law decided to come get me and take me to the hospital, so that I wouldn't have to drive any more that day. And that's what we did. We drove back to Louisville.

I also had reached out to one of our church's vicars, Jason, to see if he could come deliver what you might call "last rites." I knew for certain by this time that my husband's death was imminent, and it was going to take place in Louisville. Jason was pleased, he said, to drive to Louisville to minister to my husband. When Jason got there, it was a quiet jubilation, a true celebration of Kenny's life and Kenny's Lutheran faith. We prayed together, Jason quietly played hymns on his phone, he blessed my husband, and "gave" him last communion - which, of course, Kenny could not ingest, so Jason improvised the best he could. The nurse thought Kenny would die the minute they took him off high-flow oxygen. So, while Jason was there, she turned it off. But he didn't die. He started breathing on his own.

After two hours, Jason headed back to Evansville. Later, Stephanie, Chris, and I got a hotel room together. We would go back the next morning to the hospital.

Sunday, March 19, 2023

Just a repeat of the same. Sitting with Kenny. Listening to him breathe. Praying. But Chris had to work the next morning, so we, unfortunately, had to leave the hospital later that afternoon. I was dependent on Chris for my transportation; I had no choice but to come back to Evansville. We had gotten to Corydon - about 40 minutes from the hospital - when the hospital called to tell us to please come back, because Kenny's passing was imminent. And so, we went back, but he wasn't passing. We sat with him nearly two more hours, but he looked exactly the same as when we had left the first time. Chris was desperate to get back to Evansville, because of his work. And so, we left once more. Kenny was not alone, however, because thankfully his children had come to be with him.

Once I got back to Evansville that Sunday evening, I checked in with Kenny's nurse several times, and I was assured that Kenny was going to live through the night. The nurse was positive of it. And so, I reserved a hotel room for the next evening and planned to once more head to Louisville the next morning as soon as it was light outside. Unfortunately, Kenny passed that evening. The nurse called to let me know.

Evansville is essentially a small town and gossip travels fast, especially on social media. People were and still are angry at me with how I handled my husband's illness and death. Some also didn't understand that U of L has a no tolerance policy for visitors who, in their grief, get a bit out of hand. People were demanding answers from me, and I just didn't have them. On those last 3 days, all I knew was that my husband indeed was going to die, and that I was going to become a widow. I didn’t have room for anything else. Not only that, the hospital didn't have the answers, either. Again, so much of what happened was disconnected. One day it was like this, and the next day it was like that.

I loved Kenny very much. He came back into my life at a time when I really needed him. And he needed me, too. I can't tell you how many hours I held onto that man while he was crying over his second wife leaving him. He never got over it, but he did get through it. I know how much Kenny did for me and is still blessing me to this day.

We only ended up with 9 years together as a couple, but in those 9 years, we were truly helpmates to each other. I miss Kenny dearly and will continue to miss him the rest of my life. But I know where he's at, and I know he's safe, and I know we will be together again, even though, if I could have my way, Kenny would walk through the front door this very minute.

© 2023 by December Moonlight Publishing, LLC

Kenneth Wayne Farmer, My Beloved Husband

My Life with Kenny 

Kenneth Wayne Farmer (1960-2023)

My Beloved Husband
____________________ 

by Carolyn Farmer

I met my third husband, Kenny Farmer, in 1977 when I was 16. We had just moved to Evansville, Indiana, and I enrolled for my junior year at Benjamin Bosse High School. Kenny and I were both in the jazz band, and we were friends. Not great friends, mind you, as I almost immediately hooked up with someone after moving here. But friends nonetheless.

After graduation, he went the way of finding a career as a union electrician while I myself went onto college. And that was that. When Facebook came along, though, Kenny friended me, and we had a ball catching up - through Facebook - not only remembering all the things that happened during jazz band at Bosse, but also everything that had happened the past 40 years since. And once again, that was that.

It wasn't until 2014 that we found each other once again. My second husband had filed for divorce and Kenny's second wife had left him. We were both lost and were both seriously pretty beat up. It made sense for us to get together and try to help each other through. And that's what we did. And we had a blast - not only reminiscing about our high school days but also talking through an entire lifetime of things that had happened since. We were a good match. We both loved to sing. We both loved going to church. We loved the same kind of TV shows and the same kinds of foods. We found that we had the same sense of humor. We were both Trekkies, and we watched every single Star Trek episode ever made IN ORDER. Not once but TWICE. Our chemistry together just worked.

I was working at St. Mark's Lutheran as organist and choir director at the time we got together, and it was a very good job. Kenny was going to Redeemer Lutheran, and he asked if I would quit St. Mark's and accompany him full-time to Redeemer. I had to think about it long and hard, because it was a good sum of money that I'd be walking away from. But he promised he would support me financially, and with that, I joined Kenny in the music program at Redeemer. It was magical. Honestly, it really was. Watch Kenny sing a small portion of "This Little Light of Mine" in this short clip with the Redeemer choir. I am first row, way over in the corner, in a black sweater and white pants, standing next to my dear friend, Monica Karsten.

It wasn't long after that Kenny asked me to move in with him. My daughter needed a place to call home anyway, and this was the perfect solution. Stephanie could live in the house I own with her boyfriend, and I could live with my friend, Kenny. We had become inseparable as it were, so I was glad to be able to be with him day and night. This arrangement continued for a while.

It was during this time that I wrote my third and last novel. It was also during this time that Kenny and I started The Uplifters Choir.  Our goal with the choir was to sing at a nursing home at least once a month, particularly to the homes that care for the Alzheimer's patients. Kenny's mom had Alzheimer's by this time, so it was something very dear to his heart. The Uplifters Choir was a smashing success, and Kenny and I had so much fun just being with these wonderful people, going out to eat with them and singing together. (Click on photos to enlarge.)

The Uplifters sing Heaven Bound. Notice Kenny at about the 2:08 mark, and you'll see for yourself how much he loved to sing!

I was so proud that Kenny was a union electrician working out of IBEW Local Union 16. He spent most of his 38 years as an electrician at Mel-Kay Electric. I loved hearing the stories of the old days when Mel Kallenbach was the head guy, who had founded Mel-Kay Electric in 1951. Kenny always spoke with such nostalgia about how hard the "old guys" were on him as a young man. He looked forward to the days when he would be one of the "old guys." I didn't quite understand then how much his entire identity was wrapped up in being a union electrician. I understand it now, unfortunately, very well.

Kenny and I continued on with our life together, eventually marrying in 2017. 

We got a cat together.

We went to the IBEW/JATC dinners - what fun!

And this was our life together. We sang together, even at home. He cooked meals for me, and I cooked meals for him. He always lamented that we didn't get together in high school. He loved me very much, and I loved him back just as much.

Kenny was also very proud of the three books I had written, and he always accompanied me to all those events. He was such a great helper, setting everything up for me. Every single time.

In 2018, I decided I would like a last hurrah as an organist at a church. Concordia Lutheran Church on the north side of Evansville, at the same time, was looking for an organist. I applied, and Kenny and I started going there together. Their set-up was much different than Redeemer, in that the organist is on the same floor as the congregation and could be seen by most of the congregation. I have never been one to have a page turner, but Kenny wanted to turn my pages. So I let him. He enjoyed being seen, so he loved it. He would secretly record my playing on his phone. And everyone at Concordia absolutely loved Kenny, and we thrived there.

You can't see his face in this short video clip, but you can hear his beautiful voice. He is in the turquoise.

Before the pandemic hit, Kenny and I went to Martin County, Indiana, and spent the entire weekend with some of my cousins. It was truly a magical weekend.

And then the pandemic hit. Kenny and I were very careful, more careful than most, I think. We still got Covid together in December, 2020. He was sicker than I, but he recovered. To this day, I still cannot smell. My daughter - Kenny's bonus daughter - took care of us. She went to the store for us and made sure we had everything we needed. The price she paid was getting sick with Covid herself.

Kenny spent a lot of time with my daughter, Stephanie. He loved her fiercely and she loved him the same. He saved her 21st birthday party after having been dumped by her long-time boyfriend. He took us to Louisville, and we ate at Joe's Crab Shack. She usually came over on Sundays and spent the afternoon/evening with Kenny and I, and, after she enrolled in Ivy Tech to become a chef, she started cooking for us as well. We called it "Sunday Dinner," and Kenny looked forward to it every week.

Kenny was so proud when Stephanie graduated and became a bona fide Chef. (Note on the photo: I gained 20 pounds sitting on the couch with my husband!)

This is Stephanie's tribute tattoo in memory of the only man she called Dad. Kenny loved his big green egg, and he loved his tomato plants.

Somewhere around 2021, Kenny and I made the decision to leave Concordia, and we weren't sure where we were going to land. Of course, we wanted to go back to Redeemer, but again, we were the careful ones. We watched Redeemer on-line for a time, but then, finally, early in 2022, we went back in person. I also started to notice at this time a mental decline in my husband. He was getting confused at things that shouldn't be confusing. I would tell him a grand story with much animation, and he would answer with "OK." He had become forgetful, and, to that end, he started declining at work. His work. His 38 years as a union electrician, and he wasn't getting the job done anymore. He had become moody and was snapping at people, so much so, that they told him over the phone - and I heard it - that "nobody wants to work with you anymore." This upset him greatly.

I also asked him to change out light fixtures in the kitchen of the home I own. He couldn't do it. He was looking all over the house for the instructions on how to change the light fixtures out. A union electrician of 38 years was looking for instructions on how to change out a simple light fixture.

And then, in August 2022, Mel-Kay laid him off permanently. He just wasn't getting the job done. An estimator, for example, might tell the client that the job would take 2 days, and it was taking Kenny 5 to get it done. And they weren't very nice about it, either. It was pretty much "don't let the door hit you on the way out." And I get it. I know that a company has to make money, and that the estimates have to be correct or they'll lose credibility. Believe me, I get it. But how about this? Thanks for 38 years. We're having a retirement party for you on Wednesday after work. We'll provide all the food. And here's an engraved watch! A huge thank you and shout out for 38 years of service! Happy retirement, Kenny! You deserve it! How about that? There was nothing. It was "Here's your final check. Goodbye."

Kenny was devastated. He talked for three weeks on the phone to anyone who would listen about how wronged he had been. And then an offer to work for the city came through! All was saved! Or so it seemed for a little while. Kenny, however, was unable to pass the physical. And then, his psoriasis came back with a vengeance, and the doctor seemingly could not help him to get rid of it. He was doing light therapy, and all it was doing was burning his skin. He went to see our nurse practitioner, and I'm kicking myself to this day for not going with him, but he didn't like me going to the doctor with him. I have no idea what happened at that appointment, but nothing was done to help. Kenny was a very good actor, though.  If he wanted her to think that nothing was wrong, he could make her think that. With great ease.

But more than that, Kenny was drinking. A lot. In the mornings, he had started to pour glasses of wine, and sat on the couch all the day long, watching TV. This started occurring on a daily basis. From the time he got up in the morning to the time he went to bed, he would drink. Even in the middle of the night, I might get up to pee, and there he was, sitting on the couch, drinking.

Let me clarify, since I was told after his death that Kenny didn't drink wine but only beer. (I was also told that he didn't drink.) I'm a wine drinker. I love wine, and I don't like beer. Kenny and I would have a few glasses of wine together before bed, and so, he became a wine drinker. But this was different. He began to drink so much that he was drunk all day long. He would nap, and then get up and drink some more. He stopped eating. He stopped going out, except to buy more wine. He stopped doing anything except going to church. He always wanted to go to church, even though he could hardly muster the energy to even shower. I tried to make his favorite foods, but he just wasn't interested. I bought an RV hoping we could travel together since he was forced to retire. He was excited about it at first, but when it came time to actually doing the travel, he wasn't interested.

I pleaded with him. I begged. And then, when that didn't work to get him off the couch,  I decided that I would be the best wife I could possibly be under the circumstances and just love him the best I could, take care of him best I could, and to be kind no matter what. Even when he was so intoxicated, he was unable to get off the floor. And Kenny was fairly heavy. There certainly was no way I would ever be able to get that much dead weight off the floor. I would have to wait for him to sober up enough to get himself up. Besides, he was combative anytime I did try to help.

I started sitting down with him everyday in the afternoon and watching TV with him on the couch until it was time for bed. We watched the entire One Chicago series from the beginning, and I believe that's saying something! We watched Jeopardy on a daily basis. And Yellowstone. And Shark Tank. And he absolutely loved watching Pawn Stars. He was so looking forward to the third season of "Picard." I would tell him every morning what time I would be able to sit down with him and watch TV that particular day. And when that time came, he would holler to me saying, "Let's get to watching!"

And that's what we did every afternoon and every evening for months until the day I was forced to call an ambulance. He didn't want to go in the ambulance, either. He was very combative, yelling and resisting, that the paramedics had to restrain him. They were, at least, nice about it.

At first, when St. Vincent life-flighted Kenny to Louisville, I was hopeful that I would bring him home. After a few days, I realized the man I would bring home was going to be mentally deficient. I was ready and willing to take care of him no matter what. But after three weeks with no improvement whatsoever, the doctor told me they wanted to put him back on the ventilator for the third time, which was going to lead to a tracheotomy, and that he would never be able to eat again. Because the fluids kept building up in his lungs, they needed to continually suction the fluids off, which was obviously quite painful for Kenny. The nurse had to put the suction pretty far down his throat, and his eyes would get so big every time they did it - once every few hours. He would look at me with those eyes, and I felt like he was asking for help to make it stop. He had become nonverbal by this time, and the way he communicated with me was with his eyes. They continued to poke and prod him, pricking his fingers, trying to find ways to get blood from veins that kept collapsing. At one point, they came in and put leads all over his head, looking for signs of a stroke. I finally said no more. Hospice wholeheartedly agreed with me. It was hospice, with my permission, who took him off all the machines, and we allowed him to die with dignity.

The doctors were unsure of what was wrong with him. They knew his condition was caused by excessive alcohol consumption - sometimes Kenny would drink an entire box of wine in a single day - 170 ounces of alcohol. But exactly what was wrong, they were unsure. And I'm pretty sure that is consistent with a patient who has drank way too much alcohol for way too long. I was told time and time again, usually in amazement, about how full he was of alcohol when he was first admitted.

Early in his hospitalization, he had actually been taken out of the ICU and put onto a regular floor, but that only lasted a few hours. The doctors believed that the stress of what he was going through caused him to have a stroke, maybe even a series of strokes, but they could not confirm it. He was quickly taken back to the ICU after that, and that is where he would die, even though I begged them to let me bring him home. The two-hour drive, even in an ambulance, they said, would just be too hard on him.

I'm not sure exactly how relationships work in heaven, but Jesus did say that at the resurrection, people will not marry. I have made the decision, however, that I will not remarry. And when my last breath here on earth occurs, I do want to see Jesus. But I also am looking forward to being with Kenny again, singing together once more with my husband and definitely going to church together.

Kenny's last words to me were, "I will never leave you." He said those words to me right before he had the probable stroke that left him unable to speak ever again. And he was right. Kenny is still in my heart, and the memories I have of him will continue to be with me until the day I see him again.

© 2023 by December Moonlight Publishing, LLC