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Goodbye and Hello (Loretta G. Kettinger, 1925-2019)

There are a lot of things I might say about my Grandma. That's how I knew her, too. Sometimes, even before she died, I wished to know her in younger days. What was she really like? What was my Grandpa Bill like, who died before I was born, in 1979? He had to be quieter than her! It's odd, you know, a family in Missouri, that's to a person Dodgers fans (except my brother and me). That's weird, you know. You'd have to let my Uncle John tell you the story. The boys, her sons, they all love baseball. That's why I love baseball. They wore out the tape of Game 1 of the Series in '88. Kirk Gibson's home run, when he could hardly walk. It's as much a part of our family as anyone's. My Aunt Karen made the mistake once of saying, "Haven't you guys seen this enough? You know what happens!" John, without missing a beat, said, "Be quiet! I'm afraid he'll strike out this time!" Grandma would laugh and laugh, as if we'd never heard it, or a hundred other stories. She poured herself into her children and grandchildren. That's who she was. If you know us, you know her. Her house is where we always met. And she always cooked, and we always ate. "No thanks, I'm not hungry" would be ignored, as if it were not spoken. That's just how it went.

And then I think of my aunts and uncles I still have, and those departed. How hard they worked, and still work, as well as the kind of reputations they have. The point makes itself: This lady was their mother. When I think of how much I admire my Uncle John, and have heard the stories of who my father was, especially, I realize: Who do you think taught them all that?

You notice she was preceded in death by 6 of her 10 children. How strong do you have to be, to bury one child? I gave you the obituary, so you could perhaps pray for all of them. But how strong do you have to be? I guess you have to be a Kettinger. We have cried rivers over the years, and that is true. But if you saw us together, you'd see the joy of living. She was the focal point, but we have lived. It seems we take joy in every little thing, and we got that from her.

I think I was about 30 when I realized Grandma snuck off to an early Mass before I woke up, on the days I stayed over. She never spoke of such matters, but I knew we were Catholic. I had my own journey to the Church, but I also understood another blessing: I am to be the one who fills in the hole in her heart. Every Mass, every prayer, every thought of higher things, was for her, and for those we lost.

We're not a churchy bunch, as a group, but someone has to do it. I will never fully understand the power of the Church's intercession, nor of the sacraments, but I understand we have been leaning on them, one way or another, our entire lives.

If I could stay in 1988 forever, I would. I still had my Dad, Rick, and most everybody, except for Uncle David, and Aunt Janet, who died as children. They made a funny video celebrating Loretta, and Dad was the director. It may be in the same shape as that Dodgers World Series tape, for all I know. Those were joyous days. Those are the days I remember.

I didn't feel too sad today, because she poured all she was into us. I remember the way she called me "Jay," and mountains of fried potatoes. I remember the way she laughed, how she started, and could never stop. I remember how loud her phone was when it rang, and how it was one of us, usually. Then again, everyone who came through her door was family. I took it for granted, because I thought that's how everybody was. I would love to be this naive again, and I would love to be as generous as she was.

Comments

Absolutely beautiful! Thank you Jason!

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