All Photographs by Kenneth Randolph Taylor, May 8, 2015

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In 2006 my parents moved into a ministerial cottage at Magnolia Manor in Americus, Georgia.  He was already declining due to Alzheimer’s Disease, although that diagnosis came later.  I had moved to Athens, Georgia, in August 2005, so I visited occasionally.  Geographical distance protected me from the worst of my father’s dementia and physical problems (some of them related to it) most of the time.  My mother, however, was not as fortunate.  Being his caregiver was quite difficult.

A friend in Athens lost her father to Alzheimer’s Disease also.  She told me that her father had died about ten years before his physical death.  I have come to understand what she meant, for the man who died in October 2014 occupied my father’s body yet was quite diminished from the man who had raised me.

My mother occupied the ministerial cottage until the beginning of June 2015.  I paid my last visit, mainly to help her pack, in early May of that year.  Looking at the rooms stirred up difficult memories related to my father’s illness.  I recalled, for example, that, on Thanksgiving Day 2013, shortly before my father left the house for the last time and entered the nursing home (visible through the kitchen window) involuntarily, his behavior prompted me to take a long walk up and down the sidewalks beside Lee Street just to get away from him.

It is unfair that often the last memories we have of certain loved ones are difficult.  When these loved ones die physically, they have actually died already, for the people they were have ceased to exist.  Trying to conduct a simple and intelligent conversation with such a loved one in the final stage of life might prove impossible.  One seeks to treat him or her with respect and dignity, but he or she, as he or she is at that phase, makes that difficult.  I have compassion for these loved ones and for those who struggle to treat them properly, for I have had a taste of what that is like.  Even visiting my father in the nursing home for an hour at a time was emotionally and physically draining.  Repeating myself too many times due to his confusion, bad memory, and bad hearing was difficult.  I tried to be kind, but I realized that I did not know what do in that moment.  A sense of futility had set in.

Fortunately for everyone, especially my father, he died before Alzheimer’s Disease had a chance to do its worst.  He knew his family until the end.  I had suspected that the end might come in late 2014, as it did.  His death was merciful for all involved.  I recall watching him struggle with confusion and become frustrated.  But what did he feel that he could not communicate to anyone?  What was it like to be him at the end?  That struggle ended in October 2014.

We humans associate memories with where events occurred.  I associate my father’s end and the final stage of his decline with Magnolia Manor, Americus, Georgia.  Now that no member of my family lives on that campus anymore, I have little reason to visit the place.  That is fine, for I seek to build positive memories when I visit Americus.

KENNETH RANDOLPH TAYLOR

JANUARY 2, 2016 COMMON ERA

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Image Source = Kenneth Randolph Taylor

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Here I am holding Maybrie Pittman, my niece’s daughter.

KENNETH RANDOLPH TAYLOR

Scans Source = Kenneth Randolph Taylor

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A pleasant surprise awaited me at church on Christ the King Sunday this year.

KENNETH RANDOLPH TAYLOR

Above:  My Grandmother, Nell Barrett Taylor, with My Father, 1943

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EULOGY FOR JOHN DODSON TAYLOR, III (NOVEMBER 21, 1943-OCTOBER 30, 2014)

MARTHA MCDONALD MOORE CHAPEL, MAGNOLIA MANOR, AMERICUS, GEORGIA

NOVEMBER 2, 2014

Before I departed Athens last Thursday, I posted a notice of Dad’s impending death in the Facebook group of my parish, St. Gregory the Great Episcopal Church.  Many of my fellow parishioners expressed sympathy and informed me of their prayers not only for me but for my family also.  One person commented on my Facebook page that I am a “living tribute” to Dad.  That thought had not occurred to me, but may the sentiment be accurate.

Each of us carries the legacies of other people, extending back into generations immemorial.  Much of Dad’s influence is evident in me, from my bookish ways to my preference for classical music.  Most important, though, are lessons in faith and mere decency, which he taught primarily via a pattern of mundane deeds.  Among my earliest memories is one, from the late 1970s, of him preaching and mentioning the “presence of God.”  I, being a concrete thinker at the time, was confused, for I saw no wrapped packages with tags reading “To Ken from God.”  I see clearly, with the benefit of hindsight, how many presents (even some in wrapped boxes) God gave me via Dad.  The best such gifts, however, are intangible.  And they are for the benefit of others, not just myself.  Dad taught me that also.

Now he belongs to the Church Triumphant.  This being All Saints’ Sunday, a verse from “For All the Saints” is doubly appropriate:

O blest communion, fellowship divine!

We feebly struggle, they in glory shine;

Yet all are one in thee, for all are thine.

Alleluia.

KENNETH RANDOLPH TAYLOR

NOVEMBER 1, 2014 COMMON ERA

THE FEAST OF ALL SAINTS

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These were my prepared comments.  I remained close to them as I extended them.–KRT

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http://blogatheologica.wordpress.com/2013/12/27/the-long-goodbye/

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Image Source = Kenneth Randolph Taylor

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Leslie Catherine Taylor,

my furry feline child,

will be my child forever,

half-wild, all-cat, half-mild.

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She has joined the pantheon

of great cats I have known–

Jean-Luc, Harry, Charlemagne,

Caesar, and Duncan; done

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are their lives on Earth yet they

remain my furry kinfolk;

those feline monarchs do reign

in my heart; death can’t revoke

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their status as cat children

in my mind.  This tuxedo cat,

with her determination

to leave feral ways at

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the altar of the past, has

chosen the better part.

And the black on her nose, paws’

pads, and her fur is art-

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ful.  Her nose is pink and black,

her fur coat distinguished,

her manner no sweetness lacks;

she’s all I could have wished.

KENNETH RANDOLPH TAYLOR

SEPTEMBER 29, 2014 COMMON ERA

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Below:  Leslie, September 30, 2014

Image Source = Kenneth Randolph Taylor

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Above:  The Original Draft of the Poem

Image Source = Kenneth Randolph Taylor

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In the darkness of the night,

as I look at the window,

through which shines the outdoor light,

I see the back steps’ shadow,

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and the shadow of a cat,

Leslie Catherine Taylor,

who might one day hunt a rat.

My friend cleans her feline fur,

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sits on an elevated

step, taking in the view from

on high, then decides to get

a new view of her kingdom.

KENNETH RANDOLPH TAYLOR

SEPTEMBER 1, 2014 COMMON ERA

Above:  Leslie, August 11, 2014

Images Source = Kenneth Randolph Taylor

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Leslie, who grew up outside my back door, has remained.  She lacked human contact during the crucial time of socializing to people, but daily feedings have done much to earn her confidence and increase her comfort level.  We have progressed to the point of playing with her; she swats at fingers.

Crystal, Leslie’s mother, has white fur, a blue eye, and a green eye.  She comes to the back door most days for food then leaves for her next destination.  At least she is sufficiently comfortable to do that much.

Below:  Crystal, August 11, 2014

Images Source = Kenneth Randolph Taylor

KENNETH RANDOLPH TAYLOR

AUGUST 11, 2014 COMMON ERA

Above:  The Original Draft of the Poem

Image Source = Kenneth Randolph Taylor

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Sleep, young Leslie, the afternoon away

in the soil beneath a rose-bush,

curled up smartly in the temperate shade.

You, a tuxedo cat, do brush

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away all stress gently without effort.

The mere sight of you softens hearts,

melts fears, reduces worries, and comforts

the hurt.  You are a work of art.

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And so, until I feed you the next time

and you eat favored food gladly,

do that which cats do best–be most sublime

while training we humans subtly.

KENNETH RANDOLPH TAYLOR

JULY 8, 2014 COMMON ERA

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Below:  Leslie, July 25, 2014

Image Source = Kenneth Randolph Taylor

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Above:  The Original Draft of the Poem

Image Source = Kenneth Randolph Taylor

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Take comfort, my feral feline neighbors,

mother Crystal and daughter Leslie,

for you are my favorite two creatures;

this has become our reality.

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That you stretch out and curl up, even sleep

at my back door makes me quite happy.

I understand why distance you still keep

from human beings, even from me,

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but at least you have become more present

(and more often) than previously.

Your visibility alone has meant

a great deal to my darling and me.

KENNETH RANDOLPH TAYLOR

JULY 7, 2014 COMMON ERA

Above:  The Original Text

The final draft is below.

Image Source = Kenneth Randolph Taylor

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Crystal, Pat, and Leslie,

feline neighbors feral,

whom I feed and gladly

watch through my rear windows

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Crystal, the protective

mother, guards kittens cute;

one child is all white;

the other wears a suit

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of fur black and white.

The babies romp outdoors;

all consume many a bite

of feline food courses–

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fish, dry food, and canned food.

They drink fresh water too.

My caring attitude

tells me what I should do

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for these creatures of God

who, although they never

will be pets, to I nod

and resolve to pamper.

KENNETH RANDOLPH TAYLOR

MAY 17, 2014, COMMON ERA