Dad’s Dream, written Aug. 21, 2010, the morning of Daddy's memorial service in honor of my father, Kenneth Arthur Landers, 7/4/1940-8/19/2010

Many of Dad’s happiest moments were spent on the water, and as he drifted in and out during his final days, it was fishing that he was dreaming of. I remember at one point having to wake him to take another pill for pain and he was so upset. "I had a big one on the line,” he said, frustrated over being disturbed.  He was used to watching Denielle, his youngest daughter, reel in the big ones. But he was proud of that, too, telling me just last week that she caught bigger fish than he ever had, reeling in some that weighed more than she did. He took pride in knowing his daughter was so capable. He took pride in all of us. He never tried to take the credit, but as we crossed each stage for graduation or stood up for another award, it was his accomplishment, too. He, of course, was smarter than all of us put together. Superhero smart. He could tell you any fact on history, the name of any band that sang his beloved oldies, and could fix just about anything that was broken. Sometimes a smile or hug were his tools, because sometimes it was a broken heart that needed to be repaired, but daddy always knew how to do it. I still remember the time when one of Kendace’s boyfriends made her cry—she may have been 13 years old. Dad came home that day with a flower for her. Simple little thing, but it sure helped stop the tears. I know right now he’d be handing flowers out around the room to keep you all from crying. He’d also be cracking some joke about how we’re going to need to build an ark to get out of this flood of tears. And then, he’d go to the garage, pull together some scrap lumber he’d collected, and have one whipped together in no time. It was his special knack. He could build anything, from bunk beds for his girls, complete with heart cutouts in place of a ladder, to Halloween costumes that he created from paper mache.

He had a talent for fixing cars, but he was just as skilled at growing orchids. If you know anything about gardening you know it’s nearly impossible to keep orchids thriving for one month, much less year after year. But Dad could do it. There’s an entire section of the back yard dedicated to his orchids. Take a look at some of these plants and you’ll think there’s no sense keeping them—that they’re not much more than a stick coming out of the dirt. But dad would explain if you just had a little patience you’d be rewarded with breathtaking blooms. That’s how he saw his flowers, but also how he saw children, including the dozens of foster children he shared his home with through the years. I always assumed he did this because Mom asked him to, and he pretty much did everything Mom asked. But I found out a few years back that Daddy didn’t have a very good childhood. I’m sure in his mind he wished someone had opened their home to him, too. Ours wasn’t the biggest home by any stretch, but there was always room for one more.

He taught me fairy tales do come true. We once talked about the night he met my mom, and nearly 50 years later, he was able to describe the shirt she had on and details about the moon in the sky that night. And he expressed his love every day from then on, holding her hand every chance he could and doing everything in his power to make her smile. He fought this damn disease daily, trying to make it to his 50^th anniversary. He taught us all a lesson about how to endure. Even in his final moments he summoned the strength to share more kisses, though we knew any touch was painful.

Now, we find comfort in knowing he is no longer in pain, though our ache is intense. He joked about us being there for him, saying he had more support than Victoria’s Secret. And each of his ten children carry on a part of him.

Chip has Dad’s drive and determination.

Kelly has Dad’s quick wit and sense of justice.

Walt has his handyman skills and love for the Navy.

Marylynn shares his farm connection.

Kendace has his heart and sense of romance.

Tony has his taste for trouble.

I have his quick smile for anyone.

And Denielle has his sheer grit…the strength to get through anything.

Nickey and Jesse have his potential.

Mom is his survivor—those are his words.

Remember, Dad wanted us to be strong and to lean on each other. He would smile to see each of you here and to know you’ll continue to be here for my mom. Meantime, he’s on a fishing trip, hooking some big ones.  Maybe this time his fish are bigger than Denielle’s.

Written by his daughter, Desiree Hope (DD), with overwhelming love