Florence and Hampton McKelvy shared a dream familiar to many of us – to have a happy marriage, healthy children and grow old together.
They realized two out of three. Their son and only child, Kelly, was born with hydrocephalus, a condition caused by an abnormally large amount of cerebrospinal fluid in the skull, sometimes referred to as “water on the brain.”
The doctors said Kelly wouldn’t live past childhood. But Kelly proved them wrong.
Kelly’s parents, affectionately known as “Nana and Pop” to friends and family, weren’t inclined to listen to troubling prognostications. Early on, they were encouraged to move Kelly to a home for the developmentally disabled because living at home could be risky and potentially life-threatening. Instead, Nana and Pop created a warm and stable refuge for Kelly in their home.
Kelly thrived.
The McKelvys were told their lives would never be normal. So, they redefined the notion of normal, inviting the rest of the world, quite literally, inside.
Through the years, Nana and Pop cared for dozens of children of working parents. They taught them how to read and write while Kelly reviewed spelling words with a razor-sharp memory that would challenge even the best spelling bee champ. And they always had a small prize ready for good grades on report card day.
Nana and Pop invited high school clubs and church groups to visit Kelly every week. They welcomed anyone who would stop, stay awhile and enjoy a hot bowl of Pop’s famous homemade vegetable soup.
If you knew Kelly, he knew you. He remembered what you wore the last time you visited, what trip you were taking, who you were dating, what movie you had just seen and he never … repeat … never forgot a birthday. Anyone who knew the McKelvys will tell you a birthday wasn’t complete without a phone call from Kelly, usually made in early morning. The McKelvys started their day before most of us had hit the snooze button.
Nana and Pop lived their lives as if no one told them caring for an ill child would alter their plans. As if they didn’t know their hopes and dreams would be reframed in an instant. “Can’t” wasn’t in their vocabulary.
And Kelly went about each day with gratitude and celebration; each day a victory, everyone a friend. Woe be unto the visitor who was feeling down when entering the McKelvy home. You would leave with a smile on your face and, probably, with a handful of freshly cut flowers from the garden.
Their home was that kind of happy.
Kelly outlived both his parents. He died recently at 61. Gone is the scent of steaming tomatoes and carrots on the stove, colorful annuals in the front yard, Nana’s smile, Pop’s homemade bread, and Kelly’s compliment on your brand new shirt.
Yet, they are remembered and loved by their larger family … the one they never imagined, but alw