Dear Neil,
People say when there’s five years’ difference between siblings, it’s like being an only child.  That’s pretty much true.  I remember fusses and fights when we were little.  I remember how you chased me through the back yard when we lived on Gra Mar and when I turned around to see how close you were, I ran smack dab into the concrete bird bath, and though I don’t know exactly old I was, my ribs were the exact height of the birdbath and I hit it so hard I was sure my ribs were broken.  You weren’t too concerned; you just laughed.   When I was in junior high, you were in high school and you played the Supremes and Martha & the Vandellas albums on that little brown record player (NOT a stereo) in your bed room.   Though you’re five years  older than me, you were close enough in age, so that later on you were kind enough to take me and a few of my friends out every now and then so we didn’t have to borrow fake i.d. cards.   Enough about that. 
 When you joined the Navy and were stationed in Hawaii, you sneaked home for Christmas and called me from the airport and I played it cool so nobody would know I was coming to pick you up.   We walked into the kitchen that afternoon and Mother and Daddy were so shocked it’s a wonder they didn’t have heart attacks.  A day or two later, Daddy had to do some fast talking with more than one phone operator, so you could call in sick without letting the Navy know it was actually a long-distance call.  I think there's a technical term for being away like that and we could’ve all gotten in big trouble.   But it all worked out and was one of the best Christmas holidays we ever had because you made it home. 
When David and I got married right out of/in high school, you were in the Navy.  When you got discharged and moved back on Nesbitt Drive, we rode to Vol State together for classes that summer.  Then you moved into a condo on West End and I remember how all the wallpaper separated from the walls while we painted and how we watched in amazement as it magically adhered back to the walls when it dried. When David and I had Jennifer, you got your chance to become “Uncky Neil.”  Jennifer and Phillip always enjoyed going to your house to spend the night.  You let them burn big scented candles, which apparently was a big deal because I didn’t do that at home.  You fed them orange-danish cinnamon rolls for breakfast, and encouraged Jennifer to drink coffee with lots and lots of cream and sugar from a Holly Hobbie mug at a rather young age.  The next day, you’d let them turn the stereo up really loud outside and pay them to wash your blue truck.  You’d come to the pool at Grammy’s with your blue Sunsearcher float, always with McDonald’s in hand for the kids.  (And no, the Sunsearcher didn’t really “follow the sun”, as you tried to convince us).
Your tastes always varied.   Your vehicles ranged from Volkswagon to Taurus to Corvette to BMW  to pickup trucks, but the Volkswagon beetle was your all-time favorite.   At home, you wore sloppy shorts and rough-looking flipflops .   We have never actually been able to get rid of Phillip’s old, worn-out Goodpasture t-shirts because you would offer to take them.  And we could count on you -- at Christmas or any time you appeared to be really dressed up, you were delighted to pull open your dress shirt and show us that you had on a tacky old Goodpasture or Goodwill t- shirt underneath.  And wasn’t it just this past Christmas that you wrapped one of those t-shirts up for Phillip?  You definitely had Daddy’s sense of humor. 
Your favorite pasttime was your dogs.  You sent cards to the kids from them.  You brought us Peanut as a replacement dog, even though you knew we didn’t want a replacement dog.  It was a good move on your part though, because she lasted 14 years and helped us get through a lot.  Your dogs were your family.  You became involved with the Human Shelter after adopting Corky.  The 4th place award you and Corky won in your Dog Obedience class is still proudly displayed at your house.  We had lots of laughs about the fact that we really had to interrogate you to make you admit there were only four dogs in the whole class anyway.   
You inherited your taste for antiques and nice furnishings from Mother, always swapping, trading, buying/selling furniture and moving stuff around.  (Maybe that’s where I got it, too).   And we’re not at all sure you inherited this from her, but you loved to cook a lot.  By that I mean two things:  you really loved to do it and you cooked a great amount of food.  You were always in charge of the holiday turkey/gravy/dressing and beans and though we have a small family, there would be enough food to feed an army.  Afterwards, you’d insist we take the leftovers home, which meant cramming all that food into our choice of Cool Whip or cottage cheese containers.  (You had lots and lots of those, too.)  Last week we found little notes you had written about who likes sweet potatoes, glazed doughnuts, doughnuts with sprinkles  and so forth.   Do I have to say more about that?
You were a private person, but you sure knew how to love.  In 1997, you were ready to build a shrine to Jennifer with a little piece of her Saturn car that you had picked up after her wreck.  When your co-worker and good friend Martha was killed by a drunk driver, you were devastated.  You still have a childhood picture of her in that box at your house.  You and Mother were a lot alike, and watching her die in 2004 was almost more than you could take.  After it was over, you surprised us all by arranging an interview with Alive Hospice and helping them publish an article about  what a wonderful experience they had provided us.  When Daddy got sick, it was hard but in a different, very personal way.   For a while we were all convinced we had dementia.  You took Daddy’s dog Holly to live with you.  Whenever you took Holly and Jake to visit Daddy at Jackson Park, you enjoyed taking candy and flowers and visiting with the other residents, too.  I’m afraid Daddy didn’t think much of that.  You took Daddy to your house and cooked for him, not knowing if he would feel like eating, and you offered him cigarettes, knowing he definitely would feel like smoking.   You also took to heart how hard it was for Daddy when he could only have “supervised smoking” and though you had thought you would like to smoke again if you knew the end was near, last week you remembered how hard it had been for Daddy, and you turned down the offer of a cigarette.  My hat is off to you for that wise decision. 
The past year has been a gift to us.   Your lifestyle changed drastically.  You followed doctor’s orders to the letter, gave up about 40 years of smoking and drinking, and must have eaten 80,000 pounds of broccoli daily.  Your wonderful personality came shining through and we got to know you, really know you again.  Your illness changed us all, and we are better for it.   As our friends and family, listen to what we are grateful for, I know you are looking down and nodding your head in agreement.   Thank you for being an inspiration to us all.  We miss you already but we will see you again.

Love,

Lynn & Family

P.S.  We are grateful for :
good health for most of your life
secure employment  that enabled you to work and build up enough sick and vacation days to last for more than a year if anything should happen (and it did)
an understanding boss and friend who coordinated your sick leave/vacation leave, and Family Medical Leave Act papers plus 100 other related details we don’t even know about  
doctors who desperately tried everything they knew  in order to make the correct diagnosis, who didn’t give up,  sent you to all kinds of specialists and then were wise enough to call in the right Oncologist
the right Oncologist
hospital workers who let you continue to wear your street clothes while you gradually tried to adjust to the idea of  wearing those crazy hospital gowns that never really close in the back
hope, which led to a contagious positive  outlook in you and those around you
family, friends, friends of friends, and complete strangers who not only listed your name on their church’s  Prayer List, but made sure it stayed there week after week after week . . . after week
strangers who shared their faith and stories of survival with you, who had been in situations like yours before, the same but different, and encouraged you to share your story with them
intensive care nurses who made a whole pot of coffee just for you, and delighted  in helping  you get that one tiny sip of coffee through the stirring straw
an attitude of appreciation for all that was done for you and for us
a hospital that allowed you to choose and order  room service from their Bistro menu (for real)
social workers who worked hard to make sure you got the right physical therapy and the right nursing home placement at the right time
a small wheelchair for sale for $50 on Craigslist when you were sure there was not enough room in the house for a wheelchair
hospital admitting clerks who brought the paperwork to you out in the waiting room, to keep you from trying to roll the wheelchair into that  little cubicle every time
accumulated sick days for family members  blessed with understanding co-workers, a principal who is second to none, and  teacher friends who waited in the wings with a standing offer to help anytime with a rather tricky second-grade class
bad weather and snow days, which normally are bummers  for family members who can’t work in bad weather, but were great if they were taking  you for  inpatient chemo 
good veins for IV therapy and blood draws,   a PICC line,  and a Power Port  when even one more needle stick was too many 
all those chemotherapy drugs with the crazy long names that didn’t cause near as many side-effects as they could have
a sense of humor
neighbors who fed and cared for your dogs and quietly returned your trash cart from the curb on Tuesday afternoons
not knowing most of what would lie ahead
encouraging get-well cards and calls from people you didn’t even know
nurses in the doctor’s office  who  lightened the load when they helped you in and out of the car, pushed your wheelchair over to the hospital, hugged you, encouraged you, listened to you, told you jokes and laughed with you  through the seriousness of it all
physical therapists who made accurate assessments and told you on the first visit that they would be able to help  because you had such a great attitude and were willing to try
hospital nurses who were delighted to have you for a patient for a number of reasons ---you were an inspiration, you didn’t ask for much and you didn’t complain.   They dropped in to see you on those many, many hospital stays when you weren’t even their patient,  bringing you cookies and sharing pictures of their dogs with you
technicians who opened the door and said, “There’s my baby!” then came in and laughed with you about the dreaded sponge-baths that now seem so long ago 
little kids in the family – an entertaining 2-year old to remind you of how precious and busy life is and a chunky, smiling, toothy new baby to remind you that life goes on
sack boys at the grocery who carried groceries out without even asking if you need help
faithful coworkers who brought doughnuts and Church’s Chicken to eat,  and  during the “salty” phase dropped off 2-pound cans of Planter’s Cashews  on the back porch to keep from disturbing you
kettle corn,  butter popcorn, extra butter popcorn, peanuts, cashews, anything with salt
 medicine to counteract all that salty food
Al’s Food Value at White House, where they sold home-cooked dishes and red velvet Whoopi Pies (mostly to us)
an old family friend who stopped by every  day with too much delicious home-cooked food but  mostly was there to sit and listen 
e-Bay and a new computer and fast internet access which allowed you to order LOTS & LOTS of lamps and knick-knacks from home because it was too hard to get out and shop
e-Bay,  which also has a place to sell those items you bought but didn’t really need
Eggo waffles and Log Cabin Maple Syrup
spastic, crazy-looking walking from the dining room to the living room without any assistance at all after nearly a year of not being able to walk, and asking if you should do it again
 a Radiation Therapist who made you laugh about your shaved head when she called you Onionhead, but was very serious on the 18th day of Radiation Therapy  as she presented you with a Hero Certificate and whispered, “ love you” as we went out the door 
having enough empathy that when your doctor told you that “the time is now if there’s any place you want to go,“ you looked at it from his viewpoint and responded  that it must be tough on him having to say that to people all the time 
family members who brought the food and the babies to your house for a cookout where you managed to eat, even though you’d hardly eaten for days
paper plates to eat popsicles on, or to fan with
family members who offered to give you a sponge bath, knowing how much you’d hate it 
a dog named Jake who still sits by your bed with such vigilance that he has to be collared and leashed and pulled outside, where he sits and whines until he’s let back in
an Oncologist who would not give up, but when it was time to let go, was wise enough to refer you to hospice care
a nurse who said not to wait to set up hospice care, even though we really didn’t think it was  time yet (but it was)
hospice workers who treated you gently, yet were strong enough to help you with that last real shower
family members who were right there, telling you that it’s all right to let go at what turned out to be the very, very end because they knew it’s really a brand-new beginning
taking time to tell your family that when your time came, you knew you’d go to Heaven;  you  “had it covered” 
 faith, family, friends, life, laughter, and love shared for a whole extra year
 
Most of all, we thank God, the author of our lives, who writes our life stories before we are born and continues to provide exactly what we need, when we need it.

I have such good memories of Neil when we were kids.  I couldn't wait for the occasions to get together in Hawsville to see and play with all my cousins, especially Neil.  Although we didn't see each other much in later years, I always felt a special bond with him. Lynn, I know you and your family have been a blessing to Neil as I'm sure he was to you. Love and prayers, Joy Beliles

My thouths and prayers are with Lynn and David, their hearts are heavy at this time

Cuz Neil, All of us Cousins grew up together at the Powers Family Gatherings. Some of the adults played cards, us kids would go walking on the rail-road tracts, climb up tall cliffs, walk down by the Ohio River, or watch a train, but we all cousins did it together. Lynn was your baby sister. We will all miss you so much.
Cousin, Susie

I wanted to call you so many times in the past year and did not.You were such a wonderful, loving friend and we did have so much fun in high school.  I've let you down and I'm sorry. Linda Castleman Newbill

OBITUARIO

Kerry Neil Devine

18 enero, 1950 – 5 junio, 2010

Forest Lawn Funeral Home & Memorial Gardens

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