Kathlyn Diane Seely

Kathy Diane Seely passed away peacefully with her family by her side on Saturday February 24th 2018. Kathy was born to Virginia and Robert Carter of Spokane on December 14th 1940. She was a life-long resident of Spokane graduating from North Central High School after which Kathy attended Eastern Washington University receiving a B. A. in Education. She later returned to Eastern Washington University receiving a Masters of Social Work, after raising her seven children. In 1987 Kathy was a co-founder of Spokane Consultants in Family Living. Having placed close to one thousand infants and young children for adoption as well as helping pioneer positive change in adoption practices. Kathy also provided attachment therapy to hundreds of foster and adopted children and their families. She was a staunch advocate for children working all her professional life to improve the lives of vulnerable youth. After a career working with families and children spanning 35 years, she retired in 2010. Kathy and her husband traveled extensively, though out the United States as well as though out Europe and South America. Besides her love of travel she also adored her family and loved working with her roses. Kathy is survived by her husband, of 58 years Richard Seely and their seven children, Dr. Mark Seely (Pam) of Lynwood, JoLynn Morse of Spokane, Bo Youn Ortiz (Joseph) of Everett, Beth Seely of Spokane, Paul Seely (Quintella) of Connell, Timothy Seely (Cara) of Spokane and Annette Seely of Spokane. As well as 13 grandchildren and 5 great grandchildren. She is preceded in death by her grandson David Seely. Visitation for Kathy will be on March 9th from 1:00-5:00 pm with her Memorial Service on Saturday March 10, 2018 at 11:00am at Ball & Dodd Funeral Home. If Kathy has touched your life whether it be through adoption or her work with attachment therapy, please bring a photo of your family or of your child to the service. In lieu of flowers please make a contribution to the Alzheimer’s society in her name at alz.org

A Eulogy Kathlyn Diane Seely

December 14, 1940 — February 24, 2018

For those of you who don't know me, I'm Mark Seely, Kathy's oldest child.

I want to thank everyone who is here today for taking time out of your weekend. I know that some of you had to travel some distance to be here, and I also know that speak for my whole family when I say that your presence means a lot to us.

When my dad asked me to write mom's eulogy, the first thing I did was go to the internet and google her birthdate. I was hoping to find some meaningful historical event that I could use as a theme or a metaphor for her life. It turns out that she was born the same day that plutonium was first isolated and produced in the lab.

Plutonium! One hell of a metaphor there. What am I supposed to do with that? "And like plutonium, she radiated an invisible energy that infected everyone who came in contact with her" hardly seems to be an appropriate thing to say at a memorial service.

And yet, she was sort of like that. She was the kind of person such that if you spent any time in her presence you were likely to leave feeling as if you had been altered in subtle ways at the cellular level.

She was born Kathlyn Diane Carter in December of 1940 to Robert and Virginia Carter. Her younger brother, Jackson, is here today.

She grew up in Spokane, and graduated from North Central High School in 1958. She went on to graduate from Eastern Washington University, when it was still called Eastern Washington State College, in 1963, and went back to school to earn a Master's in Social Work from Eastern in 1983.

She met her future husband, Richard, my dad, when she was still in junior high. They met in Sunday school, of all places (Richard's mom was the Sunday school teacher). They were both in the church choir, and one day during choir

practice, a girl who had a crush on Richard convinced Kathy to ask him if there were any girls he liked. And he answered, "yes, you." She then went about frying to find ways of "getting rid of this jerk." But, dad says, "she was never able to get rid of me" (and I've got to say that I'm personally very grateful for that). They eventually became high school sweethearts, and got Married in 1960.

My mom had a political side to her—she was an unapologetic bleeding-heart liberal and she had some strong opinions that she wasn't afraid to voice (which almost got her kicked off the sidelines at several of my brother Tim's soccer games).

Expressing her opinions did get her blackballed from the Spokane school district for protesting the school district's practice of using half-day principals—splitting one principal between two schools. She was working as a substitute teacher at the time, and was no longer allowed to teach in Spokane because of her protest.

She was pretty vocal about the Viet Nam war, and for a time she suspected the CIA had tapped our home phone.

Most afternoons during the summer of 1973 our tv was tuned to the Watergate hearings. My sister Beth was probably the only six-year-old around who could tell you what Watergate was, and list, point by point, how Nixon was involved. Beth distinctly remembers watching the hearings, and thinking it was hilarious when mom would occasionally scream at the television.

One of my own earliest memories of her—I must have been barely four years old—was of her yelling at the television anytime the name Barry Goldwater was mentioned.

My mom was extremely intelligent. But she was also prone to certain, shall we say, momentary lapses in logic.

For example, there was one time when we were living in the house on Wall, we were all sitting around the large bench table in the kitchen—I don't remember why, I think it might have been an evening when the family had gotten together to play cards. The lights in the ceiling above the table were recessed florescent fixtures covered with frosted plexi-glass panels. One of the kids looked up and noticed the shadow of a mouse scurrying back and forth across the inside of the plexi-glass. Mom freaked out and immediately jumped up on the table—because that's what you do when you see a mouse, you jump up on the table. But she jumped up on the table right under the light where the mouse was. About the time she realized that she had actually put herself closer to the mouse, the mouse moved again, and she screamed so loud it caused the mouse to empty its bladder on the inside of the panel.

I'm not sure about this, but the visible pool of dried mouse pee was probably still there when the house was sold years later.

When I asked dad if he had a special memory he wanted me to relay, or if there was something that he thinks captured who she was as a person in his life, he recalled what she told him after he lost his longstanding job at the freight company. She said "You've supported me for 30 years, now it's my turn." And that's exactly what she did.

In my own mind, I'll always see her as a teacher. She was a teacher in one form or another her whole life. She taught elementary school and kindergarten, and later on she and her colleague went around the country leading professional open adoption workshops. And much of her work as a counselor and therapist involved teaching. But she was a teacher in even more important ways. And that didn't change after she retired.

She had a strong appreciation for the natural world. She loved hunting for wildflowers in the spring (a love I'm pretty sure she got from her, own grandmother), and she was able to pass this love on to her great-granddaughter, my granddaughter, Skyler. During a visit one spring day they went for a walk. She had a special place in mind to show Skyler. Skyler remembers they came to a hill full of buttercups, and the two of them had a competition to see who could collect the most. I'm told that to this day Skyler's eyes brighten at the sight of buttercups. She recently told her mom that they were her favorite flower because they are "both beautiful and mean." When asked why they were mean, she said "because they are a weed, but they are a beautiful weed."

The ability to recognize beauty in a weed is a special kind of gift (and buttercups are a far better metaphor than plutonium).

At this point it is customary for the speaker to say something like "we'll miss her" or to offer up a final "goodbye." But I don't want to do that.

While it is true that we will miss her intensely—we already do—she has not really gone anywhere. She is still very much with us. She is a part of everyone in this room. She is a substantial part of who I am as a person, and she will be with me always.

So instead of saying goodbye, I'm going to end with the last few lines of a poem by E. E. Cummings:

"here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)"

Our family was fortunate to have had Kathy with us. Her smile did "light up the room". Her support for families and children wasn't just talk, she lived it all of her life. A few strong women in my life had a big influence on me. My mother, my mother in law, my grandmother and Kathy showed me the importance if kindness, generosity with love of family at the top.

The Ramsey/Carter clans grew up together in the 1950's and 1960's. We picnicked, fished, camped, birthday partied and celebrated Christmas every year when I was growing up. Her birthday was 8 years and a week earlier than mine in December and her birthday party always kicked off the season in fine form.

Kathy was the oldest of the cousins in the family. She got to snuggle all the new babies as they arrives in the world. I was too young to remember, but I know I got snuggles because all of my younger cousins did.

She left the world a better place for all of us. John Lennon sang "all you need is love". Maybe a few other things too: humor , kindness, and inclusion were her life.

Family and friends, "peace be with you, we'll just have to carry on".

Chris