John Christian Kerr

How does one say goodbye to a beloved brother, uncle, and friend? We shake our heads in bewilderment. John Christian Kerr passed away on December 30, 2011 after a long illness. His absence has left a hole in his family’s hearts.

My sister Mary will agree with me that both of our brothers protected us, teased us, loved us. In our world they were bigger than life. In my favorite memories it is always almost summer. Our family’s favorite places were the Terrace Motel in Austin and the Comal River in New Braunsfels. The Terrace Motel was the place of many great getaways, but I especially remember the time we drove there a few days before my dad would join us. The Terrace was interestingly arranged in rooms that were in built on hills. That time, but not always, the room door was upstairs. Chris loved comic superheroes, pulled the bedspread off the bed and ran up and down the hills in his underwear, yelling “I am the Silver Surfer!” We laughed in hysterics until he realized that I had locked the door, and he was stranded outside our room in a bedspread and his underwear.

My sister-in-law recently admitted that she enjoyed the early days of going out to dinner with my family. During family meal times, when both of my brothers were seated anywhere near each other in a restaurant, whether a coffee shop or a expensive restaurant, the kind where lucky children get to ride in the lap of a white knight on his white horse) it would have results that would rival watching Jerry Lewis and the Three Stooges. You could tell where we’d been sitting because there would be pads (or fancy balls) of butter resting on the ceiling. The wait staff would usually be either shaking their head or still laughing over their antics. Our mother tells us that my dad was a heavy tipper. I guess that’s why we were never thrown out of some of the best restaurants in Houston.

The second older brother, Chris was the golden boy, (a Beach Boys fan, he did sit out on our trampoline to bleach his hair blond with Sun-In. We’re part Native American and always tanned, so the dark brown to blond was a strange look for him. ) the irascible pirate, who stole the girls’ hearts, which made being his younger sister fun and exciting till I matured enough to frown on the broken hearts he left behind. But I found him to be a faithful brother when I needed him, one who would still take the time to help put his sister’s heart back together.

We were preparing for a double date. Dressed in a cool charcoal tux, ruffled shirt, and Rhett Butler hat, he was sitting in the living room looking devastatingly cool and waiting for me to finish getting ready before we picked up our dates. When I came down the stairs in my blue dress, he noticed there was something not quite right about my hair. He removed his hat and stepped out of Rhett Butler character long enough to reach out and curl one misguided strand of my long dark hair around a yellow pencil and then pin it into submission with a pale blue ribbon. I was not just beautiful. It’s like Peter Pan had

sprinkled fairy dust. I was left shining.

An individual gifted with more than is fair of good looks, charisma, and potential, years ago he seemed to withdraw; to leave the world to fight its own battles. This disappointed, frustrated, and sometimes angered the rest of us. But who he was and what he did still mattered to those of us who knew him then. Which of us does not face struggles in our lives? Who among us is always successful in fighting them?

He was the son who though not always with a smile or lots of quiet patience helped care for our dying father, who escorted our mother to the store or endless doctors’ appointments, and who woke in the middle of the night to gently hold her hand till the magic nitro pill kicked in and she could breathe again. He was the uncle of Dianna and Denise and Nathan, who took time to be any child’s fishing uncle, to worry about his nieces and nephews, to attend fall festivals and choir concerts, and later to receive long and sometimes late night phone calls from his nieces who needed advice. My daughter mentioned how much she enjoyed talking with him during their last call, just a few months before.

In the past few years, his demons seemed to be driving him too much. He seemed to get lost. He struggled to remain patient when taking care of our mother, despite his own struggles to walk and take care of himself. He attended family events, but many times was only present physically. Not in spirit.

Our mother’s health declined and the struggle became harder. But he continued to be faithful. When Chris said all he really wanted to do was go fishing, I thought that was a euphemism for “time to myself.” But this week, when I was clearing out a corner in the much cluttered den by his couch, I began finding fishing lures and guides. He had a large orange Bass Pro patch. Packages of extra line and miscellaneous fisherman’s doodads. Last year, I didn’t know how specific this desire was when I offered to cover for him so he could sneak away. Nevertheless, he never did. His demons were strong –stronger than love. Stronger than vocal and implicit expressions of anger and disappointment from his friends and family. The fishing trip became one more dream the rest of us had for him that never happened.

I spoke with him often around our favorite holiday, Halloween. That night he dressed up in costume and had all kinds of special scary effects older kids would love. He handed out candy eagerly and proudly called me to report numbers of trick or treaters.

His niece, Dianna, remembers that his favorite song was Puff the Magic Dragon. He played it often for her. Our mother remembers him singing A Daisy a Day to her and my dad who loved it. He maintained that he was the kid who the couple (my parents) took for candy. She also remembers him talking to my dad in his grave on their weekly visits to the cemetery and asking him to put in a good word for the two of them who were left down here on earth.

He died Friday and went to a place of peace with Jesus. I see him finally reaching the great fishing hole in the sky, where one’s hook always comes back with a big fish securely on it. Or maybe he and John Denver are going over heavenly flight patterns. We loved John Denver in the 70s, especially more after Chris drove to see the Rocky Mountains for himself. As did our father and John Denver, he longed to fly. He dreamed of becoming an astronaut, but was grounded by a heart murmur. So I am sure that by now he has looked up Gus Grishom, his favorite from the Apollo years. My mother sees him as walking in the

woods of heaven with my dad. I don’t know what the rest of the family hopes for him, but I am sure it is that it is to find a place of freedom and happiness.

John Christian Kerr was born in Houston, Texas on October 25, 1952. He passed away on December 30, 2011. He was the second son of Robert R. Kerr and Loretta Ruth Meineke Kerr. Preceeded in death by his father, Robert R. Kerr, his grandmothers Beatrice Bea Baskett and Lena Meineke, Grandfathers Robert Roy Kerr and Christian Albert Meineke, niece Dana Elizabeth Cathey. He is survived by his mother Loretta Meineke Kerr; brother Robert Roy Kerr and his wife, Sharon Kerr, nephew Nathanel Joel Kerr and wife Joanna Kerr of Carrolton, Texas; sister Deborah Kerr Wray Cathey and husband David Cathey, nieces Dianna Margaret Wray and Denise Anne-Marie Cathey, and sister Mary Kerr; and Pepper, beloved cat.

We look forward to heaven where the circle will be unbroken, the only tears will be tears of joy, and we

will meet, never to part again.