Every person's story teaches me a life lesson
As she stood greeting friends at Boone Funeral Home, Vicki Kindred stroked her hand across the chest of her husband, Kenny, and tried to hold back some of her tears.

After battling ALS, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, commonly called Lou Gehrig's disease, since January 2005, Kenny Kindred died this month. In June, the Courier & Press profiled the Kindreds, who lost their home in the November 2005 tornado, months after finding out about Kenny's illness.



For two weeks, the Kindreds allowed me to follow them as they watched the walls and roof of their new home go up. And for about four hours, the two welcomed me into their home. They shared everything with me, from how they first met to the emotions of the last two years.

Kenny Kindred had the best attitude about everything going on in his life.

"I might have the disease, but I'm going to keep doing what I'm doing," he told me. "I'm not going to let it get me down. I'm not going to lay in that bed and get stiff. That's the reason I move around."

When he was able to make it to Habitat's New Haven subdivision site during construction of his home, Kenny had everyone constantly laughing, including me. He documented the progress of the home with a video camera and took dozens of photos.

Kenny and I made a deal: We were to keep each other out of trouble. And if either of us slipped, the other person had the right to go crazy. Each time we saw each other, we made sure the other had behaved.

We always had.

The Kindreds hadn't moved into their home yet, but Kenny got to see the house, including the inside. I heard he did wheelies in his wheelchair in the center of the floor.

Kenny and Vicki Kindred were truly connected to each other. They joked with me that they'd been together for more than 300 years. As I watched Vicki look down at Kenny, dressed in a University of Kentucky sweat shirt, I saw the love she had for him and the sadness she felt.

To the entire Kindred family, I'd like to send my condolences. You shared Kenny with the entire Tri-State when you allowed us to tell your story.

I told the Kindreds thank you many times for allowing me to share their story. I realize the evening I approached them about doing it, they could have said no. But they didn't.

As a reporter, families share with us their stories at times of happiness, sadness, fear and anger. They trust us with their words, their emotions. And it's something I think about before I ever sit down and ask my first question.

I think I learn something from everyone I write about, especially stories where I have spent a lot of time with a person. From Kenny and Vicki I learned you take each day one at a time and cherish the moments of each.

And to Vicki, I say, Kenny will not be forgotten by many, including me. His laughter and smile will live on as part of the New Haven subdivision.

— Lydia X. McCoy

464-7431 or mccoyl@courierpress.com