Darlene Faye Kelly

Keep a green bough in your heart and a singing bird will come.       -- Lao Tzu

Obituary

Children learn their most valuable lessons when they’re too young to remember who taught them. People hear their most moving music when the songs are their final memories in this life. And in between, the small, the sweet, the quirky, and the kind moments are the ones we want to relive forever. So it is that a lasting legacy can happen unintentionally while living the life of good and selfless intentions Darlene Faye Kelly lived.

Darlene was born in Drain, Oregon on January 19, 1943 to Edward and Pearl Kelly. She spent her early years in Scappoose before moving to Springfield, where she graduated as Valedictorian of Springfield High’s Class of 1961.

The first in her family to attend college, she worked her way through the University of Oregon as a long-distance telephone operator. After graduating with a degree in Sociology, she moved to Oklahoma to join Volunteers in Service to America (VISTA), the anti-poverty program conceived by John F. Kennedy as the domestic Peace Corps.

In 1968, pregnant, she moved to San Francisco and found work as a Kelly Girl temp. She persevered through some trying years as a small town girl in a big city during a time that was even less friendly to single moms than today, and, with no paternal support, managed to raise a grateful son capable of penning a halfway decent obit.

She found her calling in early childhood education. For almost 50 years, she was a parent, preschool director, board member, curriculum designer, and substitute teacher at Salvation Army Training School, Practising Law Institute, Parkside Preschool, Magic Years, Miraloma Co-Op, Cross Cultural Family Centers, and Clarendon School. For those who knew her, it is not difficult to imagine that thousands of people may be walking about today with some appreciation for music, art, or life in general embedded during their most formative years for which they may not realize they have her to thank. She said, “kids taught me so much about being light-hearted and paying attention to each moment!”

She studied astrology in depth, teaching others who went on to become noted authors, or just to find inspiration in the stars. She was a spiritual omnivore who spoke as warmly of her mother leading the singing in their little church (“I love those old Pentecostal and gospel songs!”) as she did of the Tao Te Ching. Her lifelong love of music, above all, came from its underlying spiritual, healing power. By her front door, she posted her favorite quote: “keep a green bough in your heart and a singing bird will come.”

In 2007, she joined Threshold Choir, a group that brings songs of comfort to those at the thresholds of life. “Alight with such beautiful souls,” as she said, the group became her community and invaluable support system, and, fittingly, her choirmates were with her during her final moments in this world.

She is survived by her son Josh and daughter-in-law Bev in California, her granddaughter Grace in China, her grandson Spencer in Washington, DC, her sisters and brothers-in-law Cynthia and Drew Paterson and Jessie and Paul Masterson in Oregon, and by her nieces and nephews, Erin and Krista Kelly, Mitchell and Drew Paterson, and Chris and Schuyler Sevigny. She was preceded in death by her parents, and her brother Michael Kelly.

To her grandchildren, she left a surprise legacy letter in the spirit of Buddhist Dharma texts, with insights she’d gleaned in their childhood years when she imagined them as “a madcap team finding fun and adventure in simple things.” In her “Grandma Dar-ma,” she advised them to spurn cynicism and “remember, we live in a sea of love.”

She was a five-foot-tall force who continued to bring joy and positivity even as her health and vision declined in later years. If you believe as she did in the power of small things to have massive impact, her legacy will only expand from here. She will be greatly missed.

Visit https://thresholdchoir.org if you’d like to join, or make a donation in her name.

Deep Peace

Deep peace of the running wave to you.
Deep peace of the flowing air to you.
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you.
Deep peace of the shining stars to you.
Deep peace of the infinite peace to you.
- Gaelic blessing

FINAL PRELUDE TO DEEP PEACE

When my mother was a child, she fell while running with a milk bottle. She cut her right hand badly, leaving it still functional but permanently weakened, and lightly, perpetually clenched. For most of her life, though others barely noticed, she was always faintly aware of that hand, its look, and its limits. She was never going to be a concert pianist, heart surgeon, or hand model.

Much later, as Parkinson’s set in, it was that same hand that showed the most visible, and perhaps only, signs. A slight palsy, where it would open and close continuously, as though grasping gently for something. Grasping gently.

I think she always thought of it as a weakness, trivial as it was. And of course, I mean to tell you that like many of people’s so-called weaknesses or limitations, it reveals her strengths. How it persevered and expressed, how it never stopped caring and reaching.

As we began to clean out her apartment after her death, I did see some truth in the saying, “life is what happens to you while you’re making other plans.” I did feel sad as we unearthed evidence of some things she wanted to do and didn’t get a chance. I wished I’d helped her more, or that her eyesight and health had cooperated.

But I also began to understand the gift of her legacy letter. And to reflect that I don’t think in her case it’s fair to say she was mostly busy making some list of “other plans.” In fact, I think in many ways she was more interested in the life-is-what-happens part than the making-other-plans part. In the listening, learning, and caring. In the mysteries and magic that you don't roadmap, but discover along the way. That letter gave you the ideas that her hand expressed; life was in the gentle grasping and reaching. Be curious. Listen. Breathe. Love. Read and tell stories. Be open. The best things are free. Ride the waves.

She shopped in local stores that most people walk past and don’t notice. She’d pick a random spot in the park and decide it was as picturesque as Yosemite. She liked quirky stories and people. When I was a teen, she liked to embarrass me by breaking into the Bumble Bee Tuna theme song in public, just to keep me humble. She didn’t think much was disposable, I have very much learned, but her things were stored with great care, and with an uncanny knack for finding space, because I think she genuinely saw the value in so much that other people did not.

She collected books. And quotes. And fabrics. And ideas. And all forms of religion and spirituality. She’d hop from the Christianity of her youth to the mystery of astrology to Edgar Cayce, to Taoism. She’d consult the I Ching, angels, and dreams. Halfway through the autobiography of Bill Walton, she was convinced he was a guru. And in one of our last conversations, she was inspired by the genius of how musician Pharrell Williams’ made a movie of his life story using Legos.

I think she found it entirely plausible that ALL of these things somehow came from the same source of truth. And most of all I think that she believed it to be the same source of truth which gives us music.

When I found her at home after her stroke, her right hand was outstretched and grasping. It still seemed to be expressing something, though it was now two hours after she’d spoken the last words she would ever speak. It is an indelible post-traumatic image for me which made it necessary for me to speak about it.

And I was there, as were some of you, in her very last moments. Her hand had become still, holding herself close and tight. Not reaching out, but reaching in. It had come far, worked hard. It was time to rest. She would have to settle for what she’d grasped of this world. And I would have to settle for just two little things she’d had time to teach me about: this life and the end of this life.

I think those who knew my mom Darlene Kelly got the same strong sense that she was always sweetly, hopefully, persistently, gently reaching for something. A kind of light, joy, and peace she could hear most clearly in certain songs.

And I do trust she found it.

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January 2, 2025

{Susan's Words at the Service}

Every week for the last couple years, I looked forward to calling Darlene. We would catch up on our week, and I would read to her. We spent a very long time reading Naomi Remen's book My Grandfather's Blessings. She'd ask what we were reading and I'd remind her. Sometimes, we'd review what we had already read. When a passage resonated for her, I'd read it again, and she'd ask me to send it to her in an email. Here are a couple that she particularly loved. That she loved these words says more than anything I could say about Darlene.

"It takes many years to remember that everything of value we have to give was not learned from a book and that the wisdom to live well is not conferred with an advanced degree. But real teachers are everywhere. The life in us will be blessed by others over and over again until finally we have remembered how to bless it ourselves."
Remen, Rachel Naomi. My Grandfather's Blessings (p. 236). Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

"Life offers its wisdom generously. Everything teaches. Not everyone learns. Life asks of us the same thing we have been asked in every class: “Stay awake.” “Pay attention.” But paying attention is no simple matter. It requires us not to be distracted by expectations, past
experiences, labels, and masks. It asks that we not jump to early conclusions and that we remain open to surprise. Wisdom comes most easily to those who have the courage to embrace life without judgment and are willing to not know, sometimes for a long time. It requires us to be more fully and simply alive than we have been taught to be. It may require us to suffer. But ultimately we will be more than we were when we began. There is the seed of a greater wholeness in everyone." Remen, Rachel Naomi. My Grandfather's Blessings (p. 81). Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

Darlene asked me recently to explain the structure of haiku. I had told her that I write these and she wanted to try her hand at it. She had had a tradition of writing limericks and she realized that limericks were too
complex for her at that point. I sent her the basic structure and one example:

We talk on Thursday
About our week and then Bill
Walton. This is fun.

Yes, you heard that right. The latest book we were reading was Bill Walton's autobiography. I was surprised at her request, but happy to oblige. We only got through half of the book, and I wondered why she was so interested in him, but as we read I could see why. Walton, though suffering from many injuries, worked through his pain with grit and lots of music, especially from the Grateful Dead. Each chapter begins with a line from a song.

Our next chapter, without Darlene in this realm might go like this, from Marianna Monaco's Threshold song All is Love:

All has been said
All has been done
All that remains is loving you

Susan Averbach

December 24, 2024

On that note of adding things to the "Grandma Dar-Ma" list, we would like to add something right now, a principle our grandma followed that “one should commemorate all special occasions with a limerick.” Darlene Kelly was a prolific limerick writer, and for events like birthdays or graduations she would write us a poem cleverly commenting on whatever events were going on in our lives at the time; maybe some of you were lucky enough to receive one as well.

We will certainly never be able to match her limerick-writing abilities, but we wanted to mark this evening with at least an attempt of our own:

There once was a grandma named Dar
A great singer, writer, and reader of stars
We’ll miss her merry presence
But she sure left a great present
Because with this letter, she’ll never be far

We hope you will join us in honoring her memory by keeping the Grandma Dar-ma handy, and perhaps writing a limerick to a loved one the next time a special occasion comes around.

Spencer Kelly

December 5, 2024

Dear Josh, Bev, Spencer, and Gracie, I'm so sorry for your loss. I have many warm memories of Darlene. She started as my supervisor at Cross Cultural, but we kept running into each other at new age festivals and then singing with the Anything Goes Chorus. She taught me astrology and we shared many get-togethers, drinking tea and talking about work and life. She always had a bit of helpful advice or insight for me. I look around my apartment and see bits of her, earrings she gave me, a scarf she knitted, a tablecloth she shared because she knew I would like the colors. She was a special person who was always thinking of others and little things that might make you happy. I'm happy to have had her as a friend.

Lisa Wesley

November 27, 2024

I loved reading to Darlene every week and sharing how our week went. She took what we read to heart and often wanted to share, especially the more spiritual readings, with Josh. She was so grateful for her son and spoke about Josh often. I'm already missing her terribly, but I feel lucky to have known her. She even got me interested in basketball when she requested we read Bill Walton's autobiography. It was so great that she was able to experience the choir and Josh's love at the end of her life as she was sung through the threshold. Her memory is surely a blessing.

Susan Averbach

November 27, 2024

What a beautiful obit. Darlene spoke so often lovingly of her son and grandkids. They were so important to her.
She was a joy to sing with. She kept me laughing too. Her light hearted spirit brought so much happiness. I’ll miss her bright light.

Cynthia Gregory

Family tree

Edward Kelly

Pearl Kelly (Keeny)

Mike Kelly

Jessie Masterson (Kelly)

Josh Kelly

Spencer Kelly

Grace Kelly

Cynthia Paterson (Kelly)

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Mike Kelly

Jessie Masterson (Kelly)

Cynthia Paterson (Kelly)

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Josh Kelly

Spencer Kelly

Grace Kelly

Darlene Kelly

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