A Christmas Tribute to Karen Kohler Lush
One of my favorite people in my life has been Peter’s mother Karen. Now 86, Karen is positive to the core. She has been an incredibly strong adventurer, mountaineer and traveler; and a ferociously loyal wife, mother of four, grandmother of twelve, & great-grandmother of 6.
I’ll never forget the first long conversation I had with her in 1987 – a conversation that felt more like I was talking to a dear old friend than my future mother in law. How fortunate I have been to have been the part of a such a tight knit family with her positivity, productivity and inspiration at the helm of the family.
With the help of her daughter Pam, as a Christmas gift to her family, she has written some of the stories of her life. I am honored to share excerpts of them here as a window into the inspiration she has provided for us to explore and enjoy the world.
“Many things in my life have involved taking risks.
I am from Berkeley California, and I lived there with my father who practiced Dentistry, my mother who worked with him, and my younger sister. We were an active family who traveled a lot, with fun adventures. My mother’s family was French, so both languages were spoken when everyone was together.
In the spring of 1948, just short of my twelfth birthday, after months of excruciating, debilitating headaches, eventually my primary physician hit upon a new path: a neurosurgeon who soon turned out to be my Guardian Angel. The condition was called Arold-Kierry Syndrome, an ailment at the base of my skull that meant there was not enough room in this upper neck area for all of the nerves and bones to properly expand as I grew and developed.
The doctor put all the facts on the table, dire indeed, for this situation was a relatively new discovery, and our surgeon and a colleague were the two people who had perfected the surgery. They explained to my long suffering parents that he could go in at the base of my skull and enlarge the area that wasn’t expanding properly so that subsequent growth could then progress in a normal pattern.
But, there was no guarantee it would work. A slip of the knife or pressure on my nerves could render me blind, retarded or completely incapacitated. An agonizing decision, since if I were left the way I was, downward spiraling, every symptom would get worse. My parents felt they had no choice, so with fear and trepidation, (and clear eyed courage) they opted for the surgery.
The morning of my surgery my mother appeared in sunglasses. She usually never wore them, but she didn’t want me too see that her eyes were red from crying all night.
The procedure took approximately seven hours, at the end of which my parents were at last able to breathe normally once again. I have few memories of the aftermath and I rejoined my classmates in the fall.
After high school graduation I went to Mills College and Cal Berkeley but my main desire was to travel to Europe to study languages (French and Spanish). I met my future husband Stan on the ship going over - We stood next to eachother at the rail waving goodbye to our families. We managed to see each other while traveling until I attended the University of Geneva. Our relationship grew through letters and when I returned a year later, in 1957, we decided to marry.
I moved to his small rural home town of Galeton, Pennsylvania where Stan’s family had a furniture store. There we lived for eleven years and is where all four of our children were born. We eventually moved to Colorado in 1972 where we have lived ever since.
Travel has been a major part of my life, nurtured in my childhood by my parents who had a strong sense of adventure themselves. I was able to seize these opportunities on my own as I matured, never fully realizing that my decisions involved risks of the unknown: My decision to study French and Spanish in Europe, with my parents blessing, meeting my future husband on the ship going over; and then traveling with him only a scant month before we were separated for an entire year. After our marriage, we had to become better acquainted our relationship had mainly consisted of letters – an enormous risk, but we didn’t think so at the time. Having four children in six and a half years appalled both grandmothers, who did not believe in big families.
Then, even “riskier” - Stan decided to leave the family business to work as a Manufacturer’s Rep for Ethan Allen and eventually we moved to Colorado. We raised our family in a mountain house in Mount Vernon Country Club, which beautifully satisfied our love of the mountains. As a growing family we enjoyed everything that the outdoors had to offer. Travel was a big part of our lives – mine especially, with skiing, hiking and backpacking also becoming a big part of my life.
Once we were settled, the kids and I (dog included) would load up the car and take a driving trip to visit our family and old friends in the east, visiting our old haunts and surprising our Eastern friends who told me they’d never have the nerve to do such a thing to up and move west with a young family.
As the years passed many travel opportunities came in the form of invitations: First to Moscow, invited by my daughter to accompany her on a business trip; Voyage #2 to Russia again to set up a school exchange with a private school here and an English speaking one in Russia; The purchase of an apartment in Paris with a family who had lived there and subsequent weeks long trips there several times a year; A trip to London to visit a cousin who was working there; A journey to China to adopt our granddaughter; then finally, Rwanda with another Granddaughter who had worked there.
Each time I stuck my foot out on a limb risking the unknown, but I was willing to take the plunge. One of the most daunting risks I have taken is accompanying my friends backpacking, climbing 14,000 foot peaks and winter ski hut trips. One of the most challenging parts is climbing up steep passes but the sense of accomplishment is overwhelming once the summit is reached. One year we climbed to the top of Yosemite’s Half Dome. Gripping a cable in each hand, the risk of falling to a certain death was right there along side us, but we swallowed our trepidation and kept going. Upon reaching the top, and then the bottom, our relief and thankfulness were overwhelming.”
Finally, I want to share Karen’s favorite Christmas Story:
“It was Christmas Eve, and we had just come home from church, relaxing before bed, when the phone rang. It was close to 9pm, with the unusual bitter cold December weather, and we wondered just who would be calling at such a time. It was a friend from Seattle who knew a neighbor of ours who needed some help. It seemed the young daughter of our neighbor had called him in tears, because they didn’t have a Christmas tree. Our daughter and two sons threw on their coats and boots, grabbed rope and a saw, jumped into my station wagon and sped down the mountain to see what would still be available. Finally they headed to Golden where they came upon a deserted lot with one poor little tree tossed against a fence. Realizing that this was their only choice and best bet, they attached the tree to the roof of the car and headed back up the mountain to our neighbor’s home. They knocked on their door bearing the scraggly and sparce tree, and were greeted by their ecstatic little daughter and her surprised parents. Ornaments were retrieved, lights were hung and glowing and the little tree took on a life of its own. We were called to hurry over to see what had been accomplished – so we arrived in short order in our pajamas to greet the transformed tree and to herald in Christmas Day as midnight was fast approaching. If you ask my husband or children to name their most favorite Christmas memory, to this day, this one wins hands down. We can still see that forlorn little tree glowing and sparkling, sitting in our neighbors livingroom, surrounded by a warm and happy group all aglow.”
I’m so grateful for Karen. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays All. 🎄
Brenda
