Kick-Ass Kinda Girl

by Kathi Koll

  “Real estate development,” I answered, giving a broad description of some of Don’s projects. “What about yourself?”

  “I do the same thing your husband does,” he said. “Plus, I own the water of England.”

  “The water of England? Do you mean a company like Perrier?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “The utilities company.”

  “Oh my,” I said. I wasn’t sure how to respond to that one.

  Mr. Yeoh and I had a wonderful conversation, and towards the end of lunch he said, “I’m having a small party on an island I own in Malaysia in honor of world peace, and I would love for you and your husband to be my guests.”

  “Thank you so much for the invitation. I’ll talk to Don about it.” A party in Malaysia with someone we didn’t know? I never thought it would be something we would want to do or that I’d remember to ask.

  That night as Don and I were getting ready for dinner and talking about the day, I mentioned the invitation from Francis. “Don,” I said, “you won’t believe it, but the guy sitting next to me asked if we’d like to come to a party he’s giving on his private island in Malaysia.”

  “Are you kidding me?” he asked. “Are you serious? We have to go, but only for a weekend because I have too much going on at the office to be gone long.”

  “What?” I was dumbfounded. “You’re telling me you want to go to a party in Malaysia for the weekend?”

  “Kathi, I understand that part of the world from my business connections and believe me, this will be a weekend you will treasure forever. Do you think he’s serious?”

  “But Don, how can we fly all the way to Malaysia for a weekend? We’ll be too tired.” I knew what Don’s response would be; I had heard it so many times before.

  “Why will you be tired? Will you be digging ditches all day?” Don gave his familiar speech. “You’ll be sitting on a plane and can sleep.”

  I found Francis that evening at the dinner we were mutually attending and accepted his kind invitation. By the time we were back home in California, a full itinerary was in our mailbox.

  Within weeks we took off for Malaysia, and after over eighteen hours, the airplane touched down into Kuala Lumpur. As we exited the aircraft, there was a gentleman standing right outside the door of the plane waiting for our arrival. He quickly whisked us through security and escorted us to baggage, where he introduced us to our private porter. The porter proceeded to gather our luggage and asked us to follow him as he guided us to the monorail, which Mr. Yeoh owned, and stayed with us until we reached the city where we were met by his beautiful dark blue Mercedes. We were driven to the Ritz Carlton, owned by, of course, Mr. Yeoh, and escorted into the lobby where the general manager greeted us and handed Don a personal, handwritten note from Mr. Yeoh. He said he felt a night at the Ritz would help us with jet lag before meeting him on the island the following day. The bed in our room was already turned down and the sheets were embroidered with our monograms. To top it off, the monograms were on the correct sides. How did he know?

  The next morning, we were delivered to a private airstrip where Mr. Yeoh’s jet awaited us. After a quick flight to an undisclosed location, we were escorted to one of Mr. Yeoh’s boats, which was standing by to take us to his island, Pangkor Laut. A Malaysian sultan had given him the island after its previous inhabitant, an exiled murderer, drank himself to death. Despite its colorful past, Mr. Yeoh transformed the small island into a luxury resort.

  Don and I felt like we had just arrived on the set of Fantasy Island. At the end of the dock, Francis was waiting for us with two gorgeous azalea leis. The only thing missing was a white suit and Tattoo standing next to him saying, “The plane. The plane.”

  After settling into our beautiful seaside suite, we decided to do a little exploring around the resort. I spotted a small gift shop and persuaded Don to check it out with me. He hated shopping, but since we had time to kill, he was a good sport and walked in with me. As I looked at some trinkets, a woman asked if I’d help her pick out a wrap to wear that evening. She described her dress, and after eyeing the choices, I picked out a red cashmere shawl that seemed like it would go with what she had described. She bought it, quickly thanked me, said she looked forward to seeing us again that evening, and was off. I was quite nervous about what to wear since I didn’t know any of the other guests and had no one to call to talk to about it. Most of the guests were from Asia and Europe. I think the only other American was Steve Forbes, who was asked to attend to share some of his patriotic visions for the United States. All we knew about the evening was what time we were being picked up and that the women were to wear long dresses and the men sport coats. I chose a long fuchsia dress embroidered with flowers of golden threads on the bodice, and Don wore a beige linen sport coat with white linen slacks.

  As we were driven about fifteen minutes away to a small cove on the other side of the island, we wondered what the evening’s festivities would be all about. When we arrived, the staff greeted us and recommended we take off our shoes to walk to the end of the beach where we would meet the other guests. Don and I walked hand in hand, me in my long pink dress, Don so handsome in his linen jacket, his tanned olive skin radiating in the glow of the sunset. As we walked down the beach, the warm sand felt soft beneath our feet and the cool water hitting our ankles felt fresh and invigorating. I never thought in a million years I would ever wear a black-tie dress on a beach and walk barefoot through the water. This is what dreams are made from, I thought. In the distance, we could see an archway of flowers that led us to a clearing of land where there were luxurious leather chairs set up in front of a stage framed by the natural backdrop of the island’s dramatic rainforest. As we settled in amongst the other hundred guests, we could hear the water from the sea lapping up along the shore in a gentle melodic rhythm in the distance.

  We were seated directly in front of Francis and his (now-deceased) wife, Rose Mary, a lovely and genteel woman who embraced me as if we had known one another for ages. We introduced ourselves to the people sitting on either side of us, but before we could engage in any kind of conversation, sixty-two members of the Philippine Symphony Orchestra walked onto the stage, followed by Luciano Pavarotti with a beautiful woman on his arm wearing a red shawl. The guests cheered with unquestionable excitement. Don glanced at me and gave his little shy smile that signified how proud he was that the total stranger I made friends with in the little gift shop was Cynthia Lawrence, who sang duets with Pavarotti for many years.

  It seemed as if the music would never stop, and none of us wanted it to. This magical evening on a tiny island in Malaysia could have lasted forever. Don leaned over and whispered into my ear, “See? I told you this would be a night to remember.” He added, as he always did, “It’s the things in life you don’t do that you most regret.”

  Afterwards, Cynthia and I stayed in touch. One afternoon the phone rang, and she was on the other end saying, “Kathi, I’m singing with Luciano tonight at the Staples Center in Los Angeles. Are you and Don coming?” I had no idea and hadn’t bought tickets. She insisted it was no problem and offered us Pavarotti’s tickets. I called Don at the office, and he was in. Of course he was—“It’s the things in life you don’t do that you most regret.”

  Our seats were front and center, and much to our surprise, we received a note that read, “Kathi and Don, please join me backstage after the performance. Luciano would love to say hi to his new friends from Malaysia.”

  We scampered through the crowds after their incredible performance to the stage door. We weren’t sure how we’d get through all the security, but our name was on a list, and we were quickly escorted through a throng of fans waiting for a glimpse of Pavarotti. Cynthia met us in the hallway with a huge hug. “Follow me,” she said. “Luciano wants to say hi.” We walked into a sizable dressing room where he sat on a large chair, his aides on either side.

  “Luciano,” Cynthia said, “the Kolls are here.” We felt so special that he remembered
us. We chatted as the others looked on with bewildered expressions. When he was awarded a Kennedy Center Honor, they described Pavarotti’s early life. As a young man, he sold insurance.

  After polite conversation and compliments of the evening, I said, “Mr. Pavarotti, I seem to remember that before you were an opera star, you sold insurance. What kind of insurance did you sell?”

  “You sold insurance?” his aides asked in shock.

  “So I sold insurance,” he said in an almost Brooklyn accent with exaggerated hand movements. “What’s it to ya?”

  Sitting in the audience of The Hollywood Bowl, listening to the voice of Bocelli, my heart burst with these memories. We did it, I thought with a smile. We won’t regret anything because we embraced life and all it had to offer. Don’s mantra about regretting what you don’t do never applied to us. We did it all, before and after Don’s stroke.

  I used to ask Don different questions and then pack his answers away. I was so surprised recently to find one, “Are you glad you lived? I’m glad I lived to be with you,” written on it. What a gift to see five years later.

  As I’ve moved forward, it’s been very important for me to find a purpose in my life unique to me. I love that I lived to be with Don, but I needed to find a way in which I felt I was making a difference in other people’s lives. I wasn’t sure what it would be, but a light bulb went off in my head one day while I was in the audience listening to a medical lecture given by Senator Bill Frist. Bill had been a close friend of ours and during the years of Don’s illness had been an especially good ear to my challenges with Don. Not only was he a doctor, but his father had died on account of a stroke, so he understood the life Don and I were leading.

  Bill invited me to attend a local medical conference he was speaking at on palliative care. He thought I might be interested in what his lecture was about, since I had spent so many years wrapped up in Don’s medical world and had performed my own personal palliative care for him. I hadn’t seen Bill since Don had passed away, and he wanted to catch up and see how I was doing.

  After his speech, he found me in the audience to say hi. At the same time, a group of eager medical participants approached to meet him. One woman asked me how I knew the senator, so I shared the story of Bill’s friendship, showing her pictures of Don while telling our story. “I love your passion and enthusiasm for the life you led with your husband.” She showed genuine interest beyond the compassion of a stranger. “I run a division for Blue Cross in Hawaii and wonder if you’d consider speaking to a group of caregivers about how you managed the care for your husband and at the same time made a life for yourself.” A few people overheard our conversation, and before I knew it, I was surrounded by a very empathetic group of people whom I had never met, asking me a million questions about my experience as a caregiver. Bill was listening intently and asked if I’d like to join him for a cup of coffee. Before the coffee was served, he said, “Kathi, you just found the purpose you’ve been looking for.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Remember when I called you not long after Don passed away, and you mentioned how you were struggling to find some kind of purpose in your life? Well, you just found it,” he answered with the enthusiasm he always showed towards Don and me. “You would be a wonderful motivational speaker to caregivers. Start small, go to church groups, college classes, and community organizations to get your feet wet.”

  My head was swirling with thoughts, ideas, and questions.

  Soon afterward, I was invited to be a member of the neurological board at Hoag Hospital in Newport Beach, and at my first meeting there was a young girl named Michelle Wulfestieg who was speaking about the tragic circumstances of a stroke she suffered at age eleven and another at age twenty-four that left her partially paralyzed. Her story was riveting, and the enthusiasm she displayed about how she lived her life with a disability was inspiring. As luck would have it, she was seated next to me.

  She glanced towards my place card with my name on it and questioned, “Are you Kathi Koll? Were you married to Don Koll?”

  “Yes,” I answered, surprised she had any idea who I was.

  “I’ve always wanted to meet you. I’ve heard of you for years and how well you cared for your husband. I actually almost knocked on your door one day.”

  “I so wish you would have. My husband would have loved you,” I answered. “How about we meet for dinner next week?”

  A week later Michelle joined me at my favorite local restaurant, Sapori a regular haunt for me and Don both before and after his stroke. We quickly got into the trials and tribulations of our life’s challenges. I could see her wisdom, but could also detect the youth of a woman twenty years my junior. She shared some very personal stories that I could understand and give advice about, having the experience of one who had many more years under my belt. She had a zest for living as normally as possible, and if one hadn’t watched her walk into the restaurant wearing a brace on her leg to help her walk or see her motionless arm resting on her lap, one would never notice her disability.

  We connected that night, and as we walked out of the restaurant, wiping our eyes of emotion-filled tears, there was an enlightenment we had found of kindred spirits. We decided to take our show on the road. For the next eighteen months we spoke to over 1,500 people on the positive and trying aspects of “living on both sides of the hospital bed,” as we titled it. I spoke as a caregiver and Michelle spoke as a patient. Together we hit on stroke, caregiving, palliative care, and hospice. Hospice being Michelle’s passion. Unfortunately, I was naive about palliative care and hospice when Don was ill, so I didn’t have the opportunity to experience either, but did so for Don in my own private way.

  Michelle’s and my first engagement was at a Rotary Club where we addressed a crowd of Rotarians before their Halloween party. I was talking to Big Bird, a saloon girl, a nun, and a bevy of others decked out in costume. The second engagement was at a senior living facility. As I presented my story about the life I led with Don, a beautiful young girl in the audience cried.

  “I’m so sorry I made you cry, too,” she said to me afterward. “I lost my husband a year ago and haven’t had the time to grieve properly. I have two young sons, my husband had no insurance, and I’m trying to pay my bills with the first job I’ve ever had. Is there any chance you’d have lunch with me?”

  “Of course, I’d be flattered,” I answered.

  We met a few weeks later and shared our stories. I’m not sure what she learned from me, but being a sounding board with no agenda seemed to make a difference. I’m happy to report that her life has taken a new twist. She met a wonderful man who embraced her young children and they married.

  The audience found our stories quite emotional, and it wasn’t unusual to see people wiping away their tears as we spoke, which brought tears to our own eyes many times. We were sharing personal details and connecting with the frustrations and sadness some people in the audience were experiencing. Our stories were bringing countless emotions home to them—especially those who had ill loved ones or were caring for someone. Our inspirational success was that we had both walked in very challenging shoes but weren’t embarrassed to share our personal trials and tribulations to help show how one can have a successful and enriched life even under many difficult circumstances.

  After almost two years we moved on, evolving in separate directions. Michelle was starting a family, and between her hospice job and new role as a mother, our time constraints were different.

  Working with Michelle helped me discover the passion I wanted to focus on, the one I have the most experience with, being a caregiver. Those eighteen months were a lesson in what worked for me and how I could best help others in my own quest for purpose.

  I started Kathi’s Caregivers under the umbrella of The Kathi Koll Foundation to emphasize the role of family caregivers in need, and when I say in need, I mean those who can’t afford any kind of respite. I understand the loneliness, the sadness, t
he frustrations, the depression, the helplessness, the guilt. The difference is that I could afford to take time for myself. Not that I did enough of it, but at least I didn’t have the additional stress gnawing at me of how I could afford for my loved one and myself to survive.

  One of my favorite TV shows as a child was The Millionaire. Raymond Burr would show up at an unsuspecting home and give away a million dollars. I loved watching the emotionally packed surprise and hearing the stories of why they were chosen. In that same spirit, Don and I used to pick unsuspecting young couples at restaurants and secretly pay for their dinner. It was really fun to watch them look all over the room and try to guess who had just given them such a surprising gift.

  In my own way, that’s what I’m doing now. It’s not a million dollars, but to the recipient, it feels like it. My gifts are small, meaningful help to give a bit of respite not only financially, but most important, emotionally. Some of these people are so alone, so scared, so incredibly sad. I hear their stories, and after being vetted by a clinic or recommended in various ways, the caregiver and I meet, and I let them know they aren’t alone; and I offer some financial support to help alleviate a specific problem unique to them. All of this is done through the very generous support of family, friends, and community to help me in this quest. The fact that a complete stranger appears to help them is an emotional bonus that resonates deeply.

  I’ve also found wonderful satisfaction in writing blogs that stem from what I learned during my experiences as a caregiver. I’ve found myself saying, “I wished I had known me when the catastrophic, life-turning events happened to me and Don.” It gives me an opportunity to help the caregivers I can reach out to personally and financially. Giving tips that worked for me. Sharing feelings I had. Offering ideas I’ve tried. The funny thing is that I find myself rereading them. A few reminders go a long way in keeping me on a positive track. Sometime I’ll read one and think, I’m not perfect, for Christ’s sake. But the reminder to look up always helps.