Nov 7

Nov 7 Journal: Keitho, 1961 - 2014

Of my four brothers, Keith was the youngest and the one closest in age to me. Though hardly inseparable, we shared a place and a time, so we shared a childhood. We were in high school together, where his friends called me 'Little Glover' down the long halls of Amity high. We were collectively called 'the little kids' by our older siblings. We both lived in Asia for a time. He and I were the ones who decided when Dado would be taken off his chemical life support and his life would end. For much of my growing up time, he was the only sibling I remember sharing #505 with, in those faded, square-snap shot seventies.

His death left us all flat-footed — still reeling after the long and protracted death of our father the year before, and the catastrophic cardiac event that left our oldest brother, Steven on a heart bypass machine longer than anyone at Yale-New Haven Hospital's history — Keith went from diagnosed to dead in a few months. He was only 53.

It would take a dozen or more trips to #505 before I stopped expecting his lilting 'Hello Victoria!' as he bounded into the kitchen, a mixture of distinctive scents clinging to him — sweat, soap, fresh air and in earlier days, tobacco. The complicated tangle of raw nerves that kept him bound to our ancestral home ensured he stayed close, visiting every day at #505. Just like in the old days, whenever I was there, he was there too. His wife Pha continues this tradition — out of gratitude to my parents? Filial piety? Habit? Who can tell... I'm so grateful to her, it matters not.

Turn down service at #505.  She may have lost her son that day, but my Mom still turned my bed down.  It's the little things, ya know? — Turn down service at #505. She may have lost her son that day, but my Mom still turned my bed down. It's the little things, ya know?

After he died, that early morning in May — I returned to Vermont as soon as I possibly could, where things are orderly and predictable and pretty, all the things #505 is not. From home I could think about his life and his legacy and his memorial service. Determined to make it special, I got to work. I ordered pine trees from the Arbor day Foundation, a hundred of them. I wrapped them up to give away and printed up these tags. Not surprisingly, Keith means 'forest' in gaelic — sometimes the details just fall in to place.

I wrote his obituary in an hour. Never have words come so freely and and with such surety, here it is:

In the dark, dusky hours of May 2, 2014, with his untimely death, Keith left this world too soon, a victim of lung cancer. With his quiet, peaceful passing the Glover family of West Haven lost their beloved husband and father. Not far away, in the house where he grew up, his mother Jacqueline, a resident of Orange, Connecticut for more than 50 years, lost her youngest son.

Born on a clear, snowless night in Springfield, Illinois on December 30th, 1960, Keith will be remembered for his friendliness and easy, unpretentious manners, more Midwestern than Yankee — which drew comparisons to those of his father, Lawrence Glover. Keith died at Yale-New Haven hospital, knowing the name of every nurse in his attendance and thanking them for each and every procedure, no matter how uncomfortable.

If Keith was considered ‘a handful’ as a child — and he was — it was his restless and adventurous spirit, which brought him first to Monterey, California, then to Kailua-Kona, Hawaii and farther still to Koh Samui, Thailand. It was in Koh Samui that he met the one girl who ‘understands me best,’ his cherished Pha, and where his restlessness was at last, quieted. They married in 1993 and together created the beautiful, loving family that became his bedrock.

The term ‘animal lover’ falls woefully short when describing Keith. Though born into a large family well known for their varied and extensive menagerie, Keith demonstrated an affection and affinity with the animal kingdom that eclipsed them all. He was powerfully proud of his beloved dog Miki, a Malamute Wolf mix, who like Keith, felt more comfortable out of doors, where the natural world brought no end of wonder and joy.

Keith is survived by his loving wife, Jirapha Glover (née Saetan) of West Haven, who he called ‘my Ace’ for her devotion and quiet comfort; and his two children, his greatest achievements; Malia, age 13 and Shane, age 9. Together, they brought Keith the ultimate joys of his life and no end of pride. He is also survived by his mother, Jacqueline Glover of Orange and siblings Steven, Marc, Patricia, David and Victoria as well as countless friends, business associates and relatives. Keith was predeceased by his father, Lawrence Glover in 2011. Both avid fishermen, we trust that his spirit has been reunited with his beloved Dado and the many friends he had lost, and that the seas are calm and the fish are biting.

To honor the memory of Keith — hold those you love close, look to an animal for companionship and inspiration, and walk outside and breathe deep the trees, and the sun, and the surf, for that is where he has always lived. Please join us on May 17th to celebrate his life, to share stories and to shoulder together the burden of our loss. Rather than flowers, contributions to Malia and Shane’s education would be most appreciated.