Condolences

Condolences

Recently, many people have approached me with condolences regarding my nephew, Bode Miller’s tragic loss (sometimes there is a waterfall in that river of tears) I thank them, and would like to explain a little background that may or may not assuage sad feelings. Don’t get me wrong, I hardly know the guy, mostly due to the great schism, which is not Kenney - Miller, but Kenney - Kenney, internecine warfare I think they call it, and as a result Bode and I have become alienated, estranged. You may ask, what is this “warfare”? or better rubric, what is this Kenney Curse, or even better, the Tamarack Trauma Drama? To better explain, let me write: I was born the second of five feral cats (minus one drowned feral cat - P. E. “Bubba” Kenney), raised half wild, half starved; lying, cheating, stealing, arrogant, abusive, reckless and careless, self-centered and egotistical, greedy, lazy a-  — all behind a facade of normalcy, shrouded in glory. Take a look behind the facade and you will see a family steeped in trauma: murder, rape, double suicide, sickness (cancer), disease (Alzheimers/alcohol), house fires, divorce, accidents/fatalities, and so on. Even ancestor William Kenney, born 1755, I believe, suffered PTSD, having fought in the Revolutionary War (side by side with battle hardened Nate Kinsman?) almost six years, starting as a teenager. Now, this character, William Kenney, eventually herded his family of nine children up to Bethlehem NH in around 1803, including 10 year old son, William Kenney (born 1793, Royalston, MA, died June 28, 1879, buried Mt. Washington Cemetery/Bethlehem Cemetery, NH) and, he had another son/brother, Cyrus, born 1803, d. 1806. This comes from family records, sourced—>Littleton Library, kept by General (of the militia) Edward Oaks Kenney, buried Glenwood Cemetery, Littleton, NH.

To give an example of Bode Miller and exposure to trauma, or at least childhood adversity. Get this, I’m coming home from Southworth’s establishment, “Rivagale” (watering hole) in town (Franconia) around dark, almost 5 miles, few decades ago. Half way I sees a glow at the bottom of the mountain, like around our place! Sure enough, the wood shed was on fire next to the Kenney family home, not good! the house being a four story wooden structure, flames lapping up the side of the building. I parked the vehicle strategically, so as not to impede any firetrucks, and hustled up the driveway to, hopefully, put the fire out. And, I see, in a surreal gloom, an apparition standing behind the screened front door, the figure of a young Bode Miller, in a daze, having just gone to bed, ensconced with his mother and siblings, come down off the mountain. This #3 fire happened not too long after Bode’s father Woody went south. (He eventually came back with another woman and earned some acceptance taking care of his Alzheimers stricken father) There is more to the story, much more, anyway, the fire department did save the house. (#1 + #2 fires happened before Bode was born). Just more childhood adversity. Then there was the death defying avalanche ride down the headwall (Tuckerman’s Ravine) by the young Miller. You get hardened, numbed to trauma after a while, repeated episodes. If you can withstand enough trauma, you can squeeze some good out of it. For example, brother “Bub”, 25 years old, drowned (accident? suicide?) in Echo Lake, April 4, 1981, Kayaking in 33 degree water. So I learned to swim across Echo Lake, and, consequently, reducing debilitating fuzzball (tennis) induced scoliosis. (I could never ride a flat ski)

Maybe Morgan, Bode’s wife, might find some consolation in this lost/hidden trauma. Bode’s grandmother, my mother/father, back in around ’47-48’, before I was born, mother recently married and pregnant with first child, were burning grass one fine? spring day. The fire got out of control and she miscarried. (My sister may or may not have passed on this information). 

Bode can rest assured of some sort of balance to the “Kenney Curse” with the “Advanced Physique” (very rare), passed down from my father, Bode’s grandfather, Jack Kenney, who could reach around the back of his head with a glass of water (he never touched alcohol since the double suicide of his parents, my grandparents) and drink it.