30. Michael Kenny

30. Michael Kenny. My brother Michael was my hero when I was growing up. He was handsome, fun and seemed able to do anything - sort of the ultimate outdoorsman crossed with the original renaissance man. Need to fix a tractor? Slaughter a sheep? Cultivate honey? Make mead, beer or wine? Play the guitar, drums, harmonica? Speak fluent french? Help me with my vocabulary homework? Michael could do it. About two or three years ago, I came across a bunch of old journals in the midst of a move. I found one from late middle school where I actually talked about Michael and wrote that one day when I grew up, I would like to find a boyfriend much like him; adventurous, kind-hearted, creative and super intelligent.I think in many ways the reason I felt so close to Michael is that he always took special care of me. He was the one who, when Mr. Serrani -my certifiably wacko cocaine addicted abusive high-school calculus teacher - shamed and then scared the beejeezums out of me (for writing one of my classmates names on her test before handing it in - he would have failed her just for forgetting to put her name on her paper), and told me I had to meet him after-school to find out my own fate, came down to the high school with me and protected and advocated for me, eventually getting "Sir Ranni" as he insisted on being called, to back down.Michael was the one, who when I was a freshman in college, would call to check in on me and make sure I was making good,, or at least informed choices within all the new "sex and drugs and rock and roll" opportunities available to me through the college experience.Michael was the one, when many years ago I asked what I was like as a little girl so I could better understand myself, told me his own honest truth - that I was charismatic and fun, that I wanted everyone to get along and would do all I could to make that happen, and that I wanted to preserve my place as the baby, the princess, and to that end, would readily manipulate the truth to keep my status. He shared this with me in the kindest, most compassionate way, so much so that I remember crying that night in my bed, loving that little girl so much and truly forgiving her grown-up self for some of the negative characteristics and patterns that I was inadvertently carrying out from my childhood experiences. He gave me the chance to grow out of those patterns, without any sense of shame and with an abundant sense of love and context.And Michael was the one, is the one, who sends me a message of love and encouragement every single Mother's Day.Michael is dedicated to his own spiritual life as well, and shows up for it in a variety of ways. He is a music therapist and is truly gifted in working with all kinds of people, from severely autistic kids to adults at end of life and everything in between. One time, early on in the Samarya Center, Michael flew up to Seattle with a huge, I mean HUGE, box of instruments, and saw each one of my clients through the lens of music therapy. Not only did I get to see firsthand his almost magical ability to connect with my clients, I had the honor of him really seeing Integrated Movement Therapy as a powerful method, eventually studying with me on trainings and helping to get gigs where he lives in Dallas. Whenever I am with him in that professional capacity, Michael brags about me and lifts me up, especially schooling anyone who throws me in the category of a "yoga teacher." Michael has always treated me directly as a spiritual teacher and gifted therapist, with no sense of competition or doubt. His belief in me has been so influential in deepening my belief in myself.I have always known that Michael has my back. He honored me with being the godmother to his first born child, the first grandchild in the family,Nathaniel, who was in turn the person that, as a little baby I just adored and wanted to be with all the time, gave me the singular gift of that feeling of such supreme love that you knew you would die for that person. I think I would have felt that anyway for Nathaniel, but knowing that he was my godson gave me a special sense of love and desire to protect him.When I get to see Michael now, which isn't that often - us Kennys are pretty far flung - I also get to see his absolute devotion to his youngest child, Vika, who he goes to the ends of the earth to parent and encourage with ferocity and profound kindness. At our family trip to Ireland to summers ago, I could see that same sense of love and pride and deep desire to connect with his two grown sons.I got to visit Michael in Dallas a couple of years ago, and on that trip had the opportunity to go to one of Michael's drum classes - did i already say he is a multi-instrumentalist, drum teacher and drum maker? In that class, I got to experience him as a patient and demanding teacher - the kind that believes you can actually do it, so knows how to push while still making you feel like while you are doing a good job just as you are, it's just that you could do even better.If Michael is around, there is a jam happening, and we also had the opportunity to join him and about a hundred of his closest friends, all drummers too, or so it seemed, at a big potluck party at his house. He had friends from every possible walk of life, every background, every age. The party was like a reflection of Michael himself - full of love, passion and rhythm. And of course, good beer and great food.Thank you Michael for sharing so many of your gifts with me and with the world, but most of all, thank you for always believing in me and telling - no, showing - me how much I matter to you. I know with your love behind me, I have grown up to believe in myself too.