Golden Photographer Blog Saying Goodbye

Saying Goodbye To Our Friend Kathy

I met Kathy Kays 26 years ago when my husband, Lloyd, and I were dating. Lloyd had taken me to Portland, Oregon, to meet his friends and family, and Kathy was on the list of friends. She, her husband, David, and daughter, Maddy, invited us for dinner. Kathy wanted to make sure I was the right one for her friend Lloyd. Apparently, he had been making poor choices in the girlfriend department. We all talked for a while, then had dinner, where I managed to spill salad dressing all over the floor. I thought I had blown the interview. When we were leaving, however, Kathy told Lloyd, “If you don’t marry this girl, Lloyd, I’m going to kill you.” From then on, I was brought into the loving friendship of Kathy and her family.

Kathy met David in high school.  They went to prom together.  A year later, David followed Kathy to University of Oregon. They were wed in 1985.

Photo of Kathy and David Kays shortly before Kathy's passing

Lloyd and I were married in 1999, a year after I met the couple. Kathy was Lloyd’s groomswoman. She and David became godparents to our son, Forrest. They welcomed us nearly every summer into their home, where we were free to come and go and use their house as our base while visiting family and friends. The favorite part of our stays was talking all night with Kathy.  She would listen, then give us her take on the subject--offering a completely different thought, one that had never occurred to us. Her wisdom and insightfulness were unmatched.

I have Kathy to thank for the many times, before Lloyd and I met, that she taught my husband to be a better partner. 

“Kathy was home,” Lloyd said once. “She was grounded as a person, in her community and especially in her family. She was the supportive friend during our first year in college, and the welcome visitor to Colorado six months after I moved here.  She provided the calming presence of home at a lonely time. While I was traveling for work, climbing mountains and seeking out adventure around the globe, she stuck closer to home, until recent years. Her home was the welcoming, comfortable base whenever I returned to Portland. No matter how much time passed, it seemed like we had just spoken the day before. She was loyal and patient, the type who really would answer the 3 a.m. phone call when you needed a shoulder to cry on.

“Kathy was a powerful force, not a pushover, however. She was well-read, well-spoken, witty and wise. She pulled no punches when she needed to get the point across. Once, when I got back together with a girlfriend, after a short breakup following a tumultuous year together, she said, “I’ll be very excited for you if that means all the many problems you raised with me in the past have been resolved.” Then there was the time during a phone call, when she observed, “Do you know you’ve been talking about yourself for half-an-hour and have not yet even asked how I’m doing?” They were powerful critiques, always politely, if firmly, stated, that got your attention.”

In 2020, Kathy let us know she had been diagnosed with cancer—again. Unlike the two prior bouts, this one was treatable, but not curable. It was terminal. Not being able to fly out to see her and hug her due to Covid travel bans was unbearable. She tackled her cancer, trying different treatments and test studies. Every time we went to see her, we thought it was our last time to be with her. But she persisted. “I keep not dying!” she would say.

Many weeks ago, Kathy ran out of treatment options, and she underwent hospice care in her home. She had multiple tumors growing throughout her body, including her skull and throughout her spine that caused paralysis to her lower body. Her husband of almost 40 years became her primary care giver, with daughter and son as assistants.

When we knew that time was running out, Lloyd and I flew to Portland. David insisted we stay at the house as Kathy went in-and-out of lucidity.  He wanted us there when she was able to connect. I knew David loved Kathy, but I never knew how much until I saw him care for her--his engagement with her, his attempt to understand what she was saying in her drug-induced state, his working with the hospice nurse to find the best combination of medication so she could be coherent but not be in pain. “I still get all tingly when I touch her,” David said.

We said our goodbyes. She was alert and hugged us tightly, as we said some final words, with tears flowing. Getting the last word, Kathy turned to Lloyd and said, “If you ever feel a little snaky tickle down the road, realize it’s me kicking your ass.”

Kathy Landis Kays   12/31/1963-5/10/2025