For Deb - We Love You ❤️

A week ago, we made plans for a traditional burial, service and reception. Two days later, after stewing over it, we cancelled it. It just didn't feel like Deb at all. It felt like going through the motions of what we should do, and not something that she would have wanted. So, in lieu of a traditional service, we'll be throwing a "Deb Party" this summer at our family home on the Siletz River. We'll celebrate her life, share stories, listen to her favorite music, eat her favorite foods, and drink her favorite drinks. We'd love for this to be a chance to fill the home where she spent her last days with happy memories from all of those who loved her. 

Not everyone is comfortable in their own skin.  Debbie obviously was, perhaps because she was so good to everyone else.  Please bear with me as I share a few personal remembrances of her.

 

I’ll never forget holding the pool table for hours with Deb as my partner at the Rose & Crown, a pub in London’s Chelsea neighborhood.  Multiple rounds of Boddingtons and Smithwicks may have played a role, but the locales loved her.  So did the bartenders.  The next night we all headed to the West End, where Debbie joyously sang every word of the 20+ Queen hits in the musical “We Will Rock You.”  She’d seen the show about a dozen times, but it was important to her that her friends could see it too.  It was awesome, so was she.  Then she’d strike up a conversation with the doorman or the cabbie or the waitress… that was Deb.

 

Years ago, before attending an OSU football game with my son (in the days the Beavers usually won), Rick called and invited us to tailgate with them.  The parking lot was filled with RVs and relatively subdued parties.  Which one was the Kramiens?  Several rows back was a scene that looked like the frat in Animal House.  The music was blasting.  At least 75 people were hoisting red solo cups and crowding around an RV.  In a lawn chair at the absolute center of the party was Debbie.  While helping him fill his plate with BBQ, she asked my young son if he’d ever want to play for the Beavers when he went to college.  For a minute, he was the center of her universe.

 

There was a lot behind that that pretty face.  Deb was exceptionally smart.  She played a vital role in building George Morlan Plumbing Supply into a regional force admired throughout the industry.  When she asked you how you were doing, she truly wanted to hear the answer.  She genuinely cared about her employees, vendors and customers.  That’s a rare thing and may be one of the reasons she was so good at the multitude of jobs she tackled.

 

Statistically, less than 7% of Americans read more than 20 books a year.  Debbie was one of them.  A few years back, after I had published my first novel, Deb devoured the entire book in just two days.  Then she wanted to discuss character development and plot structure.  Like I said, she was far more than a pretty face.  When she wasn’t reading, she was playing Scrabble on her phone.  Naturally, she was great at it.

 

If you think about it, the Kramiens are the epitome of the American Dream.  Work really really hard, treat people with respect, be persistent, and don’t be afraid to take chances.  Do all that and you can still climb the ladder of success.  The Kramiens did.

 

But economic gain and the privilege it grants didn’t change Debbie.  She never forgot her relatively humble background and the people she’d work with along the way.  Quite simply, she never lost her decency or her moral compass.  When you shot the breeze with her sitting at a picnic table while eating fresh Dungeness on newspaper, it was because she had hauled in the crab pots.

 

You want to know what else she achieved?  Spend a few moments talking with Alex or Mandy or Heather.  Younger adults don’t get that considerate, that accomplished, or that poised without a great example.  That what Debbie was.  In a sense, even as she battled a tough debilitating disease, Debbie was teaching us all how to live.  We won’t forget her.

 

We mourn her passing.  No doubt she’s headed upstairs.  Perhaps, if Jehovah is looking the other way, Rick will eventually be there to join her.  But let’s remember Debbie as she was.  Those memories are precious.

 

Dave & Karen Lutes