We caught up with the brilliant and insightful Kathleen Kelly a few weeks ago and have shared our conversation below.

Kathleen, thanks for taking the time to share your stories with us today We love heartwarming stories – do you have a heartwarming story from your career to share?

SECRET SANTAS

My ER pager jolted me awake on a blustery December night for a S.A.N.E. (Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner) case. I shed my warm quilt, grabbed a robe, and jotted down the report of two child abuse patients waiting for me.
Marge, the nurse’s aide, met me at the door of the ER. “They are the sweetest little girls. I put them in the room at the end of the hall. It should stay quiet down there unless we get too busy. I got them into their exam gowns. The doc made his preliminary exam and asked us to call you in.” She shook her head sadly. “They gobbled down pudding, ice cream cups, cookies, and several cartons of chocolate milk. They ate like they hadn’t had a meal in a week. I found some jackets for them in the donated clothes bin. They were shivering, dressed for summer. I pretended not to notice the jacket pockets bulging with peanut butter crackers and fruit juice boxes. They stashed away everything in sight when they thought I wasn’t looking. The police are waiting for you at the nurse’s station.” She started off to answer a call light and added, “One other thing. I know it’s against policy, but they both insisted on lying on the floor. The girls told me they sleep on floor mats at home. I grabbed a couple of pillows and wrapped them in blankets. Last I checked, they were sleeping soundly. They must have been exhausted.”
Jeff and Tom, good police officers and fathers themselves, filled me in on the details. “Annie, age ten, and Gracie, age seven, showed up on the doorstep of an elderly woman a mile from their home,”
Tom added. “We’re familiar with the girls’ father. Quite a rap sheet—drugs, alcohol, and all the trimmings. Dad’s gone MIA and mom disappeared years ago.” Tom opened his notepad. “At 24:15 the vic, Annie, let a man into her house. She identified him by name… a friend of her dad’s. She told us this guy did ‘bad things’ to her.” He handed me a copy of his incident report. “That’s all she would tell me about it. He must have held her down to restrain her. There are large handprints on her upper arms. She escaped with her sister. They showed up at the door of a neighbor who called 911.”
“The perp denied everything when he was arrested at a local bar,” Jeff shook his head. “That little girl must have put up quite a fight. The guy explained away his bruises and scratches, insisting he fell off his tractor.” He rolled his eyes. “The girls told us their dad often leaves them alone for days. They didn’t know how to reach him. No heat or electricity. Not much food for them to eat. The CPS caseworker is on her way.” He made a half-hearted salute. “They’re all yours.”
I stepped into the exam room. Annie, nestled on the floor in a jumble of pillows and blankets, cradled her little sister. Her eyes snapped open, and she glared at me. I bent to help her up. “Hello. You must be Annie.”
She ignored my hand, nudged her sister, and said, “Wake up, Gracie. The nurse wants to check us out.”
Dark circles underlined Annie’s weary blue eyes. She straightened her gown and swept frizzy, auburn locks under a faded headband. All the harshness left the little warrior when her seven-year-old sister’s lips trembled, and tears inched down her cheeks. Annie wiped Gracie’s wet face with her gown and gently stroked her feathery, blonde hair, revealing large blue angel eyes. Gracie gripped her sister’s arm and did her best to appear brave.
“My name is Kathleen. It sounds like you’ve had a busy night. I’m going to do an exam to make sure you’re both okay. I’ll explain everything I do before I do it. You can ask me any questions you want.” I examined Gracie first. “Gracie, did you ever hear your own heartbeat?” She shook her head no. I slipped the stethoscope earpieces in place and put the bell up to her chest. Her eyes widened with astonishment.
Delighted, she spoke up for the first time. “Annie, I can hear my heartbeat. It sounds like a drum.”
From then on, we were buddies. I found no visible signs of abuse or injuries except she was noticeably underweight for her age. “Gracie, you did a great job. Thanks for helping me out with your exam.” I pushed the call light.
Marge peeked in the door. “What can I do for you ladies?”
“Marge, Gracie has been such a good little patient. Could you take her to the nurse’s lounge for some of your great hot chocolate while I talk to her sister?”
Marge welcomed Gracie with a big smile. “Of Course.”
Gracie picked up the jacket Marge had given her. “Can I take the coat with me?”
Marge nodded. “It’s yours, honey, I found some jeans and a sweater that will fit you just right. Come on. Let’s go try them on.”
The little mother, Annie, knelt and hugged her sister. “It’s okay, Annie. You go with Miss Marge. I won’t be long.”
I assured them both. “I’ll bring her to you as soon as I’m done. I promise.”
Gracie thought it over and decided it was okay. She clutched her furry pink jacket close and allowed Marge to lead her away.
I motioned to the exam table. Annie hopped up and pulled the sheet to her chin. “Can you tell me what happened, Annie? Did someone come to your house tonight?”
She bowed her head and, with muffled voice, answered, “Yes.”
I scooted a chair close and sat, so she could look down at me and not the other way around. I softened my voice. “It’s okay. Take your time.”
The child sniffled. Her eyes watered as she probed deep into my eyes, debating whether to trust me. I handed her a tissue. She blew her nose, and let out a long slow sigh as if searching for words.
“You’re safe now, Annie. You can tell me what happened to you tonight.”
She folded her arms protectively around herself before speaking. “My dad leaves me in charge when he goes away. When someone comes to the door, I always tell my sister to hide in the cupboard under the kitchen sink until I tell her it’s safe to come out. Tonight, Sam came over to our house. He’s always nice to me, but this time he was different. He smelled like beer and acted…well…weird. I tried to make him go home. He wouldn’t leave.” She stared at the floor.
“Annie, this is important. Did Sam hurt you or do anything that made you feel uncomfortable?”
“Sam said I was pretty, she whispered. “He said I could be his girl.” She wadded the tissue into a rope.
“You’re doing good, honey. I know this is hard for you. Did he do anything to you that you didn’t want him to?”
“He said he wanted to teach me how big girls kiss. He put his tongue in my mouth.” She grimaced. “It was ugly-awful. I pushed him away.”
“Did he stop?”
“He just laughed at me. Then he…” She looked away.
“It’s okay. You’re safe now. What else did he do?”
“He said it was a tickle game. He wanted me to touch his…thing. I told him no. I didn’t want to. Then he picked me up and carried me to my dad’s bed.” She closed her eyes tight. “He…lifted my nightgown and…”
“Where did he touch you, Annie?”
“He started rubbing me on my chest. I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t. Then he rubbed my legs. He said he was tickling me where girls feel good. It didn’t feel good. It hurt.” She turned red with embarrassment. Holding back tears, she covered her face with her hands and cried. “He hurt me. He hurt me down there…in my…privates.”
“How did he hurt you? Did he touch your privates, Annie?”
“His finger. He put his finger inside…down there. It hurt. I screamed at him to stop.”
“Yes. That’s good that you screamed. What happened after you screamed?”
“He let go of me and tugged at his pants zipper.” Annie flailed her arms at the phantom monster. Snarling like an injured animal, she cried, “I scratched his face and grabbed the b-bookend from the sh-shelf.” She stuttered. “I hit him. Bashed his head…as hard as I c-could. I hit him. I kept hitting him.” She stopped swinging her arms. Her voice hitched into a soft whimper. “He fell. Fell off the bed.”
I wrapped my arms around her trembling body “Annie. Annie, look at me, honey,” I whispered. “You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you here. You’re safe. You did well. You are so brave. You got away. You protected your sister too. I’m so proud of you.”
She blinked up at me and scanned the room as if remembering where she was. Her breathing came in quivers, but she managed to state, with conviction, “Yes. My sister. Gracie. I got Gracie out of the kitchen cabinet. We ran and ran. We kept running until we saw a house.” Calmer now. “The lady let us in. She was nice to us. She called 911.”
“You know, Annie, sometimes when bad things happen to little girls, they think they are bad too. I want you to remember this.” I held both her hands in mine. “You are not bad. The man who did this to you is bad. You are a very brave girl.” I let that sink in while I prepared to do my exam. I opened a rape kit box, set the swabs and specimen bags out on the bedside tray, and labeled them. “I’m sort of a detective nurse. I know how to collect evidence so we can make sure we get the bad guys and they don’t hurt anyone else. You can be my assistant and show me where the man hurt you.”
Annie leaned over and watched me put her name, date, and time on each evidence container. I explained everything I needed to do for her exam and showed her the DNA swabs. Before I started, I said, “Annie, no one is allowed to touch your private parts except a doctor or a nurse. This is your body. You are in charge. No one has the right to hurt you. You must tell a grown-up if someone does something to you that you don’t want them to do. If they don’t listen, you keep on telling until someone does. Okay?” She nodded in strong agreement. “Let’s get started. I am going examine you.” I repeated, “I’ll let you know everything I do before I do it.”
She knotted her brows and frowned. “Will it hurt?”
“I promise. I’ll be very gentle. You can tell me if it hurts where I touch you, so I can help make it better.” I put out my hand. “Deal?”
“Deal.” Annie took my hand, and we shook on it.
The young girl liked the idea of being on the good guys team. She cooperated like the trooper she was. The dark purple ecchymosis around her hymen attested to vaginal penetration. The bruises and abrasions between her thighs and on her arms affirmed Annie’s rendition of her assault. I documented and photographed my findings, placed the evidence into the rape kit box, and sealed it.
“Proud of you, Annie. You did great. You can get dressed. Marge laid out some clothes for you on the chair.” She jumped off the exam table with renewed energy and hurriedly got dressed. I picked up the puffy purple winter jacket Marge left for her and helped her slip it on. Annie looked down at her new outfit and gave me a thumbs up. For the first time tonight, her face softened, and she gave me the hint of a grin. I smiled back and returned her thumbs up. “Let’s go find your sister.”
We passed through the bustling ER to the nurse’s lounge. She scanned the folding chairs and the shelf displaying an ancient teapot with a row of personal coffee mugs. The room had a faint aroma of a country kitchen, thanks to the fresh baked goods supplied by patients and their families. Annie glanced at the string of children’s drawings on the walls. She took a seat beside her sister curled up on a well-worn sofa. She gripped an old hand-crocheted blanket and wrapped it around them both for an extra layer of armor. Annie’s expression was one of defiance. Still, I thought I detected a spark of hope.
“I am not going back to my dad,” she announced. “Wherever I go, Gracie goes. We’ve run away from foster dumps before, and we’ll do it again if you try to split us up.”
“We can talk about that with the case worker,” I said. “She’ll be here soon to bring you to a safe place for the night. Would that be okay?”
“Don’t worry, Gracie,” Annie said. “I won’t let them take you away from me.” Then her gaze, with eyes full of experience beyond her years, focused on me. “You people have no idea what it’s like.”
I agreed. “You are right, Annie. You are the expert here.”
She laughed. “I’m no expert at anything but getting in trouble. I’m good at that.” She held up her fingers, counting off. “Let’s see… I’ve been labeled A.D.D., hyperactive, socio-pathetic, or something like that.” She smirked. “I got in-corrigible-anger-management too.” She gazed at her little sister. “Adults like labels.”
Gracie threw off the blanket. “You’re not a label, Annie!” She glared at me. “I’m not a label, lady. I’m a girl.”
“I don’t like labels either,” I said. “Some people put labels on boxes before they even look inside. Dumb. You must know a lot about that. But you left out a couple of things.”
Annie looked skeptical. “Like what?”
I finally had their full attention. “I can see you are both expert survivors. Did you know survivors are the strongest people you’ll ever meet?”
In a shy whisper, Gracie said, “You’re nice. Can we live with you?” Gracie slid off her sister’s lap and laid her head on my chest. I wrapped my arms around her. Every fence around my heart came crashing down.
“Knock, knock.” Gina, the caseworker from Child Protective Services joined us.
Annie and Gracie withdrew into a shroud of silence. Gina went over the care plan as if they’d won the lottery. They would be taken to separate foster homes. They sat, stoic. She explained the ongoing efforts to locate their parents.
“No way!” Annie finally came to life, jumping to her feet. “We go together or not at all.”
I interrupted. “Is there any way they could be placed in the same home?”
Gina shook her head. “I’m sorry. This will have to do for now. But I promise I’ll do my best to find a place you can be together.”
I drove home with a heavy heart, depressed by the Christmas music on the radio. The sight of my son’s car, parked in front of the barn, put a smile back on my face. Only three weeks until Christmas, my son had brought the family up for the weekend. The holiday spirit spilled over me the minute I walked in the door. My son, Ken, and daughter-in-law, Laurie, looked on with pride as their daughter, Casey, demonstrated her own unique style of creative expression.
“Hi, Mom.” Erin, my twelve-year-old, was all smiles. “Casey and I have the Christmas decorating job covered.”
Covered indeed. Christmas cheer decked the halls everywhere within the reach of a two-year-old. The baby Jesus sat with his dad and mom in Santa’s sleigh towed by a cow, two sheep, a donkey, and Rudolf. The impressive use of tinsel on everything, including the dog, added that signature Casey touch.
The next day, we awoke to a winter wonderland. Even the horses danced from the cover of the barn, prancing and kicking in a glistening playground. After breakfast, we bundled up to test-drive our new sleds. Casey, excited to build her first snowman, tugged her daddy outside.
My pager went off. I came so close to a clean getaway. I shrugged and waved my family out the door with an apologetic smile. I dialed the number. Gina, the CPS caseworker, gave me a cheerful, “Season’s Greetings!”
I worked with Gina on many child abuse cases, but always at the ER. This time, she wanted to come over and talk to me about a special case and asked if she could stop by. I heard the urgency in her voice. She must have known I couldn’t say no. She arrived at my door seconds before I finished clearing our gingerbread house project off the kitchen table and putting the coffee on.
Gina sat on a kitchen chair, took a sip of coffee, and, with a guilty smile, pulled a thick file out of her briefcase. She slid it across the table. Grace’s and Annie’s foster home placement file stared back at me. It didn’t take long to figure out what she had in mind. In answer, I listed the facts of life about my family responsibilities, limited finances, and work challenges. I even mentioned the increasing needs of my elderly parents.
Gina waited until I’d exhausted my ammunition. Without a word, she hit below the belt. From the file, she plucked out pictures of Annie and Gracie. I held up two school picture photos. Their endearing smiles spoke nothing of what I saw when I met them in the ER. I read a note clipped to the file about how Gracie tried to run away from the foster home to find her sister. Foster home availability poses big problems every day of the year, but finding a foster home during the holidays, plus the challenge of taking on two… I shook my head, skimming through sterile-looking folders that chronicled Annie’s and Gracie’s journey since birth. They’d never had a chance at childhood in their few short years of life. Gina and I peered at each other, mother to mother, for what felt like an eternity.
In my most detached professional way, I said, “All I can tell you is I’ll give it some thought.” But before I could stop myself, I added, “I’ll talk it over with my family and let you know.”
She appeared annoyingly pleased with herself. “You go right ahead and talk to your kids. I’ll be in touch. Y’all have yourselves a very Merry Christmas.” That was a low blow. Gina knew when to say when. She jumped up, thanked me for my time, and strode out the door. She drove off before I could return the conspicuously large packet she accidentally left on the table: “Everything You Need To Know About Becoming A Foster Parent.”
I decided to give Gina the benefit of the doubt and take a quick look. I learned foster parents could be single, married, divorced, or widowed. A candidate had to be over twenty-one. Overqualified there. When I read the part about passing an FBI criminal background check, obtaining a level-one fingerprint clearance card, passing parent orientation classes, and childproofing the house, I wondered how my kids ever survived all those years. Note to self: write a letter to Congress to make these requirements mandatory for anyone planning parenthood.
Lunchtime came before I knew it. The kids trudged in, laughing all the way and bragging about the crazy snow family they created. I started to clear the table to make lunch, when Erin spotted the instruction packet.
She gasped, “You’re not thinking of… Mom! No way.” She handed the booklet to my daughter-in-law. Laurie, a social worker in the city, understood the rocky journey of families in crisis. She gave me a questioning look. My son, Ken, a very wise man, got busy with diaper duty and said nothing.
I took the folder from Erin and sighed. “I get it. I don’t know why I’m even considering this with all we have going on right now. But as crazy as it sounds, I’m torn.”
Erin laughed. “Mom, you’re always torn about every kid who comes to the ER.”
No argument there. They seemed to recognize the I’m-not-letting-this-go look on my face. Everyone settled onto chairs around the table. I told them about my night in the ER. The tide turned when I showed them the pictures of Annie and Gracie with the note about Annie’s desperate attempt to run away to find her sister. Somehow the discussion changed, from if we could do it, to how we could make this happen. Ken got the ball rolling with his idea to remove a wall of cabinets in the storage room. That would clear just enough space for a little bedroom. The ideas kept coming. Before long, we had a workable plan.
Gina could have acted a little more surprised when I called to give her the news. She went to work getting me approved as a foster parent and organizing all the paperwork . Our finish-line goal was set for Christmas Day. Our enthusiasm caught on. When word got out to our country neighbors that we “were expecting,” folks showed up with supplies of little girl clothes and extra blankets. Someone even donated a small bunkbed that fit perfectly into our tiny, converted storage room.
Gina went above and beyond the call and managed to pull it off early. One week before Christmas, she drove up our driveway with the girls. Erin and I, the welcome committee, waved at them from the front porch. Annie and Gracie timidly slipped out of the car, clutching child-sized suitcases that held all their worldly possessions. Erin stepped right into the role of big sister and showed them to their room. She flashed a smile at us and shut the door behind them, leaving Gina and I laughing at how quickly they made themselves right at home. Happy noises bubbled from the other side in the universal language of girl talk. Giggling and chirping like ducklings, they covered everything from movies to music to a serious debate about nail stick-ons versus nail polish.
When the children emerged from their room, I could see the girls had begun to trust Gina. She possessed a magic touch with kids. They hugged her and then dashed out the door with Erin. They headed to the barn, anxious to meet the rest of the family: four horses, chickens, assorted cats, and Lassie, our collie—not exactly an original name. We made up for it with our peacocks, Sonny and Cher, the rooster, Birdezilla, the pigs, Romeo and Juliet, the rabbit Smoochie-Ka-Poof-Ball, and Moby Duck.
The ER staff got involved and asked about the girls. Having friends to share some of the challenges we faced right off felt good. Lassie had the secret cure for night terrors. She took the 8 p.m. to 7 a.m. shift. When I peeked into the girls’ room at bedtime, I found they’d left their beds to stretch out on the floor with blankets and pillows in a big cushy Lassie sandwich.
The food disappeared mysteriously. I often came up short when I went to prepare a meal. I found several snacks hidden in their room. They stashed away canned soup and half loaves of bread. They finished off a gallon of ice cream in a day. One of the nurses came up with a great idea. She suggested I take them to the grocery store and involve them in meal planning. Marge suggested I give each girl a food stash box that we filled each week. ER Doc, Roger, assured me kids have an uncanny way of adapting to a new normal, such as not going to bed hungry.
The staff asked me, in subtle ways, about Christmas plans for our new family. I told them we may not have much, but we made up for it with our Christmas spirit. Annie enjoyed the honor of placing the angel on top of our tree. I told them about when Gracie asked if Santa would know how to find them in their new home, Annie answered, “Only the dumb kids still believe in Santa. Besides, we got our present a week early this year.” But Annie hung her stocking up anyway, just to be on the safe side.
On Christmas Eve, the end of my twelve-hour shift, I reported on my patients. I had Christmas Day off and couldn’t wait to get home to celebrate with my new family. But of course, the paramedic radio went off just as I headed for the exit. Ugh. A critical case tends to make a long shift even longer.
I grabbed the receiver. “Kathleen, ER, Over.”
“Copy that, Kathleen… Ben, EMT… We wanted to wish y’all a Merry Christmas. Bout ready to head home, Kathleen? Over.”
Pretty unusual question. We all know not to get personal over the radio. But I guessed the Christmas spirit changed the rules up there in the mountains. “Copy that, Ben. Yes, I’m about to go bake Christmas cookies with my kids. Wish everyone over there at the station a Merry Christmas… Over.”
“Copy that. Over and out.”
Everyone seemed extra helpful, pushing me to finish and clock out. I chalked it up to the spirit of the season. They rushed me out the door. “Here’s your hat.” “Don’t forget your purse.” “Have a safe drive.” “Hurry home before the snow gets any deeper.” When I reached my car, Officer Dave stepped out of his patrol car and cleaned the snow off my windows. I thanked him, and he hopped back in his car and made a call on his radio. About a mile from home, singing holiday songs at the top of my lungs along with the radio, a firetruck pulled out behind me from the roadside. No lights and sirens meant no cause for alarm. Out in the country, it took a lot more time for emergency vehicles to get to people in crisis, so nurses and doctors lend a hand when we can. I breathed a sigh of relief, gave them a friendly honk, and turned onto the dirt road to the house. Out of the car, as I reached the steps to my front door, a blast of lights and sirens roared up my driveway. My heart skipped a beat. I charged into the house and yelled, “Did anyone dial 911?” After I confirmed all was well, we watched out the window as a giant fire engine, lights flashing and bells jingling, came to a halt in front of the barn. Enthroned, way up on top of the rig, Santa waved and ho-ho-hoed. Firemen dangled from the truck with Christmas lights strung over their uniforms. Two police cars followed and lined the driveway. Out came a motley crew of elves with fake beards and pointy hats. They made merry and helped Santa climb off his firetruck sleigh. The jolly parade marched up the stairs and into our living room. Santa made himself at home in the big overstuffed easy chair next to our tree. The elves trooped in loaded down with a turkey dinner and all the fixing’s and then spread the feast on the kitchen table. The girls and I held on to each other in shock. Santa, whose voice resembled Battalion Fire Chief Jim, ordered his elves to go out to his sleigh and bring in his bag. Soon, the crowd of Santa’s helpers parted. In marched a six-foot elf, with a natural red beard who looked a lot like Officer Jeff. He placed Santa’s bag in the center of the room, directly in front of the big guy.
Santa stroked his long white beard, looked at Erin, Gracie, and Annie and winked. “Ho! Ho! Ho! I wonder if there is anything in this bag for three good little girls. Let’s just take a look.” He brought out a big red box wrapped in ribbons. “Hmm. There’s a name on it. Why, yes. This is for Gracie.”
Gracie skipped over, and peered earnestly up at Santa. “I’m Gracie. I’m Gracie, Santa,” she whispered, her voice dream-like. Santa put the box in her opened arms. She stared, not moving, at the beautiful paper and ribbons…more than enough for her. One of the lady elves, who reminded me a lot of Paramedic Jackie, knelt beside Gracie and helped her unwrap her gift. All the elves oowed and aahed with delight at the Disney tea set. Gracie hugged Santa before touching her gift. My heart expanded. Are those tears in Santa’s eyes?
My non-believer, Annie, watched from the other side of the room. Santa read her name off a package. Annie, careful not to appear too anxious, strolled over, took her present, and then returned to her corner. She wasted no time and attacked, ripping the ribbons and papers to shreds. She was my kind of girl. She lifted out a beautiful dress and gingerly held it as if it might break. “How did Santa know my size?”
Santa winked at her, touched his nose knowingly, and laughed. “Ho! Ho! Ho!” He shifted his attention to Erin. “Big sisters always have an honored place at the top of my list. Erin, this package must be for you.”
She unwrapped a lovely turquoise sweater set with matching gloves and hat. Annie, Gracie, and Erin showed off their gifts to Santa’s helpers. The elves got busy placing the rest of the presents under the tree. Gracie’s eyes grew as round as the tree bulbs when she saw her name on a few more gifts. Santa made us promise not to open them until morning. Hugs all around, then as quickly as they came in, the jolly group paraded out into the snow.
Santa sprang to the top of his sleigh-firetruck, and to his team gave a whistle. Away they all flew like the down on a thistle. I heard him say, ere he drove out of sight, “Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.”

As always, we appreciate you sharing your insights and we’ve got a few more questions for you, but before we get to all of that can you take a minute to introduce yourself and give our readers some of your back background and context?

My book, Voices of the ER by Kathleen Kelly, is an invitation to come with me on a journey through true, short stories spanning my career of over three decades as an ER nurse. Listen to the voices that echo from the worlds behind the doors of big city ERs and a country hospital nestled in the mountains of Arizona. Meet every day angels in the form of nurses, doctors, patients, extraordinary people, and spirit guides who hover in the veil between birth and death. I am privileged to share the moments before death when loved ones come to welcome them home and guide them on their next journey. The ER is challenging with pressures and stresses. You can’t survive if you don’t find ways to laugh, listen, and allow yourself to be touched by the courage and strength of the human spirit. My short stories, penned in my journals over the years, celebrate the best in all of us.

I worked as a Registered Nurse specializing in Critical Care and Emergency Medicine for over thirty years, employing my education and skills in the healing arts. Also trained as a Sexual Assault Forensic Examiner, I worked with victims of violence. My extensive study in alternative healing embraces the richness of a holistic approach to my work as a medical intuitive. I am the Coordinator of GILA County Child Fatality Review for the Arizona Health Dept. The Child Fatality Review Team’s mission is to reduce preventable child fatalities. The results of these reviews are used to improve services, advocate for change, and conduct public awareness activities, ultimately for the purpose of preventing future child deaths. I believe this work lends the illuminating voice of each child after death.

Contact me if you would like to schedule a consultation: e-mail: [email protected]
My Medical Intuitive Readings are about taking back control. Ever wonder about your own highest potential? Why do you attract certain people or situations in your life? Perhaps you can’t see beyond a roadblock in your relationships or work and you just feel stuck. Archetypal awareness is one of the strongest tools available for understanding the contracts between you and your soul.
Since graduating from Caroline Myss Education Institute, a two-year intensive study based on the book Sacred Contracts, I have been guiding people to make empowering choices that can change their life. (https://www.myss.com/profiles/kathleen-kelly

Celtic Moments Irish Band with Jim West and Kathleen Kelly, See us at Celtic Fairs and Pubs. We’ll get your feet a tappin’ celebrating the best of Irish music!

We’d love to hear a story of resilience from your journey.

CELEBRATE LIFE
The ER census hit its max on one busy Saturday in May. I finished getting reports and headed off to start my shift.
Greg called out, “Kathleen, you have a phone call.”
“Could you take a message? I haven’t checked on my patients yet.”
He gave me a look that stopped me in my tracks. “I think you better take this.”
I picked up the phone. She identified herself as an ER nurse, speaking in a detached monotone. “There’s no easy way to tell you this. It’s about your son, Michael.” She hesitated. I held my breath and prayed. “Michael was in a traffic accident. He was transported to our ER with multiple injuries. We did everything possible… But we were not able to save him. He died before we could get him to the OR. I’m so sorry…”
I threw the phone at Greg. “There’s a crank caller on the line. Can you take care of it?”
Greg turned pale, closed his eyes, and let out a low groan. He muttered a few words, hung up, and faced me. Overcome, eyes pleading, he couldn’t bring himself to answer.
I screamed, “No! Not my baby…No! He’s only seventeen. It can’t be my Michael. I just talked to him before I left for work. Only an hour ago, I told him I loved him, and he said, ‘Love you too, Mom.’”
Michael’s last words echoed through my brain in the surreal days that followed. Every parent’s worst nightmare: the funeral of a child, my child, played over and over. Shrouded in a haze of disbelief and sorrow, I fought to replace those last images with good memories. Slideshows of a million little things played over in my day and nighttime dreams: his treasured beat-up VW bug with the beanbag for a back seat, his contagious laugh that made it impossible to take life too seriously, and his hugs—nothing like a Mikey hug.
Those days are a blur now. But I do recall one moment in time with absolute clarity. I stood alone in my son’s room, shutting out the aimless congestion of the mourners on the other side of the door. Mike’s guitar leaned against his bed, where he could grab it when the mood struck. I took his shirt off the chair and ,without thinking, hung it up for him. Then I quickly slid it off the hanger, buried my face in it, and breathed in that Mikey scent.
The quiet hit hard. What happened to the familiar teenage racket? No grating screech of his electric guitar. No teasing. No laughter. No nothing. I cried. “Where are you, Michael? How could you leave us?” I glanced around his room, searching to feel him, somewhere…somehow. I spotted a poster propped up on a cluttered stack of homework papers. Was it just a week ago he mentioned his social study assignment, challenging teens to create a poster illustrating ways to have fun and still stay safe? I held up his artwork, impressed he had finished it so soon. Homework, not always Mike’s priority, usually didn’t get done until the last minute.
I smiled at the bright red-brick background flashing the words. “Happiness is Dancin’.” He must have really worked at painting all those symbols of his favorite rock bands and that flashy sketch of his guitar. But the most stunning message from Mike’s poster stood out in huge bold stenciled letters. “CELEBRATE LIFE!” The words cut like a knife. I let the poster drop to the floor and stared out the window in disbelief. The willow tree swayed in the gentle spring breeze. A flash of little boy Mikey hanging gleefully from the branches came and went. The rich, new life of spring outside made no sense. How could the world go on as if?
“Mom.” Michael’s far-off voice called to me. The room was thick with his energy. “Mom.” His voice was stronger and closer now.
“Michael, where are you?” I don’t know if I said it or thought it.
“I’m right here, Mom.”
My mind’s eye saw him in a haze. “I thought you were dead.” We didn’t need words. Strangely enough, it felt even more natural without them.
“I don’t feel dead. I mean… I’m fine, but everyone else is acting weird.” We stood together in his room where nothing had changed, trying to get used to the idea nothing would ever be the same. I wanted to fix it for us. Wasn’t that what moms were supposed to do?
“Mom, do you hear that?”
“Yes, Mike, I hear it.” Familiar voices, laughter, and music beckoned from a distance far beyond his room. They seemed welcoming. Waves of love and comfort embraced us. I had to cut the cord once more and help him cross over. “It’s going to be okay, Mike. They came to welcome you, honey.”
“I don’t want to leave, Mom.”
“I know. You will never leave my heart, Michael.” Embraced by a strength and a grace that lifted me from the grief for a moment, I whispered, “I love you, Mike.”
“Love you too, Mom. ” ……And he slipped away.
The poster is in a prominent place in our home. It reminds me to keep a promise I made to Mike that day. Every day, rain or shine, no matter how challenging things may be, I will find a way to celebrate life.

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