Counsel for the Defense
By Susan Law Corpany

There are many things we should do to prepare for the big eventuality, like wearing clean underwear, getting our affairs in order, and trying to be better people.  In the “pre-need” department, I've already got my legal counsel secured for the judgment day.  I’m requesting Brother Harry Kerr as my counsel for the defense. 

Sadly, he left us too soon, just as we were getting to know him.  I think of him every time I call his wife and hear his voice, left on the answering machine because it is the only way we still get to have part of him here.  Also, for his wife it feels like he is still looking after his family and offering protection by giving callers the impression there is still a man around the house. 

Other people might not understand that and be jarred by hearing his voice, but I understand because I have done similar things for whatever comfort and protection they are able to impart.

A few years ago my husband, Thom, was facing back surgery.  I had called a couple of brothers in the ward to come give him a priesthood blessing.  Brother Kerr and Brother Duffy showed up at the appointed time and inquired of my husband as to whether or not we wanted both of our resident boys to be present for the blessing.  Christopher was awake and Shawn was taking a nap in the bedroom.          

"Let's not wake Shawn.  He's always pretty groggy when he first wakes up anyway."

So we decided to proceed with the five of us.  Brother Kerr turned to me.  "Will you please offer a prayer to invite the spirit?"     

I folded my arms and bowed my head and began to pray.  Midway through the prayer, I heard Shawn's bedroom door open.  He stumbled out, oblivious to the fact that there were guests in the living room, and entered the bathroom adjoining our living room, shutting the bathroom door, because, after all, there was a woman in the house once again.  However, the door didn’t quite catch and popped back open a couple of inches. 

With the door not completely shut, the sound of my stepson’s waterworks carried loud and clear into the living room.  It became immediately obvious that it was going to be difficult for me to continue to pray with such competition, and I decided to stop my prayer until he had finished.    

Being a newcomer to the Curtis family, I was unaware that the nickname the family had for Shawn was “iron bladder."  He was the only one of the five kids who could hold it across three states.  We stood there, quietly, eyes closed, prayer in suspended animation, as he put the Energizer Bunny to shame in the "keep on going" department. 

I could tell by the vibrations that we were all on the verge of irreverent laughter, and I knew if one of us blew, we would all blow.  But none of them were expected to resume a prayer afterwards. 

I did a bit of motivational self-talk.  I'm supposed to be inviting the spirit, and if I laugh, the spirit will leave, the brothers won't be inspired in their blessing, Thom will die in surgery and I will be a single adult again.  It worked, for the most part. 
      

Shawn exited the bathroom and went back into his bedroom, seemingly still unaware of anything taking place in the living room.  I took a deep breath and picked up on the prayer where I had left off, keeping my composure and trying to set a reverent tone for the priesthood blessing that was to follow.  Brothers Kerr and Duffy pronounced the blessing.  We all hugged or shook hands and discussed for a few minutes the details of the upcoming surgery.  None of us mentioned the elephant that had been in the room, or at least taking care of business very nearby.

A few days later I ran into Harry's wife, Pomai, who was my counselor in the Primary organization. 

"What happened at your house the other day?"       

"What did Harry say?" I inquired.       

"Only one thing.  He just kept repeating it over and over but he wouldn't tell me why he said it.  He came home and he burst in the door and he said, 'The woman is a saint, I tell you.  She’s a saint!’  I asked what you had done that was so saintly and he wouldn’t say.  He just repeated it again.  ‘She's a saint!  That's all you need to know.  Whatever she needs you to do in Primary, you do it.  The woman is a saint!'"

I laughed.  “I’m glad someone things so.”

“So . . .?”

“What?  I’m a saint.  That’s all you need to know.  Now whatever I need you to do in Primary, you do it.”  Then, of course, I spilled the beans.

It wasn't long after that that Harry left us, at the age of 42.  He was involved with amateur drag racing.  Much of his effort was spent trying to get kids racing on the track rather than on the streets.  His metal casket was souped up, painted to match his race car, and like his car, it had the names of his wife and children on the side. 

What I knew of him from our association was limited, but I had seen enough to know that he was a man whose priorities were straight.  His life was right with God, he served his fellow man, and there was nothing that was more important to him than his family.  He had been a hands-on dad, involved in all aspects of his children’s lives.  I told Pomai that for the sake of other marriages God had to take some men early, because if other women realized that there were husbands like Harry around, they would be leaving their own husbands in droves.

I may have been on the verge of laughter and able to hold it back during the infamous prayer, but no amount of self control could staunch the flow of my tears when, as we sang "Families Can Be Together Forever” at the gravesite, young Tyler crawled down off his mother's lap to console older brother Thomas with a hug.  A few people managed to keep singing as the two boys held each other and cried together there in front of their father’s teal, fuschia and yellow casket, but most of us could not continue.

Afterwards, as we stood and solemnly watched them carefully lower the casket into the ground, his father-in-law quipped, "Slowest I've ever seen him drive."  Some laughter broke out through the tears, like a small ray of sunshine through the clouds.  I knew Harry would approve, because he was a guy who enjoyed laughter.

Most of my contact with Harry since then has been his voice on the answering machine, but one day I needed his help, and he came through.  It had been the first anniversary of his death.  The racing association was holding a special anniversary race as a benefit to Harry's family.  I realized that in having the race they were also asking his family to do a difficult thing, to return to the scene of his death, to the previously-avoided race track where he had collapsed with a fatal heart attack. 

Despite the fact that I needed to spend the day in search of an important lost document that was sorely needed, I spent the day at the Harry Kerr Memorial Race with Pomai, Thomas, Tiffany and Tyler.  I bought t-shirts for our entire family and a couple for Brother and Sister Duffy, who had moved away, but who also loved Harry.

It was evening when I finally ended up at the office to look for the papers.  "Harry," I said out loud, "I spent the day today with your family because they needed me instead of looking for the papers I need to have by tomorrow and now I need your help.  I have looked everywhere at home, and I have finally decided they must be down here at the office.  They are in a green file folder.  That's all I remember.  I've looked everywhere here, too, but I'm convinced they’re not at home, and I don't know where else to look.  If they're here, I need your help finding them." 

I’d had similar conversations with deceased family members, so it wasn't an extraordinary experience for me to engage in a one-sided conversation such as this.  I was alone, so there was no one around to question my sanity.  

The communication came almost immediately.  I stood up from the pile of papers on the floor that I was sorting through and listened as something told me to reach up on top of the bookshelf in the corner of the room.  There, hidden from view, was a file folder.  I felt it first, because the bookcase was too tall for me to see it.  Never in a million years would I have thought to look there.  As I pulled it down, the tears came again, as I held in my hand a green file folder full of the crucial missing papers.  "Thanks, Harry.  I owe you one."

Harry, nobody misses you more than does your wife and three children, but at the oddest times, I think of you and I regret that our family didn't get a chance to know you better.  I know that you’re often there helping them, just as you helped me that day.  I do what I can for them from this end. 

When I stand at the judgment bar, I want you as counsel for the defense.  As they begin to read off the list of my shortcomings and sins, I want you to come forward.  You don't have to say much, but say it with feeling.

"She's a saint!  That's all you need to know.  The woman is a saint!"