The power of Kim's warmth and devotion to both family and friends is evident in the fact that I feel like I know you, her surviving family members, even though we met only casually on a few occasions when I attended one of her performances with Sound Body, or with Cincinnati Musical Theater, or at one of Annie's shows at Mount Notre Dame. It's unlikely that you will remember me, but I will never forget Kim.
Kim and I often stood side by side as we repeatedly washed our hands and faces as product testers at Procter & Gamble, sharing the joys, sorrows, and mundane moments of our daily lives over the course of nearly fifteen years. As the mothers of teenagers (and eventually, young adults) we discussed and commiserated and laughed and cried and agonized and rejoiced together over our families, supporting and encouraging one another through sunshine and storms. Kim and I also shared a bond as singers, although we never had a chance to perform anything together other than renditions of "Happy Birthday" with our co-workers. (We could always count on each other to provide a starting pitch low enough for our alto voices, and to keep the key from wavering when others joined in.) I admired--and envied--her ability to perform jazz standards in a way that allowed her audiences to relax and reminisce while her mellow voice enveloped them, and was thrilled when she had opportunities to travel and perform with her church choir in Europe.
Besides our love of music, Kim and I also shared an abiding faith in Jesus Christ and a commitment to live by the principles he taught. Kim was a compassionate soul; a loving, patient mother; and a cheerful friend. I am grieved that she did not have the chance to become a grandmother before she passed away, because she would have been such a fun one! But I am confident that because of Christ's victory over death, later generations will yet hear the warm tones of Kim's voice and feel the loving embrace of her arms. May that hope bring you peace.