Kim

There aren't many people for whom I would do the "Rock Chalk" chant. I have stood respectfully while others have chanted it, but I have never participated . . . until now. But for Kim Setty Norton, I would do almost anything, including "Rock Chalk."

Kim, my sister-in-law, was just one of those kinds of people who was easy to love. She was one of the most selfless souls I have ever known. No matter what, it was never about Kim. It might have been about her husband, her kids, her mom, her relatives, her work . . . but not about her. Even in her last days, she was asking about others, making sure we were all ok, never wanting to talk about her illness.

She was diagnosed with her cancer a day or two before a wedding in the family. She never said a word about it until after the ceremony was over, the bride and groom gone on their honeymoon. Then very quietly, she told one of the sisters-in-law and slowly spread the news. She never wanted to talk about it, and she refused to surrender to the chemo treatments. She missed an occasional day of work from chemo, but very few. She might miss the day of the treatment, but usually, even if she felt bad, she was at work.

Kim was a planner. She handled her household with efficiency, knowing where each was at all times, planning for the next event. When she realized that she was not going to beat her cancer, she began to plan her funeral. She told her mom, "I have produced my own show for 23 years; I am going to produce my last one." And with that she ordered the music, asked the vocalist and instrumentalists to play, selected the pall bearers, chose the scripture, and created exactly the funeral she wanted. And it was beautiful. It was all Kim.

Kim was a collaborator who tried to include many, speaking ill of no one. Several people told me they only ever heard her speak positively about others, and the fact that other news organizations in town helped man the KWCH desks so their broadcast family could attend the funeral speaks to how well respected she was in the community. She included the common folk as well as other media people in her "Does It Work?" segment, building good will and a loyal following.

Kim was beautiful, inside and out. She exuded a loving spirit and deep faith in God. When she lost her hair in her second battle, she decided not to get a wig. I so admire her for that. For such a public person whose profession relied on hair and make-up, she always knew what was really important. She told me that the hair didn't matter. She said she had a lot more to be concerned about than whether her hair looked good, so not having any was easier. What a gal!

She taught me a lot watching her through her last months. She kept her quick wit, her terrific smile, her faith. She taught me about the importance of remaining optimistic even in the face of bad odds, about being the mom even when you are sick, about being gracious to people who are well meaning even if they say the wrong things.

On occasion I would drive through Starbucks and take Kim one of the drinks they offer. I frequently would ask them to put a little extra love into hers and they did. Sometimes they would draw pictures, or write notes on the cups. They even added prayers for "my friend." Today when I drove through, I was suddenly overcome with grief. I wouldn't be taking her Starbucks anymore. We wouldn't be sitting around talking about the things our kids did or the state of the country or the crazy things people put on Facebook. She wouldn't be going to New Mexico with me any more. All of a sudden, it became real.

I know Kim is watching from above telling us all not to worry. She knows she was a wonderful mother to her children, and they have a steady foundation on which to stand. She knows she was a terrific wife who loved her husband unconditionally. She knows her mother is strong and kind and will be there when needed. She knows she was loved by the rest of the family. She knows that we would do anything for her . . . including say, "Rock Chalk Jayhawk."