These are some social media posts I shared in February 2021:
It is with deep sorrow I share that my father, Rodney Howard Redlawsk, passed away Sunday, January 31, 2021. He was a proud father of four children and grandfather of four grandchildren. We are postponing services for now but will notify you of our celebration plans in the near future (thinking this summer, outside event).
All my father wanted was to see his four kids together before leaving this world. Within 24 hours I from California, my oldest brother from England and my youngest brother from Florida all traveled to join our brother in Michigan to be with dad who held on until we could all get here. I’ll never forget his face when I rolled into his bedroom (formerly my bedroom) in my childhood home on Jefferson Avenue and held his hand while he squeezed mine.
I feel too young to have lost both parents...
My father had a considerable amount of (lifelong) friends and was a dad and brother-like figure to many. He had a broad smile, gregarious laugh, a pocketful of stories and could make friends with just about anyone. He couldn’t go somewhere without running into someone he knew, including the time he visited me in California and I took him on a road trip to the desert and sure enough he ran into someone he knew in a desert saloon. Or when he made “friends” with a biker in the back parking lot of that same saloon by approaching him first. After I return home I’d like to share more about my father, my time with him and the experience of the last few days with him in a blog post when this is less raw and painful and I’ve had time to process it.
For now, since we can’t do an immediate memorial, I thought his friends and family would like to see a photo video I made of dad’s life in sequence for his 70th surprise birthday party us kids threw for him after a successful double lung transplant two years ago. Watch here and feel free to share, and let his friends and family we may have inadvertently left out know of his passing: https://vimeo.com/302156487
Thank you for all the messages, calls, those who dropped off food and supported us and Dad through this. I’m sorry to all those who are mourning and were touched by my father. You fought the good fight, dad. Love you, never forget. I will miss the days we had. ❤️💔 August 27, 1948 - January 31, 2021
My grandmother sent this little tree to my dad for Christmas when he was in Vietnam. He carried it around with him in his backpack during war times and kept it over the years. My dad was a Vietnam and Desert Storm Veteran. He was a member of the U.S. Army and the Air National Guard. He also worked for the County Road Commission for over 20 years. I’m told he worried what would happen to this little tree up until he died, reminding Kim (I’ll share about her later) a million times of its importance...I’m glad to take a piece of dad home. If you know me you know I’m all about experiences so material things mean very little to me, whether it’s inexpensive or expensive, but these kinds of things do and this little 25 cent tree will be proudly displayed. It will join the recently found ceramic Christmas tree my mother made for me as a kid.
Dad displayed my art proudly and now I get to have ‘Gone Fishing’ for my home🎄🎣 Rest peacefully, dad.
Being at dads brought up a lot of old memories and even old wounds. Found this picture. Junior year. This was such a difficult time. One of so many. I adored soccer and played for 13 years. Little did I know a genetic muscle-wasting disease lurked in me since birth — strangely symptoms don’t manifest until my 20s/30s. But sometimes physical manifestation of the disease happens later (40s/50s) or earlier (teens), like in my case. In hindsight, this completely explains my troubles during this time.
Since freshman year my body was degrading but I had no words for why. My mind would think “kick” but my body had a noticeable delayed response and running became increasingly difficult. I couldn’t control her, my body, and it was deeply frustrating. I would blame myself. On my own I would run and practice but nothing would change my predicament — never suspecting something so catastrophic was about to change the entire trajectory of my life. Looking back there were small signs that I had a muscle condition but of course all these signs run mute until it begins screaming in your face.
By senior year I knew something was wrong but no one believed me and I was met with skepticism. “You’re just not trying hard enough, Kam''.
It was such a lonely and difficult time. There was something clearly wrong but how could anyone guess it would be this?
Come Senior year I was cut from the varsity team which was embarrassing. I felt awful, a failure and blamed myself, but it was the right decision. I was rubbish and by this time my body was barely listening to me.
Afterwards, it was rumored my dad was upset that I was cut and had a “talk” with the Varsity coach which was mortifying when I heard. My mind escapes me and I don’t remember if I ever confronted dad about this, but I was utterly embarrassed. My baby brother was a bit of a high school soccer star before his big car accident and was friends with the varsity coach, who was also the boys’ varsity coach, so I think dad felt a bit of entitlement to address him. Granted, I know it was out of love but here I am an 18 year old who thought the coach’s decision was completely valid.
It would take a couple years of listening to a family doctor who didn’t know what he was talking about. After being yelled at for not doing things I clearly knew wasn’t helping me, I took the apathetic reigns and became my own best self-advocate — searching 5 years for answers including traveling to other state hospitals by myself. That time was such a horrible and lonely time as I was abused by the medical system and doctors weren’t listening, all this while working 1-2 jobs at a time and putting myself through 2 college degrees, including a physically intensive Industrial Design Transportation program. After 5 misdiagnoses, walking away from many specialists and forcefully pushing my way through I would find out what we all know today; I had disease that was so debilitating and rare back then (still today but people get diagnosed much quicker and easier) that most specialists had never met someone like me — turning me into a medical guinea pig.
It’s strange how sometimes we don’t “see” until years later when the whole story is unraveled before us. It’s been quite a journey…Also, 90s.
January 2021 and December 2016. When mom died four years ago and I finished cleaning out her home, I took off to one of my spots, Belle Isle Island, Detroit. We grew up in Chesterfield, Michigan; a small suburbia town on the Bay of Lake St Clair, an hour or so away from D. Our parents never really took us to Detroit when we were young so I only got to know it when I lived there for five years during college. Detroit became my spot to roam, my home. So many memories.
I’m a curious roamer and when I was still able to drive I drove a lot. A LOT. It was how I figured out life’s difficulties and I just loved driving so much. No distance was too far for me. On a whim I’d take off to Chicago (I used to live there, too) only to turn right back around — completing an 8 hour round trip trek just to think and see. Driving helped me deal with a lot of loneliness during the diagnosis stages of this mysterious disease and an arduous Industrial/Car Design school program. It was a lonely affair to discovery and acceptance, and really it was just me and my car that handled those years.
I never shared but when mom died in December of 2016 I went to Belle Isle Conservancy to see some life in the middle of winter, and be in a place I had spent so much time drawing and thinking in. A Motor City photographer spotted me. I think she saw me crying. She approached me after watching me wheel around for some time and said how much she loved my red hair and asked if she could take a picture of me for Motor City’s “Detroit: Hidden in Plain Sight” project. I said sure even though I looked dreadful and hadn’t showered in days. We sat and talked a bit; a sharing of life and death between two strangers.
After dad passed and we left the house we headed back to Detroit and this Conservatory (outside) and drove. The way I feel after the past few months, I could easily do a cross country drive...twice. I’d give anything to drive again, there’s nothing like the freedom of taking off with the things that are nagging you in the rear view mirror and the open road of possibilities in front of you...I love you, mom and dad ❤️