Kenneth R. Kellner, MD, PhD: Professor Emeritus, Department of Obstetrics, Shands Teaching Hospital, University of Florida
In 1978 or just into 79, while a graduate student 'up the hill' working in Studies of the Self, and beginning to dabble in death and dying, and related topics, a faculty member stopped me and told me of a marvelous opportunity 'down the hill' (The J. Hillis Miller Health Center, the UF School of Medicine, was 'down the hill' from the Psychology Building). They were looking for a graduate student who might be able to aid with developing research on the topic of Perinatal Bereavement, or Grief and mourning with stillborns. I immediately said 'yes': it was just what I had wanted to do: for my Masters, and up till then, my studies were dry and scientific, theoretical, and as both a researcher and young mother, this opportunity appealed to me as precisely what I had hoped for. From 1978 until 1982, and years afterward, the work that Ken Kellner, Dr. Donnelly (Pathology) and myself would do, would help set the groundwork in America for research in the area. None of us knew that at the time: Dr. Kellner, with Dr. Donnelly's advice and aid had established Perinatal Mortality Counseling Program, an interdisciplinary team approach to onsite, inhospital, compassionate and informed intervention and counseling for parents at Shands experiencing prenatal loss and stillbirth. (Kellner, KR, Kirkley-Best, E., Donnelly,W. et al,1981) This team approach, rather unique at the time, coordinating pathology, OB-GYN, Psychology & Social Work) would later serve as a template for hospital programs all over the world. It was an exciting time, though very sad, as we listened to the mourning and sorrow of so many mothers, whose infants had died at or before birth. Dr. Kellner's death has added a wistful end to his work, as his full and busy life stands next to those small lives, who because of 'fate and The Fall' came only to change lives.
I did not know that Ken was sick with cancer: we lost touch over the years, had some minor 'spiffs', but how they pale the moment someone who was significant in your life is gone! The last time I saw him face to face was in the 80s: we wrote a note or two, one at his retirement regarding time for him and his wife to travel, but how fast the time went: he had a great sense of humor and when I worked with him, I remember he had a wooden carving of his name on his desk: one day while we were talking, I took my finger and absent mindedly ran it across the dusty 'name carving' and he started to to tease about whether I was accusing him of bad housekeeping! In graduate-student flustering, I assured him not, and he laughed, but that was what he was like. Back then he looked like Howie Mandel. I hardly recognized him late.
Everyone who knew him, the hundreds of interns, medical students, co-workers, could agree on one thing: he was hard working and excellent at what he did. God graced me with several people like that in my early training: I learned to care about detail and accuracy, about always attributing credit where credit is due, about care and patience with families and about listening: that was an odd lesson from a clinician, as I have worked with many who despite their strengths, often fail at that trying occupation. I was gone from the team for 30+ years, though kept some of my own research going and developed "The Forgotten Grief" website, based upon an article he and I co-authored, that became a foundational literature review in the area. My early work was much better because of Dr. Kellner: he was a careful editor and thinker, and wrote well.
I know he loved his wife and children, speaking of them often. I don't recall meeting Mrs. Kellner, but know her life as a physician's and professor's wife must have been very trying, I will remember to pray for her and his family. While Dr. Kellner was not only known for his work in Perinatal Bereavement, our early work, as that of others such as Glen Davidson (SIU), Sr. Jane Marie Lamb(SHARE) and others went so far: back then, we were surprised at how many people would listen: there was so little intervention. Now, even with those early seeds of research, counseling and care, there is almost not a hospital even abroad, that doesn't at least have referrals and support groups. What you plant, grows. So many people die, having led full lives, but leaving nothing behind. While his secularism might not agree with this thought: how great the grace of God, to allow us to plant those seeds in life that lead to a healing work. How comforting it is, not to think of where we went in our careers, but of how many people now are comforted by the work. Here is one of his last lessons to me, unintended: never let the minor distractions of life, or the pursuit of career or achievements overshadow a far better great work, of healing and comforting other people in pain.
In my mind, I will always remember the young doctor who looked like the one on "St. Elsewhere". A stalwart and dignified family man who taught me to be a better psychologist and human being. May his family be comforted in knowing that their sacrifices through the years, were just as critical in the work as his: they share in the comfort of many worldwide.
Dr. Hannelore Wass, Department of Education,
Foundations of Education, U of Florida
In the same day I learned of Kellner's death, I found quite belatedly, that Hannelore Wass had died in 2013, though no one had told me. Hannelore was on my doctoral committee: I chose her because she taught my first college course in Thanatology, or Death and Dying. She was warm and friendly, and though even then nearing retirement, engendered many students into the field or related fields. Hannelore was a founding member of what is now ADEC, but then National Forum for Death Education and Counseling, and the editor and founder of Death Education and Dying: Facing the Facts: an annual publication of research and theory in Death and Dying.
Because of Hannelore, I was greatly inspired to go into the study of Grief and Mourning: before, I studied Depersonalization, a component of Grief and other experiences, and her early influence and help got me started publishing. She was always animated and cheerful, though at the same time dignified. She told the story in her class, which met one summer in her home, about growing up in Nazi Germany, and at 9 experiencing a bomb blast which hit their apartment home. Later in life, Hannelore would go on to study the fascination of youth with Nazi culture in the post-Columbine climate in an effort to understand and circumvent future occurrences.
One of my favorite stories though about Hannelore, was one that occurred after I left Psychology for ministry-related efforts. Shortly after I made the difficult decision to leave, around 1987, me and my children travelled down to Orlando to visit family, but we stopped on the way to 'checkin' and say hello to some folks from UF. I had become a Christian, and the interchange was a bit stressed because not all of my former faculty members understood. By coincidence, that evening, Hannelore was sponsoring the Peterson lecture, and annual endowed lecture on topics in Thanatology, and she invited me to stay for the talk. The talk was by the professor from Rutgers, Myra Bluebond-Langner, who wrote: The Private Worlds of Dying Children. As she spoke, she made a statement, off the cuff, about how, at least in her research, they never spoke of heaven or an afterlife! As I sat there that night, I thought to myself "Well of course they don't, no one ever tells them about heaven!" The more I thought about it, the more it became clear that this was a serious untapped need for both dying and bereaved children, that they might know they are loved and to have hope. When I returned home, I started the ministry which would become Judah's Glory, though the first name of it, in 1987, was 'Hope to Heaven', which provided coloring and workbooks for Christian children.
I have learned in my life so much from Hannelore (I'm not being 'cheeky': everyone by her permission called her that). Here was a woman who early in life knew Nazi Germany and bomb blasts, but instead of developing bitterness, taught people indeed, to 'face death' with hope and strength. Later, she would work to fight the roots taking hold again in the young: this is among the greatest achievements I see in her, a victorious life. She, like Kellner, and like many, also have plenty of awards, honors, degrees, etc, but it was in the semantics of her life that she gave the rest of us meaning. She taught me about death: but by doing that she taught me about life, and I did not become a 'death-denier'. When I came into faith, it helped me to understand faith better. Faith and Hope.
She was one of the people who gave me many opportunities, always without fanfare: she had a knack for seeing who was good at what: she was one of the most welcome additions to my doctoral committee. I have left researching most thanatological issues, over the years in an effort instead to learn to love people better, to be more sincere in my faith, more authentic in belief. That crossroads, that night that I 'randomly' stopped into see some old friends and mentors, led me teach more eternal lessons. I will greatly miss Dr. Wass: she may be one of the last of a kind.
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