How to: love unconditionally

This blog post on love was inspired by a tattoo. 

Random, as far inspiration goes, but you'll see its significance soon. 

Rewinding back in time to about 2010, let me set the scene: I was a 24 year old (rather clueless) grad student, living in the Catholic Financial Life tower on Marquette's campus. 

I was in school to get my MBA and I was working for the university as a graduate assistant in the marketing research department, so it made sense for me to live on campus -- in a high rise building that was half insurance company, half apartment building. 

What I didn't realize at this time, is that I would meet someone I really, truly loved in the most RANDOM of places: the security desk. 

And before I get too deep, this is not a romantic love story. No, this is about the kind of love that was born from a deep, mutual respect. 

A soul connection. 

The kind of unconditional love that people tell you isn't real...I promise you, it is.

The story begins in the lobby. With a poster. 

While I was decorating my first apartment, I had ordered a specific vintage art print and had it framed and shipped to me. I was thrilled when I got a text saying it had arrived, and I quickly grabbed my keys and ran down the hallway to call the elevator to go retrieve it. 

Because if you received a package at CFL, it was always kept in the lobby for safe keeping. 

I took the elevator down the 14 levels to the lobby, opened the glass door and went to go retrieve my box from the bench next to the security guard's desk.

As I looked through the pile of boxes, trying to find my specific package, the man behind the security desk stands up and says in a deep, resonant voice: 

"Excuse me, miss? Are you looking for the package for 1412? I have it over here." 

A tall, elegantly dressed older gentleman in his mid seventies smiles at me from behind the desk. 

He's wearing a crisp button down shirt, a tie, his pure white hair cropped shortly that sets off a brilliant white smile and deep blue eyes that twinkle. 

"Amazing, thank you!" I responded, and went over to the side of the desk where my large, framed poster sat, leaning up against the security desk.

"I kept it separate for you from the others because it looked fragile, and I didn't want it to break before you received it," the kind security guard said, smiling. 

"That was super thoughtful of you," I responded, "It's a new piece of art for my apartment."

He grinned at me and said, "I'm sure it will look perfect. Make sure you place it on the north-facing wall so that it doesn't get faded by the sun. Your apartment faces west and gets a TON of light."

"That's great advice. I'm Kristina, by the way." 

I held out my hand by way of introduction, and he shook it gently but firmly, saying, "I'm Bud, it's a pleasure to meet you."

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where the story begins. 

Bud and I became fast friends. 

He would always wave at me when I passed the window to leave for class, and we would chat briefly when I came back for the evening. 

He was extremely respectful and polite, the perfect gentleman, and he always had a kind or encouraging statement to brighten my day. 

He'd also have unusual and interesting life stories to share. 

Like how he met his beautiful wife, Mary Ellen. 

She had been his dental hygienist. (Right?!)

As she cleaned his teeth year after year, one day with a mouth full of toothpaste he worked up courage to ask her out on a date, and she said yes! 

He told her he had secretly admired her for years and had fallen in love with her smile and her beautiful, gentle nature. They married soon after. 

Bud was a juxtaposition: would tell me stories about his days working as an interior designer for elegant department stories, but also how he had ridden with Hells Angels back in the day -- and had some broken teeth as a result!

An ex-Navy vet, he was fearless -- he had a ton of tattoos with fascinating stories, scrolled over his arms -- an exotic travel location for one, a narrowly missed catastrophe for another, all marked eternally on his arms. 

He said his tattoos were his record of life -- of the things he didn't want to forget. 

He told me of his life lessons, but it never came across as preachy, he just wanted to share what he knew. 

And he knew pain. But he'd never make his suffering the focus. 

And in turn, he would listen patiently to all my life stories: friends, family, relationships, school...

He would burn me CDs of music he liked: Anjulie, Scissor Sisters, Natasha Bettingfield, and in turn, I would repay him with baked goodies -- blueberry muffins, chocolate chip cookies, cinnamon rolls. 

When I felt lonely, I could always go downstairs and chat with Bud at the security desk, and I always felt like he watched out for me in a grandfatherly sort of way. 

Over the years, our friendship deepened, and I would visit with him and his wife at their home. I started calling him Grandpa Bud, and he said it meant the world to him. 

He considered me to be his granddaughter. 

The thing that was different about this relationship was very special -- Bud asked for nothing. 

He never expected anything. And he gave from his heart.

He always gave his time, his attention, his consideration. 

He listened deeply and treated my concerns as valid, he never made me feel small. 

He accepted everyone as they were, without trying to change them. 

He knew everyone's name and used it. He held the door open for everyone. 

He treated every individual that walked into that lobby with the utmost kindness and consideration. 

Bud LOVED. With his whole heart. 

He literally saw the best in everyone, and would tell them it all the time. 

He was vulnerable, and never hid what he was feeling, but always found the bright side of challenging situations. 

He told me it was so much easier to spread love than negativity.

And the best part of his day was making someone else's day better.

One day, he told me he had a surprise he wanted to show me. 

On his left arm had been tattooed the names of the people he kept close to him, his wife, his daughters, his granddaughter.

He rolled up his shirt's crisply ironed sleeve and looked at me, with a shy smile. 

There, at the very bottom of the list of names on his bicep, was: "Kristina"in beautiful, scrolling black ink. 

I immediately teared up and hugged him. 

Because to Bud, I WAS family. And he told me so. 

It didn't matter that I had been the resident of the apartment building he worked for, he let me know that I mattered to him. 

He took a chance, getting that tattoo. I could have been incredibly freaked out by this...my name being inked on someone else's arm. 

But I wasn't. I was honored, and still am to this day. 

In 2012, Bud was diagnosed with liver cancer. 

But he never let it get him down, he would take things day by day, and always had hope for what came next. 

One day, I went down to the security desk with a batch of freshly made brownies as I so often did, only to find that Bud had been out sick for several days. 

Worried, I called his wife when I got back to my apartment, and she tearfully informed me that he had fallen ill after surgery on his liver. 

He was in the VA hospital.

(In truth, it hurts to write this part and I'm tearing up as I type) but I'll never forget seeing Bud when I rushed to the hospital. 

Forcing the tears away that day, I mustered up as much courage as I could to hold his hand in the hospital bed, to tell him how much I loved him, and that he would get better soon. 

I remember kissing his cheek, my heart breaking, knowing that would be the last time I did so.

He passed away within a few days of me seeing him. 

But here's the thing...Bud's legacy lives on. 

Every time I think of him, I pray for him, I smile and remember the incredible LOVE that this man just WAS. 

He inspired me to be like that, to love fully and completely. To be compassionate and caring about other people, to make as many lives better as possible.

To me, Bud was an example of true, unconditional love. I aspire to be like him, and it's an honor to share this story in memory of him. 

If you're reading this, know that every time you do something for someone without asking for anything in return, you're being just like Bud. (He would be proud of you, too!)

Here's what he taught me about love: 

• Cultivate mutual respect -- when you respect other people's views and opinions without judgement, even if they are different than your own, you cultivate this deep respect that makes an incredible foundation for a relationship. 

• Offer unwavering support -- without strings. Simply listening and caring without desiring anything in return is a true act of love. 

• Spread joy randomly -- you can make someone's day so much better with a smile, a call, a text, or a random act of kindness. It costs nothing, and it means everything.

• Keep their legacy alive -- you can honor the spirit of all the people that have gone before you that you've loved by remembering their unique acts of kindness, and how they touched your life in a special way. 

• Embrace unexpected connections -- by opening your heart to unexpected relationships, you can discover that love can come in some very surprising places. 

Bud taught me that it's ok to take chances in love.

It's ok to embrace the unusual. 

It's ok to love boldly. Vulnerably. Authentically. 

Life is short. 

Go live it well and go after the things you love -- they matter. 

When you take a chance on something and tell someone how you really feel, you're opening up to the possibility of even more love.

We all have one life, let's make it count. 

I'm so proud of you. Bud is too. 

KEEP GOING!

You got this. 

                                                    Bud Kindy and Mary Ellen Kindy