Betsy Kanakanui

Betsy Walters Barnes Kanakanui passed away in Morgantown on April 11, 2023, after a very brief illness. Born in Winston-Salem, NC on April 26, 1960, Betsy was preceded in death by her parents, Dr. James Allan Barnes and Lucy Nell Barnes, and two favorite pets, Louise and Nutty.

Betsy followed her dad into the medical profession, becoming an RN and then a Nurse Practitioner She spent much of the last three decades in practice, serving and healing women. In the last 10 years, Betsy became an educator, working first at New River Technical Institute and finally, educating future RNs at the University of Charleston. As with all else she did, she wholeheartedly dedicated herself to her students and spent countless hours out of the classroom making preparations to maximize the time she had in front of her students.

She is survived by husband David Kanakanui. The two attended Park Junior High and Woodrow Wilson High School in Beckley together, but didn’t fall in love until they reconnected at their 30th high school reunion.

Betsy will also be deeply missed by stepdaughter Beth (Sherry) Kanakanui, brothers David (Tess) Barnes, Jim (Cathy) Barnes, Patrick (Elaine) Barnes, extended family Karen Kanakanui, Julie Kanakanui, Sam (Virginia) Kanakanui, Cousin Judy, many nieces and nephews who love her very much, dog Ziggy and many cats.

Per Betsy’s wishes, no memorial service is scheduled.

Those are the facts, but they really don’t begin to touch what Betsy meant to all of us who miss her. Here are a few of David’s best memories and stories about Betsy.

Our high school class of 1978 boasted 500+ students. We had classes together although, I don’t remember which ones. Our circles of friends and people important to us overlapped but we didn’t run together in the same pack. She was the friendly, inclusive beloved class president. I was the faux bad boy smoking with the other ne’er-do-wells at the end of C section before school

At our 30-year reunion, I happened to be at the registration table at the Friday night event when she arrived. I introduced myself as part of the welcoming committee! She knew I was kidding but seemed to welcome the overture and in fact, spent that evening mingling less, spending more time instead with one another.

She was flirty and sassy, at one point playfully accusing me of trying to look up her skirt. We continued to mix a bit, smiles with old friends and what not, but never drifting too far apart from one another. I had whitewater guide work the next morning and as I began to end the night early, she asked, “Will you walk me home?” I replied, “Mais, oui, mademoiselle! It would be my honor!”

Later, sitting together on the rock retaining wall outside of her friend's house where she was staying, I invited her to join me on the river trip I was scheduled to work the next day. She accepted, smiling. I was dubious but she was there the next morning bright and early. She “swam” (unintentionally falling from the raft in a rapid) at least once on almost every trip she made with me including this one. But she was intrepid, plucky and spunky, and enjoyed each of those days together on the river.

As the reunion concluded, we started to make plans for the future. Over the next two years we drove thousands of miles exchanging visits between Landrum, South Carolina and Mt. Nebo. We were engaged. A few months after that on a Thanksgiving Friday, we married in front of a small gathering of family and close friends.

Betsy was excellent at paring down. As we made her move from Landrum to Mt. Nebo, she had to choose her prized possessions and found homes in South Carolina for the things she would leave behind. She wasn’t unsentimental but she was decisive. She didn’t procrastinate. It was a theme in her life.

Even with that it was weeks and months assimilating our two piles of possessions. As the reduction continued, I noticed that there were fewer and fewer items of mine around (furniture, wall hangings/pictures, dishes and glasses etc.). More and more we were using the things she had brought to the marriage. Fair.

Over years she would continue to make modifications to the grounds and the houses. I was dubious much of the time going in, often considering any particular change (especially if it cost money!) to be unneeded. As it turned out, she was correct in every instance I can think of and the changes always added functional value or aesthetic value or both to our lives.

She was a talented painter, both pictures and walls. She bragged about not needing to use painting tape as she came out of a room with a few drops on her face or sleeve but no accidental drips to be found in the room. She enjoyed her time crafting. She could sew. A bit to my embarrassment, I found she was also a better handyman than I was, having managed her own home for years.

Betsy enjoyed trying new things. She did a few rounds of soap making. There were a few sessions of tie dye t-shirts. She practiced yoga. She and a few friends decorated hula hoops and gave those a whirl. I imagine that included some giggling. I suppose I wouldn’t have been terribly shocked if at some outdoor evening function she would have casually stood and begin a performance as a fire twirler.

She was unafraid to fail and rarely did. If she had any glaring “failure” in her life it was in her abilities as a dog trainer. Regardless of the many episodes of dog whisperer she watched, her lifestyle just didn’t allow for the combination of discipline, structure and consistency necessary to this work.

So the two dogs she brought into our marriage Louise, the elder cocker, and Hazelnut aka Nutty, the cairn terrier, were not behavioral success stories. I never saw Betsy more overtly aggravated as when one or the other would misbehave. It made me wonder at times if the trade off was worthwhile or even unhealthy. She never struck them, of course, just raised her voice and presumably her blood pressure. But she commented more than once that they had helped her through some dark and lonely times. I never doubted that she felt they were more and more and then even more than worthwhile.

That’s the perspective of a long time cat person. Cats are easy. Cats aren’t demanding, help with rodents, are affectionate enough and don’t require everyday feeding. I could leave town overnight for work if I left them a pile of food. If that wasn’t enough, they weren’t opposed to dining out. My relationship with the various cats of Mt. Nebo was fine and as long as they understood that there would be no litter box, they could move freely in and out of the house.

6. Over time we settled on nicknames/terms of endearment for one another. I initially suggested Jeannie and Major Nelson. That didn’t last long. Eventually with her full consent, we came to “Bunny” for her. Later without any input from me that I recall, I was hung with the moniker “Durwood.” Ok, whatever.

7. Betsy had a high tolerance to pain. She claimed to decline numbing when having dental fillings and encouraged me to do the same. I tried that several times, hands gripping tight the armrests, but eventually conceded. The pain experience outweighed the inconvenience of recovery of feeling. Plus after a couple of years and several fillings, it dawned on me that her check ups were always clean. I couldn’t remember the last time she had a cavity. Good one, Betsy. Sassy.

8. She didn’t see well at night. Researching the headlight illumination was always at the forefront of any car purchase. Motion sensor lights were strategically placed in and around the house to offer care and comfort and to help light her way as she moved. There is a small LED light hardwired directly above the stove. We would occasionally have minor petty spats as she liked it “on” always where I, out of habit, would turn lights out leaving a room.

It didn’t use much energy, probably would last forever, it just seemed like a proper habit to me. At the conclusion of the last of these spats, I asked why she needed it on, even as she was out of the room. She said, “it makes me happy.” From then til now and going forward, it’s the last light out at night and the first one “on” in the morning.

From David:

Monday, April 10, Betsy had her last bit of consciousness. I was still, as so often, clueless. As I arrived at her bedside to relieve my daughter of the overnight watch shift, I offered hopefully, “It’s a beautiful cloudless morning!”

She slowly raised a loose fist, then a finger. Sassy.

When we left the Fairmont hospital on our final journey back to Morgantown, one of the nurses offered, “It’s been an honor to care for you.” While I may have been a little skeptical of some of the uber positive comments, generously and lavishly provided by the care staff, I believe with this one, it was sincere.

Regardless, I echo the sentiment. It was an honor to be able to care for you. It was an honor to accompany you. It was an honor to walk you home. I love you, Bunny.