The Kids are All Right: A Memoir by Diana and Liz Welch with Dan and Amanda Welch

Karen Kayser was our mother’s good friend. She is a prominent character in the book, as she was Dan’s guardian and her apartment in NYC was the hub around which Liz, Dan and Amanda rotated the years immediately after our mother’s death. This is Karen’s story:

“Time is such a funny thing. It passes so slowly or so quickly, depending on the mind. Even though Ann has been gone for 23 years, I still remember our times together as if it were yesterday.  The memories are very dear to me, filled with such happiness – and a few regrets. I treasure every one.”

“Not only did I have the privilege of calling Ann my best friend — she filled the void of the older sister I never had.

I was a brand new kid in New York, wet behind the ears and trying to break into ‘Show Business.” I had taken a job as a guidette at NBC-TV and within the first weeks on the job, I was given a tour to escort past the studio where the network was broadcasting “The Doctors: a live day-time soap opera.” It was the fall of 1963 and “The Doctors” had a beautiful young doctor on it, called Maggie Fielding. The actress playing Maggie came off the studio floor to greet my tour and sign autographs. They were so thrilled! They had just met a real live television star! And she was not only beautiful; she was so nice to them! I was speechless. The actress, Ann Williams, invited me to come back and visit the set – any time. I was there within the hour. We became friends and our friendship lasted a life time.

Within months, my career took me to CBS-TV as a casting director with another soap opera, “Search For Tomorrow.” And upon of my arrival, I was given the responsibility of casting the sister for Mary Stuart, the star of the show. Of course, I called in Ann and she became Eunice Twining, a role she would continue for 13 years, until her untimely “death” at the hands of Morgan Fairchild, one of several “deaths” Anne experienced over the years on various soaps.

Through the years, our personal friendship expanded to include her entire family. I met each of her three daughters and one son in their infancy and took on the role of the “other mom,” loving every precious moment of being with each of these adorable, rambunctious children of a soap opera queen and her handsome Kennedy-esque husband, Bob Welch. It was a fairytale family and I was so enthralled to be a part of it.

However, the fairytale ended. Tragedy struck and Bob died.

Ann was not ready. After all, he was only 50; she was 47, in the prime of her professional career. The children were still in grade school and high school. No one talked about death at that young age! At Bob’s funeral, people approached Ann, offering their “professional” opinion on tax shelters, debt consolidation, portfolio management – all up to no good. She didn’t know about any of these things – Bob had handled them all through their marriage. She needed her husband back. Her life as a soap opera queen, living through scripted tragedies – one after another – had turned into a real tragedy and there was no one there to write her a script where it all turned out to be just a bad dream.

Within three weeks after Bob’s death, Ann was diagnosed with cervical and uterine cancer. She had a  radical hysterectomy, followed by weeks of radiation and chemotherapy. I was there, assisting in any way I could. How do you talk with your best friend when she’s suffering, with these chemicals raging through her body and causing such wrenching pain? How do you let her know her children are scared? And they don’t know quite how to approach their mom? And that the fact that they are avoiding her isn’t because they don’t love every fiber of her being – they’re just scared to touch her – afraid they might hurt her. They’re children! They just lost their daddy and now mommy is sick. Very sick.

But once again, as in an ever-winding fairytale, Ann recovered – or so it seemed. She went back to work, this time on a new soap opera, as the alcoholic and wizened wife of a private school dean. The writers and producers loved her so much and wanted her to stay on the show, so they had the “wife” confined to a wheelchair – which was perfect. Ann got to save her energy for the day long process of rehearsing and taping the show. Her fellow actors were amazing and offered support any time and any way they could.

Meanwhile, that dreaded disease showed up again, this time in the bladder – and this time, Ann’s recovery wasn’t as successful. Although the cancerous bladder and surrounding tissues were removed, the insidious illness found other organs to attack. It took three years for the cancer to finally attack the entire digestive area, by which time Ann was confined to a wheelchair in her home, traveling between the kitchen and her bedroom, with the aid of a visiting nurse, one of the kids – or me. Her real life was again playing out like a soap opera. Just like the wife in her last soap, she was receiving friends and neighbors from the confines of a wheelchair. But this time, she didn’t get up and go home after a long day’s work in a TV studio.

The six weeks turned into six months. Ann was determined she was going to beat this thing. Once again she rallied, this time taking on the formidable task of becoming a writer for a soap opera. Her point of view was, “If you can’t act in a role, create a role for someone else.” And she stuck with it until it became too difficult to type out scripts. Together, we dreamed up ridiculous stories for these wonderful actors and I typed away, hour after hour. We giggled and laughed, thinking these situations were impossible  to duplicate. Had she lived, she would have laughed even harder, seeing so much of what we dreamed up being enacted on sci-fi shows day after day.

One day, while I was typing away in her bedroom, she was gazing out the window into the back yard. “Look,” she said.”An eagle.” Indeed, an eagle was swooping around, close to the ground, back and forth across the lawn. It would settle on a branch of a tree, look in her window for a long time and then start the same swooping action again. “It’s Bob,” she said.”He’s watching over me. Do you think he’s come for me?”

“I don’t know,” I said.”Are you ready?” She nodded slowly and then smiled that beautiful smile.

For the next few weeks, I was at the house as much as possible. My job now, other than to assist the kids in basic house-management (laundry, dishes, grocery shopping, etc.), was to sit with Ann and massage her feet and legs. She was so cold most of the time – and so thin. I was concerned I would hurt her or bruise her but she loved the physical contact – it seemed to energize her. I would talk about my day, read books to her, watch golf matches on TV with her (she loved golf) and go over any correspondence. (She still stayed in touch with her fan club, from 20-plus years ago.)

Thanksgiving, 1985, was the highlight of our times together. The kids decided each of us would invite a friend to join us for the day and for a gala feast. While Ann rested in her room with a nurse by her side , the rest of us filled the large kitchen and kept busy with our individual preparations. We laughed and drank (chardonnay, of course) and got everything ready for a meal fit for a queen. When dinner was ready, the nurse wheeled Ann to the table. She was dressed and smiling that beautiful smile again – so happy to have her entire family around her. We all toasted each other with champagne (yes, even Ann) and ate ourselves silly. Laughter, memories, the kids poking fun at each other….no different from any other Thanksgiving dinner. A family, friends, fun and a feast.

At some point, Ann excused herself (she was tired) and went back to her room. We finished, still laughing, and cleaned up everything. That night Ann slipped into a coma and never recovered.

Three weeks later she passed away.

I have so many regrets. I regret not telling her how much I loved her, how very important she was in my life, how she healed my broken heart after various break-ups with various boyfriends, how she taught me patience and tolerance. I regret never being firm with her about the bank accounts – she had been holding on to the belief that she would survive all this nonsense, so never had her oldest daughter become a co-signee on the accounts. (This called for some shenanigans on everyone’s part, especially when it came time to pay the bills.) I regret never talking with her about Bob’s death and all the ramifications of that incident. I regret never telling her how much I loved her children, how I considered them my own and how she could count on me to make it my life’s goal to have them all be happy and healthy, with the least amount of “parental” intervention on my part. I regret she didn’t live to see how gorgeous they all are, how smart and funny and caring and giving – how whole and complete.”