Patrick Krausbauer

KRAUSBAUER - Patrick Edward Krausbauer, age 66 passed away on Saturday March 9, 2019. He wanted his passing to be a celebration of a life well lived and to be remembered with humor, love and gratitude for the time he had. He did not want his passing to be a time of sadness, so to honor his wishes this obituary will not be the dreary ode to all his accomplishments, it will instead be the story of the man, the myth, the legend that was Pat, also known as Paddy to his mom, PK to his YP crew, Doody to his camping friends, and That A-hole to others. Pat wanted it known that he died as a result of being stubborn, refusing to follow doctor’s orders and raising hell for most of his life. He grew up in Comstock Park, Michigan and he frequently stated that most of the petty vandalism that occurred in the Westgate area during the late 60s and early 70s could probably be attributed to him and his best friend Ron Felty. The toll of having to walk 6 miles to school through 4 feet of snow, uphill both ways may be one of the underlying causes of his death. Pat was the proud owner of perhaps the world’s oldest mustache, with most people, including his wife of 37 years, never having seen what mysteries lay beneath the fur on his upper lip. When asked how long he had a mustache, he would say since kindergarten. It was such an intrinsic part of him that it would have seemed weird if he had shaved it off. His wife suspected that he had no upper lip or that he was using the mustache to cover up an unfortunate gang tattoo from his youth. For whatever reason he decided one day to grow the ol’ stache, it evolved with the times, starting in adolescence as 14 thin sparse hairs that made the middle school girls of Comstock Park swoon, to the full blown Magnum PI, to the 80s porn star, to the Ron Burgundy, to the Wilford Brimley, to the Sam Elliott (hubba hubba) and even once trying the Val Kilmer/Doc Holliday, but that was short lived because people kept asking him if he wanted to be their huckleberry. Pat loved to go hunting with his dad, his brother Curt and brother-in-law Ron just for the camaraderie. Those weekends spent playing poker and eating chili and sleeping in a damp, smelly, musty canvas army tent were pure heaven to him. He never shot a single living thing even after spending hours in the woods. It probably was because he never loaded his rifle or even bought any shells for it. If he had ever bagged a deer it would have been because it dropped dead of old age in front of him. Pat loved to torture his children when they were young by frequently bursting into song on long road trips in the car. Who doesn’t want to sing along to the joyful strains of “I Don’t Care If It Rains or Freezes ‘Long As I Got My Plastic Jesus Sittin’ On The Dashboard of My Car” or the ever popular “Cigarettes, Whiskey and Wild, Wild Women” accompanied by the plaintive wails of his children in the backseat begging their mom to make him stop. Pat enjoyed camping and canoeing with his friends and family immensely. He loved spending $25,000 in camping gear, packing it all into his truck until it bore a startling resemblance to the Clampetts heading to Beverly Hills and then driving for hours in bumper to bumper traffic, joining the entire population of Grand Rapids that always seemed to head north on 131 every Friday afternoon during the summer. He loved cursing and swearing as he set up the tent and unpacked the gear that would have made any doomsday prepper proud. He always had the gear and canoe secured with enough rope, ratchet straps, bungee cords and duct tape that it was a 2 hour process just to unsecure everything . . . his favorite thing to say was “You can never have too many ratchet straps” This must have been true because ratchet strap manufacturers sent him birthday and Christmas cards and the employees at Menards and Harbor Freight who stocked the shelves in the ratchet strap aisle knew him by his first name. Pat was the king of unfinished projects around the house. He frequently injured himself while working on these projects and there isn’t a deck or piece of drywall in his house that doesn’t have his blood on it. He would wrap a piece of black electrical tape around the wound and carry on, Band-Aids were for sissies. Whenever his long-suffering wife mentioned one of those projects he would say “Stop nagging me! I will get it done. You don’t have to keep reminding me every 6 months!” He had his wife sainted through an internet church in 2010 because of her tolerance for all the mess and disruption those unfinished projects created . . . or maybe it was because he couldn’t think of anything else to get her for their anniversary. Pat had a soft spot in his heart and no matter how many cats his wife dragged home, he always found room in his heart to love one more . . . and then one more and then another one and then . . . OMG, is that another one? For the love of God, quit bringing cats home! He was an intelligent man, a teller of great stories and he had a gift for making people feel comfortable. He could converse about any subject and loved to tell those dad jokes that made you groan and roll your eyes because they were so bad. He was obstinate, stubborn, opinionated, yet generous and kind hearted. He tolerated most people, disliked some and thought highly of a few. He was fiercely loyal to his friends and family and even though he left whiskers in the bathroom sink, his wife loved him with all her heart and soul. Pat is survived by his wife Chris. They met 47 years ago at a bachelor party and no, she was not the entertainment. They were friends for several years and each married during that time period. Their marriages ended and then by pure chance or fate, they ran into each other 7 years after their initial meeting and they were together from that point on, marrying in 1982. Pat once read that the definition of successful parenting is to have adult children that don’t owe you money and who have not been incarcerated. Happily meeting that criteria, Pat is also survived by his children Bridget (Joe) Plafkin, Cal (Meghann) Lowing and Ryan Krausbauer, grand children Hailey (Michael) Klovanich, Nash Plafkin, Caleb Plafkin, Xan Dulyea-Lowing and Alani Dulyea-Lowing, his sister Deborah Kimberlin, brother Scott (Diane) Southard, father-in-law Richard (Maryjo) Ritter and many in-laws, nieces, nephews and friends. He was preceded in death by his parents Rex and Yvonne Krausbauer, brother Curt Krausbauer and brother-in-law Ron Kimberlin. I will leave you with this request . . . Pat wouldn’t want you to cry because he is gone. Instead be happy that you knew him or maybe you can cry a little because he will be missed, but he would want you to march to the beat of your own drummer and make something of your life. Hug your loved ones and hold them close, for your time on this earth is but a blink and then you are gone, but above all, never stop smiling if or when you think of him. Pat did not want a funeral or a memorial service, so his family is honoring his wishes. It was Pat’s desire to have an Irish wake where friends and family could laugh and share great stories and raise a glass to celebrate his life. The wake will be held at a later date, details pending. If you would like to send an expression of sympathy, please consider donating to Carol’s Ferals, Crash’s Landing or the pet rescue of your choice. An even better idea would be to adopt a poor homeless kitty so Sarah McLachlan will quit making those commercials that make Pat’s wife cry and save her from becoming a crazy cat lady now that Pat is gone. As an added note, if you smoke, please, please stop! Emphysema is a horrible, nasty way to die. To share a photo, memory and sign the family’s online guestbook please visit www.stegengafuneralchapel.com To send flowers or a memorial gift to the family of Patrick Edward Krausbauer please visit our Sympathy Store.