Eulogy Kent Joesph Bozlinkski

You ask me what the lobster is weaving down there, with it's golden feet -
I tell you "The ocean knows this."
You say " Who is the Acidia waiting for in it's transparent bell?"
I tell you it is waiting for time - like you.
You ask, "Who does the Macrocystis Algae hug in it's arms?
Study it.
Study it at a certain hour and a certain sea I know.
You question me about the wicked tusk of the Narwhale
and I respond by describing how the Sea Unicorn with the harpoon in it - dies.

You inquire about the Kingfisher feathers which tremble in the pure springs of the southern shores...
I want to tell you that the ocean knows this -
That life, in it's jewel boxes, is endless as the sands, impossible to count, pure,
And that time among the blood colored grapes has made the petal hard and shiny
Filled the jellyfish with light, untied its knot, letting its musical threads fall from a horn of plenty made of infinite mother of pearl.
I am nothing but the... Read more empty net which has gone on ahead of human eyes -
Dead in the darkness,
Fingers accustomed to the triangle longitudes of the timid globe of an orange
I walked around, like you, investigating the endless star
and in my net, during the night, I woke up naked -
The only thing caught -
A fish trapped inside the wind. (Pablo Neruda – Los Enigmas)

Welcome. Let’s all just take a minute to get comfortable, and let the jitters out, find some quiet. Breathe in and out and let the tension go. (Breathe)

We’re here to cherish the life of Kent Joseph Bozlinkski, son, brother, lover, husband, partner, friend, fellow Dune enthusiast. I was a friend of Kent.

He was born on November 19, 1976 in Englewood, CO and lived around the world but settled in Seattle which he never thought of as “home” but it’s where he felt is tribe is. I guess that’s of here in this room. He died in Colorado on February 27th, while visiting his father, Gary.

He told us that he cried a lot when he was a kid. Over silly kid things mostly, like being the last to get a participation trophy on the team, or getting tools for a present. Later when he was working remodeling houses, Gary didn’t let him live it down.

He was bullied by kids at school for a while, until he got good at martial arts, and ended a fight punching some jerk who’d been messing with him in the nose. He REALLY hated bullies. For awhile the dojo was his refuge. He had lots of trophies that didn’t mean much to him. He’d already done the experience.

Kent attended Arapahoe High School outside of Denver and was a member of the band, played the tuba, and saxophone, and was in the chess club. He went on to graduate from the University of Colorado in 1999 with a Bachelor of Arts in film. He was an enthusiastic participant in the college ski team, (he was a really good skier!) and founded a Theta Xi (gzai) fraternity chapter with his friend Greg. He went on to study Film Production at the University of Southern California and Database Management at the University of Washington. He spent a year as an exchange student in New Zealand. (Edit: My mistake, three months, not a year.)
He was, by all accounts, gregarious, kind, funny, smart, competent, and a really good kisser. Because his mom June had free standby tickets on United, he could fly anywhere free, and he flew *everywhere*.

Kent ran away from home once when he was thirteen.
To Honduras. At thirteen.
Who does that?
Most of us barely make it to the corner, he flew to Honduras.

He told me that there was nowhere as comfortable for him as being on a plane. Sometimes he’d hop a flight to anywhere, just to relax.

He traveled to 35 countries, and was comfortable moving through widely disparate cultures. From half naked, costumed Burners on the playa, to construction crews on a roofing project, from business owners around the golf world, to skiers and artists, from Suits to the Maori. He could talk to anyone, and learn from them.

He had knack for making lifelong friends by meeting people in strange places. Once on a mountaintop, another time at the Olympics, on park benches. He met his future wife, Julia waiting to cross the street at the corner of Olive and Denny in Seattle.
Who does that? Well, Kent and Julia did. I was gifted with officiating their wedding in 2013.

Kent had careers in several industries – he produced “Good Time Golf,” a travel show, with his Uncle George. He taught scuba diving in St Croix. He traveled to Norway to build a high-definition streaming hardware system for the National Theatre and the Oslo Opera House. His last job was working as a roofing inspector. He loved the view from the top.

He had a talent for making people comfortable - which is no small talent - and people loved him for that.

He could do a proper Haka. He learned how to do it during that exchange student time in New Zealand, from Maori friends who taught him how to do it right. For folks that haven’t watched one, the Haka is a Maori battle ritual – a dance and shout where warriors pound their chest, stamp their feet, stick out their tongues, and make their eyes bulge, as part of a challenge to call your enemy to fight – whether that enemy is human, a demon, or some other thing. I saw him do this once - demons trembled.

He played sax in the Glenn Miller Orchestra. (Who knew the Glenn Miller orchestra was even still around?) He liked making bizmuthe crystals, collecting coins, he was a baritone singer, though he didn’t think he was good at it.
He loved watching and making films, in spite of being color blind. Watching movies with Kent was always a learning experience. He loved all kinds of music, saw the Olympics in person many times, and had a serious Ninja-like skill at finding cheap tickets for expensive events. He hiked all over the place, and was a pretty good rock climber.

He was a gun enthusiast in liberal Seattle, and had a serious collection. He could take the most inexperienced, non-gun-culture novice to the range, and when you came out, you’d be competent with the basics, respectful of the tool, and a better shot than when you started.

He loved good food and company – and increasingly rare in this world - he knew how to have a good time.

I think of him as a multifaceted jewel, with lots of brilliant facets, and some that were maybe a little flawed. We’re all human, we’re all flawed and without them we wouldn’t even be human. I’m told he was pretty confrontational when he was young, in ways that were maybe not so pretty, and I could see that being a part of him back then. He wasn’t fearless, he just consciously faced his fear when he needed to, and didn’t shy away from difficult situations or people. By the time I knew him, he’d gotten better.

The darkest thing in him was the alcohol. He hid it really well. He was so good at hiding it, that I didn’t have a clue until he decided to tell us, about ten years ago, when it got so critical, that it put him in the hospital.

We did what we could, avoiding having alcohol out at dinners and holiday, and such but after awhile it starting creeping back – just a glass of wine with dinner, we thought, - so we didn’t confront him maybe as much as we could have. Who are WE to ruin a nice evening, anyway? He was more together drunk, than a lot of strictly sober people I know on their best days, and you wouldn’t know he’d been drinking since breakfast. I never saw him slur, not even once.

A lot of us will carry guilt for not seeing the signs and doing something about it. If you’re feeling that, I hope you can let it go.

The addiction people tell us that it’s the only disease that tells you you’re doing fine, and in the end, no matter what WE did or didn’t do, he just couldn’t beat it. He was an adult, made his choices, and those choices put him into a dark alley that not even the best Haka could get him out of, and that took him from us. The demons, one might say, don’t always tremble.

He texted a year or so ago “I don't believe in "no regrets." Regrets are part of our journey. The only people who have no regrets are the ones who never took any real risks.” He said about “Hellen Keller's quote ("Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.)

“It can't BE a daring adventure if you don't have some regrets and scars.
“I've made SO many mistakes. But I don't feel like I wasted the time after each one.”

When Good Time Golf went under, it was a major disappointment for him, but he eventually bounced back, and found work that he could enjoy. He got pleasure out of doing things well.

He wrote in 1998 when he was 22: “If you have a chance to help, do it. If you have a chance to reach out, do it. If you have a chance to love, never pass up the opportunity.”

By all accounts, he lived up to that one. I thought I knew him pretty well, but I really didn’t know the half of it. Kent was a guy who managed to fit an amazing amount of life into a short time.

He had deeply loving and respectful relationships with his biological parents, Gary and June, and some of his stepparents, especially Dave. Lifelong friends Jean Luc, and _Jacob, Stewart, and I’m sure many others I’m missing. And Julia, so much and Leah, so much. He was not one to let you wonder if he loved you.

He was good at conversation. He wrote “Using my words against me? You should always do that. If I'm ever hypocritical I want to know.”

A self described “evangelical atheist” he resonated with Carl Sagan’s writings about the nature of the universe and the scientific method.
Sagan said “If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe… The sky calls to us… The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of starstuff. and we are a way for the cosmos, to know itself.“

That was enough for him. To know we are all connected to an amazing universe that is bigger than we can even really imagine, here on the pale blue dot.

Kent also wrote “The most religious thing I've been able to find is in love.”

I met him around 20 years ago when he started dating Julia who was living in a group house called the Metaphorest. We became close over the years. The first thing I remember actually doing with him was helping him move-in to a place with Julia. I guess that’s the way I have to bookend my first and last encounters with him. Moving heavy stuff.

Per his wishes, his body was composted. When Julia’s support network was texting about logistics for picking up the half cubic yard of finished Kent compost, somebody typed: “Friends help you move. Good friends help you move the body.”

When I read that I swear I heard Kent guffaw in the back of my mind. Not much was out of bounds with him. Early on, he said, that politics and religion had no bearing on our friendship, and he meant it. And lived it. We could disagree without rancor.

THAT is really rare these days, and I will miss him greatly.

Now we’re going to hear from some other folks that knew him, starting with his sister Krista.

David Fonda,
Ivana (tree thing)
Song Crossroads Devil
Julia, David, Leah, Jacob, Jean Luc (read by Brian Kerven )

Poem by Beth


Closing

After we’re done in this room, there are amazing foods and drinks in the lobby, that our friend Amber Straub has made for us to enjoy, while we connect with people who were touched by Kent from all walks of life. They do not have alcohol in them. Julia would also like for anyone who wishes, to take a bouquet home with you after the words are done.

Whatever you believe about “spirit” Kent believed that our spirit lives on in our actions and words and in loving the people around you, and experiencing the vastness of the universe. He was never shy about telling us he loved us. He never had to couch it in “Love ya bro” or with any hesitations. Just “Love you.”

There is a tradition among some of us, when the names are called of those who have left us at the end of the year, we say “Who is remembered lives.” You can say it with me if you like:
Good run!
Kent Joseph Bozlinski. Who is remembered lives
Kent Joseph Bozlinski Who is remembered lives
Kent Joseph Bozlinski Who is remembered lives.

May his memory be a blessing. Read less

Eulogy Kent Joesph Bozlinkski

You ask me what the lobster is weaving down there, with it's golden feet -
I tell you "The ocean knows this."
You say " Who is the Acidia waiting for in it's transparent bell?"
I tell you it is waiting for time - like you.
You ask, "Who does the Macrocystis Algae hug in it's arms?
Study it.
Study it at a certain hour and a certain sea I know.
You question me about the wicked tusk of the Narwhale
and I respond by describing how the Sea Unicorn with the harpoon... Read more in it - dies.

You inquire about the Kingfisher feathers which tremble in the pure springs of the southern shores...
I want to tell you that the ocean knows this -
That life, in it's jewel boxes, is endless as the sands, impossible to count, pure,
And that time among the blood colored grapes has made the petal hard and shiny
Filled the jellyfish with light, untied its knot, letting its musical threads fall from a horn of plenty made of infinite mother of pearl.
I am nothing but the empty net which has gone on ahead of human eyes -
Dead in the darkness,
Fingers accustomed to the triangle longitudes of the timid globe of an orange
I walked around, like you, investigating the endless star
and in my net, during the night, I woke up naked -
The only thing caught -
A fish trapped inside the wind. (Pablo Neruda – Los Enigmas)

Welcome. Let’s all just take a minute to get comfortable, and let the jitters out, find some quiet. Breathe in and out and let the tension go. (Breathe)

We’re here to cherish the life of Kent Joseph Bozlinkski, son, brother, lover, husband, partner, friend, fellow Dune enthusiast. I was a friend of Kent.

He was born on November 19, 1976 in Englewood, CO and lived around the world but settled in Seattle which he never thought of as “home” but it’s where he felt is tribe is. I guess that’s of here in this room. He died in Colorado on February 27th, while visiting his father, Gary.

He told us that he cried a lot when he was a kid. Over silly kid things mostly, like being the last to get a participation trophy on the team, or getting tools for a present. Later when he was working remodeling houses, Gary didn’t let him live it down.

He was bullied by kids at school for a while, until he got good at martial arts, and ended a fight punching some jerk who’d been messing with him in the nose. He REALLY hated bullies. For awhile the dojo was his refuge. He had lots of trophies that didn’t mean much to him. He’d already done the experience.

Kent attended Arapahoe High School outside of Denver and was a member of the band, played the tuba, and saxophone, and was in the chess club. He went on to graduate from the University of Colorado in 1999 with a Bachelor of Arts in film. He was an enthusiastic participant in the college ski team, (he was a really good skier!) and founded a Theta Xi (gzai) fraternity chapter with his friend Greg. He went on to study Film Production at the University of Southern California and Database Management at the University of Washington. He spent a year as an exchange student in New Zealand. (Edit: My mistake, three months, not a year.)
He was, by all accounts, gregarious, kind, funny, smart, competent, and a really good kisser. Because his mom June had free standby tickets on United, he could fly anywhere free, and he flew *everywhere*.

Kent ran away from home once when he was thirteen.
To Honduras. At thirteen.
Who does that?
Most of us barely make it to the corner, he flew to Honduras.

He told me that there was nowhere as comfortable for him as being on a plane. Sometimes he’d hop a flight to anywhere, just to relax.

He traveled to 35 countries, and was comfortable moving through widely disparate cultures. From half naked, costumed Burners on the playa, to construction crews on a roofing project, from business owners around the golf world, to skiers and artists, from Suits to the Maori. He could talk to anyone, and learn from them.

He had knack for making lifelong friends by meeting people in strange places. Once on a mountaintop, another time at the Olympics, on park benches. He met his future wife, Julia waiting to cross the street at the corner of Olive and Denny in Seattle.
Who does that? Well, Kent and Julia did. I was gifted with officiating their wedding in 2013.

Kent had careers in several industries – he produced “Good Time Golf,” a travel show, with his Uncle George. He taught scuba diving in St Croix. He traveled to Norway to build a high-definition streaming hardware system for the National Theatre and the Oslo Opera House. His last job was working as a roofing inspector. He loved the view from the top.

He had a talent for making people comfortable - which is no small talent - and people loved him for that.

He could do a proper Haka. He learned how to do it during that exchange student time in New Zealand, from Maori friends who taught him how to do it right. For folks that haven’t watched one, the Haka is a Maori battle ritual – a dance and shout where warriors pound their chest, stamp their feet, stick out their tongues, and make their eyes bulge, as part of a challenge to call your enemy to fight – whether that enemy is human, a demon, or some other thing. I saw him do this once - demons trembled.

He played sax in the Glenn Miller Orchestra. (Who knew the Glenn Miller orchestra was even still around?) He liked making bizmuthe crystals, collecting coins, he was a baritone singer, though he didn’t think he was good at it.
He loved watching and making films, in spite of being color blind. Watching movies with Kent was always a learning experience. He loved all kinds of music, saw the Olympics in person many times, and had a serious Ninja-like skill at finding cheap tickets for expensive events. He hiked all over the place, and was a pretty good rock climber.

He was a gun enthusiast in liberal Seattle, and had a serious collection. He could take the most inexperienced, non-gun-culture novice to the range, and when you came out, you’d be competent with the basics, respectful of the tool, and a better shot than when you started.

He loved good food and company – and increasingly rare in this world - he knew how to have a good time.

I think of him as a multifaceted jewel, with lots of brilliant facets, and some that were maybe a little flawed. We’re all human, we’re all flawed and without them we wouldn’t even be human. I’m told he was pretty confrontational when he was young, in ways that were maybe not so pretty, and I could see that being a part of him back then. He wasn’t fearless, he just consciously faced his fear when he needed to, and didn’t shy away from difficult situations or people. By the time I knew him, he’d gotten better.

The darkest thing in him was the alcohol. He hid it really well. He was so good at hiding it, that I didn’t have a clue until he decided to tell us, about ten years ago, when it got so critical, that it put him in the hospital.

We did what we could, avoiding having alcohol out at dinners and holiday, and such but after awhile it starting creeping back – just a glass of wine with dinner, we thought, - so we didn’t confront him maybe as much as we could have. Who are WE to ruin a nice evening, anyway? He was more together drunk, than a lot of strictly sober people I know on their best days, and you wouldn’t know he’d been drinking since breakfast. I never saw him slur, not even once.

A lot of us will carry guilt for not seeing the signs and doing something about it. If you’re feeling that, I hope you can let it go.

The addiction people tell us that it’s the only disease that tells you you’re doing fine, and in the end, no matter what WE did or didn’t do, he just couldn’t beat it. He was an adult, made his choices, and those choices put him into a dark alley that not even the best Haka could get him out of, and that took him from us. The demons, one might say, don’t always tremble.

He texted a year or so ago “I don't believe in "no regrets." Regrets are part of our journey. The only people who have no regrets are the ones who never took any real risks.” He said about “Hellen Keller's quote ("Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.)

“It can't BE a daring adventure if you don't have some regrets and scars.
“I've made SO many mistakes. But I don't feel like I wasted the time after each one.”

When Good Time Golf went under, it was a major disappointment for him, but he eventually bounced back, and found work that he could enjoy. He got pleasure out of doing things well.

He wrote in 1998 when he was 22: “If you have a chance to help, do it. If you have a chance to reach out, do it. If you have a chance to love, never pass up the opportunity.”

By all accounts, he lived up to that one. I thought I knew him pretty well, but I really didn’t know the half of it. Kent was a guy who managed to fit an amazing amount of life into a short time.

He had deeply loving and respectful relationships with his biological parents, Gary and June, and some of his stepparents, especially Dave. Lifelong friends Jean Luc, and _Jacob, Stewart, and I’m sure many others I’m missing. And Julia, so much and Leah, so much. He was not one to let you wonder if he loved you.

He was good at conversation. He wrote “Using my words against me? You should always do that. If I'm ever hypocritical I want to know.”

A self described “evangelical atheist” he resonated with Carl Sagan’s writings about the nature of the universe and the scientific method.
Sagan said “If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe… The sky calls to us… The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of starstuff. and we are a way for the cosmos, to know itself.“

That was enough for him. To know we are all connected to an amazing universe that is bigger than we can even really imagine, here on the pale blue dot.

Kent also wrote “The most religious thing I've been able to find is in love.”

I met him around 20 years ago when he started dating Julia who was living in a group house called the Metaphorest. We became close over the years. The first thing I remember actually doing with him was helping him move-in to a place with Julia. I guess that’s the way I have to bookend my first and last encounters with him. Moving heavy stuff.

Per his wishes, his body was composted. When Julia’s support network was texting about logistics for picking up the half cubic yard of finished Kent compost, somebody typed: “Friends help you move. Good friends help you move the body.”

When I read that I swear I heard Kent guffaw in the back of my mind. Not much was out of bounds with him. Early on, he said, that politics and religion had no bearing on our friendship, and he meant it. And lived it. We could disagree without rancor.

THAT is really rare these days, and I will miss him greatly.

Now we’re going to hear from some other folks that knew him, starting with his sister Krista.

David Fonda,
Ivana (tree thing)
Song Crossroads Devil
Julia, David, Leah, Jacob, Jean Luc (read by Brian Kerven )

Poem by Beth


Closing

After we’re done in this room, there are amazing foods and drinks in the lobby, that our friend Amber Straub has made for us to enjoy, while we connect with people who were touched by Kent from all walks of life. They do not have alcohol in them. Julia would also like for anyone who wishes, to take a bouquet home with you after the words are done.

Whatever you believe about “spirit” Kent believed that our spirit lives on in our actions and words and in loving the people around you, and experiencing the vastness of the universe. He was never shy about telling us he loved us. He never had to couch it in “Love ya bro” or with any hesitations. Just “Love you.”

There is a tradition among some of us, when the names are called of those who have left us at the end of the year, we say “Who is remembered lives.” You can say it with me if you like:
Good run!
Kent Joseph Bozlinski. Who is remembered lives
Kent Joseph Bozlinski Who is remembered lives
Kent Joseph Bozlinski Who is remembered lives.

May his memory be a blessing. Read less

I’d like to begin with a karakia, or prayer, sent from Jill, Neil, and Emma, Kent’s host family in New Zealand:
Whakataka te hau ki te uru,
Whakataka te hau ki te tonga.
Kia makinakina ki uta,
Kia mataratara ki tai.
E hi ake ana te atakura.
He tio, he huka, he hauhu
Tihei Mauri Ora!

Settle wind, swing to the west,
Settle wind, turn to the south.
Making it prickly cold inland,
Piercingly cold at sea.
Morning’s glow will rise
On ice, on snow, on frost.
The breath of life!
Kent spent 3 months when he was 17 going to high school in a tiny hill town outside of New Plymouth. He spent time in the woodworking shop there, where his teacher taught him bone carving.
That’s where he made the spiral design he wore the rest of his life, the one I’m wearing now. It symbolizes continuing life.
I fell in love with Kent’s mellow baritone from the moment I heard him on the phone. But Kent said I love you first, then kept saying it, easily and often. He taught me how to say “I love you”... Read more freely to everyone I care about.
He was free with affection and silliness, and while his mind would get distracted, his hands in mine always paid complete attention. He taught me how to trust again, how to ask for what I need, that I don’t have to take what is offered, because acceptance wasn’t enough; he wanted to bring me joy.
He never left, or went to sleep, without kissing me and telling me how much he loved me. While I said, “see you later,” he always said, “I’ll see you soon.”
Kent opened up my world – he made things possible. Not with money or flight benefits, but with optimism. From our first trip together to Vancouver Island, his adventurous spirit proved to me no more than a simple willingness to accept mishaps along the way and keep going, because whatever happened, at least he’d have a good story.
He slept better at cruising altitude than he ever did on the ground. Flying home from Denver after holding his hand one last time, I looked out the window and pictured him sleeping in his seat, dreaming of destinations unknown. In the air there are no limits, the possibilities are endless.
At our wedding we promised to make space for each other to listen, to grow, and to change.
We promised to look each other in the eye and share our challenges.
We promised to remember that being together is a source of joy, like the day he made me so happy, I started skipping down the street, and he joined in.
We promised to inspire each other to let go of fear, and support each other’s dreams and adventures, both together and apart.
And finally we promised to each show the other every day, for as long we had, how much they were loved and cherished.
We created a planet of our own. We built a world that existed in the space we inhabited together; a planet with its own language, a history, and a future.
It was home no matter where we were, whether we were physically together or not. Once we built it, we could go there anytime.
Our planet disappeared two months ago, yet its gravity still pulls on me. There is no word in English for that pull – in Portuguese it is called saudade.
Kent struggled with dependency on alcohol for a decade. He had a side that he walled off and rarely let anyone see. Sometimes talking gets harder the more you love someone.
We were not done. We were working through it, and getting better – and I believed our best times together were yet to come. The work we had ahead was going to be hard, but I couldn’t wait to do it with him.
I was not ready for that work to be over.
It is never going to be okay that Kent died the way he did.
No matter how much I learn about his journey, I will never be able to tie his story into a neat package with a tidy ending – it will always be a complicated tragedy.
Yet over the past two months I have found that Kent left me an inheritance of countless connections: dear friends, relations, confidants, and fellow adventurers around the world, who will enrich my life beyond measure.
Kent considered acquaintances friends, friends family, and family: a piece of himself. He believed everyone had something in them worth knowing, and he tried to find it. He believed in people, and I believed in him.
A few weeks ago I sent messages to several old email addresses.
I heard back from Junko Sonke, who met her husband Lee in Cincinnati years after he had graduated from the University of Colorado at Boulder, where he loved to ski. He shared his love of skiing with Junko.
Lee died on February 27th, 1997, and Junko moved to Japan, where she bought tickets for the giant slalom event at the ’98 Nagano Olympics.
At Nagano station, she saw Kent asking for directions, but no one spoke English. She approached him, and they went to the event together.
After dropping Kent back at the train station and giving him her lunch, Junko never saw Kent again, but they corresponded, and Kent sent her pins from Nagano, Sydney, Salt Lake, and Rio, which was the last time she heard from him until my email letting her know that Kent had died on February 27th, exactly 27 years after her husband.
This grief that I share with Junko and so many others has taught me something.
There is a truth that lives inside our bodies that no system or language invented by the human intellect can decode.
You have to sense it. Commune with it. Make space for it, try to describe it.
And when you find a way, express your truth to the people you love. Give the pieces of yourself to your people while you are alive. That is the only way your spirit lives on, in the lives of others.
If your truth is still hidden in your body when you die, it dies with you.

It is such a simple gift to be able to show another human love and see that love reflected in their face.
It was a gift to care for Kent – to create a space where he could rest, let down the load of the world, and just be, safe, dozing against me, in the golden hush of the evening.
I would like to leave you with a poem Kent copied into one of his journals,
by Ralph Waldo Emerson:

To laugh often and much;
To win the respect of the intelligent people
And the affection of children;
To earn the appreciation of honest critics
And endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty;
To find the best in others;
To leave the world a bit better
Whether by a healthy child, a garden patch,
Or a redeemed social condition;
To know that one life has breathed easier
Because you lived here,
This is to have succeeded.

By this yardstick, Kent was the most successful man I have ever known.

I love you, sweetie. I’ll see you at 32,000 ft. Read less

I’d like to begin with a karakia, or prayer, sent from Jill, Neil, and Emma, Kent’s host family in New Zealand:
Whakataka te hau ki te uru,
Whakataka te hau ki te tonga.
Kia makinakina ki uta,
Kia mataratara ki tai.
E hi ake ana te atakura.
He tio, he huka, he hauhu
Tihei Mauri Ora!

Settle wind, swing to the west,
Settle wind, turn to the south.
Making it prickly cold inland,
Piercingly cold at sea.
Morning’s glow will rise
On ice, on snow, on frost.
The breath of life!
Kent spent... Read more 3 months when he was 17 going to high school in a tiny hill town outside of New Plymouth. He spent time in the woodworking shop there, where his teacher taught him bone carving.
That’s where he made the spiral design he wore the rest of his life, the one I’m wearing now. It symbolizes continuing life.
I fell in love with Kent’s mellow baritone from the moment I heard him on the phone. But Kent said I love you first, then kept saying it, easily and often. He taught me how to say “I love you” freely to everyone I care about.
He was free with affection and silliness, and while his mind would get distracted, his hands in mine always paid complete attention. He taught me how to trust again, how to ask for what I need, that I don’t have to take what is offered, because acceptance wasn’t enough; he wanted to bring me joy.
He never left, or went to sleep, without kissing me and telling me how much he loved me. While I said, “see you later,” he always said, “I’ll see you soon.”
Kent opened up my world – he made things possible. Not with money or flight benefits, but with optimism. From our first trip together to Vancouver Island, his adventurous spirit proved to me no more than a simple willingness to accept mishaps along the way and keep going, because whatever happened, at least he’d have a good story.
He slept better at cruising altitude than he ever did on the ground. Flying home from Denver after holding his hand one last time, I looked out the window and pictured him sleeping in his seat, dreaming of destinations unknown. In the air there are no limits, the possibilities are endless.
At our wedding we promised to make space for each other to listen, to grow, and to change.
We promised to look each other in the eye and share our challenges.
We promised to remember that being together is a source of joy, like the day he made me so happy, I started skipping down the street, and he joined in.
We promised to inspire each other to let go of fear, and support each other’s dreams and adventures, both together and apart.
And finally we promised to each show the other every day, for as long we had, how much they were loved and cherished.
We created a planet of our own. We built a world that existed in the space we inhabited together; a planet with its own language, a history, and a future.
It was home no matter where we were, whether we were physically together or not. Once we built it, we could go there anytime.
Our planet disappeared two months ago, yet its gravity still pulls on me. There is no word in English for that pull – in Portuguese it is called saudade.
Kent struggled with dependency on alcohol for a decade. He had a side that he walled off and rarely let anyone see. Sometimes talking gets harder the more you love someone.
We were not done. We were working through it, and getting better – and I believed our best times together were yet to come. The work we had ahead was going to be hard, but I couldn’t wait to do it with him.
I was not ready for that work to be over.
It is never going to be okay that Kent died the way he did.
No matter how much I learn about his journey, I will never be able to tie his story into a neat package with a tidy ending – it will always be a complicated tragedy.
Yet over the past two months I have found that Kent left me an inheritance of countless connections: dear friends, relations, confidants, and fellow adventurers around the world, who will enrich my life beyond measure.
Kent considered acquaintances friends, friends family, and family: a piece of himself. He believed everyone had something in them worth knowing, and he tried to find it. He believed in people, and I believed in him.
A few weeks ago I sent messages to several old email addresses.
I heard back from Junko Sonke, who met her husband Lee in Cincinnati years after he had graduated from the University of Colorado at Boulder, where he loved to ski. He shared his love of skiing with Junko.
Lee died on February 27th, 1997, and Junko moved to Japan, where she bought tickets for the giant slalom event at the ’98 Nagano Olympics.
At Nagano station, she saw Kent asking for directions, but no one spoke English. She approached him, and they went to the event together.
After dropping Kent back at the train station and giving him her lunch, Junko never saw Kent again, but they corresponded, and Kent sent her pins from Nagano, Sydney, Salt Lake, and Rio, which was the last time she heard from him until my email letting her know that Kent had died on February 27th, exactly 27 years after her husband.
This grief that I share with Junko and so many others has taught me something.
There is a truth that lives inside our bodies that no system or language invented by the human intellect can decode.
You have to sense it. Commune with it. Make space for it, try to describe it.
And when you find a way, express your truth to the people you love. Give the pieces of yourself to your people while you are alive. That is the only way your spirit lives on, in the lives of others.
If your truth is still hidden in your body when you die, it dies with you.

It is such a simple gift to be able to show another human love and see that love reflected in their face.
It was a gift to care for Kent – to create a space where he could rest, let down the load of the world, and just be, safe, dozing against me, in the golden hush of the evening.
I would like to leave you with a poem Kent copied into one of his journals,
by Ralph Waldo Emerson:

To laugh often and much;
To win the respect of the intelligent people
And the affection of children;
To earn the appreciation of honest critics
And endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty;
To find the best in others;
To leave the world a bit better
Whether by a healthy child, a garden patch,
Or a redeemed social condition;
To know that one life has breathed easier
Because you lived here,
This is to have succeeded.

By this yardstick, Kent was the most successful man I have ever known.

I love you, sweetie. I’ll see you at 32,000 ft. Read less

In 2009, a small-town girl from the other side of the world travelled here for the first time, and met a cute, cheeky goofball. So begins my story with Kent.

We shared our first kiss in 2011. Ten years later I finally moved here, and Kent became an inseparable part of my life.

He told me he would gush about me to others. Now it’s my turn. I loved and adored Kent. More than I have words for, more than I was ever able to express to him. He showed me how much joy there is to find in the world.

He was my favourite dork, my scruffy nerf-herder. We were giddy teenagers together, geeking out over everything, and egging each other on. We climbed rock walls, trying not to use our hands. We stuffed firecrackers into food, for science. We threw ourselves down a tubing hill, over a jump, headfirst, and backwards, giggling hysterically. He’d quote Deadpool: “Your crazy matches my crazy.”

And quoting movies and song lyrics were a constant with Kent. Good artists borrow, great artists steal.... Read more He stole profusely to express his thoughts, and his love when his own words didn’t say enough.

The songs he shared were deep, “schmoopy”, often cheesy. “Kitcsh contest?” he quipped one day. “Game on! I'm starting with Savage Garden!”. He had a quote for every moment. It was one of his love languages.

Kent shared so much love, with me, with Julia, with all of us. Love is not finite. But sadly, time is.

Nobody chooses addiction. Kent’s medical issues were an inescapable reality. “I will die before you do.” he told me. “It might be a year or ten or twenty... But you will outlive me… But I will not go gently.”

He reminded me that the future is promised to no-one.

In his words, “All we have is now. None of us will ever get out of here having gotten through everything worth experiencing, nor even everything we wanted to experience. Take all your chances while you can.”

And I’ll miss his words. I miss his “Hey you!” as I’d walk in the door. I miss his corny conversations full of puns and word play. I miss saying goodnight for the hundred millionth time as we’d part, only to get messages from him straight after. I miss our almost nightly exchange of “See you soon. But never soon enough… Never”.

I never thought “never again” would be so soon. My heart is broken.

I don’t have the words to adequately express how much Kent meant to me, and how he changed my life forever. So, I’m going to finish by stealing the words of a movie he loved, that made him cry, The Fault in Our Stars... just as Kent would have.

“I am not a mathematician, but I do know this.
There are infinite numbers between 0 and 1.
There's .1 and .12 and .112 and an infinite collection of others.
Of course, there is a bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2,
or between 0 and a million.
Some infinities are simply bigger than other infinities…
I wish we had more numbers than we got.
And God, I wish there had been more days for Kent.
But Kent, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity.
You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I’m grateful.” Read less

In 2009, a small-town girl from the other side of the world travelled here for the first time, and met a cute, cheeky goofball. So begins my story with Kent.

We shared our first kiss in 2011. Ten years later I finally moved here, and Kent became an inseparable part of my life.

He told me he would gush about me to others. Now it’s my turn. I loved and adored Kent. More than I have words for, more than I was ever able to express to him. He showed me how much joy there is to find in the world.... Read more

He was my favourite dork, my scruffy nerf-herder. We were giddy teenagers together, geeking out over everything, and egging each other on. We climbed rock walls, trying not to use our hands. We stuffed firecrackers into food, for science. We threw ourselves down a tubing hill, over a jump, headfirst, and backwards, giggling hysterically. He’d quote Deadpool: “Your crazy matches my crazy.”

And quoting movies and song lyrics were a constant with Kent. Good artists borrow, great artists steal. He stole profusely to express his thoughts, and his love when his own words didn’t say enough.

The songs he shared were deep, “schmoopy”, often cheesy. “Kitcsh contest?” he quipped one day. “Game on! I'm starting with Savage Garden!”. He had a quote for every moment. It was one of his love languages.

Kent shared so much love, with me, with Julia, with all of us. Love is not finite. But sadly, time is.

Nobody chooses addiction. Kent’s medical issues were an inescapable reality. “I will die before you do.” he told me. “It might be a year or ten or twenty... But you will outlive me… But I will not go gently.”

He reminded me that the future is promised to no-one.

In his words, “All we have is now. None of us will ever get out of here having gotten through everything worth experiencing, nor even everything we wanted to experience. Take all your chances while you can.”

And I’ll miss his words. I miss his “Hey you!” as I’d walk in the door. I miss his corny conversations full of puns and word play. I miss saying goodnight for the hundred millionth time as we’d part, only to get messages from him straight after. I miss our almost nightly exchange of “See you soon. But never soon enough… Never”.

I never thought “never again” would be so soon. My heart is broken.

I don’t have the words to adequately express how much Kent meant to me, and how he changed my life forever. So, I’m going to finish by stealing the words of a movie he loved, that made him cry, The Fault in Our Stars... just as Kent would have.

“I am not a mathematician, but I do know this.
There are infinite numbers between 0 and 1.
There's .1 and .12 and .112 and an infinite collection of others.
Of course, there is a bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2,
or between 0 and a million.
Some infinities are simply bigger than other infinities…
I wish we had more numbers than we got.
And God, I wish there had been more days for Kent.
But Kent, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity.
You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I’m grateful.” Read less