I first met Trevor Page in 1997 at a costume party in Long Beach, California. I believe, if memory serves, it was Halloween and held at Joe Nelson’s apartment in the Villa Riviera on Ocean & Alamitos. He was dressed like Ralph Kramden from The Honeymooners and I was the Dalai Lama. I had walked into the common kitchen area where we were partying to get something to drink when I heard, “Holy shit, that’s the Dalai Lama!” I turned around to hear him then say, “Dude, you look exactly like the Dalai Lama!” And I did. We locked eyes and I barked back, “Dude, you look just like Jackie Gleason!” And he did! This was “Big Trevor” era.

The two of us then proceeded to spend the entire rest of that night propped up against the countertops of that kitchen, talking like two kids who had just met on a playground. Two kids, who, despite growing up just mere miles away from one another, and who traveled in the same social circles, and in the same scene, during the same era, were meeting for the very... Read more first time at the age of 27. We didn’t leave that kitchen the entire night.

I’d never met anyone like him. I’ve had, and do have, friends who are more discerning than me, more virtuous, and kinder, funnier and crazier, but never any who I felt that were just like me, in the very same ways, and where I could see it for myself, in plain view. We spoke at length and in detailed depth about music, movies, culture, politics, philosophy, spirituality, fashion, food – and this was just our First Date!

What I remember most about that night was, that I’d never laughed that hard, for so long, in all my life…and that’s when I realized just how special a person Trevor was. And he was. A person who can make you lose track of time with laughter, while also making you feel like you’re the only person on the planet is a special kind of friend, those are your best friends.

Trevor had an uncanny ability to make most everyone he met feel this way. Whatever your thing was, whatever your personal slant was…favorite band, author, football club, political stance, era of history, whatever your expertise was…he could, usually, talk at length with any person, even if they were a total stranger. He had no fear to show love to people.

One of the prompts from the Ever Loved Website asked, “What did you learn from Trevor? If it had a lasting impact, what was it?” …

I learned early on that Trevor was tough. He was tough with his words, in how he could use them to express his opinions & wit. He was tough with his attitude, in how his mere presence could affect a room full of people by simply him being “Trevor” in a room full of people. His opinions and how he could flex his intellect wasn’t always well received though, however, this revealed yet another one of his superpowers, and my personal favorite - his deadly humor.

Trevor Page was one of the funniest Mother Fuckers to ever walk this planet. Forgive me, I had to say that, and say it that way, because I promised him I would. And it’s true. He could make babies laugh until they cried. People that I know, people from all parts of the world, know of Trevor Page and his antics, while not ever having met him, solely because of what I’ve told them, with great detail, who he was and the things he’d done.

He & I got into some of the most ridiculous situations of our live-s, well…let me say it this way, so as not to speak for him…” Trevor Page got me into some of my life’s most ridiculous situations.” Toy would always remind us both before He & I would walk out the door, “Don’t call me for bail money, John.” And it was Trevor - who from among all my friends - from all eras - was the only person she gave this warning to. And He wore that warning like a badge of honor.

The situations were ridiculous only because they were so, God-damn funny and I would love for nothing more than to articulate each-and-every one of those ridiculous situations, but my kids are here and I’ve already met my quota for curses today, so, please forgive me.

Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand, not the kindly smile, nor the joy of companionship; it is the spiritual inspiration that comes to one when you discover that someone else believes in you and is willing to trust you with a friendship.” A mark of a true friend is someone who can tell you exactly who you are, and you trust them to be true because of their vantage point.

Trevor was one of those true friends who would call you on the carpet to try and straighten you out anytime he thought you weren’t being who he thought you always were. It was an authenticity thing with him. If you were someone who he deemed as “real”, when you weren’t being so, he wanted to know why. This always kept our friendship honest and helped me grow in my personal life greatly.
This toughness would later take on another character, one with more meaning and with a greater significance than in any other time in Trevor’s life. In the last 8 years, we all became eyewitnesses to Trevor’s illnesses and physical battles. He endured bodily pain and torment in a way that, at least to me, seemed to give him a type of dignity not seen in mere mortals.

These past years also gave birth to a spiritual renewal in Trevor, one that I had always known to be dormant inside him and sometimes even seen but were now reinvigorated with a sincere and blatant pursuit of truth and peace. We would talk for hours about the spiritual life and Trevor made a conscientious effort to get to know what was going on in his, and in the stirrings of his own soul. He asked me all the hard questions, and I gave him all the hard answers in as much as I could, feeling the weight of our talks and how they would help or hinder a dying man wrestling with his own mortality in the pursuit of peace of mind. And I believe he found that peace.

All these personal reflections would seem entirely selfish to share and merely sentimental if they weren’t comingled with thanksgiving. I am honored to have been able to speak to you all about my friend Trevor Allan Page but I would be neglectful if I didn’t offer thanks as is meet and right…
To Auntie Joan…thank you for baring a son so beautiful, so dynamic and for me personally, giving me a friend who was closer than any brother or cousin I’ve ever had. We love you.

To Elizabeth…thank you for showing us all what steadfast, unconditional, real-for-better-or-worse-in-sickness-and-in-health love looks like and how to be strong and brave with a devotion and noble perseverance that we can all learn from and hopefully muster ourselves when our own time comes. Your witness has helped us understand all those traits in a real and concrete way. We love you.

To his Sons, Jonah & Bronx…remember your Father in the ways he loved you and took care of you and all those he encountered, and strive all the days of your lives to be better than him, because that’s what he would want from you both. Never feel that he is far from you but only remember those things he taught & lived and honor it by your own living. We love you both, dearly, and you will always have an army of Aunties & Uncles to call on when you need us.

As I typed this up last night, I was listening to a Spotify Playlist entitled, “Love Will Tear Us Apart Radio” and every single song on that Playlist felt like it was DJ’d by “T” himself, weaving through all the complex emotions of pain in lost love and remorseful isolation and while I sat there soaking my keyboard with tears, I giggled a bit because I then recalled one of the last things he said to me and I’m sure he said to each of you, explicitly, and that is…and I quote…”When my day comes, don’t sit around and be all sad, crying and shit, but party.”

Lord, give rest to your creation, Trevor Allan Page, in a place of brightness, a place of verdure, a place of repose, where all sickness, sorrow and sighing have fled away and where the sight of your countenance rejoices all saints from all ages. Amen.

Thank you. Read less

I first met Trevor Page in 1997 at a costume party in Long Beach, California. I believe, if memory serves, it was Halloween and held at Joe Nelson’s apartment in the Villa Riviera on Ocean & Alamitos. He was dressed like Ralph Kramden from The Honeymooners and I was the Dalai Lama. I had walked into the common kitchen area where we were partying to get something to drink when I heard, “Holy shit, that’s the Dalai Lama!” I turned around to hear him then say, “Dude, you look exactly like the Dalai... Read more Lama!” And I did. We locked eyes and I barked back, “Dude, you look just like Jackie Gleason!” And he did! This was “Big Trevor” era.

The two of us then proceeded to spend the entire rest of that night propped up against the countertops of that kitchen, talking like two kids who had just met on a playground. Two kids, who, despite growing up just mere miles away from one another, and who traveled in the same social circles, and in the same scene, during the same era, were meeting for the very first time at the age of 27. We didn’t leave that kitchen the entire night.

I’d never met anyone like him. I’ve had, and do have, friends who are more discerning than me, more virtuous, and kinder, funnier and crazier, but never any who I felt that were just like me, in the very same ways, and where I could see it for myself, in plain view. We spoke at length and in detailed depth about music, movies, culture, politics, philosophy, spirituality, fashion, food – and this was just our First Date!

What I remember most about that night was, that I’d never laughed that hard, for so long, in all my life…and that’s when I realized just how special a person Trevor was. And he was. A person who can make you lose track of time with laughter, while also making you feel like you’re the only person on the planet is a special kind of friend, those are your best friends.

Trevor had an uncanny ability to make most everyone he met feel this way. Whatever your thing was, whatever your personal slant was…favorite band, author, football club, political stance, era of history, whatever your expertise was…he could, usually, talk at length with any person, even if they were a total stranger. He had no fear to show love to people.

One of the prompts from the Ever Loved Website asked, “What did you learn from Trevor? If it had a lasting impact, what was it?” …

I learned early on that Trevor was tough. He was tough with his words, in how he could use them to express his opinions & wit. He was tough with his attitude, in how his mere presence could affect a room full of people by simply him being “Trevor” in a room full of people. His opinions and how he could flex his intellect wasn’t always well received though, however, this revealed yet another one of his superpowers, and my personal favorite - his deadly humor.

Trevor Page was one of the funniest Mother Fuckers to ever walk this planet. Forgive me, I had to say that, and say it that way, because I promised him I would. And it’s true. He could make babies laugh until they cried. People that I know, people from all parts of the world, know of Trevor Page and his antics, while not ever having met him, solely because of what I’ve told them, with great detail, who he was and the things he’d done.

He & I got into some of the most ridiculous situations of our live-s, well…let me say it this way, so as not to speak for him…” Trevor Page got me into some of my life’s most ridiculous situations.” Toy would always remind us both before He & I would walk out the door, “Don’t call me for bail money, John.” And it was Trevor - who from among all my friends - from all eras - was the only person she gave this warning to. And He wore that warning like a badge of honor.

The situations were ridiculous only because they were so, God-damn funny and I would love for nothing more than to articulate each-and-every one of those ridiculous situations, but my kids are here and I’ve already met my quota for curses today, so, please forgive me.

Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand, not the kindly smile, nor the joy of companionship; it is the spiritual inspiration that comes to one when you discover that someone else believes in you and is willing to trust you with a friendship.” A mark of a true friend is someone who can tell you exactly who you are, and you trust them to be true because of their vantage point.

Trevor was one of those true friends who would call you on the carpet to try and straighten you out anytime he thought you weren’t being who he thought you always were. It was an authenticity thing with him. If you were someone who he deemed as “real”, when you weren’t being so, he wanted to know why. This always kept our friendship honest and helped me grow in my personal life greatly.
This toughness would later take on another character, one with more meaning and with a greater significance than in any other time in Trevor’s life. In the last 8 years, we all became eyewitnesses to Trevor’s illnesses and physical battles. He endured bodily pain and torment in a way that, at least to me, seemed to give him a type of dignity not seen in mere mortals.

These past years also gave birth to a spiritual renewal in Trevor, one that I had always known to be dormant inside him and sometimes even seen but were now reinvigorated with a sincere and blatant pursuit of truth and peace. We would talk for hours about the spiritual life and Trevor made a conscientious effort to get to know what was going on in his, and in the stirrings of his own soul. He asked me all the hard questions, and I gave him all the hard answers in as much as I could, feeling the weight of our talks and how they would help or hinder a dying man wrestling with his own mortality in the pursuit of peace of mind. And I believe he found that peace.

All these personal reflections would seem entirely selfish to share and merely sentimental if they weren’t comingled with thanksgiving. I am honored to have been able to speak to you all about my friend Trevor Allan Page but I would be neglectful if I didn’t offer thanks as is meet and right…
To Auntie Joan…thank you for baring a son so beautiful, so dynamic and for me personally, giving me a friend who was closer than any brother or cousin I’ve ever had. We love you.

To Elizabeth…thank you for showing us all what steadfast, unconditional, real-for-better-or-worse-in-sickness-and-in-health love looks like and how to be strong and brave with a devotion and noble perseverance that we can all learn from and hopefully muster ourselves when our own time comes. Your witness has helped us understand all those traits in a real and concrete way. We love you.

To his Sons, Jonah & Bronx…remember your Father in the ways he loved you and took care of you and all those he encountered, and strive all the days of your lives to be better than him, because that’s what he would want from you both. Never feel that he is far from you but only remember those things he taught & lived and honor it by your own living. We love you both, dearly, and you will always have an army of Aunties & Uncles to call on when you need us.

As I typed this up last night, I was listening to a Spotify Playlist entitled, “Love Will Tear Us Apart Radio” and every single song on that Playlist felt like it was DJ’d by “T” himself, weaving through all the complex emotions of pain in lost love and remorseful isolation and while I sat there soaking my keyboard with tears, I giggled a bit because I then recalled one of the last things he said to me and I’m sure he said to each of you, explicitly, and that is…and I quote…”When my day comes, don’t sit around and be all sad, crying and shit, but party.”

Lord, give rest to your creation, Trevor Allan Page, in a place of brightness, a place of verdure, a place of repose, where all sickness, sorrow and sighing have fled away and where the sight of your countenance rejoices all saints from all ages. Amen.

Thank you. Read less

John Kennedy’s Speech

Today we are here to say goodbye to my cousin, Trevor Page.
Trevor was born when I was five years old. I don’t remember a time in my life before him. He wasn’t just my cousin — he was simply always there. From the time I was old enough to form real memories, Trevor was part of them.
We grew up side by side in that way cousins do — close enough to share childhood, different enough to each find our own path. Holidays, family gatherings, inside jokes, phases we went through, stories we’ll probably tell for the rest of our lives — he’s woven into all of it.
There’s a simple truth about life: it doesn’t last forever. We all understand that. But when it’s someone who has been part of your world for almost as long as you can remember, the loss feels deeper. It feels personal in a way that’s hard to put into words.
Trevor was real. He had his own personality, his own presence, his own way of showing up in a room. He mattered — not in some abstract way, but in the everyday... Read more ways that count. In the way he spoke to people. In the way he laughed. In the way he belonged to this family.
What we’re feeling today is love. That’s what grief is. It’s love that doesn’t have the same place to land anymore. And it’s okay to feel it fully. It’s okay that this hurts.
His passing reminds us that our time together is not guaranteed. The ordinary moments — the conversations, the teasing, the shared meals — are the real treasures. If there’s anything we can carry forward, it’s the reminder to be present with each other while we can. To say what we mean. To show up.
Trevor may not be here physically, but he is part of who we are. He lives in our memories, in our stories, in the ways he shaped us without even realizing it. When we talk about the past, when we laugh about something only this family would understand, he’s there.
I didn’t know life without Trevor in it. And even now, in a different way, I still won’t. He’s part of my story. He always will be.
Rest peacefully, Trevor. You were loved from the very beginning. And you will be remembered for the rest of our lives. Read less

John Kennedy’s Speech

Today we are here to say goodbye to my cousin, Trevor Page.
Trevor was born when I was five years old. I don’t remember a time in my life before him. He wasn’t just my cousin — he was simply always there. From the time I was old enough to form real memories, Trevor was part of them.
We grew up side by side in that way cousins do — close enough to share childhood, different enough to each find our own path. Holidays, family gatherings, inside jokes, phases we went through,... Read more stories we’ll probably tell for the rest of our lives — he’s woven into all of it.
There’s a simple truth about life: it doesn’t last forever. We all understand that. But when it’s someone who has been part of your world for almost as long as you can remember, the loss feels deeper. It feels personal in a way that’s hard to put into words.
Trevor was real. He had his own personality, his own presence, his own way of showing up in a room. He mattered — not in some abstract way, but in the everyday ways that count. In the way he spoke to people. In the way he laughed. In the way he belonged to this family.
What we’re feeling today is love. That’s what grief is. It’s love that doesn’t have the same place to land anymore. And it’s okay to feel it fully. It’s okay that this hurts.
His passing reminds us that our time together is not guaranteed. The ordinary moments — the conversations, the teasing, the shared meals — are the real treasures. If there’s anything we can carry forward, it’s the reminder to be present with each other while we can. To say what we mean. To show up.
Trevor may not be here physically, but he is part of who we are. He lives in our memories, in our stories, in the ways he shaped us without even realizing it. When we talk about the past, when we laugh about something only this family would understand, he’s there.
I didn’t know life without Trevor in it. And even now, in a different way, I still won’t. He’s part of my story. He always will be.
Rest peacefully, Trevor. You were loved from the very beginning. And you will be remembered for the rest of our lives. Read less