My words for Kev (Charlie)

Aaaayooo!
What I heard a thousand nights, sometime between 6-8PM. More often than not, right when I was supposed to walking in the door or coming down for dinner. He’d launch into whatever was going on, a great time he had with his buddies the other night, or something in his buddy’s lives that he was worried about, or his mom and dad, or why the latest best tv show still wasn’t as good as the Sopranos. We’d talk about business, about Trump or the libs, throw Tribe Called Quest lyrics back and forth. The last stretch, COVID and the world, how it sucks. Sometimes we talked for a half hour, but often it was shorter than that, maybe 10 minutes. I never lived in the same state as Kevin. In fact, other than a couple of years when I traveled to NY a lot for work, we were together in person only a couple of weekends a year. But he was a real presence in my life. In this same way, he was a real presence in so many lives.

No one here really needs me to tell you about who Kevin was. We all describe him as a kid from the south shore of Long Island, a passionate golf fan, player and professional, a lover of movies and music. If you went to his house, you would see he collected all that stuff. His walls are covered in golf photos, old scorecards and tournament brackets, movie posters, his favorite musicians. And of course, photos of his people everywhere. Because what Kevin collected most was people.
It didn’t matter where you came from, how old you were, what you did for living, which president you voted for in the last election. What mattered to Kev was pretty simple: are you a human being that cares about other people and could he find some common ground with you, something to talk about. And he could always find something to talk about. Because who couldn’t find something to talk about between movies, music and Tiger Woods.

Somewhere in the midst of this small talk, he would come to understand who you were as a person and a real relationship would be created, almost without you knowing it. Whether you were a security guard, assistant pro in a golf shop, business owner from the city, you day was brightened when Kevin popped in or up on your phone. And once a friend, you were a friend for life. When you think of how many people he touched, all of us that cared about him and who he cared about, I can’t help but shake my head. He enriched all of our lives. I’m not sure he ever realized he was the richest man in town.
I know there are a lot of us who have been thinking about what we could have done differently, for our Kevin, so that we wouldn’t be sitting here today. Kevin wouldn’t want that. Part of his love for us was caring so much that he didn’t want to have us worrying about him. He tried his best to make sure we wouldn’t. Are we going to be left with questions? I don’t think there’s any way around that. But I honestly believe the more important thing is to focus on the things you know:

• You out there, in the golf courses and shops across Long Island, in his work, were the people that made up the passion of his life. It was not whacking the ball that was his favorite part of golf, it was the shared experience, the comradery, the traditions.

• You out there, who were his friends, you were his chosen family. He cherished you, he could be himself truly, and he would have thrown himself in front of a bus for you.

• You out there who were his family, you were his bedrock, his foundation. No matter what happened, Kevin knew you were behind him.

• You (Rita), you were his comfort and confidant and friend and caregiver all of his life. He treasured you.

• You two (Greg & Jim), he looked up to you all of his life. He loved you.

• You (Barbara), were everything. You were the sun that rose each day. You were on a pedestal.

All these things you know. You don’t need me to say them. But Kevin would have wanted me to say them anyway.
Still, there’s one question I can’t shake. I’ve heard a lot of you say the same thing over the past week, and seven words have never been spoken that are more true: what are we going to do now?

I don’t know. I don’t know. So far I’ve only come up with two things:
One, tell the stories. There are millions of them, spread all around this room and beyond. Tell them over and over again, each time you get together for a beer or a round of golf or a ski trip or whatever brings those of us who knew Kev together. Some of them are not for church, but all of them will bring your buddy back to you for a moment and keep him close. You will see him and hear him in the room.

Two, be the one who reaches out to people that matter to you. Doesn’t matter if it’s a random text, of a 10 minute phone call. Just keep doing it, as best you can, when the moment flashes across your brain. Don’t put it off. Do it because it makes the people you love, feel loved. Do it because it will keep you close and involved in their lives, and we need that. Do it because many of them, and I’m thinking of all us here, at this moment, are going to be in dire need of someone calling on them.

None of us can fill Kevin’s shoes, none of us will be able to keep it up like he did all of his life. But if we all at least try, we might somehow help each other start to fill the void in our lives that Kevin leaves behind.