"When Death Comes," By Mary Oliver, Read At Alexander "Tiger" Kenan's Memorial Service

Alan: Mary Oliver's poem, "When Death Comes" was read at yesterday's funeral service for a beloved young man, Alexander Kenan, who fell to his death last week in a rock climbing accident in Wyoming's Grand Teton National Park.

The above photo accompanies the following online version of Mary Oliver's poem. 

http://www.phys.unm.edu/~tw/fas/yits/archive/oliver_whendeathcomes.html

When Death Comes Mary Oliver When death comes like the hungry bear in autumn; when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse to buy me, and snaps the purse shut; when death comes like the measle-pox when death comes like an iceberg between the shoulder blades, I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering: what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness? And therefore I look upon everything as a brotherhood and a sisterhood, and I look upon time as no more than an idea, and I consider eternity as another possibility, and I think of each life as a flower, as common as a field daisy, and as singular, and each name a comfortable music in the mouth, tending, as all music does, toward silence, and each body a lion of courage, and something precious to the earth. When it's over, I want to say all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms. When it's over, I don't want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real. I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened, or full of argument. I don't want to end up simply having visited this world ***** Eulogy Maria Archibald Dear Alexander, When we were four years old, you hit me over the head with a shovel. To this day, you insist it was an accident – but I’m not so easily convinced. I think it was a preemptive strike – an attempt to dumb down your opponent in our twenty-four- year battle of wits. It worked like a charm.  You were an expert mischief-maker and I didn’t  stand a chance. I remember the night you came over for dinner, tied shoelaces to the feet of all my stuffed animals,  and dangled them out of the windows. I remember the times you chased me around  the school yard in second gradesinging: “BLAAAAACK SOCKS they never get dirty  the longer you wear them the stronger they get …” just to get on my nerves. In middle  school, you stole my backpack at YPPC rehearsals and sent it for solo rides up and down  elevator, watching with glee as I chased hopelessly after my homework. I remember when we loved building towers, so we built them in every room of my house. But building towers wasn’t enough for you – you needed to destroy them, too. Unable to escape my watchful eye, you resorted to an elaborate scheme: Creating mayhem was a sure way to get my dad to put us in time out, you thought. In separate rooms, no less! Once you were rid of me, you wreaked silent havoc. Without fail, I would return from my room to yours, greeted by that sheepish grin and a pile of rubble. Your childhood nickname described you well, Tiger: Silent and deadly. Your love of mischief and competition was surpassed only by your dedication to those you loved and your eagerness to do anything for a friend in need. In Kindergarten, you co-founded and co-directed “the bug club” with me. Despite constant teasing from our classmates, we tirelessly patrolled the playground, searching for injured bugs and nursing them back to health. I don’t know how many bugs we managed to save, but I’m sure it wasn’t nearly as many as we squashed. A solid start to your wilderness medicine career. I remember when we raised $8 at a lemonade stand and proudly sent it off to “save the gorillas.” In second grade, we started a social justice campaign to educate our classmates and write to the governor on important issues. Some parents thought we were discussing topics that were “too heavy” for seven year olds, so they shut us down. We didn’t mind - we just kept on going in secret. This April you came to visit me in Flagstaff. I had just torn my ACL and gotten kicked out of my house in the same week. When I told you this on the phone, you offered me a home in your van. I never needed to take you up on that, so instead you came over and cooked me pesto pasta – the dish our moms always made at family dinners – because you wanted to bring me a piece of home. Sometimes you liked to act tough, but you didn’t have anybody fooled. When we were 7 years old, we made Anna officiate our wedding. It just made sense. Why wouldn’t we spend the rest of our lives together? When you set off on your outdoor adventures, you chose to adopt “Tiger” as your trail name –your wish to hear your childhood nickname on the lips of your cool new friends a display of sentimentality above all else. I remember how you planned your adventure itinerary in a way that ensured you would be able to visit the people you loved. When your mom passed away, you and your dad gave me a few of her dresses. “It will be nice to see them again on one of my favorite people,” you said. You inspired us all to push to new heights, unlock potential we didn't know existed, and live our best possible lives. I remember watching my little brother look up to you. Your journeys, your postcards, your blog, your example, your excitement and your support were much of the inspiration behind his own AT and PNT thru-hikes. It was you who took me to run my first race. I had just started running, but was too nervous to compete. You took me with you anyway and kicked my butt, but that didn’t stop you from cheering me on and making me feel strong and powerful. I ran every day for the next six years. I remember when you were mountaineering across the west and applying to medical schools. Meanwhile, I was on crutches, immobile, and unable to put on my own pants. Somehow you still managed to make me feel like the badass. But your resilience and strength, even in the face of tragedy, is what touches me most, Alexander. At your own mother’s memorial service, I cried like a baby. You held my hand and told me how much she loved me. The day after she died was my birthday. We spent that day together, in shock. But you remembered my birthday. Later that night, you and Anna called me and sang. On the worst day of your life, you stopped to celebrate mine. Amidst the tragedy, you gave me 30 seconds of happiness – that’s just the kind of person you were. A few short months ago, you stood in my kitchen in Flagstaff, Arizona and looked at me with that twinkle in your eye and that mischievous smile we all know and love. “Hey Maria – remember the shovel incident?” I laughed. “Just wanted to say sorry about that.” Today it feels like you’ve hit me in the head one last time with that shovel. Losing you has shattered me. But if there’s one thing that I’ve learned from 24 years of friendship with you, it’s that no shovel can tear us apart. You’re stuck with me, and I’ll carry you with me everywhere I go. You’ve touched so many lives in your short time on earth, but I know you’re only just getting started. If you let this stop you, you wouldn’t be Alexander. Go get ‘em, Tiger. Love,  Maria ALEXANDER E. KENAN 1992 - 2017 Obituary Condolences Gallery Alexander Eugene Kenan Chapel Hill Alexander Eugene Kenan died in a rock climbing accident on August 22, 2017 in Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming. https://www.nps.gov/grte/index.htm Born October 20, 1992, he is survived by his father, Daniel James Kenan, of Durham; his sister, Anna Caroline Kenan, of Durham; his extended family: Suellen Aldina of Durham, Giuseppe "Joey" Aldina of New York, and Robin Aldina of Raleigh; he is predeceased by his mother, Kim Marie Walsh. He is also survived by his paternal grandmother, Julia Vann Kenan, of Durham; his maternal grandfather, Eugene Walsh, of Madison, Wisconsin, aunt Sharon Walsh of Madison, Wisconsin; aunt Sarah Kenan Shunk and uncle Robert Shunk, both of Durham, NC; uncle John Kenan and aunt Leigh Sweet, both of Efland North Carolina; and numerous cousins. Alexander attended Carolina Friends School and graduated from the University of North Carolina in 2015 with a double major in Chemistry and Biology. He was inducted into the Phi Beta Kappa Honor Society in 2014. He was active in the Carolina Campus Community Garden and the Tramping Club. As a teenager, Alexander was a member of Boy Scout Troop 449 where he developed a passion for long distance backpacking. He later hiked most of the Appalachian Trail in 2014, adopting the trail name of "Tiger", followed by the entire Pacific Crest Trail in 2015. As part of his PCT hike, he climbed all 12,000-plus foot peaks in the Cascade Range, adding hundreds of miles to his thru-hike, and becoming the only known person to connect these peaks on foot. He also completed multiple National Outdoor Leadership School courses and certifications in Wilderness First Responder as well as mountaineering in the Waddington Range of British Columbia. He earned his Emergency Medical Technician certification for North Carolina, and planned a career in Emergency Medicine and Wilderness Medicine. He was applying for 2018 entry to medical school at the time of his death. Alexander was a driven and passionate adventurer. He will be remembered by his many friends and family members for his quick mind, tireless compassion, can-do attitude, and whole-hearted embrace of new challenges—from developing new medicines as a biopharmaceutical researcher to taking on technical routes on big mountains. His love of mischief and competition was surpassed only by his dedication to those he loved and his eagerness to do anything for a friend in need. Alexander inspired his loved ones and one-time adventure companions alike to push to new heights, unlock potential we didn't know existed, and live our best possible lives. He was a patient teacher and an integral member of the outdoor community in Chapel Hill—he almost single-handedly taught a generation of University of North Carolina Climbers how to backpack, climb outdoors, and truly appreciate every minute of his sister's 90-song Jack White compilation that accompanied Alexander on every road trip. As a student, he brought people together for pot lucks, bike rides, and games of midnight Frisbee. As a climber, he made new friends and partners wherever he went. He had planned an 18-month journey rock climbing and mountaineering across the United States and Canada before beginning medical school, and he was 6 months into this adventure when he fell while rappelling off a peak in the Grand Tetons. He lived his life on his own terms, and he died while doing exactly what he loved. Resilient and compassionate in the face of tragedy, Alexander's legacy inspires those left behind to move forward with grace and love. A memorial service will take place at the North Carolina Botanical Garden at 1:30 pm on Sunday, September 3. In lieu of flowers, memorials in Alexander's name may be made to North Carolina Botanical Garden for the Carolina Campus Community Garden, CB# 3375, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, NC 27599-3375; or the Jenny Lake Rangers Fund (www.jennylakerangers.org). Published in HeraldSun on Aug. 29, 2017 WRAL Obituary:  http://www.wral.com/rangers-chapel-hill-man-died-from-fall-while-climbing-in-grand-teton-national-park/16907683/ Park Rangers Ask For Information:  http://planetjh.com/2017/08/26/rangers-requesting-info-on-climbers-death/ More remembrances from Alexander's memorial service will be posted when they become available. "And the wind came from the mountain and took me to a place where man cannot go alone."This is the only known poem of Jim Vann, late brother of Jake Vann, Alexander Kenan's great uncle who read it from Jim's holograph at yesterday's memorial service.***I've Grown Used To MiraclesAdi DaI've grown used to miracles.  The wonder is not whether we will be together, me with those I'm loving, on some other side. The wonder is that we've met and been together, loving here, in this half-made world, where love is yet to take its hold. Of course this is no consolation to you, you who are seeking for me everywhere. But this is not the place for consolations. And only those who understand  are fit for loving here. I was used to miracles the day I lived. And now I begin my days myself. Even if I make a logic of your sentiment. If we found us here, how should we lose the touch in a world more light?Recited from memory by a friend of the Kenan family.