Goodbye, Kirk

We lost our friend Kirk Rogers last night.

Kirk was the ultimate refutation of the notion that Facebook "friends" aren't real friends. He was that, and more.

He was a glorious contradiction in so many terms—he was a burly leather-clad biker who was also a brilliant ornithological photojournalist, whose bird photography was the work of a true artist. He was a self-described "conservative" with one of the kindest, keenest, most open minds I've ever encountered, with a largesse d'esprit that was one for the books.

Most importantly for me, personally, he was the first of my male Facebook friends with cancer who stepped forward when I received my diagnosis last May.

As a true New Englander, he did it in private, with no ostentation or flourish.

He was there for me constantly throughout the past year of treatment. I derived enormous comfort and inspiration from the fact that he'd made a full-on trip to Europe in between treatments, and I decided that, if Kirk could do it, then our trip to Europe in the fall of 2023 was going to happen, no matter what.

When my pathology report, post-surgery, was full of good and hopeful news, Kirk was euphoric. It occurred to me many times, in those weeks, that he couldn't have been entirely human if he hadn't also wished that he'd had the same good news about his own cancer journey. It can't have been completely easy, but his heart and his decency were so epic that there was nothing in him for me but joy.

I'm grateful for the intense exchange of emails we had towards the end. Kirk sounded very strong, and even a bit protective of my healing, with was a striking grace note in a man who knew he was dying, and who had, in fact, been given no more than a few days to live. I'm honoured beyond words that he spent even a short bit of the time he had left reassuring me that I was going to be OK.

I will always regret that we didn't get around to having that beer, that conversation as two artists, that bonding time in which we might have gloried in how two men of such different backgrounds, and lives, could have had so much in common, and what that said about the overall possibilities, for human beings, of coming together in friendship.

The phrase "a good man" is overused to the point of caricature, but that's exactly what Kirk was, and that made him pure gold.

If you're a friend of mine, but didn't know Kirk—and if you've read this far— please don't say that you're "sorry for [my] loss." It's not my loss—it's his family's loss, it's our great mutual friend Cam Lag's loss, and it's his fellow riders' loss. I don't want to insert myself in their grief. I'm just a blade of grass that shook slightly when a 747 passed overhead. The 747 was Kirk Rogers, and all the abundant love and goodness with which he was so generous. Share your sympathy wth them instead, or just say "Rest In Peace," and mean it. I sure do.

Sleep well after your hard-fought battle, Kirk. And thanks for showing me how it's properly done—with dignity, strength, and great, great style.