A Tribute to Kevin
- Chano Itwaru
- Jun 8
- 5 min read
🎈 🎈 Happy Birthday in Heaven, Kevin
Monday, June 9, 2025 — A Tribute on Your 39th Birthday
“’Tis a fearful thing to love what death can touch.”
— Yehuda HaLevi
Monday, June 9, 1986
The day Kevin was born marked one of the happiest days of my life. He arrived with a full head of dark hair and wide, curious eyes that seemed to take in the world with wonder. I had no idea then how much this little soul would teach me about life, love, resilience, and heartbreak. Every June 9, I return to that sacred moment. It formed a deep bond that neither time nor death can erase.
My husband and I were overjoyed when the doctor announced, “It’s a boy.” Tears flowed freely as I focused not on the after-birth pain but on the miracle in my arms. Some friends joked that we had hit the jackpot—with a daughter and now a son, “a perfect family of four.” Who could ask for more? My 3.5-year-old toddler daughter used to pray for a baby brother, and was overjoyed to tell her friends that she had a baby brother, whom she affectionately called "cutabuta" (cute brother).
Kevin was peaceful and content as a newborn; he slept so soundly that I often had to wake him for feedings. He was a joy to raise. Curious, bright, and tender-hearted, he began reading at just four years old, devouring books with a hunger far beyond his years. He was a creative story teller with a vivid imagination.
At the age of five, he began taking piano lessons. Music became another language for his soul. He was a well-rounded student—obedient, respectful, and kind—both at home and in school. n high school, Kevin served as captain of the math team and tutored other students with patience and encouragement. He later gave private piano and trumpet lessons, sharing his gifts with quiet joy.
What We Lost
It’s heartbreaking to face the reality of what’s been lost, with so many milestones missed and dreams undone. Would Kevin have gotten married? Had children? I’ll never have answers to those questions and many, and they still ache. Kevin's memories are my lifeline. I hold onto the sound of his laughter, the sight of him at the piano, his deep questions about life and faith, and the little boy so full of wonder.
Grief has a strange way of reshaping ties. Kevin’s absence hasn’t erased him from our lives; it has etched him deeper into our hearts. Each year, this day carries the sacred weight of memory and the bittersweet ache of what might have been.
Every June 9, we honor the day he came into this world and the eternal mark he left behind. Life may end, but love, especially a love like Kevin’s, never does.
A Poem That Says It All
’Tis a fearful thing to love what death can touch.
A fearful thing to love, to hope, to dream, to be—
And oh, to lose.
A thing for fools, this,
And a holy thing,
a holy thing to love.
For your life has lived in me,
your laugh once lifted me,
your word was a gift to me.
To remember this brings painful joy.
’Tis a human thing, love,
a holy thing,
to love what death has touched.
These words by Yehuda HaLevi—a Jewish physician, poet, and philosopher born in Spain nearly a thousand years ago —are giving comfort to a grieving mother in the 21st century. But that’s the power of words: they endure like love.
The Last Birthday We Shared
Kevin’s 33rd birthday is embedded into my memory. Kevin appeared happy during his dinner at an Asian fusion restaurant of his choice. He loved Asian food, especially sushi. Kevin embraced all cultures—their food, their music, their beauty. He also taught me to use chopsticks, just as he gently guided me through music and technology. We discussed our upcoming relocation to North Carolina, and Kevin looked forward to the move. We had a lovely discussion about events in his life.
I cherish the above photo from that dinner—Kevin in his favorite color, a red and blue plaid shirt. That shirt now lives in my closet. I take it with me when I travel. Somehow, bringing it along makes it feel like Kevin still sees the world through my eyes. And maybe he is.
When He Turned 18
I recall Kevin’s 18th birthday with bittersweet memories. He stood on the brink of adulthood, brimming with ambition and potential. He was preparing to attend his top-choice college. He wanted to pursue a degree in biomedical engineering and accomplished that dream. The future seemed bright and full of opportunities. However, life has a way of throwing unexpected turns, and Kevin's journey was no exception.
A Holy Thing to Love
To love someone no longer here is to carry their memory in rituals, words, and heartbreaks. It’s feeling their laughter rise in your chest on the most unexpected days. It’s creating meaning in their absence.
My faith has been both tested and strengthened. In the early days of loss, I was angry with God. I asked why. I begged for answers. But over time, I began to see that God had never left. He was there—in the silence, the tears, and the stillness. When I pray, I picture Kevin at peace, smiling, playing music in heaven. That image is my peace, my hope.
Each year, we visit the cemetery and place a new wreath. Then we gather at a restaurant to celebrate and enjoy some of Kevin's favorite foods. His nieces sing “Happy Birthday” to their beloved uncle. We laugh, we grieve, and we remember.
Some days, it feels unimaginable that Kevin is not here. Other days, I feel his presence all around me, as if he’s entered another room filled with light.
A Friend’s Tribute
Kevin’s bandmate and friend Nick shared this heartfelt remembrance:
“After a short time, Kevin became part of the Nonstop family. We spent countless hours trading musical phrases—communicating in a way only musicians know. Sometimes, it was just a glance between notes. A smile caught from the corner of the eye. A raised eyebrow to shift direction.
Over time, we got to know each other beyond music. We discussed everything—debated, laughed, and connected.
Sometimes I meet people and think, ‘I see a little bit of Kevin in them.’ I find myself longing for that friendship. Catching glimpses of it brings peace. It makes me happy to think I’m spending a little time with even a part of him.” 😇☺️
Reading Nick’s words brought tears to my eyes. That’s my son, value friendship.
Love That Transcends Time
Kevin is the sunrise that nudges me awake, the rainbow that whispers, “Keep going,” and the melody that brings tears and peace. That will never change.A mother’s love doesn’t end where life ends. It stretches across time and into eternity. It is unshakeable.
Even in the shadows of grief, God has held me. I was angry for so long. I felt forgotten. But little by little, I saw him weeping beside me all along. He still is. Deep in my soul, I believe Kevin is with Jesus, safe, at peace, and smiling.
Maybe you’re watching over us, Kevin. Perhaps you’re cheering me on, whispering: “Keep going, Mom. Keep walking. Keep writing. Keep living.”
If you’re reading this and have lost someone you love, please know: you are not alone. Whether you’ve lost a child, a friend, a partner, or a sibling, grief unites us. But so does love.
I trust that the God who gave me Kevin now holds him in everlasting peace and love. Though Kevin’s life was far too short, his light remains. Even if I can’t see it as I once did, I know it’s still shining.
Happy birthday in heaven, Kevin.
Though you are forever 33, your spirit lives on in every beat of our hearts.
Until we meet again. 💖
Chano , however different it maybe , I feel and share all of the sentiments so perfectly written . You're in my heart and mind , especially so today .