Why we loved Kent

WHY WE LOVED KENT

We found that not having people to talk to who understood why we love Kent so much made dealing with his death that much harder for us. On this page, we hope to povide a place for the people who loved Kent to share their memories, their thoughts, or anything else related to him, his life, or his death. We hope that this will accomplish two goals: Make it easier for others to cope with Kent's loss, and allow those who never knew him to begin to understand what they missed.

If you would like to have a statement posted on this page, email us with the subject line "To Kent (post)." (Although that is the subject message, posts need not be directed towards Kent but can also be written to his suvivors.) You can also send us messages with the subject "To Kent (don't post)," in which case we will not post the message. We offer this for people who have things left to say to Kent and would benefit from having a place to send them, but who don't wish to have their messages read or shared by others.

KENT'S FRIENDS SHARE THEIR MEMORIES:

Angela	Cory	Emily
Elizabeth	Roman	Sara

Angela:

When I was (can it really be nearly two years ago?) struggling with the issue in my former marriage that had caused much deep personal pain, I, very nervously, wrote to Kent about it (feeling he'd be the best person to help answer my questions) and he very kindly wrote back with warmth and support. He knew I was a dedicated Jean Shephard fan and whenever anything interesting popped up about him, Kent would always send it to me. When Jean Shephard died, Kent sent me all of the information, the tributes, and even a wonderful picture of that famous house on Cleveland street. He felt it was important that we all memorialize the writer in gratitude for all the happiness and laughter he'd given us, and this is what you're giving everyone an opportunity to do. This is the next best thing to being able to gather 'round the kitchen table and eat Ralphie's mother's meatloaf and red cabbage and listen to the radio while basking in the glow of the lady's leg lamp. Farewell Kent, we won't forget you.

Cory:

Oh God, please don't let this be true. I can't. . . I can't. . . shit. I loved Kent so much. so god damned fucking much. I can't. .. Kent was the most warm-hearted, amazing kindred spirit, and. . . I never even got to hear his voice because I kept putting it off and I. . . I thank God I lived in world with Kent. Now I have to live in the world without him.

Kent, Kent, I loved you and cherished you so much, and I will miss you with every ounce of me, and thank you for being exactly what I wanted to be. Thank you for making it okay for me to be gay, and fabulous, and bitchy, and political and *happy. Thank you for adoring me as much as I adored you. You know I'll always be a black gay man from NYC trapped in a 17 year old lesbian's body. Or however old I get. I will always be your Raynie. I love you. Forever.

Emily:

I was at camp when I found out about Kent's death. I got a letter from Liz -it said in big letters on the envelope "Bad News Letter". I remember not knowing what it could possible be about. I was sitting at a picnic table outside the dining room. I opened it up and read it, and I remember that my first reaction was almost relief, to know what the bad news was, and that it wasn't any of the terrible things that had been running through my mind -accidents involving my friends, something happened to liz, etc- because Kent had never even crossed my mind when I saw the envelope. And then I just sort of went numb. I didn't feel any grief, really, about Kent's death, and I felt horribly guilty about that. I remember worrying about liz, because from the letter it seemed like she was really upset, and because I knew she had been a lot closer to him than I was. The first chance I got I called liz at her summer program. We talked a little about Kent -as I recall, each of! us just making sure the other was ok, more than really talking about him, or how we felt. On the walk back from the phone to my bunk, I sort of put the whole thing out of my mind. I didn't think of it much for the rest of the summer. Its easy to do that at camp -not think about anything outside that little world.

Since then I honestly haven't thought about it a whole lot. but it comes into my mind at the most random moments. I remember I was walking down broadwat one day and suddenly started thinking about Kent's stories of "the Wookie" and about how much trouble he'd always had affording his diabetes medicine, and I remember thinking "god, why didn't I offer to help? Why didn't I give him the $20 bucks he sometimes desperately needed? I have everything provided for me. I could have given him all my allowance. I would have still been fine, and maybe he would have lived."

Another time I was at my computer sorting through old e-mails and found one of Kent's mailings about police brutality. it was from after he'd left the list. I remember I always felt surprised and really pleased that he put me on his list of peope to send his mass e-mails to, because it made me realize I was an individual in his eyes, not just another person on the list, and that he remembered me and knew who I was.

I regret that I never got to know Kent better. And I regret that I don't have many of his old e-mails. And most of all, that I don't have many memories of him. I should have paid more attention when I had the chance. But I'll never forget him, and especially will never forget everything I learned from him about what's important, and what it is to be a truly good person.

Elizabeth:

I said I would write it a year ago. Here it is.

I found out that Kent was dead when I came home for less than twenty-four hours between summer programs one year ago. I read the emails out of order, so first I read one which referenced his death -I think it was asking if someone could take in Kent's cat- and I thought it was a joke. I don't know how I could have thought that, but somehow it really, truly never occurred to me that Kent could actually have died, so I assumed, somehow, that this was some strange sort of prank, metaphor, anything -so although I felt a vague sense of discomfort I didn't really know what had happened until I scrolled up and read an earlier message in the floods of mail which had accumulated in my absence. This one was the original email informing the list of his death, I think. Then I checked my machines and amid about twenty or thirty messages was one from Cory (which I saved until about four months ago, when I couldn't bear to have it on my machine anymore, and which I can still hear in my head, complete with Cory's voice and her pauses and the way she said it) telling me. So then I sort of knew, but I didn't really, because I didn't feel it. (I did feel betrayed by the list, because they weren't discussing it -of course, this was after the fact because I'd been away- but I didn't feel the pain I felt like I should feel, because I didn't really feel like I'd lost Kent. Not yet.)

I didn't feel it until maybe a week and a half later (I don't know...summer program time is always different) when I was in the Johns Hopkins computer lab and Cory came online and we chatted on IM...and having to force myself to articulate what I was feeling was what got me started really feeling in the first place. I went upstairs and called Cory, or she called me, I don't remember, and we talked a long time and I'm pretty sure I cried and that she did too and that's when I *really* felt it, for the first time. (The next time was when I saw the picture mscl.com had put up. That was the first time I saw what he looked like.) That conversation, or one right after it (after that we talked a lot) was when we conceived this site. I felt really good about it. Even though I procrastinated on it, especially the parts -most notably writing this letter- that involved actually grappling with my feelings about Kent and his death, I felt a whole lot better about the whole situation to be doing something productive to bring together the things I really loved about Kent. Many times I've wished so fervently that he could see the site, maybe not hobbled together the way it is now, but the way I envision it: a real testament to the qualities in Kent that I loved, and the better aspects of myself he brings out in me.

I still feel mostly numb about it most of the time. I don't know how to think about death. I do little things to commemorate him. I made sure the yearbook page I made with Emily quoted him. It says "Let's be careful out there", attributed to Kent Anthony Greene. I went to his grave with Cory and Mark and other of his friends and very intently put water all around so the flowers we'd brought might live a little longer and wished I'd brought a photo or something like Cory had. But these aren't the times I miss Kent most. The times that really break my heart have been unexpected.

Going through old emails and posts Kent wrote, searching for things that embody his personality and his spirit to put up on this site, I'd find things that made me want to scream and cry and hit things -Kent writing about his deteriorating health, his emails making almost a collage of the slow progression that eventually killed him when I don't think anyone expected it, or at any rate, I certainly didn't; Kent writing with guarded optimism about jobs that sounded perfect for him, finally, jobs where he could use his incredible intelligence and knowledge and compassion, and, of course, jobs which provided health insurance. Jobs he didn't get, or that didn't last beyond a semester or a temporary project -one way or another, jobs that didn't let him live.

I found my "Sounds of Liberty" tape, which I hadn't heard in so many years that when I heard the "Go, now...go" I hadn't expected it and I had to sit down and just listen. I remember in eighth grade, calling Kent's house (I don't remember how I had his phone number...maybe he gave it to me or maybe it was in his email sig, and I was only thirteen and I wasn't shy about calling strangers like I should have been) because I'd heard his answering machine had the MSCL theme song as the outgoing message, and being so startled when he picked up the phone. I'd been so intent on hearing the message that it hadn't occurred to me he might be home. But we did talk. I'm so glad I heard him on the phone, although I barely remember it. I was so young. I wonder what he must have thought receiving what must have been a very unexpected phone call from a child. I never wondered then.

Mark sent me a picture of Kent to use on this site. I hadn't realized how much it would affect me to see his picture. I sat on my bed with it for a long time. It's in my top drawer now. After I have it scanned for this site, I want to buy a little frame. I want it on my desk at college, to remind me, maybe, of what's important.

I think of Kent in odd ways now. I think about how he worked in a bookstore I go in all the time, even though I wasn't there much then, and I wonder if maybe without my realizing it we were there together, and if maybe I even saw him, and I think about what could have happened -all these ridiculous scenarios I make up in my head in which 14-year-old me, bookstore customer, or Kent, bookstore employee, drops MSCL into conversation in the earshot of the other, who reacts, and they realize the connection and who the other is and go have coffee. When I met someone I sort of idolized I made up that he had known Kent (I struggled and came up with ways it might be plausible despite a large gap in their ages) and I waited for him to mention it so I could tell him I loved Kent too.

I wish I could know Kent now. I always adored him, but I appreciated him more as I got older and wiser. I wish I could know him in a few years, when I would be smarter and we could have all the amazing conversations I wish we had, and that I know he must have had with people more mature than myself. I want to know all the things he could teach me. (In my head I'm correcting my grammar, "could have taught me," but I won't change it.) I feel such an incredible sense of gratitude for him. In ways I only appreciate more as I get older he changed my life.

Dealing with our grief together has brought Cory and I far closer than we ever were before. I know Kent loved us both. It's maybe the cruelest irony that in dying he helped bring about a friendship I know he would have loved to watch unfold.

Roman:

For two years, I considered my home to be the List. It was my family and friends in a time when I didn't have either to turn to. I was struggling with severe depression at the time, and Kent helped me day after day, telling me to seek professional help and talk to my family about it. I did, and my life has been so much better due to the suggestions and support that he and others on the list gave me. It's been over a year since I have subscribed to the list, but I was in the library a few weeks ago checking up on new fan fiction when I saw his banner. Thank you Kent, I wish I could have told you in life how much you helped me.

Sara:

I knew Kent for many, many years online. He held me up, took care of me, and helped me to get pride back in myself when I most needed it. From him, I learned how to stand up for myself, and stand up for others. And I will thank him always for that. Once I learned how to value my own opinions, Kent and I disagree on many things. But those disagreements never changed the way that we felt about each other, or the love that we had deep inside. I miss you, and I will miss you, Kent. You were my inspiration in so many ways.

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