There is a saying that many of you have heard; "It takes a village to raise a child." As I look out at your faces I am reminded of that village. Kyle has always challenged the boundaries of our lives. Kyle was so anxious to start his whirlwind of life that he tried to arrive three months early. After spending those three months flat on my back, on March 7th, 1978 Kyle tore into this world, breaking a collarbone in the birth canal to get his 8 pounds 10 ounces bounding down the road we call life. Kylie could also be so very patient as he sat in his highchair with his little hands folded assuming I was only preparing his meal, while I managed to run around and get about 10 other things accomplished with his bright eyes following my every move. In the myriad of experiences that he had over his 23 years he displayed an impatience to live life to the fullest, but also a patience with the village of people he met and challenged in that life.

The village that raised Kyle over the past 23 years are the doctors, teachers, coaches, my sorority sisters better known as the "Beta aunties, his schoolmates and friends, our hiking, climbing, boating, camping, skiing families and friends, Steve and my colleagues at CWU and Kittitas, Kyle's college professors and colleagues, his relatives in Oregon, his dear sweet fiancée Liz and her family, our family here and in England (especially his grandparents and aunts, uncles, and cousins, his big sister Meredith who he tagged along after with her indomitable spirit for life, his younger brother Devin from whom he learned nurturing, and most especially his father Stephen who passed on to Kyle his love of the outdoors). Those and many, many more people are the village that helped me raise Kyle.

I would not be able to stand before you today if it were not my experience since his death that "It also takes a village to bury a child". The two young men in Ellensburg police uniforms who came to our door on Thursday morning to tell us of Kyle's accident in Alaska started an overwhelming avalanche through our door of that village. It has included that first village of those who raised Kyle, but many new faces have been added. Flowers, cards and letters, food, and stories remembering Kyle have come through our door to comfort and support us.

I have been told many times over the past few days by others who have experienced the death of a child to look not at our loss, but at the wonderful gift that was Kyle. The man behind the counter at the airport when Stephen and I drove over to bring Kyle home passed on advice he was given when he lost a son, "Never ever ask why", there is no definitive answer.

I always knew how truly special he was, but I have been amazed at the depth of his talents and at how many others were able to discover them.

Even in death Kyle continues to challenge each one of us in his village to become a better person than we thought we were through loving, supporting, and comforting each other in our grief. But his patient presence among us will give us the time and strength we need.

There is an Indian legend that says that at the birth of the sun and of his brother the moon, their mother died. So the sun gave to the earth her body, from which was to spring all life. And he drew forth from her breast the stars, and the stars he threw into the night sky to remind him of her soul. So there is Kyle's monument. As you gaze up at a starry night sky be reminded of Kyle's boundless, gentle spirit in the plants and animals of the nature that he loved and respected where we will be scattering his ashes.

It truly does take a village to bury a child. Please know how thankful I am to those of you who are here today to celebrate his life, and the many who could not be here, for being a part of Kyle's village.

Toni Jefferies

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