In Memory of David Kirby: 1990-2024

My favorite way to use my writing skills is to let them be an instrument of love. So today, I write to honor the memory of my friend David Kirby. 

 

David and I met in 2011 at the University of Illinois, where we both lived in the Beckwith program for young adults with physical disabilities who have high care needs. 

 

When I arrived, I knew not a single person and it was truly terrifying. Not only was I navigating a brand-new place, but I was also relying on a team of caregivers who until that moment, were perfect strangers.

 

From the get-go, David was kind, funny, and gentle, always stopping to say hello. 

 

Whenever I said, “How are you, David?” he’d smile and say, “Ohhhhh not bad!” no matter how hectic the day was.

 

During the first week of freshman year, he volunteered to rescue me when I got hopelessly lost in a far-flung corner of campus on the way home from Insomnia Cookies. 

 

I’ve never been so happy to hear the whir of a wheelchair and see a familiar face. 

 

I’m sure it was tempting, but he never teased me about my less than stellar navigational skills nor did he mention the incident again.

 

I hope one day I will see him in Heaven and once more tell him, “Thank God you’re here.”

 

He was a shining example of living a full and fruitful life with a disability, not in spite of it. 

 

His life with Duchenne muscular dystrophy was filled with challenges, but it was also filled with humor, hope, and adventure.

 

I admire the peace David exuded in being exactly who he was, and I strive to make room for that peace in my own heart.

 

We in the disability community tend to recoil at the mention of “courage.”

 

Rightfully, we don’t want a badge of bravery for breathing.

 

But the truth is, it does take a certain kind of courage to live joyfully in a world that routinely discounts disabled people.

 

It takes courage to entrust your body and your most basic needs to others.

 

It takes courage to navigate a deeply ableist society and still say “yes, I am whole.”

 

So, if I may say it, David was as courageous as they come. 

 

On my last day of undergrad, I hugged David goodbye and through tears, said, “You’re a wonderful man, Dave Kirby.”

 

As I say goodbye today in a way I wish I didn’t have to, my parting words are just the same. 

 

You’re a wonderful man, Dave Kirby.

 

I promise to live a good life in your honor and for you, I will build a better world.

 

I miss you. 

 

I love you. 

 

Rest in peace.

 

 

Me seated in a powerchair between my friend David and his sister Megan who is also my friend. David is also seated in a wheelchair, wearing a ventilator mask under his nose. Megan is standing beside me. All are smiling in the dorm corridor. 2015.