In Memory of Ken Ragbir

Ken Ragbir
November 26, 1964 - June 14, 2009

I’d like the memory of me
To be a happy one.
I’d like to leave an after glow
Of smiles when life is done,
I’d like to leave an echo
Whispering softly down the ways,
Of happy times and laughing
Times and bright and
Summer days.
I’d like the tears of those who
Grieve, to dry before the sun,
Of happy memories that I leave
When life is done.


* * *

Kenny was born in Trinidad, grew up in New York and never led a dull life…
Carefree he lived his days…Days that turned into years…
His life’s achievements are too many to list but for all who knew him his memory will be cherished forever…
Some of you may remember him as a boy…so cute and bright…
Some of you may remember him as a teenage…coming into his own identity…
ASome of you may remember him as an employee…hard working and very handsome in a suit…

Some of you may remember him as a friend…the all out good-time party guy…
Some of you may remember him as a loved one…always the one to make you laugh out loud and share a story (me ah soon come), a hug and a smile in good and bad times…
His daughter Ashley will always know how much he truly loved her…
His mom Lilia and dad Joe will always know that as their only child he was a true treasure in their lives…the diamond that glittered in the snow, the gentle autumn rain, the soft starlight at night…
…if tears could build a stairway and thoughts a memory lane, we would walk up to heaven and bring you home again…
Since you will never be forgotten we ppledge to you today a hallowed place within our hearts in where you will always stay
Lord put your arms around him, don’t leave him on his own, for today he is far away, his first away from home.


* * *

Peace, my heart……
Peace, my heart, let the time for the parting be sweet.
Let it not be a death but completeness.
Let love melt into memory and pain into songs.
Let the flight through the sky end in the folding of the wings over the nest.
Let the last touch of your hands be gentle like the flower of the night.
Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a moment, and say your last words in silence.
I bow to you and hold up my lamp to light you on your way.
- Rabindranath Tagore

* * *

Om asato maa sada gamaya
Tamaso maa jyotir gamaya
Mrityor ma amrit m gamaya
O Lord, save me from the path of untruth and lead to the path of truth,
From darkness of ignorance lead me to the light of knowledge,
Save me from disease and death and lead me to immortality

* * *

We all have different journeys,
Different paths along the way,
We are were meant to learn some things,
But never meant to stay.
Our destination is a place,
Far greater than we know,
For some the journey’s qwuicker
For some the journey’s slow.
And when the journey finally ends,
We’ll claim a grat reward
And find an everlasting peace,
Together with the Lord.

* * *

In lieu of flowews. You may make donation in Ken’s name to one of the following charities:

St.Jude’s Children Hospital
800.805.5856
donors@stjude.org

Susan G. Komen for the Cure
877.465.6636
donorinquiry@komen.org

New York City Food Bank
212.566.7855
A Friednd Forever
In loving memory of Ken Ragubir

* * *

The road sometimes rough but once said he aint heavy
I knew of a good-hearted man, they called him Kenny
Poised in his ways, grounded firm in his stand
Fully in control of his will, afraid of no man
In seconds to the signal, he was ready set, go
Never an excuse of how high or low
He brought so much laughter, never requiring an applause
Always open to listen obediently to the cause
A bit too outspoken, but never worried about the consequence
For the wisdom of his age, he always knew what would make sense
But on that dreadful Sunday evening, his judgment destined his fate
Og the pain is too unbearable, why couldn’t this day wait?
But the last chance he took was favorless to brave
He miscalculated his perception, his memories went vague
An out of body experience, yet his presence can be felt
He left in our memory his greatest wealth
And though out of sight yet bounded deep within
Ken will always be remembered, as a great human being.

Written by Jimmy Seenath on behalf of R&M Ambulette Crew

* * *

The phot at top right as well as all the text above were provided by Ken's family and friends. I did not know Ken in life but have come to know him in death. Through the chance circumstances of time and place, the power of the internet, invitations from strangers offered and accepted, strangers willing to trust and reach out, I have come to know a total stranger after he tragically died in a motorcycle accident on the Van Wyck Expressway in Queens on June 14, 2009. As a result the vastness and anonymity of New York City has become more personal and smaller. Namaste, Kenny.

2 – The End (Continued)

I am now standing across the street from Ken’s home. What am I doing here? What am I about to walk into? Who are these strangers that have invited me into their home?

I walk across the street, see two doorbells and press the appropriate button. I hear sounds.

It has been a surreal chain of events that has brought me to this moment. Three weeks earlier on June 14, 2009 I was driving south on Queens’s Van Wyck Expressway when a few minutes after 5:00 PM I happened upon the aftermath of a single motorcycle accident in the north bound lanes. I stopped to offer any assistance I could. Though I did not know his identity at the time, I approached Ken Ragbir’s lifeless body lying face down in the road, his head covered by a shirt or towel.

That evening I searched the internet and watched the local TV news to learn more about what happened. I learned nothing. I blogged about what I saw and experienced, in part as a way of processing my experience.

Ken’s family was also trying to find more information about the accident. Ken’s relative Nadira stumbled upon my blog and alerted other family and friends to my post. Eventually total strangers also discovered my post as they were looking for news about the accident they happened to pass by. They, as well as Ken’s family and friends, started commenting on my post. I have since learned that my post about Ken’s motorcycle accident was the only news and the only semi-eyewitness account Ken’s family and friends had of Ken’s accident.

After reading my post, exchanging emails, and conversing over the phone, Ken’s family invited me to come to their home in the Bronx to meet with them and talk with them about what I saw that afternoon. That is what brought me too the end of the MTA 2 Line and to be standing outside their door.

The sounds I hear are the footfalls of a young and attractive female who opens the door and introduces herself as Nadira (fourth photo right), one of Ken’s family members. She and I have exchanged emails and talked over the phone. She invites me in and escorts me through a hallway into a living room where some of Ken’s other family and friends are gathered. She introduces me to Ken’s father Joe (top photo right), to Ken’s mother Lila (second photo right), to his ex-wife Julie (third photo right, person on right) and their beautiful sixteen year old daughter Ashley (Third photo right, person on left), to his girlfriend Lalita (bottom photo right), and to many other friends and family members.

Following introductions Lila, Nadira, Julie, Ashley and I head into the dining room where I am offered refreshment. Lilia asks what I saw that day three weeks earlier. I try to remember and describe the scene the best I can. Providing a firsthand eyewitness account of the scene of the accident, but not the events of the accident, seems to somehow bring some closure and comfort to the family.

As we talk I learn that Ken was forty-four years old, an only child, and raised by his grandmother in Trinidad. His parents brought him to America when he was twelve. Raised a Hindu by his Indian family (like many people of his generation raised as Christian), at age twenty-five he lost interest in the faith he was raised in and more or less embraced secularism. I am thinking that even across cultures and religions people from the same generation have more in common with each other than they do their parents and grandparents.

Lila shows me copies of the police report and tells me about her and Julia going to the hospital to identify Ken’s body. She narrates how the funeral home was packed for Ken’s viewing. She, Julie and Nadira share with me a touching poem written by Jimmy Seenath on behalf of the R&M Ambulette Crew in loving memory of Ken. I am shown a memorial booklet with pictures of Ken, information about his life, including a poem by Bengalie poet Rabindrath Tagore, and more tributes. After a while we move back into the living room where on the monitor of a desktop computer I view digital photographs of Ken while he was alive as well as photos taken at his Hindu memorial service.

After his divorce from Julie, Ken cam to live with his mother, taking a room in the basemeny. Lila tells me that Ken often said, especially lately “Mom, I want to die before you, because if you die before me I am going to throw myself into your grave.” Ken got his wish. Before his wish was granted, however, he lived everyday as if it were his last, displaying the true meaning of living for the minute. Ken’s last day was June 14, 2009, and his last minute was probably a few minutes if not seconds after 5:00 PM.

As nearly three hours slip by I come to know not only the identity of the lifeless stranger I encountered following a motorcycle accident on Queens’ Van Wyck Expressway on June 14, 2009 but also come to know many of his family and friends. As I stand in the kitchen eating homemade Indian food I feel like I am no longer in the home of strangers or even friends but at home with family. This Indian and Hindu family, an extended family that came to the United States via several generations in Trinidad, has welcomed me, a total stranger, not only into their home but also into their lives, even into their grief and sorrow. I am blessed by their hospitality.

As we prepare to say our goodbyes we talk about how our encounter is atypical for New York City, where for years people may ride the same subway car or bus and pass by each other as they walk the same streets in the same neighborhood but never talk or even say hello, usually avoiding eye contact. Yet for us a chance encounter made possible by telecommunications has broken down barriers of culture, ethnicity and religion.

As we talk I further learn that Nadira works in a building where I often attend meetings and so it is possible that we have passed in the hall or have been in the same elevator. She and I also discover that we share a common colleague and work associate. The world, and New York City, has just become a lot smaller.

As it turns out my ride to the end of New York Subway’s 2 line is a one way trip. A couple of Ken’s relatives and friends, one of them having recently moved to the city from Canada, offer me a ride home in a car with Canadian plates. I accept. Here I am, in the nation’s largest city, being driven home in a car with people I did not even know three hours ago. The journey gives us more time to talk, especially as we pass by the accident scene and try to identify the exact spot where Ken died.

We pull up in front of my house. I open the door, climb out of the back seat, say thank you and goodbye. I open the front door to my home and walk inside, wondering if my journey is now over, or just beginning.

I am certain that eventually I will blog about the afternoon, and sooner or later past some sort of memorial tribute to Ken Rabgir.

The Reverend Chad Miller, 34, Dies in Kayaking Accident

Here is a story from the Presbyterian News Service of interest to both Presbyterians as well as Kayakers.

July 10, 2009
by Jerry L. Van Marter
Presbyterian News Service

NEWARK, DE — New Castle Presbytery continues to mourn the loss of the Rev. Chad Miller, 34, who died in a kayaking accident along with his brother, Chris, 28, on June 9.

Miller was associate pastor for mission at Westminster Presbyterian Church in Wilmington, DE, the presbytery’s largest congregation. A memorial service was held at the church June 14 in lieu of the regular Sunday liturgy. The service was led by Westminster’s other two pastors, the Rev. Greg Jones and the Rev. Anne Ledbetter.

More than 1,000 persons crowded the Westminster sanctuary for the service. Every standing-room spot also was filled. Two choirs and a quartet provided music at various times.

Approximately 20 ministers and elders in New Castle Presbytery who were unable to attend the memorial service gathered at Westminster June 24 for a service of remembrance.

In his weekly column for the New Castle Web site after the tragedy, Executive Presbyter James L. Moseley penned these words:

In a church which begs for the energy and idealism of younger adults the loss of a bright, talented and often testy spirit such as Chad Miller is a double tragedy.

Chad and his brother, Chris, drowned when their kayaks were pulled under by the rising waters of the Brandywine River spilling over a low water dam. This all took place early last Tuesday afternoon. The news media and local papers have documented at length the events of the day as described by witness at the site.

Chad was having a ball. After days of overcast skies the sun had finally broken through. The river current was accelerated by the recent rain fall and he was relishing the company his brother who had driven down from New York for the day.

As a former camp director and frequent paddler I know the rush of a perfect day on the water. Part of the thrill is to challenge oneself to negotiate more and more difficult passages and rapids and spill ways.

Chad loved to challenge himself and he challenged just about anybody with whom he had any contact. He certainly challenged me.

One Sunday when he was filling the pulpit, the opening lines of his sermon began by bemoaning the fact that he had, on the previous day, wasted a perfectly good Saturday attending a meeting of the presbytery. He proceeded to note how long the meeting had been and how long winded were the speakers. I suspect I was one of them.

His pronouncement got under my skin right away, and I had to struggle mightily to hear him out in order to discover what point he intended to make. Though I don’t remember the particulars of the exegesis I do recall the impression he left with me that day. It’s one worthy to share with any who love the church and long for its renewal in a time when it seems unable to break out of old patterns of church business.

Beneath the obvious irritations about boring meetings, I believe Chad was expressing a deeply felt though diminishing hope that the Church of Jesus Christ might one day live up to its calling to love the world into a new reality… A reality where healing and justice and goodness and godliness and loving kindness would overshadow all other concerns of propriety, paychecks and church politics. The urgency in his preaching and restlessness in his demeanor seemed to reflect such frustrations.

What Chad may not have realized is that all of us who love and serve in the Body of Christ have the same hopes and experience many of the same frustrations.

Chad was one of those young whippersnappers we hope will push the institution to do more and be more than it has ever done before. It is a lot to ask.

Whatever it is we admired about Chad, whatever we hope for from the other young clergy, must be something we find inside ourselves.

No one keeps us from living fervently and from hoping and praying and working for a radical, Jesus loving, people serving church. We dare not place such hopes on the generations following. It is our work.

If we wish to honor young hearts and minds such as Chad Miller's we need to make more room for their voices in the assemblies of our church. And, as they sound off, we need to listen for what is fearful and fresh.

Chad, thank you for challenging us to want more and to expect more from ourselves as those who follow the path of the one whose extravagant love redeems us all.

No Longer an Annonymous Victim

If you have been reading comments to my previous post about Death on the Van Wyck then you know that there have been several comments to that article and some discussion going on between friends and family of the gentleman killed in a motorcycle accident on New York City's Van Wyck Expressway last Sunday afternoon/evening, June 14, 2009. In addition to those comments I have been exchanging emails and have had telephone conversations with the man’s family. As a result the nameless, faceless, and anonymous is beginning to become identified. This is what I have learned.

The man was 44 year old Ken Ragbir of the Bronx, an only child. He was apparently on his way home after visiting his father.

Other than a four line non-descript report about the accident in the New York Daily News (I have not been able to locate it in the on-line edition and have not seen the print edition) there has been no news coverage of the accident that I am aware of and my internet searches have not returned any helpful results other than my own blog. Apparently the New York Times did not see the story as news fit to print. Perhaps since Ken was not a politician, entertainment sensation, sport’s star, banker, lawyer, crime boss or the family member of such the New York Media does not see this accident and his death worth noting. Or perhaps because the accident occurred on the outskirts of one of the outer boroughs rather than in Manhattan they didn’t think it worth mentioning.

Because Ken’s family has no other firsthand connection to the accident and somehow discovered my blog post about it they have turned to me for information from one of the last people to see Ken, and I am obliging them. I plan and hope to meet with Ken’s mother and perhaps other family members and friends within the next couple of weeks to help them, and me, close the circle.

If you happened to witness this accident and could share what you saw, please leave a comment. Or you may respond to my email and I will post your anonymous comment and share the information with Ken’s family.

I will let you know what more I learn about Ken and the accident as I learn it. I am certain this will not be the last post about the accident or about Ken.

Death on the Van Wyck

Driving south on the Van Wyck Expressway (Interstate 678, photo right) just south of the Whitestone Expressway and the exit to the Long Island Expressway late this afternoon I saw traffic slowing down ahead of me and coming to a stop in the left hand lane. As I slowly approached the traffic, I saw in the middle of the north bound lanes what I at first thought was a large dog. Being a dog lover with an overweight Lab/Golden/(who knows what breed) lovable rescue at home I tuned on my emergency flashers and started pulling over among the vehicles stopped in the left south bound lane to lend assistance. As I was pulling over, however, I realized that what I thought was a large dog in the middle of the north bound lanes was in fact a human being!

As a former Emergency Medical Technician with both volunteer and professional experience, even though my certifications had expired long ago, my mind quickly changed gears from animal lover to first responder. I parked between a couple other parked vehicles, shifted into park, turned off the ignition, and got out of my vehicle. I climbed up over the concrete Jersey barrier type medium and rushed to the figure lying in the middle of the road. Three others were gathered around but none appeared to be lending assistance.

As I approached closer and was prepared to check vital signs and perform an initial assessment I noticed that the figure’s head was covered with some sort of cloth. One of those standing by said that he had already checked and there no vitals. After a few moments of observation and a visual check of the immediate area, I took his word for it.

I asked the stranger standing near the figure if he had called 911.

He said he had.

I saw a motorcycle nearby and asked if it was the victim’s bike.

The man standing over the figure said no, that the victim’s bike was further ahead. I determined that the nearby bike must belong to one of the other’s standing nearby. I looked north and saw a bike about a hundred feet away.

The Good Samaritan asked me if I had a sheet or something to cover the figure. I did not. Determining that there was no assistance I could offer I climbed back over the barrier separating the northbound from the southbound lanes, got back into my vehicle, and headed southbound down the Van Wyck toward home.

Driving home, adrenaline flowing, brain synapses firing, I began to reflect on what had just happened. Even though I have not worked as an EMT for over twenty-eight years and my certification expired over twenty-five years ago, as I saw the figure lying in the middle of the road my training and experience seemed to take over as if I were on automatic pilot. While I saw my fair share of trauma and death while volunteering and working as an EMT, I have not seen any since other than in the clinical setting of a hospital or funeral home, yet I was not affected by what I saw. Nevertheless I will skip the details.

Now I want to know details. How did the accident occur? Who was the victim? I’ll keep checking the internet and will watch tonight’s local news as I seek to close the loop. I will let know what I find out.

(This post has been updated with a more recent post.)