Memorial, speeches

Thank you all for coming to Tyler's Memorial last Saturday. Your presence meant a lot to Tyler's parents and I. Many of you asked for us to post the slideshow and the speeches:































Tom Allen's speech:

Thank you all for coming today. I know it would mean so much for Tyler that you
are here. Tyler knew he was loved, but he was so humble that he would never imagine that so many of you would be here. I am grateful to have the opportunity to speak about my dear friend. I have thought about this moment for a long time, and have struggled because it is impossible to put into words what Tyler meant to me. To help me, I want to read you a little from the eulogy that Ted Kennedy gave for his brother Robert.

"He gave us strength in time of trouble, wisdom in time of uncertainty, and sharing in time of happiness. He will always be by our side. Love is not an easy feeling to put into words. Nor is loyalty, or trust, or joy. But he was all of these. He loved life completely and he lived it intensely. And What it really all adds up to is love -- not love as it is described with such facility in popular magazines, but the kind of love that is affection and respect, order and encouragement, and support. Our awareness of this was an incalculable source of strength, and because real love is something unselfish and involves sacrifice and giving, we could not help but profit from it."

We are joined here in our grief, but it is our love of Tyler and our happy memories of a wonderful man that brought us all here together. Tyler was many things to us. He was a son, a nephew, a husband, a friend, and an inspiration. He was known as "grinder" for those of us who were lucky enough to witness him on the dance floor. He was a restless dreamer, tough and never broken by this disease, who loved adventure, the ocean, this American life, slurpees, the simpsons, his Cutie, and all of us.

Dennis and Yvonne, we have all come here to celebrate Tyler’s life, the life you gave him. What you have had to go through is impossible for us to understand completely. but it is clear that Tyler got his fortitude, strength, and capacity to care for others from you. The child you raised so beautifully became a man who was loved and gave immense love in return.

Eva, your strength and love saw Tyler through this. He loved you more than I have ever seen a person love another. He loved you from the day you met him, when this shy young man decided to ask out the- in his words- "hottest woman he had ever seen." He tried to win you over by telling you about his "yacht." But like the rest of us, you were drawn in by his humor, his kindness, his cool hair, and his love of life. You brought him real joy, and as I'm sure you know, you were everything to him.

We do not need to idealize or enlarge Tyler in his death beyond what he was in life. For what Tyler was, every day of his life, before and after his diagnosis was the true embodiment of so many things that all of us strive to be. A dreamer, a believer, a teacher, a friend, a lover and a son.

Even in his pain, even while submitting to the tyranny of ventilators and chemotherapy,Tyler genuinely cared about the wellbeing of others. He was a legend in the hospital: doctors would pop in just to chat with their remarkable patient. He would ask every nurse “how’s your day going”; No matter what kind of problems they were having, everyone he came into contact with realized that here was a generous and courageous young man, in a situation that none of us could possibly imagine, caring how their lives were. I see a group of people who loved Tyler. And I can say with absolute certainty that each us feels immensely fortunate that he shared his life with us. He helped us grow. He showed us courage, integrity, and strength. We are the greater for knowing Tyler and we owe it to him to expand the ripple of love that he showed us, to pass it on to both the people we love and those that we barely know.

About a year and a half ago Tyler and I took a trip to Hawaii together. During that trip we talked about how he wanted to be remembered. A couple of days after the trip he wrote me the following: " I want my story to inspire people to be better than they are. To make people think bigger than they are. To realize that we all have the capacity to be incredible individuals, and that we can get there by dedicating ourselves to being our very best selves." A couple of minutes later I got another text from him. It read: "I think I need to start living it before I start preaching it."
And that is the extraordinary thing about this man. He was so humble that he never realized his own abilities and the impact that he had on others. He just lived his life the only way he knew how, and thought he was like everyone else.

In all my time with Tyler, one of the things that I never heard him say was "Why me?" He was never angry about his diagnosis, never blamed anyone or anything. But I've struggled a lot over the last five years with understanding how this unbelievable person got burdened with this disease. It just never made sense to me, and couldn't possibly be right. But over the last two weeks, in thinking about Tyler's life and speaking with his friends and family, I have developed a theory. I have seen countless examples of people who met Tyler and in a very short amount of time, he made their lives better and from a very young age he did the same with those who have known him longest and closest. I have seen him take the worry, the anger, the anxiety, and the pain out of other people's lives and out of my own life with his indomitable spirit. So in a certain sense I believe that Tyler took all these negative things from the lives of those who were lucky enough to know him and bottled it all into this tumor in his pancreas. And that was his gift to us. Over these last five and a half years he wasn’t just fighting for himself, he was fighting for all of us.

The final thing that I would like to share with you about Tyler today is this: There have been times during the last five and a half years, where I found myself being immensely sad because I couldn't remember what Tyler was like when he was healthy. Tyler fought for so long that I couldn't remember the soccer player, the runner, the sailor and the adventurer. But a video Eva took of him made me realize that I don't need to remember those times. For up until the night that he died, he was loving, playful, curious, full of life and joy, grateful for everything that he had, he wanted to impress his beautiful wife, and show his parents how much he loved them. So when you watch this video I want you toremember, and experience Tyler's immense spirit with me. Because His spirit never changed.

Because I know he would want it no other way, please join me as I raise my slurpee for this man we all loved so much.

In Tyler's simple words: dude, its been awesome. I'm going to miss my friend, his laugh, his kindness, his wisdom and the adventures that we shared. I love you Tyler.




A Best Friend and a Brother
From Tiana Kahakauwila
Tyler and I met when I was eleven and he was twelve, at the end of sixth grade at Hughes Middle School. By ninth grade we were best friends. Together we weathered teenage heartache and triumph; we told each other our hopes for the future.
Perhaps it’s because we were both only children--and because we loved being only children—we made our friendship into a sibling relationship. We used to joke that we hated to share stuff. So having each other was the best of both worlds: We had a partner in crime but we got to keep our parents to ourselves. And like siblings, we could be competitive; we were at times brutal with our teasing. But we laughed a lot—all the time, really—and we trusted each other completely. We were also wholly honest with each other; no secrets existed between us, no doubts that weren’t admitted to, no dreams that weren’t confided.
Tyler was a huge dreamer, and he was an expert at living—long before he was diagnosed. He was a man of activity: He played the saxophone, ran, water-skied, sailed, surfed, played soccer. There wasn’t a sport he didn’t do, do well, and couldn’t talk you into trying. How many people did he teach to water-ski? Or convince to go sailing? Or zoom through city streets with in his dad’s blue Miata? Being with him was being with endless adventure. Once, in college, we started talking about how in Long Beach you can see the snow-covered mountains of San Bernadino at the same time you’re enjoying the beach. And next thing I knew, Tyler had Steve Scott and I caught up in one of his grand schemes: water-skiing in the morning and then snow-skiing in the afternoon. And somewhere in there we’d get the boat back to its slip; we’d rent skis. We’d make the two hour drive. Oh, we’d be fine; we just had to go.
Years later, when he was dating Eva, he convinced her to hike the Bridge to Nowhere, a 10-mile bush-wacking trek. Then, he said, they were going to rinse off, speed by the Fashion District in L.A. to buy her a dress, and go to the Mark Taper Forum for an evening of theater. Afterwards, they’d have an intimate dinner. And did she have anything planned for tomorrow? Because the next day they could…
Tyler needed the wide group of diverse friends he had. He needed them because he was exhausting!
When I lived in New York City he used to stop-over for a couple of days before he headed to Switzerland to see Eva. I’d get off from work and he’d be waiting outside, leaning James Dean-like against a building. Had I ever been to the top of the Empire State Building? Was the ice-skating rink open in Central Park? Did I want to try and climb on top of the bull statue on Wall Street? And then it was off to dinner—and didn’t we have friends to call? And why weren’t they up at 2am? And were we still running at 6am in the morning because he had to get to the Met when they opened… To me, the best part was that after three exhausting-thrilling-wonderful days—after which I needed four days of sleep to recover—he was off to whirlwind Eva!
In addition to being thrilling, Tyler was unbelievably charming. But it was never about him. He wasn’t charming to get attention. Rather, he was lavish with his attention. He was every nurse’s favorite; he always asked them how their day was, how they were doing. And it wasn’t just polite chit-chat. He really wanted to know, and he remembered what they said. He was like that with everyone. He had a way of positioning himself as a listener in the conversation. He asked questions. He wanted to know about you.
And there wasn’t a person about whom he couldn’t find something fascinating or intriguing. Every woman was beautiful: whether it was her eyes or confidence or elbows, he found something. And every man had the potential to be a great friend. Tyler saw humans in the best light.
As a friend, this was one of his most heart-breakingly beautiful offerings. He always saw your potential, the possibility for what you could be, while still loving you just as you were. And you responded: You wanted to be as good as he saw you, as he was.
As I said before, Tyler was an expert at living, but he saw himself as a student of life. Most of us, however, look to him as a teacher. He was, and is, a model for living. By the way he lived, and loved, he showed us how to live well and love fully. Sometimes, when I have a decision to make, I ask myself: “What would Tyler do?” How would he dive into this opportunity? How would he handle this fear? What kindness would he offer in this situation?
Tyler had long been concerned that I, as a writer, might fail to get out into the world. Years ago he told me he feared I would hole up in an attic somewhere and commit words to a page and never see the sun rise or set. I wouldn’t DO. I wouldn’t LIVE. I wouldn’t take some risks. He told me all this long before he was diagnosed. And I promised him I wouldn’t miss out on life and its adventures—and that I knew he wouldn’t let me.
This Christmas Tyler and I laughed a lot. I listened as Tyler and Eva shared the stories of how they met, fell in love, courted over years and countries and an ocean—Stories I know well and love. Stories I could hear a hundred times more, watching the two of them together. And Tyler and I were able to recount many of our best memories together, stories from more than 18 years of friendship.
At the end of Christmas break, just before I flew back to Hawai`i, Tyler told me he was proud of how I was living my life. His approval, his pride, his benediction… Few people’s blessing have meant as much as his. And few people have known me as well as he. He wasn’t just a best friend; he was my brother in every way.
When I think of how to honor Tyler—how to keep making him proud—I think of living as he did, his entire life. We can donate blood and platelets and join PANCAN (at PANCAN.org) in their advocacy. We can approach life with endless hope and appreciation. We can find joy in each day, as he did until the very last. And we can love the people in our life fully, with complete appreciation for the gift of each of them. Certainly, Tyler was a gift to each of us.