I dreamt of you this morning and woke up with a lighter feeling about this mystery called death. The strange thing is that I had forgotten that your birthday was approaching, until I woke up from the dream and saw that, just maybe, it was a birthday hello.

I moved from Montreal to Vancouver in 1997 and met Kim in 1998. He was working as a bartender where I used to go swing dancing every night. We talked about how both of us were from Quebec, and about our love of writing. He was very forward, telling me he liked me and asking me out right away. I said "yes" and ran out of the bar, but the next time I saw him, I asked for his phone number and we went out for 3 years after that, living together for one and a half years. Afterwards, we remained friends, emailing and phoning each other, but I have never been very good at stoking the fires of a friendship in which the friend is not an actively involved in the same hobbies as I am. In December and the first two weeks of January, Kim and I were trying to find a time where we were both free to see the Return of the King... we never made it. It was an interest that we shared deeply since childhood and a great bond between us. Even though we had promised to see it with each other and only with each other, I would feel so much better knowing that he got to see and be touched by that beautiful movie before he died. When I see Aragorn, I think of him.

I've just turned 35 this past week. I just came back from Victoria where I celebrated my birthday dinner with 2 friends, my 2 sons and my husband in Victoria.

It got me thinking about the last time I was in Victoria and had a few drinks with Sean and Kim. I beleive in truth it was the last time I saw him.

I am also thinking about Wendy right now, and wanted to appeal to anybody reading to call, send good thoughts, prayers or whatever your sense of the universe suggests to give her strength.

I think right now about the fact that if I had not gone out that night with Sean and Kim to go bar-hopping in Victoria, I would never have met my son's father. And therefor, my son Josh, would never have been born.

So Kim, wherever you are, thank you for that blessing first off.

Secondly - your death shook up a lot of people. And as believed in our culture there's never a situation that does not have some good come out of it. I believe my father, your uncle has in the past few years placed a much higher premium on spending time with me, and trying harder to ... I don't know what the word is - but develop a better relationship with me. So that's the second blessing that you conferred on me.

Lastly, to be brutal, as I come upon my 35th birthday, and I find myself overwhelmed with it - and overall with things, I think about your choice, and I guess the third blessing you gave me was the knowledge that while what might have made life impossible for you to see a way out -- I have to fight - even if it means giving up evrerything in my life, to hold onto life. Because Life is precious and the world was a better place when there was a Kim Riordon in it, and it's a worse place without it.. So thank you for opening my eyes - "Jimmy Stewart Style in ITS A WONDERFUL LIFE" to always remember these lessons you left behind for those of us left beihind.

You are not forgotten Kim.
You are loved.
You always will be.

Your Cousin

Meaghan

I had committed the grave error of agreeing to go camping with Booner & Scrap when I was thirteen or fourteen (they had not earned their Knowlton Pub warrior names yet, they were still just Kim & Sean).

They came to the conclusion that it was time to live rough for a few days - live on what you can carry or kill (odd for pacifists but I was not brave enough to challenge them on it, given they had taken to carrying bayonets around, again odd for pacifists). So a plan was hatched to prepare 80lbs of canned food, some really cheaply made East-Indian ceremonial swords, another 70 lbs of whatever gear young teenagers who never seriously camp feel they need, some large tarpaulins, and then load it into the heaviest world war era canvas rucksacks we could find. The guys running the Vimy exhibit at the National War Museum would have been in tears...

We were not actually going to an established, reputable campground at any point. I have no idea how, but they managed to convince dear old Wendy to drive her only two young sons and someone else's kid out near Pinnacle Mountain on the US border at 9pm on a Friday evening and dump us out there on a desolate country rod. "We'll see you in a couple of days" (MAYBE).

In the year 2006 any mother who would fall for that would have Child Protection Services pounding on the door with a battering ram and a shiny new orange one-piece pressed & fitted. I was lucky enough to be with two kids whose mother KNEW they had the skills to live without her for three days.

We slept in fields, woods, and semi-abandoned barns all over the south of Frelighsburgh for 4 days, walking everywhere we went except the one ride we got from Mickey B. Oddly, he didn't find anything amiss about three teenagers roaming the quiet countryside with swords and expecting to to hitch-hike successfully.

He survived the ride, as I did. I also learned that a man can survive on what he can carry. Walking on a country road in the middle of nowhere with your best friends is never a waste of time. Rain is just water and won't melt you. Food cooked on an open fire, eaten with a filthy swiss army knife can taste better than the filet mignon I can afford now, paid for with the winnings of far lesser risks than those I took when I so much younger.

I too came upon this site randomly researching a title for piece of work that I am doing. How wonderful to keep a persons memory alive in this fashion. I send my condolences to whoever are in grief by the loss of this young poet.

However bold it seems, my curiosity is lingered by this sites content; "and I wonder who Kim was? How he got robbed of this worthy life? Does anybody know his story well? Would they be interested in sharing; I would be a soothing ear and patient listener.

I came upon this website purely by accident, or maybe by fate....I don't know which.
I didn't know Kim, nor did I know anyone he knew......however, reading this site has truely touched my heart......Kim, I am sure was a wonderful person who obviously had wonderful people in his life who loved and still do love him dearly......I am sure he is looking down at all of you with nothing but love and pride......my prayers and thoughts are with each of you as well as with Kim.

Even though the years have passed,
you are not forgotten in my heart.
M.B.

Memories....

I remember getting on the school bus yrs ago and seeing the 2 guys sitting there, one with long brown hair and other blond . They never made a fuss, but always had a smile..
The ride back to Eastman was long, but fun with Kim.

So impossible as they may seem
You've got to fight for every dream
Cause who's to know,which one you let go
Would have made you complete!!

That's for you Kim!

Your friend always
tim

No stories to tell. Too many thoughts to write down. Just wondering. Remembering...

The layout of the Knowlton Pub is one of those things that every card-carrying townshipper has commited to memory. A good townshipper can walk blindfolded from the front door, tour the downstairs bar, pass the dancefloor, swing back & up the stairs, hit Lindsey's old bar (if the management has had the balls to open it for the evening), head back down & out the Bistro door to the parking lot and peg the front door of the playhouse with an empty Molson Dry bottle at forty paces (...they still seem to think they're friggin' Stratford or something) using nothing but the sounds of the DJ behind him and the underage dudes filling their pitcher from their case in the trunk at the very back of the lot. A hammered 16-year-old from Foster has better SONAR than the US navy. These guys make dolphins nervous.
The Booner, however, took it upon himself to memorize the exterior and landscape with a precision that an architect wouldn't bet his quart over, much less his life. He knew which roof to hang out on when he needed a quiet moment, which window to get there through, and where to hop off when the staff caught him there. As we sat at the table on a hot summer evening, pounding back the highest octane available in those days, eloquently spouting the wonderfull wisdom/bullshit our young brains could wrap itself around, Boon decides he has had enough. Screw all of you. There are ladies downstairs that are in desparate need of his company and he doesn't have time for mundane details like, for instance...stairs. He calmly says "Goodbye..." and launches himself out the second floor window without a hint of warning, disappearing into the air of a humid summer evening. If he looked outside for a second to guage the length of the roof, the drop, or where he'd land, I didn't catch it. Sure enough, I found him by the dance floor downstairs without a mark on him wondering what took me so long (I did need a fresh beer after all). Classic bulletproof Booner.