Goodbye, Space Cowboy

I’m here again With a sunshine smile upon my face My friends are close at hand And all my inhibitions have disappeared without a trace

“Space Cowboy” Jamiroquai

Today will be about a series of thank yous.

I’m starting with thank you because the last three months of 2025 have been a series of severities where the kindness extended to me and the student cohort I lead were often the jump start needed for the deer in headlights immobility experienced on any given work day.

Thank you to the faculty, librarians, and administrators for being willing to speak about someone who traveled through our lives for a very short period of time, but whose essence has woven itself into each of us in a decorative, quirky, wonderful, poignant and permanent way. Like the crochet loops he made into a bear, an acorn bag or a large stuffed goose. Like the needle and thread that made the flower appliques on his jeans, or the “Jhark” bag made of repurposed denim in the shape of a shark.

To all of you from the cohort, I want to start with this reminder. Thank you, we made it to today, all of us, one day, one week, sometimes one hour at a time. Three months ago when one of you suggested what happened with the definition of, “the shit hit the fan” we stopped, just stopped, and unlike time, just stood still. That Friday afternoon, I brought everyone together to deliver the news I couldn’t share without reading from a piece of paper drafted for the official announcement that would come from our organization later that day via email.

I didn’t get through that telling without crying. Reading from a piece of paper didn’t soften the news and if anything made it even more bizarre and surreal. I looked at the faces on that virtual meeting, no different from the weekly production meetings, the individual meetings about the infinite number of projects, we had worked on together. Missing from that moment was our colleague, with his share of wry and ribald comments often centered around the fine dining menu offered by Taco Bell. Missing as time, space and history both present and future landed then stopped — crashing and loud, leaving dust and wreckage and silence.

My sister has always said of me, “there goes my big sister, always putting one foot in front of another”. My life has been filled with challenges and obstacles. When you have lived your life knowing highs and lows, you get to a point where you know that even if the worst is not behind you, you’re going to be okay. Breakups, divorces, job loss, financial setbacks, illness, all reinforce the reminder, you are still here, still moving forward.

Until that day unfolded, I believed I could handle anything, no matter how much “it” could be.

Saturday morning.

That Saturday morning I woke up to a world without you. I went out to the backyard with my pup (that I acquired through your family’s fostering connection) to witness a breathtaking sunrise and thought, this is you telling me, I’m going to be okay because you are going to be around, checking on us, reminding me the extent of your creative self. I wondered in that moment, what YouTube video or archaic resource you had found to learn how make that sunrise.

I don’t know why this happened. I don’t know why you had to die. I have stopped trying to make sense of this. I do know that we as a cohort, continue to move forward, going back to school and programming, moving on to life after that day, moving on. That Saturday afternoon, we came together now as family thrown together from crisis for lunch at your favorite restaurant — good Pho and for each other.

You loved and lived so many experiences — you quickly became one of the most unique people I’ve ever met. I was fortunate to spend 18 months, daily traveling and learning the depths of our department’s Space Cowboy. Your love of Jamiroquai, your pup and family and your beloved wife declaring at least once a day to anyone listening that you truly loved her — and a good bowl of Pho or decent Chicken Fried Steak were what I knew. You met the world with an endless tinkering curiosity — learning anything and everything. Your busy hands crocheted, sewed, planted, learned new languages and coded scripts. In all of this you demonstrated a kindness and patience towards each person you met, worked with, taught, learned from and mentored. You saw us as community, with an approach to each project, plan and imagining with a contagious excitement. You saw the potential in each of us, including me.

And even when I would catch the glimpses of sadness in your eyes, I still believed you and I could and would continue to build. I believe you loved us and the community you got the chance to interact with daily because you would get here before the rest of us and occasionally be the last one out the door. I am reminded daily that life without you means filling the size 30 shoe print left by your death. We who you leave behind have come together wearing our much smaller shoes to stand in that footprint and work.

In the Jamiroquai song, Space Cowboy, lead singer Jay Kay mentions being with his friends, sunshine on his face, and losing his inhibitions. It is how I would like to remember you — wearing overalls, hugging your large, crocheted goose, half smile/smirk on your face, holding our imagination and potential in your endless conversation.

I will look to see you in every sunrise, now that you have learned to paint them.

Goodbye, Space Cowboy.

[1] Jamiroquai, “Space Cowboy”, Return of the Space Cowboy, Jay Kay, Mike Nielsen, The Work Label, October 17, 1994, United States.