My Cousin Kent Christopher

 Kent Christopher passed away on Oct. 2nd.  You can read his obituary here 
(https://www.maupinfuneralhome.com/obituaries/Stephen-Kent-Christopher?obId=45814312#/obituaryInfo). His son, Shaun reached out to me and asked if I would be willing to speak about Kent during the funeral.  Here is what I came up with and of course there was some adlibbing, but this is very close to what I shared.

Remarks for Kent’s Funeral

I’m honored to be asked to share a few words about my cousin Kent. Please realize these are my recollections, and sometimes that doesn’t match anyone else’s reality.

When Shaun told me that Kent thought of me as a brother — I understood that completely. My Dad and three of his siblings each had just one child, so for me, my cousins weren’t just cousins. They were more like brothers and sisters.

Kent was four years younger than me — I’m 71 now — so we go way back. When we were boys, we spent a lot of time together… staying over at each other’s houses, wrestling, arguing, making each other mad — and just as quick, well not always just as quick, making up again. You know… brother stuff.

We both went to McIntire elementary school together for a little bit. Often we’d walk to my house after school. Kent’s family moved around a bit —Auxvasse, Effingham, and Oklahoma City as I recall — but we stayed close. I visited them wherever they were. And his mom, Ethel, well… she was like another mother to me.

One of my favorite memories goes back to the mid-sixties, when CB radios and walkie-talkies were all the rage. Kent and I decided we’d start our own radio station. We set up shop right there in the living room. I had a record player and a stack of 45s. We’d hold the walkie-talkie up to the speaker, play songs, make announcements, and even deliver “news.” We thought we were real DJs. Looking back, I think that might’ve been one of the happiest times we ever had together — just two kids with big imaginations having a blast.

Another memory was the summer of ’69. I went down to Oklahoma City to stay with them. Kent had this sweet little Yamaha motorcycle, and there was a spot nearby where we could ride, kinda like a dirt flat track. That summer, his folks — Richard and Ethel — took us on a road trip to California to visit family. We stopped in Las Vegas along the way, naturally, and checked out this brand-new casino called Circus Circus. My job was to keep an eye on Kent and stay out of trouble — I was 15, he was 11… neither job was easy! But we found the upper deck that had an arcade full of cheap games, and we thought we’d struck gold. The trip included Disneyland. It was a magical summer…

Life moved on, as it does. About seven years later, I left Missouri, and we didn’t see each other as much for a while. Kent became an over-the-road truck driver, got married, and had two wonderful children — Mary and Shaun. From what I saw family meant the world to him. Likewise I know he always carried a deep love for his mom, Ethel.

When I eventually moved back to Missouri, we started talking more often again. Our conversations were always a mix of catching up and storytelling. Kent had a mind like a steel trap — he could remember every name, every place, and every detail. I’ll admit, half the time I didn’t know who he was talking about! But that didn’t matter. He’d laugh when the story was funny, grumble when something got under his skin, and light up when he talked about his grandson, Sawyer. You could just hear how proud he was, how much he loved his family.

Now, Kent could be stubborn — and I say that with love. I read somewhere that stubbornness sometimes comes from fear, and maybe there’s truth in that. But it can also come from strength — from caring deeply, from wanting to do things the right way. That what I remember about Kent.

For much of my life, he was the closest thing I had to a brother. And I’m going to miss him — deeply.

But I take comfort in knowing that he’s now reunited with his mom and dad, and his Grandparents. I know he missed them terribly. And now they’re together again.

Rest easy, cousin. You’ll always be family — always my brother in spirit…

We drove down to Fulton today (10/10/25) for the graveside service. On the way I got a call from Shaun, the minister that officiated the Thursday night funeral service was having trouble with his powered wheel chair and couldn't get to the Central Christian Church graveyard.  Would I be willing to say a prayer.  The second time in less than 24 hours that I was given the gift of the chance to show up, much like the countless times Kent's Mom showed up for me.  What follows is what I could come up with between Williamsburg and the church.

Graveside Service for Kent

Good morning everyone.  I consider everyone here family and am honored to be asked to help. Thank you all for being here today as we lay Kent to rest. Your presence — family, friends, and those who knew him through the years — is a reminder of how many lives he touched.
We gather not just in grief, but in gratitude — for the time we had with him, and for the ways he made each of our lives a little better.

We gather not just in grief, but in gratitude — for the time we had with him, and for the ways he made each of our lives a little better..

Kent was a good man — steady, humble, and kind-hearted. He had that quiet strength that didn’t need to announce itself. The kind of man who’d show up when you needed help, stay until the job was done, and never expect a thank you. He had a quick wit and a soft heart — and somehow managed to be both practical and full of mischief at the same time.
Folks like Kent make the world better just by being themselves.

It's too long ago to pin down a time frame, but I probably wouldn't be as good a swimmer as I am without Kent.  One summer Ethel singed Kent up for the Red Cross swimming lessons at the city park pool.  As luck would have it, Kent had an accident and got some stitches in his knee.  Ethel asked if I wanted to take Kent's place and of course I jumped at the chance. I've never been overly fond of swimming, jumping into deep water still takes my breath away for a moment. Because of Kent, and Ethel, I can calm down and apply the knowledge that those lessons provided me.

Read the 23rd Psalm

As we say goodbye today, let’s hold on to those moments — the laughter, the work done side by side, the quiet talks. Kent’s gone from our sight, but not from our hearts.
And I believe he’s at peace — reunited with loved ones, free of pain, and resting in the care of a loving God.

I closed with the Lord's Prayer