I always thought his name was "Calvin". My mom or dad had told me his name, years ago. I've never been great at remembering people's names, and since I usually only visited them once a year I'm sure I asked and was told his name multiple times. He may have even told me, himself. When Mom told me that he had died recently, I was asking her for details and that's when I found out that he spelled it, "Kelvin". But I'm pretty sure it's pronounced the same way.
Anyway, Kelvin died and I'm sure that everyone who has ever known him is really going to miss him. Family, friends, neighbors, coworkers. Everyone. Casual acquaintances at places he shopped for groceries or gas, postal workers, visitors (Kelvin was the security guard at the front gate of my parents' condo), vendors...even people that only met him once are really gonna miss that guy.
Kelvin was kind. Optimistic. One of those people that makes your day a little better than it was before you encountered him. Always a smile. A genuine glad-to-be-talking-to-you-right-now kind of smile. He seemed genuinely happy to see everyone he greeted at that gate. Our encounters were always brief, just me pulling my car up to the guard shack for my yearly visit. He'd recognize me right away on account of me looking a lot like my father.
After enduring a long flight from LA to Fort Lauderdale, schlepping through baggage claim, picking up my rental car and driving amongst the psychos on I-95, I'd pull up and Kelvin would be all, "Mr. Kublin! Great to see you again?" and I'd forget all the travel hassles and any other negative thought bouncing around my head. And, at the worst of times, like when my dad died, Kelvin somehow made the unbearable a little more bearable. He changed the very atmosphere for the better. Like being near the ocean does. I never heard him once complain and it is hard for me to even imagine. That's why so few people knew that he was sick until his last couple of months with us. He focused on the positive. He was young. In his 30's. Sad. But the sadness is quickly displaced by the echo of the joy he brought to all who knew him. In a world that sometimes seems lacking in empathy and compassion, Kelvin personified both and it was contagious. My mom summed it up. She is not given to hyperbole. Ever. And she described Kelvin as "Irreplaceable". I'd have to agree.
