Three Words

Three words.

I’ve known them since the day I found out Keith was dead.

The Fire Marshal’s report confirms there were three words.
They’ve been redacted.
I know what they said.

I’m done being patient and understanding of how “difficult” this situation is for Grafton Place.

My experience over the past two months has been many, many, many times worse.

I’ve documented responses from Tamra Youngblut, the apartment manager, and shared them with attorneys, law enforcement, and Burlington, Washington officials.

The reactions I’ve received:

• They are being difficult because they can get away with it.
• I can’t offer any advice.​
• Maybe you need a lawyer to send them a nasty gram.
• A small estate affidavit should work.
• They are being assholes.
• I’m so sorry.

All of these can be true at once.

I’ve uncovered contradictions in Tamra’s statements—both in what she told me directly and what’s reflected in official records.

Multiple systems failed—when Keith was alive and now that he’s dead.

A week before he died, a 911 wellness check was conducted after a friend called with concerns. The responding officer did not enter the building and did not follow up the next day—despite being given an address next to Grafton Place. His determination was that Keith was not a resident of Burlington.

He was.

I don’t blame that officer. I understand hindsight is 20/20. I don’t even know what proper protocol is in situations like this. 

But the what-ifs don’t go away.

Maybe we all need to do more when we see someone struggling.
Maybe nothing we do will ever be enough.

I don’t have those answers.

What I do know is that Keith mattered. He mattered to me, to my family, and to so many others.

On Sunday, April 19, I’ll be walking with my twin sister in Keith’s honor at a suicide prevention walk.

If you’re reading this, take a moment today to tell someone you love that they matter—that they would be missed.

Before it’s too late.

If you’ve been following me, you know I’ve only asked for Keith’s Polaroid collection. I know it was important to him that someone who would appreciate it have it.

These photos of Polaroids scattered across his apartment may be all I receive.

I’ve done everything I can to honor Keith and to make sure that something meaningful to him, and to me, isn’t thrown away.

That may still be how this ends.

I’m learning to accept that.

I shouldn’t have to. 

Postscript: My Three Words

This ordeal has brought my identical twin sister and me closer together.

She’s seen me cry. Scream. Sit at my computer for hours.

She’s listened. She’s shared this story in her communities.

I would not have gotten through this without her.

Thank you, Malinda!

My three words.

I love you.

The Process ... all of my writings since Keith's death.