Thank you all for coming together here today to honor the memory of my brother, Jeff. 

My name is Andrew.

To end our gathering today, a few of Jeff’s family and friends are going to say a few words. I’ll get started in a moment here, then Jeff’s sister Emily will speak.

After her, our Aunt Robin will come up, followed by his friends David Hewitt, Jeff Kamperman, and Tom Venable.

I’m going to miss Jeff.

Sometimes our relationship got weird.

There was a weird way of talking, the way we talked together. That I’ve never had with anyone else in my life. The way our words flowed, whether we were quoting shows we loved or just riffing off what each other said. It felt effortless; it felt familiar in a way that’s hard to explain.

When Jeff was scared, I saw a lot of myself in him.

That fear of hurting people.

That wanting to be accepted.

That trying—really trying—to be true to yourself, even when you’re not sure how.

He was also very strongly opinionated, in ways I’m only really learning now.

I wonder if I didn’t see it as much because I’m his big brother.

We talked multiple times a month, mostly through texting, though we have also had long phone calls, especially recently.

The last time I spoke with Jeff was the night of the 19th… or I guess the morning of the 20th.

I had woken up around four in the morning for whatever reason, and he texted me. I was glad to hear from him, because I was struggling with my own frustrations inside my head.

He was struggling with the steps. He had recently found Coda, which uses the 12-step recovery model, but focusing on co-dependency. Quite a while ago, I introduced him to AA because he was feeling lost and needed someone to talk to, and that was what I knew. But alcohol wasn’t really the center of his struggle, so it never quite fit.

He was so excited about finding Coda.

I remember something similar when I finally found something that seemed like it could be an escape from my prison.

It was so interesting talking with him about it. I didn’t know much about it, and I still don’t. He was going to take me to a meeting when I came to visit near the end of December. But I never got to. But the things he sent me made so much sense when I read them in the frame of Jeff. I could tell that he struggled with something that I didn’t fully understand. Perhaps it could have helped more, but we ran out of time.

When Jeff and I spoke on the 19th, he told me he was worried he couldn’t do it, that it was too much. I suggested he not worry about it, because he is still at step 1. His concerns would be addressed, but not til at least steps 4 or 5. Take your time. Take it one step at a time. It’s ok, and you’re not alone.

Jeff was my brother.

It feels so weird being me, with a brother like Jeff. He was searching for his place in the world, and could never quite fit, though he tried, and did the best he could. He had a lot of plans, but the world is big.

Well, you know what they say.

Love you, brother.

The Hand

The dealer dealt

an unfair hand

to a game

you knew not how to play.

Nonetheless

no complaints

for years

you held those cards.

While others tried and told

"There is a way, look here!"

You knew, I knew

there was no way to win.

How long can one continue

to hold those cards so tight

before the hands begin to shake -

a grip can only grasp so long.

Talk therapy

Medication

Phone calls

Bear hugs

A change of scenery

Psilocybin

Warm words

A CoDA sponsor

And not for a lack of trying

it was time to fold.

I love you, Jeff. May you rest in peace.

It's a sad day but also wonderful in that we are all

here to celebrate Jeff's life.

I wanted to say something here and couldn't think of

anything but then I came across these pennies with

hearts painted on them. You may have noticed them

with the displayed items. My wife Debra, who

passed away in March last year, made these before

we met. She had been a ministers's wife and came

up with many sweet ideas like this.

The little note that says, “Pass out pennies and say-

'Your heart is where your tresure is' is in her

handwriting. The pennies are in a bowl that

belonged to my sister Carol, who passed away in

2015.

Finding these pennies going through Debra's office

stuff answered my prayer. And I'm happy to mention

Debra, Carol, and Jeff together because all three

were similar in their kind and loving natures. So if

you take one of these pennies home, let it remind

you of my nephew.

Rest in peace Jeff. We love you.

Dear Nora, Andrew, Emily, Luka and all of Jeff's nephews, aunts, uncles, cousins and friends,

We are all deeply heartbroken at the sudden loss of Jeff's passing.

We are ALL struggling with the whys and the what if's. How can we process what has happened?

We can lean on the love, support and comfort of each other. We can seek understanding and practice remembrance.

We can tell stories, share good memories of Jeff that we hold close to our hearts.

We did not know the depth of Jeff's mental health struggles (such a horrid disease), the kind of disease that overwhelms the depressed that they cannot see or hear the voices that reach out to them to help.

We can acknowledge that mental illness is a part of Jeff's story and be candid about it and the devastating impact it had on Jeff's life, but it is not the whole story.

We can honor Jeff by remembering the fullness of his life.

We can remember the day he was born and how happy and excited Nora and Larry were to welcome another child into the family. Andrew and Emily were happy too. Although we suspect that Emily wished for a sister or maybe even twins (one boy and one girl)! Their family was complete.

Their childhood was filled with many happy times as they lived in a neighborhood that lent itself to explore and make all kinds of adventures. It was a very close knit neighborhood family.

Each of the neighbors loved and supported each other in the good times and the bad times (especially on November 29th, 1999, when Larry passed away). The close knit neighborhood rallied around the Kolberg family, loving and supporting them in any way they could.

Jeff was a faithful and loving friend. He loved building things, playing with legos, tinkering in the basement, fishing at the family cottage in Atlanta, Michigan.

Do you remember the forts they built both inside and outside, the building projects, the light up dance floors, his sound system and his love of music?

He excelled with anything to do with electronics and computers and found that he was successful in building a small business for himself. He lent his talent for building to theatre and music venues and cable companies. He was eager to help anyone at any time.

One of our later memories of Jeff was when Grandma Rita turned 75 and all the family came for a visit to celebrate that milestone birthday. It made Grandma Rita's day!

Another memory was Andrew and Traci's 10th anniversary party and how Jeff set up the lights and music for their party. He was in his element and loved it.

We wish Jeff would still be here with us. We find comfort that the Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

Bless, O God of eternal life, all who have died by suicide. Grant them rest and peace from their inner turmoil and the assurance of your compassion and love. Comfort those who mourn in their deep sense of loss. Strengthen them to face any questions of pain, guilt and anger and help us to reach out in love to all who mourn for Jeff through Jesus Christ Our Lord.

Amen.

We love and miss you Jeff.

We love you all,

Love,

Aunt Linda & Uncle Kevin

I've only know him for a little bit but he's the best person I've ever met. He gave me some awesome times, like the time he gave me these awesome Nerf guns and we played outside in the summer and it was the awesomest time I've ever had.

Jeff is one of our family's greatest huggers, biggest heart and smartest of cousins who always ran to you for a big ginormous hug and you felt his love. We miss him so much but we will always remember his huge heart of love.

We’re all here today because we loved Jeffrey Lawrence Kolberg, and because losing him has left us stunned, aching, and searching for words. There is no way to make sense of this loss, yet it is the nature of family and friends to painfully replay the “If-only-I-had . . . ?” questions.

I encourage us instead to reflect on cherished memories of Jeff. And there are many.

I will never forget Jeff’s smile and quick wit, and his heart-felt hugs. He was as generous with these loving gestures as he was in other ways, often giving more than he had. He noticed others who were struggling and tried to help.

Jeff was skilled, curious, and capable. Early on, he explored how computers worked and expanded this innate ability and expertise to his career working with sound and lighting, and in integrating complex computer systems.

Yet, Jeff carried burdens few of us witnessed. Others—his mother and siblings, other family members and close friends—not only witnessed his struggles but worked diligently to help him lighten those burdens. Jeff’s kindness and sense of humor, his brilliant smiles and generosity, are what I encourage us to reflect upon.

My husband, Jim Taggart, and our son, Glen, and I had the pleasure of Jeffrey’s company during two summers when he joined us on our sailboat in Alaska. Here are a few favorites—and there are many more.

Jeff and Glen spent almost every hour together--often fishing. Jeff helped pull pots filled with shrimp onto the deck. I loved how well he and Glen, 8 years younger, got along. Jeff was that older, loving brother to our only child. And I have no doubt, his inherent ability to mentor our son came from his loving siblings, Andrew and Emily.

On that trip we saw feeding humpback whales, sea lions, and seals, and we sailed with the Tongass forest and snow-capped mountains in view. What I remember most is Jeff’s gung-ho attitude about doing new things: raising a sail, taking the helm, and eating new foods.

One afternoon at anchor in a narrow inlet, Jim helped Glen pull on his wetsuit, and he helped Jeffrey don a drysuit. Although Jim’s dry suit was several sizes too large, the wrist, ankle, and neck gaskets fit well enough to keep Jeff dry and warm in Alaska’s cold water.

The three set out with Jim swimming in his wetsuit wearing his weight belt so he could dive down to the sea floor. Their mission? Catch Dungeness Crab for dinner.

Jim said, “When I brought up a brightly colored hermit crab, their exclamations and curiosity egged me on to keep diving for more peculiar marine creatures for them to examine. Their curiosity was insatiable.” Besides crab, Jim brought up other marine treasures neither Glen nor Jeff had ever seen—including a huge, peach-colored sea star with 13 arms. When they returned to our boat to show me their bounty, their delight was infectious.

When I asked Glen his favorite memory of his beloved cousin, Jeff, he remembered a visit from when he was 5. “I loved bush-whacking in our backyard with Jeff. The grass was higher than me, and Jeff and I built PVC tunnels through it.”

Although we cannot ignore our sorrows, we carry memories of Jeff forward by renewing and strengthening our connections with each other, especially Nora, Andrew, and Emily.

Let’s all remember Jeff for his heart, not his ending.

Jim, Glen, and I send our love to you all, and some of those special hugs to Nora, Andrew, and Emily.

Jeff was the best hug giver there was—hands down.

If there were an award for Best Hugger, Jeff would have won by a landslide. Heck in my mind he did win the best hugger award.

His hugs meant so much

It’s one of the things I, and many others will miss and cherish the most.

Some of my favorite memories with Jeff were chasing meteor showers,

and taking road trips with no destination in mind.

Going ghost hunting...

and then being too afraid to even get out of the car.

Singing along to The Greatest Showman.

Grabbing coffee at the Loveland Buzz Thru.

And how he saved the day back when we were all obsessed with Pokémon Go—

showing up at the bike trail with the biggest power strip I’ve ever seen.

I think it had 25, if not more, plug-in spots to charge all of our phones.

He even let all of us use his mobile Hotspot for better connection for the Pokémon battles.

In school, between Jeff and Corey Ponstler,

whenever we had the chance to do group projects, we went hard.

Green screens. Music. Skits.

No basic PowerPoints from us.

We definitely had the best project in our class—

even if the grade didn’t reflect it.

Jeff was also the school’s DJ and sound guy.

From the morning news—where every morning we “lost the game”

because he ended the broadcast with

Rick Astley’s Never Gonna Give You Up.

To band concerts, choir events, homecoming, and more,

making sure everyone had a great listening experience.

And lately,

I really loved seeing him dance his heart out at the silent discos. Music was one of the things him and I really connected.

I’m so glad I got to experience that with him. I will keep dancing for Jeff as long as I can.

Even though my future—

and many others’—looks a little different now

without Jeff’s physical presence,

I’ve made a promise to carry on his memory

by hugging people the way Jeff did.

I know it won’t come close to how great his hugs were,

but every hug I give moving forward

will be in honor, in memory,

and in gratitude

for my best friend,

Jeff Kolberg.

Jeff was always bright, excited, fun to be around. I once had a memorable night with him and a friend he was living with at the time. He wasn't feeling well that day, but still made the effort to make sure we had a good night. We spent the evening playing cards, making jokes, looking at a rainbow stage light he brought, discussing how we felt. I'll never forget that night, in large part due to his infectious joy.

I haven't seen him in many years now, and I'm really upset to lose the chance to do so again. I looked up to him and his technical and emotional intelligence. We've all lost someone who had a lot to teach us. Rest I peace dear friend.

Love Cam Richardson