I am sorry to hear about Ken's situation. It is truly tragic. We send our support and well wishes. Stay strong, Ken.

Kat

We have not in all cases the same form, nor in any case the same matter that composed our bodies twenty or thirty years ago; and yet we are conscious of being the same persons. Even legs and arms, which make up almost half the human frame, are not necessary to the consciousness of existence. These may be lost or taken away, and the full consciousness of existence remain; and were their place supplied by wings, or other appendages, we cannot conceive that it would alter our consciousness of existence.
In short, we know not how much, or rather how little, of our composition it is, and how exquisitely fine that little is, that creates in us this consciousness of existence; and all beyond that is like the pulp of a peach, distinct and separate from the vegetative speck in the kernel.
Who can say by what exceedingly fine action of fine matter it is that a thought is produced in what we call the mind? And yet that thought when produced, as I now produce the thought I am writing, is capable of becoming immortal, and is the only production of man that has that capacity.
Statues of marble or brass will perish; and statues made in imitation of them are not the same statues, nor the same workmanship, any more than the copy of a picture is the same picture. But print and reprint a thought a thousand times over, and that with materials of any kind – carve it into wood or engrave it in stone, the thought is eternally and identically the same thought in every case. It has a capacity of unimpaired existence, unaffected by change of matter, and is essentially distinct and of a nature different from everything else that we know or can conceive.
If, then, the thing produced has in itself a capacity of being immortal, it is more than a token that the power that produced it, which is the selfsame thing as consciousness of existence, can be immortal also; and that as independently of the matter it was first connected with, as the thought is of the printing or writing it first appeared in. The one idea is not more difficult to believe than the other, and we can see that one is true.
--Thomas Paine, Age of Reason Part II

First of all, I want to thank all of you for coming. James would have appreciated this.
Here I come full circle with my son, James Roger Gregg. He was the same age I was when he was born, 26, at the time of his death. I was there at his beginning, an apartment on East Willow here in Long Beach, California, at about 5:30 in the morning when he was born, also the time of his death. It was quiet at the moment of his birth when I caught him and cut the umbilical cord. There were two midwives attending. The light was just beginning to come through the window. I remember the smell of the room, the excitement I had, for here was my son. It was the best experience of my life.
I treasured every moment with him, and loved him, cared for him, and took responsibility for him. We were joined at the hip, so to speak, until he was a teenager. We went everywhere together—to the beach, on bicycle rides, on trips. If I gave a lecture, he was there in the back of the room drawing or reading. If I was home reading, he was there. I fed him, changed his diapers, took him to school, talked to his teachers—all of the things a father does for his son.
He was very special to me, and any who saw us together knew we had a close bond perhaps as close as any father and son could be. I was there as he grew and changed, when he learned so many new things about the world and himself. We would talk and talk and talk. When he did something right, we would talk. When he did something wrong, we would talk. Sometimes I think he would have preferred a spanking than some of our talks after he did something wrong. But we would always talk.
Sometimes things happen that are a mystery, some are good, some not. Thomas Paine said in The Age of Reason Part I that:

“…everything we behold is, in one sense, a mystery to us. Our own existence is a mystery…We cannot know how it is that an acorn, when put into the ground, is made to develop itself and become an oak. We know not how it is that the seed we sow unfolds and multiplies itself, and returns to us such an abundant interest for so small a capital.”

James was my “abundant interest.” He filled my life with joy and happiness, even when he didn’t realize it. I am so proud of him. He is still here in my thoughts and my heart, and will always be there, even though I now can’t talk to him on the phone, or look forward to visiting with him. He is still here for my family in their thoughts and hearts as well, his sisters, Elizabeth and Katherine, my wife, Debbie—his stepmother, and the rest of our family, here and elsewhere. James will always be here, even though his life was taken by a drunk driver.
There are so many things I have to thank him for, that I can hardly begin--things like showing me the strength that comes from parenting, the power of love, the joy of family. These my father introduced me to, but only by having my son here did I come to understand them fully.
Thank you, son-son. When he was younger, and often even now when we would talk on the phone we would end with “hug, kiss, nose-y, nose-y, glasses, glasses” just as something special that only we would say to each other. Thank you, my son.
I love you.

Pam, I so much want to say something to Ken, something that might help. But I don't truly believe that anything can help;.grief of the kind he has experienced is beyond the power of words to heal. But if you speak to him again, tell him... tell him that he has been heard, and understood.

Barbara

Apparently Ken attended NBI classes in New York in 1967 and 1968, and he has been around Objectivist and libertarian circles for decades. So it is possible that some of you know him well.
-Ross Barlow.