“I Have This Idea…” A Lifetime of Friendship with Kim Keene

The first time I met Kim I knew right away that we were going to be great friends. It was 1993, and I had just moved to the Outer Banks to take a new job. Kim owned a super cute frame shop on the Manteo waterfront, and from the first time I walked in there, we hit it off.

She was in a lesbian relationship and living in South Nags Head right across the street from the beach. I lived right up the road so she and I, being the Water Babies that we are, spent much time exploring the National Seashore, sailing on my little Force 5, having drinks at the pier and Oasis on the Causeway, or simply lying in the sun and talking.

We soon discovered that we were cut out of the same Aries mold. Her birthday is March 22, the day before mine, and we both came into this world to spread joy and create stuff. That’s what us Aries do. For many years afterwards, we celebrated our birthdays together, and God help you what those parties were like.

That was also the beginning of a lifelong aspect of our relationship that I like to call “The Big Idea.” 

We were always starting some sort of new project, and when either one of us would have a brainstorm, we immediately called each other.

“Hey, I have this idea,” was usually how those conversations would begin. And no matter what the idea was, or who came up with it, if we could make it real, we were both in.

I can honestly say that Kim was the only person in my life of whom I could ask, “Hey, what do you think if I started a Film Festival?” and get the reply, “That’s a great idea!” She never pooh poohed my ambitions and I never even thought to question hers.

I think that’s what I most miss about her: her adventurous spirit. If I called her with an idea, she was immediately supportive whether it was a new business or just an adventure, or whether it worked or not. It didn’t matter because we were in it more for the experience. And up until the day she died, we would have conversations that began with, “Remember that time….”

IIn 1997, I moved to Norfolk. Kim and I stayed in touch though, and we got together whenever I was visiting the Outer Banks, or she came home.

One time she called me and nonchalantly said, “Hey, I just bought a sailboat, and I need some help sailing it to Manteo. Can you get off work?”“Hell yeah,” I replied, and off we went. We took possession of the boat (which would be her home for the next year or so) in Downtown Norfolk and for the next three days sailed the Intercoastal Waterway to Manteo. A lifestyle reporter for WAVY TV tagged along and filmed the jaunt for a Coastal Carolina segment which I still watch frequently. It was one of those rare lifetime bonding experiences, not to mention a bona fide seagoing adventure, one we always remembered as a high point in our lives.

That’s how it was with us. Over the 30 years of our friendship, we would come and go in and out of each other’s orbit not because our relationship was faltering in any way, but only because we both knew that chasing the sun was our destiny. We often took off and did our own thing, sometimes not seeing each other for months.

Probably the longest we ever went without seeing each other was the period she laughingly referred to as her “Wasbian Period.” One day she was here in Hampton Roads, and the next thing I knew she married a Navy officer and moved to Croatia to be an ambassador’s wife.

And that was OK because once again she was chasing the sun. 

I heard from her maybe three times while she was overseas. Then one night a couple of years later, I was having dinner with Andrew and a couple of friends at Byrd & Baldwin and looked up just as she walked in the door with her husband. 

She strolled up to the table up with that big grin and said, “Hey you.” I jumped up, hugged her, and when we stopped laughing, I asked, “So what’s new?”

“Not much,” she said, “I just moved overseas, had two children, and now I’m home.”

Perfect.

We picked up exactly where we left off and continued making new things where there once were none. She founded Starving Artist, I launched OutLife, and we were each other’s sounding boards throughout both of those ventures. We felt so safe in that space.

We also had way too much fun with our extended and blood families: Thanksgiving Tapas at their Willoughby house, pool parties at their Larchmont home, Homo for the Holidays Christmas Eve parties at our house – all of them filled with laughter and friendship. 

When her first cancer diagnosis came, she invited me to lunch and broke the news. In typical fashion, she was positive that the outcome would be successful, and in the beginning that seemed to be in the realm of possibility.

When the second recurrence was diagnosed, things began to look bleaker from my perspective. But again, Kim would not be deterred. And then one day in June 2023, she called and said, “I have this idea….”

She wanted to establish a non-profit dedicated to providing those with cancer support and financial assistance with the everyday needs that we all have but aren’t covered by insurance. She had experienced that brand of kindness from others during her battle with the disease: people who came by with meals, who fixed her fence, and who helped Nicole with managing the house and the boys. She wanted to pay that forward, and she even had a name: Paint Pink. It would turn out to be her legacy, her final big idea manifested. 

oon she and her board were putting together regular fundraisers. Kim put her art to work for the cause (thus the Paint in the Pink), and sales of her work plus the other fundraisers rapidly filled the coffers. To this date, a small army of her friends and family continue her mission and have raised over $225,000.I helped her promote Paint Pink and interviewed her for a short promotional video for the website. We could barely get through it because we were joking around and cutting up. It turned out to be one of the last times we were together while she was in remission.

On the beach later that summer, she revealed that the cancer was back for a third time. Kim was positive as always, but beneath her optimism I sensed her concern, and I felt a stab of fear. 

It metastasized rapidly. Kim was admitted to the hospital and shortly afterwards went into hospice care. Nicole did a wonderful job keeping her inner circle notified with daily updates on a private Friends of Kim Facebook page. Then the day we all knew was coming arrived. Nicole called me and said, “If you want to come say goodbye, now is the time.”

That was Tuesday, September 10. Nicole and I sat together with Kim for a while. Then Nicole quietly left the room. I reached across the bed and took Kim’s hand. She woke and smiled wanly. 

I stroked her forehead, and she looked at me and said, “I just had this dream that I was in a car wreck and my father came to get me out of it.” 

Her father had passed away a couple of years before. 

I said, “He’s here to take you home.” She looked me in the eyes and nodded. She knew. 

“What do you need me to do?” 

In a feeble voice, she answered, “Take care of my boys.” 

I held her hand for a few more minutes until Nicole returned, and then left the hospital knowing that was the last time I would see her on this plane.

The next day Andrew and I flew to Nebraska for our nephew’s wedding, which was just the affirmation of life we both needed. The following days were a wonderful reminder of how precious and fragile it all is, of how life is meant to be lived to its fullest, and celebrated every day. Kim embodied that spirit and drank up all that life had to offer. 

he next day Andrew and I flew to Nebraska for our nephew’s wedding, which was just the affirmation of life we both needed. The following days were a wonderful reminder of how precious and fragile it all is, of how life is meant to be lived to its fullest andcelebrated every day. Kim embodied that spirit and drank up all that life had to offer. 

Five days later, I was alone on a plane headed home, 36,000 feet somewhere over Illinois, out of touch with the world below, dozing off when I felt an electric charge at the base of my neck. 

The sensation moved up my spine and ended with what felt like a pat on my head. I smiled and knew that it was her stopping by to say goodbye on her way to wherever she is now, no doubt already working on the next big idea.

You can donate at paintpinkinc.org.