When someone leaves, their absence remains. It floats like fog upon the water, seeking a place to sit and dine with friends, family and the community. And when the meal is over at the table of life, people head home to other lives, other responsibilities while that absence stays behind. For their place-setting at that table remains forever because of community, because of friends and family. This Downeast place is no different.

When someone leaves, the void that remains feels limitless, the task ahead daunting. But this community has proven time and again that it moves into the emotion — wanting to hold the moment — needing to help in any way. Just as he always did, the community makes us whole, makes us feel good and most of all is a constant companion in good times and bad.

Bill Kitchen, the Machias town manager who died on September 9, impacted many people. In his short time here, surrounded by many “from here,” this person “from away” made his mark by touching the heart of this community. Machias will continue to move forward because of the touchstones Bill left behind.

His departure was sudden. How could it not be? Bill would not be Bill if it was any other way. His presence everywhere was spontaneous. One did not know if he was coming or going, though you always knew he would give whatever time necessary to impact the moment, to listen and to offer his thoughts.

My first memory of Bill was in Cutler. I had just arrived Downeast, and I was assigned by The Quoddy Tides to take photos of the lobster crate races during the town’s July Fourth celebration. I did not know what a lobster crate race was but did as I was asked. Bill was there covering the event for the Machias Valley News Observer. I, the fledgling amateur, must have taken a half hour and a myriad of positions to get in place to capture “that shot.” Bill came striding down the wharf with camera in hand as the first contestant is midway across the crates. He stopped, raised the camera and snapped, smiling at me saying: “How cool is this?” He then left with a single photo. That moment was over, and Bill had moved on.

After that we saw more of each other covering various events. We began talking, we began sharing our thoughts on writing, photography and about this place we both called home. We talked about its quirks, the postcard quality of its boundless beauty tucked in every corner and, of course, the people. Bill loved talking about others.

Bill Kitchen was many things to many people. For me he was that little boy who never grew up “inside.” He is that “catcher in the rye,” there to protect and catch us if we fall from our childlike fascination of the world, trying to protect us and keep at bay the world’s phoniness we as adults sadly accept.

The last time I saw Bill was five days before he left. It was at the place that once served countless Downeast families for three decades. Last year the Bluebird Ranch Family Restaurant decided to turn the page, give someone else the privilege to make a go of it in Machias. Bill helped fill that void and the community it served.

Our conversation was brief but long enough for each of us to give the other an update on our lives. Both of us having a penchant for the water and sailing, Bill shared that he was looking to purchase a small sailboat. And he, as always, sensing my reply said: “Yes, we will go sailing one day.” And then we said our goodbye the way will always did — a smile, a handshake and a long hug.

When someone leaves, we look for reminders of them. As a community we will all look for reminders of Bill, and they will not be hard to find throughout this Downeast place. This place he loved will continue to love him right back by being the community it always is, no matter the challenge, no matter the circumstance. Its resilient, loving and supportive nature will be guided by his presence and his absence. Both equally, both lovingly.

When someone leaves their essence remains. It becomes part and parcel of what now is and will be forever. I remain resolute in my belief that a place absorbs all the goodness we each dole out, making it shine bright, making it better, because in everything that is there is something that was.

When someone leaves, we cling to memories that will sustain — a buoy for us to grab when needed, to comfort, to laugh with, to smile while remembering and reflecting. Every time I hear that camera shutter click, I will smile remembering that little boy running across those crates trying not to fall in the water and over my shoulder his smiling voice saying: “How cool is this?”

And every morning I will look out across the water to the horizon, knowing he is out there sailing his boat on the waters he so loved, lighting a path to make his “here” a better place.

When someone leaves, we are because they were.

© RJ Heller 2024

Published inThe Quoddy Tides,  September 27, 2024