Blessed All Saints and All Souls. I take great joy in the Solemnity, followed by a day of remembrance and intercession for the dead.

I’ve been thinking this week of a young woman who died this year, a Tucson native who hosted the airbnb in which I stayed while discerning whether to move here, and who in retrospect was in large part WHY I moved here.

I chose the airbnb from the photos: a cheery whitewashed stucoo bungalow with peacock blue trim. A glider on the front stoop. Colorful native flowers and cacti.

And when I arrived, I knew at once that here was a space infused with love. In the fridge, a pint of half and half and a pound of Peets Coffee. There were condiments, snacks, a ton of teas, a lemon squeezer, cool cleaning products. There were sunscreen, vintage glass coasters with old-timey scenes of saguaros in the sunset, a washer-dryer, a comfy chaise longue, metal jalousie blinds in the extra bedroom, a built-in breakfast nook with a bowl of Lindt chocolates.

Halfway through the week I found a fresh loaf of Barrio Bakery bread on my stoop.

I ended up staying three times, a week each in October and December, 2020, and then the month of April, 2021, after I’d decided to move and was looking for a place to permanently rent.

Kirsten lived in a smaller place out back. She was tall, blonde, beautiful, full of grace. She welcomed me, made sure I had absolutely everything I needed, and then made herself scarce.

But the place was so wondrous I wanted to know more about her and one day I asked if she had a few minutes to chat. She ended up telling me a bit of her story. Born and bred in Tucson, had lived in Brooklyn for a while, had come back and with very little money had bought this house with the guesthouse in back, rehabbed it with the help of friends, begun renting it as an airbnb.

She’d worked in the non-profit sector all her life.

She’d been diagnosed with Stage 4 colorectal cancer that had spread to her lungs. She was treating it as best she could the way I remember it with a bit of Western medicine and a bit homeopathically. She’d also suffered since childhood with more or less severe psoriasis. Up close I could see that her arms were covered with red patches and it’s a testament to her interior and exterior beauty that it also affected her face and the wound if you will somehow only made her more beautiful.

She made a joke of it. She said she’d tried every ointment and salve known to man but it just in the end masked it and made it worse. So she simply made do. She didn’t use the word suffer but obviously at some point she had simply accepted that this was part of her human condition and had realized there was no way out or around.

So she suffered it, without self-pity, and my sense is would not have even mentioned it except that the affliction was so visibly obvious. The guesthouse where she lived had no air conditioning so in the sometimes 110-degree Tucson summer heat, she limped along (again, my phrase, not hers) with a swamp cooler.

She had every hope of recovering and her goal once she did recover was to open a kind of clearing house/center where people diagnosed with cancer or other dire illnesses could receive help in what she’d discovered to be the labyrinthine and basically incomprehensible healthcare and insurance systems. And where people could receive moral support, compassion, a caring ear.

Somehow in the midst of all that she had fashioned and was maintaining this fantastic, warm, intelligently thought-out airbnb bungalow. There were games and puzzles, kid-sized chairs and a table tucked into a corner, extra pillows, duvets and towels, shelves of books about the flora, fauna, history, and culture of the Southwest.

Kirsten made a deep impression on me. She radiated a strange and rare kind of light. I’d never met anyone who was carrying such a heavy psychic, social, physical and spiritual load with such incredible grace, such a total lack of drama or self-pity. And who the whole time was thinking of others, how she could pass on what she was learning so those similarly-situated wouldn’t have to suffer the additional burden of figuring out how to treat their illness and how to pay for it.

After I’d made the decision to move, and some dear friends drove the UHaul, I put one of the couples up at Kirsten’s place, so sure was I that they’d love it as much as I did. Knowing that she was ill and not wanting to intrude, we nonetheless invited her to a little pizza party gathering we had one Friday night and she walked over and stayed with us for an hour or two which I’m sure was an effort.

She was so special I wanted them to meet her (and vice versa of course). I had told them a bit about her and we didn’t speak of her illness that night, just chatted about Tucson and the local culture and how much we all loved and appreciated her space. But she made such a deep impression on my six friends that they all, unbidden, asked about her in the months to come.

Kirsten gave me a housewarming gift: a pottery cup imprinted with saguaros.

I told her that the door to my new place was open to her, any time, entirely at her convenience. She thanked me warmly, said she’d love to come but wasn’t sure with her strength on the wane. I wasn’t a real friend, of which I am certain she had scores. So though I never saw her again, I thought of her often.

Somehow late last year I came across a GoFundMe page that her brother had started for her.

That’s how I learned, a couple of months ago, that Kirsten died on June 2 of this year, a few months short of her fiftieth birthday.

So she’s been much on my mind as The Day of the Dead approached. It’s a strange fact that people don’t quite acquire their full stature until they do die. And I realized recently, two and a half years down the line, that if not for Kirsten, for her charming, spirit-filled place, her crazy generosity, her welcome, her essence, and most of all the way she carried her suffering, I might never have moved here at all.

How unaware we are, much of the time, of how deeply we are influenced by others. And of how, unbeknownst to ourselves, we are influencing them…

The other day I went to noon Mass at St. Augustine’s and afterward walked the 25 minutes or so to Kirsten’s old place down near 22nd in Armory Park. There was a For Sale sign out front with a note attached “Do Not Disturb Occupants.” The trellises flanking the front that would have been covered trumpet vine were empty. The yard seemed sparse and bare. The thousand loving, thoughtful touches that go into making a house a home were largely absent.

I stood out front for a minute, and made the Sign of the Cross and said a Hail Mary and thanked her. And then I walked back to St. Augustine’s thinking of how everything passes. Kirsten had had her short, glorious reign on earth, and at that particular spot on earth. By the world’s standards, already it was almost as if none of it had ever happened.

Already it was almost as if she had never poured her heart, suffering, body and soul into this magical airbnb.

SO. BUT. Does it not matter, the love and labor in the first place?

YES!!!! It matters absolutely. Maybe in the deepest sense that is what Catholicism says. It matters, every last neutron. It matters absolutely.

So today I honor Kirsten Bert, whose life touched mine ever so briefly, but on my part ever so deeply.

I will treasure, always, my third-class relic as a reminder of how to conduct my life here in Tucson, and wherever else I may be.

Let’s remember all those today whose mostly unseen lives have sustained, shaped, and nurtured ours.

Eternal rest grant unto Kirsten, O Lord. And let perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace.  Amen.


  1. Anonymous says: Reply

    What a beautiful post. I am touched to hear about this person, and your keen observation and appreciation of her makes me want to take more care, be more aware of how I treat others and generally ‘am’, and make time for everyone with grace. I have been feeling harassed and under pressure, but this post just makes me pause and pray for Kirstin.

  2. Thank you Heather! A beautiful tribute to her life and a lesson for us all.

  3. Thank you so much for this beautiful piece. It reminds me of a tragedy that happened in my city a few years back. A bus driver died after being shot by a mentally ill passenger. Another regular passenger later wrote that his friendly good morning as she boarded his bus each day had been the only reason she had been able to get out of bed and go to work during a dark period in her life. He probably had no idea of the impact he had on people. But his presence in her life mattered hugely.

  4. What a beautiful tribute, Heather…. you were most assuredly touched by an angel.

  5. Thank you for sharing this beautiful and inspiring tribute. A quote by Ram Dass comes to mind: “We’re all just walking each other home.”

  6. Cynthia Merrill says: Reply

    Such a beautiful meditation upon a unique and unrepeatable person whom we now all know and whose memory we will carry within. Whether we’re 15 like Carlo Acutis or 24 like St Therese or 50 like Kirsten our lives are a wisp of time, but what would the world have been without us?

  7. Melanie Poser says: Reply

    I’m so sorry for your loss. I’ve had 2 friends for a “season” that both died of cancer. I knew them both for less than a year. I feel like l was there to help them not to be afraid, to trust in the mercy of our Lord.

  8. Anonymous says: Reply

    I’m an old friend of Kirsten’s. You’ve captured the special grace she had very well. The last time I saw her we shared an Eegees (her choice) and mostly just warm feelings. But one thing I wanted to let her know before I lost the chance was that she had a very special kind of spirit and that people commented on it to me often. She seemed surprised to hear it – that humbleness was always there as well. There was no one else like her. I’m missing her very much during this season of rememberance. Thank you for this lovely post.

    1. HEATHER KING says: Reply

      Thank you so much–and yes, and yes. I mentioned some of the material aspects of her airbnb, all of which spoke clearly of intelligence, generosity and care, but it was more than that. I do think that the spaces we inhabit have souls and as soon as I walked in, I knew there was something special, some unnameable not to be woo-woo but a kind of radiance…and then when I actually met Kirsten and learned a bit of her story and saw HER essence, the whole thing became clearer. One of the women who helped me move and who stayed at the airbnb in May, 2021, is a kind of healer–works with farm workers on California’s Central Coast, has devoted her life to the poor–and she was blown away by Kirsten as I knew she would be. Just her presence, her being…Anyway, I have heard from Kyle! And he said he saw the piece which is a huge honor. How lucky you all are, you who knew her and were her family and friends her whole life.

  9. Anonymous says: Reply

    May she Rest In Peace 🕊️🙏🏻

  10. Ingrid Christensen says: Reply

    Wow, so much to think about. Thank you.

  11. Anonymous says: Reply

    Thank you for writing this. The world was very fortunate to have Kirsten in it, and I’m glad you got to meet her.

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