One of my earliest memories of Reyray is of him beatboxing while standing on a sidewalk. He was with other people I already knew, and they introduced us. Reyray proceeded to excitedly share his aspiration of becoming a full-time performer. I told him I had once considered pursuing musical theatre, and we quickly connected over music and the life of an artist.

Over time, we got to know each other more. I learned more of his story, and he learned mine. Reyray would often come to drop-ins at The Dale. Many times, we would sit together at a table, our heads hunkered down as we talked about life. Often, I would simply listen—especially when he shared his biggest challenges. I remember how meaningful it was to be trusted with his tears.

In addition to drop-ins, Reyray began participating in other ways at The Dale. He helped bake cookies to share at our annual Christmas carolling night, attended Sunday services, and joined our yearly retreats to a camp near Parry Sound. I will never forget the time he climbed so high into a very tall tree that we worried he might be stuck. Or when he went out in a pedal boat, got scared by the wind, and called 911—even though he was still within eyesight of the camp. “I guess I’m just a city slicker,” he said.

In 2016, Reyray asked me to baptize him. On a sunny Sunday in June, he and I stood in a blow-up plastic pool in the parking lot of one of our partner buildings. Surrounded by community members, Reyray professed his faith before I laid him in the water. As he came up, everyone cheered. I will never forget it.

I remember when Reyray and Chantelle met. We witnessed their blossoming relationship at The Dale. In time, they had two children, both a striking mix of their parents. I still have a picture of their firstborn in the hospital, taken shortly after they arrived.

I am thinking of them as I write this. On December 8, 2025 Reyray died. He was just 39. Since that terrible day, I have been reflecting on the parts of his life that I knew, learning about parts that I did not, and wishing deeply that we had more time. There was a lot of struggle in Reyray’s life, and I trust that he is now at peace. And wow—how I wish that peace could have come while he was still alive.

Reyray, you are missed. So many people gathered to honour and remember you. I kept thinking that you would have been wowed. “My head ain’t down / looking to the ground / it’s lifted up high”—your words, from the rap you performed so often. You called it COG (Child of God). May you be basking in that truth now more than ever.