Eulogy by Dave Snyder who was kind and brave enough to present at the service today:

I have to admit that when I sat down to write this eulogy I spent quite a bit of time staring at a blank page – not because I couldn’t think of anything to say about Kari, but rather because there was so much to say. How do you even come close, in a few hundred words, to capturing the essence of a life so richly lived? And then it occurred to me that the heavy lifting has already been done by each of us here today. There could be no more fitting eulogy for Kari than the coming together of so many whose lives she touched.

I worked with Kari in Kenya on the Emergency Response Team of Catholic Relief Services, where her presence immediately raised the aggregate IQ for our section of the office. It isn’t often in life that you make instant friendships, but Kari was just that – a genuine human being with a light, humor, and honesty I will always remember. All of my first impressions of her were to bear themselves out tenfold over the years that followed.

As a nutritionist for Catholic Relief Services Kari traveled all over the world to advise country programs on their health and nutrition programming. It was often hard travel – the tribal areas of Pakistan, rugged areas of South Sudan, and in Indonesia immediately after the tsunami in 2004. I traveled several times with Kari – to Pakistan as US troops invaded neighboring Afghanistan, and to Goma in the Democratic Republic of Congo after the eruption of a volcano there – where no matter the circumstances her humor, compassion, professionalism and Diet Coke’s were always in evidence.

Kari was drawn early on to a life of travel, service and adventure. Bob and Chris said that Kari started reading bus and train timetables in 7th grade. In high school Kari spent a year studying in South Africa and after college joined the Peace Corps, where she was evacuated from her first two postings in the Philippines and the Democratic Republic of Congo.

Over her career Kari trained hundreds of emergency workers, sharing her vast knowledge of health and nutrition through her easy and approachable manner. Kari, you are the only person I know who can speak with passion about breast feeding or diarrhea. During our meals together over the years she would shake her head sadly at my food choices and my lifelong disdain for vegetables. Once when I was sitting next to her at a dinner in Nairobi I found a single baby carrot tucked hopefully between my burger and my fries. She tried so hard.

Looking over Kari’s Facebook page these past few days I’ve been struck by the truly global reach of her life and spirit. During the course of her career Kari lived and worked in more than 20 countries, and in each sowed the seeds of her legacy through a kind word, a helping hand, or a timely smile. We reap that harvest today amid tears, and share our sorrow with Kari’s family and friends here and around the world.

But we also share a common vocabulary of remembrance. In recounting Kari’s life the same words bubble constantly to the surface – courage, compassion, humor, honesty, intelligence, and love. Above all, love – for a life cut short, for her friends and family to whom she gave so selflessly, and most importantly for her children, Dylan and Isabelle. If there is one gift we can give in Kari’s name it is this: to share her voice with her children, to keep her beautiful spirit alive in them, and to decorate their future with the laughter and comfort of her memory. She would want this, most of all.

Dylan and Isabelle, along with the profound love for you that sustained her these past years, your mother also left some sound and practical advice for all of us here today to bear witness to: 1) Don't get married until you're at least 25; 2) No tattoos; 3) Never vote Republican!

Just before I left Kenya I had a conversation with Kari about the experience of living overseas. We talked about how rich our lives were in friendships and experiences, and also of how fleeting the past years had been, as the circles of our lives intersected so briefly before we all moved on to new assignments.

Today, as we mourn Kari’s passing, I’m reminded of that conversation, and the lesson it offers us. Kari and her family faced these past years with such incredible strength, and taught us that each day with those we love is precious. We should all honor that lesson. Call your parents. Hug your children. Touch the life of a stranger, as Kari did, and be thankful each day that the circle of her life intersected each of ours.