It’s been over 684 days. Let that number settle in your bones for a moment—684 days since the world I knew cracked open like a fault line, swallowing everything familiar in its chasm. December 1, 2023. 5:30 a.m. My mother’s voice on the phone, trembling like a leaf in a gale: Kali was gone. Jeremy was suspected. Zeke was missing.
I am Brian Randall, Kali’s older brother. Uncle to Zeke and Freya. And in those first shattering seconds, I became something else entirely—a vessel for questions that had no answers, a bridge between the living and the lost.
The Call That Echoed Forever
I remember it with the clarity of a scar: the phone pressed to my ear, my heart pounding like a war drum. I’d been the first to call the Teton County Sheriff’s Office, my voice cracking as I demanded Detective Stevens. “Is Kali alive or dead? What’s the status of Zeke?” The dispatcher’s pause stretched into eternity.
When the phone finally rang, my stomach plummeted. And then, after those long, heavy pauses that still haunt my dreams… the words: Kali was deceased. Those three syllables landed like shrapnel.
Thrust into the Storm
I stepped into a role I never auditioned for: point of contact. For law enforcement. Prosecutors. Victim advocates. Friends. Family. And soon, estate administrator for Kali. Forms upon forms, each one a fresh wound. Writing “Homicide” over and over turned my stomach.
KalicoForest: From Ashes, a Grove of Strength
In the heart of this devastation, something unexpected took root: KalicoForest—reborn from her roots. It’s more than a website, more than a nonprofit. It’s a sanctuary. A digital grove where survivors gather, where stories like mine aren’t shouted into the void but heard, honored, amplified.
KalicoForest means purpose reclaimed. Every visitor who reads, every donation that funds a survivor’s first therapy session, every shared post that sparks a conversation—it’s a ripple outward, turning our pain into protection for others.
If you’re reading this in the shadows—trapped, grieving, questioning—reach out. To KalicoForest, to a friend, to the National Domestic Violence Hotline (1-800-799-7233). You’re not alone. The forest is vast, but it holds room for you.
For Kali, Zeke, and Freya. For the light they left us.
-Brian