My Dad, Myron Chenault, taught me a lot about life and how to be present for your friends in times of trouble. I now have a better understanding of why our conversations were so different later in life.
Dad was born in Richmond, IN, in 1949. His parents, Roberta and Roy, were proud of their son. He achieved a bachelor’s degree from Manchester University in 1971, one of only six Black students there. Dad loved talking about his time there, accomplishing a great deal for someone so young in so short a time. Not long after getting his Juris Doctor from Valparaiso, where he met my mother, Michelle whom he was married for almost two decades, shortly after graduation. His close friends describe shutting down a bar or two when I was born in 1980, which didn’t shock me at all. I always knew my dad to be fun in that way, warm and welcoming with a spirit that was immediately likable and engaging. Knowing Dad was to likely be asked to play Words with Friends, but good luck winning a game against him.
Truly, to know Pop was to love him, and his appeal was irresistible. Having spent the last few months getting to know more of his community, I found a common thread in how moved people were by his consistency, kindness, and compassion, even so close to his passing. It was great to hear a mix of old stories I knew so well from Dad (man, could that guy tell a story!), as well as new instances of his loving presence for people going through something. His intelligence was notoriously fierce. Dad could pull off a lot with very little, had great ideas he could weave into extraordinary results, and is a vital part of multiple political and business communities because of what he achieved with that tenacious intellectual capacity, especially in technology.
Dad died alone and in a strange place in August of 2025. Afraid of being evicted and struggling with undiagnosed issues with memory loss, friends say he'd been showing signs of a heart attack the previous Tuesday, but wouldn't let them help him. You see, Dad wanted a grand finale. He had designs on this phase of his life being a triumphant return to St Maarten, a place that held twenty years of good memories, great fortune, and success. It didn’t end that way. I know it hurt him to be where he was, as he told me so. For a year and some change, he would call me late at night. His short-term memory was slipping away, and the pieces that remained were old stories.
My dad's last request before he died was to be returned to the island that he called his home, as it was where he wanted to be free at last. This fundraiser will support the costs and logistics to spread his ashes according to local legal requirements, provide transportation for those he wanted to be there, and cover whatever costs his friends on the island would take on to support this endeavor.
The funds will provide transportation to the island for his family members stateside who will need to be in attendance (like his grandson, Justice), but also allow for his friends on the island who may need to travel or be supported locally to have what they need. Spreading his ashes legally will require chartering a boat, and those costs will be high. Dad had no life insurance when he died (he cashed it all in to survive), and I’ve incurred significant out-of-pocket costs to handle his end-of-life affairs. From here on out, it is up to his community to help him because, despite his wishes, he didn't have the means to see this through himself. Your assistance will quite literally help my dad get home, but also ensure that his friends on the island can properly celebrate him with a ceremony and party that culturally fits the location he chose. This is dad’s last wish, and as the organizer he asked to work on this campaign, I’ve gathered you for a purpose. I ask you to help us make his journey to St Maarten in late May of 2026 possible. It’s our duty to honor our brother the way he honored us with such warmth, openness, and kindness. Please donate to this campaign and share it with friends so we can get him home.