San Francisco Chronicle - (Sunday)
‘I just wanted Cole to know we all care’
School, teammates help pitcher Kitchen navigate brother’s fentanyl death
Cole Kitchen remembers the details all too clearly.
It was a Monday in late September 2022, early in the fall quarter. Kitchen and his Santa Clara baseball teammates had just finished their morning weightlifting session. Shortly after 7 a.m., Kitchen’s dad called to tell him his younger brother, Cade, was in the hospital and Cole needed to come home. Now.
Kitchen quickly booked a flight at San Jose Mineta International Airport and was on his way to Southern California within two hours. John Kitchen picked up Cole and then stopped at UCLA to get his sister, Marlee. They met their mom, Risa, at the hospital.
Four days later, Cade Kitchen died of fentanyl poisoning. He was 17.
Cole Kitchen also remembers the aftermath, how his Santa Clara community helped him navigate the grief. Kitchen’s parents encouraged him to return to college soon after Cade’s death on Sept. 30. One week later, on Oct. 7, Cole turned 22.
He didn’t really want to do anything for his birthday, given the circumstances. So his fellow seniors on the baseball team, a group of nine or 10 friends, came over with a cake. They sat with him, chatted, made sure he didn’t spend his birthday alone.
“It was nice to have that support, my teammates showing they cared,” Cole said. “They have been a huge support. A big reason I came back for my fifth year was the people.”
Kitchen, a Broncos pitcher and graduate student, was recognized Friday as a recipient of the CalHOPE Courage Award. It honors student-athletes at California colleges and universities who have “overcome the stress, anxiety and mental trauma associated with personal hardships and adversity.”
Kitchen received the award from former Oakland Athletics pitcher Dave Stewart, a member of the Governor’s Advisory Council on Physical Fitness and Mental Well-Being, before Santa Clara’s game against Loyola Marymount.
Kitchen doesn’t feel like he did anything to deserve such recognition. He talked instead about his dad’s efforts to educate teenagers on the dangers of fentanyl, in speeches at Los Angeles-area schools.
Fentanyl is a synthetic opioid up to 50 times stronger than heroin and 100 times stronger than morphine, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. More than 150 people nationally die every day from overdoses related to synthetic opioids such as fentanyl, per the agency.
In San Francisco alone, according to Chronicle tracking posted in March, a record 810 people died of accidental drug overdoses last year. That followed annual totals of 649, 642 and 726 the previous three years — a trend largely driven by the proliferation of fentanyl, the Chronicle reported.
“It’s a pandemic, by all means,” John Kitchen said.
The effects spread beyond the victims, tormenting their loved ones. In Cole Kitchen’s case, he coped with his trauma by leaning on his Santa Clara family — including an unexpected assist from athletic director Renee Baumgartner.
Baumgartner felt compelled to reach out after Kitchen lost his brother. Thirty-six years earlier, Baumgartner was a college golfer at USC. She returned home to Portland, Ore., in the summer of 1986, between her junior and senior years.
She and her younger sister, Missy, were at a local course. Missy left for volleyball practice and Renee decided to stay at the course longer. Renee was the last person to see Missy alive — no more than 15 minutes later, she was involved in a head-on car collision and died instantly. She was 16.
Baumgartner couldn’t help but see the parallels between what she endured, all those years ago, and what Kitchen faced. They talked less than two weeks after Cade’s death.
“I just wanted Cole to know we all care,” Baumgartner said. “I told him he had to be his authentic self, that he’d be sad and angry at times. I said, ‘You and your family will get through this, but there will always be a missing piece in your heart. You will never forget. His spirit lives on.’
“I think he was appreciative and pleasantly surprised I shared the story, like, ‘Oh, wow, she’s gone through this.’ ”
Kitchen acknowledged the impact of his conversation with Baumgartner, saying the talk helped him feel like he wasn’t alone. He often revisited that theme in a recent Chronicle interview, from the solace his teammates provided to his regular
nd sessions with Tyler Webster, a clinical psychologist and associate athletic director at Santa Clara.
Kitchen sat on a couch in the school’s athletic building during the interview, occasionally tugging at his fingers. He was open and earnest about the challenges of moving past Cade’s death.
“I still don’t feel like I’m fully past it,” he said softly. “Right now, I feel a little lightheaded and spinning a little bit just thinking about it. So it’s definitely still fresh a year and a half in.”
Cade was 41⁄2 years younger than Cole, enough of an age difference for big brother to occasionally push around little brother during their comfortable childhood in the Woodland Hills neighborhood of Los Angeles. They played several sports but bonded over baseball, though Cade stopped playing in high school.
Cole has good memories of playing with Cade and Marlee in their backyard pool. More recently, the family got a trampoline during COVID — Cole spent more time than usual at home during his freshman and sophomore years of college — and the brothers hung out there or went to their high school to take swings against the pitching machine.
Cade was introverted, his sister said, and seldom wanted to go out or join friends at parties. The pandemic didn’t help, but his family still thought he was on a good path before he died at the start of his senior year in high school.
“He was not a drug addict; that’s not his back story,” John Kitchen said. “He was a normal kid who made a tragic mistake.”
Risa Kitchen has attended support groups for parents who lost kids to fentanyl and suicide. She also talked to friends with college-age kids, some of whom told their moms they use fentanyl strips to test their drugs. Risa didn’t find that comforting.
John delivers more blunt advice in his high school presentations alongside Pete Tulagan, a longtime Los Angeles police officer. Tulagan handles the science side, explaining why fentanyl is dangerous, and then John Kitchen provides the emotional element in sharing his story about Cade.
He’s often struck by the kids who approach him afterward to respectfully offer their condolences.
“If I can get just one kid to say ‘no’ at a party, then it’s a win,” John said. “I’m kind of in-themoment when I’m telling my story. But I’ve talked to Peter later, and he says, ‘John, you have no idea the impact you’re making on these kids. It’s pin-drop kind of stuff.’ ”
Cole Kitchen explored starting a campus chapter of a national group trying to curb fentanyl overdoses, but it didn’t pan out. Marlee did launch a small support group at UCLA called Good Grief, to help other students cope with the loss of a loved one.
Cole struggled to process his emotions after Cade died. He didn’t cry at first, until his mom had him touch Cade’s hand. That made the whole thing “more real,” he said.
He soon regained his footing at Santa Clara, the school Risa described as “a great environment” for Cole to move forward. Broncos head coach Rusty Filter harps on team chemistry, on the bond between players, and Cole embraced the message.
Santa Clara baseball became his family away from family, as his dad put it. Cole put together a strong 2023 season, only months after losing Cade, posting team highs in starts (16) and innings pitched (811⁄3) in leading the Broncos to their first WCC tournament title and first NCAA regional appearance in 26 years.
This season has been bumpier, with the team slipping below .500 and Kitchen pitching mostly out of the bullpen. But his story stretches deeper: He earned his undergraduate degree in bioengineering last year and now is in a master’s program in engineering management. Kitchen expects to finish in the fall quarter.
He’s not entirely sure where his career will take him, but he plans to take Cade’s memory with him. The experience made him believe in the power of collaboration more than ever.
“I think it’s helped me more directly realize the importance of community, and that support structure with baseball and the team,” Cole said. “It really does take a village. As difficult as it can be to share your feelings, it helps to know you’re not alone.”