I met with Tova Keblish on a warm summer afternoon in Eastport, in the small park on Seatuck Avenue where her son Gavin’s spirit lingers like the fragrance of the lavender swaying gently in the breeze. It’s a quiet, soothing spot where Gavin once rode his BMX bike as a kid. There’s a blue bench with a plaque and a purple ribbon in memory of those lost to fentanyl poisoning. It’s not the place Tova first imagined for her son’s memorial. But as she told me her story, I realized it was exactly where it was meant to be.
“He died before we knew what fentanyl really was,” Tova said softly. Gavin was just 23 and an only child, a motocross racer and counselor for the children of Little Flower. He was in Montauk, out with friends, when someone handed him a pill—just one. “He didn’t know,” she said. “He trusted someone, and it took his life.”
Initially, she wanted to place the memorial where he died. “I wanted it to be in Montauk,” she said, “where he took his last breath, sitting against a utility pole.” The town of East Hampton removed the pole. It was a sign, she felt, from Gavin himself. “He was telling me, ‘It’s okay, Mom. It’s not supposed to be there.’”
And so she came home. Friends Theresa and John Gator offered her a lot, and she accepted. “It’s close. I can visit it. His friends can visit. And it’s where he lived, where he laughed, where he loved.”
Tova poured herself into the space. She planted crepe myrtle, cat’s pajamas, hydrangeas, mums, and lavender. Fifth Avenue Paving donated bricks. A neighbor mows the grass. And others, quietly and generously, have helped keep the park blooming. “It’s exactly how I imagined it,” she said. “A wonderful tribute to my only son.”
Just as the memorial park in Eastport is a place for reflection and healing, Gavin’s Treasures—the shop Tova opened in her son’s memory—is a sanctuary of love, meaning, and connection on Main Street in Center Moriches. Filled with handmade gifts and curated works by local artists, the store is as much a tribute to Gavin’s generous spirit as it is a refuge for the grieving, the curious, and the hopeful. Each piece tells a story, every display is purposeful, and at the heart of it all is Tova, offering comfort and community to those who walk through the door. Like the bench in the park, the shop is a space where Gavin’s presence can still be felt—and where the love he gave continues to grow.
Sitting on the bench together, she pointed to the plaque: “Gavin’s Bench is dedicated to everyone who would like to talk to a loved one either here or there. Gavin listened to many—the world is missing a larger-than-life person.”
You feel him here, in the stillness, in the care woven into every planted flower and perfectly placed stone. It’s a place for remembering, for healing, and for understanding just how devastating—and random—the fentanyl crisis can be.
And yet, as much as it is born of tragedy, Gavin’s memorial—like Gavin’s Treasures- is filled with love. Just like the park. Just like the bench. Just like Gavin.