Community Celebrates Life Of Beloved 'Hug Machine' Teacher

JAMESPORT, NY — Keri Lynn Stromski, 48, a beloved kindergarten teacher from Jamesport, died on April 6 after a fierce battle with Stage IV metastatic breast cancer, leaving a trail of tears so far and wide that all of Riverhead seemed to be weeping.

Stromski made headlines around the world in March when one of her kindergarten students, whom she'd been instructing virtually, made a "hug machine" along with his family so that his favorite teacher could hug again, something she'd been missing so much. The story went viral and suddenly, the world knew something Riverhead had known all along — Keri Stromski was a bright light of love for the many who blossomed under her tutelage.

And, as her sister Jill Kubetz said at her funeral, she was a cheerleader for her family and all of those lucky enough to have known her love.

In the days since she died, family, friends, and even elected officials have shared not just memories and stories of a life that touched countless others — but have also vowed to be "her village" and keep her advocacy for Stage IV metastatic breast cancer research going strong.

It's simply impossible for one article to capture all the shimmering facets of Stromski's life. She was not only a wife, mother, daughter, sister, and friend to the scores who adored her, she was also a tireless champion for other women in the Stage IV arena, a self-described "unicorn" in the battle, sharing life-saving research tips and sprinkling social media with upbeat TikToks during chemo sessions like so much sunshine — even as recently as three weeks ago.

Stromski was also a forever champion of children, not just her own three, Madison, Morgan, and Quinn — Stromski was devoted to her husband Rob and their kids — but all her students, past and present. She spoke out to ensure the Riverhead Union Free School District received its fair share of state funding— and during the pandemic, she created a Facebook page so that seniors who saw their plans derailed due to the coronavirus could be shown love and appreciation.

On Wednesday, New York State Assemblywoman Jodi Giglio of Riverhead introduced a resolution to honor Stromski.

"It not often that you meet someone whose concern for others remains their guiding principle despite their own extraordinary challenges. Someone who continues to light the way for others even though their own circumstances are dire. ...She challenged Stage IV metastatic breast cancer with her very being," Giglio said.

Whether teaching her young charges in person — taking hours to set up her classroom to make it perfect, then winning tiny hearts as she bounded into the room bedecked in a tutu or a Superwoman outfit — or teaching them remotely with puppets and her trademark bright smile, laughter and songs, her students adored Stromski.

After Stromski was diagnosed with cancer, she became laser-focused on research, on education, on raising awareness in a nation that goes pink in October for Breast Cancer Awareness Month — "Pinktober," a time Stromski dubbed "the worst month of the year."

October, when the "pink-washing" and rah-rah and hoopla for "Save the Ta-Tas," the pink ribbons, balloons, and goodie bags of pink plastic beads, the proliferation of pink cocktails, parties, and empty pink promises had Stromski literally seeing red.

"Pink is not a cure," she said.

Despite the pink haze and hysteria of October, it's research that will make the difference, Stromski said often in her blog, "Faith Over Fear."

"Mammograms do not save lives. They are not a treatment, but a diagnostic tool," Stromski said. "Get your mammograms, and if you have dense breasts, ask for a sonogram. Thermography is also an option."

Research saves lives, she said. And therein, she said, lay her frustration; her mission was to flip the switch on where money raised is allocated, with a much higher percentage in the future dedicated to Stage 4 cancer.

Stromski first found a lump in her breast while in the shower and then made an appointment to see her gynecologist, who felt two more lumps and sent her for testing. She had her breast and lymph nodes biopsied on November 15, 2016.

"My birthday was the 16th and I got the call telling me it was cancer on the 17th. On the 21st of December I was told it was cancer that had metastasized and was terminal — and I started treatment immediately," she said in a previous Patch interview.

The news was devastating, Stromski said.

"We were in shock. I kept saying, 'This isn't my story'. All I could think of was my children and husband and family."

From the first, she embraced not only traditional treatment but other avenues of hope such as fasting, juicing, reflexology, reiki — and later, studying yoga and becoming certified. Friends then introduced her to a Chinese herbalist, whom she affectionately called "Snuffy."

In her blog, Stromski wrote about her fervent mission: "There is so much education that needs to be done about this month and how pink is not a cure . . . We are all well aware that 116 women and men die every day from Stage 4 breast cancer. How about we spend money to cure or make it a chronic disease? Even the football teams get in on the act, with pink jerseys and goat yoga. How about every football player and team saves the money on the pink crap and goats and donates 2 percent to Stage 4 research? Is it that people want to look like they care and are helping — or do they really want to make difference?"

It's critical, Stromski said, to speak the truth. "Words matter," she said. Breasts are "amputated. 'Died from complications from breast cancer' means 'murdered by metastatic breast cancer,'" she said.

After treatment at the Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center, Stromski said she found inspiration and hope close to home with Dr. Alison Stopek at Stony Brook University Hospital.

While her journey was marked by the devastating loss of friends Stromski loved, friends who also had Stage 4, rather than give in to grief and despair, Stromski's resolve grew stronger as she became an even more determined warrior in the fight to secure funding for critical research.

And she always, her friends said, made time to listen, to offer advice, to be a strong support in their lives, no matter what she was facing.

Those friends have come together with stories that echo with the legacy of love Stromski leaves.

At her funeral services, held at St. Isidore Roman Catholic Church in Riverhead, Stromski's sister Jill said, "Today we are here to celebrate Keri. We do so as a family, as a community, to give honor to the profound ways in which she touched the lives of those she knew and those she never met."

Her sister, she said, "understood that all you need to change a person’s life for the better is a moment of your time, your attention, your compassion, and a hug — and we know this because we hugged the entire town of Riverhead over the past two days, and we will continue to."

Stromski, who grew up in Valley Stream before moving to Riverhead and attending SUNY Cortlandt, where she was instrumental in founding a chapter of the Phi Sigma Sigma sorority, found a "hometown" in each of those places, her sister said. "Keri brought her light to all the places she lived — and if she loved you, then you have a cheerleader for life."

Jill said Stromski's voice could always be heard the loudest at her kids' swim meets. When she asked why, Stromski explained to her that she felt swimming was a lonely sport, where the children might feel their chests tighten and hear only muffled sounds.

"Right now, it feels like we are all that lone swimmer, swimming upstream, our chests tight, our lungs heavy, hearing only muffled sounds as we navigate our grief," Jill said. "Madison, Morgan, and Quinn, your mother said she saw how each of you moved with grace and determination, especially when swimming hardest. In those moments when it is the hardest, if you are quiet and just breathe, then steady yourselves and breathe again, you can always hear her, because there, in the bleachers, is your mom. And she is the greatest cheerleader of your lives."

Jason Hefter, a longtime friend of Stromski and her husband Rob, read words written by Rob about the beloved wife he called first his "princess," and then, his "miracle."

The day after their first date, Rob wrote that he told his mother he'd met the woman he would marry. "From that day forward I was going to do whatever I had to do, to make her my wife."

Their saying to one another, he said, was "I love you, no matter what." He and Keri would have celebrated 20 years of marriage on April 27.

His wife, he said, was the "greatest mother to our children, a woman who would do anything, go through anything, to make sure her children were safe, loved, and cared for."

Keri Lynn, he said, "impacted lives. She made people better. She made me better. Keri, I love you, no matter what. Until we meet again, my miracle."

Allan Wicklund, Keri's father, wrote: "Being a parent can be an overwhelming challenge at times. Being a parent of a child such as Keri is a life achievement, above any other. From the moment of birth when we become a parent we are charged with determining the future of this awesome gift we receive. Keri has hundreds of children who certainly were hers and to whom Keri gave everything possible."

He added: "Few people know that Keri was bilingual. Therefore, she often was tasked with the extreme challenge of teaching the most vulnerable of newcomers to her classroom."

His daughter, he said, once had a September class of 28 new students, only three of whom spoke English; the rest spoke Spanish. Within three weeks, they were all on track and eager to come to class every day. "This is what made our Keri so special," he said.

Kerri Fetten Davis remembered a parent/teacher night when her daughter was a student at Aquebogue Elementary School; she thought she'd pop by to say hello to Stromski. "While I waited outside the room I heard Keri explaining in the softest of voices how warm and cozy this coat was going to make her tiny student. I remember back to that night often, especially when it’s cold outside," she said. "Keri really loved to the max."

Another friend, Tracey Kathleen, said her son was scared about starting school, crying and begging her not to leave him every morning. Stromski, she said, gave him the "job" of feeding the gerbils.

"It worked like a charm," she said. "She’d lead him into the classroom to 'be her special helper' and then she’d walk him to his classroom after I had left. She was so calming and sweet. My family loved Keri and we felt so loved by her in return."

Another friend, Traci Kim, added: "Keri was a lifelong friend of mine, from nursery school to high school. I miss you so much, friend."

Mattituck's Trisha Poole, Stromski's former sorority sister who is also battling cancer, remembered her friend: "Keri was and will always be one of the most amazing and special people I’ve ever met and no matter what I tried to do to make her day better — she always made mine better. Keri would remind me that life is for living!"

She added: "Everyone knows cancer is horrible but she stressed anything good should be celebrated, like my last day of radiation when she came to my house with glow sticks and music."

Another time, Stromski gave Poole and her husband a cake. "The cake had crumbs on top but a rainbow center and her text to me was, 'Happiness cake. Because even when life looks crumbly and gray on the surface, if you dig a little deeper, you’ll find sweetness and a rainbow.'"

When Poole told Stromski she had been diagnosed with Stage IV triple negative breast cancer stage 4, she quickly connected her to another woman with TNBC Stage 4, who had the same oncologist and was in a clinical trial and seeing good results. The two connected, and Poole ended up in the last spot of the clinical trial at Memorial Sloan Kettering.

Poole will always remember Stromski doing TikToks with her disco ball at chemo; she even gave her a disco ball of her own, not just to make her day brighter but to spread the "feel good" emotion to nurses, family and friends.

"My last treatment was really rough because I had so many mixed emotions of missing her, and I just cried, but I still hung up my disco ball and knew she was there with me, reminding me to stay positive, keep dancing — and keep fighting," Poole said.

Sarah Conrad said her mother was a "lunch lady" at Aquebogue Elementary School for years. She lived in Mattituck and her mother said she should move to Aquebogue so that her daughter Ava could have "the best kindergarten teacher ever" — and she did.

Kim Benkert taught with Stromski. "I was drawn to her because of her passion for teaching children and her love of learning. She was always looking to continue to grow as an educator and as a human. Despite the obstacles she faced, she always contributed positively to our team and put the joy of students before her own needs. I will always be grateful that God put Keri in my path — I am forever changed by our friendship," she said.

Allyson Matwey of Wading River added: "Losing Keri has been kind of soul-crushing for me. She was such a beautiful person and I was lucky to call her my friend. My tribute to my dear friend Keri will be to continue to advocate for the things I know mattered to her, especially the school budget passing and the children. She was beautiful inside and out. We must all follow her example and be kind to one another. It takes a village, so they say, and we must be her village."

Lisa Jager said her daughter ran cross-country with Maddie Stromski, Keri's daughter. "Keri was an inspiration to everyone on the team; we all loved her."

The community rallied for Stromski, organizing fundraisers. Just before she died, the community gathered in Riverhead for a parade to honor Stromski, but with her deeply rooted dedication to her students, she shifted the focus to spotlight the kids she loves.

Dressed in superhero costumes and carrying signs that read "Stromski Strong", those whose lives she touched echoed a similar message, again and again: "We love Keri."

When asked how she found the sheer energy to juggle a busy life as a mother, wife and kindergarten teacher while having Stage 4 cancer, Stromski told Patch in 2019, "When you're first diagnosed, you feel like, 'What's going on?' The second year, you've learned more. By the third year, you think, 'I'm still here. Maybe I'm still here so I can shine a light on what's going on.'"

And shine a light she did, in a blog and on social media, sharing her experiences with the skills of the kindergarten teacher she was, breaking down medical procedures and terms into words people could understand. Until her last days, she fought to change hospital policy so that those facing critical illness can have a visitor, an advocate; legislation is being crafted to create change due to her efforts.

She was a warrior, a comforter, a life force so strong that many who loved her have described "signs" from Stromski letting them know that her voice, her indomitable spirit, will live forever in their hearts.

And they have all vowed to carry the mantle, to keep up the fight, to echo Stromski's cry: "Stage IV needs more."

A GoFund Me, Keri Stromski Memorial Children's Education Fund, has been organized to benefit the Stromski children's future education; that effort was spearheaded by Marni Siegel Hefter.

To donate, click here.

Donations may also be made to METavivor or to Stony Brook Cancer Research, Dr. Allison Stopeck. Click on "Change" and write "Dr. Allison Stopeck Research."

Keri Lynn Stromski is survived by her husband Rob, her children Madison, Morgan, and Quinn, her parents Allan and Judith Wicklund, and her siblings, Scott Wicklund, Jill Kubetz and Robert Wicklund and their families.