Below is an edited version of remarks delivered by Trevor Huffman, Natalia Duque-Wilckens’ fiancé, during a memorial symposium on May 1, 2026, at NC State. Duque-Wilckens, an assistant professor of biological sciences, passed away on Nov. 12, 2025.
I first came to know Natalia’s innocent spirit and curiosity through photographs of her as a child: her puffy cheeks, round stomach, shining, intense eyes, dirty fingers and genuine smile. I saw her loving parents, Kucky and Juan Carlos, smiling as they held their little Natalia in their arms in Payahuinte, where we were married in spirit this January, at their family summer cottages.
I saw pictures of her sister, Karina, and her brother, Matias, looking at her the way younger siblings do — wide-eyed and adoring. I saw proud photographs of her grandparents, Manfred and Karin, watching their beautiful Duque-Wilckens family legacy grow. I eventually met all of these once-strangers from the photographs after we visited her hometown in Chile year after year, and I am so proud and honored to call them my family now, too.
Natalia was the oldest of three. She had a wild, fierce heart and an insatiable need to understand how and why things worked. Even as a child, she saw the world with a deeper sensitivity, a deeper care, a deeper love. One of my favorite stories is about the day she found a dead cat in the forest on her walk to elementary school. Instead of turning and running — as I certainly would have done — she calmly placed the rigor mortis-stiffened cat in her backpack, carried it into school, and tucked it beneath her desk.
Like it was no big deal. Like, I’m just here trying to figure out how to save the next cat.
As you can imagine, this did not go over well with her strict German schoolteachers. I can almost hear them now: “Scheiße, Natalia! Scheiße!”
She was put in detention — or maybe it was suspension; I can’t remember — but I never got over the sheer audacity of picking up a dead cat and bringing it to school. I can picture Natalia looking at me sideways as I tell this story, but I know she would still giggle, smile widely and graciously indulge me, just as she always did when I tried to make her laugh.
The point is, she always wanted to do her part to save the world, no matter how small that part might seem. She wanted to give everything — man or woman, child, dog or cat, plant, flower, or tree, wildebeest, stinkbug or red-breasted meadowlark — a better, happier, healthier life.
Natalia dreamed of a society, a culture, a humanity that cared for one another more deeply. To her, love was a verb, expressed through compassionate action in the smallest daily ways.
And she lived her life as that kind of verb.
She believed every living thing could have a richer, more meaningful experience if only we could muster the courage to care — to act. This was Natalia at her core. She lived a robust, fully packed life of action, love and compassion, and I witnessed that every day.
How lucky I was — and am — to have known her, to have seen her, and to have been part of her family.
Natalia’s life, and later her scientific career, became devoted to diminishing suffering through understanding. She wanted to know how her creative mind and scientific rigor could lead to discoveries that would improve life for all living things.
Her mice needed better, more sociable, three-dimensional habitats. Her friends and family needed more of her art. Our home needed more plants and more color. Her office always smelled of fresh eucalyptus, peppermint and orange spice. Every time I visited her there, she was furiously typing, meeting with a smiling student, or gulping down another grape C4 energy drink. It was no wonder she accomplished more before sunrise than I did in an entire day.
But this wasn’t merely discipline or habit. Natalia was endlessly fascinated by the questions science asked of her. Some mornings, before sunrise, I’d crack open an eye and find her scrolling through the latest research on mast cells, neuroscience, or the ways environmental contaminants affect the immune system and brain.
Her work on how mast cells affect behavior was just one branch of the exploration that defined the Natalia Duque-Wilckens Lab. She never stopped asking how and why things fit together.
When we bought our first home, she picked out new chairs, cabinets and armoires. Our house quickly looked like an IKEA warehouse. And I can tell you this: I was not the one leading the charge when it came to reading instructions and assembling furniture.
In fact, as my family will gladly tell you, I do not do well with directions.
Even when I tried to bluff my way through with, “I got this,” Natalia would simply say, “Move over, Bolo. Hand me the Allen wrench.”
Things moved much faster with her in charge.
Her determination fascinated me. Her effort was off the charts. Her brilliance, beauty and empathy made me a better man.
At one point, she told me never to call her “baby.” So she invented a new term: Bolo.
I said, “Bolo? What does Bolo even mean?”
And she said, “It means whatever ‘baby’ doesn’t.”
Within a week, Bolo had become our word — a symbol of our love, our honesty and our shared weirdness. We each had our own styles of authenticity, but I loved hers most of all.
Natalia loved to walk, bike, run, lift, paint, sing, dance, cook, play with our cats, travel home to Chile, see her friends, and throw dance parties. She loved to laugh — so hard that tears streamed down her cheeks, so hard that she rolled off the couch, so hard that she snorted oat milk through her nose.
Natalia dreamed of a society, a culture, a humanity that cared for one another more deeply. To her, love was a verb, expressed through compassionate action in the smallest daily ways.
She loved making a home feel like home. And at the end of each day, she loved to sleep with her pinky finger wrapped around mine, 17 pillows piled over her head to block out all sound and light.
This woman deserved more sleep than anyone I have ever known.
Natalia loved her cats as much as she loved our big dreams. She adopted cats like some people collect books. And I was lucky to support, witness and share in those dreams.
At times, I felt like her coach, offering my best sports clichés whenever science became overwhelming: “Trust the process. Stay positive. Stay ready. You can’t control the outcome — just play the next play.”
I’m not sure it helped much. But if I did one thing well, it was trying to make my Bolo laugh, relax and enjoy the moment.
Still, her life, work and love were never a game to me. They were the most meaningful gifts I have ever been given: to be alive beside her, to create with her, to choose with her, to build something meaningful together.
And many of the dreams we envisioned will never happen here on Earth. We planned to marry in Chile once she earned tenure and secured her grant. We dreamed of spending summers there, becoming even more deeply woven into the growing Duque-Wilckens family. She would have treasured watching her nieces and nephews grow. She would have loved returning to Michigan to see my family, and to watch everyone there grow as well.
To be surrounded by family, and to witness the next generation, would have been one of her greatest joys.
Thank you to everyone who has reached out, supported and loved me and our families through this. Where would I be without my brothers and my mom?
And still, grief remains. It rests in my bones. It mixes with my cells, my neurons, my soul. It is the immeasurable cost of the priceless love, home and family we built together.
What do we do without Natalia’s huge heart, her strong bones, her curious eyes, her long toes, her hands in the soil, her beautiful mind? What do we do without someone so unique, compassionate and empathetic?
I do not know your answer. I only know mine: I will do my best to honor her memory in everything she taught me about living.
Her life was the very best kind of verb.
Watch: Natalia Duque-Wilckens Memorial Symposium
She is in my thoughts, my meditations, my writing, and in every act of love I attempt.
And she is not entirely gone.
Bolo is dancing with us in a different way now. She has found answers to questions she spent her life asking. She has gone through a million doors, and she will go through a million more.
The day she died, five red-breasted blackbirds came to see me. They sat just feet away, staring at me. A cardinal joined me for coffee in the sunroom every morning until I left for Michigan.
Love does not die. It changes form.
And now, I believe she shows us her love in everything we are willing to notice, to seek, and to become.
I thank the universe for her love. I thank the universe for introducing us, for tangling our fishing lines in the Lansing water, and for giving us the time to fall in love.
Grief is the daily practice of remembering her love without being consumed by the pain of having nowhere physical left to place it.
Falling in love with Natalia was the best decision I ever made.
She accepted not only the weirdest parts of me, but also the broken parts of me that still needed healing. And heal them, we did.
Natalia was, by far, the best teammate I have ever had.
She taught me how to give more. She believed in the best parts of me. She believed in that small inner voice that whispers, You can do more.
Natalia believed that the smallest acts of gratitude, kindness, thoughtfulness, love and compassion mattered. She lived that belief with her lab, her students, her family and my family.
She was the purest kind of love, the purest kind of human, the purest soul I have ever encountered on this great, round ball of cosmic dust and rock floating through space.
When I moved into her apartment in Bath, Michigan, six months after meeting AJ Robinson, Ken Moon, and her Michigan State lab, I remember thinking: Scientists are way cooler than pro athletes.
And when we came to NC State, I felt exactly the same way.
Natalia proposed to me in a white-and-turquoise RV near Wilmington Beach. She was brave. She always followed her heart. She was wonderfully funky and beautifully eccentric. It was as if our souls had always known each other; we simply had to clear away the older parts of ourselves to recognize it.
Natalia asked questions most people never think to ask.
“Bolo,” she once said, “Why do you insist on overusing the dryer — a high-energy appliance — instead of hang-drying your clothes?”
I replied, “Because I don’t like crispy underwear, Bolo.”
And now, somehow, I find myself hang-drying clothes in Michigan.
After Natalia passed, I found hundreds of grocery notes on her iPhone. They would read:
Avocados.
Dark chocolate for Bolo.
IPA.
Tofu.
Double dark chocolate ice cream for Bolo.
Onions.
And then, nestled between food items, a profound observation:
Science is not a fact; it’s an endless question. I believe in the quiet intelligence of all living systems.
Then:
Mangos.
Apples.
Almond peanut butter.
Soft toilet paper for Bolo.
Natalia taught me that what feels difficult at first can become easy. That the long road is often the most meaningful and beautiful.
I know Natalia would be so proud — smiling at the thought of future scientists continuing to unfold the mysteries she held so dear.
As of now, we have raised more than $65,000 for the Natalia Duque-Wilckens Memorial Endowment, and we intend to raise much more. My friend Ash created a website where people can purchase prints of Natalia’s artwork, with proceeds going directly to NC State and the endowment, helping future generations of scientists.
I am deeply grateful for everyone’s support, generosity and love in helping us build this legacy. I know Natalia would be so proud — smiling at the thought of future scientists continuing to unfold the mysteries she held so dear.
There are so many people to thank, and I will surely miss some.
First, Christa Baker, for all she has done for us — for me, for Natalia. We love you.
Thank you to the organizing committee: John Meitzen, Kurt, and Gretchen. Carolyn and Tony. Bruce. Christa’s husband, Kasey. My cousins Amber, Seth, Krys, and John. Dr. Bob. My pickleball crew.
To all my friends and family in Michigan and beyond.
To everyone who spoke today in her honor.
To her lab: Jared, Taylor, Yang, Hannahlee, Lauren, Dave Dorris, Chris Halweg, Yang Tang, Emma Droste, Emily Gaeta, Eleanor Brademan, Lauren Malinowski, Logan Rackowitz, and Emma Norris.
And finally, to Natalia’s family, who are watching from Chile with heavy hearts, but I hope proud hearts as well.
I am so proud of you, Natalia.
My dear. My Bolo.
The cats and I will never stop loving you. Please keep finding ways to guide us, to visit us and to say hello.
If you would like to support Natalia’s endowment or purchase her artwork, please feel free to follow me on Instagram at @dearnatalia41, where I continue to share Natalia’s 41 years of life, along with our story of grief, love, and living — with our two cats, her art, her creativity, and with Rumi and Marie.
Thank you all for being here.
