In Loving Memory
1999 – 2026 · pilot, brother, son
Our son Caden was killed in a small airplane crash on August 1st. His brother Myles and a close friend were with him. Both survived, both were badly hurt, and both are recovering.
I got 27 years with the best son a man could ask for. He knew I loved him. He found his own fire. He left every room better than he found it. He is watching me right now.
And I am grateful, grateful, grateful that God let me be his dad. I am a very lucky man.
On a Saturday morning in Pocatello, family, friends, and so many whose lives he touched gathered to celebrate Caden — the pilot, the brother, the son who left every room better than he found it. For everyone who couldn’t be in that room, and for everyone who wants to sit with him a while longer, the full service is here.
Trouble playing it here? Watch the service on Vimeo.
Caden West was one of five brothers — Carter, Caden, Myles, Dalton, and Merrick — a family so close their dad blended all five names into one word, Camden, just to hold them in his mind at once. His brothers talked to him every single day. They didn’t just love him; they wanted to be him.
He was an Eagle Scout who finished every project he ever started. He served a mission in Ohio and Indiana, where he taught a younger missionary that making your bed isn’t about the bed — it’s about the discipline to do something mundane first. He knocked five hundred doors one summer and kept knocking after four hundred seventy-eight of them said no. He spent two winters filming the Iditarod across Alaska at forty below zero — no infrastructure, no sleep, no complaints.
He had a seat waiting for him at his father’s table — the business, the title, all of it. He looked his dad in the eye and said, “My dream is a commercial pilot.” Then he went and earned it, scoring 92% on the hardest written exam in general aviation. On August 1, 2026, Caden was in the cockpit — doing the thing he loved, exactly where he belonged.
Turned down a seat at the family table to chase the sky — and scored 92% on the instrument written, a fourteen-point jump.
He finished what he started. Every project completed, every time.
Two winters filming a dog race across Alaska at forty below. If you can film that, you can film anything on earth.
Four brothers called him every day — about missions, college, life. He always answered the phone.
Caden filmed his life the way he lived it — trails, machines, mountains, Alaska. His adventure films live on at his YouTube channel, and they show him exactly as he’d want to be seen: mid-journey.
From his first days in January 1999 to dirt bikes, sand dunes, Alaska halibut, scuba tanks, battleships, and whiteboard business plans — Caden never spectated his own life. Favorites from the family albums, many newly scanned from print.
In the days since August 1st, I’ve been sharing video messages about Caden — about grief, gratitude, and what it means to really listen. They have now reached more than 15 million people. New messages will be added here as they are posted.
What grieving families actually need to hear — and what they don’t. The message that started a conversation with millions.
Watch on FacebookWhy the only thing that matters, in the end, is the people beside you — and why I will never miss another experience with my sons.
Watch on FacebookGratitude and sorrow aren’t enemies. They live in the same house — but I am choosing which one answers the door.
Watch on FacebookCaden is alongside me. Not behind me — right alongside. What 27 years with the best son a man could ask for taught me.
Watch on FacebookThe newest video in the series — shared in the days leading up to Caden’s funeral.
Watch on FacebookMore messages are coming. Follow along on Facebook to be notified when a new one is posted.
“They didn’t just love him — they wanted to be him. That’s the highest compliment a brother can receive.”From his father’s gratitude list
I can choose gratitude or I can choose sorrow. Gratitude and sorrow aren’t enemies — they live in the same house. But I am choosing which one answers the door.
One week before, I asked Caden what he knows. Twenty-seven years of terrain, and that was his answer.
He had a seat at my table — the business, the title, all of it — and he looked me in the eye and said, “My dream is a commercial pilot.” That took more courage than saying yes. I raised a man who found his own fire.
A fourteen-point jump on the hardest written test in general aviation. That’s not a score. That’s a character study. That’s my son.
He built an investment terminal for two hundred dollars, and the first words out of his mouth were: “Minimize risk of your personal capital, Dad.” Twenty-seven years old, and his opening line was about protecting his father.
They were best friends. They didn’t just love him — they wanted to be him. That’s the highest compliment a brother can receive.
Caden died doing the thing he loved. He loved to fly. He was in the cockpit. He was exactly where he belonged.
I got 27 years with the best son a man could ask for. He knew I loved him. He found his own fire. He left every room better than he found it. He is watching me right now. And I am grateful, grateful, grateful that God let me be his dad. I am a very lucky man.Jason West — Caden’s dad
Memories of Caden and messages to our family — from classmates, officers, patients, and friends we have never met. New submissions are added here as they arrive.
Caden and I rode the same bus in middle school, and one thing I remember about him was his love of classic rock. Our bus driver was doing trivia, and one of the questions was about “Highway to Hell” — he was faster than I was and got it right. In seventh grade I asked him to be my valentine, and he was so embarrassed, but I still brought him a giant Hershey’s Kiss. He was such a kind and original soul.
Whenever I felt worried, anxious, anything — I would call my brother. He always answered the phone, and he was always down to just chat. He taught me how to ride a motorcycle, how to snowmobile, which movies “sucked” and which were “masterpieces.” Above all, he showed me what it looked like to chase your dreams. Once he set his mind to something, he was all in. To me, you’ll always be the cool older brother.
Years ago, I responded to a minor plane accident at the Blackfoot airport. Two young boys had witnessed it — Caden and a friend. He directed me to the hangar and told me what injuries the pilot had. In just those few minutes of speaking with him I thought, “What a sweet and respectful kid.” He had a sense of calmness that helped me gather myself. My brief conversation with Caden will be something I’ll always remember.
Noah made his bed every morning for the rest of his mission because Caden told him it’s not about the bed — it’s about the discipline to do something mundane first.
We took the kids riding at the Pink Coral sand dunes. There was a big sand hill we needed to climb, and that’s where I really saw Caden shine — watching him climb that hill, then come down almost as fast as he went up it, I thought: this kid has some real talent. A year later, watching all the kids chase Caden and Kyle through the water crossings, I thought — this is what family is all about: building memories. Caden was always a leader. Any time there was a crazy trail or a natural jump, if he went for it and made it, the rest of the boys were ready to try it. They just wanted to make sure Caden made it first.
Caden organized a huge weekend party at the cabin. When it was time to leave, everyone scattered — I ended up being the only one who stayed with Caden to help clean up. We stripped beds and washed what felt like a thousand towels, and made it out at six that night. I’m fond of that memory because I think it showed him I was genuine. Caden was such a polished character — I’d bet my life savings that if Caden was coming to something, he’d be on time, clean, happy, prepared. But his best quality was selflessness. He was always making sure everyone felt involved, even if it meant giving up his seat so someone else could get in on the action. It’s pretty easy to be friends with someone as selfless as Caden.
