I met a man at his funeral today.

He was twenty years old, actually. A brother of a friend. He drowned himself in Lake Michigan, off the coast of Chicago a few weeks ago. I never met him but went to support her.

How do you weep for someone you've never known? Through the tears of others, I guess. I witnessed his life in short order through testimonies, a slide show. Through a letter his high school teacher wrote him, quoting Le Petit Prince, and how they tamed each other He was charismatic- a thespian- caring, good with children. A child himself. People compared him to Peter Pan, more at home in the imaginative games of make-believe than adult conversation. I can relate. Diagnosed as bi-polar at age 18 or 19, his increasing swings shed light on previous behavior. The family was very open about his illness, his father asking those feeling guilt to let it go and to seek therapy. He had many doctors, counselors, meds. Had been to a camp for bipolar, but in the end, the disease was too strong.

I saw my friend, his sister, only briefly. Brought a grieving package of chocolates and coated nuts. The receiving line was so long and moving ever slower, I had papers to write and a final presentation due tomorrow and it was a two hour ride home. Was the bad friend that ducked out early, ever aware of the precious moments lost with someone I care about. I can only hope to make it up to her later with a visit to her new home in Steamboat. I wish I had met him, Trevor Boehm. I think I would have been charmed, wowed by his energy and compassion. Wherever you are now, Trevor, know I have respect for you here at the end, in these last two hours I spent learning of your life. I wish you all the best.