Yesterday, our family suffered a great loss. The youngest son of a family friend tragically passed away in a swimming accident. He was just 24, but had already lived a full and adventurous life. Although he grew up in a different state and we didn't get to see him very often, I thought of him almost as a distant older brother. Every year at Easter, he and his brother would join us in our egg hunt. After he and his family moved away, we only saw him once or twice a year-- at Christmas or Easter. Once, when I was seven or eight years old, we visited his new house in Vermont. We went to a play, and I rode with him and his brother on the way there. They told me that every time you passed a graveyard, you had to hold your breath until it was out of sight or the dead people would come after you. I think I believed that story until I was eleven or twelve years old. I remember he liked to collect camels figurines when he was young, and I saw his collection once. I wish I had gotten to know him better as I got older, because I so enjoyed hearing about his exploits and adventures in college and beyond. I last saw him in 2009 at the joyful occasion of his graduation from college. I hope that as his family and friends mourn the loss of him in this life, his gentle soul will continue to live on and comfort them until they meet again.
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