I was at the funeral. One by one the sacred sanctuary filled with students, colleagues, family members and friends. So many young people gathered together in dim sadness. In between the beautiful songs I wondered, what would this young man say now?
What would he say if he saw all of these people of different races, genders and economic classes gathered in this public place? What would he say if he heard the passionate alliterations to the profound differences he had made in people’s lives? How would he feel seeing his mother and father crushed by grief and loss or hearing one parent say that he was her sons’ “best friend?” We can only imagine.
This, they said, was a “sensitive” peaceful boy who didn’t quite fit in – a non-athlete. And yet there were representatives of the Boy Scouts standing there. There were representatives of the High School standing there. There were representatives of the Greenwich Police Dept., Brunswick, the Boys & Girls Club. There was even an unmistakable cadre of the Greenwich Football team members adorned in bright red jerseys standing there.
All were standing in different places. But all were saying the same thing.
“We are here.”
Too bad he didn’t see that before. Too bad he didn’t hear that before. Too bad he didn’t feel that before. Or maybe, just maybe he might still be here.