Today is Peter's funeral.
It's a beautiful spring day, sunny high 60's. Alexander came home last night, as did many of Peter's friends.
I meet Shari and her husband Stew, along with Janice, and we all go together. Alexander meets up with some friends and goes separately. The church is magnificent, and by the time the service starts, it is full.
People have come from all over. Scores of Peter's friends show up. They fly in from New Orleans. They drive up from Boston. They take buses from Ithaca, Princeton and Philly. One even flies in from a study abroad in Israel. Several buses from Colby, including most of the rugby team arrive. Ex-students and faculty from Horace Mann come, as well as elementary school friends from St. Bernard's. Sports friends from the numerous teams Peter played on throughout his life. Friends from the Vineyard. Family friends. Relatives. I wonder if Peter knew how many lives he touched?
The hugs hello are all accompanied by a shake of the head, and words of sorrow. There is no joy in celebrating a 22 year-old's life, when that 22 year old is gone.The reverend leading the service acknowledges Peter's suicide. He offers no reason, as there isn't one.
Three friends speak, along with a Classics Professor from Colby where Peter was to receive a departmental award for academic excellence. Peter was unaware that he would be bestowed this honor. Peter's girlfriend speaks with poise, humor and warmth. Two more friends speak as well. They all recount stories of Peter's competitiveness, loyalty, and intelligence. He accumulated friends wherever he was, and then shared those friends often. One boy said in his speech, "If I were on a desert island for the rest of my life, Peter would be the one person I'd want with me. I know we'd never run out of things to say." Peter was the kind of person people wanted to be around. Peter's brother and father also speak. There are no dry eyes.
Peter accomplished much in 22 years. But even so, 22 years is just too short to call a lifetime.
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