You'll have to forgive the punctuation and sentence structure..we can't all be English majors. Sam used to make fun of me all the time.

I moved away from Minnesota nine years ago after finishing college as a way to start a new path and find my identity as an adult. Admittedly, I tried to leave a lot of emotions about Sam behind because even a year after his death I couldn’t really handle thinking about him without feeling cheated, hurt, angry or lost. I was 22 and there was no justice or reconciliation to be had with losing my first love.
The funny thing about emotions is that they eventually catch up with you so when I stopped being hurt and angry I tried to think about why I felt so happy spending time with Sam.
Sam was magnetic and the days we spent together, although far too short in number, were effortless. He was a bright guy, witty, playful and competitive. He was compassionate and always tried to build up the self esteem of those around him careful not to make anyone feel small or slow. He had a presence that was larger than life but didn’t demand attention. He described himself “corny” because he found peace in the quiet of nature. He called himself “geeky” because he was proud to love learning and he was proud to love life.
When I think of Sam now I remember his laugh or I’ll think of the look he would get on his face just after he’s said something clever.
The reality is that at 22 years of age with Sam planning to student teach in Japan I don’t know where our paths would have taken us. Part of the tragedy of loss lies in the unknown future we anticipated with such great hope.
I have learned not to accept the standard answers we give because we are uncomfortable with grief. NOT everything happens for a reason. Sometimes bad things do happen to good people. These are real aspects of life. There is one exception and that is given enough time all wounds heal-- at least in part.
I am proud to have been involved in the life of such an extraordinary person.

(written by Johanne Bates)

Sam was always someone older than me; even older than my older brother. He was a star student and Knowledge-bowl member of my mother’s, a guide for another crew on my first Voyageur’s session, and happily, my guide on the Kazan River. He was always someone to esteem, to look up to BUT I always talked to him like a friend, a peer, like an equal. The last time I talked to him, he grabbed the phone from Steve, mid-conversation mind you, and we delved into an old fashion bit of back and forth banter…That was ten years ago, and I never could have guessed that casual chatter – the details of which I have forgotten – would be our last exchange. Now I’m 28, and to look at pictures of Sam when he was 22, to see him as someone younger than I am now is difficult. Because he’ll always be the older, reassuring voice that said I could keep driving for a few more hours when I told him I thought I had Highway hypnosis, or promised me there was no way we could run out of gas even though the red Empty light was shining…When I had stomach pains and some digestive clogging on the Kazan and couldn’t eat, he handed me a suppository and laughed…Sam’s smile, his endless assurance and relaxed confidence remain something I will always be in awe of, and I am happy to say I see these qualities, to my continual amazement, joy (and sometimes annoyance) in his brother, my good friend, Steve.
Writing any more would be excessive. It is enough to say I am grateful to have known Sam for the brief time I did. But I am haunted by the conversations we never had, the experiences we could have shared: but these are selfish thoughts I should know better than to indulge. Remembering Sam reminds me to be grateful for all the relationships I have and have had.

(this came from Peter Marshall, yesterday)

same dead sam

young man,

a certain piece

of metal in the lung.

of smile on the lip,

of drive across town.

takes his last breath,

one hallway from the first.

nothing will be the same,

nothing can be the same,

nothing is the same.

same as sam.

dead.

in june, the leaves are still new.

in june, the hose water runs cold.

the sky, it's late afternoon,

plants a cloud over the park.

the moon comes up later.

the neighbors watch,

then bring hotdish.

and i think.

push lungs out

real big

knock whole place down.

(i wrote this poem, sometime later, and finished it in utah.

and i give credit to scott sell, for the ending)