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)