A Year of Stories (Collection Three)

Funerals Are For The Living

Draft Four

It's at times like this that we should remember that a funeral is for the living, not the dead.

The dead don't need us fawning over their corpses, over their dust and bones. The dead don't need us to remember them.

Everything they were, all of the bright, glorious parts of themselves worth remembering, are already written for all to see, etched indelibly into our world, stitched into every life they touched, and every spark of genius they kindled.

Armond Nyquist, my brother, my friend, does not need us to remember him.

But we do, we do remember him today, because by doing so we give ourselves a chance to reflect on a true model of what it means to live fully.

Armond was, like me, born in a world where the only things given freely were hopes and dreams, but he was able to take this rough material and transform into something truly beautiful.

He built a company that today brings water to places that other, smaller souls would have called deserts. It brings power to light the lives of those who for too long lived in darkness.

He did this all, not for the profits, though profits he found, but because he truly believed that with a little luck, and more than any one man's share of hard work, that anyone could change the world.

Lest you think that business was my brother's only passion, you need look only to his three gorgeous children – Grace, Avery and Jessica, or to his brilliant wife Madeline, to know that he was so much more than his work.

The Foundation that he and Maddy built, that shares both of their names, has and will for many years to come, be instrumental in providing a quality, free education for children like us – kids with more talent than resources – more moxie than connections.

I am so proud that he saw it fit to leave me as his successor, to trust me with the responsibility of carrying on his great work, shoulder to shoulder with Madeline.

Armond was taken from this world too soon, by a coward's bullet – the culmination of weeks of inhuman, brutal torture – by a monster who believed that he could snuff out everything my brother was, everything he created, with a single act of senseless destruction.

What this creature failed to realize, failed to understand, is that we are so much more than this flesh, that we are more than just dust and bones. He killed a man, yes, but the idea of that man – the best parts of him – will live on and grow through the efforts of all those he has left behind.

So I bring this to a close by imploring each of you not to shed tears over the dead, but instead to lift arms for him, to go out and live by Armond's example – to see yourself reflected in his work, and to make this world a better, brighter place.

It's what he would have wanted for us all, and what he would done for us if he were in our place.

Draft Note: What a load of horse piss, but I think this one works. I probably should show Armond, it'll put his mind at ease to know he'll be better in death, than he ever was still breathing. I guess I owe him that much, I'm still his brother...