Thirty-six years ago Rene and Jim gave us a gift. Heaven sent, latecomer to our family, they named him Chris. He was born in May of 1965, one month before I graduated from high school. The following year our family said good-bye to College Point, and with one year old Chris in tow, we headed for the hills--Dix Hills. Not long after, in the fall of 1968, I left New York. Chris was three.

I missed his early years along with the bonding that forms from shared sibling experience. We did have one experience in common: we both took our first driving tests on dad's '59 Cadillac. I was supposed to take the test on Susan's red rambler, but as was so often the case, it was not running. Needless to say, I failed. Of course, when Chris's time came at the age of three, he had no problem climbing into the caddy parked at the top of the drive. Pulling the gearshift out of park--Jim never used the emergency brake--he drove the thing backwards down the driveway. Bouncing as it hit the street of the cul de sac, the silver behemoth reversed direction, hit the curb, and came to an abrupt stop in our neighbor's front yard. Upon discovering him, it was noted that Chris was standing behind the steering wheel ready for his next adventure. A year or so later, just home from school, across the living room, Chris shot me square in the forehead with a dart gun. He might have thought I was a stranger. So there was our Chris, even in his earliest years, giving us a glimmer of the person he was becoming...full of life and a sense of adventure. Already, he had courage and talent.

As a boy, and considering that he was Rene's kid, he showed an abiding faith in the love of his Creator. He was always asking Mom if they could bring the gifts down the aisle to the priest during Mass. Chris was a giver. As a young man in search of a goal he fell hard for hockey. Chris was good too, eventually becoming captain of the Stony Brook Patriots in his junior and senior years. The other night Jeff told me that Chris took no prisoners on the ice. Chris was a competitor. Today, hockey is a major sport played in the family, although as everyone knows, young Evan is working hard to bring baseball back.

As a young man in search of a life, Chris made his greatest discovery in Carolyn. Beautiful to the eye, Chris understood her true beauty came from her heart. The day before his wedding, meeting many of his friends, I was struck by the depth of friendship they shared. Chris's friends loved him.

In recent years, Chris and I spent time together in Manhattan. The last time we were together, I was a bad influence. We had dinner--steak and potatoes--no vegetable--and of course, wine. I kept him out late, so we spent the night in the Millennium Hotel. Next morning, we said goodbye and Chris walked across the street to work. Chris was a hugger. And he was a character. He was a charmer who could lure the most cautious into his practical jokes. And after the trap was sprung, he loved reenacting his schemes. He made us cry with laughter. He made himself cry with laughter. And all the while, that mischievous smile.

Chris had character. At his core, he was caring, compassionate, and a peacemaker. Chris looked for the best in all of us. And we marveled at the way he loved Carolyn, and Annie, and Chris, both of his families and his friends. Life lived within him. Rarest of men, Chris was the epitome of God's idea of human goodness and love. How then, across the span of a moment, does so much love leave this world? Can anything be said?

Left with a numbness as hard as winter, feeling only the inexpressible ache of hearts broken; we are laid low. We weep; our tears disappearing in the air rise up and mingle together as our common prayer for your comfort and peace.

We do not despair, for we are blessed by having known you. In our hearts we will keep you. In goodness and laughter, we will feel your presence. Through the eyes of your children we will see you.

Chris, in the face of our grief, this we promise you: to affirm our belief that love is stronger than evil; to affirm our trust that hope is stronger than despair; and to affirm our faith in God's ultimate design.

And Chris, we will ever love, cherish, and protect the gifts you leave in our keeping... Carolyn, and Annie, and Chris. And because Chris was a hugger, I ask you all to stand and give each other a hug.