Paying respects, expressing condolences, extending compassion, remembering, sharing sympathy, commiserating.

All phrases we hear when someone dies. All phrases that cannot truly contain the pain, the sorrow and the anguish felt at the passing of a loved one.

Our community lost one of its own Thursday, a young man born and raised here, a young man with the waters of the Chetco River running in his veins, the sands of southern Oregon beaches clinging between his toes and the light of Banana Belt summers beaming out of the twinkle of his eyes.

Luke Smith.

I’m not insinuating that Luke was perfect. He wasn’t. He was a teenager. He wasn’t everyone’s best friend. He had just finished his senior year of high school. He wasn’t without his faults but all of those thing pale when we examine what he was. 

He was a son. He was a best friend – and those who counted him friend were lucky to do so. He was a student. He was a competitor. 

And, most importantly, he was one of ours. 

Just 18 years old he was found dead in his family home; a life cut short. 

Luke left behind those who should always go before: parents, grandparents, older siblings, teachers – a sports editor and photographer.

I don’t remember the first time I met Luke, just like I don’t remember a lot of things with specific dates, times and places, but I do remember thinking, “there goes a happy kid.”

I didn’t know him in the sense that most of his family and friends knew him. I knew him as an athlete. A young man with a ready smile. A bright mind always ready with a quote for any story I was writing.

Luke had a perpetual smile on his face. He always seemed happy and had a “whatever will be, will be,” type attitude.

No words can express the sympathy I feel for Luke’s parents, siblings and extended family.

They all knew him longer and better than I and I wouldn’t presume to class my sense of loss with theirs, but I hope they know their son and brother will be missed by me and by many.

I’ve been to my share of services for those who have gone on before. I’ve mourned, I’ve laughed, I’ve cried. I recognize the family’s pain and hope that it will be eased through the love and support that our community can give.

I’ve always proclaimed that it takes a village to raise a child, and I think that Luke was well raised by our village. 

While I try to keep my column free of my religious beliefs, I cannot help but profess my belief in an afterlife, an eternity wherein Luke will be reunited with his family. 

In the words of a famous poet:

There is another sky,

Ever serene and fair,

And there is another sunshine,

Though it be darkness there;

Never mind faded forests, Austin,

Never mind silent fields -

Here is a little forest,

Whose leaf is ever green;

Here is a brighter garden,

Where not a frost has been;

In its unfading flowers

I hear the bright bee hum:

Prithee, my brother,

Into my garden come!

– Emily Dickinson