I've spent a lot of time with Lance.  We grew up together, lived in the same home, ate the same food, listened to the same music, learned to drive the same car.  I don't think I know anybody like the way I know Lance.  I don't think I could explain how we speak the same language, or what exactly that language is.  I understand him in ways I don't really understand.  I think Lance has taught me more about myself and life than anything or anyone else ever could have.
We haven't lived together since 2004, until this fall semester.  He showed up a week late for classes having just signed up and plopped on the couch with little more than a computer, a pair of sandals and an eager alacrity to learn something.  I'm a little disappointed that the closest and longest periods being together only occurred sporadically in the summer and during the holidays and it took us six years to find a city that we both could fit in.  Weird it was Morehead.
We had fun this semester.  We argued.  We played music.  We went to class.  We talked about philosophy, girls, how to change one's life, et cetera.

My life was changed forever this semester, before this accident ever occurred.  I learned a lot about myself and the way one perceives his experience.  Of most importance, I learned that I have a lot more to learn.  As always, he opened my eyes to things, not necessarily on purpose, but just by being a prime specimen to observe.  He was always the one flying over me leaving me in a state of bewilderment and sometimes, honest confusion.
I think this picture depicts our relationship somehow.  He's the fool in the wetsuit and I'm the one with blue hair.

-brock