I loved Aaron before he was born. His great adventure – and that's how Aaron saw life, as an adventure – began in the heartland of Iowa and took him around the world. While he was still in my womb we walked country roads and I talked to him. I gave him to God. His whole life I've prayed for God to provide love and protection, friends and mentors when we could not, or when distance separated us. How generously God has provided.

Sometimes I would talk to my friends in Atlanta and they would ask if I had seen Aaron lately. I always felt it was an odd question. Like asking someone if they had looked in the mirror lately. I never felt that I was apart from Aaron.

Hello all. I’m both saddened and honored to be here with you to say a few words about my dear friend, Aaron. I’ve spent the past week reliving my time with him, sharing favorite memories with friends.

When I look around here at everyone I know through Aaron, I see so clearly the shape and the shade of his approach to life. Certainly his circle of friends includes a diverse and eclectic group, but what was wonderful about Aaron was the way that he brought these people of varied and different interests and tastes together. He made it work.

I come to celebrate the complete life of Aaron. My name is Ian Grow and I met the Train on a summer day in 1999. It was a day that typified our experiences over the next six years. This too-brief partnership started on the back deck in Mill Valley accompanied by Bob Dylan’s Nashville Skyline (on vinyl) and a nice bottle of red.

I woke this morning to a stream of life meaningless.  The skies were blue but I could not see the sun. My body ached, although I am healthy.  I shivered though it was not cold. Voices sounded hollow, flowers not fragrant and music flat.  My soul was filled with grief and rage.

And then I purposefully thought of your fluorescent being.  The way you laughed. The way you spoke. The way you walked into a room with your divine rosy cheeks and at once brought serenity to all.

The conditions of a solitary bird are five:
The first, that it flies to the highest point;
the second, that it does not suffer for company, not even of its own kind;
the third, that it aims its beak to the skies;

I sat down with Becky and her youngest son, Nathan Barnard, to remember this fine young man's life. You might think it would be a rough moment. It was; but it wasn't. I'll get to that directly.