Dear Luke,

When I heard about your death on the radio, I was trying to explain to my friends who you were.

“He wasn’t someone who had gone to a big-name journalism school and wanted to cover a big political war for his career, for the feather he could put in his cap when he returned to the States,” I explained.

I wanted to dispel any stereotypes about you as the type of war journalist we see in the movies.

“He was part of the community in Yemen,” I explained to my friends. “He taught English, and learned Arabic and was a journalist, as well. He didn’t just go there to cover the war, he lived there. He was part of the community.” 

“He was a…,” and then I found the right word for you, “an authentic person.”

My friends already understood this about you, however. They could see it in your smile in the photos of you in the newspapers after your death.

Luke, you were the only person in college who served me tea when I came over to your room for a chat, which often tended towards philosophy, travel and literature.

I knew you were the right person to invite to a tiny ribs joint with me one night because I knew that you were the type of person always interested in the larger world around you, and that you’d be game to explore the small town outside our campus bubble.  To this day, we can all still hear your full-bellied laugh, which was both shy and embracing, and see your sweet, open smile. You were so warm, Luke; you made so many people feel happy with your warmth. 

My last correspondence with you was after we left college. You wrote me that you had found a job working on a fishing boat in Alaska. I was in San Diego editing a magazine. We were both so eager to begin our new adventures after college.  As your death sinks in, I feel a strange mingling of regret and gratitude. Regret that we no longer have you with us; sorrow for your family; despair at your killing. Anger that your life was cut short. And, yet, gratitude as I think about the times we spent together, as I think about all the people who knew you as a friend and how lucky we all were. I don’t want to forget you with the passing of time. I hope to keep your light burning inside of me, Luke; your authenticity, your compassion for others, your curiosity for the world outside yourself, your utter enjoyment of others. I would like for your light to burn endlessly inside my heart because it is a beautiful light.

Rest in peace, Luke Somers. Thank you for everything you gave us.

Love,

Adriane Tillman

Beloit graduate 2005