Jerome, a good friend

This is about my good friend Jerome. I just found out two days ago he passed away, at the too young age of 59. It hit me like a freight train.
One of the most full- of- life people I ever met is no longer inhabiting our world.
Not that I kept him in my life, and that is one reason I am mourning. I am sad not just for the end of his life but for the friendship I didn't keep. Jerome and I were camp friends. I haven't spoken to him since I was a counselor at YMCA Camp Talcott in Huguenott, N.Y. more than 34 years ago.
Some people believe in fate and a new term that has come to my attention, synchronicity, and if you do, than, maybe I do too. I am a Facebook user, and two days ago had just typed in Jerome's name, trying to track him down all these years later, to no avail, when I decided to look up another old friend, Kathy Reutlinger. Kathy is on Facebook, and in her very first responding hello Facebook email to me she said Jerome had just passed away.
I was just days too late from saying hello and good bye to my old friend.
This is Jerome the way I remember him: Funny, irreverent, radical, rebellious, the greatest sense of humor and the embodiment of an inner-city cool that I from a Connecticut suburb could never hope to possess. Jerome, from Chicago, was "all that."
If there was ever a guy you wanted to hang out with at camp it was Jerome. He always knew where the fun was going to be: He was the party.
But it was more than that. He was so accomplished. He was this great athlete; he was in amazing physical shape, he was an awesome swimmer and basketball player. He was the camp waterfront director, which is a very powerful position at a summer camp. Jerome was powerful. But I'll get back to that.
As a counselor, we used to have these Lost Man Drills, LMDs. We used to have comb the water looking for a potentially missing camper, and the strongest swimmers had to do these long and repetitive dives in the deep end. Jerome was always one of those swimmers, who could hold his breath for extremely long periods of time and cover large areas under water before surfacing.
Jerome also embodied camp spirit. "I'm a little teapot short and stout," he would start off, in front of an assembled camp body, "then give it to me baby and let it all hang out !" and he would dance with these ridiculous moves and campers of all ages would squeal with delighted laughter.
You always wanted to be on Jerome's good side because he was good friends with Pete Moffat, the camp director in my time at camp. This gave Jerome a kind of immunity. He could break rules that others were not allowed to break. He could stay up later, drink beer, and engage in certain other indiscretions. I spent many a night playing spades with Spider, Jerome and Pat, drinking beer and smoking. Most of these were forbidden, which made them that much more fun for a 16-year-old.
Rules at camp were many and strict, but did not pertain to Jerome. He flouted them with ease. Yet at the same time he excelled at all aspects of his job. Jerome was this huge, larger than life personality. He exuded vitality, virility, humor and confidence.
Yet, his friends tell me, he wasn't able to overcome certain self-destructive behaviors. Substance abuse took its toll on his kidneys. Oh Jerome, you had so much to give and to live.
I will always remember you in the prime of your life.
Good bye my friend.