It’s taken me some time to gather my thoughts about my dear friend Tim Weckerly, who passed away on Sunday, June 15th. Part of me has been avoiding it—because putting it into words makes his passing feel real. While gathering photos of Tim, I found myself endlessly searching for more, not wanting to believe I had enough. I realize now that no number of pictures will ever feel like “enough.” We could have both lived forever, and it still wouldn’t have been enough time together.

From the moment I met Tim in 2001, I knew he was someone special. He had a way of squeezing every last drop of joy out of life. His playful humor, his big heart, and his full presence in every moment were truly unmatched. He was my boss at a small flower shop in Boulder, Colorado—Art of the Flower, up on the Hill—but he quickly became so much more. He became a dear friend. Tim and his husband Bill were my first close friends who weren’t my age, and their friendship was a true gift that I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life.

A few memories shine especially bright when I think of Tim. One is my 21st birthday. Tim and Bill went all out to make it unforgettable. They rented a limo and took me from Boulder to Denver for a night out at the gay bars. We played Jeopardy at JR’s—our team was called “Girly Men”—hosted by 9News’ Kirk Montgomery, one of the few out and proud reporters in the country at the time. We went to a drag show, we danced, and there was lots of champagne. It was absolutely epic—the kind of celebration that makes you feel completely seen, celebrated, and loved. My mom used to say how comforted she felt knowing I had “two dads” in Boulder, which always made me laugh—because Tim and Bill weren’t like dads to me. They were beloved friends, the kind you tell everything to.

Our smiles only show maybe 1/20th of how fun this birthday party was.

And I did. I could talk to Tim about anything—cute boys, heartbreak, big fears, life itself. He was a constant, joyful light during my college years, always offering love, laughter, and zero judgment. I honestly can’t imagine that time in my life without him.

Another memory that never fails to make me smile: I was delivering flowers near Baseline one day and didn’t fully put the van in park. I had just rung the doorbell when, in the reflection of the glass, I saw the van rolling backward down the steep hill—and crashing into the car behind it. I came back to the shop, completely mortified, and told Tim what had happened. He didn’t even blink. He just said, “That’s why we have insurance!” Another time, I got a red-light ticket in that same van—you know, the kind where they mail you a photo of the driver mid-blunder. Tim handed me the picture the next time I came in, and we all cracked up at my accidental “glamour shot.” That was Tim—gracious, funny, generous, and never one to make a big deal out of a mistake.

Valentine’s Day at the shop was always a blast, no matter how hectic it got or how many last-minute guys came in wanting a dozen roses with baby’s breath. Tim had this gift for creating connection and joy even in the busiest, most chaotic moments. And he and Bill threw the most magical Christmas parties. I remember some at the Chautauqua Dining Hall beneath the Flatiron Mountains, just a short walk from their house. The food, the warmth, the conversation—it was all so full of love and laughter. I’ll never forget how they kept inviting me to their gatherings long after I’d stopped working at the shop. Once you were part of Tim’s world, you were family—and you stayed that way. I have fond memories of Tim and Bill visiting me in San Francisco and Portland in more recent years.

Tim embodied love, humor, joy, and deep connection. And those values didn’t come out of nowhere—he had known profound loss. He spoke often and lovingly of his mom and his brother Daniel. I believe he lived with such intensity, generosity, and heart because he truly understood how fragile and precious life is.

“The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.”

— Dr. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

Even though I’m heartbroken that I won’t get to see him or hug him again, I find comfort in knowing that Tim didn’t waste a single moment. He lived with his whole heart—beautifully, joyfully, and without holding back. May we all strive to live with even a fraction of the kindness, spirit, and light that Tim brought into the world every single day. I’ll always be grateful for what Tim taught me about the beauty of life—and how joy and humor are always available to us, no matter what else is going on.