And so we grieve — have for a week now — over the death of the man we knew as most full of life.

Justin Lamoureux. “Juice.” Put it this way: You know you’ve made it when you are identified by merely one word. And in New London, “Juice” was not orange, tomato, cranberry or even O.J. Simpson. “Juice” is Justin. Justin is Juice. The man who personified Billy Joel’s bartender in “Piano Man.”

Quick with a joke or to light up your smoke.

It’s the joke part that always defined Juice for me. His passing is a week old Saturday. And I’ve found myself both laughing and crying all week at all the Juice-isms that made Friday happy hour at Tony D’s appointment drinking over the years.

“How ya doin’ Juice?” was my set-up question. That’s all he needed. He just waited for others to be within earshot.

“Mikey. Please. Everything hurts,” he’d say. “I feel like my check engine light is on.”

And this is where grieving begins. We’ve been told many times that grief is the price we pay for love. Grief comes with no textbook. And laughter is its only cure.

Then we’re going to be cured eventually. Because laughter was a requirement around him. He was effortlessly funny.

I took to social media this week encouraging others to pay tribute. They all hit ’em into the upper deck:

• Brian Egan: “Juice was one of one. Larger than life, always smiling. I didn’t grow up with him or go to school with him but he made me feel like I did when I saw him.”

• Wesley Collins: “Juice was on our 1991 (youth football) Super Bowl team. This is where his nickname originated. He would actually drink juice boxes before practice, during practice and during games.”

• Natalie D’Angelo: “The guy walking out of the third floor at NLHS with a handle of Captain Morgan.”

• Chris Hallisey: “Our dads were firefighters together. He was probably my first friend.”

• Terry Butler: “There was nothing better than watching the Juice and Peter show at Tony D’s.”

• Justin Robbins: “I moved to Connecticut from Maine in 1994. I met Juice a couple years later through my best friend, Rod Gaynor. We were introduced at the Sundowner. He shook my hand, gave me a hug and said ‘Welcome to New London!’ The very next thing he said to me was, ‘I guess I’m no longer the best looking Justin in town!’ He would always refer to me every time as ‘The good looking Justin.’ “We were friends from that night, and ever since.”

• Rod Gaynor: “His quote to me all the time was, ‘Hey, Butch, can I borrow $5 and a ham sandwich?’”

• Joan Zubres McIntyre Sullivan: “Justin was an usher at the 10:30 Mass at St. Joseph's Church, always at the front of the church, handicap entrance, standing tall and handsome greeting parishioners. I would bring my elderly friend, now deceased, who suffered from dementia, to Mass. It was always a challenge, getting her out of the car, escorting her into the front pew. One Sunday, I had forgotten my purse and car keys in the car so I ran out frantically leaving her alone in the pew. When I returned, there was Juice, sitting next to her holding her hand, chatting and providing comfort. I will never forget his kindness.”

• Don Macrino: “Had a glorious day with Juice at New Hampshire Motor Speedway when he saw his first NASCAR race. I am not sure which was louder, the cars or Juice. A wonderful memory I will cherish of a young man who had the gift of making others happy.”

• Andre Danford: “Not many people have the ability to spread joy the way Juice did. When he was around he would light the room with energy. God gave him a gift and he shared it with all of us.”

Tommie Major: “WHALER.”

• Tony Swift: “If he knew you well, he would greet you with one of the most vicious verses from Wu Tang Clan’s ‘36 Chambers’ — and then in the same sentence tell you ‘don’t forget the capers!’ It was his way of telling you to enjoy life but stay on your toes — and don’t forget the little things that matter. He would stop and talk to you no matter where you were, just to check on you. A truly genuine, real, authentic man’s man. Had his own style and swag that nobody could touch. But when he called you his friend or brother, he would do anything for you. Love you buddy! Until the next lap!”

Finally, a word to his son, Justin, affectionately known as “Juice Box.” We talked about more than your dad’s check engine light on Fridays. His check engine light may have been on, but it wasn’t nearly as bright as his face lighting up talking about you, how great things were going at UConn for you and going to Boston to see the Celtics in the playoffs. Carry on his legacy by simply being kind to everyone you meet. May your dad rest peacefully.

This is the opinion of Day sports columnist Mike DiMauro