Posted on Facebook by his brother, Morgan Lehman:

Today has been a reasonable day as far as days go. I want to take a moment and thank everyone who took the time to read and respond to my post about my brother Mitch. Reading your comments and feeling your support made this weekend bearable and is helping this week be a healing week. Thank you all so very very much. Words can't adequately express how much it has meant to me.

L Mitchell Lehman (yes his first name was Lincoln) was so many things to so many people. Friend, healer, confidante, mentor, brother, lover, foil, curmudgeon, pedantic anarchist, thinker, tinkerer, philosopher, historian, Cliff Claven, intuitive muse and so much more. Our childhood was peppered with the standard older brother/younger brother dichotomy with each of us taking it in turn to torment and antagonize the other. From headlocks and full nelsons, to making him wear different shoes to my birthday party (I hated his nasty sandals and hobbit feet at the time). This pattern held up until our mom died Christmas Day 1980. After a brief stay with a wonderful aunt and uncle Jeanie and Peter Hamatani, we went to court so Mitch could get custody of me setting California court history with an 18 year old getting custody of a 13 year old sibling. The next 5 years had us settled into an odd de taunt with parent/child brother/brother modalities duking it out from time to time.

What I take away from this time is that my odd, crazy, don't-give-2-shits-what-anyone-else-thinks-of-me brother arranged his life to help me have a semi-normal teenager existence. This was mostly unsuccessful as he was far from normal and I was also not the straight arrow kid (attending the renaissance faire in Novato from 12-17 does that) although I certainly tried to be at times.

He used to come to my soccer practices dressed in his John Bender trench coat, scarf, chain mail links and boots with his wooden practice katana and do forms until I was done. Although I was mortified at the time, I soon learned that this behavior bought me some "street cred" as people who might have messed with me thought he was fuck-nuts-crazy and maybe I wouldn't be a good target. That moved "mortified" to the "highly embarrassed" column.

Whatever else he was or did, he danced to his own beat. An internal rhythm only he could hear or decipher. I admire him for that and this will be the Mitch I remember. All the bad can slip away as far as I'm concerned. Now I won't be sending his name to the Saints Nominating committee, however I will try to have a smile when I think of him as often as I can.

I do hope he found peace. I'm on my way to my peace. Thank you for reading.

Cheers for now...