Saturday, May 3, 2014

Just a Note (like old times)

I originally wrote this letter to Mat, my friend who was murdered, several years ago, but given that yesterday marked the 12th year since his death, I thought I would revamp it a bit and post it here.


I miss you.

I think I gave up on simply "getting over" that fact a long time ago. Time is said to heal our wounds, and in many ways, I suppose that is true even it if is a bit of a cliche. It has been 12 years since your death, and things are, admittedly, much easier to deal with than they used to be, but I'm far from over it.  12 years later, and you're on my mind here and there for a myriad of reasons. This time of year it is especially so...birthdays, holidays, and even random moments in my day, you're there. Any mention of soccer, you. I can't hear a RHCP song (especially Under the Bridge) without you popping into my head or P.O.T.U.S.A., for that matter (millions of peaches, peaches for me. millions of peaches, peaches for never gave me back that CD, fucker). Forget wrestling--can't watch it anymore because most of the time I did that with you (but, admittedly, I also grew out of that one). I can't hear a joke about phone boning without flashing a knowing grin and traveling back in time to late nights filled with desire and your voice. 

For this reason or that, you show up even now, 12 years after your death. I guess what I mean to say is that I carry you in my heart. Always have. And, thinking of everything that I've experienced in these 12 years...everything that has changed about the person I was versus the person I am always makes me a little melancholy knowing I will never know what kind of man you would be today.

I'm sorry you didn't get the chance to walk into a bar and buy a drink--legally. I'm sorry you never had the chance to grow out of things, to know the joy that comes from having a child (even an unexpected one) and hearing your little ones' first 'wuv you' directed your way or to burst with pride at their accomplishments as they grow older, to feel the awesome reward of getting your degree after busting your ass for it....there's so many things you still had left to do. I hate so much that your mom lost her husband and her child so unexpectedly just a few years apart, and I wish like hell you could have been the cool uncle to your nephews. You would have been, I'm sure. I wish life hadn't been ripped away from you so young, that you didn't have to die alone in that apartment, and I still hold out hope that you weren't aware of what was happening to you. If you had to go, let it have been as peaceful as possible.

I also, like anybody does in these instances, regret the many things I never said, realizing now, much too late, how fleeting life can be...

12 years later and there are times your memory still makes me smirk, often devilishly. There are times I miss you to the point of tears, and sometimes in the quiet of the night you appear in dreams so vivid I swear I could reach out and touch your face...

I love you.

always have


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