"Do you have dogs?"
I'm pretty sure those were the first words I ever really spoke to you. Confused, you answered something about that being a random question. I remember laughing, warning you that that wasn't nearly the most random thing you'd ever hear me say. An
d besides, I was talking about the two random dogs on your deck.
And now that you're gone, I can't remember the last time we spoke. I'd been thinking late last week about how distant we'd grown and considered reaching out to see if we could bridge the gap.
But I didn't, and now I just have to live with that.
And I am so angry. You had so much life left to live. My heart breaks for your wife, your kids, your mother. For all of us that loved you and are struggling to adjust to a world without you. I'm so sad you'll never get to meet my daughter. She'd have loved you and I know you'd have gotten a kick out of her.
I hate that I didn't take the time to have one last conversation. I hate that all I'm left with are a flood of memories that should be funny, but my pain and rage casts a long shadow.
I hope you didn't even know you had passed until you woke up on the other side. I hope there really is another side, and that forever isn't really forever. I hope you know that I still cared.
I hope that someday, given enough time, Ill be able to simply appreciate having you in my life as long as I did. I was so fortunate to know you.
Rest easy, my friend.
Goodbye.
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