Can you even read this? Where are you? I imagine its kind of like another dimension, not a destination. I think you're still here, you can see us, hear us. Its just your body that's gone.
I have so many questions.
Was it worth it? Do you feel better? Are you still you? Was this your plan all along or was it a spur of the moment kind of thing. You didn't write me back on Thursday. Did you finish that poem you were telling me about?
Can you see how much you are loved now? Did we tell you enough when you were here? Did we tell you how smart you
Did you change your mind just as it was too late? Did it hurt?
Do you think its possible to become dehydrated from crying? Am I an asshole for writing this? Am I too sad? Not sad enough?
I miss you today.
Was there anything I could have done differently that would have kept you here? Did you see the group conversation on Facebook yesterday with all of our old gang? I'm grateful that that happened.
I'm grateful to you for a lot of things. Your ability to crack me up with your disgusting, offensive jokes. You
Your listening skills.
For opening my eyes to the fact that depression and addiction doesn't have a single face. There are no characteristics. You were funny. You laughed. You were in great shape and athletic. You were a great friend and wouldn't hurt a mouse. You prayed. You loved your family. You cared about your appearance.
For New years. Staying up and chatting and keeping me company.
For walking out of your house when you saw me last September and hugging me.
For that night with your brothers Jeep. I promise, I'll never tell him how it really got beat up.
For introducing me to Root beer and Rum. So good.
For always messaging me. Texting me. Opening up to me with your deepest, darkest secrets. For sharing your journal with me and your poems. Did I tell you how talented you
For being honest when I knew it was hard for you. I'm glad you trusted me enough to show me the worst.
I hope wherever you are you feel relieved. I don't know anyone who struggled like you did. I hope nobody is saying anything bad about you.
How's your pop handling this?
I didn't give you that drawing you wanted. You didn't get the tattoo.
Did I tell you about the dream I had of you as an old man, terrorizing the retirement home in a custom wheel-chair that you built to reach speeds of over 100km/hour with those shitty, ugly matte rims you wanted to put on your car?
I wanted you to get married, have kids. I wanted you to do the public speaking like we talked about, to finish your books like we talked about.
I wanted you to finally be happy. I hope that wherever you are now, you are.
I'll miss you forever...