Grief

I think about you all the time.

Part of me wonders if part of my drive is rooted in my memories of you. I remember how things used to be.

When you left I was in a place where I couldn’t really grieve you. I didn’t know how to push forward through those emotions, they were too much for me to process. My son was just starting to remember your name. He was just getting to know you. Both of you had finally put your walls down, and I dreamt of the days ahead.

Back then, I’d recall the early days of our relationship. It was odd, considering I was your older sister’s boyfriend, and I was trying to build trust with you. I think once you figured out I wasn’t going anywhere, and we had similar interests, you sort of let me in.

Those days before we had our firstborn were hilarious. We started gaming together. We did some family trips together. You’d bum it up on our couch, we’d hangout, and it was great. I loved having you around. I loved the fact that we were starting to become friends.

I remember one night I was getting gas at a little joint just down from MSU across from Steakhouse Philly (best in Lansing, no they don’t pay me, yes I miss their food) by a man handing out his mixtapes. First of all, I was strapped, it was dark out, and it isn’t the best part of town.

We almost made the news.

Second, dude was awesome. I had a long drive ahead of me and I actually listened to the entire CD. He wasn’t bad. However, it was also, in a way, sort of bad in a funny way.

Fast forward to you being in my front seat for another trip with us, and I had realized I totally forgot about the mixtape.

“Oh shit dude, I forgot, check this out.”

I pulled out the CD and told you the story about how I got it. We laughed, and I asked if you wanted to listen to it. You said you did.

I’ll never forget how hard we laughed. We listened to each song, cracked our jokes, acknowledged when it was decent, and it’s just such a wholesome memory in my mind.

At some point I started to look at you like a brother. You’d vent to me about stuff in you are dealing with. The ice, if it was there by the time you were gone, had gotten so thin. I was a broken human being, I had made a lot of mistakes, but I was trying to be a positive male role model in your life.

I was far from perfect.

You became family when you became my son’s uncle.

Such dreams I had for the three of us. I pictured me luring you out to camp with my son and I, maybe some friends and family, and you reluctantly coming out of your shell. You two had finally begun putting down the wall. Those days were hard and we were struggling as a young family in East Lansing.

At some point our oldest began remembering your name. He’d ask about you. He was a shy kid, and in a way, so were you. But he worked that wall down. We all saw it. He’d get so excited to see you.

When you were done, those dreams died a violent death. I catch myself wondering what could have been. I look at my son and wonder how much he remembers of you.

Despite how bad it hurts, I cannot imagine how hard your departure was on your mother, your father, your grandma, and your sister. A piece of this hurt is nothing compared to the mountain they’ve surely got.

I’m not sure the hurt will ever stop. You were eighteen. There was so much life ahead of you.

My boy loved you. And I know you loved my boy.

I miss you bubba. I’m doing my best. I know you hated it when I’d get drunk. I know you wanted me to stop drinking and I didn’t slay that dragon until you were gone.

I’m going to keep my promise. Every day I’m working hard to be the man you wanted me to be. I’m going to live this life to the fullest for you and everybody else we’ve lost. Quitting isn’t an option.

If only I could access your meme vault.

Or maybe not.

Yeah, maybe not.

Grief sucks. It’s raw. Sometimes it feels like it is too much.

Some of it feels like you can’t grasp how much it truly hurts. The pain is just so vast.

You can get through it.

Live a life they’d want you to live.