Four Years Ago Today

You speak to him one day, and every thing is fine. In fact, it is even better than fine, because the ugly cancer he's battled for the past year is gone.

Then, two days later, he's gone... forever.

As most know, I rushed to his home as quickly as I could after speaking with his father.
The truth is, which I've told very few, is I honestly believed he "wasn't really dead....he just needed me to come help him." I suppose that's what shock does to you. It clouds reality-garbles your mind.

A day later, while picking up Eddie, his shepherd, from the shelter, I learned he was murdered.

I've lost loved ones. Some died slowly, suffering at times. Others died quickly. Sometimes the slow deaths seem better because you have time to say the things you want to say to the person. The fast deaths, on the other hand, are nice in a way because you know the person didn't suffer very much.

With his death, knowing he was left all alone, in a fetal position at the foot of his bed, bleeding from gunshot wounds, I can only hope he didn't suffer long. I remember standing over that cut-out area of carpet in his room. Then, suddenly, I fell to my knees and just lay there beside the silhouette of his body wailing. He was gone. Death steals so much.

The pain never really goes away. The thoughts of his death come and go without warning. It was just so senseless. They say time heals. I am not certain that's really true. The pain scabs over. Then suddenly, it seems the scab has fallen off, and the pain reemerges; and it's still the same. It is not healed at all. It just hurts.

I search through the few pictures I have just to look at him. I search to find the voice recording I have just to hear his voice.

I can only cope by focusing on all the good memories we had, the laughter, the jokes, the long conversations, even sometimes the tears.

His death was so disruptive. There was no gradual transition or time to adjust. There was just a sudden void-a huge gap.

I remember after his surgery telling him I loved him. His response was, "I'd be a fool if I didn't know that."

Knowing he knew helps. It's a good reminder to realize that tomorrow is guaranteed to no one. Today, in fact, only this moment, is all we have. This awareness helps keep my mind on what is really important, certainly not all the trivial matters. It's a reminder to show and tell people I love them, they matter.

So, as I reflect back on this day four years ago, and on his life, I choose to focus on the good times and memories, and on all the good that was in him.

I also cry. There is release in that, and peace, and comfort.

I celebrate his life.

No regrets.

You matter to me!