Last week marked the third anniversary of your death. And frankly, I’m still pissed off at you for choosing to leave. Sometimes I understand but mostly I’m just mad. Someday I hope that anger fades to forgiveness, but for now I still want to yell at you… only you’re not here to listen.
I still remember the first time I saw you, it was 1998 and you were interviewing for a chemist job. Your hair was way too long, your suit didn’t fit and you rode a bullet bike. I was positive we’d never be friends. And in a way we weren’t… we were family. I admired you more than I was ever willing to admit. I never told you how much you meant to me. I’m not so great with emotions: anger.. yes, tender shit, no. And now you’re gone and I wish I’d been able to tell you how much I cared about you. You and Alex are the older brothers I never had. Both of you loving me in your own weird ways.
Today, while driving home, I passed your street and was overwhelmed with emotion. I came home and cried, and then I threw up. I could almost hear you laughing at me for “having a girl stomach.” Remember how you always teased me for getting sick so easily, and then when I was really sick you were there for me every day. You called me every other day to check up on me. I never told you this, but I saw you driving past my house a couple times a week just to check in and make sure everything looked okay. Tim, you were always there for me. I hope someday I can forgive myself for not being there when you needed a friend.
I don’t know if there’s life after death, but wherever you are I hope you’re happy, and I hope there is beer. I’m going to drink a Corona for you. And I don’t even like Corona.