Thursday, April 05, 2007


Gunny Boy,

Saturday it will be six weeks since you've been gone. Your memory is fading. Even so, I talk to you every day. I speak your language. I promise not to use any words I learned from Wordsmith because I know you hated it. "It's superficial and boring."

We have interviews all day tomorrow to find the person to fill your shoes. Their feet will never be big enough. And they can't heal our hearts. They can't hold us like you could. They can't tell us, "don't fret none," and look us in the eye as you wipe the tears away. They can't squeeze us so tight and never let go.

I'm sorry I took you for granted. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I know it hurt you. I'm sorry I didn't try to be closer to you, but you had your life, and I had mine. I don't think you had any regrets either. I think you and I always knew we'd love each other forever, if nothing else, because we knew all of each other's secrets. And you died with mine.

There will never again be anyone like you in our lives. There will never be another smiling hero.

Are you still hanging out?