Formal, I know, but it’s time again. I hope you’re sitting because this is another long one. I miss you.
Occasionally I come across things that make me wonder if your spirit lives on, or if you’re trying to send me a message to let me know you’re okay.
I saw a license plate while driving home in the rain recently whose lettering reminded me of an inside joke we had about that dumb bully in our neighborhood growing up, the one who misspelled “rainbow”.
Or this week, when I found a flying beetle-y bug in my favorite section of my bedroom, and it didn’t fly away when I gestured toward it. I didn’t have the heart to kill it. What if it was you?
I was perusing the three Facebook groups that were made in the wake of your death earlier tonight. Rumor has it you were electrocuted at age five, and it caused you to have an abnormally high voice. Less creative was the rumor that you died in your bedroom closet of a drug overdose. I forget sometimes how vicious thirteen-year-olds’ imaginations can be.
At peak novelty, the most popular of those groups had over 1,000 members. Now, their membership count is down to sixteen, six, and five. Funny how bandwagons work. (more…)
Today marks exactly eight-and-a-half years since the day you died, just over a week before your 22nd birthday. I’ve been thinking about you a lot these past couple of weeks. Google says you lived about 75 days shy of 5,000, or about 7.1 million minutes. Each year since you left is a smidge easier than the last, but the loss of you will always ache. I’ve cried for days writing this letter. (more…)