To Steve
You were never my friend, but really my brother's friend. I can't remember when you started hanging out, but my first memory of you is when you went to the mall with my brother in the Christmas season. He was given $20 to buy presents for the family, and instead you not only convinced him to buy one bracelet for his girlfriend (6th grade girlfriend), but also lent him the money that he needed. My mom was furious.
You always spent your money like you didn't need to save it for anything, like you knew you wouldn't have a mortgage to pay or a retirement to save for. What 20 year old does? Whether it was your exotic fish, or the latest HD TV, you had all of the material things around you that you wanted.
Out of all the friends my brother could have picked to come on our yearly vacations to Allegheny with us, you were always the one chosen. Year after year you sat at our campfire, slept on the cots, went on hikes, and joined our family. You put up with my singing, bad jokes, and the name Stew.
I know that my brother wasn't as close to you in your adulthood as in your childhood, but you were the kind of blood friends. The friend that you had forever, and you grew up wanting different things and circling in different crowds, but you had that early friendship bond. You weren't friends because you grew up on the same block; you chose to be friends because of your love of street hockey, madden, and jokes. Although your adult needs and wants were different, you were always fantastic friends.
I'll always remember that when Josh broke his leg, even though you were scared, you helped. You went to your house, and called my mom. The line was busy so you rode your bike and carefully explained that Josh was hurt, and he needed help.
I haven't seen you or spoken to you since Josh graduated from high school apart from friending you on social networking sites and maybe an AIM conversation or two.
The last jokes I remember talking to you about was your conversion project with the lesbian. I don't even remember what the outcome was. I hope that you found romantic love somewhere in your life.
I know that you had a good heart, a good soul, and a terrible disease that attacked at the height of your possibility. When most kids were going to college, you were figuring out how to combat the tumors inside of you that the doctors explained would never go away.
You refused to accept a terminal diagnosis. You promised to be the exception to the rule. You searched for second and third opinions and developed a treatment plan. Your body became bloated and your muscles weak. I know Josh didn't mind when you asked him to help change the water in your exotic fish tank because you couldn't lift the water. It's such a silly thing to think about, but I wonder who's going to take care of your fish now.
I wish that Josh got to spend that one final day with you before you went into the hospital for the last time. I guess we don't always get a goodbye like on made-for-TV-movies. Maybe it's better that your last memories together were just a common "see you later."
I hope that you weren't in pain mentally or physically in your last waking moments. I hope that you are at peace.
You always spent your money like you didn't need to save it for anything, like you knew you wouldn't have a mortgage to pay or a retirement to save for. What 20 year old does? Whether it was your exotic fish, or the latest HD TV, you had all of the material things around you that you wanted.
Out of all the friends my brother could have picked to come on our yearly vacations to Allegheny with us, you were always the one chosen. Year after year you sat at our campfire, slept on the cots, went on hikes, and joined our family. You put up with my singing, bad jokes, and the name Stew.
I know that my brother wasn't as close to you in your adulthood as in your childhood, but you were the kind of blood friends. The friend that you had forever, and you grew up wanting different things and circling in different crowds, but you had that early friendship bond. You weren't friends because you grew up on the same block; you chose to be friends because of your love of street hockey, madden, and jokes. Although your adult needs and wants were different, you were always fantastic friends.
I'll always remember that when Josh broke his leg, even though you were scared, you helped. You went to your house, and called my mom. The line was busy so you rode your bike and carefully explained that Josh was hurt, and he needed help.
I haven't seen you or spoken to you since Josh graduated from high school apart from friending you on social networking sites and maybe an AIM conversation or two.
The last jokes I remember talking to you about was your conversion project with the lesbian. I don't even remember what the outcome was. I hope that you found romantic love somewhere in your life.
I know that you had a good heart, a good soul, and a terrible disease that attacked at the height of your possibility. When most kids were going to college, you were figuring out how to combat the tumors inside of you that the doctors explained would never go away.
You refused to accept a terminal diagnosis. You promised to be the exception to the rule. You searched for second and third opinions and developed a treatment plan. Your body became bloated and your muscles weak. I know Josh didn't mind when you asked him to help change the water in your exotic fish tank because you couldn't lift the water. It's such a silly thing to think about, but I wonder who's going to take care of your fish now.
I wish that Josh got to spend that one final day with you before you went into the hospital for the last time. I guess we don't always get a goodbye like on made-for-TV-movies. Maybe it's better that your last memories together were just a common "see you later."
I hope that you weren't in pain mentally or physically in your last waking moments. I hope that you are at peace.