To a friend now gone
Dear Justin,
It just now occurred to me that it was shortly after your death that I stopped using online chat programs. Why? Because you were pretty much the only real life friend with whom I could chat into the wee hours of the morning. I continued using that program for a little while longer, but found myself easily bored and lonely. You were my real-life/online friend.
You drove me to Amptgard ever since that day I showed up on a bike with deflated wheels, completely exhausted from the two-mile bike ride. That was also the same day I almost nicked you with my staff. But you were too skilled. And instead of being a pompous ass about it, or teasing me in a boyish way because you thought I was just another cute girl, you encouraged me to keep trying. Even though it was just a silly thing and completely unimportant, your lighthearted encouragement meant a lot to me.
You talked to me about things that most people figured I was too young to understand. You trusted me with your relationship problems, and even let me know when you felt a little spiritually out-of-sync. You were also very quiet. *laughs* You worked for my father for a while. He said that you walked very quietly. There were times you'd be in the room, and he'd be working on a project completely unaware of your presence, then you'd say something and cause him to do something absolutely klutzy (as usual) and injure himself. He'd yell at you, "Damn it, Justin! Why don't you stomp up the stairs from now on so I know you're there?"
I remember how you had strung trolls up by the neck to dangle from the blades of your ceiling fan. I also remember all the computer crap that completely covered your top bunk. And your bedroom floor littered with unsorted CDs. Those which had been sorted filled a couple huge shelves. Honestly, I have no idea how you had the time to organize all those. You showed me ever-so excitedly all of the neat computer projects you were working on, even though at the time I didn't understand much about programming. Not once did you think that because I was a girl and in high school, I wouldn't get it. All of our other friends in that circle probably would've never bothered. They would've just tried to get into my pants (and you know it). You were always respectful toward me.
And you were so passionate. I remember the computer stuff, sort of faintly. But what I really remember is how spiritual you were. We'd talk about all sorts of crazy things that I'm sure my father certainly wouldn't have appreciated, being that he's such a conservative Christian. Maybe it's a good thing that you never made the connection that Rick was my dad until after you stopped working at the computer store. And that I never knew. I probably would've teased you.
Justin, I wish you were here so I could talk to you right now. You'd tell me that death isn't really so bad. That I shouldn't mourn for the people who are gone. Of course, we all know your feelings about that sort of thing, which is why we had a wake instead of a funeral. You wouldn't have had it any other way. And you were a genius. I think that, someday, I'd prefer that my family have a wake rather than a funeral when I leave this world.
And though I'm comfortable with death -- in fact, there are times I've even flirted with death -- well, I'm worried for my friends. I know that many of them are still so uncomfortable with the idea of this life ending. I also know that many of them cling to you and other loved ones much more than I do. I wish that you could come back for just a moment to tell them that it is okay. That they don't need to cling so tightly to the memories. It's nice to occasionally reminisce, but we do have lives to live. Don't you agree? Don't you think it's time for us to all hold you in our hearts and continue to pursue our own goals just as passionately as you were pursuing yours?
I don't know why I'm writing this. I suppose I'm a little sad. I guess I want to thank you for trying to protect us until the very end. I think you saw what was coming. And I think that you didn't tell anyone because you knew someone would talk you out of putting yourself in danger. Funny, that. The guy who drove like a maniac when I was laid across everyone's laps in the backseat of the car, who made me fear for my life while laughing evilly, is the same one who, deep down, would protect another's life over his own. I think you were trying to be a friend to James until the very end. Even though you knew what he would do. I also think you knowingly saved a few lives by isolating yourself with him that night.
Because of you, Justin, I believe that your father has one son with whom he can celebrate Father's Day, instead of none at all.
You made the ultimate sacrifice. And that makes me cry so very hard. We need more people like you in the world. Such mature love and sacrifice displayed in a man so young makes me feel like a selfish child for how I have spent my life. You were a real friend. Loyal to the end. I thank you for that. And I hope that God has answered all of the burning questions you had when you were still among the "living" bound to this Earth. I pray that someday, I will see you again.
It just now occurred to me that it was shortly after your death that I stopped using online chat programs. Why? Because you were pretty much the only real life friend with whom I could chat into the wee hours of the morning. I continued using that program for a little while longer, but found myself easily bored and lonely. You were my real-life/online friend.
You drove me to Amptgard ever since that day I showed up on a bike with deflated wheels, completely exhausted from the two-mile bike ride. That was also the same day I almost nicked you with my staff. But you were too skilled. And instead of being a pompous ass about it, or teasing me in a boyish way because you thought I was just another cute girl, you encouraged me to keep trying. Even though it was just a silly thing and completely unimportant, your lighthearted encouragement meant a lot to me.
You talked to me about things that most people figured I was too young to understand. You trusted me with your relationship problems, and even let me know when you felt a little spiritually out-of-sync. You were also very quiet. *laughs* You worked for my father for a while. He said that you walked very quietly. There were times you'd be in the room, and he'd be working on a project completely unaware of your presence, then you'd say something and cause him to do something absolutely klutzy (as usual) and injure himself. He'd yell at you, "Damn it, Justin! Why don't you stomp up the stairs from now on so I know you're there?"
I remember how you had strung trolls up by the neck to dangle from the blades of your ceiling fan. I also remember all the computer crap that completely covered your top bunk. And your bedroom floor littered with unsorted CDs. Those which had been sorted filled a couple huge shelves. Honestly, I have no idea how you had the time to organize all those. You showed me ever-so excitedly all of the neat computer projects you were working on, even though at the time I didn't understand much about programming. Not once did you think that because I was a girl and in high school, I wouldn't get it. All of our other friends in that circle probably would've never bothered. They would've just tried to get into my pants (and you know it). You were always respectful toward me.
And you were so passionate. I remember the computer stuff, sort of faintly. But what I really remember is how spiritual you were. We'd talk about all sorts of crazy things that I'm sure my father certainly wouldn't have appreciated, being that he's such a conservative Christian. Maybe it's a good thing that you never made the connection that Rick was my dad until after you stopped working at the computer store. And that I never knew. I probably would've teased you.
Justin, I wish you were here so I could talk to you right now. You'd tell me that death isn't really so bad. That I shouldn't mourn for the people who are gone. Of course, we all know your feelings about that sort of thing, which is why we had a wake instead of a funeral. You wouldn't have had it any other way. And you were a genius. I think that, someday, I'd prefer that my family have a wake rather than a funeral when I leave this world.
And though I'm comfortable with death -- in fact, there are times I've even flirted with death -- well, I'm worried for my friends. I know that many of them are still so uncomfortable with the idea of this life ending. I also know that many of them cling to you and other loved ones much more than I do. I wish that you could come back for just a moment to tell them that it is okay. That they don't need to cling so tightly to the memories. It's nice to occasionally reminisce, but we do have lives to live. Don't you agree? Don't you think it's time for us to all hold you in our hearts and continue to pursue our own goals just as passionately as you were pursuing yours?
I don't know why I'm writing this. I suppose I'm a little sad. I guess I want to thank you for trying to protect us until the very end. I think you saw what was coming. And I think that you didn't tell anyone because you knew someone would talk you out of putting yourself in danger. Funny, that. The guy who drove like a maniac when I was laid across everyone's laps in the backseat of the car, who made me fear for my life while laughing evilly, is the same one who, deep down, would protect another's life over his own. I think you were trying to be a friend to James until the very end. Even though you knew what he would do. I also think you knowingly saved a few lives by isolating yourself with him that night.
Because of you, Justin, I believe that your father has one son with whom he can celebrate Father's Day, instead of none at all.
You made the ultimate sacrifice. And that makes me cry so very hard. We need more people like you in the world. Such mature love and sacrifice displayed in a man so young makes me feel like a selfish child for how I have spent my life. You were a real friend. Loyal to the end. I thank you for that. And I hope that God has answered all of the burning questions you had when you were still among the "living" bound to this Earth. I pray that someday, I will see you again.