I can’t hear your voice anymore. I don’t think I’ve tried to recover your words in a terribly long time. There are pieces of you everywhere; your sweaters in my closet, your silly notes in my nightstand. While parts of you surround me, you’re not here. Your phone number isn’t saved in my phone anymore. Mom sold the last car you bought her and I don’t even know what happened to our home anymore.
I do a pretty good job of going about my life without you here. I wake up in the morning, and I can get out of bed. Sometimes it slips my mind, in the midst of my crazy life. But then I start to remember. Even those memories have began to fade.
I’ve started to think about what you would think of me if you met me for a cup of coffee now. It was five years ago last month. I think these have been the most formative five years of my life so far, and who knows what’s going to come of the future. All I know is that I want to make you proud.
I wish you could see me now. We could build spaceships out of cardboard boxes and ‘fly’ to made up planets, even if I am seventeen. I wish you could tell me you loved me, and that it was all going to be okay. I’ve got so many questions that mom can’t answer, and I bet you could. With all this college stuff, gosh, if you could hear me now. It’s scary being this grown up, especially without you here to guide me.
I’ll never know if you’d like who I’ve become. I’ll never live the life I wish I had, with you here instead of mom’s new husband.
People say things happen for a reason, and that’s become something I’ve started to live by. I don’t think I’ll ever find a feasible reason for you passing.
Thanks for holding out as long as you did. I know it was for me. But every once in a while it hits me that you’re gone. I wish you were here.
If I had an address, I would send this in a heartbeat.