A letter to a lost friend.

I don't understand how some days are better than others. What makes me think of you more on one day instead of the other. A trigger? Something we shared together? A memory?

To avoid sounding like a broken record all the time I attempt to refrain from relating everything to you and the things we used to do. Some days though, I just have to. There's no other way to deal with the hollow part of me now that you are gone. Life is moving on without you.

Growing up in the Catholic church and later converting to Latter Day Saints, there was never any doubt in my mind that there was a heaven. Now when I think of you I hope with every ounce of myself that there is because it's the only way I can be mildly at peace with your death. Knowing that somewhere you are finally happy and at peace with yourself makes me feel better.
Everyone is living life and growing while time has stopped for you. Shena had her baby boy finally and I know how much you would have loved to meet him. I remember when my mom had Josephine and you would hold her so gently. You wanted one of your own. There is so much I wish you could be here for. You would love Andrew and all of the new people I hang out with. I wish you could have met the one person that makes me the happiest because you were the one person that held me when I was miserable.
Andrew, Roommate, and I went to the hippy store we used to go to all the time yesterday and it was closed. Locked up and looking like it would never be open again, it depressed me. These are the memories we share and as time goes on the farther away from you I feel. The more distant the memories become. I want you here with me, sharing new memories.

I just have to keep telling myself you are blissful wherever you are. At peace in your field of flowers. I'll meet you there eventually.