I’m not sure why. We had drifted apart. I hadn’t seen you in person since the 2013 reunion. Our last discussion was the the night before you died about a dumbass traffic ticket. The next day you chose to leave.
I say I don’t know why but that isn’t true. Dying loses it’s menace when you see it up close often enough. There comes a time when it’s easier to lie down at the bottom of a hole than to fight your way up and out.
From the bottom you can’t see the people that need you. You only see the things that live in the hole, needles, bottles, and bad dreams.
But those things won’t miss you. They won’t cry for you when you’re gone. They won’t have to smile at birthday parties and weddings, wishing you were there. We have to carry that now.
If I sound pissed off it’s because I am. You are my brother and you never gave me a chance to help. Did you think I wouldn’t come if you asked? I would have ran into a gunfight with you when we were younger, nothing has changed.
Was it pride? You think I would look down on my brother for being stuck in a place I used to live?
You were surrounded by brothers who would carry any weight to keep you alive. Now you’re one more memory calling me back to that hole, and I can’t go back there.
So here’s the deal. I’m going to lay out my wing, strap into my harness, and run into the sky.
At 3,000 feet, where no one can hear me,I’m going to scream at the clouds until I can’t talk. And then I’m going to leave you there in the sky. With the rest of our brothers.
And I know you’ll come visit somedays, they all do. And I’ll talk for awhile, then I’ll make you leave. Because I’ve got work to do here, and I can’t let myself slide back into that hole. I worked to hard to get out.
I love you brother.