Dear Pete,
The night our country went to war, I wanted to pray to God but wasn't sure I could be heard; so instead, I wrote an e-mail to you and voiced to you all the thoughts I wanted God to hear. Today, the funny thing is, I'm writing to you but thinking maybe I should be sending it c/o God. (Do you even check this website out…anymore?)
Five and a half years have passed and my heart still hurts and I still miss you (and wish you would show up in a dream now and then... and don't be a jerk like you were that one time when you seemed so real but were smoking a cigarette and acting like a punk; what was THAT all about???).
I still fall short when I judge the way I live my life by the way you lived your life. I wouldn't choose to do most of the things you did, but I admired the way you lived each day so passionately doing the things you loved. It seemed fitting that your birthday, that first year of our missing you, fell on Fat Tuesday. Five years later, it does so again. (Everything this past year has fallen on the same day of the week that it did that year... but I didn't realize the season of Lent would line up the same way as well.)
Not too long ago someone surprised me with the question “How often do you think of Pete?” My answer is, I am never not thinking of you, Pete. But I try not to let it cripple me; I try to consider your life and your death… and somehow be better and richer because of both.
My computer isn't set to the correct time, and I rushed to post the message... but you know that 1:04 pm is the moment I meant to say "Happy Birthday, Pete!" I love you still.
