In November of 2022, I lost my mom. But before that, in April of the same year, I lost you, my friend, Matt Lee. Since then, I’ve wanted to write about both of you, but the fear of tapping into those emotions has had me paralyzed. I’ve felt for a long time that I didn’t get to delve into my feelings on your passing since my mom’s happened so soon after and overshadowed every aspect of my existence (and has to this day, really).

I’ve watched this date approaching on the calendar and been thinking about all you were to me and all you’ll never get to be to the world. While I do plan to write about you someday, in a more in-depth way, I wanted to put it out into the universe today that I’m still here, remembering you on your birthday and most other days as well, in hopes that somehow you know, wherever you are.

We were in Boston for the marathon and had spent the week with family when I read the news in the airport. Once we were on the plane, I grabbed my notebook and just started writing. Below is the unedited stream of consciousness that flooded through me on a wave of grief. I remembered things I’d forgotten about our time together and each one felt like a gift. Looking back now, I wonder if you weren’t guiding my pen.

I’ve since learned what happened to you. And though I feel some closure in that knowledge, it changes nothing about what I poured out when I first heard. The what if will always haunt me and the why will never seem fair.

My big-hearted friend, the mark you left on my life was unexpected and exceptional. Today I’m grateful that you existed in my timeline and the universe saw fit to allow us to adventure together for a fleeting moment. I loved you then and always will.

I was sitting in the Boston airport, waiting for my flight back home. Allen had run the marathon and we, along with Mom, had spent the week with Rick and Tomi. While browsing Facebook, I read the news.

You were gone.

But it couldn’t be, right?

When we were at the bars, riding bikes, drinking in front of the TV, at the stable cleaning stalls or riding horses, you were so alive. So willing to try anything. Fearless.

You always tried to get me to sing along to the radio and make up my own words. But I never did. I was too self-conscious. Crushes always made that worse for me.

We’d clean stalls on Saturdays and Sundays. I’d buy us Taco Bell and if it was warm enough, we’d eat in the park.

You were fun and mixed well with my friends. Melissa still remembers the birthday banana bread you baked for her.

I worked out to some dance aerobics DVDs and laughed at you when you were bested by the routine after insisting on doing it along with me.

You were self-conscious about your lip, scarred from a bad bicycle accident that happened shortly before we met. You kissed me insecurely and I tried to reassure you, but I’m not sure I ever did.

You spoke in riddles I often had to think hard to understand and that was part of why I found you so interesting.

I wanted you to love me. I wanted to keep you with me. But you weren’t the type to settle down, or even have a girlfriend, at the time. I know with time that changed and I hope you were happy.

I’ve missed you randomly for years. Wished you would have come to my wedding.

I’m sorry I won’t get to hear your voice or chat on FB with you again. The last time I messaged you went unanswered. But maybe you were sick then.

I wish I knew what happened. Maybe I could have saved you. Maybe not.

I can’t quite grasp this idea that we won’t cross the same path ever again. That my memories of you will be all I have.

~L~