One month ago

I got the call.  The call that woke me with a shock that I could feel across the miles, before the words were even spoken.  That call that you know is bad as you hear the phone ringing, it shouldn't be ringing right now, something is wrong, please God, no.  But by the time my phone was ringing it was long over; my pain a belated scream into the absence where you once were.

Steven.

I keep saying your name, wishing you back by the power of memory.  The memories.  Every one of my childhood memories includes you.  Every one.  Because even when you were at your house and I was at mine, I knew you were at your house and I was at mine.  Even as an adult, when you weren't at your house and I wasn't at mine, I always knew you'd come home and so would I.  Our Home was the same, united in that thought.

This thing we take for granted, being safe at home, knowing our loved ones are safe at home, if I let myself consider this false security too long I will go mad with anxiety.  We all adventure, go and do and see and experience.  You most of all.  But our immortality is not of our bodies, the end can come when least expected.  Our immortality is in the love of others, how we love and are loved...being remembered.

You leave behind a lot of people who love you, and a lot of stories about how you loved us.  We can't help being sad on our own account - not to mention the grief we feel at the injustice of your death.  It's lonely, knowing you won't ever be at your house again.  It's lonely realizing we won't hear you roaring down the street on your motorcycle, and be reminded that you Are...breathing, alive, thinking, Being.  It's lonely without you.

Things I could do when I took your existence for granted are impossible to complete now that every breath I take reminds me that you won't take another. There's a crack in everything.