Dear Alex,
I’ve written and re-written the beginning of this letter at least 10 times. I’m having trouble putting into words how I’m feeling about having lost you, and I can’t seem to get it together. I’m going to try though, for you.
Do you remember the first time we met? We knew immediately that we would get along because we were both loud and sassy. We would yell things to each other from across the room, probably irritating everyone around us. We always danced, even if it wasn’t together. That was in high school, four years ago. Four years ago I met you, and decided almost instantly that I loved you.
You had a way about you, Alex. A way that not most people know. Your smile alone could light up a room. You truly were a glimmer of hope in an otherwise dark, cold world. I could always count on you for a pep-talk, even if it consisted of you saying “ew, you look ugly. Stop crying.” That always made me laugh, which I now think was probably your plan all along.
You and I deal with things in a similar way, Alex; through humor. I have tried so many times over the past few days to find something funny about all of this, and I can’t do it. Maybe that’s because you’re not here to laugh with me.
I don’t know too many things for certain, but one thing I do know is this: I will never forget you, Alex Goodwin. I will never forget spending every Friday night with you and the rest of the marching band my junior and senior years of high school. I will never forget your compliments on days that I wasn’t feeling too good about myself. I will never forget that every single time you saw me, you told me that I was beautiful. I’ll never forget the time that you were present for a heartbreak I was going through, and you took me, crying mess that I was, into your arms and said “you are too pretty to cry, Ashley May. That boy doesn’t know what he’s missing”. Most of all, I’ll never forget your laugh. Your loud, unmistakable, sometimes obnoxious laugh. You were nearly perfect in every way.
I think the hardest part about death for a lot of people is that it doesn’t seem real for a very long time after someone is taken from us. I still don’t believe that I’ll never get to hug you again and complain about whatever class I’m having a hard time with. I don’t believe that I’ll never get to tell you to shut up again. I don’t believe that the four years we had together were all that we were allotted, even though it’s the truth.
You know that I don’t buy into the idea that time heals all wounds. I think that most wounds never heal, the same way that heavy loads never get lighter. I believe that we grow stronger, everyday, and I know that you believed that, too.
I’ll miss seeing you on holidays at Momma’s house. I’ll miss building forts in the dining room with you and Porkchop (Our “nephew”). I’ll miss seeing you at parties and other events, because as everyone knows, you never missed a thing.
I know that everything happens for a reason, but right now, that reason doesn’t seem to exist. Right now it feels like I don’t know how I, or anyone else who was close to you, am going to recover. Eventually it will get easier, that I understand. For now, until we meet again, I’ll cling to the single word that one of our favorite characters spoke in your favorite series; “Always…”
I’ll always remember the happy times we shared, as well as the sad. I’ll always remember how good it felt to see you after being apart for a while. I’ll always speak kindly of you, and to you, because we both know how cheesy I can be. I’ll always bring flowers to your grave and catch you up on all the latest gossip. I’ll always love you and cherish the friendship that we had. Thank you for gracing Groveport, Capital, myself, and the world with your presence. I have no doubt that you make one beautiful angel.
