Two Years

Hey Buddy.

It's been two years since you moved off of this place. Two years that, for many, have been been as raw as that very day at Hospice. A lot of tears have been shed and more than a few livers have ached, as we have all grieved a life on earth without your smile, your wit, your insane sense of humor.

Yet, in the strangest of ways, you have made us stronger. You have made us more caring, more loving, more filled with love and joy for the little things, and the bigs ones too. IN a way, the loss of you has been filled with so many Dylan-esque moments that it is hard to stay sad for very long.

I've said this before, and others have said it before me, but it bears repeating: my heart is heavy and light today. Heavy with the sadness that I can't call you, text you, laugh with you, and get into some sort of trouble with you. Light with the joy that your memory brings, your laughter when I hear it in the wind, the pictures,  and the stories that will forever remain things of legend.

So live on, my friend. Carry that Party Princess stuffed animal around like it is the Queen of Sheba. Wander the Halls of Henry Ford, making the staff and patients alike laugh with no limits at our ridiculous antics. The Guinness Man and Harrison Ford will never be mere things, but triggers of happy, joyous thoughts.

You, Sir, make me smile.

With Hope and Love,

Dean