Fumbling to Make Contact

I went to a party at Nathan's tonight and it was sweet! Now I'm up at 8am with nothing better to do than to write stuff in this blog.

I wanted to visit Ryan's grave today, but since I'm leaving for winter session I won't be able to. Its been a year since he died, and getting that phone call from Malkiewicz at around midnight or so was one of the hardest thing I've ever had to deal with. I know other people were closer to him than I was, and other people were probably affected more than I was by his passing, but nonetheless it was hard on me too. Every now and then I'll remember him and his parents putting his baseball cap in his casket, and hearing Joe speak at the funeral and how that speech humbled me to tears, and finally watching the casket get lowered into the ground. Those images shock me still. Nothing is more real than death, because it forces you to question why you are alive and what you want to do with the time you have left.

I miss Ryan. I really do. I know a lot of people say that kind of stuff because it is fitting, or because they have become sucked into an overdramatic view of the situation. But when I think about all the fun I have hanging out with my friends here at home, and playing poker, and wing night, and bowling, and street sign stealing, and hookah bars, I feel like I missed out on a lot of opportunities to do all that stuff with Bowie. Its as if I was introduced into his close circle of friends just a little too late to be able to enjoy all those things with him.

I'm done pouring out my emotions I suppose. I don't want to go overboard and be in danger of becoming too pretentious in the process of remembering Ryan. Like I said, Iwas probably on his second tier of friends. The last time I saw him was driving him to his house after all the drunken revelry at Amber's the night before, probably about a week or so before his death. We were both probably too drunk from the previous night to drive, but I was better off than he was and so I drove him and his car to his house while he sobered up a little on the way, and then drove me back to my house afterwards. I still have the stop sign we stole from that night.

I will have to visit his grave when I come back from spring break.