It is difficult to put anything about this situation into words because it seems to make it more real. I cannot convince myself he's actually gone, and I count the hours backwards from the time he was here. I don't feel like eating because eating is an affirmation of my life, and I feel so unworthy to be affirming my equivalent essence of what he left behind. I can't sleep for more than a couple hours at a time, and when I wake up this wave of sadness washes over me that is piercing and fills me with melancholy and longing.
I can't stop thinking that I could've helped him, or saved him somehow. I can't stop thinking this was avoidable. Over that, I can't stop thinking about the last time I saw him. Three weeks and a day before he left. He rode with me out to Sugarhouse to pick up an oven for my new home, and helped me deliver it - then bought my old oven from me and we delivered that to his home. If only I'd known it was the last time I'd see him in this life. I would've hugged him, and told him that I love him dearly. I would've made better conversation, and asked more questions. It's just that he's always been there, and I thought he always would be. When I left him and drove away I had no idea how badly I would later try to remember the conversation, and wonder if he was somehow saying goodbye to me.
Last night I went and cleaned out the room at the house where he lived. When I saw the humble circumstances in which he lived I couldn't believe I'd asked him to help me move stuff into my home. His room was filled with things of the past, things I thought he didn't like anymore...legos, action figures and other things we'd bought together when he was younger. He hardly had anything, but you would never know it by his attitude.
His personality was radiant, and he was genuinely kind. He was such a gentle soul, and I miss him so terribly. My heart overflows with love for you, Scott, and I will continue loving you forever.
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