It doesn’t matter that it’s been years since you’ve
passed away. It doesn’t matter that half of the
people that are now in my life have never even met
you. I still think about you all the time. I still wish
you were here. After all, everything would be so
different if you were still alive. Of course, when I say “everything,” I don’t actually
mean everything. Chances are, I’d still be living
under the same roof and working the same job. I’d
still be dating the same boy and taking care of the
same dog. Only little things would change, but the
little things mean the most. If you were still alive, I wouldn’t have to push the
happy memories away, because they’re too painful to
replay in my head. I’d just think of them and
smile, and then pick up the phone to give you a call. If you were still alive, I’d have one more person to
introduce my boyfriend to. One more person to
embarrass me with awkward stories about my
childhood. One more person to welcome him into our
bleeped up family. If you were still alive, then there would be one more
voice cheering over the fireworks on Fourth of
July. One more voice yelling at the baseball game
and one more voice singing along to whatever
bullshit song popped on the radio. If you were still alive, there would be one less
tattoo adorning my body. One less date that made me
burst into tears every single year. Your birthday
would be the only date that reminded me of you, and
we’d have a hell of a good time celebrating. If you were still alive, there’d be one more person
for me to call whenever I needed a designated
driver. One more person to scream at me for acting
like an irresponsible kid. One more person to make
me feel like I’d be missed if anything ever
happened to me. If you were still alive, there would be one more
invitation to send out for my wedding. One more
person to dance with when The Electric Slide
flooded through the speakers. One more person to
tear up and tell me how happy they are for me and
my new hubby. If you were still alive, I’d have one more person to
show around my new apartment. One more person to
dog-sit for me during weeklong vacations. One more
person to tell me that they’re proud of everything
I’ve become. If you were still alive, I wouldn’t have to talk to
you through prayers or through my dreams. I could
send you a text or write you a letter or just show up
on your front step in the middle of the goddamn
night, and you’d be happy to listen. If you were still alive, I wouldn’t have pushed
certain people away. I wouldn’t be as pessimistic
and cold as I am now. I wouldn’t be so terrified of
losing someone again, someone I care about as much
as you. But if you were still alive, I might not have
realized that the whole “live each day like it’s your
last” mindset is legit. That I need to treasure every
moment while I still can and tell my family I love
them as much as possible. As much as I miss you, I’m thankful for what you
taught me while you were here, and what you’re
continuing to teach me now that you’re gone.