Dear Patrick...

Do you remember when we were little, sitting in front of Granny Reed's house next to the white picket fence, playing that little fishing game, the plastic one that grandpa bought me? That's the only time I remember seeing Granny Reed before she died. That's one of the few times I remember seeing you when we were little.

Driving around town a few months ago, I was thinking about all the Saturdays we spent riding our bikes there. I always loved it when grandpa would come get me on Saturday and take me back to his house only to find you there waiting for me. Never once did he tell me you were there; he always liked to surprise me—he knew we always had a blast together.

The other day I was going through some stuff. I found a picture of you from prom, the one with you standing next to that sweet red Camero you had. Your hair was still black then, and you had on that goofy bow tie. I remember the first time I saw your new car. You had gotten it on your 16th birthday, and you drove three hours just to show it to me, so we could go "drag". When you found me, I was at my aunt's mowing; I had on that goofy camo hat my dad gave after he went on that drug bust in Northeastern Oklahoma. You scared the hell out of me that day, pulling up with those blacked out windows and just sitting there. I thought you were a pervert or something. That was the night you introduced me to my first clove cigarette—those things are so harsh. You showed me all the places you had found to hide your other smoking materials.
That summer and the next were the best summers of my life. We had more fun cruising the drag and listening to Manson then I ever had before or since. I remember after you started college you came down a few times. You never did let me drive that car of yours. Maybe that's why when I turned 21, I went out and bought one just like it, only silver. The last time we talked was at a family reunion my senior year of high school. You had a friend with you that year, so we didn't get to talk much. That was the last time I ever saw you.

I saw your parents a few weeks ago, and the only thought that crossed my mind was I that made grandpa a great grandpa, and that your folks will never get to experience that. Your mom hugged me tight for what seemed like forever, and she whispered in my ear "You look great kid... I luv ya." I squeezed her tighter, knowing she was thinking of you and wishing she could hold you the way she used to and tell you how much she loves you still. Your dad is not the same anymore. He always used to smile and seem happy, but he changed after you were gone. I can see that a piece of him died along with you. His eyes are empty now. When he's talking, he's there physically, but his mind is always somewhere else.

August 12, 2001 is a day I will never forget. I had just graduated and turned 18. Mom called—we hadn't talked in weeks. Fighting, again. What else was new? "Don't hang up," she said. "Something happened that you need to know about." The first thought that crossed my mind was my dad. I asked her what it was, and she said you had drowned. I sat there silent for a moment then stammered "How...? He is an excellent swimmer!" She told me that you and a friend were on your way back from a concert when you stopped on the side of the road to go swimming at a farm pond you saw. The two of you were swimming, and he went up to the car to get a cigarette. When he came back, you were gone. They had to bring in divers to find your body. I had never before felt the bottom drop out of me that fast, that far. I never have since. Before we hung up, I was already bawling.

The day of your funeral I was selfish and didn't go. I hadn't stopped drinking since I got off of the phone with mom a few days before. I sat in my boyfriend's apartment with a bottle of Jack in one hand, a clove cigarette in the other, and Manson playing on the CD player. I was the saddest I've ever been in my life. You were the brother I never had. You were the friend I could always count on. You were the one that I could be "me" around. The only one, ever. And you were gone. I was sad because I was alone now. There was this gaping hole my life—in my heart—that nobody was ever going to be able to fill. Nobody ever will.
I regret not going to your funeral. Your mom needed me, and I wasn't there for her. I let her down, and I let my grandpa down. My sister said he kept looking at the door waiting for somebody to come in late. Every time I've seen your mom since then she hugs me tighter then anybody ever has. Writing this, I finally realize why. She knows I go to the cemetery and leave flowers, even though I go alone and don't mention it to anybody.

I love you and miss you everyday that I'm here and you're not. I know the rest of my life will pass without you in it. Your brief appearance made it better than it would have been, but the memories are bittersweet. I cherish those memories, but I know that a day will come when they won't matter anymore. A day will come when this hurt will go away. A day will come when everything will be made perfect—the day we meet again by the white picket fence.