I sit and contemplate
pen in hand
What to write
when I think about you.

I want to jot down
the things you have missed
the opportunities that could have been
the way my mind has spiraled out of control
the number of tears I've shed
I've counted them.

I want to scream out
angry that you can't hold me when I've needed to be held most
the fact that I have shifted
this tremendous weight of grief
onto every person who dares to be a shoulder to lean on.
It's not fair to them.
It's not fair.
It's not fair.
It's not fair.
You're not here.

You see,
We tend to dwell on death.
Like it's the only thing that defines who you are
once you're gone.

But that's far from true.
For Vita in Morte,
In death, there is life.
The sorrow that you are gone
Cannot compare to the fact that you have LIVED
You have BREATHED
You have laughed and danced and jumped and loved.
You have loved so greatly.
Why else would you be so missed, if it was not for the love you gave on this earth?
Your feet have walked miles on soft soil.
Your lips have sang sweet melodies that draws everyone near to come and listen.
Your hands have held those of small children, orphaned creatures, and tattered album covers.
Your have climbed the tallest mountains and swam in the warmest oceans.
You have cried and screamed and walked away.
You have made mistakes, lived with regrets and taken gut-wrenching chances.
You have made your presence known.
You have LIVED.

Author Charles Bukowski once wrote,
"You can't beat death. But you can beat death in life."
And I, for one, have never seen this task
more beautifully accomplished.

So as the unthinkable has now been slammed into your chest,
like being hit by a train, called "reality express"
Let us not focus on a cruel trick called death,
But by the way you lived before you took your last breath.