I've always been told to "write what I know." Okay. What do I know about death? How can an 18-year-old talk about loss? I'm not qualified for this and I'm certainly not ready.
But neither were you.
I usually write alone. Not tonight. I know that you're with me, and you're welcome anytime. I'm going to attempt to tell you how I feel. Let me emphasize the word, attempt. There is no textbook way to handle grief, and I can't Google search how to say goodbye. With that in mind, please bear with me. I'm exhausted.
Hello,
I miss you today. I'm sure I'll miss you every day. I know what you're thinking, we'll see each other soon. Christmas is only a few weeks away and I look forward to seeing you at the dinner table. We'll talk and we'll eat. And then we'll laugh. And then we'll just keep eating. You'll fall asleep on the couch. That's how I like to remember you; sleeping, blissfully unaware of the pain we are feeling today. I want to shake you until you wake up. "Look, the game is on." Are the rumors true? Is God a Patriots fan? Please get back to me as soon as possible.
You and I were the "talkers" of the family. We could ramble on about nonsense for hours on end. Now I don't know what to say. Isn't it ironic? Isn't it funny that the writer can't find any words? I don't know how to say goodbye to you. I don't know how to look at my grieving family and tell them that everything is going to be okay. How can you walk this earth one day but not the next? How can you pick me up and throw me over your shoulder for years and years and then never again?
I'm sorry to be so morbid. This is wildly out of character, for both of us. You were sunshine, my friend, absolute sunshine. When I think of you I think about your smile and the innate light that existed in your bones. If our roles were reversed I'm sure you'd tell a joke right now. You'd lift up the spirits of the people around you without even trying. Please help me. Help me to do what you would've done.
You must see me struggling, but I want you to know why. I'm not full of hate and I won't go seeking any form of revenge. I'm hurting because I loved you. I loved you more than the world and I didn't tell you enough. Fortunately, for all of us, love doesn't have an expiration date. I'll love you forever and now I can tell you every day. I'll tell you when I go to the grocery store and when I go to the bank. I'll tell you when I graduate and get married and have kids and grow so old that I have no choice but to tell you in person.
I want to thank you. Thank you for bringing me happiness and sadness and every emotion in between. You taught me how to hope. You taught me how to fight and fight and never stop fighting. For that, I am eternally grateful. I'll carry these lessons for the rest of my days with the comfort of my guardian angel looking over me. In times of darkness, I will put my trust in you.
During this holiday season, please watch over us. We'll hold each other a little tighter this year, not in mourning, but in hope. Hope that we will meet again one day, all of us together, one more time.
Merry Christmas, My Angel
In loving memory of Jonathan P. Sargent
January 24,1980 - November 9, 2016
