To my dear friend who passed too soon,

It seems unreal that this open letter is aimed specifically towards you. I wish this was one where I was writing hypothetically as if I was imagining what it would be like to lose a friend permanently at a young age. However, after a little over two years of not receiving a text message from you, not hearing your voice on the other end of the phone to come pick you up, not hearing your vocals as we would sing in the car or not taking a new selfie, I have come to the harsh reality that you are truly gone.

There's a saying that goes, "You don't know what you got until it's gone." I've learned that an individual doesn't learn how true that quote is until they have to face it. It isn't until that person hears that one specific song or they drive by that specific hangout spot that causes the tears to fall, the memories to flow in their head and suddenly, they're looking up to the sky wishing their loved one would come back for just one more day. If I would have known that the last time I saw you was going to be the last time, I would have told you how sorry I am and how thankful I am for our time. So, here's to the words I never got to tell you to your face; I hope you can hear me.

First off, I am sorry. I am sorry for all those times I used to call you annoying because I was tired of you hitting on every single friend of mine that I would introduce you to. I think back now, and I laugh because of how many of my friends you actually flirted with. I used to think being your wingman was annoying, but I would do it all over again if given the chance. I am sorry for not taking more pictures together because I wanted to take more pictures with the guy in our group that I thought was attractive. More than anything, though, I am deeply sorry for how distant we became once I went to college and you stayed in our hometown. There is nothing I regret more than letting a little over 100 miles come in between our friendship. With all of our technological advances and social media sites, 100 miles should have never been our breaking point. I am so sorry for not being there for your final moments.

Secondly, thank you for everything. In a short time, you provided me with so many laughs that I get to look back on and still smile. You were such a free spirit and I thank you for teaching me those ways. We had the type of friendship that we didn't have to spend a single dollar to have fun. All it would take was parking my car in the local baseball field's parking lot and crank up the music. The music would be loud enough for us to jam, but quiet enough that we wouldn't get caught. We would sing at the top of our lungs because during those moments, nothing else mattered. We had nowhere else to be, and really, nobody else we would rather be with. We were young kids with nothing to lose at 2:00 a.m. The hardest part now is driving past that old ball field where we spent our late nights or hearing a song come on the radio knowing you should be in the passenger seat singing with me. Thank you for your sense of humor that allowed me to laugh when I didn't want to. Those moments included you trying to kick my butt at the batting cages, being amazed that your sneaker colors were black and yellow as Wiz Khalifa's "Black and Yellow" was playing on the radio, going to Chuck E. Cheese for your 18th birthday (which ended in us getting stuck in the jungle gym we were way too big for) or even sitting on the same side of a booth in McDonald's, sipping on shamrock shakes while watching "Scooby-Doo" on the TV. Thank you for giving me memories I will never be able to forget.

It's been a little over two years, but it feels like yesterday since I got the news that you were gone. I remember crashing to the ground praying that it wasn't true. I remember sitting at your funeral hearing all of your family and friends share their stories of you and still thinking you would show up and wonder why we were there crying. I wonder if you're up there begging all of us to stop crying because you wouldn't want us to. All I know is that you're not completely gone. I see you in the Facebook/Twitter/Instagram posts that are still dedicated to you. I see you in every tournament your big sister puts together in your memory and for suicide awareness. I see you in the tattoos that people have gotten in memory of you. Most importantly, I see you each time I beg for a sign. Whether that would be our song comes randomly on the radio or a TV commercial, your old baseball number appears when I make a quick glance or my favorite, when a horse named Carpe Diem (just like your own tattoo) raced with your favorite colors of red and yellow and was assigned your baseball number, two. Within each sign you send me, I know I need to take a deep breath because it's all going to be okay since you're there with me.

We had this one inside joke after you got a Happy Meal from McDonald's and you received the Jack Frost toy. You told me that you were going to give it to me to keep in my car. I asked you, "Is that so I don't forget you at college?" Your short reply was, "I hope you remember me for more than just a Jack Frost toy." You were right, I remember you for so much more. I truly hope you can see how much of an impact you left in your short nineteen years of life.

I miss you, I love you and I hope I am making you proud.

Sincerely,

Your friend who wishes Heaven had visiting hours