Dear Matt

Dear Matt,

 

I love you.  I love you more than I think I ever said.  I trust you know that, and that my actions showed you.  To say I am devastated is an understatement – there simply are no words for this kind of pain.  I feared this for you for a very long time, but even in my fear didn’t appreciate the reality of its truth.

 

I want to ask why, but I don’t have to.  I want to plead and ask why you didn’t just call me first, but I don’t have to – I have, a lot, and it hasn’t brought you back.  I ask myself if I should’ve driven to you first, on the hunch that your texts were off, and I just knew.

 

But I didn’t.  I want you to know, baby bro, that I would do ANYTHING for you.  I would give you my entire world, my sobriety, my experience that it really does get fucking better.

 

But it doesn’t work that way – if it was supposed to get better for you, it would have. If you were supposed to still be here, you would be.

 

I see red everywhere now.  As heartbreaking as it is, I am allowing space for you to be that close – safer now, not struggling.  I will miss you every day and every moment for what I imagine will be the rest of my life.  You are one of kind, meatball strong soup brownie man, and there really won’t be another like you.

 

I hope you know Dad is beyond words, and he, too, would’ve done anything to spare your pain.  It’s hard to watch him, and to know I can’t spare his now, either.

 

As you can probably imagine, Mom is a fuckin’ boss.  Which as her kindred spirit, I know that only her pain runs even deeper.  She only ever wanted you to be well, whole, happy.  She only ever wanted you to try – simple man.

 

I will live my life so that it honors you.  I will continue to show up, grind when it’s appropriate, and breathe a bit more too.  Life has had a way of softening me, and I don’t want to lose that now.  As awful as this is, and feels, I don’t want to block it.  I don’t want to block you.

 

God has you, baby bro.  I love you forever and ask that you visit often – in the red leaved trees, in their reflection on the water, in the sparkling lights, in the fish tanks and across the bridges doing wheelies.  I’m here to hang and watch out for Mom and Dad – I know you’d want that.  I’ll keep blaring SickIck and bust out those incredibly white moves we both shared.  I’ll keep wearing red, I’ll keep some blue in my hair,  and I’ll keep lifting heavy and pushing myself because I know you’d want that, too.

 

And if you can’t rest, babe, call me – you know I will pick up for you; always.

 

I love you.

 

Alison, Big Sis

4 thoughts on “Dear Matt”

  1. Sitting here in tears and don’t know what to write, but want to thank you for writing this.

    Your grief and your love are both palpable.

    I’m so sorry for your loss.

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