True Tragedy

I could apologize again for not updating sooner, make more promises that will never be fulfilled about getting back and updating more, but now all of that seems so wrong and empty. This isn't about baseball, or even sports, so if you don't want to read something heavy, stop here.

10 days ago, on March 6th, one of my friends died. He was 18, at college, away from his family, childhood friends, and home life. My life has been completely changed forever.

My friend was a good person who was into bad things. He drank, he smoked, he did hard drugs, he snuck out on school nights and skipped school to take trips into Boston with friends. He brought extra Dunkin Donuts to school with him in the mornings to give to any of his friends who wanted some. He broke all sorts of social barriers and invited anyone who wanted to to party with him. He didn't play sports or join academic teams or live up to his scholarly potential, but he really lived life. He had fun 24/7, he spoke what was on his mind, he'd stop by your house unannounced, but you wouldn't care because he'd give you that lopsided smile and talk to you like he'd just seen you that morning. He liked shopping, designer sunglasses, ripped jeans and trucker hats. He was best friends with his younger brother. He probably hooked up with almost every girl he met, and they all fell head over heels for him. He was sweet, kind, eloquent and attentive. He loved golfing and scuba diving, skiing and cooking. He also enjoyed eating. He would tell outlandish stories, so exaggerated that sometimes you weren't sure if even 5% of it was true at all. He drove a red car way too fast, and got arrested more than once. When told that GW was a dry campus, he asked why his father had even brought him to look at the school at all. His eyes were brown, but he liked them better blue so he wore stunningly azure contacts. He ate everything and hated nothing, besides homework, religion and sometimes the cops. On the day he died, almost 600 people posted on his facebook wall. He really does have that many friends.

He was a good cousin, a good son, a good brother, a good friend. He did what many teenagers do, and because of that he was taken from us. Him, not someone else, someone less nice and caring and honest and true, but him. He wasn't any different from most kids who play Beirut a little too much, use their bongs so much they name them. Yet he was the one to die from it.

His grave is in between two trees, but really it should be in every teenager's basement, every frat house party, every scuba boat and golf course and high-end shop in America. He loved all of his time in those places, and hopefully he will live on in those places, but for now all that's tangible is grief, irreparably wounded hearts that will never heal unless he comes back. I'll wait for him until then, and in the meantime, I'll try to have the most fun, meaningful life that I can, because in his 18 short years, that's what he had.

       S.M.S
5/18/89 - 3/6/08