It was eight years ago this week that things started looking suspicious. In another few weeks, we'd have a diagnosis. By the end of January, you were gone.

I can't forget the way your dog seemed to know that you were going to leave him. I can't stand to remember this, but I can't repress it either.

I won't forget how, even though you struggled in social situations, an enormous crowd showed up for your memorial out there, in that beautiful cabin in the forest.

I won't forget that affectionate nick name you had for me. Or the way you gently put a hand behind my little neck when walking. Some said you didn't show much warmth, but I think they just needed to pay closer attention; it was there.

I won't forget your laugh, which I inherited.

I won't forget the Halloweens when you would creep the neighborhood kids out with your sound effects and makeup.

I won't forget how obsessively you labored to make the Christmas lights perfectly straight on the house. We always had cars slowing down to look.

I won't forget all the music of yours that I listened to at an early age. I taught myself to play and write music by listening to your records.

I won't forget the email I got in college. I sent you a song I wrote, and you told me it gave you goosebumps, and took you to a far away place in your mind.

I won't forget the wonderfully complex person you were: a gruff, black-haired, mustachioed man who loved photographing roses, and giggled like a child when playing with the cats and dogs. You enjoyed scented candles, old cars, Star Trek, electronic music, goofy sweaters, and riding horses. There wasn't an ounce of political bias or social conformity in you, and you never spoke ill of anyone except reckless drivers.

[Trace14]

Originally Posted by Bjørnen

It was eight years ago this week that things started looking suspicious. In another few weeks, we'd have a diagnosis. By the end of January, you were gone.

I can't forget the way your dog seemed to know that you were going to leave him. I can't stand to remember this, but I can't repress it either.

I won't forget how, even though you struggled in social situations, an enormous crowd showed up for your memorial out there, in that beautiful cabin in the forest.

I won't forget that affectionate nick name you had for me. Or the way you gently put a hand behind my little neck when walking. Some said you didn't show much warmth, but I think they just needed to pay closer attention; it was there.

I won't forget your laugh, which I inherited.

I won't forget the Halloweens when you would creep the neighborhood kids out with your sound effects and makeup.

I won't forget how obsessively you labored to make the Christmas lights perfectly straight on the house. We always had cars slowing down to look.

I won't forget all the music of yours that I listened to at an early age. I taught myself to play and write music by listening to your records.

I won't forget the email I got in college. I sent you a song I wrote, and you told me it gave you goosebumps, and took you to a far away place in your mind.

I won't forget the wonderfully complex person you were: a gruff, black-haired, mustachioed man who loved photographing roses, and giggled like a child when playing with the cats and dogs. You enjoyed scented candles, old cars, Star Trek, electronic music, goofy sweaters, and riding horses. There wasn't an ounce of political bias or social conformity in you, and you never spoke ill of anyone except reckless drivers.

I understand your pain with October now, so sorry.
Thinking of you.