Ending On a Laugh.

Dear Devin,

I haven't figured out how to say goodbye to a friend properly. But I imagine an open Internet letter was a decent start, right? Probably not. But I'm out of options, at this point. There's no Facebook sticker to send that signifies that, for me. Even if last week you did pull out a good Duck Dynasty sticker or two that scared me. 

I spent time going through a lot of old messages between the two of us. Mainly because I like to make myself sad. But also because you always made me laugh. And you certainly always made me smile. I saved a few of them to remind you of just how hilarious I am. Okay, so you weren't totally dull. But still. I was the funny one.

A few of us from work stopped by your service yesterday. We introduced ourselves to your mother and sister, who really are just as lovely and wonderful as you had always said. I did admit to making fun of you for laying on the floor in my office so often. So when I came across this one, I laughed a little bit. 

I often thought, after you left work here to start your battle, if it was best that you (and we) had no idea what was going on when your back was hurting so bad. I probably wouldn't have been able to pick on you without remorse. So I'm glad we had that time. Even if you did often fall asleep while I was talking and I would get up to see you on the other end of my office, asleep on the floor. Don't worry, they can't dock your pay now. You're okay. 

When we got to your church for your service yesterday, the love and respect people had for you was overflowing. Really, dude. I was moved. The people and the flowers! So many of both. Even if there were no cactus, I approved.

I wanted to let you know I ran across the ones where you said you would be here on a Monday and to bring you food. It was right after you found out that you were cancer free. And you had started the conversation with "Did you see my good news, lady?" and somehow weaseled in a "bring me cupcakes" by the end of it. 

I made it a point to tell your family how great you had been. And how even in your darkest moments you were a source of kindness and compassion to me. Sometimes people are a part of your lives forever and never make an impact. You were a part of mine for just a few years and still left an impression. I told them how often you would ask about Dad and how it surprised me that you had such kindness and caring even with your own journey happening. Don't worry, I didn't really lie. We were in church. I was telling the truth. Even if you often mocked and debated my every decision and belief in life - you were still a source of laughter and light and, like I told them - you took the time out when Dad passed to offer your assistance again. And I was honored. 

At some point you owed me a lunch. I don't remember why or how. But I still am waiting, for the record. I love that you weren't afraid to joke about things or yourself. That's how we got through everything with Dad, so I found it to be a breath of fresh air. And very familiar. All at once. 

 Your laughter and spirit will be greatly missed, Devin. I always felt like you "got" it. The cancer. The hospitals. The strain it puts on a family. Your faith. And the way that a joke can make it all better. There are few people who get that. But you were that. And that was important to me. That someone understood it all. I also hope you're getting that vacation that you said you needed. (I'm still sleeping under my desk at work, don't worry. Nothing has changed here. You're not missing much.) 

 

  
It had been a few days (maybe weeks?) since you had responded to our last message. Although I would check in every now and again on your page to see what anyone had posted...oh, and I checked to make sure you received the cactus jokes I would send to your Facebook messenger. Even when you didn't respond, it would make me feel better that you had seen them. I know that, from our own experience, sometimes there just aren't words. But what can't be said with words can be said with funny cactus pictures, yes? Let me just refresh your memory about the last one I sent. 

So, it had been a bit since you had responded. I don't know why, though. If someone would have sent me that I would have invited them over for tea. So when, last Tuesday, I saw you had sent a message, I was glad. I also, knew. I felt all sentimental for a moment, realizing that that could possibly be one of our last exchanges. I never stopped hoping or praying or pulling for you. Because the world needs more of people like you. Who fight. Who laugh. Who still care, even when their own lives are rough. But something, deep in my bones, told me. Only I could read that into a conversation that started with Duck Dynasty stickers. 

I wanted to ask how you felt. How you were. How things were. But I also didn't care. Well. Wait. I cared. But I didn't want to ask you what a hundred other people had asked. I didn't want you to have to comfort me about your situation or do anything other than  say or do whatever you wanted. Because there were a million times when you would ask about Dad and I would change the subject and you never pressed the issue. So I let you send me cats on motorcycles and I sent back a cat with a unicorn horn after you sent big huge (way freaky) smilies. I couldn't, however, resist busting your chops one last time about lunch. 

I find it fitting that the last things you said to me were basically to shut up and then a laugh. I sent a quick message on Thursday when I saw your Mom said you were heading home about how if you were a good patient maybe they would let you hit the lights and sirens on the ambulance ride home. But I somehow didn't really expect anything in return. 

When I got the text message on Sunday about your passing, I felt a sense of loss I wasn't anticipating. Not because I didn't care. Trust me, I did. Not because I wasn't expecting it . I was. But because I don't think I had realized the impact that you had made in my life, until that moment. The silly banter. The stupid jokes. The quick "Hey, how're you?" Or you asking "How's your pops?" I didn't realize that it was that important to me until I realized it wasn't going to be there any longer. 

I'm out of words. Yeah, I know. I'm surprised, too. So just thank you. Like I told your family yesterday: even with all you had on your plate, you still took time out to ask how my family and Dad were doing. You took time to pray. And you took time out to care. I also told them that they did an outstanding job bringing someone like you into the world. And it's true. I mean the fact about how all the credit goes to them, that is. Okay, I'm kidding. You were rad, too. Whatever. 

Oh, and I told them about how once you married a skeleton in my office. Secret is out, my friend.  And I figure...since it's Throwback Thursday anyway. Why not? 

Alright, I'll stop finally. But I'm ending it on a laugh, too. Just like you.

Love (even though you owe me lunch),
Denise