It has been two months since Dad called to tell me that you were gone. He was very upset you know. He liked taking care of you whenever you were around. Do you still remember that summer he cooked for us gourmet food every day at the beach house? Or that time when we took him to a gay bar in Castro with Cat after having those delicious crepes? I hope you remember still. I wanted to let you know wherever you are that I am trying hard not to be sad. I am doing my best. But it just doesn’t seem real that you left. When I wrote our grandfather’s obituary three years ago it wasn’t easy but it was something I could do. It was ok to let him go. He lived for almost a whole century. He didn’t suffer. We lived him, through him, with him. He was always with us one way or another.
I don’t know what to do with you sweetie. Why did you get into that car? Why? How do you expect me to accept this and move on? It just isn’t possible. I could never let go of you, no matter what happened. So there will be no obituary for you from me. I just can’t do it. It isn’t acceptable. You lived a very full life but in haste, almost frantic with your travels and incredible appetite for fun. You really did have fun. But you always said you never wanted to get married, never wanted to have kids, never wanted to grow old. And we all smiled and imagined you becoming old but not really aging, sipping your drink and dancing to Billy Idol and looking no different than you did when you were twenty-five even at ninety-seven like Pappou. He would have been a hundred years old this summer. You would have liked that.
Pappou‘s time came and he aged but he never got sick. We bid him farewell. It was our fantasy for you not to age, but this was not the way to go about preserving it. So forgive me if I am angry. Forgive me if I am sad. I am trying to be happy and enjoy my life, the one I really want to have. I want to get married. I want to have kids. I am growing old. And you aren’t around. You haven’t been around for awhile. You have been busy living in haste. And dying under the most extraordinary and unusual of circumstances. It is ok when it is on television. It is not ok when I have to forever imagine over and over the last few minutes of your death. Were you scared? Were you lonely? When will you tell me? In my mind, it just wasn’t you. It couldn’t be you. It will never be you. A case of mistaken identity perhaps. So no obituary koukla. Just keep partying.
Take care and I will see you sometime not too soon, but it is ok because I know you’ll keep busy. You always have some place to go that is more exciting.