Dear Jeremy,
Today, on your 31st birthday, I first and foremost want you to know that not anyone has forgotten the joy that was your life, and that in your absense, we (and I mean a collective we including but not limited to your parents, Kira, your beautiful baby girl Skylar, your friends, your favorite band, and anyone else who was honored to come in contact with you throughout your life) have done what we can to pick up the pieces after you left us as best we could...we've made friends with one another in effort to help us through such a painful, troubling hardship... and we've been able to keep getting through it; I know I have, mostly because I've been able to think of you smiling somewhere. It's that smile that keeps me going.
Jeremy, most people do not realize the kind of friendship we really have. I'm sure a lot of our mutual friends certainly remember a period of time where we'd bicker again and again, while others would remember us running around that hotel in Deer Creek, hiding from the world, sneaking one or two moments just to be ourselves and make fun of said world we were running from. I don't know exactly what the first thing I think of you is upon reminiscing about your life... it was probably many, many things at once, swirled carefully in my head. The way you always had to be right. The socks. The many fitness chats we'd have over some chocolate. The time you ate more sushi than anyone else in the entire place, saying that it was okay, citing some health reason that you convinced every other diner was true.
You were always one to show your true feelings. You were never afraid to admit you were scared when you found out you were having Skylar. You were never afraid to tell your parents when you didn't get a specific job done right. All that considered, you were never afraid to just be yourself, and even if that self meant an erratically-tempered man running around the streets of New York City with your cold allergy searching for your next endeavor with the biggest grin on your face, knowing that success would always be a part of you, no matter what.
I remember the joke we had, the one we'd pretty much worn out as years went by, but to us, it was hilarious, almost the basis of our friendship in the first place. You would always say to me, during an argument or otherwise, "yes, but I'm older. I'll always be older." And at the time, that single line would settle any argument we'd been having. The night before your 30th birthday, you called me to let me know that now you were *really* older, so that for your birthday present, you wanted to let me know that you have officially won.
The ultimate irony being, of course, that you'll always really be 30, though I'll celebrate every single March 1 for the rest of my life and count how old you would have been every time just so you can *always* get the last laugh, as you would have wanted anyway.
I know you know that I love you, but I really, truly do. I hope that somewhere you are smiling and remembering our friendship as beautifully as I am.
Happy birthday, man.
I really miss you.
love,
ericalynn.