For Andy

Seashells remind us that every passing life leaves something beautiful behind ~ unknown

there is a presence here that is undeniable
in the wind, the air, the sun beams
that penetrate my skin,
toxins take root and threaten to kill me,
like they did you.
I replay our last day again:
sitting on the worn couch,
eating your mom's cookies,
listening to music I didn't like,
but I said nothing.

I search for solace in fading memories

I remember how I found out
the kick in the throat
that forced out a gasp
that sounded as if it had not come from me
the only thing I could think of
was what I had not said
I never told you how much I admired your strength
(kill count: 19)
and how you tackled everything, even Tolson,
with a smile
and what a smile it was.
I think that's what gets to me the most,
remembering how much joy and genuine love
radiated from your face
when you smiled.
it's the smile that gets me,
and the last letter you sent.
it made me smile,
(you always had that power)
and it made me hopeful of what was to come
(I never told you how much I really cared)

I remembered what was to be your last birthday
(it was five days after mine)
you turned 23--I remember you joking about how old you were
you would graduate at 24--incredible, considering your ordeal

you left a lot behind, but I don't need to tell you that.
it was easy to see by the number of people at the service
and how many sets of eye managed to stay dry
(there weren't many--I started to cry before it even began.)

you told me this once and it's stuck with me ever since:
"god knows how many people I've helped,
who knows how many people are alive today
because of me?"

and that will always be your legacy


Andy Kilpatrick, March 19, 1981-April 25, 2004