He was here a minute ago.

He was endlessly positive, comfy in his skin, funny and smart. He was both the voice of reason and the the first cat to step up to tell you that you really wanted that game, and he would play it with you.

He had a wife. Kids. He was a master storyteller, and told yarns that had us amused and attentive. He had beaten cancer, for fucks sake.

And now he’s gone.

And I’m not going to get over it any time soon. And while now might be too soon for a eulogy, I want to write what I feel through tears and swears, that we were supposed to grow old and talk shit and go places and do things and eat good and laugh long.

I just looked up at the sky. The sun was setting, and it was a beautiful sunset, and he wasn’t here to see it, and that made it all the more impossible to understand that he wasn’t here. How? Why?

He was the best of us, and while the good die young, they leave us behind to feel that empty part of where they would have fit in. And that’s a large piece of empty.

Dammit.