I’ve been quiet all through this, ever since I first heard…ever since the first report about it came in, I’ve mostly kept my mouth shut… but I can’t any longer.
I knew Pat very, very well online. We played mafia together regularly. We’d laugh often together, we’d plan often together, we’d argue and accuse often together (when we were on different sides), we won and celebrated the game when we’d both win as town or scum together… and outside of that, we got to know each other even more. I added him on Facebook, I added him to YIM, we started messaging often and talking even more. We were both young and the months and years stretched on before us, a long life left to build on a friendship.
And then I read this happened.
I came on here that day and read about him being in a motorcycle accident. My first thought of course was “Oh no, no no no, I hope he’s okay…” and I read he was still alive…although, barely, it seemed.
As time went by the extent of his injuries and just how bad it was became clear, though…it was really terrible. He couldn’t walk, talk, he was in a coma practically, his body was just…you know what? I can’t even say. I can’t even type about it. Even me, who prides himself on being a writer, but I’m so overcome with emotion that…it was just bad, that’s all I can say. And here’s where the tears start.
And something happened to me as I read the updates that came…people deal with tragedy in weird ways. it effects people in ways that can’t be explained. As I read about his very slow recovery and small achievements like “he blinked” and “he smiled”, which were touted like they were like someone finding a cure for cancer, my heart broke and ached and wept even more…because of two things: 1. I was not feeling denial like some people felt during times like this…the effect it was having on me was almost the opposite, in fact: I just knew it was over, for the most part. He was going to die. It might not be right then, but for all intents and purposes, his death certificate was already signed. And…I just couldn’t face it. I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t say anything. So I’d read the updates over the months and months and soon years of all of these small wins and victories and …I wanted to believe…really I did…I wanted to have hope. Because who in the good fuck am I to deny anyone hope? Nobody, that’s who. I didn’t know shit. Miracles happen and you can’t ever lose hope…on one hand, one side of my brain would always tell this to me and argue it…
…and the other, it would keep thinking “He’s going to die…” and the level of sadness I would feel at, deep down, knowing and feeling that…it’s indescribable. So I stayed away. Maybe if I didn’t look at it, it wasn’t there. Maybe it wouldn’t happen if I refused to read the stuff. Maybe I could live in blissful ignorance the rest of my life and that he could continue living his long life–if only in my mind–if I never learned of his eventual fate.
And it worked…for a little while.
Every so often I’d see an update about him, though…or I’d even go and actually read the updates thread about him to see what and when the last update was, despite trying to stay away…
And now…this topic. This topic that I’ve both been expecting for awhile yet, deep down, in some part of me, knowing that my heart would break and that my tears would finally come in one huge gush (like they are now) and that I’d finally wish and hope it was different and that I was wrong and proven wrong like a big asshole…
I guess, in a way, I really was in denial all long.
About six or seven years ago, I had the chance to meet Pat. We talked online at this point regularly, on FB and on YIM and he said he was coming to Phoenix anyway, for something. He wanted to have lunch at a bar and I told him I’d buy him a beer. The day he was here he messaged me and said he was there, at the bar, about 12 blocks away…but me, I wasn’t feeling socialable that day and I begged off like a huge flake. He told me he’d love to have lunch with me, though…and was waiting on that beer and was going to buy me one too…but I still turned him down. He seemed a bit disappointed at this, but I had never thought of it again…
…until that day happened and the announcement came.
Never before have I been filled with such regret. I had the chance to meet him and now it was too late. Why didn’t I meet him? It was a question I asked myself so many times during the last few years… why didn’t I meet him? He was your friend. He wanted to meet. He wanted his beer. He wanted your friendship. He wanted to buy you a round too… why? He was let down somewhat that you didn’t, when you had already planned to do it.
But it wasn’t just that…it went deeper. What if I had met him? Would that have changed the course of his life, somehow, even by the smallest amount? Would he have forever been delayed a little bit in all the things he did afterward or…I don’t know…SOMEthing…happen to where that fateful day wouldn’t have happened? Was it really kind of my fault a bit? Who knows? Who can say? Maybe if I had met him, his life would have turned out totally different. Maybe not. Probably not. But these are the things grief and tragedy make you feel and think when you’re deep into it. You think later on, back on all those regrets and what ifs.
Pat…forgive my typing, because I’ve been crying heavily all during this…but I’m sorry I didn’t meet you. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t have hope for you when you needed it the most. I’m sorry I didn’t get to know you more, I’m sorry I lost my first FB account that we were friends on and don’t even have that any more to help keep your memory… I’m sorry that life is SO FUCKING UNFAIR that it had to do this to you, one of the most undeserving people in the world of anything bad happening to them, I’m sorry I didn’t show any support, I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry. 
Pat is an amazing person, funny, loving, friendly, kind, smart…I’m much better for knowing him, anyone is. I’ll have a beer tonight thinking of you…and someday, somehow, I hope I find a way to get you that beer I owe you.
Peace to all who are affected by his loss.