Has it really been 24 years? I wonder what you would be like today. Would you still be teaching? I always think of you at times that hold special memories.

I think of you every year during March madness. I remember the year you and I watched pretty much the whole tournament together. I remember feeling silly that I didn’t realize you graduated from NC State while we were watching them play. Somehow, I thought you went to North Carolina. I still feel bad about that.

Every Halloween I remember when we were kids, the time I heard something rustling in my closet. I couldn’t imagine what I would find when I opened my closet door. There you were sitting on the floor in the dark eating my candy. Wrappers everywhere and chocolate all over your face, and you denied it! I’m sure I was mad at the time, but it is one of my favorite memories from childhood.

I remember the stories of your many travels. I could never understand how you could start driving to a far away place like Colorado with no money. It never bothered you. I’m sure you couldn’t understand why that bothered me. You said you would drive until you needed gas or food and stop in some town. You would find small jobs that were quick and paid you enough to eat, buy gas and move on. I’m not sure that would even make a believable movie. I especially savor the time you talked about coming home and making it to southeastern Indiana without enough gas to get home. You were tired and you needed less than a tank of gas to make it; and how much gas could your old VW bug hold? You were trying to talk the guy in the station into giving you the gas with a promise that you would return with the money. It was a hard sell, and it looked like you wouldn’t get the gas. Then you offered your book collection (that seemed to always travel with you) as collateral. You laughed when you described the look on the guy’s face. Your books were old and torn and didn’t look like much. He didn’t know they were invaluable treasures to you. It still makes me laugh to think of the wildly different appraisals the two of you were placing on those sad looking books. He finally relented and gave you the gas. He couldn’t believe it when you returned later with the money.

Your funeral was amazing. I couldn’t believe how many of your friends came. They came from all over, many traveling great distances. And they all had stories of you. Wonderful stories. They all agreed that you were like no one else, special. You touched so many people, more than we knew. This all had a very profound effect on Mom. It really did her good. She talked for years about your friends and what it meant to her that they came, and that they all wanted to tell her how much you meant to them, and that they told her stories. Some even sent her letters for years on the anniversary.

Mom and Dad have passed away, as you know. It really devastated them trying to handle your death. I can’t tell you how many times I heard them say they were not supposed to outlive their children and that no one should die at 30. Every year on the anniversary of your death, Dad organized a mass and breakfast in your remembrance. I’m sure you know that attendance was mandatory; thanks Dad! If it was a weekday, we had to take time off work. I was always glad I was there, even though it was a little bittersweet watching Mom and Dad. Mostly we celebrated and were thankful for having you around, even for so short a time. Thanks Kenny!