I can't quite grasp the idea that I won't ever be able to call Jeff again. I keep stopping myself... wanting to call him to find out why he was so sad, what had gone so wrong. How would he feel if he knew I missed him terribly, and that I regret not calling him over the last 10 years? I can't believe it's been that long. Going over all of his old letters and my old journal entries, it feels like we were best friends yesterday, driving back and forth between Syracuse and Hamilton.
Someone I loved once, who loved me, is dead. Jeff should be alive... he was too young and beautiful for this. We made it through the tough shit, didn't we, Jeff? I thought we had. He stood by me back then, helping me be strong whenever I asked and even when I didn't.
Why didn't one of us reach out to the other over the last ten years? Why did I let religious differences keep us apart? I can't remember if we actually had a fight. I just know it couldn't have been worth this feeling that now we will never talk again and, at the end, he didn't feel loved enough.
Most people say I should be angry, that they would be, but I find that impossible. I just miss my old best friend, and feel so helpless at how sad he must have been. Maybe our friendship could have helped him through it. I don't know.
I hate the fact that I'm not supposed to be surprised.
He had a wife and four kids whom I had never met.
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