I love you, too.

...the last words I heard him say.

Adulting is hard.  Sometimes I wish I could go back to being 12 – when all I had to be was a care-free kid and worry about when my next bike ride was…what the next thing I could explore would be…where would it be?

I’ve recently experienced the most difficult thing ever.  I can’t count the number of deaths I’ve been impacted by.  If the person wasn’t crazy old, it was extremely sudden (accident, suicide, etc.).  But, I have never had to say goodbye to a young-should be living 50 more years-terminally ill-loved one.  Patrick actually looked like how I picture death – before someone is cared for (like for a open-casket funeral).  He was grey, with sunken cheeks, glazed over eyes.  Eyes that only opened for a moment at a time…the only evidence that he’s not actually dead. 

And I couldn’t cry.

I wanted to.

But Emma, my 6-year-old niece, was with me.  I wanted to stay strong for her and be positive for Patrick.  I am grateful I had the opportunity to say goodbye and “I love you”.  And hear him say the words back.  In a quiet voice, which is anything but, normally.    

We didn’t think he’d make it through the night.  But he lived 6 more weeks.  Had more time with loved ones.  Went to more recitals for his kids.  Ate more pizza. 

I boldly prayed for a miracle.  That he was healed completely.  I know God can do it.  There are many examples in the Bible where the sick are healed and He can do it again.  Just not this time. 

You know, cousins are a person’s very first best friend.  And was I blessed with the best of the best.  Pat taught me about the Rolling Stones, protected me from a snake in the yard, is the reason I love photography, and made me laugh more hours than I can count.  And I still believe we caught a snipe that day.