I have to try and find words. I don’t know what else to do.
Yesterday, I planned to walk to work this morning. 1.6 miles. Easy.
Instead, I walked 1.6 miles from the Reno, NV airport to a LaQuinta hotel nearby.
Instead, I saw your body laying there. A breathing tube in your throat. One black eye. Blood crusted in your nostrils. Your big, strong line-backer body having oxygen pumped into it by machines.
Instead, I held your hand through a sheet. Instead, I ran my hand along your collarbone. Afraid to disturb the IVs. Instead, I ran my finger through your thick half-mexican hair.
Instead. I lost my baby brother. Instead. My best friend had zero activity left in his brain.
Instead. I held your hand through a sheet but it wasn’t your hand because you weren’t inside of there.
Instead, you were taken from me today. Taken from us. From everyone who ever was lucky enough to know you or unlucky not to have met you yet.
I love you Nathan Scot. You were all of us kids first true love. Our little baby.
I hope whatever happens after death, even though you would argue that it’s nothingness and I’d most likely agree, I hope there was no pain.
I hope you left peacefully.
I love you. Now and forever. More than any words that I could ever find.
— 6/4/2015