Your funeral was terrible.

I ran into your sister in the bathroom as soon as I got to the church. As soon as I stepped in and saw your pictures on the stage with your casket, I realized just how unprepared I am to say goodbye.

Many won’t know what I’m talking about, but you were one of the few people who encouraged me to overcome my depression, self loathing, and you got me into a lot of different music. You were such a great guy. And I absolutely hate using past tense. That means you really are gone.

I always thought I annoyed you, but as I look back on past conversations, I realized that you weren’t bothered. You still wanted to talk to the pathetic freshman who always argued with you. And when we thought we were moving to Midland, you were already making plans to come see us.

I never got to tell you how my college was. You always told me how hard the classes were, I never got to compare stories. Compare terrible teachers, and our favorites. I never got to tell you about my job, How much I hate it. How I changed departments. How I missed hearing you complain about all the hard work you were doing, it made me feel like I didn’t do anything. Of course at that time I really couldn’t, I was underage. And child labor laws are pretty strict.

I never got to “obtain mind powers” by attending an Avett Brother’s concert with you.

Your funeral was terrible. They played all your favorite songs. Remember when you told me to look up Lonelier Than This by Steve Earl? Remember how I told you how sad it was? How it made me want to cry? Well I did today, like a baby.

I never got to tell you that I recently started listening to Nirvana. I’m sure you would’ve said something like “Finally!!” and “Its about time!” If I tried showing you a Luke Bryan song, you’d get so mad at me.

I didn’t agree with your views, well almost all of them. But I agreed with your heart. You helped me so many times in my life on and off. You were a great friend. One I was hoping to see fairly soon.

Your funeral was terrible. Because you weren’t old enough to pass. You were supposed to meet my kids, make it to my wedding, stay around even after my dad would pass away. You were supposed to live. And now everything just hurts. Seeing your family tore me apart. Your dad told ME “I can tell you’re hurting”, how was I supposed to answer that? You weren’t supposed to die! How could I respond to a father who just lost a son? “We’ll get through this”? I’m not so sure how.

Your funeral was terrible. They showed videos of you playing your guitar. You were supposed to become famous, remember? You were going to have a Bluegrass/country/rock/everything awesome band. I remember telling you that you had such a good voice but you didn’t really believe me.

Your funeral was terrible. But you would’ve loved it. All the nice, funny, retarded pictures of you were shown. They played The Avett Brothers, and everyone was in tears. You would’ve loved how many people loved you. How many people came because they cared.

Your funeral was terrible. Because it was yours.