I'd like to think you'd still be climbing mountains, always searching for the higher peaks. And still be walking around with a guitar in your hands, ready to serenade at a moment's notice.
I know you would still be the person everyone wants to be around. You could make us feel like we were the only people in the world when you talked to us. How did you do that?!
You would still be funny and in the running for world's best practical joker. And I'm certain you'd be driving around in your yellow '68 Chevy. Hopefully with the cracked windshield fixed, but maybe not.
Maybe you'd be famous by now, or a father. Those things we'll never know. And so, we will have to remember you as you were.
I hope that you'd be proud of me. I'm married now. To the most amazing man. He's kind and gentle and I feel like I am breathing again after holding my breath for so long. I think you two would like each other, be friends even. He keeps me laughing constantly and nurtures my adventurous spirit. Like you used to do.
And I'm a mom. Wow! I'm experiencing love in a whole new light. I wish you could meet the little man. I'm sure you would get him into all kinds of trouble, though.
I often think of all the things you've missed. You've become an uncle several times over by now. I see you in some of those kids.
It's unfair how life keeps pressing on, but beautiful at the same time. Do you know what I mean?
I think of the gigs, the travels, the births and marriages, the sunsets you didn't get to see. But I imagine you are seeing far greater things, where you are.
I've had some crazy adventures since you've been gone. I think you'd be happy to see that I didn't curl up in a ball to get swept away by a strong wind. It took awhile, but the sun has returned.
We still talk about you. We tell old stories, again and again, and laugh until we are blue in the face. And cry.
Don't worry. We have not forgotten. That would be impossible. And so, we remember you, today on your birthday, and every day in between.
Rest easy, my friend. All is well here.