One Year Ago

It's almost a year since I found out that one of my family members, Pat, had died in hospital. The reason as to why, well, let's just say that one of them was alcohol and the other was someone that I hate even more, to a point I didn't even think was possible. I won't say who, but I will say that she is partly to blame for his death.

I found out when I was at my then-girlfriend's house the previous year, and the sad thing is that not a single person in my family bothered to tell me about him being in the hospital. I had to find out from an f-ing Facebook post! I didn't even get to go to his funeral because I was in Tenerife. I couldn't even chill and relax because I was too busy being mad at my family for not even giving the slightest thought about him. To put it short, I decided to grieve in the form of drinking to the point where I got so drunk I puked for forty-five minutes in the toilet in my hotel room and to the point I felt I was going to die. I didn't feel right about this in the slightest, but I was so upset that I was drinking myself sily with cocktails and spirits. To me, it just felt utterly ironic seeing that alcohol is the thing that killed him, but I had no other output I could make use of. As such, I could only cry on the inside as I had to miss the funeral on an over two-thousand-mile trip from home.

Lately, I have no choice but to remember that he's gone because of the time of year, month and where I was when I found out. For that, it just adds a scar to Summer for me that I know I can't heal. In the previous Summer, I've lost my auntie, now I've lost Pat, my girlfriend broke up with me for the third time (don't ask), and I just don't like Summer in general because it's surrounded by unhappy memories and thoughts for me.

I won't explain who Pat was to me, but he was a very prominent part of my life when I was growing up, and I even considered him to be somewhat of a second father away from my actual father. He had a son named Jack, and now Jack is basically an orphan. I haven't seen him in ages, but I know that he'll be doing fine in future life. He's a smart guy, he's young, and he's classy, just like his father. I called Pat Elvis because he was so classy. He sounded and looked like him to an extent, and he even had the hair going for him. Other than that, he even played the guitar. (I don't know what happened to his acoustic, but I have a good idea that isn't a good thought to me.)

Jesus, I don't even know what to say. Just when I was feeling happier than I have in a long time, this comes along. All I've got is his ring and a vintage motorbike clock made out of silver that he gave to me a long time ago. I want to cry, maybe punch a hole through the brick wall, but I can't. I don't even know if he knew how much I cared about him.

I even had my girlfriend at my home with me, and she stayed downstairs in my room while I was upstairs in the kitchen so I could write the letter. When I was writing, I actually teared up and eventually broke down. I cried for so long after finishing the card before I came downstairs with it and I sealed the envelope. I didn't want my girlfriend to see or know that I was crying, but I think she could tell, yet she didn't bring it up.

I'm honestly crying now as I write this.

It's so weird to see him like he's there one day and then he's gone the next. I really liked him for who he was, and he's gone because the people he hung around with were just a bunch of bad people. All I can say is that I miss you and I love you, Elvis.

One day, I swear I'm going to perform that song I wrote for you.

I truly, honestly and seriously miss you, man. All I wanted was to see you for one last time to say goodbye, and I couldn't even have that.