A very dear friend was killed in a hit-and-run last night. I don't know how to explain the grief, the rage, the absolute storm of emotion I've been through in the last 24 hours, and that I know is going to continue. I, who am the sort of person to always have the words, can't find any for this.
Reid was my first friend in AmeriCorps. We talked online well before we came together on campus; we talked about all the things we wanted to do, made plans together. Some of those plans we've kept. There were plans we didn't have the time to keep, and I'd like to fulfill them--knowing he'll be there in spirit if not body.
Once we got onto campus, I realized that our friendship would be even better than I had thought. He was the kind of guy to just get an idea in his head, an adventure to go on, and before I knew it we'd be on the hill at midnight or walking to Target or planning our Harry Potter tattoos together.
Reid was one of the best friends I've ever had. The last day has been... impossible. I feel like I'm standing in a cloud trapped behind glass. I can't quite get to the point where I remember what reality feels like. I'm going to wake up tomorrow morning, see him at the table we always hung out at and say, "Dude, you won't believe this seriously fucked-up dream I had last night."
He was the sort that you could tell things to. He listened, really listened, and didn't judge or make you feel as though you were wasting your time. We confided in one another, would just sit and talk forever.
When we weren't being super serious (and sometimes when we were), we laughed together constantly. He was goofy and silly and fun. Trading stories with other very close friends made me realize that he just spread this delighted joy and adventure wherever he went.
The things he wore wouldn't work on anybody else, but he had such confidence and such a signature look it was impossible not to absolutely love it. I can see him swaggering up in his black hat, a tee shirt and bright yellow skinny jeans, with this goofy grin on his face waiting to tell some cool story or ask if I wanted to walk around or watch his favorite movie or play a game.
When we talked before AmeriCorps, he was so excited to begin his service. We spoke just yesterday (five minutes ago, a lifetime ago--how do you measure time in grief?) about his last project, how excited he was for the next one. He truly loved what he was doing and lived every day in the moment.
He was dedicated to everything he did--be it a goofy conversation that wasn't too important but still held all his attention, or the service work he loved. He had such a huge personality. I don't think most of us will be able to forget his face, his voice, his attitudes. They were all too... quintessentially Reid to leave behind.
I won't go into the details of what all has happened, but I'll say this: He was here, and then he was just gone. But as I said, a few friends and I talked for a couple hours tonight, telling our favorite Reid moments, discussing the unfairness and all the ways we were affected by him. He may be gone, but his memory will stay with us, and all those that he has touched will in turn touch others. In this way, he's here. It's not enough, but it will--I hope--provide some small comfort on the difficult nights.
With this in mind, I'm going to dedicate the rest of my year of service to Reid, and encourage others to do the same. I don't know if that will entail something official or just keeping him in my heart. He has touched me in more ways than I can explain, and so by taking his memory with me, I'm going to try to help him do what he most loved and continue to serve others.
Reid, pal, I love you to death and I miss you already more than I can say. I'll see you on the other side, brother.
