I couldn't help myself. I thought of you today. Your picture hangs on the wall in my livingroom, and I pass it every day, but today I stopped, took it off the wall, gently blew the dust from the glass, and carefully replaced it on the nail. As I stood there eyeballing the frame to make sure it was straight, it occured to me that I miss talking to you. I miss the one on one, big brother-little brother chats on ICQ. And I wonder how you would feel if you knew I didn't use ICQ anymore. Oh, the hours we'd spend, just you and me, and occasionally George would drop in, and we'd shoot the breeze about our cars, our wives, our jobs, politics, God and theology, and of course, fishing.
How happy you looked in that picture, just another sunny day in Oregon, holding a salmon, and wishing the guide would get his damn hands off your fish and out of the picture. It was after all, a good day. You were in your element. Just you and the fish. Oh! and the guide... "Are you still here?" I can see you saying that, "get me a cup of coffee, willya?" Even then you knew that the cancer was getting the better of you. Yet, you still tried to put on the brave face even though I knew you were screaming inside. Screaming in rage, and in pain, and in frustration..... you were really pissed off. You did not want to die, though you gladly would have if it would have brought your daughter and grandbaby back. I think everybody knew that. And I do not think anyone really blamed you for their deaths. No one that is, except you.
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